In my last post I asked you to vote for me to win a tech makeover. (And you did, thank you!)

But I take it back. I live a blessed life and so what if I have the screen resolution of a game boy?

This father was a firefighter who was injured 10 years ago and is now a quad just like my Aunt Cheryl.

My Aunt Cheryl made me who I am today.

Please vote for him, for his family. He’ll need at least 1,000 votes to get noticed. Can you help him out?

Tweet, blog, email. Whatever. It’s far more important for him and his family to win this than anything I could every use it for.

Thanks.

P.S.Need some crazy irony to help you vote? His wife’s name (who wrote the submission) is Cheryl too.

P.P.S. My aunt has the same wheelchair, and the new model hurts a lot less when she rolls over your toes. Just sayin’.

I don’t do well at keeping things alive. Giving me a live plant or a seed in dirt is only giving that innocent shrub a death sentence. I thought at first I just wasn’t trying hard enough. I was given some paperwhites and told “It’s impossible to kill paperwhites.”

I never did kill them.

Never got the chance, never even got them to grow in the first place.

I wish I had taken photos of my herb garden FAIL! my front yard perennial FAIL! and all the seeds that the moosh has brought home from preschool. FAIL! FAIL! FAIL!

I’m pretty sure the only reason the moosh is thriving is that she has a very shrill warning system if I forget to feed or water her.

I decided to take on a new hobby this summer, birdfeeders. And I was doing really well, until I noticed how much bird food birds actually eat and I realized we’re not on the type of budget that will allow our backyard to be an all you can eat buffet for gluttonous birds.

It was fun while it lasted.

And a little scary when the food stopped coming and the birds perched on my fence and patio set giving me the stink eye.

I did however keep up with the hummingbird feeder. Hummingbird food is cheap, and guess what? Hummingbirds don’t eat a whole lot. Shocking, I know.

I had my little feeder suction cupped to my kitchen window and I watched as all the local hummingbirds started telling all of their friends about the local hummingbird cantina. Soon I had a whole flock of hummingbirds. (This is where I add in the part that I was the only one in the house who thought they were cool. It came to a point where I would tell the moosh to come! look at the hummingbirds! and she’d roll her eyes and if she knew the term “LAME-O” she would have been using it.)

It started to get a little chillier. The stink eye birds stopped hanging around. Everyone seemed to have gone South.

Except the hummingbirds.

I started to get all nervous. Here I was selfishly feeding these little nuggets of birds out of a completely unnautural feeder in the middle of nowhere (for a hummingbird at least, let’s just say my backyard is a last chance fuel station on the hummingbird Highway 66.)

Should I take the feeder down? Where do hummingbirds go in the winter? Do they fly South? Wouldn’t they tucker out awful quick on a diet of hummingbird Kool-Aid? Should I make them a house, become a hummingbird halfway house? Keep the feeder stocked and rig up some sort of heater?

I was seriously worried about what I had done to those little birds. They had brought so many friends…I didn’t want to be the one to lead to their downfall. (Srsly, there were at least a dozen different birds. Shut up, I don’t have many friends. And I’m in my kitchen a lot.)

Before I had time to worry the bitty birds split. Who knows where they ended up. Wherever they are it’s not my fault anymore.

Needless to say birdfeeding is not the best hobby for me.

********

P.S. Can you go to this site and click “Like it?” for me? No regestering, no nothing. Just click the “Like it?” button and help mama get a computer with better screen resolution than a game boy. I mean, assuming you like it. Or that you like me. Okay. um. thanks!

I want to tell you about the drug store employee that pulled a power trip on me.

I want to tell you how I almost caused the population of Hoosier hummingbirds to go extinct.

I want to tell you about Nigel Barker in a wetsuit asking if you’re ready to get wet.

I want to tell you about the love letter my husband wrote me.

I want to tell you about our family trip to Disneyworld in two weeks.

I want to tell you that I thought I was pregnant. And then I thought I wasn’t. And then I thought I was.

I want to tell you that I really wanted to be pregnant. But not really. But maybe, just not now.

Meh.

Anyway. It’s been a long time since I’ve asked you guys what the best thing was that happened to you in the last week. Anything. Naps, shiny hair, baby laughs, pregnancies, return of a favorite show? Lay it on me. And let me know if you want to know more about any of that other stuff up there.

It’s one of my favorite things about my blog. What makes you happy.

I’m flying pretty high on the self esteem machine tonight.

Why?

Because I tried on my first pair of Spanx today and they didn’t do a darn thing for me. (Why am I 26 trying on super support panties? Because I read “an ode to Spanx” in the dentist’s waiting room and I figured why the heck not?)

Apparently my figure is already Spanxed.

I asked two different store employees if they could tell if I was or was not wearing the Spanx. They both guessed wrong both times.

Sweet.

Speaking of the dentist. I went for the first time in five years today (freaking no insurance.) One cavity. That brings my lifetime cavity count to one.

While I’m at it, my hair is so healthy from my recent cut and color that I can’t do a darn thing with it. It just sits on my head and shimmers. I’m considering letting Cody study by the golden glow my hair puts off.

Tell me, what parts of you have been behaving lately?

When the moosh was tiny I spent hours in my glider with her, praying for her to just fall asleep already. There were so many things I wanted to do or could do if she would just. fall. asleep. I had my first good cry over motherhood in that chair. I’ve cured fevers and nightmares in that chair. I have laughed from that chair, played from that chair, screamed from that chair and have probably read over a thousand stories and sang well over a thousand songs in that chair.

It was over a year ago that she last fell asleep in my arms in that chair.

I have tried to trick her multiple times into falling asleep in my arms in that chair. Just so I can hold her warm little sleeping body, snuzzle my nose into her curls and listen to her breathe.

Like I used to.

Tonight I finally tricked her. I was ready to spend the entire night rocking in that chair holding onto my baby, sniffing her freshly washed curls.

She woke up after five minutes and asked to be put in bed.

I’m pretty sure she couldn’t have sank my heart faster with an anchor and lead weight.

You put them to bed as babies.

And they wake you up (what seems like) the next morning as little kids.

It’s going too fast.

Earlier in the summer when the temperatures started creeping into the 90’s my air contioning went fritzy.

“Mrs. moosh, it looks like your A/C fixed with parts and labor will be $1,300.”

“DO IT.”

I didn’t think it through, I didn’t even consider getting a second opinion. Had it been something like brakes? Eh, negotiable. But A/C?

Fix it and fix it now.

That brings me to my camera.

It had been acting a little fritzy itself and I took it into a camera store just to make sure it wasn’t me.

“Mrs. moosh, your camera doesn’t focus. It needs to be fixed.”

“Focus? Pshaw. It still kind of works, right? I can make do…I don’t want to part with it.”

“Mrs. moosh? You’re an idiot, your camera doesn’t focus. Not a negotiable feature.”

“Fine. Fix it and fix it now.”

Then I learned that “fix it and fix it now” doesn’t apply to SLR cameras. It’s more like “we’ll fix it eventually and it should be back in 4 to 6 weeks.”

WEEKS PEOPLE. WEEKS.

I’m twitching without it. My right index finger is growing weak and becoming depressed from shutter withdrawl.

Colors are brighter and magical fairies riding tiny little unicorns appear in flowery meadows on a daily basis, only you’re going to have to just believe me because I don’t have a camera to prove it. A photographer was even the Higglytown Hero today.

The Disney Channel is mocking my pain.

I realize I live a blessed life, and that my camera is just a thing (I’m sorry camera, I don’t mean it! I LOVE YOU!) But there are just a few comforts and luxuries I don’t love going without in life.

A/C and my Camera.

You?

Foster parenting. Adoption. Scams. Miscarriage.

Chances are a good majority of humans can relate to one of these. For many of you, one of them may have been a defining moment in your life.

Now imagine having all four happen to you, one happen twice, and it all happening within five months.

Now imagine it happening to your best friend and being a thousand miles away from being able to make anything hurt less.

Some of you were around when I wrote a snarky post about my best friend being pregnant. Yes, it hurt. And yes, I went about it wrong. Now imagine my shame finding out that my best friend had a horrible miscarriage days later. One that landed her in the ER, the day after she took a difficult foster child into her home. She was almost seventeen weeks. Had it happened any later she would have had to labor to, well, you know.

My best friend was in Utah, I was in Indiana. I had no words to say to her, there are no words for situations like this. When I did get ahold of her, I could hear the pain in her voice. She wasn’t herself. Her writing was not the girl I had known for seven years. My heart ached for her, and short of constant prayers for her I was helpless. Helpless until I told my husband I was hopping on a plane to go to Utah to hug her. As much as you’d like to believe my very presence on her doorstep with lasagna in hand healed her instantly, it did not. I knew she had a long road ahead of her and no one could heal her. I saw a glimpse of what God must feel for all of us, wanting to take all of the hurt and pain away but knowing that’s not how it works.

A few weeks later a birth mom contacted Kim, telling her she was pregnant and due in June and that she wanted to place her baby with Kim’s family. Those who knew Kim were over the moon. Kim began to sound like herself again.

And then crap hit the fan again.

The birth mom was never actually pregnant. She was seeking attention, and she got it. But she couldn’t have picked a worse girl to mess with. Kim and her family had been warned about these “scammers” and yet were too overwhelmed with what had already happened to notice the warning signs right away.  Chelsia, if you’re out there? I hope you have a thousand tiny slivers in your butt cheeks and all you have to sit on are lemons.

The situation with the foster child continued, given her circumstances and emotional state she fell in love with that little boy and loved him as her own. There were rumors of adoption with him and his baby sister but they have both since gone to stay with their birth mother.

Lastly, the most recent development was that another birth mom picked Kim’s family to place her baby with. This one was really pregnant. And really sure Kim was the one. Kim was ready. If I can say one thing about that girl, she is adaptable. She spread the news of the upcoming adoption, feeling it was safe this time.

Safe?
BAH!

Things went a little wonky with the birth mother, the situation changed and this time Kim backed out for the emotional benefit not only for herself but for her family. She has been picked by two other birth mothers in the past but both decided after birth to parent their children, which is fantastic for the family that gets to stay together, but difficult for the family whose arms are left empty.

Through all of this Kim trained for a half marathon, and totally finished it.

Why do I write this? Because her story needs to be told. Kim is an amazing mother, wife, photographer and friend. Never in my entire life did I see her getting hit with this much garbage in a matter of months. Had she been your friend and you told me her story I wouldn’t have believed you.

No one is immune from pain, suffering or sorrow. But it’s how we deal with it that makes us stand out. And Kim is dealing with it like a superstar, despite her feelings of inadequacy.

Her baby Peanut would have been born two weeks ago. Had the original birth mom actually been pregnant she’d have a four month old baby to care for. Had the foster situation gone through she would have had two more children to love. Had this final adoption gone through? She would have had five additions to her family within five months.

Kim was born to be a mother, a wife, a photographer, a sister, a friend and selfishly, an answer to my prayers.

To come that close to five children. And be left with none.

Can you imagine?

Little kids have nightmares. Dragons, giant stining insects and monsters are typical little kid nightmare fodder.

My kid?

Spices.

My kid has nightmares about spices.

She is scared to death that “the spices” are going to come get her. They were in her room the other night and a bunch of ladybugs came in to eat them. She also told her dad he had eyes all over his shirt. We had to make sure she really was awake and didn’t sneak out back to lick one of those “magic” toads.

Just so you’re aware, spices don’t come out in the day, only in the dark. They are in bottles and apparently teddy bears eat the spices. We have set up a perimeter of teddy bears around her bed and put a plastic toy hammer in her hand at bedtime in case any of the spices break through the teddy bearrier. (PUN!)

So far it’s worked well, I awake each morning to a nightly spice report, none spotted since Friday night.

Now tell me how in the world does one interpret the dream of a three year old involving parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme? She does call her dad’s kisses spicy, from all of his whiskers, I wonder if him kissing her each night is subconsciously registering as something coming to get her.

How’s that for parenting guilt?

Hey dude, no more kissing your sleeping child, you’re giving her nightmares.

I hate saying “I’m a mom.”

I also don’t like saying “My husband is in Law School.”

I feel that both descriptions give a stereotypical image to whoever is hearing them.

When someone says “I’m a mom/dad,” the childless will most likely picture lazy afternoons spent on the couch with children playing about your feet. Those with children will picture grocery store trips with cranky children, late nights soothing nightmares and OH THE ENDLESS MESSES YOU TOO MUST HAVE TO CLEAN UP. Rarely will either group picture you following your hobbies and dreams or being a friend, sister, brother or mother to whomever may need one.

Truth is I am a mom, but I also love to bake, I love to go out on evenings by myself and take pictures of stuff. I love to hang out in bookstores and look at photography books. I like to give myself pedicures. I thrive on bringing people who are hurting a meal or a treat of some sort. I love to play card games with my husband. I like to color in coloring books. I go to church every Sunday. I drive in a carpool. I use reusable shopping bags. I plan elaborate vacations in my head. I cry at old movies and sitting around a table with my friends is as close to perfect as life can get.

While it’s true that Cody spends an awful lot of time pouring over law books in a sterile law library, he also loves to golf. He knows football better than I know my own toes. He plays basketball with his friends every Tuesday night. He takes the moosh out on Daddy/Daughter dates to get ice cream. He writes me love notes on the bathroom mirror. He likes to go to electronics stores and stare at TV’s. He listens to books on tape. He can make the moosh giggle and laugh harder than anyone else in this world.

While many of us can claim some sort of title in this world, be it parent, executive, farmer, dancer, dentist or truck driver, it doesn’t mean that we are the same as every other parent, executive, farmer, dancer, dentist or truck driver.

Maybe motherhood came easy to you and you find yourself wondering “what the heck is her problem and why is she crying all the time?” towards a new mom. Just because two women can become moms doesn’t mean it’s going to be the same journey for both of them. It’s not our job as humans to judge or analyze. It’s our job to step in and take over whatever hurt, pain or responsibility that we can. Or to share in whatever small victories, joys or celebrations we can.

A stay at home dad in California, while sharing the same “title” as a stay at home dad in Texas are going to have lives and personalities worlds apart from each other. A working mom in Washington has many of the same struggles as a working mom in LA. While they each have their own unique struggles it doesn’t mean that one or the other is doing any better of a job, they are both doing the best they can.

Next time you see a frazzled parent who has just soothed a colicky baby, try not to offer your advice on what you did with your kids, or what your friend’s friend did (unless they ask.) During those moments of silence when the baby is asleep let them talk about what made them them before the baby came along, and how they hope to share their passions with their kids. Ask them what they like to do, what they are passionate about. (Not what they liked to do or were passionate about) What dreams do they have past 8 hours of sleep at night? As bad as new beginnings can suck, it will end.

As a new mom I was always so bothered that no one looked past the baby in my arms. No one asked how I was outside parenthood, despite the haze of new motherhood I still had passions and interests that didn’t involve Huggies or sleep schedules. Same goes for someone in school. Or in a new career. Or in the hospital with cancer. There is so much more that defines a person beyond parent, cancer patient, student or professional. Rarely ever is it what we see on the outside that makes a person phenomenal. Often it’s what they do when no one’s looking. What they choose to do with their free time instead of what they need to or are supposed to be doing with their time.

Let’s start paying attention to it.

Remember when I was all “OOH! I HAVE A HAIR GIRL! OOH SHE’S AWESOME! LOOK WHAT SHE DID!”

Refresher, she did this:

Well shortly after telling everyone about her and raving about her, she busted up her shoulder and is no longer able to do hair.

I’ve been in mourning. Unable to face another stylist search. That is until yesterday. By chance I walked into a funky salon in a very eclectic part of town looking for a particular curl creme for the moosh. We were headed off to have her haircut cut at one of those chain places when I asked if anyone there was good at curly cuts.

Why yes there is and she’ll be here at one.

Sweet.

As I paid for the moosh’s new do I asked “What about me?”

How about 4:15 tomorrow?

Deal.

This morning?

This:

Even great haircuts die hard, horrible, tragic deaths.

This evening?

This:

I have finally embraced what my natural curl allows me to do and what it keeps me from having to do (like curl my entire head of hair, instead I just have to curl the top layer. Sweet.)

Nicole @ Alchemy Art + Aesthetics did moi.

Aynie hooked the moosh up.

1043 Virginia Ave. Indianapolis (In Fountain Square) 317.634.9700