Service Dogs

My friend, Diantae, wrote and article on service dogs and I’d love to share it with you. He recently trained his own dog. Be sure to stop and visit his blog, Video Games and Bacon, as he posted during the training.

Service dogs provide all kinds of services. They are marketable in that they have real value. They don’t come off an assembly line, though some assembly may be required. My service dog was missing part of his tail and won’t be reproducing it. I wasn’t new when I got him, so I have no room to complain.

What’s a service dog?
Service dogs preform tasks that may be difficult for individuals to perform. For some people the dogs do for them what would be impossible to do for themselves.
Seeing eye dogs are so often the first thing that people think of when service dogs are mentioned. They weren’t the first dogs to serve men. Poodles used to be known as large dogs that wore armor and charged into battle along with knights. Now, when you say poodle, the name ‘Fifi’ always comes to my mind. Fufu is their definition. They are now pets.
Service dogs are known to help a lot of individuals with disabilities that can be obvious, such as the deaf or blind. Different disabilities are hard to deal with. Service dogs are not so much known to deal with mental and emotional disabilities.
Labradors are well respected as good service dogs because of their calm nurturing nature. Patience and a bit of calmness go a long way.
For children with special needs, sometimes balance can be an issue. Harnesses can be fitted to a full grown dog in order to facilitate easier mobility.
Dogs have been used for herding for centuries. My dog Merlin tries to keep me and Renee in the same room all the time. If one of us goes from one room to the other, he’ll run behind whoever’s in front and every few steps turns around to see if the other is following. If we aren’t, then he’ll come back and try to herd us both into the same room. I think he just likes his pack staying together. I’m pretty sure that a dog bringing your kid back to you because the child tried to take off when you blinked or something is a manifestation of the dog’s innate herding instinct. Children are curious. Sometimes they wander.
My dog, the kidney bean, is with me because of mental and emotional issues I have. I don’t need to tell anybody what my mental and/or emotional conditions are. A manager of a store may ask 2 questions. One I expect will always be “What does he do?” This is a very general question. The answers would make a long list, starting with eat, poop, and sleep. That’s not what they mean, but my sarcastic nature wants to take over sometimes.
I don’t need to rehash the reason I need him. I tell them that he alerts me when to take my medication. I don’t have to tell him that sometimes I don’t do anything because I emotionally and mentally can’t summon the strength nor willpower to do anything. The dog cuddles with me too much and warm fuzzies are almost always welcome.
He also farts, which cheers me up, as weird as it may be, because sometimes he scares himself and barks at his behind. He constantly pays attention to me when I need attention. He needs a lot of attention too. Children need a lot of attention also and a well trained service dog doesn’t just stop at giving their owner attention, but genuine affection. Dogs are always always protective of their owners and want to be appreciated, so they will do amazing things that you didn’t know would be as big a help as they are, because that dog wants to be your best friend.
Two things I would look for to see if a child and a dog are compatible: 1) look at the dog and ask yourself if he looks like a happy dog, and 2) look at the child and see if he is smiling. Service dogs are not pets though. A service dog may be your dog, and may be a family member, but keep in mind that when that dog puts on his uniform, he is on duty. He pulls his weight in the household by performing his duty day in and day out.
Service dogs will steal from you sometimes! Just like a human employee, but it’s my fault I left the hotdog at face level to a quiet carnivore. Other than that, you can rest assured that he will never steal from you, tell the neighbors your awful secrets, or suddenly decide they don’t like you any more and find a new owner. All you have to do for a service dog is provide, food, shelter, treats, love, and sometimes bacon.

Missy Stevens

Today I have Missy Stevens, AKA Wonder, Friend. We first met at Bloggy Boot Camp and later realized we lived close by each other. We are not part of the same GNO.
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Remember those commercials with the tag line, Having a Baby Changes Everything? I believe it was Johnson & Johnson, but what’s important here is how true those words are. 

Maybe, if threatened at gunpoint, I could come up with a handful of things that remain the same post-kids, but I’m not sure. I’d likely end up dead, because sitting here now, I can’t think of anything I handle in quite the same way as a I did before.

For example…

With summer here, we are getting very excited for our annual family vacation. Uh, make that family trip. Because of all the things children change, travel is near the top of the list.

Before kids we took Vacations. Now, we take Trips.

Let’s discuss.

A Vacation Is:

  • (Somewhat) Affordable: only two of everything to pay for.
  • Exhilarating.
  • Exotic.
  • Refreshing.
  • Relaxing.
  • Romantic.

A Trip Is:

  • None of the above.

Perhaps, we could put Exhilarating, and sometimes Exotic, on the Trip list. Successfully navigating a toddler bathroom break on a tropical beach could be both exhilarating and exotic. If you’re playing fast and loose with your definitions.

And let’s face it, even when you get the opportunity to take a kid-free vacation, it’s not the same as it used to be. Now, before you leave you not only have to pack yourselves, but you have to get organized for someone else to watch your children.

Also, there’s the worrying. As much as I try to keep my cool, I can’t help but think about my kids while I’m gone. I miss them. I worry about something happening to them. Or to me. It’s the nature of parenthood – the little buggers are always on your mind.

Vacations and Trips are not, however, mutually exclusive. More commonly they exist in hybrid form:

The TriCation.

That’s to say, it’s not easy or cheap or particularly romantic to travel with young children. But packing 18 bags of supplies for all possible scenarios can still result in a fun time had by all.

You’re probably going to sweat, a lot, from lugging kids and their crap through airports, theme parks, museums, national parks, in and out of rented minivans, through family-friendly (read: overpriced and under-flavored) restaurants. There may be tears, and not all of them will be yours. Probably a little whining here and there. And I can almost guarantee motion-sickness related vomit.

But your TriCation will probably contain more than a few memorable moments, too. Like these:

  • What is that daddy lion doing to that mommy lion? -3 year old to his father
  • We probably wouldn’t be lost of mommy could read the damn map. That’s what daddy says. -5 year old to his brother
  • Since everyone went a whole 32 seconds without whining, you can all have ice cream for breakfast! -Mom to the rest of the family, Dad included

Seriously, a TriCation is work. No doubt. But it’s fun, too. Not life-before-kids-cocktails-and-sleeping-in fun, but something bigger than that.

I remember watching my sons experience the ocean for the first time. I remember the look on my oldest son’s face when he rode a gondola up the mountainside. I’ll never forget the the thrill they got when we drove our car onto a ferry boat. And when I think about these things, I know why we make the effort.

We put the work in to get the memories out.

Along the way we learn a lot about each other and the world around us. We talk, we laugh. And yep, we cry and whine a little, too. We eat new foods, and very rarely throw them back up. We see sights not available at home, like salmon swimming upstream or snow in July.

My family has a TriCation coming up later this summer. We’re traveling with friends and together we’ll have four kids, ages five and under. I know there are some things I can count on, like meltdowns and tantrums.

It’s the surprises in store for us that make my heart beat a little faster, and make the luggage seem a little lighter. It’s the Kodak moments, the stories we’ll write and retell for years that make entertaining a two year old on an airplane worthwhile.

So, yeah, there aren’t a lot of relaxing or romantic moments on the agenda for this TriCation, but for now, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************

4 plus an angel

….

I can’t thank Priscilla enough for asking me to guest post today. As she begins life as mom to yet another boy I thought I would share my thoughts on becoming a mom to boys after the birth of my youngest…

When my second son was born I was thrilled, of course.
We didn’t know what we were having so the surprise was wonderful.
But there was something nagging in the back of my mind…
I was now the mom of boys, not one, two.
Visions of wrestling matches, chandelier swinging (we don’t even own one) and digging for worms filled my head.
As I lay in that hospital bed, pain medication increasing my hallucinations, I came to grips with it all.
My hair would soon be short, Adidas pants and a matching zip up my only wardrobe, a whistle around my neck a must.
A mom to boys must look the part.
I have always been a girly-girl and now my fate had been sealed.
Might as well start the shipments of bulky tennis shoes and baseball hats right from the beginning.
Miraculously, as they have grown, I have managed to keep my hair long, cling to my beloved yoga pants and even sneak in a pedicure once in a while.
I have learned to not mind dirt (sort of), see the wonder in a worm curling around a stick and laugh at how high a stream of pee can actually go.
I am aware now, that I thought being a mom to boys meant I would morph into a clone of my old gym teacher named Pat.
Although I am sure there are more burping contests in my future than fashion shows, I am actually looking forward to t-ball games and cub scouts (only dads can go on the camping trips, right?).
I am learning to embrace life with trucks and trains and soccer balls.
There are days when I look at the chaos emerging in my house and wonder exactly whose life this is.
But there are many more days when I look at my little guys and can’t image not knowing the experience of raising curious, mischievous, loving, little Momma’s boys.

Four Plus an Angel

http://fourplusanangel.com

Find me on twitter @fourplusanangel

Growing up Austin

I am grateful for this post, just as I am all of my lovely guests!! Thanks so much.

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Growing Up AustinDear Mr./Ms. Scientist Who Developed Pretend Wood Floors,

Thank You.

You are a genius.

You must have kids.

You see, I have a parent’s internal timer that lets me know when my kids have been quiet too long. There is a natural tension about it, of coarse, because the quiet is so sweet and so precious and I don’t want it to end. So maybe I was being too hopeful or in denial, because the other day the sweet and precious quiet was a cover for my two and three-year-old girls being under the office desk writing with permanent marker on the pretend hard wood floors.

Doesn’t that dark, thick, black ink show up well on the light floor?

Oh, my.

I want to patent the phrase “Only On Paper” and sell t-shirts.

I want to build a row of drawers with locks about chest high all over the house.

But, I took some every day cleaner and a paper towel and could hardly believe my eyes…

Well, either the Mr./Ms. Scientist Who Developed Pretend Wood Floors is a genius or the Mr./Ms. Scientist who Developed the Permanent Marker has been slacking off lately, but either way it turned out all right for me. And, for the smarty-pants who might remember my story about the toothpaste facials from not too long ago, which also happened on my watch, all I can say is that I do the best I can.

Sometimes with a little help from Mr./Ms. Scientist.

 
Carol Ramsey lives in Austin, Texas, is married and has three girls, fourteen, three and two-years old. She is a software project manager and writes at GrowingUpAustin.com and LittleKidsHike.com.

 

 

miss elainis

Three Kids?  No Problem!

Since Priscilla is about to have three kids and I’ve well, “been there done that,” I thought I’d offer her a little insight into what it’s like to be “outnumbered.”

I personally think three is the perfect number of kids for our family and I love their age differences and even the order in which we had them (two boys and then a girl).  However.  It does come with its challenges and crazy moments.  Especially in the beginning.

Some things to expect with three…

You get smiled at more in public.  It’s probably a half smile of “omg she’s got a lot of loud kids with her, no wonder she looks frazzled I feel so sorry for her” smile, but I’ll take it.

A small SUV CAN hold 2 car seats and a booster.  Unfortunately.  Although my husband is all good with this fact.  (Priscilla probably already has a mini-van, just like the rest of the mom world…)

You’ll save money! Let me set the scene.  You’re at target.  One kid at school – check. Baby in infant carrier takes up most of cart.  Toddler refuses to sit in front part of cart and wants to “walk” along with you.  Toddler runs away.  Baby starts to cry. You get the 3 things you ABSOLUTELY need (including a Mucho Grande Latte at the in-store SB) and get the heck outta there.

You can continue to use the double stroller.  Unless one or both children likes to pull hair.  Then?  Not so much.

You have a “gopher” in the oldest child.  He/she will get you pretty much anything for the new baby, like a diaper, a bottle or a pacifier.  Especially if you offer them two cookies and a new bike.

Only one child can cry at a time.  I totally figured this was a rule but it SO is not.  Who knew?  They can ALL cry at the same time, really loudly and for completely different reasons all while you’re trying to make dinner.  This is the point when your head might pop off your neck.  BUT!  It’s okay because once you pop a boob or bottle in the baby’s mouth and lock put the other two in their humungous closet room to play quietly together all is fine.

You will get to shower! Once or twice a week at least!

The third child magically turns into a toddler OVERNIGHT and can do stuff for him/herself. You know like get all up in his/her older siblings stuff that GOD FORBID THEY TOUCH and/or climb on chairs that then lead to them standing on top of the counter, smiling in spite of themselves (hypothetically of course…).

So, see Priscilla?  It’s a walk in the park.  A dark park at night with scary animals lurking in the shadows but a park nonetheless!

Good Luck girl!  You’re gonna rock this mom-of-three gig! I just know it!

 

 

Telling Dad

My Wheelchair Mommy
I was honored when Priscilla asked me to guest post on her blog because I find her story, her determination, and her spirit to be so inspirational.
When I guest post, I prefer to write something that at least complements the nature of the blog I’m writing for. Yet I haven’t experienced anything in life that can remotely compare. While my wife suffered a devastating spinal injury when she was 19, she has since recovered from her paralysis. I suppose I could have written about her injury and subsequent recovery, but I feel that my wife’s story is her own to tell.
Besides, I much prefer to write about funny things, and paralysis isn’t exactly a hotbed for comedy. When I asked Priscilla about possible topics, she gave me carte blanche to write whatever I pleased.
While most writers would be thrilled to be handed a blank sheet of paper and told, “write anything you want,” I was struggling to come up with a relative topic idea. That is until my wife reminded me that I once had my very own “wheelchair mommy” and that the story of that day has produced countless tears of laughter from those who have heard it.
The topic was set. For I can’t get much more relevant than writing about my “wheelchair mommy” on the Wheelchair Mommy blog.
……
Watching my mom injure her foot is as much a holiday tradition for our family as decorating the tree. If she isn’t wearing some kind of cast, brace, or ACE bandage by Christmas morning, our kids won’t recognize her. Over the years she has broken numerous toes, sprained her ankles, cracked the top of her foot, and even stepped on a rusty nail that impaled her flesh inches deep.
After her scheduled injury occurs, the child who draws the shortest straw must retrieve a set of crutches from Nana’s infamous crutch closet, an in-house museum packed to the rafters with all the ambulatory devices she’s acquired over the years.
She’ll then wrap her foot with an ACE bandage, claim half the couch, and await service from those not yet desensitized to her recurring injuries. I gotta hand it to her, it’s a brilliant plan. Injure yourself at a time when no clinics are open and be waited on by unassuming relatives.
I’m not suggesting that she’s faking any of her injuries. I’ve seen the bruises, I’ve seen the bent toes, and I’ve seen the x-rays. I’m just suggesting that somewhere in the deep dark depths of her central nervous system, there’s an involuntary chain reaction taking place that results in a timely and beneficial injury.
Walking anywhere with my mother after she sustains a foot injury is excruciating. You’d think years of walking by crutch would have translated into rapid mobility but she still wobbles and spastically slaps her crutches on the ground like some newborn fawn trying to stand for the very first time.
Shopping is an all day affair and you better pack a picnic lunch if she asks you to walk her to the mailbox and back. You may also want to take bail money because it’ll take the patience of a saint to not rip a crutch from her hands and fwap her about the head after enduring the symphony of grunts she releases with each step.
Alas, so long as she’s using crutches to get around, I’m patient. Walking at a pace slower than molasses running uphill in January is still better than watching her wheel around in a wheelchair because she’s too overburdened by the ACE bandage. Wheelchairs and motorized carts should be reserved for drunken teenagers and those who truly need it. Not for those who simply relish the convenience.
A few years ago we decided to venture out to the mall for a hellish day of shopping and my mom demanded that she have a wheelchair. I did all I could to talk her out of it, even offering to put her leg in a splint with makeshift pins and rods so she didn’t look like an over-privileged wuss. But it was to no avail, she needed someone to wheel her around the mall.
I was the first to volunteer. Not because I wanted to be the tender doting son, but rather because I wanted to teach her a lesson.
I wanted her wheelchair experience to be so terrifying and so unfulfilling that she’d never want to set her rear end in one again. I figured, outside the good Lord himself, if there’s anything that can inspire someone to walk again, it’s an afternoon with me behind the wheels.
Her first frightening experience was probably the most effective, even though it was totally by accident. Not realizing that you were supposed to back a wheelchair over a doorway’s threshold, I started jogging full boar towards the mall entrance to make sure I could get over the hump.
As we charged the doorways, her hair wafting wildly in the breeze, my mom started flailing her arms in a futile attempt to get me to “Stop! Stop! STOP!” To which I answered over the thunderous clinks and clangs, “Please keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times!”
The wheelchair continued to bounce over stone, crushing it into cinders, until BAM! The front wheels met the threshold head-on and let out an agonizing metallic ping, lurching the wheelchair forward through the doors. My mom endured a few harsh bounces but managed to stay seated thanks to her white-knuckled grip on the arm rails.
After our dramatic entrance into the mall, my mom casually brushed her hair back into place, and I let the games begin.
As we cruised around the mall, I noticed that the opportunities for annoyance were everywhere. I didn’t see wheelchair ramps, I saw racetracks, and I’m happy to report that my mom took the checkered flag in every “Wheelchair 500? event we participated in. There’s nothing like the freedom of nudging an opponent into a wall or drafting behind someone’s wheelchair before slingshotting around to take the lead. Those with real disabilities never stood a chance against the Queen of Feigned Despair.
Sure, she asked me to slow down, to not take curves so sharply, and to stop tailgating the handicapped, but what was she going to do? Ground me? Get up and chase me down the corridor? I told her we can always switch to crutches if she’s displeased with the job I’m doing.
Leaving her in the care of a skin care salesman was funny enough. As was circling the same kiosks and mall directory signs over and over and over again. But the pee-in-your-pants moments I treasure most are the times when she was actually stationary.
Like the time I slowly wheeled her into a giant rack of clothes at New York & Company and locked the brakes. You couldn’t see anything but the wheelchair handles and backsides of the wheels.
There were a few muffled, “Greg! Back me up!” calls from inside the rack, but I was too busy trying to control my bladder to acknowledge her. I left her there a good 10 minutes and simply remarked to the curious employee that, in addition to a wounded foot, she also has poor eyesight. Was the store going to deny her an equal opportunity to see the patterns?
In the food court, I turned her wheelchair around so that she was knee-to-wall about eight feet away from our table. I affixed her security brakes and explained that it was probably best that she not be forced to stare at the large number of amble people in the area. That would just be cruel.
I placed a tray of food in her lap and we proceeded to eat our lunch as best we could between hysterics. She’d strain to look over her shoulders to make sure we were all still sitting there, and refused to eat unless she was wheeled over to our table. The minutes passed and we all lost it when a distant defeated voice asked if she could have a drink.
As we made our exit from the mall I told her it might be faster if we just took the escalator. She freaked out, saying she’d tumble to the bottom because strollers weren’t allowed on escalators, let alone wheelchairs. I calmly explained that escalators were built for wheelchairs. Just look at how wide those steps are!
The trick, as I continued to say, was to spin her around on the platform so that the big fat wheels were on a lower step and the little wheels were on an upper. If all went to plan, she’d be level the entire ride and just casually coast into the aisle when she reached the bottom.
I walked her to the escalator despite her pleas and objections, spun her around, looked into her saucer-wide eyes, and said, “Seriously, relax. This should totally work. Just grip the handrails for balance.”
I never intended to actually try it, but after the day’s shenanigans, she had no reason to believe that I wouldn’t. I finally let her off the hook and we made our way to the wheelchair ramp. By this point, her now-rickety wheelchair was emitting all kinds of squeaks and rattles, so she asked that I take it easy.
Considering she gave birth to me and raised me, I find it surprising that she didn’t realize that asking me to take it easy is a sure-fire way to guarantee I don’t take it easy. I predictably flew down the ramps at Mach speeds and proceeded to bounce her out of the mall with a few popped wheelies and spins.
In the end, even with all I had done, the harrowing experience of having me behind the wheels just wasn’t enough to outbalance the servitude she enjoyed from the unwitting. At the time of this writing, she’s injury-free, and I’m sure she’ll remain this way until roughly the third week of December.
Which means I have a full six months to plan Wheelchairpalooza II.
It’s gonna be epic.

Defining Moments

The Fortitude to Face Any Adversity
Guest Post By: Nicole @ Moments That Define Life

I was watching One Tree Hill last night…..

What?

Don’t judge…it’s a good show….

{Ahem}

One of the characters made a comment that really resonated with me. He said that his Dad told him he had:

“The fortitude to face any adversity”

That truly hit at the core of how I try to live my life – to have the fortitude to face any adversity.

Challenges and adversity are a part of life. Some of us encounter adversity on a more frequent basis or we are dealing with it on a daily basis. It’s the cards we are sometimes dealt and with that, we get to choose how it defines us.

We can choose.

When I first came across Priscilla’s blog, I was in awe of her whole approach to life. I felt a connection to her because she lives life as I always strive to live it. She faces her challenges head on and chooses to live her life with positivity, grace and no nonsense honesty.

That to me is awe-inspiring.

I firmly believe it’s how we handle the simplest of moments to the most daunting of life’s challenges that ultimately define our happiness. But we have to choose the positive. We have to choose to cope with our challenges in a healthy way and not let it derail our ultimate goals in life. Perhaps those goals will be tweaked and adapted based on circumstance, but we should not be derailed altogether by those challenges. Perhaps certain aspects of our life will be delayed a bit, but the personal goals should always remain.

I also think it’s important that when faced with adversity, we allow ourselves the proper emotions that it brings, because it may warrant frustration, sadness or anger – but then I challenge you as I challenge myself to choose the positive over the negative when you feel the negative taking over. I challenge you to see that tomorrow is an opportunity to start anew with a fresh perspective on your day, and if you fail today at maintaining that perspective – then try again tomorrow until you get yourself there. Sometimes we have to take life one day at a time and even one minute at a time on those really rough days – but believe me when I tell you that …

You have the fortitude to face any adversity.

quirky momma

I met Rachel at Bloggy Boot Camp – Austin, back in October. We were actually roomies. :) She is just as sweet as can be and her little girl was precious. She carried her around in the most beautiful wrap. Today she tells us how she makes them!! (and how YOU can too)

Please make sure you stop by and visit Rachel on her awesome Preschool Activities Blog.
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How to Make a Moby Wrap.

Would you love to have several beautiful Moby wraps but find that they are just too expensive?-They are super, super easy to make! All you need are scissors and the ability to cut fabric in a straight line. Its really that simple! The secret to a comfy wrap is the fabric. You’ll want to look for fabric that is “interlock” this basically means that it is a stretchy, knitted fabric that is made in such a way that the edges do not fray. As the edges of the fabric don’t fray, this wrap does not require any sewing skills in order to create it. Really, it is incredibly simple!

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How to make your own moby wrap:

 

You’ll want to get 5-6 yards of interlock fabric.  Each batch of fabric can create 2-3 wraps.   You will want to cut your fabric into long strips.  I folded the fabric like a hotdog.  The width of each strip needs to be a minimum of 16 inches wide (I have some as wide as 25 inches – but they are more bulky).  I laid my fabric out on our couch to help contain the yardage as I cut them.  Viola!  You now have 2-3 moby wraps!..

 

How to wrap your baby:

You can see Rachel’s Original post HERE on her awesome Preschool Activities Blog.

Life out of Focus: Becky

I met Becky on Twitter last fall when I was preparing for Bloggy Boot Camp. She was hoping to attend and we were going to be roomies. Plans for that feel through but we’ve stayed twitter/blog friends. She and her girls are absolutely beautiful.

Please make sure you stop by Becky’s blog, Life Out of Focus.

….

Grateful

I’m one of those people who, for the most part, have had a pretty great adult life. My childhood had a lot of “eh” moments, but my life since I’ve been married has pretty much gone according to plan. We got married young, like we wanted. We had our first daughter, Hannah, when I was 21 and The Man was 23. Young. We wanted a young family. Back then, after I had Hannah, I knew I had to go back to work after having her. I was okay with that. We were a young couple and we had just built a house. Money was tight. So I worked. The Man worked. His mom kept Hannah while we did this. Six years later Livie came along and when I was pregnant with her I begged to stay home with her. We were more settled. But after evaluating our finances there was just no way it would work out. So I went back to work after having her with a very heavy heart. It killed me to leave Livie every day. I wanted to be home with her…bonding with her…spending my days with her and not missing any moments as I had with Hannah for years.

Finally, in April, my dream came true. I was able to quit my job and stay home with Livie all day long. Hannah’s in school but once summer comes, she’ll be home with us all day too. I can’t even begin to describe what this has done for all of us. I feel better emotionally and physically. And although Hannah IS in school, I love that I’m the one that drives her there and picks her up. I love that I get to hear her after school chatter on the way home. I like to ask her about her day when the school day is over and not hours later as I got home from work. I love being more present. My laundry is caught up for the first time in years. My house isn’t a disaster all week long. I can tell Livie is happier with me home with her all day. Hannah has told me she loves that I quit my job and I’m home more. I feel like I can finally make up for some of the time I spent away from Hannah all those years.

The thing is, I see clearer now. I thought that being gone at work all day made me less of a mom in some ways. Sure, it was my own mental battle because deep down I knew that that wasn’t true. There are so many things that make you a mom…not to mention that I’m not JUST a mom but a wife, sister, friend, daughter…etc. I never wanted to be defined as JUST a mom. I never wanted my blog to be defined as a mommy blog. What I’m seeing now though is that it IS a mommy blog for the most part. And although I’m not JUST a mom, most of the aspects of my life revolve around being a mom now that I’m not working.

And? I’m okay with that. I’m actually very happy about it because that’s exactly what I wanted.

Something else though? It’s okay to NOT just be a mom. It’s okay to be a mom AND a lawyer…or a mom AND a secretary…or a mom AND a waitress. It’s okay to be lots of different things and STILL be a mom. Moms come in so many different packages and at the end of the day, our kids know they’re loved and we can go to bed at night happy knowing that whether we were the ones home with them all day or they were at school or daycare or with a family member or a nanny…they were loved. Someone hugged them. Someone kissed them.Someone loved them while we were away.

I worked for 9 1/2 years at that job before I quit. For 8 years of Hannah’s life and 2 years of Livie’s I’m grateful that someone else hugged and kissed my babies while I worked all day. They were loved. And now? That gets to be me. It’s finally my turn.

Grateful. So, so grateful.

 

 

Please welcome my guests

Hello!!!

Tomorrow would have been my scheduled c-section but Nathan had other plans and he will be 9 days old!! Wow! I can’t believe how this week has FLOWN by. Everything has been mostly wonderful and our transition better than I could have hoped for. His brother’s are IN-LOVE. BIG TIME!

I plan to take a blogging break in the month of July (and part of August).

I’ll be posting pictures on facebook (and maybe one or two blog posts) but I want to enjoy the first few weeks and it’ll be easier to adjust if I put a few things on the back burner.

I’ll make sure that a few posts are in the que and SURPRISE, SURPRISE….

I have  guest posts lined up for ever Tuesday and Thursday in July and August!! Mark your calendars. You do not want to miss a single post.

I asked some awesome bloggers to help keep things moving and they said yes. I tried for diversity to make it fun.

Thank you again for stopping by to read and thank you SO SO SO SO much to my guest posters. I can not thank you enough.

 

I will get my birth story to you and I have a children’s book review (with a giveaway) coming as well!

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