Have Your Cake and Eat It, Too?

Today I'm guest posting over at Carrie with Children. I'm the featured "Tuesday Traveler", talking about my wonderful home on the Gulf Coast - Fairhope, Alabama. Although my post is geared toward visiting, it's also a great place to call home. Be sure to head over there and check it out. But before you do, take a few minutes to see what I have to say below about Mandi Ehman's new e-book How to Have Your Cake and Eat It, Too.





This blog is a labor of love. As nice as it would be to be able to make money from blogging, my efforts here are - first, foremost, and always - about inspiration, encouragement, education, and advocacy. When I was contacted recently about reviewing Mandi Ehman's new e-book, How to Have Your Cake and Eat It, Too, I was initially a little bit hesitant, as I wasn't sure that either reading or reviewing her book "fit" with my purpose. However, I've had her website, Life...Your Way in my Google Reader for awhile now, and I've gained so much from it that I decided to go ahead.

First, Mandi's description of the book (emphasis mine):

It’s not a list of work-at-home opportunities.
It’s not about the tax or legal implications of working at home.
It’s not a hyped-up self-help book that’s going to leave you excited without a realistic picture of what working at home entails.

What it is is encouragement that pursuing your passion is worth the hard work and effort it takes. In fact, I believe everybody in the family benefits when Mom pursues her passion, despite — or maybe because of — the sacrifices that are made along the way.

It’s a handbook to give you the tools to juggle your many responsibilities and to do it with intentionality rather than living under the burden of mommy guilt.

Although the book is geared toward aspiring "mom-preneurs" who want to build work-at-home businesses, most of the lessons to be learned from Mandi's book can be universally applied. How to Have Your Cake and Eat It, Too, at its core, isn't really about business at all - it's about managing your family life while pursuing your passion.

I wasn't sure if Mandi's book would be terribly beneficial to me, but it absolutely was. On the one hand, Mandi talked about finding your passion in a way that was both inspiring and realistic. However, she also provided real world tips for managing your home and family while doing so. Inspiring and practical are adjectives that rarely mesh well together in books of this type, so it's refreshing and it works. If you have any interest in becoming a work-at-home mom or just simply want to learn how to pursue your passion without sacrificing your sanity (waving hand wildly in the air!), I'd encourage you to check it out.

The e-book is priced at $12, but you can use the link below to learn more and (bonus!) receive a coupon code for the book for $3 off:

Click here to view more details

Disclosure: I was provided with a free copy of How to Have Your Cake and Eat It, Too for review. The opinions expressed here, however, are mine alone, and this review was not read or edited by anyone else prior to posting. If you purchase a book through the links provided on this page, I will receive a portion of the purchase price.

Just One Mom

Did you miss my "Just One Mom" post in honor of my own mother?  It was posted on Bringing the Sunshine yesterday!  Please update your bookmarks, RSS feeds, and email subscriptions to my new site.

Recently, my mom was asked to speak at a kick-off breakfast for National Child Abuse Prevention Month. A retired elementary school teacher, she was chosen because she has been volunteering as a Court Appointed Juvenile Advocate (CAJA) for several years.  She shared her speech with me, for reasons you'll see in a moment, but I thought it was so powerful that I asked her if I could reprint it here.

My mom is just one person, but she's one person who saw a need and decided to do what she could to fill it, and she is making a difference in the lives of children in her area.  She does it because she believes, as I do, that all children are valuable and all children should be celebrated and nurtured.



CAJA Speech: April 1, 2011

Thank you for allowing me to share my personal experience as a CAJA volunteer.

Dec. 27, 2002 was a very exciting and a very scary day for me.

It was exciting because it was the day that my first grandchild was born.

It was scary because Sarah Kate was born 2 ½ months early.
She was only 15 inches long and she weighed only 2lbs. 9oz.

The first time I saw her, she hardly looked like a baby at all.
She was covered from head to toe with wires and tubes.
Her little legs and arms were no bigger around than my fingers. Every vein in her head was visible, because she was so thin.

She stayed in the NICU for almost 2 months and was finally discharged from the hospital at a whopping 3 lbs and 14 oz! And then WOW! When she got home and she started receiving her parents’ tender loving care, she really began to thrive!

Now I know that you’re probably wondering why I am telling you this story about my granddaughter when I’m supposed to be talking about CAJA.

There are 2 reasons.

The first reason is because Sarah Kate was my inspiration for becoming a CAJA volunteer.  During that agonizing time, when Sarah Kate was so fragile, I begged God to save her life and I promised Him that in the future I would do something special for children. I asked God to give me a sign – just show me what he wanted me to do. He gave me an answer almost immediately.

There was an article in the Sand Mountain Reporter about CAJA and a new training course that was coming up.
--- It told about how CAJAs work with children – I knew I could do that, I had taught 1st grade for 27 years.
--- It said CAJAs wrote reports for the court – I knew I could do that, I could spell and punctuate and make my subjects and verbs agree.
--- Then it said CAJAs conduct interviews and testify in court – Whoa! I’m basically shy around strangers and easily intimidated by strong lawyerly types. I didn’t know if I could do that or not. But --- I knew somebody who could.

I called my friend Jenny. Now Jenny is a retired school counselor and college recruiter who just oozes with confidence and charisma. I started telling Jenny about CAJA and she stopped me – she said, “You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve already been thinking about doing CAJA work; I have their application on my desk right now.” I had asked God for a sign – I felt like He had placed a 30 ft. X 40 ft. billboard right in my front yard with flashing neon lights that said “CAJA! CAJA! CAJA!”.

So Jenny and I signed up, completed our 40 hours of training, and we have been working together on CAJA cases for almost 8 years.

My second reason for telling you about my granddaughter is that I want to contrast Sarah Kate’s life with the lives of actual children that Jenny and I have worked with.
You need to know that Sarah Kate is now 8 years old and she has cerebral palsy in her legs because of brain damage related to her premature birth.
She can walk, but her gait is awkward, she tires easily, her balance is poor, and she falls a lot.
She can not run or jump like other children.
She has had surgery on her spine to help relieve some of the spasticity in her legs, and will likely have other surgeries in the future.
She wears braces during the day and casts at night.
She has been in physical therapy continuously since she was 9 months old.
But… Sarah Kate is one of the happiest, most well-adjusted children you will ever meet. How can this be? I believe it is because she was born into a stable, loving, supportive family.

Many children, even though they may not have been born with physical or mental disabilities, have disabilities nevertheless because of the neglect and abuse that they have endured. I have changed the names, but the children I’m going to tell you about and the conditions they live in are real. For illustration purposes, please allow me to contrast their lives with Sarah Kate’s life.

1. Sarah Kate has two parents, both living.
The four Hall children lost their father in an accident at work. Their mother could not take care of four children by herself and was forced to give them up.

2. Sarah Kate’s parents are married.
Marcus’s mother wasn’t married to his father - he doesn’t even know who his father is.

3. Both of Sarah Kate’s parents live in the home with her.
Sandy’s mom and dad are in prison.

4. Sarah Kate’s father has a well-paying job, which allows Sarah Kate’s mother to be a stay-at-home mom, and take care of Sarah Kate’s special needs.
Kelly’s father has a job too, but he is tired of paying child support for her, so he is having his parental rights terminated. Kelly’s mother doesn’t have a job, unless you call prostitution a career.

5. Sarah Kate lives in a nice home in a safe neighborhood.
Morgan was homeless, living in a car, traveling from state to state, as her teenage parents tried to escape shoplifting charges.

6. Sarah Kate always has nutritious food to eat and clean clothes to wear.
Katherine’s parents withheld food and hid her clothes to torture her.

7. Sarah Kate receives praise and rewards for good behavior and for misbehavior she receives lectures, time out, or restriction of the TV, DVD, Wii, DS, or iPod.
Karen’s parents think that appropriate discipline is cursing her, slapping her, and humiliating her by shaving her head, and Derrick’s parents just overdose him on cough medicine
when they don’t want to be bothered with him.

8. Sarah Kate has attended the same school during her kindergarten, 1st and 2nd grade years. She is excelling in all academic areas and has developed some very strong
friendships.
Connie has attended 6 different schools in less than 2 years as she has been shifted around between various foster homes and group homes. Her grades are suffering and she doesn’t feel that she has any friends anymore.

9. There is no domestic violence in Sarah Kate’s home. Her parents love and respect each other very much.
Connie’s and Darren’s father beat their mother regularly for many years until he was finally convicted for assault. Their mother still suffers both physically and emotionally from the years of abuse. So do the children.

10. Sarah Kate’s parents do not have any mental illnesses.
Derrick’s stepmother has schizophrenia; Eric’s mother is bipolar; and Sandy’s mother has Alzheimer’s.

11. Sarah Kate’s parents do not abuse alcohol or drugs.
In almost every family that Jenny and I have worked with, alcohol or drug abuse have played a major role in the neglect or abuse of the children.

12. Sarah Kate has a wonderful network of support beyond her immediate family – grandparents and an aunt and uncle who are very active in her life; a loving church ; close family friends and neighbors.
Janie doesn’t have anyone to depend on except her mother and her mother is often not dependable.

13. And finally, Sarah Kate has a bright future. Her parents are saving - a lot! - for her college education. At this point, they think that she might become a veterinarian.
Most of the children we work with don’t think much about the future – they are too scarred by their pasts and struggling to survive their present.

Now I don’t want to give the impression that I think Sarah Kate’s family is immune to problems -- I know that a catastrophic illness or accident, loss of a job, a natural disaster, lots of things could happen to them and throw them into crisis just like any other family. I just hope that there would be someone, maybe a CAJA, who would be there to help.

I also don’t want to give the impression that Jenny and I create perfect worlds for our CAJA kids to live in. We don’t. The family problems are complex and the solutions are not easy. But we work to try to find the best possible living conditions for our kids given their circumstances. We strive to see that our kids have their needs met, that they are safe, that they are loved and respected as all children should be. We want to see them thrive during their childhood and make steady progress toward a successful adulthood. And, of course, we don’t do this alone - we are just one part of a team that includes DHR, GALs, judges, and other support personnel.



Working as a CAJA volunteer has been one of the most rewarding things I have ever done. I am proud to be a part of this organization. We are 70,000 strong nationwide and growing every day. CAJA is a powerful voice in a child’s life. I believe that CAJA will become even more relevant in the years to come as our nation struggles with poverty, drug abuse, domestic violence, sexual crimes, illegal immigration, and other social issues.

Thank you for allowing me to share with you today.

I would like to close by borrowing a quote, author unknown.

“While on my life’s journey, one day passing by, I saw a small child…bruised, dirty, and hungry. I became very angry and I asked God ‘How could you permit this? Why don’t you do something about it?’

God remained silent. Then in a while He quietly said…

‘I did do something…I Made You!’ ”

For more information on CAJA/CASA programs, visit http://www.casaforchildren.org/

Happy Mother's Day

As I've been saying for a few weeks, I'm be migrating this blog over to a new site with a new name, Bringing the Sunshine. More information will be provided this week about why I'm making this change. In the meantime, please update your bookmarks, RSS feeds, and email subscriptions by visiting my new site.


Yesterday's Happy Mother's Day post on Bringing the Sunshine:

No Sun-Beams this week! Instead, I'm sharing a few photos of the Best. Mom. Ever. with you. Happy Mother's Day!

Wednesdays Are My Mondays

In the coming weeks, I'll be migrating this blog over to a new site with a new name, Bringing the Sunshine. Currently, I am posting on both sites, but I will begin posting exclusively on Bringing the Sunshine soon.  More information will be provided soon about why I'm making this change. In the meantime, please update your bookmarks, RSS feeds, and email subscriptions by visiting my new site.


Unlike most people, I don't hate Mondays.

On Monday, I've got the whole week ahead of me to do what needs doing.

On Monday, I start to regain order in the house after the chaos of the weekend.

On Monday, I am (usually) more well-rested than on any other weekday.

I don't hate Mondays.  It's Wednesdays that I have a problem with.

Wednesday is Laundry Day.

Wednesday is the day that I check my To Do List for the week and realize there is no way I'm getting it all done.

Today is Wednesday.

Today, Sarah Kate got up complaining that her ears hurt.  I told her she was fine, mumbled something about The Boy Who Cried Wolf, and sent her on to school, only to receive a phone call from the school nurse a few hours later.

Today, Mr. Andi called to tell me that because of the severe storms in the northern part of the state last night, he may need to take one of his crews and go up there to work for several days to restore power.

Today, I was smiling to myself (while I folded the laundry) because I heard the sound of the Roomba starting her cycle.  I meandered toward the sound, expecting to surprise my sweet boy, who would squeal and clap, causing me to laugh at his clever antics.  Instead, I found him sitting on the laundry room floor eating dryer lint he had pulled out of the garbage can.

Wednesdays are my Mondays.

A Good Thing

In the coming weeks, I'll be migrating this blog over to a new site with a new name, Bringing the Sunshine. Currently, I am posting on both sites, but I will begin posting exclusively on Bringing the Sunshine soon.  More information will be provided soon about why I'm making this change. In the meantime, please update your bookmarks, RSS feeds, and email subscriptions by visiting my new site.


October 1998: I returned from the pharmacy where I had filled a prescription of horse-sized pain medication; I had swallowed the first bitter pill without water as I walked up the store's aisle to leave. The doctor had said the pain of miscarriage was like a difficult period, but he was wrong. Desperate for comfort, I called Mr. Andi, even though he had just started a new job and couldn't leave work.  He didn't want me to be alone, so he called my dad to come stay with me. My dad walked out of his business meeting without explanation and drove directly to the house, where he found me in the bed, half-clothed, with my hair partially wet from the hot soak I'd taken earlier. It didn't matter what the doctor called it, I knew I was in labor. Labor without the happy ending.


July 1999: In June, Mr. Andi and I were looking eagerly forward to up-sizing our family from two members to three. In just two weeks' time, we had gone from ecstatic to devastated; our baby girl was not going to survive. Triploidy. Chromosomal disorder - like Down syndrome, but much worse, they said. And then - hemorrhage. Dangerously low blood pressure. Nurse yelling to "Get the G-dd-mn doctor NOW!" Labor again - complicated and life threatening - and still no happy ending.


December 2002: Another hemorrhage, this time in the middle of the night, and our baby wasn't due until March. Mr. Andi put his head in his hands and said simply, "I can't do this again." Five days later, after all interventions had been exhausted, our tiny baby was born and placed in a plastic box with a bundle of wires and tubes. We worried that she might die, like the two that came before her, but she didn't. She grew and grew and became a lively, vivacious young girl. A young girl with cerebral palsy. Labor for a third time, this time with a near miss.

March 2010: I was pregnant again, unexpectedly, and due in April. Our family of three piled into the car and headed to the hospital where we would soon become a family of four. An IV, an epidural, a brightly lit operating room, and then a beautiful sound - my son's first cry - filled the room. A few moments later, a visit from the on-call pediatrician. Down syndrome. Mr. Andi was clearly devastated. At first, I couldn't take it in. I calmly asked questions, then made a phone call to my sister.


Today: It's been over a year now since my son was born.  For a long time I waited for the other shoe to drop - I expected a massive workboot of Down syndrome to one day kick me in the teeth and cause me to collapse in grief over the death of my dreams for my son. But the boot never came. Yes, my baby has Down syndrome. No, it is not a tragedy. My son is happy, healthy, and beautiful.


Motherhood has taught me that life is not perfect, but it is valuable. I have two angels in Heaven, and two here on Earth. Sending those angels to Heaven was painful, both physically and emotionally. But my angels in Heaven led me to this place - this wonderful, beautiful place in life - where I can more deeply love and appreciate my two angels on Earth.


That's a good thing.

A Beach, A Booth, and a Moment of Clarity

In the coming weeks, I'll be migrating this blog over to a new site with a new name, Bringing the Sunshine. More information will be provided soon about why I'm making this change. In the meantime, you can visit my new site now at http://www.bringingthesunshine.com.

This week is spring break, and as luck would have it, my dad and stepmom came down to the beach for a few days for a conference. My former-school-administrator dad now works for an architect, marketing their services to schools, so he was manning a vendor booth between sessions. They came through and picked up Sarah Kate for a couple of days, and Nathan and I joined them for the day on Monday.

As I was packing up all of the required baby necessities - diapers, wipes, foods appropriate for a one-tooth wonder - I couldn't help but think that this little excursion wasn't worth it. After all, I'd be relegated to a shady spot, working to contain my little Tasmanian devil so he wouldn't crawl into the pool. Add to that the fact that my dad would probably only occasionally be able to break free from his booth to visit, and it just seemed like a hassle.

We made the trek over and had lunch around the pool. Sarah Kate had a hankering to go to the souvenir shop down the road. My dad wanted us to stop by his booth before we left, as he wanted to go with us but wasn't sure if he'd be able to get away.

When we walked into the exhibit hall, I felt a tad bit self-conscious because I was still wearing my swimsuit, cover-up, and flippies. I didn't worry too much about it, however, because I didn't expect to know anyone, as the vendors were from all over the state and mostly people involved with construction and plant maintenance. We approached my Dad's booth, but he wasn't in it, so Sarah Kate, Nathan, and I ventured a bit further into the room to see if we could find him.

As we pushed forward, I saw it - a corner booth with my former employer's logo. Several marketing people - people I'd once been - stood casually around the booth. Although I hadn't seen them in eight years, I recognized their faces immediately, and from the flashing smiles of recognition I realized that they knew me, too.

There were smiles and how-are-yous all around, and one person in particular, a former colleague named Ken, came from around the table to give me a quick hug and chat for a few minutes. I told him how I happened to be there (spring break, living in the area now, dad in town, etc.), flashed my brightest "I-used-to-be-in-sales smile", and introduced him to my kids. After a few minutes, I spotted my dad, said my goodbyes, and walked away with my two kids in tow.

Over the past eight years, I've often mourned the career that I left behind. I've fought the image of myself as a stay-at-home-mom. I've filled my time with volunteer work to keep my career skills up-to-date. But as I walked away from the booth - this brief snapshot of what might have been - I felt oddly relieved not to be working there anymore. Ken had joked that I could easily pick up right where I left off, and I recoiled at the thought of it. Yes, I could, but I don't want that anymore.

Yes, it would be nice to have more money. Yes, I'd like to be able to hire someone to clean my house instead of doing it all myself. Yes, I do often long for adult interaction. But if I still worked full-time, I wouldn't have as many chances to take fun photos of my baby as he grows. I wouldn't be able to clear my calendar for a spur-of-the-moment day at the beach. And I wouldn't be able to take my boy and the dog for a leisurely walk down by the bay on weekday mornings.

A dear friend once told me, eight years ago when I first said goodbye to my job, "a bad day at home is better than a good day at work". While I'm not absolutely convinced that she was right, I do know that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Circle of Moms - Inspiring Families

I want to take some time today to thank everyone who voted for my blog on CircleofMoms.com's Top 25 Most Inspiring Families. I received an email over the weekend letting me know that I made the final list!

The Top 25 Most Inspiring Families blog list will be featured on Circle of Mom's new resource, The RoundUp, in a few weeks. All of the Top 25 blogs will be showcased on The RoundUp with a short interview and photo of me (speaking of which, does anyone have a good photo of me that I can send in?!?!?)

I am so appreciative of your support. This little blog is a labor of love for me, and it's just icing on the cake to be able to share it with others.

Set Apart: A Primer for The Typical Folks (Full Text)

After the surprising response to my guest post on Beth's page, I've had a number of people contact me asking if they could link or repost my article. Because of that, I'm reposting the piece in full here. Feel free to link up, share, or quote if you like (I'd appreciate a nod to my blog if you do). The full article can also be found on my new site, Bringing the Sunshine.

Set Apart: A Primer for The Typical Folks

Unless you had the benefit of growing up with a disabled friend or family member, I bet you can relate to this scenario: you spot someone in a wheelchair, using a walker, missing a limb, or (fill in the blank).  You want to be nice, so you try to make sure that you don’t give the impression that you’re staring (which often means you look away), and then you are, of course, mortified when your child points and says “What’s wrong with her?!?”  You turn red from embarrassment, panicking because you don’t know what to do now, then shush your kid and give them an impromptu lesson in politeness that they almost certainly don’t understand because they didn’t think they were being rude – they were just curious.  Can you relate?

Both of my children are “differently-abled.”  My daughter, Sarah Kate, has cerebral palsy.  Although she’s made great progress over the years, she still has a distinctive gait that isn’t “normal”.  My son, Nathan, has Down syndrome.  Although he has yet to miss any developmental milestones, his distinctive facial features announce to the world that he is also different.  We’ve encountered a broad range of reactions from people over the years, but the scenario I described above is pretty common.

So if you’re in that situation, what should you do?

I can’t speak for all parents with special kids, but I always like it when people ask questions.  It gives me a chance to advocate for my child, and educate kids on disabilities.  So if you’re ever around my differently-abled kids (or others), I want you to remember something:  You don’t need to feel awkward.  Feel free to ask questions about my children’s conditions and the progress they’re making.  If you know us, invite us to do things – we’ll let you know if we can’t.  Don’t worry that you have to figure out all the details for us – we know the drill.

And while we’re on the subject, don’t look away when you see someone who is “differently-abled.”  Instead, look us right in the eye and flash us a big smile.  Many people don’t take the time to look at our children and see the person instead of the diagnosis.  And that goes for us moms, too – people try not to look at us, either, which means that we often feel invisible, and are often lonely to boot.

Don't look away.  Smile.  Ask questions.

But that's the easy stuff. Now I want to dig a little deeper.

From my experience, and from talking with other parents of children with special needs, there are a few other things that a lot of people do and say that we aren’t so fond of.  Actually, some of these we hate. Really hate.  I’ve prepared a list for you of the Top 5 things I’d rather not hear.

1.  “God only gives special children to special people.  You must be really special.”

That’s really nice, and I appreciate the sentiment, but… What exactly makes me more special than another parent? I’m kinda lazy. I swear. Often. I avoid my daughter’s school field trips like the plague. Room mom? Never!

Everybody loves a compliment, but the truth is that I’m not special and I’m not amazing. I’m just a mom. If there is anything at all about me that is special, it's because I was given special kids, not the other way around.

2.  “You are so much stronger than me.  I don’t know how you do it.  I couldn’t handle it.”

Again, I realize it's spoken with the best of intentions, but let me let you in on a little secret:  when it comes to your babies, whatever it is, you handle it.  The only other option is to crawl into the fetal position and pretend it’s not happening.  But you can’t live that way, so you will have to eventually get up off the floor and face it, because your babies are counting on you.

3.  “I’m so sorry”, or worse, The Pity Stare

Let me let you in on another secret:  A lot of us special mommas actually feel sorry for parents of typical kids because they miss out on being a part of our community. When your kids achieve things, it’s not really a big deal (after that first kid, anyway).  Everything's a big deal in our house!

Yes, there are times that our life is tough.  Yes, there are times we wish we were like you.  But just because we have this Thing – this highly visible challenge – doesn’t mean that our lives are sad or tragic, and or that our children’s lives are sad or tragic.

The thing is, no one is perfect - we all have flaws. Throughout life, we each choose how much we will reveal our flaws to those around us. People with disabilities have awesome strengths. The main difference is that they can't hide their weaknesses like the rest of us.

4.  Critical statements about our parenting choices (includes dirty looks)

Sadly, there are a lot of less-than-stellar parents in the world.  But before you make a really loud comment while standing in the line for the Pirates of the Caribbean ride about how strollers aren’t allowed, stop to think that maybe that stroller is being used as a wheelchair for a little girl who doesn’t have the stamina to stand in line for 45 minutes to see Jack Sparrow.

Occasionally, we do benefit from our specialness.  But much more often, we are like salmon swimming upstream. Please don’t begrudge us the opportunity to do things that typical families do, and cut us some slack if every once in a blue moon we actually have it a touch easier than you do.

5.  "That’s so retarded!” or “What a retard!”

I'm sure that many people who use the r-word probably don't ever consider how what they are saying affects people with intellectual disabilities, their families, and friends - I get that.  When questioned, people will often say "...but I didn't mean..." and I’m sure that’s true.  The bottom line, though, is that the r-word is never used to describe something or someone in a positive way. Retarded is never a compliment.

If you use the r-word, please stop. If a friend or family member uses the r-word, help them to understand why it's hurtful.

Differently-abled children (and their parents) have dreams, just like you do.  We also need friends and love, just like you do.  We are more like you than we are different.

Don’t let the tiny things that distinguish us, separate us.

This blog has moved! To continue reading, please visit us at BringingtheSunshine.com.

Four Things I Learned While Spring Cleaning

Three years ago, Mr. Andi accepted a job here in Mayberry, about 350 miles from where we were living. We moved our (then) family of three into a rental house with just the essentials while we tried to sell our house. Several months later, we did sell it but closed the week of Christmas, which meant extremely rushed packing and very limited purging.

Several weeks later, in early 2009, we moved into our current home. I spent the first few months getting things in pseudo-order, and not long after became pregnant with Nathan. Nine-ish months of nausea and reflux transitioned into an infant's first year, so the purging was delayed further.

A couple of weeks ago I decided that now that I was finally feeling well enough and the baby was "easy" enough I could get to work decluttering, purging, and adding some "final touches" that I hadn't gotten around to yet. I've accomplished a lot (with more to do), but in addition to having a New and Improved living space, I've learned a few things along the way.

My freshly decluttered closet

1. Old clothes that don't fit anymore don't inspire me - they just depress me. I'm 41, not 21, and I think I look pretty good for my age (when I actually fix my hair, put on makeup, and wear something other than T-shirts, anyway). My body didn't change a lot when I had Sarah Kate, mostly because I missed most of the third trimester, but it did with Nathan. There's no sense in making myself uncomfortable or sad over a little pooch in my belly. My boy's sweet smile is worth having that pooch.


2. My life has changed drastically since I became a mom. In our file cabinet I found old work evaluations, grade reports from graduate school, and my LSAT score report. In December of 2002, I was working in energy marketing, part of an executive mentoring program at my company, and applying to law school. By May of 2003, I had put aside all of those things to stay at home with Sarah Kate. Occasionally I do miss my career, but I've never regretted leaving it behind.

My new "cloffice"

3. Cluttered surroundings equate to a cluttered mind. I've been struggling for a few months most of the last year to keep up with what I need to do and when I need to do it. I've chalked it up to new baby + old age, but I don't think that's the whole story. It's been frustrating at times because I've felt like I was never acting, only reacting, in my daily life. Now that I've decluttered and reorganized, I feel like I've got a better handle on things.


4. Giving doesn't just feel good - it's also really easy. I know lots of people prefer to use a yard sale or consignment shop to help clean out their closets and make a little money back (and there's nothing wrong with that). As for me, I'd rather drop my things at the crisis pregnancy center or the Goodwill and know that I've done something for people in need.

Have you done any spring cleaning lately? Take a minute to tell me what you learned (or found!) when you did.

This blog has moved! To continue reading, please visit us at BringingtheSunshine.com.

At a Loss for Words

This morning, I'm speechless.  Yesterday I did a guest post over at Our Typical Life, based on a portion of the speech I gave in Atlanta a few weeks ago.  The response to it was astonishing.  As of this moment, the post has over 70 comments, and a few people also made their way over here to comment or email me directly.  The post was also featured yesterday on Wordpress.com's "Freshly Pressed" page.  The reaction to "Set Apart: A Primer for the Typical Folks" has been overwhelmingly positive.  Some of the commenters are individuals who either have disabilities themselves or are the friend or family member of someone who does.  Also among the commenters were advocates and educators, "typical" moms, and at least one childless individual.  There were also several people who feel "different" - including someone suffering from mental illness and a graduated homeschooler.  Here's a sampling of what people had to say:


Oh, this post. The top 5 things…I hear them practically every day and they annoy me even more every time. I love this post so much. I could have written every word of the list and how you feel about it! So great to know those feelings are shared. - j's momma


I love this quote from you:

“Differently-abled children (and their parents) have dreams, just like you do. We also need friends and love, just like you do. We are more like you than we are different.”

So Profound! Keep up the good work with this blog because it will help others to look at things differently! - Lisa

This post speaks to MOMS, all moms, period. There is no mother who doesn’t want her children to be accepted and loved, for them to thrive and grow. Thank you so much for sharing this, and speaking to the heart of women who love their children  - Tori Nelson

You tell ‘em! You have said everything I often have thought and felt when in the presence of differently abled children and their parents. They are blessed to have you as a mother as much as you are blessed to have them as children. - atticannie

I will completely confess…I needed this post. I am really in tune with connecting and sensitivity to ethnic and racial cultural difference but I don’t have a clue about the culture and community of the disabled. This was excellent in it’s practicality and helping those of us who are willing but clueless. - Marilyn

All I can say is I wish you had been my parent when I was growing up!

As a child the worst was the pity stare, or its counterpoint being ignored. People would often make me feel as if I just wasn’t there because they refused to “see” my disability. I like and have used the term differently-abled for years., I am glad to see it get some press. As a differently-abled mother I thank you for seeing your children this way. Let me tell you the best is when people ask me about my hand or leg( I have CP). Education is the best way to dispell the myth surrounding the differences in people and it starts with children. My daughter(now an adult) never stopped being my advocate to her friends-which was so often touching-so it can work, people can change. Thanks for that. - ancientfoods

This has made an impression on me…and has helped me in realizing how to relate to people who have special needs or have children with special needs. Thankyou - Bonnie Marie

Your children are BEAUTIFUL and thank you for enlightening well-meaning others. I grew up with a seriously disabled and disfigured younger brother [think Elephant Man and you get an idea]. I feel for others when their children ask the obvious, “What’s wrong with him?” but you are so right. A simple, “I don’t know, let’s ask why he has such special differences.” is all it takes. Like you said, just ask. We all want to answer, to inform, and to eliminate the fear. I hope folks listen to you. Bless you all with love and laughter. - Elizabeth Godwin Sayle

Wow. So incredibly well-written. We may all be at fault in some way or other in such situations- especially when explaining to kids. This was really enlightening and very important to hear. Your children are beautiful, G-d bless you guys. Congrats on freshly pressed- This was a wonderful article to share with the world.

We all must promote change- thank you for helping clarify and teaching us the way. - rye katcher

I was floored.  I started this blog as an outlet for me, but I've kept it up (and hope to grow it in the future) in part because I've had a number of people tell me that it taught them something or encouraged them in some way.  I wish I could say that I have a Grand Plan for my blog, but I don't.  I'm working on developing some structure, but I haven't even achieved that yet.  


What I discovered through this post (other than that I probably ought to consider moving from Blogger to Wordpress!) is that I Have Important Things to Say.  So even when I'm at a loss for words, I need to keep talking.


If you'd like to read more of the comments, you can do so over at the post on Beth's page.

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Set Apart: A Primer for The Typical Folks

Today I'm guest-blogging over at Our Typical Life.  Beth and I have struck up an unlikely friendship this year (unlikely because she's a good bit younger than me and lives in Minnesota - BRRRR!!!)  based on our love of photography and children with Down syndrome (not in that order).  Following is a taste of what I'm saying over there:

Unless you had the benefit of growing up with a disabled friend or family member, I bet you can relate to this scenario: you spot someone in a wheelchair, using a walker, missing a limb, or (fill in the blank).  You want to be nice, so you try to make sure that you don’t give the impression that you’re staring (which often means you look away), and then you are, of course, mortified when your child points and says “What’s wrong with her?!?”  You turn red from embarrassment, panicking because you don’t know what to do now, then shush your kid and give them an impromptu lesson in politeness that they almost certainly don’t understand because they didn’t think they were being rude – they were just curious.  Can you relate?

Both of my children are “differently-abled.”  My daughter, Sarah Kate, has cerebral palsy.  Although she’s made great progress over the years, she still has a distinctive gait that isn’t “normal”.  My son, Nathan, has Down syndrome.  Although he has yet to miss any developmental milestones, his distinctive facial features announce to the world that he is also different.  We’ve encountered a broad range of reactions from people over the years, but the scenario I described above is pretty common.

So if you’re in that situation, what should you do?

I can’t speak for all parents with special kids, but I always like it when people ask questions.  It gives me a chance to advocate for my child, and educate kids on disabilities.  So if you’re ever around my differently-abled kids (or others), I want you to remember something:  You don’t need to feel awkward.  Feel free to ask questions about my children’s conditions and the progress they’re making.  If you know us, invite us to do things – we’ll let you know if we can’t.  Don’t worry that you have to figure out all the details for us – we know the drill.

And while we’re on the subject, don’t look away when you see someone who is “differently-abled.”  Instead, look us right in the eye and flash us a big smile.  Many people don’t take the time to look at our children and see the person instead of the diagnosis.  And that goes for us moms, too – people try not to look at us, either, which means that we often feel invisible, and are often lonely to boot.

Don't look away.  Smile.  Ask questions.

But that's the easy stuff. Now I want to dig a little deeper.

From my experience, and from talking with other parents of children with special needs, there are a few other things that a lot of people do and say that we aren’t so fond of.  Actually, some of these we hate. Really hate.  I’ve prepared a list for you of the Top 5 things I’d rather not hear.

To read the rest of my guest blog post, click here.

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Ugly

Sarah Kate has a scar running lengthwise up her back from surgery on her spinal cord in January of 2006. I told myself when it first healed that she was only three years old; eventually it would fade and be barely noticeable. Five years later, it's still several inches long and, in a word, ugly. The procedure was done by one of the leading pediatric neurosurgeons in the country, but you would never know it by looking at the skin running vertically up my daughter's spine. In some places, the white line is thin and flush with the undamaged skin around it. In other areas, it is rough, gaping, and makes me think of how a wound dressed in the field during wartime must look.

Over the past five years, Sarah Kate has worn a variety of different swimsuits. Some of those have been classic one-piece tank suits, while others were modest two-piece bikinis. When we've gone to the pool or beach, I've noticed people sneaking glances at her long, jagged scar. I can almost hear the questions they ask in their minds. No doubt, they also take note of how her heels don't quite touch the ground when she walks barefoot, and how her gait isn't quite the same as that of other children.

Sarah Kate is aware of the scar, referring to it from time to time as her "surgery", but, mercifully, she is spared from having to look at it on a daily basis. I'm sure there may come a time when it makes her self-conscious - a day when she wants her back covered at any cost - but that day hasn't arrived, and I'm grateful for that.

Although the scar may be unattractive in appearance, it is also a tangible reminder of how far she has come - of all that she has faced and conquered. It's a tribute to the tenacious spirit of a little girl who was born fighting and has never, in eight years, stopped fighting. It's the big ugly scar that I, her mother, don't mind so much because I know that letting her go under the knife that one Big Scary time probably prevented other less scary, but more painful, surgeries down the road. Last but not least, that scar helped my baby girl to put away her walker, cast aside her canes, and take her first independent steps.

That ugly scar is beautiful to me.

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I Need Your Help!

Hopefully, there are still a few of you out there that I didn't scare off with my a-hole post over the weekend (just keepin' it real, y'all!)  If not, then I guess I'll be hearing a lot of virtual crickets after this post, but I'm taking the chance, nonetheless, because I've got a job to do.

And I need your help.

A few months back, I was asked to speak to an Atlanta-area MOPS group about - what else? - special needs parenting.  The demographics vary widely, but there are two things I know for certain:  all of the attendees will be mothers, and they will have preschool-age children.  I've had a number of ideas floating around in my head for awhile about what I would like to say, but I'm just now getting down to putting pen to paper (keyboard to Mac screen, but whatever...)  It dawned on me this morning that what I need is some perspective.  Perspective from people who look in on my life from the outside, but still know a thing or two about what it's like to be me.  Perspective from people who may have once thought I was a saint, or cursed, or - dare I say it? - special in some way, but have realized through this blog that I'm actually pretty ordinary.  Perspective from people who are living the special needs parent lifestyle and see their own lives reflected in mine.

So, with that, I've got a few questions for you, my small-but-loyal band of readers.  Answer anything you're comfortable with answering from the list of questions below.  You can put your answer in the comments, or if you prefer, email them directly to me at doubledoseofspecial@gmail.com.  Brutal honesty is welcomed, but not required.

• Before you knew anyone with a special needs child, what did you think about parents of special needs children?  Did you think our lives were tragic/sad/depressing, or something else?
• What about now?  What is your impression of what it is like to be a parent of children with special needs?
• What, if anything, have you learned from reading my blog?  What has made you stop and think?
• How has your attitude changed since reading my blog and/or meeting me or my children?
• If you are a parent or family member of a child with special needs, what are some things you would like moms of typical children to know?
• If you are a parent or family member of a child with special needs, what are some things you wish the world could see when they look at you, your child, or your family?

Now, friends, please don't let me down.  I need feedback, not crickets. ;)

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Ethical Superheroes

I'm a big fan of the show Parenthood (and, for that matter, the 1989 film of the same name that was the show's inspiration). One of the main characters, Adam, is a married father of two children; the younger of the two, the son, has Asperger's. Although I'm not intimately familiar with Asperger's, I can relate to the life of the special needs parent. On many occasions, I've seen pieces of myself in the character of Christina, Adam's wife, a stay-at-home mom who gave up her career for her children and now fights the daily battles associated with being "special".

On a recent episode, Adam and Christina were considering hiring a bug expert for their son's birthday party. When they met with him, however, they realized he was rather...odd. Predictably, the bug guy was revealed to have Asperger's, and Adam and Christina debated among themselves what they should do. They were clearly uncomfortable with hiring him, but also felt hypocritical for considering not hiring him. At one point, Adam told Christina that they weren't required to be "ethical superheroes".

I often feel like I need to be exactly that - an ethical superhero. I talk about ethical issues, prenatal testing, and ending the use of the r-word on this blog. I feel strongly that I should use the gifts I've been given (my children and their uniqueness) to educate others on the causes that I hold dear. But...that's a lot of pressure! I'm not perfect, or even exceptional, and I'd like to just do my thing and go largely unnoticed.

When Sarah Kate turned three, she transitioned from early intervention to receiving services through our local school system. I was adamant that she attend private preschool, rather than the school's preschool program, because I wanted her in a class with typical children, not the melting pot of kids with developmental delays. Her physical therapist suggested to me that due to Sarah Kate's strengths - advanced speech, in particular - she could be a great help to the speech-delayed preschoolers. I would have none of it.

Back then, I believed that the best thing for MY child was private preschool, and I really don't regret my choice. Looking back, however, I do feel a little pang of guilt that I wasn't willing to do something that would potentially have contributed to the well-being and development of other children. Now that I have a second child who will almost certainly be speech-delayed, I have a newfound appreciation for why that therapist urged me to reconsider. As I said before, I really don't regret my choice, but was it the right choice?

Being a mom - any mom, not just a "special" mom - involves making ethical choices constantly. Sometimes the right choices are glaringly obvious, while at other times they are not. Sometimes there is no wrong answer, and sometimes there is no right answer. Sometimes the choices we make are highly visible examples for our children, whereas others may never be known to anyone but us. We still have to make these choices.

Can we be ethical superheroes? Probably not. Should we try? Absolutely. Every choice that we make develops our character as individuals, and by extension, develops the little people who have been entrusted to our care.

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I Can See Clearly Now

Apologies to those who have been looking for new posts on my blog - the holidays have made it much more difficult to find the time to think of things to write about, much less actually sit down to write them.  I'm going to blame my sporadic posting partly on the fact that last week I left for six days on a trip with my mom and my sister - a gift from mom to us to celebrate our 40th and 30th birthdays (please ignore the fact that I'll be turning 41 in eleven days - the youngest special's arrival delayed our trip).

We spent two days in Miami and then went on a cruise (my first) to the Bahamas - also known as the Barf Boat, Emesis Excursion, Yack Yacht, and a variety of other clever names that Mr. Andi created because he was quite certain I was going to get sick (based on prior experience with me on his boat here on the gulf coast).  I boarded the ship with a plethora of nausea defenses - Sea Bands, meclizine, a bottle of ginger root, and Benadryl as a last resort so I could just sleep through the whole trip if nothing else worked.  I survived, didn't get sick, and had a great time.  We relaxed on South Beach (I earned a free glass of wine for checking in at Tapas on foursquare - whoop whoop!), shopped, had massages at the hotel spa, ate a lot, haggled with people at the straw market for "Coach" purses, and even convinced my normally reserved mother to sing karaoke.  It was relaxing, but not (why do you always need a vacation after a vacation?), and lots of fun.

The thing that struck me when I returned home on Monday, other than the fact that my oldest child didn't miss me at all, (I called her in from the yard when I got home and she yelled back "Is it important?") was the way Nathan looked.  I see him every day and I don't see Down syndrome.  I see an active boy that grins constantly.  I see fat thighs and gorgeous blue eyes.  I see a gigantic poofy booty (a result of the cloth diapers I'm using - no, I'm not crazy or a tree hugger), and cheeks that are eternally rosy.  What I saw when I returned home on Monday was an adorable little boy...with Down syndrome.

It reminded me a lot of the day - I'm not sure now when it was - that I looked at the scrapbook from Sarah Kate's 53 day run in the NICU and was shocked to see a terrifyingly thin and pitiful body of a smaller-than-she-should-have-been preemie (no kidding - her body really did look like Gollum from The Lord of the Rings movies).  God gives you love goggles when you're a mom, so your baby girl is beautiful, even when she isn't.  And your son with Down syndrome is too cute for words, and looks completely typical, even when he isn't.  He remains that way until you see a photo with the telltale features or you leave for six days and are surprised by the obviousness of it when you walk in the door.

My baby boy is still just as beautiful to me as before I saw him clearly (as is my no-longer-a-baby girl), but that instant, when I was able to more clearly see what other people see, gave me pause.  It was like being on the outside looking in, if only for a moment.

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Violet Film

Once upon a time, there was an optimistic young woman without children.  She had a handsome young husband with ants in his pants who loved the outdoors.  He often left her alone on Saturdays while he went off to shoot and catch things, allowing her to spend long hours in her basement darkroom.  She went on photo shoots with her friends, attended camera club meetings, and mastered the techniques of sepia toning, dodging-and-burning, and handtinting.  On the days that she wasn't in the darkroom or out shooting, she was matting and framing her creations or placing them in photo scrapbooks.  Although she loved her landscapes, still lifes, and photos of her pets, she longed for the day when she would be able to photograph her children.  She just needed to bear some for that dream to come true.

After several years of marriage, our young heroine and her dashing husband were finally able to achieve their dream of having a child.  In preparation for the child's birth, the young woman spent an obscene amount of money on a brand-new technology:  the digital SLR camera.  Her new camera arrived with a whopping (can you believe it!) six megapixels!  She bought the camera three months before the child was to be born, giving her plenty of time to practice with it and master the new technology.  But alas, the child was born 2-1/2 months early.  The young woman used the camera a lot during the next year or so, but eventually set it aside for the ease of a point-and-shoot she could cram into her purse.

Over the next few years, the young woman (who was getting older every day) never forgot about her camera or her days in the basement darkroom.  She tried a few times to learn Photoshop, but failed.  She had a little bit more success with Photoshop Elements, but eventually she cast it aside, as well.  Several years of therapy, multiple rounds of Botox (for the child, not the woman), three moves, and a surprise pregnancy all but killed the no-longer-all-that-young woman's dream of becoming a decent digital photographer.

One day after the birth of her second child, the no-longer-all-that-young woman was talking with her still-dashing-but-now-balding husband.  Her dear husband said something to her that day that changed her life forever:  "Everything you do is wrapped up in these kids."  Now, that may not seem like a particularly profound statement, but it caused a light bulb to go off in the woman's head.  She decided to make some changes.

The woman decided to take up knitting, and, on the advice of a friend, taught herself how to knit using YouTube.  She dusted off her camera (woefully outdated, but still in perfect working order!)  She downloaded a trial version of Photoshop Elements.  When the 30-day trial ran out, she downloaded it again on her firstborn's netbook and asked her dear husband to give her the serial number and a tablet for Christmas.  She knit goofy hats for her children, took photos of them in the hats, and placed the photo in the header of her blog.  She created a watermark for her pictures (not because she is trying to brand herself or because she thinks her photos are so great that someone might want to steal them - she did it just because she could!)

And the woman began to feel a little bit like her old self.  And she hoped that recapturing a little bit of her old self would help her be a better mom, and a better wife.

And on January 1, 2011, Violet Film was born.

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