A Life Worth Laughing

Evil Thoughts

2012-01-06T08:20:00.000-05:00

I'm a bad person. Yesterday evening was beautiful - instead of crappy winter weather we had crisp fall-like weather and it was absolutely divine. I took Zoe to an early dinner to celebrate her straight A report card. As we pulled into our driveway, I noticed a dad a few houses down teaching his daughter how to ride a bicycle and they were heading our way.

The little girl was grinning ear to ear and shining so brightly that you could see it a mile away. She and her dad were laughing loudly, her little girl squeals of joy echoed on our empty street. It was a sweet moment. And I hated them for it.

I quickly ushered Zoe into the house so I wouldn't have to be there as they came closer to our house. The little girl was wobbling and her dad had his hand on the back of her seat, but she was making clear progress. As I closed the front door behind us, a stroke of evil genius swept over me...

What if I let Lucy out? She would go tearing out of the house in her four legged excitement to be free. She would quickly see the girl on her bike with her dad. In Lucy's joyful everyone-loves-me way she would have greeted them and no doubt, the girl would have fallen. Maybe a knee would have been scraped. It would have ruined their father/daughter moment and probably freaked the kid out enough not to want to ride a bike for a while. Or at least definitely not want to come anywhere near my house again.

I didn't do it. I may have evil thoughts, but I'm not that horrible. But I did consider it long enough to warrant a blog about it.

So why such a hurtful thought, you ask? Because I hated them in that moment. I was jealous. And spiteful. And just down right ugly about it. I see kids doing things all the time that makes me think they're little assholes. And it's not what you expect. Sure I think they're assholes when they're screaming in a store like everyone else. But I see a kid stoop down to tie his shoes and I think he's an asshole. I see a kid reach up and grab a box of cereal from the store shelf to hand to her mom and yep, she's an asshole. Don't get me started on the kids who run, play on the swing set, play kick ball, use a slip and slide in the summer, climb a tree, go to dance class... hell even the kids who can brush their own teeth. Assholes. All of them.

Okay, not really all of them and not really every moment. But more often than I'd care to admit. You see, my ten year old can't even lift her arm high enough to push a piece of hair out of her eyes. She never got to learn to ride a bike. Or jump into the swimming pool. Or run through a sprinkler or roll down a grassy hill. Or any of the million magical moments a kid is supposed to have. And it pisses me off sometimes.

Sure, she is AMAZING. She is WONDERFUL. She is so much more awesome than all those kids on their stupid bikes. But I wish with all my heart that she didn't have to be so understanding. That she didn't have to learn how to accept things she can't do - the very things that other people take for granted.

So, look at that kid of yours right now. The one who just got his greasy hand prints all over your walls? Or maybe the one who tried to pour their own juice and spilled it all over the floor you just washed. Or even that one who wakes up screaming and running and doesn't stop until they pass out from exhaustion. Those kids? They may drive you nuts. But man, do those little assholes have a good life. And so do you. Enjoy those firsts and all those "norms." Because we don't all get them.

That Day

2011-09-09T08:38:00.000-04:00

We all remember that day. I went out quickly to the small PX in Norway with my 2month old daughter in tow. I remember being so happy and proud that day - everyone cooed over her. I came in the front door smiling with the baby and a few groceries to find my husband staring at the television.

The scene that unfolded was terrifying. We watched, helpless as the second plane hit the tower. I remember saying, "We're being attacked. This is unreal." We held each other close as the news of the Pentagon came. Time stood still. It felt like a nightmare. There was nothing we could do as our fellow Americans jumped from the towers. There was no way to find comfort in such a brutal massacre. I looked down at our beautiful baby girl and worried that I would be recalled to active duty. I knew it was inevitable that my husband would be called away. I knew war was on the forefront.

While personally I didn't lose anyone that day, my life was forever changed. I just had no idea how much that day would define so very much of my life. It's been ten years. And while a lot of people have only been affected by longer screenings at airports or having to have their bags checked at big events, our entire marriage has been spent during a war. My daughter has grown up with no memory of a life without war. It may not be happening in our backyard, but we feel it every day.

Every time I've kissed him goodbye, I've felt the effects of that fateful day. The first year he deployed I spent hours staring at the news ticker hoping not to see another American casualty and sighing in relief when the casualties weren't his unit. I spent every hour waiting for a phone call or letter. And then the years went on and deployments became routine. Saying goodbye is never easy, but it's what we do.

Mark has spent over half our marriage deployed or training somewhere else in support of the war on terrorism. He's missed more of Zoe's birthdays than he has seen her blow out the candles for. She is a child of 9-11 even though she didn't lose a parent that day. She has lived most of her life without her dad and knowing that he is in a war zone. It has been exhausting and there were many times when I thought I couldn't make it through another day. I felt many times it was a thankless life we live, where we sacrifice and no one cares one bit.

And then I remember that day. I remember why it all started. And on this 10th anniversary I can't help but put myself in check. It isn't about me. It isn't even about us. It's about that day. Thousands of lives lost, even more changed forever. It's about that kid who was ten that day and lost his dad. That kid is why we do what we do. For him and for Zoe and for every other American boy and girl out there. We live this life to make sure that another day like that will never happen.

That day, those moments, changed everything. We can't go back. We're here. And it's been a long road. We've been lucky enough to welcome Mark home every time he's gone away. We haven't always been physically together, but we're a family. Our family doesn't get the dinners every night or even every Christmas morning together, but we are a family. We're strong and supportive and loving. We are a result of that day, this war, and we are so much more.

I will forever hold in my heart that day. I'll be seventy years old and still cry when I see footage or talk about it. We all will.

Lesson 3 - Losing It

2011-05-26T08:37:00.000-04:00

I was perfectly sane before I became an Army Wife. Well, mostly sane anyway. But ten years of constant stress has definitely tipped the scales in the favor of crazy.

I spend most of my time alone. It's cool. I genuinely like being alone because I'm set in my ways and kinda grumpy. Of course I don't mean I want to be away from my husband. I just mean that if I HAVE to be away from him, I can handle it. But like everyone else, I have my moments. Even the strongest of us has breakdowns. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar.

I've handled a lot of crap and usually all at once. There are times when I have so many stress factors coming at me from so many different directions, I'm not sure what problem to tackle first. I've sat in the hospital looking at my child struggling to breathe while on the phone yelling at base housing for not taking care of the mold and mildew situation that caused her lung to collapse. I worked full time while fitting in a full physical and occupational therapy schedule for my daughter in the middle of fighting with the insurance company to pay for something she needed. I've dealt with every car and house emergency with no problems. I've bought and sold vehicles by myself. I even bought and moved into a house. Funny enough, all those big things aren't what breaks me down.

What will get me is a day when I've had little to no sleep because I've had to get up ten times in the middle of the night because my daughter needed me. Then as I'm sitting and having my first cup of coffee for the day, one of the dogs will take a dump right in front of me on the floor. I'll clean it up and go to take my shower, look in the mirror and realize I have bags under my eyes. I'll get a call from my daughter's school while in the shower and have to rush over there to help her with something. Then as I'm running my errands a wave of loneliness will hit me as I realize that I'm absolutely and completely alone. I'll come home and have to deal with the crackhead dogs fighting. Then my daughter will get home and I know it's nothing she can control, but she needs help with everything. Even when I just go to the bathroom for a minute, she'll call for me and I'll want to scream. I'll cook our dinner, clean up, put her to bed, and sit in the absolute silence of the house. And it's those moments when I feel like I just can't do this anymore. It's not the days when I have something big on my plate that get me to the point of breaking, it's days like I just described that are sure to be my doom.

When I finally hear my husband's voice on the phone after a long and miserable day like that, I lose it. It comes out in sobs or sometimes as resentment that he doesn't have to deal with these mundane day to day tasks. It's hard because I don't want to throw everything at him. I want him to concentrate on his job and coming home alive. I can't help it though. One funny story about what happened at the gym that morning and I'm furious. Because it must be nice to go to the gym to work out, eat a meal without interruption, and then go about your day without having to worry about our daughter. It's not a fair train of thought at all. His life and his sacrifices aren't easy either. But he's around adults (or at least by age they are) and I haven't talked to a real life adult in weeks. So I'll snap at him. Or maybe I'll break down and cry out of frustration. And he'll get quiet on the phone, feeling bad because he can't do anything about it. Then I'll feel guilty for even throwing that crap on him when I know he has bigger things to worry about.

Sometimes the emotions come through at the most inconvenient times - I start ugly crying while watching a Disney movie with my daughter and can't talk when she asks me a question. I always laugh and tell her I'm a sap for emotional movies but I know I'm crying because it has been a long and hard ten years. Or I'll see a family out at dinner when it's just Zoe and me, and I'll have to fight back the tears. And watching Zoe get an award for some reason always gets me really emotional. I sit there, trying to smile in the gym full of parents and students but I'm mentally having to talk myself out of crying. It's ridiculous.

If I don't have a total emotional moment, I sometimes have extreme moments of rage and anger. As if I'm the soda bottle that someone has shaken and then released the cap full on. I almost killed a woman in a Walmart parking lot once. My hands tingled as I screamed at her, imagining what it would feel like to just repeatedly hit her. Luckily, I walked away - shaking and violently mad, but I walked away. I've had moments of road rage that scared me so badly, I now keep easy music in the car to make sure I can calm myself down. I give myself pep talks every time someone cuts me off or drives like an asshat. It's not worth it. I've found myself so irritable that I want to scream at my beautiful and completely innocent child. I'd be lying if I said I haven't lost my cool with her. And I'd be lying if I said a little part of didn't die every time I have done so. I've learned to control that ugly side of me but it didn't happen overnight. It took a lot of looking in the mirror and forcing myself to face my insanity up front.

Don't get me wrong. I don't spend my days wallowing in self pity. I don't cry every day or even every week or month. I just feel like I'm holding it together by such a flimsy thread that it could snap at any time and everything would come crashing down.

So to you new Army Wives, just know this. We all have our moments. Your moment may come sooner than mine. I may be able to handle more than you. It doesn't make your moment any less valid. I'm not saying I think it's okay to be a complete emotional wreck every time your husband leaves. You still have bills to pay, kids to raise, dogs to walk, shit to do... But you will have moments. Let them go. Not everyone is going to understand it, but that will be Lesson Number 4.

Lesson 2 - The Real Army Wives

2011-05-07T20:04:00.000-04:00

Mark and I got married in Norway, where I had already been serving as an active duty Marine. When I became simply a wife and dropped the "Sergeant," I was welcomed with open arms and friendly faces. I was very fortunate to be surrounded by a truly unique group of women who went out of their way to help me out.

The command was joint - all four services represented - and mostly field grade officers. I quickly found myself in the company of the wives of the Colonels I not to long ago worked for. With Zoe on the way and Mark in Kosovo, I found my new found friendships incredibly important and comforting. Everyone was genuine and when Zoe was born, their kindness kept pouring out. I loved our little community and how it didn't seem to matter that my husband was only an E-5 - I was still invited to coffee and lunch. With my first baby in my arms, I looked to these women for advice and encouragement. They were simply amazing.

When we transferred to Colorado, I had visions of the same sort of tight knit group. Especially because our husbands were about to deploy to a real life war. No more playing Army, this was the real thing. I thought for sure that living in base housing, I would soon find myself surrounded by a loving and supportive group.

I was wrong.

The first group of women I found myself around was headed by a Queen Bee. She ruled with a mighty fist and controlled her group like a prison warden. No one dared disagree with her or say no to her plans. Well, no one except me. I was quickly ousted from the group. It was my fault though. I kept a clean house which clearly made me stuck up. I wanted to spend time with my husband before he deployed which translated to me being weak minded and dependent on my husband. And I was too skinny which clearly meant I was anorexic. I found one amazing woman in that group and figured I came out ahead. Everyone else could drop off the planet for all I cared.

Alone in my duplex, I began to think that maybe it was up to me to pass on the legacy that the lovely ladies of Norway had given me. I pulled out my best china and my phone list and invited a few ladies over. It didn't go exactly how I planned. I found that I was the only one who was interested in becoming friends.

A knock at my door one day restored my hope. A neighbor with her daughter on her hip had come over to say hello. She was also formerly active duty and going out of her mind staying home with her baby. I was thrilled and quickly invited her in. I'd cook dinner, rent DVDs, and opened up my guest room to her because we were both quite nervous about being alone. I started noticing that I was doing an awful lot of favors for her. Soon I found myself alone with her daughter more often than I would like. I realized I was her babysitter. She wasn't really very motherly and I can understand needing a break. But when she was dropping off her child because she couldn't handle her, I had to put my foot down. My daughter needed me and I didn't have two children. Our friendship ran its course when I noticed the parade of men going in and out of her house. While I don't care what anyone does, I didn't want my husband to hear in Iraq that I was hanging out with someone who was running around. I know he trusts me, but I refuse to give him cause to worry when he had bigger things to concentrate on.

So it was then that I finally opened myself up to the FRG - the Family Readiness Group. In the beginning it was important because we were all starved for information. I did find that one or two women would end up running the meeting by complaining about their stupid problems that didn't apply to the group. I mean, really how hard is it to address that in private? It quickly turned into a "I have it worse than you" or a "my husband outranks yours" bullshit fest. As I sat there in my second meeting thinking everyone around me was just a plain idiot, I met two women who seemed like they were exactly on the same page as me.

Woman number one fooled me completely. We started out as fast friends. She didn't have kids and she was easy to be around. She did seem to whine a little much. But I was lonely, so I didn't mind. Then the helplessness started. I found myself driving her all over the place, constantly listening to her complain about missing her husband, and watch her selfishly spend all their money while neglecting to pay the rent. She didn't seem to care that I was taking my daughter to four doctor appointments a week or dealing with Tricare denying our requests for medical equipment. She missed the fact that my husband was deployed too and I was just as worried about his safety. Instead she complained when my daughter broke her leg and my husband was granted mid-tour leave. She sat on my couch and threatened suicide. I had the MPs and ambulance come take her crazy ass away.

The other woman I met that day became my rock. She and her two children were pretty much our family. We saw each other almost every day, took the kids out, sat around and laughed. We attempted to barbecue on our own. Supported each other in the way that friends who have known each other their whole lives do. I was devastated when she moved away.

I've come to discover there are several types of Army wives. There are the ones who do what they have to do without making a big deal over it. They handle their business and keep busy while their husbands are away. They raise their children, pay the bills, and fix the problems as they arise. There are the whiners - the ones who can't do anything without letting everyone know how absolutely hard it is. They complain constantly. There are the whores. Yes, I said it. They will move men into their homes when their husbands are away at war. There are the irresponsible ones who won't pay bills but will carry around a $400 purse and get a mani/pedi every week. Mostly though I think we are all at the point where we know what to expect and how to take care of business. If you're still married to a soldier after a deployment, you're doing great. Still married after four or five? You fuckin' rock.

Since my first year at a real Army base, I learned that I can be friendly when I have to be to the other wives. I can smile at family days and I can make light conversation. But it is rare that I find someone who I can trust or even stand. I guess I'm just jaded. I've been taken advantage of much more than this already too long blog entry could ever cover. I've seen such good in people through my fellow Army wives, yet I have seen the absolute worst in them as well.

Today I have one seriously close Army wife friend who has been through it all with me. I can't remember the last time we actually saw each other, but we talk every week. She is my grip on reality when I feel it slipping away. And reality will slip away from you. That will be lesson number 3....

Lesson One in Army Life - The Transition

2011-04-26T11:17:00.001-04:00

Getting married is an exciting time in any girl's life. You're in love and everything is perfect. The road ahead is bright and is nothing short of the beautiful fairy tale world you dreamed of as a little girl. The possibilities are endless. You and your prince charming are going to live happily ever after.

For the newlywed Army wife, there is an asterisk in that happily ever after. What no one may have told you is that although you didn't sign a contract with the Army, you are now bound by your husband's. You may not have to wake up every morning and run five miles or spend the day at the range qualifying on your M16, but you may as well have been issued the same "suck it up and get over it" answer that your husband was.

For me, it wasn't too hard of a transition. I was on active duty and had grown up in the Army life. Our first duty station as a married couple was already my duty station, so there was no real shock. My hardest transition was going from being called "Sergeant" to "Mrs." For a woman who has never been around the military, I imagine the transition to be much different.

While civilian husbands go to work and come home at the same time every day, that is not the case for our soldiers. Weekends off are never a guarantee. The whole family has the flu? There's no calling in sick for him. You'll be stuck cleaning up that vomit in between your trips to the toilet. There are no "sick days" and don't plan on anyone being too sympathetic to your needs. And in today's Army, if your husband isn't deployed at least for half of your marriage you are a rare and lucky couple.

Get used to the group mentality. Just because your husband does his job well and shows up on time, doesn't mean everyone else will. Prepare yourself for group punishment - one guy messes up and everyone stays late. Just because your husband doesn't live in the barracks, doesn't mean that what goes on there won't affect him. It isn't uncommon for everyone to be called in to a midnight formation because some jackass got a DUI.

Time to study up, Ladies. Army lingo is like a second language. Learn military time. Learn the rank structure. Learn the acronyms (although this is ever changing, ever evolving, and impossible to learn it all). And figure out how to read an LES (Leave and Earnings Statement aka his pay stub).

And believe it or not, an Army base has rules that you may not like or even understand. There are dress codes, codes of conduct, and rules galore. What you do can and most likely will affect your husband at work. Don't like your neighbor so you cuss her out every time you see her? Her husband's First Sergeant makes a phone call to yours and say hello to a rain of shit falling. You violate a rule in base housing? Your husband will get yelled at. Decide that you aren't going to pay that government credit card bill? You guessed it... your husband will get yelled at and your pay will be docked.

A civilian gets a DUI on his own time and probably never even mentions it to his boss. Your husband gets one? He loses rank, pay, time off, and possibly gets kicked out of the Army. Have a loud fight and the cops get called in the civilian world? No big deal. In Army life? Your husband could get a felony charge, be relieved of his weapon, and you guessed it - demoted, pay taken away, and kicked out.

The only thing you can count on in the Army is not to count on anything. Don't think your weekend plans won't get cancelled. Trips will have to be rescheduled. Anniversaries and holidays and birthdays will be spent apart. These are facts. Prepare yourself.

Now, all that being said there are some great things about Army life. Your husband has a steady job, won't be "laid off," and you get free medical benefits. You will always have a roof over your head and if you're smart with your money, food on your table. You will learn slowly to appreciate things like family dinners and the sound of your husband snoring beside you. And let me tell you right now, there is no other high quite like the high of welcoming your husband home from a deployment. 10 years of marriage and we still act like newlyweds...

Next up in your new Army life? Your fellow Army wives. This ain't no t.v. show, Baby. This is the real world. And for that, I need another blog entry...

Army Wife Lessons

2011-04-26T08:35:00.000-04:00

I've been slacking on this blog. We all know I have a lot to say and I rarely hold back. I've been thinking a lot about some things that have been posted on friends' Facebook pages about the Army and this life we live. So I'm going to jot down my wisdom in a series of blog posts on what I've learned.

I'm going to go ahead and dub myself an expert in this subject. What are my qualifications you ask? Well, let me list them:

1. I am a third generation Army wife. I didn't plan it to be this way, but I am. I have the knowledge of my grandmother (who pretty much kicked some Army ass back in the day) and my mother behind me.

2. I grew up as an Army Brat.

3. I joined the Marine Corps when I was 18 and served for 7 years.

4. I have been married to my husband for 10 years, of which he has been home less than half. We've done three major deployments (major deployments last at least a year, Ladies, I don't care what you say). He first deployed two weeks after we were married, he almost missed the birth of our one and only child, and he has been deployed/TDY more times than I can count anymore.

5. I have seen it all. Everything that can go wrong when my husband is away, will go wrong. I have a child with severe special needs, two ridiculously stupid dogs, and a handful of everyday problems that I juggle without thinking twice about. I have dealt with my child's hospitalization, surgeries, and sicknessess 100% alone. I have bought and sold vehicles. I even bought a house once when my husband was deployed. I've not always stayed at home - I worked full time in the corporate world for a while. What I do is non-stop, unpaid, and usually goes without any sort of appreciation.

I am not a PROUD ARMY WIFE t-shirt wearing/smile at everyone/attend FRG meeting kind of wife. I'm simply a survivor. I'm too proud to ask for help. I know I can handle more than most people. I don't give a shit what kind of purse you're carrying or what kind of car you just bought. I don't care who is sleeping with who behind their husband's back. I won't be the kind of neighbor who invites you over for coffee because chances are your kids are brats and I don't want to deal with them. I keep a clean house, have a polite child, and am 100% faithful to my husband. I don't go clubbing, don't run up credit cards, and I don't need the approval of the crowd. I don't care what you do with your time, just don't expect me to feel sorry for you. I can't stand whining and I really can't stand people who make their problems seem bigger than they are.

And so my blog posts about these lessons I've learned will be in your face, up front, and for those who can laugh and not take things so seriously. Stand by, Ladies... school is in session.

D-DAY: Diagnosis Day

2011-03-01T09:02:00.000-05:00

I often see friends of mine commemorate the anniversary of the day their child received the SMA diagnosis. It is sometimes just a post on facebook and other times it is a blog reliving the day. It often comes across negative - as the day that changed their lives forever or the day their world came to a stop. For me, it was much different.

I don't remember the date. Or even the doctor's name. Her face has faded from my memory though I do remember the office a bit. I don't focus on that day ever. The day that my life changed was 5 July, 2001 - the day Zoe was born. Her diagnosis at 14 months old was more a starting point for us. Yes, it was shocking and devastating news. But it was an answer. An answer we had waited on and worried about for almost six months. It was a beginning. It was a point where we went from "what?" and "why?" to "how?" How can we help her? How can we move forward? How can we get Zoe the best possible care? And believe me of all the possible things they thought it could be, SMA was by far the least severe. I remember being thankful for that.

So I don't get it. I don't understand why you would want to mark that day and relive it. Or give it any attention at all years later. Zoe is so beyond that day. Yes, we were told we had seven years. But she's almost ten and she's not stopping any time soon. Yes, it was awful to hear. But I love the sound of her laugh much more than I hated the sound of the doctor giving us the diagnosis and prognosis.

Zoe is not suffering from SMA. She's living with it. And who cares about the day we found out? You know what I remember more about that time? The day after diagnosis when we went to pick up her wheelchair. I remember her moving in it for the first time. I remember watching her wheel right up to the drapes and giving them a good yank. And I remember not stopping her as she wheeled over to her dad's stereo and enthusiastically pushed every button she could reach. It was like she had been sitting and staring for months just waiting to get over there. I remember it took her five days to figure out how to turn around in her manual chair and then after that, there was no stopping her. I remember her smile as she wheeled around with her little friends. I remember her giggles as we did pool therapy for the first time the next week.

I know everyone is different. And some parents may need to reflect on the event every single year. I don't. I don't even give it a second thought. I'd rather focus on the fifth of July. Now THAT was an amazing day!

Happy Birthday to Me...

2011-02-24T08:32:00.000-05:00

So here I am. 35 years old. Yikes! For some reason 35 is a much harder pill to swallow than 30 was. Ugh. I'm old.

But with each year that has passed, I've become more and more comfortable with who I am. I really like me. I'm a solid person. I may not do anything extraordinary in my life ever, but I'm good with who I am. I'm no longer the chameleon who changed to fit in with the people around her. I'm finally good enough with myself to honestly say I don't give a fuck if you like me or not. A lot of people say that but don't mean it. I mean it. I am strong enough now to recognize who I want and need in my life. And if you don't make the cut, sorry but I just don't have time for your drama.

My birthday isn't a big deal. I don't need a big celebration. I never have. It has become more of a special occasion since Mark came into my life. He's always been good... no, he's always been amazing at making sure my day is extra special. Even when he was halfway around the world, in the middle of a desert; he's always gone that extra mile to make me feel good. So today I think he and Zoe have something pretty big planned. It's full of secrecy so I'll just let them have their fun and enjoy their excitement. It makes me happy, too.

Well, so here's to 35. Too old to mess around on these damn social network sites that keep me entertained but still young enough at heart to push my way up to the front of the stage at a rock concert. Life is good. And hopefully this year will just continue to be filled with love and laughter.

True Colors

2011-02-22T08:06:00.000-05:00

It’s easy to be brave behind a keyboard. It’s easy to attack, judge, and openly say what you want when you are not directly in front of someone. I am finding more and more people show their true colors online. Specifically in regards to racism. Just because you say you have black or hispanic friends, doesn’t mean you’re not racist or have prejudiced thoughts. I guess having a man of color in the Oval Office really just bothers a lot of white men. Because I honestly believe that is the true core of what is going on behind the rants about President Obama.

I admit that I was no fan of President Bush. In fact, decisions he made directly affected and even hurt my family. But never did I go on a hateful or violent rant about him online. I found most people who didn’t like him to be the same. There may have been jokes about him being dumb, but there was never anything like what I have seen in forums discussing our current President. Vile and ugly things are put out as if it’s the cool thing to do. Who can say the most offensive, disgusting, and shocking statement? It seems to be a contest.

I’m all for freedom of speech. I was raised in a military family. I served 7 years in the Marine Corps. I am a third generation Army Wife. I know what we served for and what my husband currently serves for. I am a Patriot. I love this country. I tear up when I hear the National Anthem. But it sickens me that our citizens spend their days bitching about the leader of our great nation based on the color of his skin.

I was reading some posts on a forum and ended up leaving it all together. I can’t engage assholes with minds so small that they can never be opened. Make all the short bus, gay, and racist jokes you want, Fellows. You obviously have no clue about anything. You sit back, judge, and attack just hoping to get a rise out of someone. You post things as bait so you can gang up and tell me I’m too sensitive and you shouldn’t have to be PC. You turn it into my problem, try to make it about my faults. But the truth is you’re just lonely men behind a keyboard. And if you came face to face with me or any of the other people you so openly ridicule online, you wouldn’t have the fuckin’ balls to open your mouth. You are cowards. Plain and simple. Enjoy your miserable, pathetic lives hidden behind a computer. It’s not funny. It’s mean. And in a society where children are taking their own lives because of bullies in school, you should be ashamed of yourself for being grown up bullies. Go out and do something better with your lives. Jackasses

It's Time for Tolerance

2011-02-01T07:58:00.000-05:00

Watched a story about a 13 year old who was attacked and tortured by 7 teenagers. They took video. The boy was screaming for help the entire time. At one point, a lady walked by and didn’t even look twice. Disgusting.

The thing is, I think a lot of parents have the talk with their kids about bullying. I just think they have the talk about speaking up if it’s happening. How many parents are having the talk about not being a bully? How many parents are teaching their children not only sympathy but empathy? Actually talk about how it must feel to be bullied? How alone the child must feel. How that child has to go home and when their parents ask how their day was, how embarrassed and low they must feel. We should be having conversations about acceptance regardless of what we believe because everyone believes differently.

Unfortunately, I think the majority of adults are close minded and judgemental in their own right. There are bullies among us as well. Recently I’ve been keeping up on a forum that is for Marines - past and present. The big topic of debate is the repeal of DADT. You’d think I wouldn’t be surprised by the sheer hatred and vulgarity expressed on the topic by now. But not a day goes by that I skim the responses and shake my head in shock and disgust.

Personally, I think the repeal is long overdue. I served with many closeted gay service-members. Some came out after they got out. Some are still serving while not revealing anything. Some have never come out officially but it is a silent understanding between us. And I’m sure there are others I will never know about. It will take time to have everyone adjust but it was the same when women started serving alongside men and blacks started serving alongside whites. I won’t shut the door on someone willing to honorably serve this country - especially not when so many people turn their backs on the military as if it were beneath them.

But going back to this forum and the bullying. It’s the level of intolerance among adults that I cannot seem to grasp. I get it. Homosexuality makes you uncomfortable. Because clearly what two perfect strangers do behind closed doors as consenting adults should be your main focus of concern. I don’t want to think about my straight friends having sex. Never once did I look at a married guy or girl when I was in the Corps and wonder what kind of sex they were having with their spouse. So what the hell is the big deal? No one is going to jump you when you’re not looking and try to “make you gay.” Seeing two men or two women holding hands isn’t going to affect your children until you start ranting about how “sick” it is. Basically I think you should get over it. Okay, so your religious beliefs say it’s wrong. Fine. Isn’t it your god’s job to judge and not yours? Didn’t your Christ teach tolerance and love? Can’t you just agree to say you don’t understand it? No. Instead you will attack, belittle, and degrade as much and as often as you can.

No wonder our children aren’t tolerant. They look to us and we’re the ones failing. You can teach your child the morals and values you believe in while still teaching them tolerance and acceptance. Even my 9 year old gets it. She’s reading The Giver by Lois Lowry right now and she sees that a society where everyone is controlled and the same would be horrible. She understands that our differences are what makes this world so beautiful. I just wish more adults could open their eyes, minds, and hearts. And stop soiling our children. It’s only then that I won’t be brought to tears by a morning news story about a 13 year old boy who was attacked.

I've Been Slacking...

2011-01-26T12:54:00.001-05:00

I know, I know. I've been slacking. I guess if I'm being honest, I've been having an affair with Tumblr. It intrigues me...

Anyways, not much going on around here. It's Kentucky. What do you expect? I have come to the conclusion that the next place we live has to have a few requirements that I will not bend on:

A. Camouflage hunting print cannot be a fashion choice
B. Overalls are null and void
C. The majority of the population must be able to read
D. There cannot be more than 3 country radio stations
E. No one can reference a store by preceding it with "the" - ex: the Walmart, the Krogers, the Piggly Wiggly
F. It cannot be in the state of Kentucky

Guess I'll try to get on here more often. I do have a lot to say. Just ask poor Mark. He has to hear it all the time....

The Ramirez Family

2010-12-05T11:20:00.001-05:00

It is with a sad and heavy heart that I write this post. My sister's husband, Charlie, was taken too early in life on December 4th in a tragic car accident. He leaves behind his loving wife and three children. Katrina and Charlie own two small businesses and their income is basically at a complete standstill during this difficult time. The vehicle they used for their business has been totaled.

I know it's tough out there. And it's a tough time of year for me to ask you to reach into your wallets. But if you can find it in your heart to even donate $5.00 to help, it would be greatly appreciated. It adds up quickly. The money will not only be used to cover the funeral expense but will also help the family with food, utilities, and mortgage until Katrina is able to return to working full time. Please find it in your heart to help out and pass this on to anyone you feel could contribute as well. The link below is safe and protected via PayPal. 100% of the funds will be passed on to the family.

My sister is always the first person to help out others in their time of need. I hope that we can all come together to do the same for her. My goal is to allieviate as much financial distress as I possibly can for her so she can take the time she needs to grieve without worrying about how she is going to get food on the table.

The family appreciates your support, thoughts, and prayers. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

30 Days of Thankfulness

2010-11-04T10:47:00.000-04:00

I had a really bad day on November 1st so I didn't jump on the daily sharing of what I'm thankful for that's filling up my facebook feed. So, I'm just gonna knock this bad boy out right now. Here are my 30 things I'm thankful for:

1. My husband. It's been 10 years of laughter, love, tears, struggle, and sometimes heartache. But it's been the best 10 years any girl could ask for. I love him for everything he is and everything he is to me.

2. My daughter. I could write 100 reasons and then some as to why I'm thankful for her. She is the light in my darkest days. And the absolute most amazing person I know.

3. Coffee. Seriously, everyone should be thankful I have that.

4. My health. I need to remember to take some time for myself sometimes but if I'm not healthy, life stops in this family. I'm glad everything is in working order.

5. My friends. The real ones. The ones who laugh with me, cry with me, and call me out on my bullshit. My girls. My homies. Thanks for putting up with me.

6. Lucy. I can't stand the damn dog most days. But I always feel loved when I walk in the door and she greets me.

7. Health insurance. Bitch all you want about government health care. We depend on it. It keeps my kid alive.

8. My grandparents. Two of the most adorably cool people you'll ever meet. I only ever had the one set and they are undoubtedly one of the biggest influences on who I am as a person today.

9. Flannel. Without it, my pajamas and sheets would not be so comfy and warm. Also, I would have had a hell of a time picking out clothes to wear in high school as flannel shirts were pretty much my staple.

10. Music. Music. Music. I lose myself in it. I find myself in it.

11. Laughter. If I can't laugh it out, I will probably have a nervous breakdown.

12. Bacon. Duh!

13. Books - reading isn't just a hobby, it's a necessity.

14. Facebook - you think I'm kidding. It is sometimes my only connection with the outside world.

15. Free thinking. For as much as I think some people are complete assholes, I am glad we're all able to express how we feel in this country.

16. Cell phones, Internet connection, and instant messenger. Three staples to keeping a long distance Army marriage in tact. I'm glad we don't just rely on snail mail.

17. Hugs. I'm not a touchy-feely person but there are a few people whose hugs I cannot live without. And a few people who I enjoy hugging on the rare occasion I see them.

18. On the 18th of November I would have dedicated my thankful post to my dad. It will be his birthday. And I miss him even more now. I can't believe it's been 10 years since I've heard his voice or seen his smile. I love you, Dad. And I miss you always.

19. Random acts of kindness. Thanks for keeping my faith in the human spirit alive.

20. John Lennon. No explanation needed.

21. Hot bubble baths. And the fact that I can take one when in some parts of the world they don't have running water still. Or clean drinking water. I'm very grateful that I can take a long, hot bubble bath at the end of a bad day.

22. My mom. She can drive me crazy sometimes. But my mom will fly out here just so I won't be alone (whether I want her to or not).

23. My past. It may not have been a perfect one, but there are no regrets. And I am who I am because of every triumph, heartbreak, failure, stumble, and every single time I got back up again.

24. Hope. Because no matter how bad it is, there is always hope for a better tomorrow.

25. My temper. It may not always be a good thing, but flare it up because of my child and I guarantee I will win the fight. I'm thankful I have the fire to push people to do what they need to do in order to make Zoe as healthy and happy as possible.

26. Spell check. Because I never spell guarantee or restaurant right on the first try.

27. Kisses and hugs from Zoe. They make everything better.

28. Mark's arms - the safest place in the world and the only place I can let my guard down.

29. My will to survive. While you may think I'm strong, I'm just trying to get through the day. But without my will to survive, I would have curled up in a ball and given up a long time ago.

30. Waking up today. It may have been a restless night and I could have used three more hours of sleep. But here I am. And somewhere in the world, someone didn't get up today. I did. And I'm grateful for that.

Happy (?) Anniversary, Kentucky

2010-08-31T08:27:00.000-04:00

Well, it's been a year. A year in Radcliff, Kentucky.

What has happened in the last year? Not a whole hell of a lot, that's for sure. I am sitting here typing this in my pajamas. My hair is a mess and I haven't brushed my teeth yet. I have no desire to get out and do anything. I wouldn't say I'm depressed because I'm not a wallow in self pity kind of person. However, I am definitely a changed woman.

A year ago, I had high hopes. I had dreams of spending every night with my husband. Dreams of family dinners and birthdays and anniversaries spent laughing and full of love. I imagined that Mark and I were going to get the time together we needed to heal our wounds from living in a constant state of panic and stress for over 6 years. I thought my love for music would bloom due to our central location and I would be off to see shows every week. I thought life would settle into an easy routine and I'd find the same loving support system that we left behind in Colorado.

I thought wrong.

Mark is never home. His birthday was spent away from us. Again. I spend my days and nights still waiting for him to call. We are once again living separate lives. Only this time, I don't have much of a life to live. In between the calls there is laundry and cleaning. There's a crazy dog to clean up after. There's butt wiping and sleepless nights of rolling Zoe over. I love her, but Zoe is a demanding child. Not that she's ungrateful or can even help it. But she can't do anything for herself. It is a 24 hour a day job. With no breaks. And for the first time in my entire life, I don't have even one friend around. I have no support system. And the only shows I get to go to are ones that Disney makes millions of dollars from.

I'm ranting so this is going all over the place, but this is my life right now. It's honestly not stressful. We've been through worse. It's just that a year ago, I would have never pictured myself to be addicted to Facebook because it's my only social interaction. I would have never thought that I would look forward to driving over 2 hours to get my hair done so I could be in civilization and have a grown up conversation. A year ago, I really wanted to give this place a chance. Now I just want to give it the finger, pack up, and move home.

Okay, everyone knows why I hate it here. There are some good things about this place. One - there's a lot of birds and butterflies. Two - it is pretty and green. Three - I'm only two hours away from Nashville. Four - um....four....errr...four... crap, that's the best I can do.

Wow. This blog sucks. Kinda like this place. I can literally feel the life being sucked out of me as I type out my pathetic ramblings. But it pretty much is what it is. At least a new season of Survivor is about to start soon...

So, um, yeah...

2010-08-02T11:14:00.000-04:00

When I reconnect with friends or meet new people and they learn about Zoe, 99% of the time I get some sort of sympathetic religious remark. I know people have the best of intentions. I know they are just trying to be polite or show that they care. But I never know how to respond.

I don't believe that Zoe having SMA was part of "God's plan." I don't believe we were "chosen" as her parents. I don't believe in a higher power controlling our destiny. Zoe has a genetic disease. It's terrible. I wish I could change it. But I can't. And she's happy. And brilliant. And I love her more than anything. I won't accept that she was "given" to me because I'm strong and "won't be given more than I can handle."

I don't see Zoe as a gift from a god. She is a direct result of the love Mark and I share. She is a reflection of us. Zoe is also so much more than that. God didn't choose to give her SMA. Genetically, Mark and I are carriers of the disease. Genetically, everyone carries some sort of abnormality. Everyone. It just so happens we both had this to pass along to Zoe. I wish she only got Mark's eyes, my nose, and the combination of both of our terribly dry skin. But life doesn't always work out the way you plan it.

I don't care if you think badly of me for not having a faith and for not believing in your god. I'm a good person. I'm an excellent mother. Our child is a good person. But I still feel awkward when I get the messages, comments, and remarks. You are assuming that I share your faith. You are assuming that I believe in your god.

Religion gets thrown at me daily from different sources. I never throw back my thoughts. I don't get offended when you say you'll pray for us. That's how you get by, how you deal with things. That's fine. I don't. I just find it to be an awkward situation so I don't comment at all. I just let it pass. I don't plan on debating over religion. I don't want to be "saved" or proven wrong.

I think that if you honestly find peace and joy out of your religion then that is a wonderful thing for you. I'm happy for you. I find peace and joy in my family. I find my strength in them as well. I don't need nor want a church, a god, or scripture. And as much as I respect your choice to follow that, I would love you to respect my choice.

But like the picture says, don't tell me that my child is part of "God's plan" or that she is "a gift from God." That actually annoys the crap out of me. Big time.

My Hair

2010-07-30T08:41:00.003-04:00

I can't control a lot of things in my life so my hair has become quite a hobby over the last few months. Ever since I chopped it all off, I can't get enough of color and spiky styles. The great thing about changing your hair is that you can always change it again! And there's nothing like a new 'do to change your entire outlook on life. The first time John cut all my hair off, I felt renewed. I felt fearless. I felt like a rockstar.

Lately it is the only thing I can do that is interesting. I have no more rock shows to go to. I have no friends here. I have no hobby. No book club. So I go down to Nashville and place my head in the hands of my stylist. I tell him to go crazy. To do whatever color. Perhaps my blonde is the most shocking and drastic change of all. But I love it. And I'll keep it for a while. I feel like a completely different person.

I thought I'd share my hair styles over the last couple of years. Starting from my long highlighted locks until now. You'll have to hide the annoying ad - I'm not smart enough to figure that out in html.

Bacon

2010-07-28T08:34:00.003-04:00

Yum. Just thinking about it and the fat girl in me starts happy dancing and clapping. I LOVE bacon. Seriously. Love it. It is a pure love. A greedy love on my part. Very one sided. My thighs and ass probably don't appreciate bacon, but they can just suck it up. Literally. I don't care. I love it.

Where did this random blog on bacon come from, you ask? We haven't had any in the house in months. We've been eating healthier and bacon doesn't fall into any health food category at all. But I broke down and asked my husband to buy me some when he went grocery shopping the other day.

So now, there it sits in my refrigerator. Beckoning to me with all it's greasy deliciousness. It's in there, taunting me. Begging me to plop it in the pan. I'm trying to restrain myself because my bacon eating usually goes something like this...

I plop four pieces into the heated up pan. A shiver of excitement pops through my body as the grease pops up. The smell hits me and I am thrust into a euphoric trance as I impatiently await the bacon to cook. The smell takes over my entire being. I start to salivate. I quickly flip the bacon over, knowing it's too soon. I don't care. I can't wait. I stand there, fork in hand trying to decide how cooked is cooked enough not to make me sick.

When it hits that point, I take it out of the pan and put it on the plate with the paper towel waiting for it. I know it's too hot, but I can't help it. I sneak off a bite of one piece. I burn my tongue. I am happy though so I don't mind the pain. The pain is nothing. The taste is everything. Oh, Bacon, where have you been all my life.

Now I cook four pieces because four pieces makes the perfect sandwich. As I put the first three pieces in between two slices of bread, I look at that fourth piece that I've already begun to eat. It's just a measly little piece. It won't make a difference in the sandwich. So I scarf it down.

I then take my bacon sandwich - which is quite honestly just bacon between bread so that I don't feel bad about eating bacon straight from the pan. Because that would mean I have a problem. The bread makes it okay. The bread makes it a meal. Not just bacon. So anyway, I take my sandwich and I promise myself I'll eat it slowly and enjoy it. I don't get bacon very often (you'll see why as you continue to read). So I want this to last. I take my first bite and BAM! I forget whatever deal I made with myself. It's like heaven. Or what I imagine my heaven would be if it existed. Pure delight. I am high. On bacon. Yes, bacon. My second bite is just as good as the first. And so is the third and the fourth and the... crap. I'm out of bacon almost. There is one small piece left. So I pull it out. And pop it in my mouth. I suck on it for a minute, sucking out all the greasy goodness because I know it's over. The bacon is gone. After I finish eating my last tiny bite, I eat the rest of the bread because it's now bacon flavored bread. Seriously, Wonder Bread, could you just make that for me?

Sadly, I walk back to the kitchen to put my plate away and I see the pan sitting on the stove. Still hot. Full of bacon grease. I try to walk away. But it's already there. It's already set up. So one more sandwich won't take long to make. What's one more sandwich? I put the pan back on the burner and pull the bacon back out from the fridge. This time, I'll make five pieces. Five will be perfect. I'll eat one and put four on my sandwich. This is going to be great...

Somehow though, only three pieces end up on my second sandwich and before I know it, I'm walking sadly back to the kitchen with my empty plate. I've even eaten the small crumbs of bacon that were dotting my plate. It's completely clean. I glance over at the pan. I know I should walk away. But it's sitting there. Calling to me. Oh, sweet siren! Why? Why do you call for me? I look around. No one's here. No one can judge me. So I put the pan back on. I go back to the refrigerator. There are six pieces left. No point in just putting three pieces back, right? So I fry up the rest of it.

Somehow, again I am left with only three pieces on my sandwich. And before I know it, I've taken my last bite. And I'm doing the walk of shame back to the kitchen. But wait. What's that? In the pan. Drowning in a sea of grease and fat? Yes! It's a tiny piece of bacon. No, I won't do it. Yes! I must. I take the fork and fish out the tiny piece, rescuing it from despair and popping it into my mouth. I suck on the last piece and stare at the pan of grease that smells so delicious.

I realize, I have gone too far. I will not stick my finger in the grease. I will not. Must be strong. So I quickly clean up. I dispose of all evidence that I have just consumed an entire package of bacon. The smell lingers though, much like my guilt. I panic. What if Mark comes home early? Zoe's bus will be here soon. I must get rid of the smell. So I wash the kitchen floor. I open the windows. I spray my handy dandy Febreeze. I take the trash out. I wonder, can they smell it? Will they know? I should take a shower. The smell might be on me. Must hurry!

Zoe rolls in. A smile creeps over her face. And she says, "Mommy. You had bacon!" OH THE SHAME! She knows! She knows! And she's sure to tell her dad when he walks in. Okay, I tell myself. This is it. I won't do it ever again.

And then weeks later I notice the bacon in the refrigerator....

Me

2010-07-07T09:42:00.005-04:00

Who am I? I am exactly who I've always been. I am high strung. I am a control freak. Type A Personality may not even be extreme enough of a category for me. I do not like to just wing it. I like plans. I have never been good at just going with the flow. I have high standards and high expectations.

This is who I am. You either love me or hate me for it.

These very qualities in me have allowed me to be a survivor. They allow me to adapt and overcome all the challenges that I face. My strength is what drives me to fight for my child, my husband, my family.

I have been like this my entire life. Some may take it as me being critical or expecting too much. I don't mean for it to be that way. I just have little patience when things don't go the way I plan or expect them to. If I can control the situation, I will.

The same qualities that make me a strong wife and mother during deployments and times of crisis, are the exact same qualities that make me a difficult person to live with. I recognize this. I understand it. But I can't flip a switch and turn my personality off. Being strong willed is who I am. Maybe I'm pushy or even bitchy. But these are my survival tools.

So what can I do to lighten up? What can I possibly do to change the very person I am? And should I even try? Why should I feel bad about myself for being strong?

25 Things that Annoy Me

2010-07-01T17:20:00.002-04:00

1. Kids on leashes.
2. When people type "should of," "could of," or "would of."
3. Folding and putting away laundry.
4. People who cut me off and then hit their brakes.
5. Soap scum.
6. Girls/Women with entitlement issues.
7. People who can't take care of their responsibilities yet have a comment on what everyone else is doing.
8. Panty lines.
9. Muffin tops - I mean seriously, pick out a looser shirt so I don't have to see that.
10. Fake tans - orange is not attractive. Period.
11. People with handicap permits who park in the striped lines.
12. People without handicap permits who park in the striped lines (or spaces).
13. Not getting an answer to an email.
14. Poor customer service - I will call you out.
15. When a server sits at your table or kneels to take your order.
16. Getting older.
17. Closed minded people.
18. The dog hair that has taken over my house.
19. Children with no manners.
20. Oblivious people.
21. Helpless women - stop bitching about your relationship and fix your life.
22. Broken promises.
23. Perez Hilton.
24. Feeling helpless.
25. Kentucky.

A Dad's Day Blog

2010-06-20T12:14:00.003-04:00

I have been fortunate enough in my life to have some great fathers love me. None of that love came from the man who actually fathered me, but I never felt any less of a person for it. I am lucky enough to still have three amazing men in my life.

When I was little, my grandfather played the role of dad. He was my world. What my Grandpa said was golden. I adored him. I thought he was the most amazing man in the world. I loved sitting with him and watching The Lone Ranger or yelling at the TV with him over a Cowboys game. I loved riding in the car with him and stopping at Cox' Bakery for a cookie and chocolate milk for breakfast. He loved pushing my buttons and watching my stubborn streak emerge. To this day there are catch phrases tossed around in my family I coined as a four year old who was mad at her grandpa. My grandpa taught me how to stand up for myself, how to be strong, and how to count in Spanish. He is without a doubt one of the biggest influences in my life today. I can't imagine a time when I won't yell out "My Horsie" on the phone with him, thirty years after the game started we continue to play. I don't know that words could ever express how much I love my grandpa.

When I was six years old, my mom remarried and I got exactly what I wished for - a daddy. My dad was a strange addition to our small threesome of a family. I loved him but I secretly feared him as well. He walked into our lives, this large Samoan man who didn't say much. I remember in the beginning I thought he was a giant. I imagined he came from an island of giants where they wore grass skirts and hunted with spears. I watched in awe as he ate strange foods - tarot root and entire fish, eyeballs and all. Our cabinets were now filled with things like coconut milk, rice, and dried cuttlefish. In efforts to impress him, I ate it all. Well not the fish eyeballs.

I found my common bond with my dad was my tendencies to be a tomboy. I watched football and wrestling with him. We sat outside together as he spit shined his Army boots. I knew he was always going to protect me. I felt bad for teachers who made bad decisions or doctors who didn't quite treat us right. My dad was a lion when it came to us.

It wasn't always rainbows and butterflies in my house. There were dark times. But I know that he loved us. I think he just struggled with feeling like he was a part of our family. I wish he knew how much I adored him. How I was so full of pride, even in high school, when he came to a school event for me. He was the first person I always wanted to tell good news to. He still is. I miss him so much.

Both my grandpa and my dad served in the Army. It was an easy decision for me to join the military. It was in part, out of respect for both of them. I wasn't a boy, but I could still serve my country proudly. No one supported my decision to join the Marine Corps. Except for my dad. Even my grandpa didn't think I should go, out of fear that it would be too rough for me. My dad on the other hand told me it would be good for me and just what I needed. He was right.

Over the seven years I was in, I called and consulted both my dad and grandpa on my career. I called and shared the funny stories. The highs. With my dad, I shared the lows. I could always count on him to lay it down straight for me.

I was devastated when my dad finally lost his battle with cancer. I felt as if I had personally let him down. I couldn't fix him. I couldn't make it better. And there I stood, pregnant with my first child and realizing she would never meet her grandpa. She was going to miss out.

Today, my grandpa is still one of the most important men in my life. I add to that list my amazing husband. And my grown up little brother. My husband, Mark, may not always have the luxury of being home (because of the Army) but he is the most incredible father. I watch his eyes when he is with Zoe and I see nothing but love. I eavesdrop as he reads her stories at night and listen to them talk. My heart is full. He loves her so much that I can actually cry just thinking about it.

And now my baby brother, one of the loves of my life, is going to be a daddy himself. I can't wait. I can't wait to see him holding a tiny little Duffy in his now massive arms. He is so much like my dad, but also so much more. He is going to be incredible. What a lucky little baby!

And with that, I say Happy Father's Day to those who are reading. Take the time to tell the fathers in your life just how much they mean to you. I know I will.

Taken from my Facebook in regards to SMA fundraising...

2010-06-08T10:13:00.002-04:00

By now everyone knows that my daughter, Zoe, has Spinal Muscular Atrophy. Yes, there are challenges and days that suck. Yes, it is a serious disease that robs children of their lives very early on. I hate SMA. It controls so much of our lives. BUT I will not allow it to run our lives. I will not allow Zoe to grow up feeling sorry for herself. I will not allow her to grow up expecting people to treat her differently - good or bad. I will not let her gain a sense of entitlement over her disease. This is something we can't change, but we can make the best of it. And I will make sure Zoe sees all the positives in her life. She will grow up to be charitable to others, not just focused on one charity. Zoe already is on her way to being just that - a kind, caring, sympathetic human being.

I have recently begun to separate myself a bit from the SMA community. I had over 100 friends on facebook that were SMA related. People whose children I have grown to love. Only it is easy to get lost in our little community and get caught up in it. I needed a break. And I apologize to those who don't understand, but I don't feel that I have to explain myself. I also don't feel like I have to add every single SMA family to my friends list. Facebook is my social outlet. I need it to not always be serious. I can catch up in SMA forums - which I read frequently. It doesn't make me a bad person for not wanting to fill my facebook feed with nothing but SMA related topics.

That being said, I wanted to talk about some of the fundraising campaigns going on facebook. Many times I've posted a call for your help and you've answered by voting for SMA based charities. And I truly appreciate it. Research money is very important to curing SMA. I don't have to tell you what that would mean. Although the sad truth is that Zoe will never be "cured" 100%, we are enthusiastic about wiping this disease out completely for future generations. There is a hope for a better tomorrow, we can all see it in our near future.

Now every month as Pepsi does it's Pepsi Refresh campaign, my newsfeed is full of solicitations for votes for SMA charities. Stop SMA successfully won a grant for $250,000. Amazing! Other SMA charities are jumping on board to try to get funding as well. Just like there are several hundred cancer foundations, there are several SMA foundations all with the same goal. I think Pepsi is doing an awesome thing with these grants.

I was discouraged to see Stop SMA going for a second grant of $25,000 just after winning $250,000. I thought it was a bit over the top and greedy. And I didn't want to be associated with that. So I didn't promote it. In fact, I spoke up about it. This probably didn't make me popular in the SMA community.

As each new month rolls on, this Pepsi thing is getting a little absurd. Yes, I realize the research money is important. But I will not make every single day a life and death situation and ram this down my friends' throats on facebook. I do not endorse some of the tactics and wording going on in this campaign. I do not appreciate someone judging me for not supporting these campaigns or being called out for it. It's my choice. Don't like it? Too bad.

A lot of us share a common friend. He is a special person who was introduced into our community by means of a special little girl. His kindness towards her was extended to several of us as he let us into his world a little. Yes, he is famous. But he is human. And if you haven't taken the time to get to know him as a person, I think it's pretty damn obnoxious of you to ask favors of him. Even if that favor seems simple to you. You have no idea what he has going on in his life nor the obligations he is under. It doesn't make him heartless to not post about SMA. It doesn't mean he doesn't care. On the contrary, he does. I have taken the time to get to know him. He has a big heart. But he doesn't owe us anything. And hounding him to post something isn't fair to him. He is very charitable, very kind, and very caring. Get off his case.

Basically, what I honestly believe is that these campaigns have the possibility of ruining the reputation of the SMA community. Telling someone that we deserve to win because "it's the only charity that saves lives" isn't right. Every one of these charities deserve a chance. Every one of these charities will change lives. A friend of mine supported a campaign that got her kids' school a new playground. They may not have cured a disease, but do you know how many smiles that playground will bring for decades to come??? For me to tell her my charity is more important than hers would be absurd.

I have done my fair share of fundraising and promoting awareness for SMA. I refuse to be judged based on a facebook campaign. If you don't agree with me, that's your right. It doesn't mean I'm not dedicated to my child, her future, or the cure for SMA. It doesn't make me a bad person. It makes me real. And honest.

The love of my life

2010-05-26T09:46:00.001-04:00

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Family Fun at the Flea Market

2010-05-15T17:41:00.004-04:00

Every stereotype in the book about Kentucky was proven today as we ventured to our local flea market. The flea market is held every weekend in the bowling alley's parking lot. We've held off on checking it out for a while now, but with the addition of a carnival today, we just couldn't pass it up.

As we pulled in to the gravel lot, we were immediately cut off by some eager shopper who just knew we were going to steal their bargain. Whatever, Gomer, go on ahead. We drove slowly past the outer "stands" to get to the parking. Basically people show up and park wherever they want, open their trunks or doors to their mobile homes, and sell their crap. I knew today's shopping experience was going to be extra special as we passed the roosters crowing in their cages and a lady stepping out of her trailer in all her glory - housecoat, slippers, and cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth as she yelled something to a customer.

As I stepped out of the van, a strange smell hit me. It was a weird mixture of urine, funnel cakes, and something I didn't quite recognize. GAG. Then I heard a weird peeping sound. I looked up to find the source and a young girl was holding a tiny chick in her hands, walking with pride. I thought, "Oh hell. Please do not let that be a prize at the carnival. I can handle a goldfish but I do not want a fuckin' chicken."

We decided to start in the indoor portion of the market. These stands are "regulars." Only there was nothing regular about anything going on in this place. The urine smell became heavier. In this warehouse-o-fun, there was many a site to take in. We ventured in slowly, not wanting to stand out anymore than we already did. It was apparent that we were the only ones who showered that day.

It didn't take long before we ran into a local who was just in awe of Zoe's wheelchair. Maybe two booths in, we got our stalker. Toothless, smelly, and mouth hanging open he stared at my baby girl. I grabbed her hand and tried not to make eye contact. Too late. Out of his gaping mouth came, "Well, I'll be. I'm sure glad she has that there thing." I nodded, smiled and moved away. He followed. Damn it. Where was Mark? "I'll bet that thing was expensive, huh?" I turned to look at the man now. "The medical insurance covered it, but no they aren't cheap." I turned to Zoe and started talking to her. But my new friend interpreted my turned back as a reason to step closer and continue talking to me. "Insurance is expensive these days though. Hey, do she talk at all?" That was it. I was done talking and smiling. I saw Mark and high tailed it with Zoe to him. He was mesmerized by knives. And swords. They had freakin' swords. Like sharp objects were a good idea with this crowd.

Zoe was distracted easily by everything they had to offer. Toys from the eighties that looked like they had seen better days but were priced at $20. Knick knacks to make any grandmother proud. And then I saw it. The optometrist booth. Eye Exams Available. What? One guy was getting fitted for glasses while the other waited on a lawn chair for his turn. Sweet.

There was a lawyer booth. I shit you not. A lawyer booth. The lawyer was away for a moment but he had two tables set up. Behind the tables was a background with fake bookshelves full of fake law books. And a sign that said: Bankruptcy? Divorce? Child Support? Paternity Questions? WE CAN HELP. I bet they can. Wonder what their rates are???

We came across some bunnies. The nice neo-nazi running the booth was willing to give Zoe a bunny for just ten dollars. Her eyes lit up. He picked one up and let her pet it. I immediately freaked out as I saw some weird skin rash on it. I told her to stop petting the bunny because we couldn't have one. Mr. Neo-Nazi pulls me to the side and says he has some chihuahuas coming in, really sweet ones and he could make a deal for us "fine white folks." Really? Dude. I'm not buying shit from you. I'm not funding your kind of crazy. Thanks.

We eventually made it out to the cars of locals selling their crap. There was a wide variety of crap. I saw bras and underwear that made me wonder if they were used. Stuffed animals missing eyes - seriously, how bad do you have to hate a kid to buy him a one eyed dirty panda from the flea market??? All kinds of farm tools. Animals galore - roosters, ducks, and one very frightened bunny rabbit who was in a cage on top of a cage of fighting roosters. I almost bought that thing just to set it free. VHS tapes. Jewelry. Guns. Leather. Car parts. And kitchen cabinets. Mostly it was junk that looks like it gets set out every week.

We headed over to the "carnival." It had six rides. Not a single one looked safe. The workers looked bored and hungry. I swear one guy looked like the living dead. He stood by his ride, shoulders slumped, head dangling to the side, mouth open. I thought for sure he was going to bite someone. We played two games to satisfy Zoe. She got her two prizes and we high tailed it out of there.

I think we've had about all the Kentucky culture we need after today. I'm just happy we made it out of there. My only regret? No it isn't that we didn't hire a family lawyer or buy a rooster. I forgot my camera today.

Lucy-Fur

2010-05-12T15:05:00.005-04:00

I like dogs. I always enjoy meeting other people's pets. Much like kids, it's great because the dog is not mine and I don't have to take him/her home with me. I didn't grow up with pets in my house. My mom was too neurotic to allow a messy dog in the house. Plus we moved around too much. My grandma always had dogs. One of which was seriously like family to me. Lady was the best dog in the world. I still love her. I was that kid sharing ice cream with the dog and taking naps with her. Lady was awesome.

Over the years, Mark and I tried introducing dogs into our family. Well, he tried once before Lucy with me. The first was Charlie, a shar pei. Charlie was a pain in the ass and bit my friend's son. She was an escape artist. She lasted two weeks. Then Zoe and I tried Princess. Princess was a cute little dappled daschund. Cute? Yes. Crazy? Definitely. This puppy had severe separation anxiety and would not even walk. She wanted me to carry her everywhere. Five days and she was rehomed. Then came Annie. Annie was a year and a half according to her previous owner, but I think she was more like five. Annie was a diva and our house already had a reigning diva - Zoe. Annie bit Zoe and that was that. She lasted six weeks.

So when Mark came home from Iraq the last time, we decided to try again. And we got Lucy. Lucy-Fur. The evil, destructive psycho dog that now spends her day either sleeping and storing up her energy to attack me or by actually attacking me. Lucy started out so cute and sweet. It didn't take long for the evil to surface. She bit. HARD. And began eating the house. No, seriously, she ate the house. Not only my chairs, table, and anything within reach of her jaws. But the actual house. She ate door frames. And walls. The damn dog ate a wall!

Now I was already freaked out with the accidents and the dog hair. My neurotic apple didn't fall far from the neurotic tree. But the destruction was too much for me. I wanted to get rid of her. I fought to get rid of her. But have you seen Lucy's face? She totally suckers you in.

And now, here we are over a year later and the beast remains a part of our lives. She's my furry kid. Only she still bites my feet. Or climbs on the back of the couch and attempts to ninja-attack me. When I say ninja-attack, I mean she falls very unninja-like onto my head. My legs and feet are permanently bruised. And she gave me two ticks. If that ain't love, I don't know what is. She freaks out when I'm on the phone, determined to get my attention. She's scared of shadows and trashcans and spray bottles. She snores. She farts.

But she does snuggle. And she smiles. No one is as happy to see you as Lucy is. She loves everyone. She seriously can't understand that why people will walk by her without paying attention to her. Lucy is a handful for sure. And there are days I want to kill her. Oh, and I'd love for a cure for shedding. But I love her. Stupid dog. There's no getting rid of her now...

10 Quick Lessons I've Learned

2010-05-10T11:50:00.004-04:00

1. The world is full of stupid people. If you just assume everyone you meet is a complete idiot, you will never be disappointed. And sometimes, you may be pleasantly surprised.

2. You will not like every single person you meet. Likewise, there will be people who don't like you. Just avoid those people and don't spend time hating them.

3. Boys are pretty clueless. When I say boys, I also mean men.

4. Girls are mean.

5. When you find a friend who loves you for you, hold on to them tightly. And offer them the same courtesy.

6. Music can change your life. You just have to be willing to let it.

7. Read. Read as much as you can, as often as you can.

8. Don't forget to appreciate what you have. It can be taken away from you in an instant, without warning. This applies to not only the material things in your life, but your abilities and the people you love the most.

9. If you love someone, tell them. It might just be the one thing they need to hear.

10. White pants are NEVER a good idea.

What Do You Think I Am???

2010-05-07T16:47:00.002-04:00

When I was an active duty Marine one of the things that used to crack me up was when I was out of uniform and I told people what I did for a living. With my long curly hair and very girly looks, no one ever guessed I was a Marine. Once while home on leave I was wearing a USMC sweatshirt and waiting for my little brother to get out of school. A retired Marine came up to me and asked if it was my dad or boyfriend who was a Marine. I laughed as I said, "Sir, I'm a Lance Corporal" and watched the shock wash over his face. He apologized and said, "WM's didn't look like you when I was in." (WM = Woman Marine) We exchanged "Semper Fi's" and I was on my way. I once dropped a wayward Private in the middle of a club in Tijuana for grabbing my ass when I was a Corporal. It was hysterical when I pulled out my ID and told him his ass was mine. I got free drinks for the rest of the night from the waiters. I didn't actually order him to drop and do push ups on the nasty floor, but I scared him into doing them on his own. I bet he never grabbed another woman's ass again without her permission.

As time went on, the whole Marine thing became even more of a novelty. I was stationed in Germany and was the only female Marine on the base I worked on. In fact, there weren't many Marines on my base at all. So I got a kick out of making the Army, Navy, and Air Force guys stutter in my presence. Out of uniform, I quite enjoyed letting some Army Specialist go on and on about how tough he was as I anxiously awaited the question, "So what do you do?" I always grinned and said, "Not much. I'm a Sergeant of Marines." BAM! I swear jaws hit the floor every time.

So when I got stationed in Norway, I was already quite used to the drill. I would be one of 6 Marines and only 2 others were enlisted. The NATO unit was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Everyone was laid back. I got off work at 3:00. No formations. And I finally had no barracks. I was thrilled to go house hunting! I picked the cutest little house in the old district of Stavanger. Just two streets above the first neighborhood built that still had cobblestone streets. I was walking distance to downtown for shopping, eating, and of course clubbing.

I loved my little house with it's purple entryway and wood floors. The loft style bedrooms led to a deck that overlooked the harbor. I would walk downtown on Saturday mornings to the market to buy fresh flowers, fruit, and bread. I'd walk in my girly house and smile because there wasn't harsh florescent lights and ugly military furniture. I sunbathed on my deck and blasted my music. It felt wonderful.

But then, I started experiencing the weirdest things. At night I would often walk home alone. The walk was short but it was uphill and I always wore heels so it took me about 15 minutes. I had to pass by a park that in the day time was beautiful, but at night gave me the creeps. I'd call a friend to talk on my cell the whole way. And I always felt like the people hanging out in that area were waiting for me to stop talking. I never did. I kept walking.

And then it started happening. During the middle of the day as I headed out to buy my flowers wearing a ball cap and sneakers, a man stopped me. I thought he was lost. He was a sailor from one of the ships that often docked in the harbor. But then he asked me if I knew were to find a girl. I said no and kept walking, laughing to myself. He took a step towards me and reached out his hand asking, "How much for you?" I yelled at the top of my lungs, screaming obscenities only a foul mouthed Marine could conjure. And I took a step toward him as if I were going to hit him. He ran off.

A few weeks later another man stopped me. He didn't speak English but I knew what he was asking. I told him to go to hell and he understood my tone just fine. It happened twice more on my uphill journey home during the day. Never at night. Never when I was in heels. I didn't think I looked like a hooker or a crackwhore. What was going on???

It took a while but I finally figured out what was going on. After a night of dancing, two of my guy friends walked me and my girlfriend back to my house. We hung out for a bit and then the guys called a cab to take them home. They hadn't even left my street when my phone rang. They were hysterically laughing. Apparently as I walked them out, the cab driver saw me. And he wanted to know how much I charged. WHAT? The guys thought it was funny but I was mortified.

It turns out that I had moved into the prostitution district. Great. Lovely. You think the fuckin' real estate agent could have mentioned that? Knowing that I was a girl who would be living on my own? Or did even she think I was a prostitute???

I began taking cabs at night on the regular. And I took a different route during the day when I headed out. I fretted that my neighbors thought I was a whore. I woke up at every sound in that little, creaky house worried that someone was going to bang on my door demanding "service." It soiled my love for my cute little house. I began to hate it. I began dreaming of the fancy apartment building downtown that I had looked at. But instead of modern, I opted for charm. Stupid me. But in my defense who would equate old charm to hookers???

Forgive and Forget?

2010-05-05T07:57:00.003-04:00

I hold grudges. I'm notorious for them. I don't forget things easily - ask my husband. I have learned forgiveness over the years, but not as well as I should. And although I may forgive, I definitely don't forget and never let my guard back down around those who have hurt me. They may be able to get close, but they will forever remain at a further distance than they once were.

So today as I glanced at the trending topics on Twitter, I noticed there is an awful lot of love for Chris Brown. And I think, "has everyone else already forgiven him?" I found the whole Chris Brown/Rhianna situation very sad. Here are two young people with all the world at their finger tips. Fame. Fortune. Opportunity. And they want to act like absolute fools. She was a fool for staying in an abusive relationship when she obviously knew better. He spoke up against abuse and then beat the crap out of his famous girlfriend. And maybe he's a better person now. Maybe she's forgiven him. Maybe he is changed. Maybe.

I look back to other artists I have turned my back on. R. Kelly. Used to love me some R. Kelly. Too many cases against him from young girls turned my love into disgust. Never listened to him again. Kanye West - well, I was never that big of a Kanye fan to tell the truth. The year he lost the Best New Artist Grammy to Maroon 5 (who I love) and he threw a fit, I thought he was a jackass. Then he kept popping up whining about things like that. The stunt on the telethon for Hurricane Katrina had potential, but he came across like a bumbling idiot. And when he went and picked on sweet little Taylor Swift; that was it. I was done. Today his song comes on the radio or even a song he's collaborated on, and I quickly change the dial.

So now, here I am at Chris Brown. My musical taste has changed over the years and today's R&B music really isn't something I seek out. So chances of me listening to a Chris Brown song are slim. But is it time for me to acknowledge that the boy made a mistake and let him go on with his career? Would another young man who was not famous been afforded the same opportunity as Chris Brown in that situation? Probably not. Another young man would have had his life ruined and not been able to continue on with his life as if nothing happened. Maybe Chris Brown suffered some financial loss over this with record labels and endorsement deals, but is it time for him to just walk back into the scene as if nothing happened?

You think I'm harsh on celebrities? Maybe. Just those who go to extremes. I'd be harsh on anyone in my life in the same way. I know people make mistakes. I get it. But I am a firm believer in being held accountable for your mistakes and owning up to them. I know I shouldn't judge, but I can't help doing so. I'm human. And I don't think I'm ready to witness an outpouring of love for Chris Brown just yet.

Once Upon A Time...

2010-05-04T18:46:00.004-04:00

There was this little girl who was always the shortest one in her class. She had big, thick glasses. She loved to read and often got caught up in her daydreams. She was a little smarter than the other kids and often got picked on because of it. She didn't mind usually. She was a fighter. She didn't back down. And her skills with words often left her challenger confused and too stunned to actually physically harm her.

She grew up fighting. Fighting for attention in her house as middle children often have to. She fought to be heard everywhere she went. She didn't want to be seen as just a cute little girl. She didn't want to be known as someone's sister or so-and-so's friend. She wanted to be known as herself. She fought so hard to stay out of the background but often felt that she was getting lost in it.

Time went on and she continued fighting her way through life and conquering all the challenges the universe laid out in front of her. She chose a life that wasn't for sweet little girls. She met many challengers who flat out told her they were waiting for her to fail. She fought on. She proved them wrong. Fighting became such a normal thing for her that when she found herself without something to fight for, she became sullen and moody. If there were no challenges in what she was doing, she lost interest completely and shut down.

And then, into her life walked the fabled Prince Charming. THE Prince Charming. The one. And she didn't have to fight. It felt nice to breathe for once. She figured her happily ever after wasn't due so early in life but she decided to grab the opportunity while she had it. Of course, they got married and had a little girl - a little fighter of their own.

The happily ever after part wasn't as easy as the girl, now a woman, thought it would be. She found new challenges to work through. New reasons to fight. Now the reasons to fight became do or die. She realized as she looked at her little girl that all the fighting she had done in the past, all the struggles; they were just training for her most important fight of all - her family.

She's still a fighter, the young girl now a strong woman. She's older and wiser with a few wrinkles and scars. She doesn't fight every battle that comes along, she picks the important ones. She has learned to take out all the negative things that aren't necessary in her life, even when it hurts to do so. She's learned to enjoy those moments when there is nothing to fight for. The reward for all that fighting continues to grow every single day. She may not be the woman who cures a disease, wins a marathon, or is rich and famous. But she is proud of exactly who she is.

Where's the Bacon???

2010-05-02T19:43:00.000-04:00

We started this P90X workout and healthy eating/diet thing 10 days ago. Let me just say, I was perfectly content being a lazy slob who ate what I wanted. I miss the greasy food. I miss CARBS. I want some damn bread. And nachos. And french fries. And bacon. I can do without chocolate, but I want some fried chicken and mashed potatoes. And I want it now!

So far, my heart hasn't been in this whole thing. Our bank account has. Healthy eating is EXPENSIVE. So, I have no choice but to stick to the meal plan in order to avoid tipping our bank account over into the negative. I admit that I am not very happy when the alarm goes off in the morning or Mark comes in to wake me up. I grudgingly shuffle up to the living room and stretch, cussing my husband out in my head the entire time. I used to hate waking up in the morning for PT in the Marine Corps. I feel like I'm back in the same place now.

My body is sore. I'm old. My hip pops. My knee pops. My shoulder pops. And my ass hurts. I don't feel a rush of energy after a workout. I want to crawl back in bed. I spend a lot of time in the kitchen, preparing the next day's lunch or chopping up all the damn expensive food. I drink protein shakes and eat protein bars. And vegetables. I hate them, but I eat them. And I'm not enjoying this one bit.

BUT... I look at myself in the mirror and I know it's time for a change. I've never had a weight problem. Even when I was pregnant, weight wasn't an issue. But I could use the toning. And since the move to Kentucky sucked most of the life out of me, I sat on my ass and gained 15 pounds. 15 pounds is a lot on a 5 foot 4 frame. I still look decent and I'm not overweight. But I'd like to breathe when I put on my jeans. I'd like to take the kid swimming this summer and feel good in a bikini. And I'd like to just feel good in general. I can't sit around and let this place suck the life out of me anymore.

So, I'll stick to it. For now. I may fall off the program here and there, but I'll try. Mostly because Mark is keeping me on track. I know I don't really need the pizza I'm desperately wanting to order right now. This is a better life for me. Maybe this is the week where I'll get my energy boost and feel good.

Or maybe I'll just keep imagining me kicking the P90X guy in the head...

Zoe's Song

2010-04-26T10:39:00.003-04:00

I sit alone inside myself
A precious doll upon a shelf
Passers-by stop and smile
Looking through me all the while
I want to run and jump and dance
Not sit and watch you blow your chance
You waste every single breath you take
Filling life with so much hate
I would take your life and I would soar
A prisoner to my chair no more
I would take each moment, sun or rain
You wouldn't hear me complain
A fairytale I long to come true
My dream is a reality to you
All I long for is to be free
To shed this body and be me
For now, I sit inside myself
A precious doll upon a shelf

Dear Arizona Law Enforcement Officer,

2010-04-25T16:33:00.003-04:00

I am writing to you on behalf of my friend, Peter, whom you have stopped to request documentation proving his U.S. citizenship. I can assure you, that as a white American woman, Peter (also now as Simon Peter) is 100% American. He has lived in the United States his entire life. Although I wasn't there to witness his birth, I did attend high school with Peter and I watched him graduate. Yes, I know he's looks Mexican but that's his heritage not his citizenship. Peter is American. He reads, writes, and speaks English. Yes, he graduated without any assistance and I think his grades were pretty good. To his wife's dismay, he does not read, write, or speak Spanish. Please don't let the tattoos bother you, he is really an artist. And he probably makes more money than you, but it's 100% legal.

Being the white woman that I am, let me give you my qualifications for believing my truth. 1. I am pretty darn white. Yes, I do have a Mexican-American grandfather but he served this country for 20 years in the Army, so I assume you will like him. He's a great guy. Plus, he was born in the United States, although I don't think you should bother to ask him for his birth certificate. Most days he doesn't remember my name anymore. 2. I served 7 years in the Marine Corps. This makes me a patriot. 3. Well, I should be honest with you. My father wasn't American. But he was white. He was British. My step-dad who raised me was from Samoa. American Samoa, but he was a very dark man so this might not make me as qualified any more in your eyes. 4. While we're on the subject, my mom wasn't born in the US either. She was born in Germany and didn't even speak English when she moved here. My grandmother became a citizen in the 80's but she isn't American born either. My mom's maiden name is Sanchez. Crap, my qualifications are going down the drain, huh?

But hey, I look really white. My kid and husband are fair skinned with blue and green eyes. And you didn't stop me. My kid has dual citizenship - she was born in Norway. But why am I explaining all this to you? You stopped Peter.

Peter, my buddy, it looks like my letter isn't so great after all. I don't know if I'm American enough after all. Sorry, bro. I hope it works out.

Sincerely,
Lorraine
(An honest to goodness 1st generation born American)

NOTE TO THE READER: This is sarcasm.

A True Rockstar

2010-04-21T09:04:00.008-04:00

There are times when we all need reminding that this life just isn't so bad. Yes, things suck sometimes. Yes, we all have to do things we don't like. BUT, there are sweet moments. There is love. There is always something to look forward to. And things are definitely worse for someone else living in the same world as you.

Nothing brings me back down to reality quite like my daughter. Zoe just had her 10th, yes 10th, spinal surgery on Monday. Looking at her today, you probably would never guess it. How on earth does she do it?

Zoe's attitude about life is something you can't teach. I don't think I can quite capture it in a blog. She's a survivor. She's a fighter. She doesn't let something like, oh, spinal surgery get her down. This kid, wait, this little person has gone through more in her not quite 9 years of life than most people will go through in a lifetime. She knows about war. She has said goodbye to her daddy too many times as he's gone off to serve this country. Zoe knows about being strong in a way that her body may not live up to. Her spirit is strong enough to get her through anything. Zoe is my best friend. She has held my hand when I was low. She has made me laugh through my tears. She has made me stop and think that maybe "the impossible is really possible."

There are the scary moments when her disease just takes over her body. There are disappointing moments like receiving a birthday invitation to a ice skating party. There are the constant reminders in the stares and silly comments when we go out that yes, Zoe is different. There are moments when as a parent I feel absolutely helpless.

But then, there are the moments that blow me away. Three hours after spinal surgery when she's sitting up and eating jello. Watching her dad walk away from us as he heads out for deployment and then reaching for my hand as best she can to comfort me - yes, to comfort me. Always worrying about other people. Donating her hair to Locks of Love. Profound statements about everyone learning to love each other and just accept people for who they are. Wisdom that just spouts out of such a young child and makes you just stop dead in your tracks. Enduring so much at such a young age but always being able to see the silver lining.

And there's always music. Always. No matter what. This is "Zoe Wisdom."

I do not take away the seriousness of what happened on Monday. They opened up her back and cranked away at hardware attached to Zoe's spine. She needed her bipap to breathe for a while. She hit a weird delusional stage where she forgot where she was and freaked out. But she also smiled, said please and thank you, and found joy in her music - tickets to a concert, a magazine about her favorite artists, and she let her iPod drown out the noisy ICU. This morning she's sitting up straighter, breathing better, and comfortably enjoying some quiet time at home.

Life is good. Sure, it isn't always ice cream and rainbows. But I'll take the little victories, the love of my child, and the sound of her laughter and be 100% happy. We'll worry about tomorrow's storm when it hits. For now, there is a concert to look forward to...

Silence

2010-04-17T08:07:00.004-04:00

A friend on facebook posted something the other day about the Day of Silence. My first reaction was, "Wouldn't that be nice? There's like ten people I'd love to force this upon." But of course I had to turn to my trusty information source, Google. And I discovered www.dayofsilence.org and I quickly realized this was no joking matter.

The Day of Silence was about standing up for the young people who have been silenced because of bullying. The bullying was a direct result of who they are. A discrimination that many people in this world are openly vocal about and don't hide. Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender people are openly mocked, discriminated against, bullied, harassed, and even beaten and killed. And many people will just turn their head. Others will use their religion as an excuse to openly hate other people who they know nothing about. (It always boggles my mind when people get up in arms about gay marriage. What do you care if two people you don't even know get married? Happens every day.)

The Day of Silence was supposed to work as a way to raise awareness. Students were the main body of this event. Taking their vows and passing out literature at their schools. It was not feasible for me to take this vow on this particular day so I practiced an internet silence. Because I post often on my social internet sites, I felt this would be the best way for me to participate. What would it be like if I was silenced? If my opinions and smart ass comments were quieted forever? I'm sure some people wouldn't care at all. But I hope many would.

I remember being bullied. It started in seventh grade. I was in a clique and the clique ousted me. I was teased daily. One particular girl made my life as hard as she possibly could. I would go home and cry every day. I tried so hard to be part of that clique. I suffered through it until I started high school where I made my break. And then, the bullying came from another source. Every day for the first few months of high school two girls would tell me how they were going to beat me up. Every day the walked behind me and called me names. Why did they hate me so much? Because I was smart. Could they have beaten me up? Yep. I started high school at four foot eight and weighed all of sixty-five pounds. I looked like I belonged in elementary school. The bullying continued until I took refuge in JROTC where I hid in a stairwell at lunch and eventually found a group of friends who liked me for who I was. It was their friendships that gave me the reassurance I needed and made me feel like a person again. I was lucky.

I did witness bullying of the boys who the other boys thought were gay. I heard the jokes. I didn't say anything. I figured because I wasn't part of it, I wasn't guilty. I was wrong. I knew exactly what it felt like and I said nothing. I was friends with guys who I assumed were gay and knew of a girl or two who I just figured liked other girls. But back in the early nineties, no one spoke of these things. No one was open. There was shame. There was fear. And I was part of it because I never did anything.

But what if after a harsh day of bullying I had come home and ended my life? What if one of my friends had done the same thing? It happens. And it is an absolute shame. What are we teaching our children? That it's okay to harass someone and make their lives miserable because they are different then we are? It's 2010. Aren't we at the point where we should be embracing each other's differences and working together to make this world a better place???

My daughter is as different as they come. Would it be okay for your kids to make fun of her for being in a wheelchair? Absolutely not. You'd talk to them and correct it. So why would you encourage this hate upon the GLBT community? They deserve just as much respect as any other human on this planet of ours. Now is the time to break that silence. Now is the time to start talking to your children. Zoe knows it's okay to love who you love. And yesterday we talked about the Day of Silence and what it means. We talked about not judging people because of who they love. And I may not have changed the world, but I did influence my daughter. And she has the power to carry it on. So do you.

The good, the bad, and well the freakin' truth of the matter....

2010-04-15T08:13:00.003-04:00

I know I can be quite the negative person but I've never been a woe-is-me kinda gal. I have had a lot of things to bitch and moan about over the years and believe me, I've done my share of ranting. However, there is something I don't quite understand and I don't think I'll ever be able to.

My world of friends is sort of sectioned off. All of my friendships are maintained long distance right now (hence my internet addiction). I have my military wife friends (like all 3 of them). I have my music loving friends. I have my old high school friends. I have my military buds. And then I have my SMA friends.

It is my SMA friends that I must comment on today. While my post will no doubt hurt some feelings, I also think a few of the folks won't even be able to recognize that I'm speaking about them. I may lose a friend or two over it. But if you know and love me, you know I am honest and blunt. So here goes...

Yes, having a child with SMA isn't easy all the time. But really, it isn't always bad. We really don't have to focus on it 100% of the time and put all our effort into it. I really don't need 60 SMA related friends who rarely speak to me on facebook. I am happy to support and share experiences but it cannot consume my life. I let that happen once and I was not a good parent, wife, or friend. I'm happy to maintain a few close friendships with parents who are like me - positive and not always focusing on the woes of SMA.

For example... I do not commemorate the anniversary of the bad days. Has Zoe's lung collapsed before? Yes. Has she had hospital stays? You betcha. Do I remember the diagnosis? Of course. But I couldn't tell you exact days of those things. I wouldn't be able to post a long blog about the anniversary of Zoe's diagnosis because I simply don't remember the date. She got diagnosed. It sucked. I cried. And the next day I woke up and said, "Okay, what can we do for her now?" There was no mourning. I didn't lose my child. She is still here. And I'd be doing her and all the children who aren't still here a disservice by mourning on a day that really ended up helping us. Without a diagnosis, we wouldn't know how to treat Zoe's disease. We wouldn't have reached out and received the help we needed.

I don't freak out at every dip in Zoe's stats. Hell, she is rarely on a pulse-ox. And yes, this is a beautiful thing that not every SMA parent can enjoy. I know some of the kiddos are much less healthy than Zoe. But I know some who are stronger than her and I see posts about every minor fluctuation of an O2 level. If I were hooked up to a pulse-ox, my levels would fluctuate too. When she loses a function, yes I worry. Yes, I think what could I have done different. But I don't focus on it for too long. How can I expect Zoe to put on a brave face if I don't? I have to believe it when I tell her that it's okay because she still has so much going for her. If I don't, she never will.

While there are losses that suck ass so badly I have to vent about them; there is always the fact that this is not happening to me. I'm not a martyr. I am not sacrificing anything. I am lucky enough to have this amazing person in my life who loves me unconditionally. While I wish I could take all the pain away from my baby, I know that this is happening to Zoe and she is the important factor in the situation. The least I can do is stand by her and teach her to be strong. The least I can do is acknowledge that it is not the worst thing in the world and that we still have so much to look forward to and to be happy about.

Is it exhausting? Usually. Do I wish my kid could wake up, brush her own teeth, and get dressed by herself? Sure. But do I mind doing it? Not at all. Zoe and I are closer than any words can describe. I am, in essence, an extension of her. I know every single minute of every single day just how important I am to Zoe both physically and emotionally. I realize that just as much as I am the center of her world, she is the center of mine. And just as she needs me, I need her. Other moms and daughters are close, I'm sure. But the bond between me and my child is only strengthened by SMA. It is only made that much more unbreakable.

The other thing that I'm going to comment on is also rather harsh. I realize that there are good people in this world who are willing to do good things for other people. I also realize there are people in this world who think they are entitled to those things. Yes, it would be nice if my home was 100% accessible for Zoe. Yes, I would have liked to not financed a van for 10 years in order to afford a monthly payment so Zoe could get around. But I will absolutely not put it out there that we're in need of something. Because if Zoe needs something, we'll find a way to get it. We work out solutions for the moment and try to take each need one at a time. We're her parents and that's what we do.

So, what about the meeting of celebs you ask? I've never gotten Zoe into a concert for free. I've always paid for tickets. If I can, I pay for VIP access. If I can't buy it, yes I will write and ask for it from sponsors of the tour. Especially when the sponsor is a company that I spend money on. I will go out of my way to make music special for my girl. One two minute encounter with the Jonas Brothers is enough to make my girl forget that she couldn't go rollerskating at a birthday party or that she is going to be laid up for a week after surgery. Meeting Demi Lovato made Zoe forget that because of the Army her dad missed her birthday for the second year in a row and for the 5th time total. Totally different scenario than asking someone to provide something that will make my life easier financially.

Okay, so you're thinking "You bitch. You have no idea how hard we have it. If someone is nice enough to do something for us, don't judge." You're right. I don't know how hard it is in your family. I know exactly what's going on in mine. And I'm not judging the act of a kind stranger who you didn't ask for help from. I'm more or less addressing those folks who constantly put it out there. Who constantly expect someone to fix their problems. Because I am a firm believer in not praying for a fix but going out and fixing it yourself. Why wait on a prayer to be answered when you could be using that time to find a solution. Believe me, if as an Army family we can do it so can you.

And so, my dear readers, I leave you with the thought that no matter how bad it is it can always be worse. So why focus on the negative? Why not celebrate all the good that you have going on right now? I may not always be bright and chipper, but I always recognize the fact that I am loved. And at the end of the day, love can't buy me a cup of coffee but it sure makes me feel a hell of a lot better.

I'm Gonna End Up on the Evening News

2010-04-12T16:16:00.005-04:00

And it ain't gonna be pretty...

In September, Mark and I went into Communicare - the county agency that handles the Michelle P. Medicaid Waiver. The purpose of this waiver is to allow children and adults with severe disabilities to remain in their homes and communities with support. Without waivers like this, many children/adults would end up in assisted living facilities because their families cannot properly take care of them. Because Zoe need 100% assistance in everything she does, she qualifies for this waiver. This waiver gives Zoe medicaid despite her parents' income. It will allow our family to hire our own personal care givers (essentially I'll be hired) to care for Zoe and assist her in her every day life. Great. Sign us up, please and thank you. We were on a similar waiver in Colorado and it was WONDERFUL.

We asked a bunch of questions and filled out a simple form. The lady told us we'd get a home visit within 10 days and someone would call within 3 to schedule it. A week went by. I left a message. Another week, another message. SIX WEEKS and no returned calls. Fine. I drove my happy ass down to the office and let them know I would wait for someone to assist me.

Along comes Clueless Worker #1. Her office is such a mess that you can't see her desk. Her stapler is on the floor by my feet. I mention this because ten minutes after being in her office as she searched for a form she never found, she was looking for her stapler. I didn't mention it was on the floor. She was flustered and uneducated as to the Michelle P Waiver. The only thing she knew was that I was pissed off and I wasn't leaving until we were on the right track. I should also mention that when I stated Zoe's diagnosis of Spinal Muscular Atrophy, she let out a loud "WHOA" and chuckled nervously that she never heard of it. Yep, she was a real professional. She came by later that evening to do the home visit, sputtering out a few questions and struggling to fill out the forms. Fine, whatever. Let's just get this done.

A couple of weeks went by and we were assigned a case worker. Meet Clueless Worker #2 who came to the house, bubbly and bright with a plethora of forms for Mark and I to sign. As we asked questions, she became increasingly nervous and admitted that she didn't know what the forms were for or why we had to sign them. She was just told to get them signed. Fine. Give me your supervisor's phone number and tell him I'll be coming in.

I head in to the office again two days later. No supervisor available but some other guy, yep you guessed it - Clueless Worker #3 was happy to answer my questions, but sadly he did not know the answers to my particular questions. I left not knowing any more than I did when I started. But the application was submitted. We were now just waiting for someone to process it.

The supervisor, we're going to just go ahead and call him Clueless Worker #4, called me. I asked him questions. He had no answers. He was kind enough to give me a number for someone at the State level. He then asked me to let him know what I found out. Really? Are you fucking serious???

So now it was December. We were in the middle of the worst stomach flu to hit the Grisez household. Mark was coming home from Indiana because I need help. We got the call that Zoe was approved for the Michelle P Waiver. HURRAY!!!! It takes me a few days to call the County Medicaid office because I'm too busy throwing up. But I do and they take my information down, assuring me a case manager would call me.

The holidays hit. I'm a bit more forgiving with the lack of returned phone calls. But in January I call again. They say my case has been assigned to Clueless Worker #5 - who totally tricked me into thinking she was on the ball. We did a phone interview and she sent me a packet to fill out. Being the smart cookie I am, I hand walked the packet back in to her office. I wait two hours to get in with her. She looked over everything. She had everything she needs. She tells me it will be a couple of weeks but to be aware that we have to wait 30 days for services to kick in. Fine. Just do this, PLEASE.

FIVE WEEKS GO BY. I called Clueless Worker #5 repeatedly. No returned calls. She finally returned my call and said there is another form. I have to PROVE ZOE IS DISABLED TO GET HER MEDICAID BASED ON THE WAIVER SHE IS ON FOR HER...wait for it...DISABILITY! Whatever. I headed right in and filled out the form.

Three more weeks go by. I think she wasn't screening her calls because she answered. She said the application was in Frankfort and she didn't know why it was taking so long but she had several she was waiting on. She told me we should know soon and there was nothing more she could do.

April 6th I decided this is complete and utter BULLSHIT. I am tired of waiting. I am tired of people pushing the blame on other agencies. I am tired of everyone saying this is a new waiver and they don't know what they're doing. I call the State Board for Children with Special Needs. They recommend I seek help from the State Advocacy Center. Funny enough the same day I proceed with this, I get a message from Clueless Worker #2 and she says we are waiting for one more form and things should be resolved shortly.

April 12th - Today. We are no further in the process. I do now know two things. One is that Clueless Worker #1 fudged up Zoe's social security number. This had no impact on anyone when I called with her correct number for follow up but for some reason, today it's impacting something because forms are being resubmitted from OCTOBER.

AAAANNNDD I also found out that the County Medicaid office is waiting on a form from an outside agency in order to process Zoe's medicaid application and give her a medicaid number. The same application that Clueless Worker #5 told me was already processed and was awaiting approval. So I called this outside agency. Guess what? They can't generate the form WITHOUT A MEDICAID NUMBER. So I'm asking Clueless Worker #3 if she sees a problem with this and what is this form. Clueless Worker #3 doesn't know a damn thing. She doesn't know what this mythological form is or what it does. She doesn't know why this is such a problem for Zoe's case.

Really, people, these are CHILDREN'S LIVES. This is FUCKING STUPID. This is gross negligence. I have the Advocacy Center assigning me a lawyer. We are about to bust this system up. Why they don't have a plan or process is beyond me. Why everyone just lets things sit and get tossed aside is blowing my mind. You get paid to do this. So just get it done.

The Clueless Workers all better pray to their gods that we get this taken care of fast. Otherwise my unhappy ass is going to end up on the news for beating the shit out of all of them.

It's Not Just a "Friends List"

2010-04-08T09:10:00.005-04:00

I am addicted to internet social networking. I stay pretty much glued to facebook all day long, either from my phone or the computer. My addiction has grown over the years and developed right along with the social network sites. I started out just with email and moved on to classmates.com where I paid for a membership to connect with old friends. I moved on to a site for Marines where I was consumed in a small world of devil dog ooh-rahs and trash talking that threw me back into the camaraderie that I loved when I was active duty. From there I moved to myspace where I became addicted to finding new bands and going to shows to see them play. Myspace soon led me to facebook and twitter where I now spend most of time. I throw myself whole-heartedly into my online friendships. They are my only friendships these days. Whether it's with someone who I found some common interest and developed a friendship with or it's with a friend from high school who I haven't seen since I was 16 years old, every one of my friends online are important to me.

And I'm not talking about all three hundred and seventy something of them on facebook. I'm talking about the select few who I interact with daily or weekly. These are the people who laugh with me as I make fun of my pathetic life, cry with me over my losses (even if it's just me losing my sanity), or who post profound lyrics to a song that send me on a quick google journey to find a band I never heard of. These are people who share their lives with me as I share mine with them. Whatever our common bond is, we share moments and glimpses of our lives and I know that I am not alone. We may never see each other in person, but they are the very glue that holds what little sanity I have left.
Yesterday evening I was devastated by a post on such a friend's profile. Robin and I "met" on myspace a couple of years ago. Mark was in Iraq and I was heavily into the myspace band scene. Robin and I came across each other on some forum or another and discovered our common interests. Her daughter, Maddy, is a year younger than Zoe and shares Zoe's attitude and love for music. Maddy also has SMA. Robin herself was an Army wife until her husband got out after a deployment to Iraq. She was a roller derby girl - which pretty much means she kicked ass daily. We loved music. We had the exact same sense of humor. Robin was basically someone who I could easily hang out with daily and never tire of her. We commented back and forth on each other's posts and messaged each other sharing bits and pieces of our lives. I knew I'd meet her someday in person and we'd laugh as we hugged each other.

Sadly, that day will never come. As I read of Robin's unexpected passing last night my entire body went numb. It took a couple of hours for the feeling to come back to my arms. I tossed and turned all night, not sleeping but aching for her children and husband. I feel quite lost to tell the truth. This is something that makes no sense to me. And now I'm unsure as to what I'm supposed to do. I feel awkward going along with my daily life when such a tragedy has hit so close to home. I can't go about posting my usual facebook banter and sarcasm, knowing I'll never see Robin's again. I'm just not sure how to react.

I will miss her. I will miss her and we never even met. I want to hold her children for her and make this better. I want to scream. I want to cry. So for now, I'll kiss my husband and daughter and tell them I love them. And I'll make a point to post this so that my online friends may realize just how important they are to me. And though they may not know it, I would miss them too. I would miss them if they closed their accounts and stopped posting. I would miss them if they deleted me from their friends' list. And I would feel just as lost if any of them passed away.

So if you're reading this, you're probably one of those people. You're my people. And you matter to me.

Da Birds and Da Bees

2010-04-03T10:48:00.003-04:00

Zoe lives a more sheltered life than what I did at her age. When I was eight, I was watching Children of the Corn and Nightmare on Elm Street. The scariest thing Zoe's seen is Harry Potter. My parents let us watch everything. I don't let Zoe watch anything with too much of an adult theme. By eight years old I had the whole concept of sex down although I didn't think much about it. I NEVER considered the fact that my parents had sex. It was just a natural progression in my life that I knew about it. There was no big talk. I never asked my mom questions. Even as a teenager, I never once talked about sex with my parents. We didn't even tiptoe around the topic, we avoided it altogether.

Which brings me to the whole birds and bees discussion. Zoe is eight. When do I have that talk? How do I bring it up? And what do I tell her??? The fact is, Zoe doesn't even know what her private areas look like. Physically, there's no way for her to see herself. Her belly is in the way. I've wiped her and washed her for her entire life. All Zoe knows is that boys and girls have different parts. Maybe I've sheltered her too long because she doesn't know anything about those parts. She will see a boys bathroom in a movie and ask about the urinals, pondering how the boys stand up to pee...I just skirt around the topic until we're so far away from it she forgets what she asked about.

Last night we were watching The Blind Side and Sandra Bullock's character told Big Mike that if he got a girl pregnant she'd "cut off his penis." Zoe said, "What did she say? She'll cut off his fingers?" Um, yeah, that's what she said. Zoe is old enough now to start watching movies beyond Disney. And kids in school are going to start talking more and more. The questions are coming and I don't think she's going to buy into the whole "we'll talk about it when you're older" thing much longer. So what the hell am I supposed to do now?

I've lied to this kid her whole life. Santa Claus. The Easter Bunny. The Tooth Fairy. There was a time when she was three years old and she thought all meat was chicken. She thought I was twentytwo years old for the longest time. I've lied to her about where the dog we had for a couple of weeks went. I've lied to her about movie theaters being closed down or Chuckie Cheese being reconstructed so I didn't have to take her. I've made up elaborate stories. And now I have to sit down and tell her the absolute truth? 100% straight?

I think I need a drink....

Captain's Log, Day 8

2010-04-02T09:28:00.004-04:00

AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

A virtual scream will have to do it because I can't let out the real one that's building up inside of me. It will scare the kid. And make the dog go crazy. And let the world know that I really don't have it together.

Eight straight days of being locked inside the house up to my elbows in snot catering to every whim of a sick child who can't so much as wipe her own nose...I'm going to lose it. I can't take a shower until Mark is home because I'm afraid Zoe will stop breathing. I hate the dog because the few moments I have to relax are spent trying to get her to stop doing something she shouldn't be doing. I love Zoe, I do. But I can't take another "Mommy can you" because I am slowly forgetting that I am anything but a robot who takes care of everybody. Resentment towards my husband isn't fair, but boy is it building up fast. He doesn't get it and it makes me want to throw something at his head. But don't worry, I am not an abuser. Besides, I have really terrible aim so he's safe.

I know that this is my fault. I have taken on this role full force because I'm a control freak. I clean because I don't want anyone else to do it wrong. I make all the decisions about Zoe because I've been doing it on my own for years (no fault to Mark here - he was away fighting in a war across the world). I pay the bills and monitor the money because, again, I've been doing it alone for years and my inner control freak won't give it up. I want full and total control of everything but I want to reserve the right to bitch and complain about doing everything on my own.

If only fairy godmothers did exist...if only one would swoop in right now and fix everything for me. She could clean and organize the house. Make dinner. Wave her magic wand and cure Zoe. Give me the haircut I don't have time to get. Maybe give me a beautiful pair of shoes that will change my life forever.... Yeah, she'd probably just fuck it all up and I'd wrestle her for her wand so I could just do it myself.

My Little Superhero

2010-03-27T19:39:00.001-04:00

The strongest person I know is physically too weak to lift a can of soda. Her strength will never be manifested in a physical form. At 8 years old, my daughter has endured more than most adults will in their lifetime. And through it all, she remains positive and happy. Zoe has a great sense of humor and is able to pull wisdom out of a situation that most people will never be able to see. Unfortunately, her strength is being attacked as I type this. If Zoe was a superhero, her arch enemy would be SMA. And lately, SMA has been winning.

I hate seeing defeat in my daughter's eyes. She's such a fighter. The past 2 days have pretty much kicked her ass though. Zoe is struggling to breathe and can't stop coughing. I know she has it relatively easy when it comes to SMA. I realize that some of the kiddos live every day between the respiratory treatments we so rarely do. But it really hits Zoe hard every time SMA punches her in the gut. Emotionally I can see that it is taking its toll on her.

Yesterday she had a brief episode where she couldn't breathe at all. Zoe couldn't talk to tell me she needed help but the panic in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. Luckily we had the suction machine out already and I jammed the catheter down her nose and into the back of her throat, yanking the mucus plug that was causing her to choke. When her color turned back from blue to pink, my panic kicked in. Once she was breathing again and comfortable on her bipap, I broke down in to shaking sobs.

Zoe is just so spunky and full of life normally that it is really hard to see her this way. She's spent more time on bipap these past 2 days than she has in the last 2 years. She cried in my arms last night that she "hates SMA" and apologized to me today for having to ask for suctioning. I don't want her to feel guilty. I don't want her to hate anything. What can you do except hold her tight and tell her how much you love her?

Tonight we will stay up and watch the Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards together while "ooohing" and "aaahhing" at all the great kids Zoe looks up to. She will probably not have the strength to sing along as Miranda Cosgrove hits the stage, but her eyes will be filled with wonder watching the excitement. We will pull joy into our night and pretend there is no machine helping her breathe. We will prevail. And tomorrow will be a new day.

25 Good Things

2010-03-25T20:16:00.000-04:00

There's been a bit of negativity around (not in) my life lately, so tonight I focus on the positive. And I give you 25 random things I love (in no particular order other than the order they popped into my head).

1. My daughter's hands.
2. A new bottle of bubble bath.
3. Banana Nut Muffins.
4. The smell of the desert after it rains.
5. Cotton balls.
6. Cheeseburgers fresh off the grill.
7. Laughing so hard my belly aches.
8. The kiss my husband gives me when he walks in the door.
9. Discovering a new band.
10. Meeting someone and just knowing that you're going to be friends.
11. Fuzzy socks.
12. The feeling of my husband's hand on the small of my back.
13. My daughter's sarcasm.
14. The smell of new make-up.
15. The moment when the lights go out before a concert starts.
16. Getting lost in a good book.
17. Justin Timberlake.
18. Seeing an elderly couple enjoying a meal together.
19. McDonald's Coke.
20. The buzz of a tattoo gun.
21. The dog's excitement when I come home.
22. Watching my husband clear a pool table.
23. Listening to my daughter's elaborate imagination at work.
24. A clean kitchen floor.
25. Sharpies and Post-It notes.

Walmart is My Personal Hell

2010-03-24T15:21:00.000-04:00

Today I took a shower, did my hair and make up, threw on some clothes and decided I was going out. I wasn't sure where or what the purpose of my trip was going to be, I just locked the reluctant dog up and headed out in the minivan. I rolled down my window and felt the freedom flowing in the wind. One good thing about short hair is that I don't have to worry about the wind messing it up.

I was heading in to the big city of Elizabethtown, Kentucky (you should note my sarcasm here) when my phone buzzed in my lap interrupting me as I was belting out a chorus of "You Belong With Me" by Taylor Swift. It was the hubby. He was calling to see if I wanted to meet him for lunch. Sure, why not? I promptly turned myself around and headed in the other direction through the scenic (again sarcasm) town of Radcliff and pulled into Ft. Knox.

After a quick lunch with the man I love, I headed back off post. I decided that I would just stop at my local Walmart to take care of a few things. I need new contacts so I might as well go the cheap (or cheapest as my contacts are by far not cheap) route and make an appointment at the Eye Center. My bad. I interrupted the cackling between the receptionist and her friend. Apparently, the receptionist with her big hair and even bigger attitude did not appreciate my absolutely ridiculous request of making an appointment. She very dramatically turned several pages of her appointment book, each turn exerting more energy than she thought I was worth, and finally was able to mutter out a date three weeks away. I told her that was okay, I'd find someplace else and I left as she was rolling her eyes. The door closed behind me and I could hear the cackling continue.

I headed over to check out the black out curtains because Zoe's bedtime of 7:30 pm is getting difficult to enforce as the sun is still high and shining. Because I don't think she'd dig camo or brown, I left the aisle empty handed. I headed down a few aisles and spotted a nice comforter set. I stood there, contemplating my purchase. It was pretty enough. And the exact color I've been looking for. Not too floral - meeting Mark's standards. But my head could not get around the fact that it was from Walmart. Did I really want to rest my head at night in a bed covered with the sheer evil that is Walmart? I thought not and headed over to check out the $5.00 DVDs.

The DVD section is really the only reason I go to Walmart at all. Well, that and the fact that there is no other place to go around here. You can find the most random and wonderful movies for $5. Today I was excited to find the original Hairspray - the one with Ricki Lake. Oh joy! I was reaching for it when all of a sudden, I was pushed from behind. I had heard the loud laughter and the obnoxious conversation about weight loss from the aisle over, but I had drowned it out in my intense search of a hidden movie treasure. And that's when it hit me. Literally. And the lady didn't look back or even mutter an apology. I looked over to see the back of her ginormous head and her big misshapen ass in her bright purple sweatpants that were pulled up to her arm pits. I took a deep breath and walked away, updating my facebook status in my phone to keep my attention occupied and prevent me from being arrested in Walmart for assault.

On to the jewelry section in search of a little something for the girl's Easter basket. I was browsing in their Twilight section when again I found myself shoved out of the way. The force of this one was not as hard and it was much lower. I looked down to find a girl who was around Zoe's age eagerly trying to get past me in fear that I might take the one Twilight bracelet that she wanted - although all 50 of them looked exactly the same. There was a moment where I thought I was going to grab her and shake her, but it passed and I walked away again. Luckily my quick stride brought me to a sale section where I got some pretty sweet Miley Cyrus jewelry for Zoe. And then I found bandannas for $1.00 each. SCORE.

I made my purchase and hauled ass out of the store. Because of my facebook addiction, I got in the van and pulled up my profile to see who was able to get some pleasure out of the pain in my previous posts. Satisfied, I looked back and began to pull out. Then I heard it. In the two minutes I was sitting in the car, someone left a cart against the van. Furious, I pulled back in and got out to move the cart. Scratched van. Lovely. But then I could see the lazy person's reasoning. The cart return was full on the right hand side, by which I was parked. The left hand side was not full. But that would have been too much effort to push the cart into that side. I mean, it would have required about two steps? Bastards.

I angerly pulled out of Walmart, vowing I would never return. Luckily, "Everybody Dance Now" by C & C Music Factory came on my GenX radio station. I rolled the windows down, cranked the volume, and flipped off the entire store on my way out.

I was on a musical high. One great song followed by another - "Right Here" by SWV had me jammin' and then and old Keith Sweat jam poured out. My Walmart woes and hatred for this backwoods Kentucky town were things of the past. And then I pulled up to my house. And someone had knocked the mailbox practically over. Fuckin' Kentucky. I hate you.

Holy Freakin' Drama Tornado, Batman!

2010-03-24T08:59:00.000-04:00

Have you ever known someone that was in a constant state of disaster? Every step or move they make turns out to be nothing short of a nuclear meltdown? I've known several people throughout my years that seem to have this ongoing problem. It's as if they're a magnet for drama, accidents, and all around chaos.

This morning as I brushed my 8 year old's teeth and got her dressed, I was thinking about these people. I was thinking about how my daughter is actually physically helpless, yet mentally and emotionally she is light years beyond most people when it comes to independence. The hits keep on coming for my girl, but she keeps her head held high and marches (or rather wheels) right along.

So, I am thinking of a couple of people in particular as I lift Zoe into her wheelchair and send her off to school. And I'm thinking, "Why the hell can't they just get it together?" I mean, really? What is it in your life that is holding you back so much? You know what the common denominator in your problems is? YOU.

I am not a praying woman. I don't believe in leaving my life in the hands of anyone or any deity to fix. I don't go running to other people when I have a problem. I am a woman of action. I am a woman who will suck it up and deal with things without crying out about my misfortunes. I may discuss it with someone who I trust, but by all means I don't expect them to go out of their way and make it better for me. Because at the end of the day, there are no problems in my life that I can't fix by myself.

Perhaps if we all handled our own business instead of being so set on other people's, it would cause a wave outside of our own lives and burst into the rest of the world. Instead of calling someone out on their shit, maybe we need to acknowledge that ours stinks too. We shouldn't be worried about a stranger's relationship when there is always room to work on our own.

And that brings me back to these people and their constant barrage of problems. Maybe, just maybe, if they would not do things expecting something in return their endeavours would work out better. Instead of doing a nice thing for acknowledgment, how about just doing a nice thing? Instead of trying to get something for nothing (don't get me started on people's general false sense of entitlement), how about you go out and get it yourself by, oh I don't know, working for it? Don't ride the coattails of someone else, falsely befriend someone, or try to squeak your way into a situation. And please, please, PLEASE stop making everything about you. Because it's not.

I realized a couple of years ago that I am not like most people. I can handle incredible amounts of stress. I also tend to hold people to the same standard that I hold myself to. Unfortunately, not many people can live up to that. My expectations often lead me to disappointment in people. And it's not their fault at all. Helplessness is just a concept I cannot grasp. So, I nod my head in sympathy as they talk and I happily give them my shoulder to cry on. What else can I do?

Finding Entertainment in Home Shoping Channels

2010-03-23T08:18:00.000-04:00

My grandmother loves QVC. She has loved QVC for as long as it's been on air. QVC is like my grandma's best friend. Every year for Christmas I know I'm going to get some limited edition Christmas ornament that my grandmother stockpiled back in July after watching a special on QVC.

It is a phenomena that I am unable to buy into. I do however have quite the habit of watching and laughing hysterically over the ridiculously ornamented sweaters and the creepy freeze faced hostesses. But my hobby of laughing at QVC and HSN has spilled over into something even more disturbing....I watch the B-rated shopping channels on DirectTV.

These shows are nothing short of a disastrous mix of what can only be described as seriously gaudy and overpriced costume jewelry and drunk hosts/hostesses. As the turntable of horrific jewelery spins around, I find myself picking out the most hideous pieces and hoping they will show them. How on earth do you make a ring that looks like Dolly Parton's rhinestone wardrobe threw up on it marketable? You make up gemstones and fake their worth, that's how. Seriously, who ever heard of a diamoneste rubisque? The people on these channels have. And they will talk for thirty minutes and bold face lie straight into the camera about how rare the piece is. My question is - who is buying this crap?

Seriously, they will start out by saying a huge plastic looking ring is valued at...get this... $26,000! But miraculously, they are going to just give it away for only $5000! I mean really, they're doing me a favor by letting it go so cheaply. They'll throw up a countdown. They'll make me sweat with worry that my opportunity is quickly ticking away and I may actually have to live the rest of my life wondering what if....what if I just called and bought the ring? Would my life have changed? Would I have been pushing my grocery cart down the aisle one day when a stranger would stop me, mesmerized (or blinded) by the shining hunk of metal that is weighing down my hand? Would he or she tell me that their great-grandmother had a ring just like that and they just HAD to have it. No matter the cost? Would I have made the deal of a lifetime and cashed in my $5000 buy and turned it around into a $30,000 profit, thus changing my life immediately???

But not only can you buy jewelery from these folks, you can also buy straight gemstones. Granted, the names will confuse you. They will throw out terms of clarity and speak of how rare these gems are. They will start the countdown and talk about the brilliance and beauty of what appears to my untrained eye to be a plastic gemstone straight out of Zoe's princess bag that she bought in Disney World. I will watch as my opportunity to make the "investment of a lifetime" slips away. Even the host will run out of nice things to say and will burst into some awkward chorus of a song I've never heard. He may start a side conversation with a crew member, forgetting he's on air at all. At this point, I'm positive there is a lot of alcohol on the set and I yearn for the camera to flash away from the model's chubby, dry and cracked hands and onto the face of the man who is now belting out "You Are My Sunshine" in between yelling at someone to get the next rare treasure ready for the viewers.

I can't help it. I scan from channel to channel (there are about four of them I frequent), watching the disaster play out on my television screen. I long for someone who has a thick accent to say something totally irrelevant like "where are my fork" or "my son a good boy."

I'll skip from the awkward jewelry over to "The Knife Show" where some guy with a hunting cap on stands in front of a table of 50 knives and the screen flashes "50 pieces for $169.99." This by far is the best deal EVER. Because who doesn't need 50 knives? And look in the center of the table...is that a freakin' Samurai sword? Why yes, yes it is! 20 pocket knives with various pictures on the handle - the American flag, ducks, deer, rabbits... Huge carving and hunting knives. The smorgasbord of knives is too much for my eyes to take in at once as the heavily southern accented gentleman tells me of all the wonders laid out for my eyes to behold. I watch the clock tick down and think of how stupid I am to let this great opportunity pass me by...

Then I flip stations and the time flashes up on the menu. 3 a.m. What the hell am I doing up? It must be sheer exhaustion driving me to consider purchasing a huge flower ring and 50 knives. Time to end the madness and go to bed where I will soon be kicking myself for passing up on the great deals. There's always tomorrow night though...

Kentucky Style Madness

2010-03-20T16:55:00.001-04:00

I'm pretty spoiled. I'm a label snob. I like to keep up with the latest fashion - to a point anyway because I won't be wearing any GaGa inspired get ups no matter who designs it. I make sure my jeans are NEVER mom-jeans. I have been known to spend two hours trying on 41 pairs of jeans only to walk away with none in hand because I didn't find the pair.

I get that not everyone is like that. Some people throw on whatever's closest and get up and go. Out here in the middle of nowhere, apparently that's fashionable. Oh, and instead of a Coach purse on every woman's arm, it's a John Deer purse. The amount of 80s and 90s hairdos walking around here went from being funny to sad about four months ago. And I'm not talking cool 80s punk, I'm talking hair like in the photos that Ellen has made a regular segment on her show.

Every day I see moms in jeans pulled up to their arm pits wearing floral print shirts that would make even my grandmother shudder. I swear I saw this lady wearing the exact outfit I wore in the third grade for picture day - lavender pants with a lavender sweater. She wasn't much older than 35. I shook my head and carried on. Oh, and I couldn't make this up... I literally saw a "Members Only" jacket at Barnes and Nobles last week. Suh-weet.

Today, we went out to eat for our weekly Saturday lunch. Mark wanted Cracker Barrel and so we drove on over. Ever notice that it doesn't really matter what city your in or what time of day it is, a Cracker Barrel is always crowded? It was here in the midst of the old folks and the families shoving all that buttery food down their pie holes that I had an epiphany....I am the one who is out of "fashion." As my eyes scanned my fellow customers and waitresses, I realized that it was I who was out of place. My jeans fit right. My t-shirt didn't say Kentucky on it. I had no John Deer or fabric floral quilt purse on my arm. My new Pumas were clearly too clean and without any good ol' Kentucky mud or holes for my toes to air out. Zoe got a ton of attention simply for her bright green Chuck Taylors. It was as if the good ol' people of Kentucky had never seen shoes at all before. People stopped by the table to compliment them. Zoe whispered to me "That's it. I am never wearing these shoes again - they get too much attention." I shook my head and replied that she shouldn't have to hide her good taste simply because Kentucky doesn't have any.

So after I ate my calorie loaded meal and drank two glasses of sweet tea, I sat and pondered my situation. No, it isn't feasible for me to blend in. I guess I'll just have to grin and bear it until we can get the hell out of here. But if I ever update my facebook or twitter with something like "Got a sweet new John Deer purse" or "heading out to the tractor pull" someone better get their ass out here pronto and save me. Because I've apparently had a gun put to my head at some point and am living my life in fear.

p.s. Today's award for awkward Kentucky hairdo goes to the waitress at the Cracker Barrel (pictured above). BRAVO, Sweetheart. It takes a LOT of guts (and hairspray) to walk around like that.

My husband is NOT deploying (did I just type that???)

2010-03-19T11:00:00.000-04:00

Today reality hit me pretty hard in the face. A friend of mine's brother is being transported to Germany after a serious injury in Afghanistan. This week marked the second anniversary of a neighbor's death in Iraq. Mark's previous unit of almost 7 years just deployed for a 4th time to Iraq - another 12 months in this crazy war. And today, my husband is off and out buying a grill so we can cook out tonight. I can breathe right now and don't feel that ache in my chest from saying goodbye to him again. For such a long time, war seemed to defined us. We were always in the middle of a deployment or preparing for the next one. The weight of the entire war seemed to be pressing on our marriage. The divorce rate in the Army is sky high. Add in the fact that we have a special needs child and our chance of success gets diminished even further. But we've made it this far. For years, Mark and I basically lived separate lives. We were married and 100% committed, yet my life and his life didn't seem to blend together very often.

When Mark was gone, I quickly fell into routines and busied myself with making sure Zoe was happy and healthy at all times. The healthy part wasn't always easy. There were times when I spent weeks inside the house with a really sick kid, unable to even venture to the mailbox in fear of leaving her alone. I remember ordering pizza every other day just to get food in the house because I couldn't leave to grocery shop. Yes, I could have asked for help from people but if you know me, you know that asking for help is not in my nature. There were some pretty touch and go times - the Army house that got infested with mold underneath causing Zoe's lung to keep collapsing and forcing me to buy and move into a new house without Mark, several surgeries, countless bouts of illness...

Physically, deployments drained me. When I was working full time, I honestly don't know how I made it through the day let alone 12 months. I was constantly running. Add in the fact that my nights were spent laying awake suffering from insomnia and it's a miracle I didn't come crashing down hard or become a serious alcoholic. When I stopped working, I literally slept for two weeks. I put Zoe on the bus to school and then went back to sleep. When I woke up after those two weeks, I had to haul ass to get the house ready for a returning war hero.

Emotionally, deployments are nothing short of a horrific roller coaster ride. There are highs - the phone calls, the unexpected letters, the romantic idea of waiting for your soldier to come home from war, the butterflies and goosebumps when you get the call that he's returning home. There are terrible lows - the jealousy, the resentment, the hopelessness that our marriage would never be normal again. There were times when I thought we were broken beyond repair. There were times when I was so angry that I just wanted to run away. I spent deployments either sick in love with my husband or sick with anger towards him. I often had to remind myself that better days were coming.

Those better days are here. Imagine if I'd given up. I wouldn't hear his laugh today as he made fun of me for running into the furniture. I wouldn't have felt his arms around me again. I love him - I mean, I loooove him. I am absolutely, hopelessly fallen for him even after 10 years of constant stress and turmoil from the things in our life that we cannot change. I spent almost 7 years waiting for him and it was well worth the wait. We still have a lifetime ahead of us. And I can hold my head up proudly and say that I did it. I may not have fought in the war personally, but I won many battles myself. I never backed down and gave up. I know that in the middle of some of those tough times it felt impossible that a better day was coming. Here we are. Together. A real family. We may have more deployments in our future but for the next year and a half, I don't have to worry about Mark getting blown up in a country half way around the world. The love of my life is safe at home and we have the next sixty years to spend together. I really am a lucky woman.

Craving a Show

2010-03-17T18:02:00.000-04:00

I love music. I live for live music. The smaller the venue, the better. The energy that the crowd gives off as I'm squished in the middle of the action is phenomenal. Watching a band (whose music drives me) pour their hearts out into the music just mere feet in front of me sends me on a natural high. The louder, the better. While I'm throwing my hands in the air and singing along to a song I love, I forget exactly who I am. I'm no longer Zoe's mom or Mark's wife. I'm just a chick at a rock show. I'm sweaty and gross. I'm pushing the crowd back as they move closer to get a better glimpse of the rock star action. I'm moving to the music. I won't lie, sometimes I'm moved to tears from the sheer beauty of the moment. And when the encore is over and the band leaves the stage, I've sweat off all my make up and my hair is an absolute mess. I don't care though. I'm buzzing off the energy of the experience. I am instantly reliving my favorite moment of the night - whether it's when the lead singer looked me right in the eye as he sang or the drummer went crazy in the middle of a song and I was mesmerized by sticks that looked as if they were flying. If the band hangs around after the show, I'll say hello and get a goofy picture taken as I try to form an intelligent sentence to tell them how great the set was. If it happens to be Hurt and J. Loren is in front of me, I might get tongue tied remembering him sing Danse Russe as tears streamed down my face. And then I'll go home with my ears ringing for hours. I'll crawl into bed, unable to sleep at all. Those moments will be running through my mind for the next couple of days. My ears might stop ringing in two days. But I'll have a natural high. And I'll wonder if the artists feel even a smidgen of what I feel. Because if I'm high from being in the crowd, what's it like being up there and touching so many people with your gift?

And as I sit here typing out these measly words that don't begin to describe what I actually feel, I am CRAVING a show. I seriously NEED a show. A show could breathe the life right into me now...

Must be really nice to be oblvious...

2010-03-15T10:42:00.000-04:00

Took my favorite kid to the mall yesterday. Now that she's getting older, the stares are becoming a little less frequent when she's out and about. People still feel the need to engage her in conversation - speaking extra loudly to her as if she can't hear, in baby voices as if she's a toddler, or just by saying bonehead things that they think make her more comfortable. No, lady, telling my kid that her ride looks fun isn't really appropriate. And when she uses the same tone you use, it's because she thinks you're "special" and we'll later have a conversation about how she didn't want to be rude because of it.

Although I did find some sweet brown ankle boots for just twelve bucks at Macy's, my good mood was spoiled by the jackass who was not paying attention and tripped over Zoe's chair. He did so very dramatically and acted as if he was falling down a flight of stairs. He didn't even apologize. I did mention that he should watch where he was going. Zoe was in no way at fault. Believe me, she's aware 100% of not running into people (excluding me - I have permanent bruises from her foot rests on the back of my legs). After this man's over dramatic squeal of terror, Zoe was mortified. We immediately exited the store so she could avoid anyone seeing her cry. But she did cry. And I wanted to go back in and ring the guys neck.

Here's the thing - Zoe already feels incredibly self conscious about being different. No matter how many times I tell her different is good, no matter how many songs she listens to or books she reads about being different, no matter how much I love her - Zoe just longs to be like everyone else. She worries about what she looks like at 8 years old. She worries that people won't like her. She worries that everyone is staring at her wheelchair. She worries she won't fit in - literally, like her chair won't be able to go places. I DESPISE people who go out of their way - good or bad- to point it out to her.

It is NOT a scooter or car. It is NOT fun. It is NOT okay to point out how cool you think her chair is when she's in the middle of a conversation with someone. We don't interrupt you to tell you your legs work nicely. Yes, she's a good driver. And yes, she'll smile and say thank you when you say these things. But really, making it known that you are comfortable with her presence by pointing out her differences (even when good natured in meaning) just makes her feel, well... DIFFERENT.

I know, I know...I shouldn't bitch that people are nice to her. I get it, I honestly do. People are just trying to show that they are comfortable with her disability. Or some people are honestly being nice. It's just that I wonder if Zoe was an average little girl who walked into a store if the sales clerk would talk to her in the over the top bubbly fashion and tell her how cute she looks.

In the meantime, Zoe continues to smile and say thank you like the polite child I have raised. Please note though, Zoe thinks you're "special so we should be nice" and that maybe your mom didn't teach you any manners.

Housewifing

2010-03-11T14:23:00.000-05:00

As I patiently wait for my kitchen floor to dry, I sit here thinking of what my life was like before the big accomplishment of my day was getting all the laundry put away.

But then again, that was another lifetime ago. Oddly, I find myself cringing a little when I tell someone on facebook that I haven't seen in a decade or two that I'm a housewife. I used to be other things. But honestly, I actually enjoy being able to stay home. I never, ever thought I'd be the stay at home mom. But why should I be ashamed of it?

I may not be Martha Stewart or Betty Crocker. I don't sew, bake, scrapbook, or do crafty things. I do clean like a motherfucker and my kid is always in clean clothes. Staying home allows me not to stress when Zoe gets sick (and she gets sick a lot). It allows me to modify her schedule so that she can come home and take a nap twice a week. Hell, it allows me to take a nap every day if I need one. And for any of you who have to wake up every two hours to roll your kid like I do, you know just how precious that naptime is.

I'm not climbing the corporate ladder or getting a big bonus this quarter. I'm no longer worried about my PFT score or whether or not my uniform has perfect creases. I get to take care of two very important people. And one absolutely psychotic dog. I am raising my daughter in a loving home and giving her 100% of me when she needs me. I put Zoe on the bus every morning with a kiss goodbye and I greet her every day with a kiss hello. When my husband comes home from PT, I can make him breakfast and then send him off with a kiss and a grocery list. When he gets home for the day, he's greeted with a kiss and a smile instead of a grumpy and tired wife who is tired from working full time and then stressed out because the house is a mess. Been there, done that...didn't like who I was.

Some days I do absolutely nothing. I get on facebook or put in an old movie. Out here I don't have girlfriends to meet for lunch. I spend a lot of time alone. But I'm a cool chick and I like me. I'm okay with it. I am really excited when my family gets home for the day though. I think it makes me appreciate them all the more. I honestly count down until they both get home every single day.

My life isn't glamorous or exciting. But I am loved. What more can you ask for than that?

Testing, testing...1...2...3...

2010-03-09T07:29:00.000-05:00

My first blog. With the encouragement of some of my facebook and dear friends, I give you an insight into my uber-exciting life...

So here I sit in my robe in a quiet house. The crackhead dog (Lucy, our English Bulldog) is asleep on top of the couch. Yes, on top. Like a cat. The husband has been kissed goodbye as he left the house in a clean uniform (score one for me) to spend his day doing Army crap. The kid has been sent off to school looking as adorable as ever and smiling despite recent events that have me in tears.

Zoe is incredible. She has a beautiful heart and is always worried about everyone else. Just yesterday she was telling me about a kindergartner who came to her at recess for help with a problem and how she wanted to protect him. The compassion in her eyes as she told the story brought tears to mine. How lucky am I to have her in my life?

This crap disease she has takes so much away from her body, but her mind is amazing. Over the last few weeks, Zoe has slowly been losing her bladder control. She's almost 9 years old and we are going to have to go back into diapers. The indignity of it all is crushing her spirit. She's so upset that someone is going to have to change her at school. She told me, "It's bad enough two people have to take me to the bathroom but now I'm gonna have diapers?" So she's requesting that I come in to school to do it. Of course I will. I would walk over broken glass for my kid.

Zoe will be fine in no time. She doesn't let much get her down. This is the kid who has sent her daddy off to war three times, has kicked ass on 9 spinal surgeries, and put on a brave face as she said goodbye to everything and everyone she loves in Colorado. This is the kid who comforts me - the grown up. This is the kid who told me just a couple of days ago that "the impossible is possible." Really, she's only 8 years old??? Where did she get it all from?

My day is going to be spent researching the best options for this whole big kid diaper deal. I remember when she stopped wearing diapers. I honestly never thought we'd be coming back around to it again. SMA sucks ass.