The day started with being awake for two hours and longing for coffee as I awaited the “surprise” breakfast in bed. I listened to the chaos in the other room and wondered how long till someone cried. All the while feeling guilty for not being more appreciative on the day I’ve been told that everyone… Read More It’s a mother of a day.
Owen and I were holding hands as we walked back to the car along the sidewalk from dropping off Nora for school. Drop-off is always hard for him and today was the first time, after a month, that he didn’t cry. He loves his sister so much but he shows it in ways that are… Read More HAVE A GOOD DAY!
I don’t want to be here today. I don’t want to be anywhere. It’s too hard to be a mom today. It’s too hard to do this in my internal solitary confinement any longer. I wish I wasn’t myself. I wish I was that mom. The mom society expects me to be. A mom who… Read More The mom paradox: internal solitary confinement
The first time I felt suicidal was when I was seven. I was being bullied by my classmates and teacher during the day and then at home. I didn’t see how life would improve. It didn’t for a long time. I’ve never purposefully attempted suicide but some could look at my past behavior and say… Read More Biking on a broken leg.
It’s the stated or implied crux of most of our dilemmas in life it seems. We search for answers to solving obstacles and challenges based on the information we have, biased by our experiences, buoyed by our sense of reality that’s rooted in what we believe to be true. Is this the right parenting choice?… Read More Is it normal?
Jill Smokler reflected on her blogging career in her article, “How Blogging Has Changed Since 2008”, that: “Then: You started a free blog on Blogger and hit publish. Now: You pay for a url. You pay… You curse Facebook for not showing your blog to enough people. You pay for wine because, dammit, you need a drink… You pay… Read More When I grow up.
“It’s madness.” My friend, Molly, texts me to ask how I’m doing and that was my response. She’s my life-line to the outside world at times and always manages to make me smile. Our virtual conversations brighten my life and go back some seven plus years now online and started the day I pretended to… Read More The marrow of joy.
Remember the first time you understood what “popular” meant? Do you remember if you thought immediately as to whether or not it applied to you? I’ve never thought of myself as popular. Friendly, yes, but I was never prom queen or the girl with a full paper heart mailbox of Valentines from school. It makes… Read More Thank you for being a friend…
You wouldn’t expect someone with a broken leg to ride a bike, so why would anyone expect someone mentally ill to function normally? Then again, since most of us are ill to some extent, should we all just cut each other some slack? Where do you establish your boundaries, your baseline level of tolerance, your… Read More I’ll be crazy, you say when.
Owen had three procedures to fix his posterior tongue tie beginning at two weeks, I was a complete mess struggling to manually express milk into his mouth while he attacked my boobs like a rabid animal, recovering from an unplanned c-section and traumatic birth, trying to recover from bronchitis and an ear infection at three… Read More Childbirth, motherhood, and other torture
Maybe it’s the SSRI toxicity scare this past summer and the subsequent weaning off of Zoloft, or maybe the fetal cells left behind by my babies, but I cry very easily now. I used to laugh in dismay at those that cried at commercials, the news, heartfelt articles about disease, children with diseases, or photos… Read More Keenly aware that this crying annoys me.
Nora was crying inconsolably after having a fight with Owen. He had just started walking at the time and was officially learning how to be a royal pain in the ass. She was a conflicted jumble of emotions. Loving her brother fiercely, desparately irritated with him, hurt to have to share our attention, pained to… Read More I have proof
Kelso Kids 
You must be logged in to post a comment.