Welcome Back
When I started these pages almost fifteen years ago, mommy blogging was still relatively new and I wanted in on it.
I had one child, my sweet first-born, who rocked my world from the moment he was conceived and just didn't conform to any of the advice I sought out. I wrote about that.
This amazing kiddo didn't sleep well, and so I read a ton of infant sleep books and long story short, I trained him to take a lengthy nap that he didn't need, and then was baffled when he woke up every hour and a half at night. I wrote about that.
I received healthy amounts of criticism and unsolicited advice about everything he did, so I wrote about that, too.
I wrote about his quirks, his tantrums, and his triumphs. I wrote about his sweetness and his sass.
Little brother love-bug came along and I wrote about that.
Then life took a lurch and a turn, and I stopped writing.
I didn't write about my elder son's ADHD, his uncanny ability to mash all of my buttons at once, or the pain of watching him turn twelve without a group of friends (or even just one die-hard bestie) because did I mention that conforming is not his strong suit?
I didn't write about his probationary acceptance into his (then) school's laughable GT program, or the fact that despite the "challenges to success" that the GT Language Arts teacher alluded to (and then wasn't able to formally discuss when I requested specifics), he maintained a high A average through all four years of the program. He at least had the benefit of being taught by one of the most progressive and amazing math teachers ever to have graced this planet.
I didn't write about his diagnosis of celiac disease, which came as a complete surprise to us because he'd been asymptomatic with respect to GI disturbances. I didn't write about how we discovered simultaneously that he was not really asymptomatic, just accepting of sensations he thought were normal, and the fact that Black Forest ham is not always gluten-free.
I had one child, my sweet first-born, who rocked my world from the moment he was conceived and just didn't conform to any of the advice I sought out. I wrote about that.
This amazing kiddo didn't sleep well, and so I read a ton of infant sleep books and long story short, I trained him to take a lengthy nap that he didn't need, and then was baffled when he woke up every hour and a half at night. I wrote about that.
I received healthy amounts of criticism and unsolicited advice about everything he did, so I wrote about that, too.
I wrote about his quirks, his tantrums, and his triumphs. I wrote about his sweetness and his sass.
Little brother love-bug came along and I wrote about that.
Then life took a lurch and a turn, and I stopped writing.
I didn't write about my elder son's ADHD, his uncanny ability to mash all of my buttons at once, or the pain of watching him turn twelve without a group of friends (or even just one die-hard bestie) because did I mention that conforming is not his strong suit?
I didn't write about his probationary acceptance into his (then) school's laughable GT program, or the fact that despite the "challenges to success" that the GT Language Arts teacher alluded to (and then wasn't able to formally discuss when I requested specifics), he maintained a high A average through all four years of the program. He at least had the benefit of being taught by one of the most progressive and amazing math teachers ever to have graced this planet.
I didn't write about his diagnosis of celiac disease, which came as a complete surprise to us because he'd been asymptomatic with respect to GI disturbances. I didn't write about how we discovered simultaneously that he was not really asymptomatic, just accepting of sensations he thought were normal, and the fact that Black Forest ham is not always gluten-free.
I didn't write about how the transition from a traditional to a gluten-free diet was ludicrously easier than it was for him to make up all the growth his body was overdue, or the tears of joy I shed when his high school's amazing, allergy-friendly cafeteria and the care they take with teaching the young men respect for their bodies in a mandatory Freshman year weight-lifting-focused PE class resulted in him putting on 3.5 inches of height and 27 pounds of weight in less than a calendar year.
I didn't write about my younger son's ADHD, how deeply his emotions run, the pureness of his heart and soul, or how we had to leave a place we'd come to think of as our spiritual home because an adult bully with a doppelgänger child incessantly tortured him, and the administration was not interested in addressing inappropriate behavior that was not expressly physical.
There are many things I haven't written about over the years that this blog has lain dormant, but that is about to change. Because I have things to say, and no one to say them to, and I'd rather sit in front of a keyboard than hemorrhage money in a therapist's office (tried, didn't help, plus they kept messing up my time slot, so no thanks anymore).
I didn't write about my younger son's ADHD, how deeply his emotions run, the pureness of his heart and soul, or how we had to leave a place we'd come to think of as our spiritual home because an adult bully with a doppelgänger child incessantly tortured him, and the administration was not interested in addressing inappropriate behavior that was not expressly physical.
There are many things I haven't written about over the years that this blog has lain dormant, but that is about to change. Because I have things to say, and no one to say them to, and I'd rather sit in front of a keyboard than hemorrhage money in a therapist's office (tried, didn't help, plus they kept messing up my time slot, so no thanks anymore).
Plus, maybe we might make someone laugh every now and then. Maybe we might help someone feel seen. Maybe the stories I share, with my family's permission, might help someone know they're not so much an outlier as they think.
To laugh, to feel seen, and to feel part of a compassionate tribe are things we all sorely need right now, I think.
To laugh, to feel seen, and to feel part of a compassionate tribe are things we all sorely need right now, I think.