The Truth About Dads and Their Little Girls

Written by Karen, a mom without a blog

I am a mother of daughters. I had three little brothers much younger than me growing up and I always knew I would eventually be a perfect mother of sons what with all of my experience! Right?

But no, it was not meant to be. Not only did I marry a man who had a daughter from a previous marriage (it should have been a hint), but once, twice, three times I pushed out a baby – a girl! My world is girly, dramatic, emotional, sweet and beautiful.

I wouldn’t change it for ANYTHING.

My husband is a DEVOTED father of daughters. He loves having girls. For example – it took us a while to get used to being pregnant 4 ½ years ago at the ages of 38 & 41. We thought we were done. The only way that he felt like he could be okay with having another baby is if it was another girl. (Not that he would not have adored a son, he just knew girls and knew his connection to each and every one of his daughters).

He loves his four girls with his whole heart. Anything goes wrong with them, he feels it down to his toes – he’s jelly – he can’t function normally. It’s weird. This is a man who is a jack of all trades – he can pretty much fix anything that happens in our house or with our appliances, electronics and even our vehicles! But give him a devastated daughter and it breaks him.

This does not make him weak – it makes him REAL. I know folks always talk about the extraordinary connection between Dads and their Daughters – but to know it is different than watching it unfold before you.

I have a connection in the deepest part of my soul to my dad. I always have. And seeing that manifest itself in my own little family between my husband and my kids is certainly something to behold.

My older girls have some of their best daddy times on the slopes of Utah’s incredible mountains. They take off on Saturday mornings with their coffee, hot chocolate and milk (depending on the age and tastes of the girls), their hostess mini-donuts (not powdered as to leave a mess on dad’s precious truck seats), and their essential drive-up-the-mountain, get-psyched-for-skiing music pounding. That is their world, one that mommy rarely, if ever shares in.

But I’m totally okay with it.

When they are deciding on their favorite dish to be cooked for their birthdays or for a good report card or a brave sports or musical performance – do you think they choose mom’s yummy sloppy joes or tuna melts?!? No – its dad’s cooking they crave.

I’m okay with that too.

The list goes on and on - the truth and advice and comfort and even wrestling (!) they seek (and receive) from their dad that is different in a strong, sweet way from what they receive from me. I’m grateful for that.

Now my husband is a nurse in a children’s hospital, so already he has a fatalistic view of health issues. Anything unusual with his daughters or me or even himself and he’s sure there’s something life-threatening in it! Then bring on a daughter with special health care needs four years ago and what do you think? Beside himself. Anxious. Depressed. End of the world kind of heartbreak.

But thank God, this little angel has thrived and has revealed to us the epitome of daddy-daughter connectivity. Each time she has any health problem, from a little cough all the way to a hospital stay – he is right there next to her – even if it is killing him. If there was ever any doubt of his soul being eternally connected to his littlest daughter in a unique way (there wasn’t), it would all be erased in one of the most precious moments I’ve seen in my nearly fifteen years of being a mother of daughters… it happened last weekend. Saturday night, chilling with our girls and my husband’s parents after dinner.

My husband has a talent that he shares with his oldest daughter and no one else in the family. My girls and I have tried and tried and tried to get the hang of it… to no avail.

You either have it or you don’t. My husband has entertained his girls (me included) for years with his ability to wiggle his ears. Some kind of muscles pop to life in his head that are able to pull those ears back and make them wiggle away!!!

So back to last weekend - we were trying to cheer up our four year old who was suffering from an energy-sapping cold and cough. She sat at the dinner table, barely eating with the droopiest eyes and saddest expression you’ve ever seen – she was the definition of miserable.

Her sisters were showing her their tricks, hand bending, finger popping, tongue rolling, etc. “Dad, show Penni how you wiggle your ears!” He did it to customary laughter. Then we asked Penni to wiggle hers. That pathetic little face didn’t change, her hands stayed still on her lap, but ever so slightly, the ears wiggled. You’d have thought we won the lottery. The table completely erupted – Penni about jumped out her chair with shock from the noise – but she was SO PROUD OF HERSELF. She had the biggest smile EVER, runny nose and everything.

She did it again and again to the delight of the whole family. I was in tears with laughter, joy and pride and was touched to my core. But the moment was felt infinitely deeper by another at the table.

Her daddy.

Dave and Penni who share a love for nature and ear-wiggling

Dave looking a little serious (because well, Penni's in the hospital)
while daughters Samantha (Sami) and Abby keep smiling

••••••••••••••••••

Thanks to my dear friend Karen for getting back on that writing horse and showing off her awesome husband, Dave. Hi Dave! Now can you guys please move back to LA already??

If you're a mom without a blog, and you want to write, we're here for you. Read all about it up there and email me if you're game.

And TOMORROW?? Another edition of "Conversations with My Kid" Fridays. Join us!!

Mother's Little Helpers: A Story of Panic Attacks, Loneliness and Drugs

Okay. I love my friend Karen. For so many reasons. And after reading this post, I love her even more. For always telling like it is and for being so willing to share her struggle and her soul in this space. I hope you take the time to read her post.

Written by Karen, a mom without a blog

What’s a mom to do when she can’t help herself?

It was one of the worst pains I think I’ve ever felt, save for childbirth. It was this searing, clenching, doubled-over kind of pain. It squeezed my heart and absolutely took my breath away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time I felt this, so I knew exactly what to do…

I took a quick second to collect myself, calm my breathing, and lay down on the couch. I forced myself to think peaceful thoughts. But not for too long, just enough for the pain to subside, then I was up and continuing with my day.

No calls to 911, no trips to the ER, not even any panicked text messages to my husband. Because it would pass, just like the hundreds of other times it had happened. I knew I was back to square one with this beast I couldn’t shake…anxiety.

This was March 2008.

I finally came to terms with the inevitable – I needed help. I couldn’t cope with every day life with this kind of pain constantly coming out of nowhere. It was becoming a daily occurrence. I finally went to see my primary doctor for the first time since I moved to Utah in 2001. I told him my symptoms and described my history. His question? Why did I wait so long for help?

Good question.

I was treated for these same symptoms about a year after moving to Utah. Back then, my husband and I thought doctors were going to find something terribly wrong with my heart and that my death could be imminent. So really, we felt a lot of relief when it was diagnosed that my chest pain was from panic attacks! It took a while for me to start to obsess on why I could possibly be suffering from a mental illness for the first time in my life – a mom now, a 35-yr-old responsible for children on a daily basis, why was this happening to me? I didn’t understand it and I couldn’t control it – which terrified me.

A myriad of issues contributed, one of the biggest being major changes in my life – I left my career in television production in Los Angeles to move to Utah. I took a small research job that I could do from home in my newly minted basement office. (I don’t really recommend basement home offices… unless you are ultra organized and are able to provide yourself with nice background music, plenty of plants and peace-inducing zen objects strewn about).

I was NOT organized (we still had many unpacked boxes piled here and there) and I didn’t have the foresight to look after my mental health while stuck in the basement by myself in the winter in Utah. Can you say LONELY?

Anyway, this very nice physician’s assistant prescribed the drug Effexor and revealed to me that there were large percentages of women in Utah being treated for anxiety and depression – more than almost any other state per capita! Now, I never did do the research to confirm this statement, but it made me feel a little scared rather than comforted. Where was I living that all these women were needing drugs to get by? This didn’t help my situation. But miraculously enough the drugs did!

It was hard for me to admit that I was taking a mood-enhancing drug, let alone that it made a difference. I didn’t tell very many folks about it. Of course, I didn’t have any friends or family in Utah, so who was I going to tell anyway?

After about 4-5 months on Effexor, I become pregnant (not planned, of course). I decided to go off of the drug ASAP and weaned way too fast. I couldn’t believe the mind trip I went on while weaning off this drug. It truly feels like you could be undergoing some kind of shock treatment. I called it “brain zaps” – heinous, really. It made me decide NEVER to go on anything like this again.

Fast forward to Winter 2007.

I was in the 3rd winter of being a mom of a child with special respiratory needs - basically house-bound for several months to keep her exposure to germs down. It had been two years since I worked. My life consisted of my husband, my children, my pets and the confines of my 2300 sq. ft. home and the inside of my mom taxi, I mean mini-van. For some reason, the joy in having my sweet miracle daughter with us could not overcome this heavy feeling in my chest. I tried more “dates” with girlfriends (I had a few friends by then, thank God), more exercise, more “me” time – but I couldn’t seem to expel the pain.

I felt like such a failure as I scheduled my doctor’s appointment last spring. That’s what took me so long - I just wanted to try to help myself first. I sucked at it. It pissed me off that I couldn’t fix this – I always was someone who prided myself in my ability to help my friends in need and come up with solutions on the spot. I found no solutions for myself.

In April 2008, I started on Celexa. Within a month, I started feeling better. By 2-3 months later, I hardly had any attacks. And by the end of summer 2008, I was chest pain free! My doc made me commit to the drug for a year, especially over the winter, as this was my trouble spot the year before. I decided to let go and trust his treatment plan. It was worth it to help me shift focus from pain back to what really matters – a quality life with my family.

So here I am. I am looking at my LAST bottle of Celexa. Hopefully. I could get a new prescription, but I feel like I’m ready to be done. I’m ready to take this on myself. I’ve been SLOWLY weaning myself off for about a month. I’ve suffered a few minor “brain zaps” but nothing to temper my resolve to be drug free.

How is it going?

Well, I feel surprisingly good overall. I have to admit, I’ve experienced a couple chest-tightening moments in the past few weeks and that scares me a bit. But I still want to stick with the wean.

Please don’t think I’m discrediting the need for drugs like these in my life or in other people’s lives by saying I can simply quit taking them. I know it is not that simple. Drugs like Celexa work for countless people in our stressed-filled universe, and I would never judge someone’s need for them.

They absolutely worked for me when I couldn’t help myself. My family and I benefited LARGELY from the addition of Celexa to my life. It gave me the leg-up I needed to put me back where I am supposed to be… in the moment with my kids with a grateful and peaceful heart.

But that said, I’d like to try to get back to being me without the assistance of a drug. I truly don’t know if I will succeed. I just want to give it a try. Emphasis on the “TRY.”

I’ll have to keep you posted.

Especially as another long winter is around the corner…

My Life/Her Life Before My Eyes

Written by Karen, a mom without a blog

This past weekend, I had the absolute privilege to watch my oldest daughter perform one of the leads in her middle school play. Nothing does a parent prouder than seeing your offspring shine on stage. You’d think that watching her and feeling my heart swell with pride would be one of those seriously defining moments of parenthood…

Well, you’d be right… but not in the way you might think. That moment just got the ball rolling…

To give perspective, you have to travel back in time with me a bit and realize that I was not someone who was destined to be a mother. I was never one to coo, coddle and drool over every baby, toddler and child who happened to cross my path.

I cringe now to admit my disinterest in anything child…

To be a MOM, well that was so far off my radar… In my 20s, I was all about my career, my friends and FUN. I wasn’t really up for the kind of 24/7 – no turning back kind of commitment that motherhood presented…sorry, not for me.

Enter my gorgeous husband, a man I felt most certainly was my match within just a few dates… Um, you may hate me for this, but we became pregnant only 3 months into our relationship! Ooops!!!! Luckily, we were destined for each other, which eased (a bit) the apprehension of what pregnancy would eventually do to my body and my life. 

We married on New Years Eve 1994 – just a few days shy of my being unable to squeeze into my wedding gown. After the excitement of the wedding, moving in together and the honeymoon died down, reality started to hit… Big time.

AHHHHHHH! I’m pregnant!!! My belly was starting to bulge and a little “fluttering” was happening inside - proof that a REAL baby was GROWING and MOVING AROUND inside of me! My entire life was just months from changing in ways I really didn’t think were possible – at least not for me!

I was mostly calm (true to my basic personality), but I had many, many, many moments of complete fear and total panic. I remember pulling over into a grocery store parking lot in LA, calling my new hubby at work and tearfully wailing, “WHAT am I EVER going to feed this thing when it comes out???”

It’s so difficult to truly describe what being pregnant is really like until you experience it, right? I remember peace, I remember ridiculous HUNGER, I remember tears, I remember Big Macs, I remember falling asleep at work, I remember huge ankles, I remember severe anxiety, I remember birthing classes, tours and books. I remember the brownie I had that put me into labor, I remember fear that I was going to die, I remember ice chips, I remember intense pain, I remember wonderful epidural relief, I remember pushing FOREVER, I remember the threat of forceps, I remember the last push, I remember purple baby, suction, crying baby, crying daddy, crying me – then BOOM – a bundle wrapped neatly in a clean blanket. This bundle had DIMPLES. This bundle was ours. Wow, double wow, three dimples…triple wow.

You would think that this moment of the birth of my first child was the absolute defining moment of parenthood for me. It was on that day, I guess… but I truly had NO IDEA. I mean people tell you that it is difficult to be a parent, but don’t really TELL you.  

As my Teenage Princess commanded center stage last Friday night, I truly saw her life flash before my eyes. I instantly realized I couldn’t pinpoint any one moment that defined motherhood for me. It was just a rush of memories – flashes – that wouldn’t stop…

I saw a colicky baby screaming her way through every dinner hour for 3 months straight.

I saw my dad become a proud, fascinated, completely hooked grandpa.

I saw my beloved dog become an afterthought stuck out on the back porch.

I saw a charming toddler pulling every book from the bottom two shelves of our bookcase for the 200th time.

I saw a preschooler whose closest friends were boys.

I saw a preschooler who was so PAINFULLY shy she couldn’t tell anyone her own name when asked.

I saw a kindergartener play soccer on a team she called “Dog-a-mations” – and proudly wearing the matching hair bows that were next to impossible to add to the shortest little girl haircut ever.

I saw a 6-year-old witness a child sing the National Anthem at Dodger Stadium and proclaim, “I want to do that someday.”

I saw that same child audition less than a year later at the Minor League AAA Club, Salt Lake Stingers, and wow everyone with her rendition of “Oh say can you see…”

I saw a 7, 8 and 9-year-old who wanted to try every sport, dance class, activity and camp anyone could ever dream up… all by herself… we never had to sign her up with a friend, she was fine with putting herself into something new without peer support.

I saw a 9-year-old on a family camping trip, look at a plate of cookies with only two left and… instead of giving one to her 4 year old sister, immediately SHOVING both into her mouth before anyone noticed. 

I saw a 10-year-old decide to leave her neighborhood school and start to attend a charter school that concentrated on one of her major loves – the arts. Again, on her own.

I saw a fifth grader pulled in a thousand directions emotionally as she watched her newborn baby sister struggle daily with trying to live.

I saw an 11-year-old take acting classes, get an agent and force auditions on her family even though she remained quiet and shy.

I saw a little kid with crooked teeth and a sweet, soft voice go HURTLING down an icy slope on skis, whipping around gates, trying her best to get a better time than her dad.

I saw a 12-year-old begging her parents to let her sign up for a 2009 mission trip to Africa with her church youth group. In a whole other country on a whole other continent on the other side of the world – without her mom.

I saw a 13-year-old insist on applying to a unique academic program for next year in HIGH SCHOOL (yes, high school) that will again take her away from her neighborhood, but will give her unlimited opportunities.

I see a budding teen slowly pulling away and growing up – one whose embarrassment of me only solidifies my place in the mom club.

I’ve seen my almost 14-year-old struggle through the complete morass of middle school issues and come out at the end absolutely SHINING.

Center stage… bright lights and all… teeth finally straightened from years of braces, her dimples absolutely blazing, all her mom can think about is… how did I get so lucky?

It took FOREVER for us to see her after the performance, but when we did, we hugged her and she burst into tears, unable to believe that it was all over.

…What is it about getting a hug from mom that still brings out the waterworks? And is it sick that I actually enjoyed, no reveled in that sweet moment? (Before she hastily cleaned up her running makeup, put on a brave face and turned to face her friends).

Seeing my teenager’s life flash before my eyes also served as a mental scrapbook of my life as a mother. I can’t believe how fast it has gone… she forced me into becoming a mom when I wasn’t ready and constantly challenges me to stay on my game, but I wouldn’t change a MINUTE of it.

I guess I feel like the journey I’ve been on with my teenager over the past 14 years is not close to complete, and I realize that I’m no longer even close to cool or hip anymore. In her eyes, I’m “just a mom.”

But for me, for now, that’s okay…

I’ll take a mountain of defining moments (and countless more to come), soggy, emotional hugs and living as “just a mom” and I’ll use them as a re-affirmation of my place in the cock-eyed, tremendously fulfilling land of motherhood. A place I used to fear (for valid reasons it turns out), but a place I’m willing to continue to struggle each day to embrace. It’s absolutely worth it.

My gorgeous husband and I adoring our new baby girl, Samantha

The beginning of my life with her 

From Lee: Sorry peeps I couldn't resist.  This is me and my dude holding 

Karen's precious baby girl waaaayyyyy before we were ever ready to be parents.

Karen emailed me this pic and wow. Time flies.

Sami at her 4th birthday party surrounded by all of her dude friends.

My brace-filled 5th grader with her gorgeous dimples

Her public singing debut

My quiet daughter brave in front of thousands!

My little girl about to graduate from 8th grade

Does God listen to reality show contestants?

She's a regular around here whether she likes it or not. Our friendship is actually surviving although I'm forcing her to write for me on this blog.  Karen is wrapping up this diverse week over at MWOB so check out her post and we'd love to hear what you think....is God listening?

Last weekend, my teenage daughter and I watched a backlog of recorded “American Idol” episodes then topped it off with recent “Amazing Race” episodes. In incredibly intense moments, some people will resort to anything to get a leg up on the competition….even prayer! Even if they seem like the most unlikely folks to pray in ANY situation, let alone in a thoroughly selfish, win at all costs, sort of way. But here they are – talking to God – hoping He’ll be on their side…

Choose me! Me! Me! Pick me! Here I am!

I’ve been known to pray for miniscule inconveniences a time or two in my life – like lost keys, lost wallet, lost savings bonds… typical for me. BUT, I mostly realize that God is a busy guy. As much as He loves me and I’m sure understands my organizational limitations, I’m pretty sure He has more noble and important problems to solve than help me get out of the holes I continue to dig for myself!

But it never fails to fascinate me to see the different ways we invoke our rights to whisper a prayer of help to the Almighty. Especially when it involves prayer for something seemingly frivolous LIKE… our favorite teams or players to WIN.

I have done my share of praying for the Los Angeles Dodgers. But, darn it all - they still do their own thing, regardless of what I pray!

I also admit to praying for that extra burst of speed that my daughter would need to finish 10th in her ski race and win a medal - instead of 11th and be off the podium and down in the dumps. If my daughter wins 10th, what am I wishing on the other girl who finishes 11th? Not my problem, right? I don’t have to drive down the mountain after the race with that poor unlucky, unblessed girl – the Lord finally came through for us – ha!

So I witnessed two praying situations on these “reality” shows this weekend. One was a group of three wanna-be “Idols” who spent their group audition rehearsal in a roller coaster of fighting and crying. They never got past their differences to work as a team for the greater good of ALL of them. Right before they went before the judges, they joined hands and had a quick prayer for God to “bring them together.”

Hmmmm… I wonder what God thought of that one!

On “Amazing Race” – contestants were getting reading to paraglide off of a mountain when the wind picked up, making it unsafe to jump. All of the contestants, save one, opted to run down the mountain to their clue an hour away - just in case the wind didn’t ever cooperate. The remaining contestant couldn’t run down the mountain with a recently pulled groin and had to watch the wind flags blow and hope he would have a chance to fly.

If he didn’t fly, his team would lose for sure.

He did not want to disappoint his partner, his son, but running down the mountain would be his undoing. He alluded to the fact that he’d like to pray to God for the wind to die down, but said he didn’t really believe in praying for God to give him an advantage over anyone else. So he didn’t pray, even though he felt completely helpless.

The results?

The trio of praying singers on “American Idol” had a sub-par performance at best with the instigator of the angst sent packing. And yet, our “Amazing Race” contestant was rewarded for his praying restraint with a lull in the wind and a window of opportunity to a beautiful flight over a quaint German countryside down to his proud son – beating the majority of the runners down the mountain!

So what is it?

Of course, I have no idea, but it is something I’m always wondering. Call it karma, call it faith in your fellow man, call it the power of prayer, call it destiny, or fate, but whatever you call it…

…I’m always wondering if maybe, just maybe God did have a hand in it.

The Mosh-Pit Conundrum

She's back!!  My dear friend, Karen, MWOB extraordinaire, beautiful mama, and incredible writer. Kicking off the week with a MWOB guest blogger makes my heart happy. Enjoy Karen's unique perspective and don't forget to show her some comment love.  

I’ve been in the midst of some real-life conundrums (yes, conundrums – a beloved word passed down from my beloved father). The kind of conundrums that keep the wheels turning in your head while you automatically go through the chores of the day and place your replies to your kids on autopilot so as not to fully interrupt your train of thought. See, right now, my daughter is trying to get me to read her a book, but I don’t have time for that sort of thing right now.

Anyway, what I’ve been trying to put my finger on for about, say 6 or 7 years, is…

If Utah is the equivalent of a concert stadium full of radical supermoms (and you have to live here to see this must be true), then does that make the ultimate supermom haven, the PTA, the mosh-pit of supermom-dom? Isn’t PTA the exact center of a school community where moms (and sometimes dads, God bless them) jostle for a place to fit in and stand strong on their own two feet?

I mean, we all know what happens in the mosh-pit, right? It is pretty much impossible to stay still, independent and confident here. This is not a place for peaceful enjoyment, it is a place of maniacal fear – fear of spilled drinks, fear of sweaty smelly pushy people, fear of going deaf, fear of going unnoticed and being trampled… the list of fears is infinite in the mosh-pit. Now that I mention it, I guess this is a lot like the reality of parenthood… a lot of the mosh-pit fears relate, don’t you think?

So I sit here in the middle of the ultimate supermom-land, Utah, in the center of the mosh-pit that is PTA – Hence my conundrum… Nothing strikes fear into the hearts of inadequate moms like me like a PTA meeting, right? So how on God’s snowy, freezing earth did I get here? I mean, truly, is this my life?

I must regress for a minute. I was one of those young, single, career-minded women who looked with disdain at stay-at-home-moms focusing all their energies on OTHERS and leaving NOTHING behind for THEMSELVES! Sound familiar? PTA to me sounded like a little slice of hell. Parents spending inordinate amounts of time focusing on cupcakes and award ribbons, perfecting the art of pats on the back, thumbs up and pom-pom shaking, driving their ungrateful urchins around the world to this and that in a, gasp… MINIVAN! I knew that this picture of domesticity and parent-involvement was not me and was never going to be me – thank the Lord!!!

Well… as a show of what could be divine retribution, or maybe a little of karma kicking me off my high horse… here I am now…

And here…

Yes, I have become my worst nightmare – a PTA mom. I am completely trying to reconcile this part of me with what I consider to be the REAL part of me – the part that is “too cool for school” – WAY too happy to let the supermoms to their own devices, while I kick back and marvel how great it is that I don’t have the patience or skills for PTA.

I bring all this up right now because after 3 years of PTA inactivity (due to the birth of my 3-yr-old who has her own story of survival of the fittest), I AM BACK!

And, guess what? I may not have the patience, but I do have the skills – I’m a television producer and production coordinator for PETE’s SAKE! I can put together a team of motivated parents to organize a literacy week, right? RIGHT! So I’ve realized something as I am back in the familiar school library, taking in the collection of faces all looking at me as I describe what goodies we’ve planned for the teachers and students to promote literacy (gasp! A real, bona-fide, educational goal). What no cupcakes? No pom-poms? My realization is not earth-shattering, it’s not even original...

…PTA is US – you, me – all of us. 

Parents of all colors, shapes, sizes, backgrounds, cultures, religions, financial groups, social groups, some have jobs outside the home, some don’t, some dress up, some dress down, some look happy, some look downright irritable, some have snotty nosed kids running around, some sit in the back, some in the front, some bring coffee (Lord knows we don’t serve coffee in a Utah PTA meeting), some partake of snacks, some are relaxed, some are rushed… I mean look at it – its EVERYONE!

We all come to the table because of one goal – to be involved in our kids’ lives – to have a voice in what happens in the place they spend the majority of their days in the majority of their formative years.

THIS is EXACTLY why I’m here:



Groups like PTA and other parent-involved groups are intimidating, scary and sometimes appear to be exclusive and cliquish. But I think that is the nature of a mosh-pit. It’s a love-fest for those brave enough to enter into the middle of it. And yes, I still constantly marvel how I ended up here, but I have to say, I’m happy to be here. I’m glad I made the choice (with MUCH trepidation) to jump in – it’s the only way to do it!

The conundrum of how I got here still buzzes around in my head now and again, but I’m starting to look at it more like, “look how far I’ve come” - with a little feeling of pride attached to it, actually!

I’m impressed with the folks that surround me at those PTA meetings. Everyone with their own stories and their own paths to being there. It is SO not my place to judge anyone there, supermom, superdad or supermom imposter (like me). 

So I apologize to PTA parents across the nation back when I was in my 20’s and completely ignorant of what it REALLY means to be a parent. You rock! And to all my friends out there in cyber-land who are still afraid of the PTA – just dip a toe in now and then to see how it feels and then…. You never know, you could be sucked in! Ha! 

Let’s all meet in the mosh-pit soon! I’ll bring the cupcakes and I won’t tell anyone if you need to spike your cup of fruit punch!

Blogger Intervention

She's back.  Karen, a lifelonger for me, and mama to miracle child Penni, could not help but jot these thoughts down yesterday after checking in at MWOB and seeing Mission Monday up and running.   Welcome back Karen and I'm thanking God for this guest post because my hand is still recovering from typing that epic TBT post.

   

Is there such thing as a blogger intervention? There seems to be blogger everything else. I know I’ve written a couple ditties for my friend Lee’s brainchild that is MWOB, but I still believe myself to be a complete novice in the blogger world. Missions? Awards? Humorous, slightly off “friends” that live across the country?

Is everyone really who they say they are? Is Vodka Mom for real? I hope so… but I’m not quite sure…

Are these real missions? Like the old adobe buildings scattered up and down California? Or the ones where Tom Cruise wears skin tight black outfits and falls almost to his demise on a tiny incredibly strong wire?

And what about these cyber AWARDS? Do we get to attend a nice award ceremony, eat from a chicken and pasta casserole buffet and partake in strained small talk with people we’ll never see again? At a REAL awards ceremony, at least I know that even if I don’t win, I get to take home some kind of cute little consolation prize like mints wrapped in a bag tied with a bow…wait, or is that from a wedding table…?

I’m confused. Remember, I’m a Mom Without A Blog! I come to Lee’s community for HELP. For the support of other like-brained, non-supermoms. Basically to feel better about my hopelessness. You people are speaking a language I just don’t understand and I think my dear, dear friend has been sucked into this new world where I can’t reach her and am having trouble relating to. Does Lee need help? Is anyone else out there concerned? Or can some of you professional bloggers calm my fears?

What’s a technologically-challenged, anti-hip mom to do? Another thing about blogland that I just can’t wrap my brain around are words like:

Phyle… and calatedi…and tescre… 

Do you know what I’m talking about here? I've been jotting down these security words for an afternoon chuckle.

How about shoil… or extersu… or oheado… OHEADO? What do these mean? Who comes up with these words??

Uljolimm, confal and salligma… HUH?

Please do me a favor, tell me if Lee needs a blogger intervention or if it is ME that needs the intervention, oh yes, and while you’re at it - try to use one of the above log-in security words in a sentence… I’d REALLY love to hear it.

Hell, I'll be the first to give it a try. 

"Have you ever had your epingsts erupt? I did yesterday and it was the most embarrassing, disgusting experience of my life!"

I'm fried.

Whew.  

I'm so whacked out tired from this whole week of Monday thru Friday.  But I muster up some energy to write a few reflections:

Thanks to all of you who took the time to read the story of Karen and Penni.  As a close friend who observed the journey from Los Angeles, (yes, the lame city that probably would not have rallied around Karen in her time of need and no, I did not take her comment personally), I can say that being a distant witness to such an emotionally-draining situation was difficult.  

I'll never forget what Karen's voice sounded like the night she called me after making "the choice."  Her voice shook from the depths of her soul.  I had never heard a friend sound like that before in all my life and I'm not sure I will hear it again.

If you don't know it already from reading her story, Karen is a special being and an extraordinary mother. I have been blessed with her friendship for almost 20 years and it will last a lifetime I am certain.  Thank you Karen for baring your soul to our lil' community here at MWOB.  

My one and only aunt passed away yesterday which is contributing to my feelings of being fried.  She lost her battle to cancer when it recurred after a twenty-year remission.  She was a lover of life and she fought hard to stay on the planet.   I will be heading to Arizona this week for the funeral and to celebrate her well-lived, generous life.

It was actually appropriate that she died on Thanksgiving.  She owned a catering business and spent her entire life serving others and stuffing their bellies with yummy food.  I said that in my pre-feast prayer yesterday and I think it lifted my dad's heart for a moment.  (She was his only sibling.)

I think I'll take the weekend and mellow out and prepare for the journey to say farewell.  I'm really into doing the death thing with eyes wide open and hearts real and raw.  My kids get to witness more endless crying from their mama - just what they love.

Check ya' later chickies...I'll be cruising around blogtown again soon.  Just not sure exactly when.

P.S.  Remember today is the last day to click that comment section and be entered in our giveaway.    The more, the merrier - isn't that the deal?

  

PART ONE - Torn in Two

(To get the whole scoop on what's up with MWOB this week, read here.  If you already know, I proudly present Part One of our guest blogger mini-series.  By Karen.)

As we approach the traditional American family holiday of Thanksgiving, I must reveal that this is an especially poignant time for my little family. This time three years ago, we were in the midst of the most trying time of our lives. Our youngest daughter was born November 14, 2005 with what was considered to be a fatal birth defect. It is at this time of the year where we often find ourselves reflecting on what was, what is and what still could be. 

Last week we watched our videos from those touch and go days in the NICU – my grandma and aunt were visiting and all of us ended up in tears. On the video is a long scene of everyone having Thanksgiving dinner in the hospital. We had my hubby and I, our two girls (then 5 yrs. & 10 yrs.), five of six grandparents (and all staying with us) as well as my stepdaughter and her husband. Looking around the table you see lots of smiles and love, but a definite tension as you realize everyone at the table is torn in half knowing that four floors above, the newest member of the family’s life was hanging in the balance.

Very few people have any idea how close we were to losing her and how excruciating every minute of every day was for us. Let me try to give you a very condensed version of what brought us to that table on Thanksgiving 2005. 

When I was five months pregnant, we took the girls to LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City to see the first pictures of their new baby sister. We didn’t know it then, but that ultrasound would reveal not only her heart beating soundly, but her stomach right next to her heart! She had what is called a diaphragmatic hernia – a hole in her diaphragm. They couldn’t tell in ultrasounds how big the hole was, but could estimate based on where the stomach was just how much of her abdominal organs had drifted up into her chest. Basically, these organs (stomach, liver, intestines, etc.) impeded on her lungs and pushed her heart to the side. We were told that her odds of living until birth were slim, her odds of living after birth were slim, and if she did live her odds of living past the first few hours were non-existent without extraordinary means and if she lived through all of this, we were taking the risk that her quality of life could be seriously compromised.   But the doctors also gave us a fraction of hope that her life could be very close to normal. 

Before I continue, let me say that without writing a novel on the issue, that coming to the final decision to continue on with this pregnancy was torture. It was filled with hours and hours and days and days of heartache, a range of emotions, discussions, prayers, hope, questioning, and fear.  One night it became clear to me that I simply couldn't live with the "what if's?" We decided to move forward hoping the pregnancy would go full-term to give her the best chance at life.  

We also knew even tougher choices were ahead  - every single step of the way in utero and after.  All I can say is I still cannot look back on those moments without my chest hurting and my breath becoming labored.

As the pregnancy progressed, I had numerous labor pains, but luckily she waited until they could induce me a week before her due date in a room that was next to the University of Utah’s NICU. While I was in labor, we noticed her name, “Penelope” on the nurses white board. We knew that while inside me, she was safe and that these were to be her last healthy moments.

When she slipped into the world, U2’s “The Sweetest Thing” was playing on our CD player. Her first cry was loud and then was immediately cut off as her lungs tried to breathe.   She instantly turned purple and she was whisked through a special window into the NICU. My husband and I just started to ball – it was the most painful moment of my life…up to that point.

(Karen's story in pics)

10/31/05 - My family insisted on the painted belly.  A little levity before her birth.

11/10/05 - A few days before induction.  The calm before the storm.

11/14/05 - Penni was brought into the birthing room to see us before transported to Primary Children's Medical Center in Salt Lake.

11/14/05 - Big sister Abby (5 yrs) didn't want to let go of Dad after they took Penni away.

(Tomorrow Karen's story will continue....)

Palin Prodigy

One week ago tonight we were a country on edge waiting to cast our votes in the "most important election of our time."   Karen, my dear friend and inadequate mom extraordinaire, can dish some serious political chitter chat.  We at MWOB are simply thrilled to have her back so soon for another guest blog. 

Here's Karen:

I know what you’re thinking… is she seriously going to bring politics into the sacred pages that is Moms Without Blogs? Isn’t this site supposed to be a haven from the divisiveness that discussions of politics and Palin can bring? Aren’t we at MWOB unified in our sometimes warped view of the mommy world? And even worse, from the title, is she going to be so bold as to promote one of her daughters as the next Sarah Palin? Is our MWOB world going awry? Get me off of this blog stat!

Don’t worry ladies, I’m not writing this to blather about the election, political parties, my personal beliefs or the ultimate supermom, Sarah Palin – I just want you to know that the Palin prodigy in question is… ME!

Before I proceed, I should probably clarify one teensy-weensy thing, realizing that it may appear that I am a fan and avid follower of SP. To the contrary, I didn’t vote for her, I didn’t agree with many of her policy ideas or her methods of campaigning.  That said, I do have to admit from my tiny blue speck lost in the reddest state in the country (Utah) that she won TONS of supporters across the nation all while juggling five kids (one with special needs), potential grandkids, a seemingly supportive (& handsome!) husband, and grumpy sometimes emotional naysayers on both sides of the “aisle.” 

Personally I can't hate her or her “supermom” persona. I'll have her over for a cup of joe, glass of wine or to share a six-pack and we'll put armor aside and have an honest throw down on life – then I’ll let you know what I REALLY think.

So then, where DID I get this preposterous idea of ME being the next Palin, you ask? None other than my own mother.  

From what little you have read of me from Lee or heard from me directly, you know that I am NOTHING like the woman who came close to being Vice President of the United States of America. My current ambitions are limited to making it through my 2-year-old’s nap time without wasting the precious “get stuff done” time by taking a nap myself, and to brushing my hair and teeth before I leave the house so as to not be too embarrassing to my 13-yr-old daughter. As for the organization necessary to be the ultimate leader – let Lee’s description of my frustration with the stacks of paper that sit around my house waiting to be sorted be the telling answer there.

Here’s a bit of back story, my mother has lovingly passed on her disdain for household chores and general organization of life to me. The stacks of paper to be sorted in my home is only rivaled by the stacks of paper to be sorted in my mother’s house. We’re more of the live in the moment, why do today what can be put off until tomorrow when we’re not so tired sort of ilk. It’s not so bad that we can’t function, we get by just enough to wow our family with our abilities to find something crucial in the nick of time. You need the title to our Jeep Grand Cherokee? I think I saw that in one of those spider webby boxes under the stairs last year when I was looking for the girl’s missing savings bonds!

Back to me being a heart-beat away from being the leader of the free world… Well just yesterday my mother and I were discussing the election. The moment went by before I could even register it.  The shock set in later - long after we hung up the phone.  My mother actually told me when she was watching and reading about Sarah Palin – she thought, this could be Karen! 

Huh? 

YES,  she said that she could picture me being her! 

Although the mere thought of it can throw me into fits of laughter,  at the heart of it I am deeply honored that my mom could honestly picture her imperfect, hopelessly overwhelmed daughter challenging for one of the highest offices in our country!  And as crazy as it may seem that a true blue Democrat could even consider being compared to Sarah Palin a compliment - I do. 

Am I someone who can inspire millions and millions of Americans to vote for me and put their trust in me even with all of my faults and baggage??  Well, my mom believes so and that’s good enough for me.

Thanks mom for uplifting my heart and self-esteem yesterday the way only a proud (and maybe slightly delusional) mother can.

Halloween Inadequacy - AGAIN!

Attention all MWOBS - this is one happy week because today I present our second guest "blogger", one of my hard-core friends, Karen.   I met Karen in the early days of reality television when "reality" was not a dirty word.  She is an Emmy award-winning (true!) producer who left the glitz of a Los Angeles life in television to pursue a career where she receives absolutely NO accolades for the brilliant job she does.  Yes, she is a SAHM.  Beseiged by feelings of inadequacy, Karen spends her days mothering her three gorgeous girls and staring at piles of paper to organize.  We hope to hear more stories from her world... 

From Karen:

I decided to jump into the fray that is Moms Without Blogs.  And the multitude of parent-provided Halloween pleasures my kids are experiencing drove me to it! I would not be writing this if I was the parent providing this pleasure, of course. I consider MWOB a place that parents like me can say it like it is with no judgement, right? A sort of online support group for those of us who can't possibly measure up to what is out there in mom-land.

Okay here is the fall-out I'm dealing with today: My 8 yr old daughter came home from her 2nd halloween party last night with the 3 crafts she made and a treat bag. She narrowly missed winning the most creative costume prize, something sketchy about miscounted votes and hanging chads...hmmm - bummer cause she clearly needs more loot! I decided to take a picture of the crafts and treats that I didn't think of, didn't shop for, and didn't help create. Bottom line I didn't have anything to do with the pride and happiness Abby exuded when she showed them to me. The only thing I did was drive three blocks at 4:55 to drop her off and then again at 6:55 to pick her up. Oh wait, I dribbled some fake blood out of her lip at 4:45.

This experience led me to contemplate how continually lame I am when it comes to Halloween. I'll just share a few disappointments my kids have experienced in my household just THIS Halloween - not counting all the other equally disappointing ones (I've lost count of how many times my girls have asked us to host Halloween parties to no avail):

1) My 13-year-old is disappointed that last year she missed Halloween parties with her friends because we were in San Diego, that is dredged up AGAIN because she is missing THIS year's Halloween parties with her friends because we'll be in Lake Arrowhead at a wedding. She is also disappointed that the horror film that she and 2 friends made for a school film festival has fallen culprit to our unpredictable, ancient, falling-apart Hi-8 video camera - and after the FOURTH re-shoot and several cups of wasted Ketchup, they made the video with her "Vidster" camera she was given when she was 9 from her grandparents - the quality is suspect at best especially with the lovely hum that covers the majority of the climactic scene.

2) My 8-year-old complains AGAIN that we have no Halloween decorations, we haven't carved a pumpkin, we won't be here for trick-or-treating and she's missing the sacred school Halloween parade and class parties (with more candy and cute crafts I had nothing to do with).

3) My 2-year-old is disappointed because it just wears off on her from her older sisters. Oh yeah, and she wanted to be a bumble bee for halloween and I'm talking up being a princess so I don't have to buy anything!

This picture represents all I am not and that my kids, sadly, realize that I probably won't ever be.  Below are three clever crafts from last night - feel free to steal the ideas - they are cool, even I admit it!  

There's a candy bag; cups from last week's party (again that I did not host); a dream catcher craft (isn't it incredible!?!?); and a spider craft I included that Penni, my 2 1/2 year old, DID NOT make at her play-n-learn class (the teacher did everything - don't get me started on that issue).  Take a look... and this is just the tip of the iceberg in my house.  Now you can see how I feel inadequate this time of year.  How can I compete?

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