Tommy Boy

         Atop the laundry list of moronic, hilarious, and dangerous misadventures I have flung myself (headfirst & hell no to half measures) into for all these past 30 years, this one will surely leave a memory. Shall we?

        Somehow, on a busy suburban Chicago road, all hell broke loose in my navy blue Honda. I felt my car, quickly, losing all power. I white-knuckled the steering wheel, wide-eyed with worry, at every blessed light my dashboard blinking in mocking melodic measures. Instantly, I could feel my stomach fall to the bottom of my butt. Didn't leave a stain though! I guided the car safely into a stranger’s driveway. Folks, that’s not even the peculiar part. My only thought was you must be out of gas, mo. I knew there was something I forgot to do. Never has this happened before in all my years of doing all the dumb things. And well, I might add. A first time for everything, right?

        After getting my few, dim wits about me, I summoned the courage to knock on the front door. Silently promised myself I wasn’t going to stutter or stammer. Good luck, Charlie Brown. After 3 nervous knuckle taps, Bill Murray’s doppelganger stood in front of me. A punt dog was anxiously pawing at my legs for affection & attention.  Immediately, my eyes darted to the top of the bench piano that was covered, from stem to stern, with cards all saying,” Father.” Carefully arranged in between each picture, were professional pictures of dad & spawn. My butterflies headed South. The need for Depends and Peppermint oil, to soothe my bubble guts, was no more.

         He greeted me with a warm smile. His kind eyes assured me my fate would not be spelled out on a 2hr special 20/20 episode. You know, the one that isn’t cut out for 60 minutes? They need every bit of 120 minutes to fully explain the unspeakable horrors that unfolded on that especially fateful Thursday evening. My mother would be heartbroken to hear of the brutal details that befell her gorgeous, brown-eyed, small town, City girl, from a little cotton town time forgot. Alas, such misery was not my fate. Not today, Satan!

        Before he could say, “Hello!”  My gums were flapping at Usain Bolt speed.  He caught the whole long-winded earful of how I’d never had this problem. I wasn’t a bum leaving a car in his driveway. The plan was to head to filling station on foot, about a mile up the road. Come back, fill her up.  Anyone who knows me is probably laughing their whole butts off right now. Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie.

This story was not only told like Irish-Mexican windtalker I am. It came complete with large, grandiose gestures. Me using both my hands. Some American Sign language to get my point across.  May or may not have been some “Interpretive dance” peppered in for good measure. Clarity, not brevity.  I’m sure he is certain I’m one of God’s special children. I are one. Jesus loves me. Being crazy is hard. Count me with the dreamers.
 He nodded. I was assured a gas can could be scrounged up to save the day. If I would let him confer with the Mrs. He would rather drive me to the local filling station.  His bumper sticker parroted his political alignments. Couldn’t care less. Didn’t even read the worthless stickers.  A wheelchair and 4-legged walker in the back of his Malibu assured me I could make a clean getaway.  Away we were to the Mobil down the road.

Naturally, he asked why I didn’t call my dad to come rescue me. I wish. Sometimes, the vacant left ring finger, I pray is destined for an ice rink and matching bands feels heavy & empty.  I struggle with it, greatly. It gives me away. I squeaked out my dad is dead. My chest tightened. No gestures. No tears. He gone. The cold hard truth sucks. We said goodbye to my old man January the year before. It’s amazing how the memories still take my breath away.  His eyes softened. Before you can say Kroger Fuel points, I was safely back in his driveway. My car now ready to see the open road safely back home. Nary a puncture wound. Look ma, I didn’t get chopped up into little pieces and sprinkled amongst the bushes. 

        We said goodbye. A solid handshake, 2 gallons of Unleaded, and a big sigh of relief. As I was pulling out of the driveway, a placard stopped me dead in my tracks. It read, “Tommy’s Garden 1994-2014” Gail Caldwell said, “I know now that we never get over great losses; we absorb them, and they carve us into different, often kinder, creatures.”

I was drowning in my own river of tears for a litany of reasons. 15ish months ago, my Irish-Mexican family, wore blue, dad’s favorite color, as those nearest & dearest lined up on a Thursday to hold onto us as we let him go. The old familiar stories of dad had us all in fits of belly laughter & agonizing sobs. I couldn’t help but stare at the casket in bewilderment, from time to time. A stranger would greet me with a hug. After the hug came a story of how dad went out of his way for someone. As it were, the same thing happened at his dad’s viewing. Stories I pull joy and strength from when I hate everything. Days when I just want to lie beside him in the dirt. Cash em in. When I buckle under the weight of losing my protector in this world. His love for his fellow man is the music he gave me. He was a music man. I heart it every day. There is nothing louder than the song of my father.

I have no children of my own. There is no way for me to understand the depth of a love for a child. It’s beyond my mind to ever know the gravity of the loss for a love that was born of your own flesh and blood. After I stopped sobbing & snotting, I said two prayers. One for Tommy’s family. The other was for his dad. It was a prayer of Thanksgiving. It was a plea from an unspeakably tender place deep from the deepest recesses of my spirit. May my heart not be hardened by my losses, great or small. Banish any & all bitterness for what slipped right through my fingers. 
How wonderful for Tommy’s dad & the Michael McCormick’s of this old world. For the ones who help a friend move, or a slow-witted girl in need of kindness. We honor the dead by taking care of the living. I’ll lead by their example. When the news is hard to stomach, I’ll cling to the hope I have. Maybe someday when a stranger knocks on my door, I’ll pass it along. “The measure of a man is one who lends a hand. It’s what my father said.” – Vince Gill

Matthew 25:35-40 New International Version (NIV)

³⁵ For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, ³⁶ I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

³⁷ “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? ³⁸ When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? ³⁹ When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

⁴⁰ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

Wedgies and Weight Loss

Have you ever seen a person with a wedgie? Not your garden variety undies bunch, I'm talking about the kind that could be pulled out of the back of the poor sucker's throat. Yesterday, at my gym, for a stout hour, I watched a man run on the treadmill with the largest wedgie, ever. The kind that makes you check your own sweet cheeks. Phantom wedgie pangs are no joke, ma'am. I couldn't help but wonder why he could let something as intrusive as bunched boxers continue to fester.

On the way home, I surmised I needn't stare at stranger's posterior. The jury is still out. The second thought was, maybe the good man was trying not to trip, wipeout, faceplant, die, and simply remember how not to smear his face on the serpentine belt of a Nordic Trac. A lofty goal, well worth running towards. He did better than me, any day of the week. I don't run. Running is not something I do. I was built for comfort, not speed. When puberty hit, the boys in 6th grade did not call me "toes." I'm a cuddler. I love to snuggle. There will be no running. If someone wants to catch me, they will. There was one instance when I lived in Indianapolis, I actually ran for my own dear life. I outran a nutjob in shorty shorts, top knot, no bra, and a Goodwill sweatshirt. The rest of the dirty details, I'll spare you. Your retinas can remain intact. Suffice it to say, the Good Lord was on my side.

Perhaps the wedgie is symbolic of an underlying thought I've wrestled with for a good year. When the whole world crashes down around you, everything can't be saved, you have to learn to live the uncomfortable and intrusive facets of life. Since my parent's house fire, I've been "running" with a litany of "wedgies". Learning how to live again, when all I've wanted to do since the death of my father is lie down beside him in the dirt, has proven itself to be a formidable opponent. Just sprinkle some dirt on my head at old 6 Mile Cemetery. Let me see sweet Jesus. Let me go with my dad, please?

I believe we all have seasons of wedgie treadmill running. A time when we give it all we've got. tongue out, dogs barking, britches in a wad, dying for a drink, sweat pouring out, all of the gut-wrenching stuff. At times we are going for all we are worth. It means trying not to face plant in front of creation. The pain reminds us we have been in the darkness before. Even if it passes like a Kidney stone, it still shall pass. We are better for the lesson. More tender despite the ache of our heart.

 Aside from the devastating loss of my father, my weight loss has been the most uncomfortable facet for me to tackle. I would only go the gym and wear an old t-shirt with all of my makeup done and not talk. Sidenote, I am not at the gym for friends. K? Thanks. I'm not here to socialize. I'll smile, I'll nod after my heart snaps back into Sinus rhythm. I don't care what protein powder you use. I won't even photobomb your selfies. Yesterday, I noticed a seismic shift in my own struggle. There I was on some machine to bust my muffin-top in shorts, rebar lined sports bra and a tank top. If the truth gets told, I may or may not have belted out a few bars of the Spice Girls in between reps. Say it loud, say it proud!

I can't tell you how much this past year has hurt. No words to articulate the sorrow that has befallen me. By the same hand, it's been a lesson I know by heart now, it all will work out for my good. I can not tell of my sorrow without telling about the all of the unexpected ways I have also found soul-anchoring joy. I pray for my brothers and sisters walking their own road. Trying to let go of broken dreams, empty promises, or the aftermath of loss. Struggle well. Give it to Jesus. Go to the gym. Storm heaven gates for the wisdom to know when to go tongue out, wedgie in. Ask for guidance when it's time to shake the dust. If you see me at the gym, feel free not to say hi. I'm cheering for you. I am on your side. Won't even mention your wedgie I would love for you to pick.

Radio Silence

How are you, baby? I've missed you.

It's been over 3 weeks of no Facebook post with a witty status about my interaction with the Target cashier. No photograph of whatever organic, grain free, no sugar, hippie food I've whipped up. Nary a peep about my most recent projects and potions. Where is the barrage of Horsecrappery that littered Facebook & Instagram? Bueller?...Bueller?... Bueller?

Here is the bloody, bloody truth, social media was too distracting for me. Last year, when my dad took his last breath, mine went with him. I've toiled something fierce with a lonesome ache. A feeling only understood in a way that's unfathomable to anyone not in the struggle. You are blindsided but what you can't know. Social media has been my safe, meticulously crafted way to interact with the world. A way to dip my toe into the proverbial pond without getting wet. A picture is worth a 1,000 words, but it never told the whole story. How foolish to believe it ever could. 

The heavier my social media usage, the harder it was to have joy. Happiness is,"I am happy until my cherub fingers frantically scrabble around a disappointingly empty, greasy Mcdonald's French fry container." - Stephanie Marie. (Preach) Joy is a much more deeply rooted, intentional practice. I'm about 47 lbs down on a 100 lb weight loss goal. It's been an amazing journey with a rebar-supported sports bra & sweet sweat. A journey fraught with set backs, sickness, and broken bones, I'm a little less muffin top. When I would root & rummage through social media hashtags about weight loss, I would beat myself because I wasn't where I wanted to be.  A little old picture of someone's sliver of a story, would send me on a self-pity party. I don't care what Fergie said, big girls do cry. 

Another reason I walked away was because my FB & Insta were always on the back of my mind. If this interaction only makes 25 people laugh, why can't it make 50 people laugh? What is wrong with me? The real question is, WHO CARES? Me! but, WHY?  Facebook and Instagram had me living and dying with each post. I've always wanted to be a writer. Means get my duff off of FB & start typin! It's a year of culling what doesn't serve me. It's a year of cultivating what does. My hashtagged, as all get out, Insta posts, don't have a lasting impact on people. Why spend irreplaceable moments arranging my latest project for strangers to tell me I am creative and talented? Filters are not our friends. They keep us lonely. The ugly truth is rather beautiful. Even when it breaks your heart. And your can't see past your own nose.

My connections haven't changed since my ether hiatus. If anything, I remember why I love the ones I love. Social interactions aren't relegated to likes or comments. I cook for my shrinking muffin top. The nourishment comes to my soul and body when I spend time in my kitchen. That is enough for me. I need to walk away from self aggrandizing behaviors and practices. Hope for me yet. Much in store. Stay tuned! 

Neither Merry not Bright

Thanksgiving is in a few days.

Gross.

Couple few years ago, Aaron, my older brother, adored by me since day 1, liberally slathered his turkey and taters in caramel sauce instead of gravy. Now, to understand the hilarity of the situation, Copernicus didn’t take one bite, surmise something was amiss, and assess. No sir, McCormick’s don’t do half measures. He devoured the sweet sauced food without commotion or complaint.  Every bite gone. Nary a morsel or a sweet scrap left.  After the family had polished off the stuffing and bird, we go for the good stuffs. Aaron inquired why everything tasted cloyingly so sweet. Bless.

 Aaron is one of the best people I’ll ever know. No contest. A cherished Thanksgiving memory that will surface in a few days. My family will need this happy memory to carry us through the first holiday season without our dad.  If we all don’t drown in our river of tears first.

Last year, at this time, between mom and dad’s house fire, my move from Chicago to the camper at the KOA, back to Chicago (wish I was making this up) dad’s job loss, heart attack, impending leg amputation, and rapidly declining health, “The Holidays” sucked.

Putting it mildly.

Our faith is the only way we survive the dark days. Walk by faith not by sight. What we’ve seen has been horrifyingly heartrending. We knew dad’s time was drawing near. An unspoken misery.

There is a time to be born. There is a time to die. Ashes to ashes. The circle of life.

We carried on secure in the knowledge, when we die, we know where the others are going. Someday, the circle won’t remain unbroken. If you don’t know where you will be going when you die, better get right with the Lord. There will be hell to pay. That’s it. It’s all the hope we have. It’s all you need.

Now more than ever, I understand why people dread this time of year. The lights are blinding. The songs & sleigh bells sting.  Pictures of togetherness make me more lonesome.

 I might jack slap the next punk who blasts Michael Buble’s Jingle Bells, especially if it’s before Thanksgiving. I’d like to ring his bell. I’ve cried every day for the past 6 weeks. You’d think about some point, you would run out of tears.  

Mariah Carey got it right,"But then I miss you, most at Christmas time." 





Amen. 

It’s a time to draw near. A time to pull in close. How do you do that when what you want to draw near to is gone? The eternal question. My heart aches for my loved ones wanting to draw near, but what they want to draw near to slipped through the cracks. For whatever reason. 

Loss is hell. Death, divorce, wayward children, you name it. 

An empty place at table.  An even bigger one in my heart. There is still much to be thankful for. Prayers still reach God’s ears if you have tears in your eyes.

I’m going to buy a real tree this year. I’m going to sit my family. We will watch the kids run around. There will be laughter. There will be tears. There will be a void. Dad is always in our hearts. His humor and faith will sustain us, when it’s not merry or bright. 

The sweet babe that came to save us all means more to me now than ever. Thankful for that home birthed cherub all those years ago. 

It's Like A Dagger Through the Heart

I’m bad at blogging. I think about it. I quite like my little (War & Peace length) FB update statues. You is welcome. The central theme of these last 9 months has revolved around my dad, namely, his earthly departure. The expanse of my emotional depth goes from dolor to rage & every other emotion under the sun. A reoccurring notion has been I’d like to put my 2 cents in the bucket held out for the Great Unwashed. While it’s not sexy or fun, it’s imperative. Let’s talk about grief. Ladies choice.

                Told you. Are you uncomfortable yet? Do you regret clicking on this link? Are you muttering, “Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie!” under your breath? Good, now I have your attention. It’s perfectly fine for you to recoil at this taboo topic. Perhaps your think flowers and funerals. Or  weird memories of your great aunt Mary lying in a casket with a downturn smile because of an overzealous mortician. Still gives me the shakes. You had your warning. I gave you a chance to opt out. I’m a sold-out believer who knows discomfort is paramount in learning. Wise words that still bring a smile to my face, from a youth pastor many moons ago, “Start living or start dying.” – James Matchette

                I spent the last 5 nights of my father’s life sleeping in the 3^rd floor waiting room at Lutheran Hospital. These were my creature comforts. Hospital blankets with a scarf. A  generous  gift from a previous nanny family. Seemingly innocuous items to sustain me while the light was draining out of my father’s eyes just yards away.

                                     

It’s the little things that still take the air out of my lungs. It’s like a dagger through the heart. The question remains, how do we deal with grief? I don’t have an answer. But how we deal with it now is sorely lacking. I fully intend for Grief to be my topic of study for Grad school. What I offer instead is, a humble suggestion. I have been earlobe deep in research from renowned experts on shame, grief, loneliness, and isolation. The 4 Groomsman of the Grief Apocalypse. A humble suggestion purposing we do a little less talking and a lot more listening to those in the throes of their loss. Ranging from death, divorce, or amputation. Loss is loss. Sucks.

In my own walk down this long road, there is an overarching mantra of perceived ungratefulness. When I disclose I miss my father, typically it is retorted with,” Well, you have many nieces, nephews, siblings, and a mother, most people don’t have.” “Really?! Say what?! Get clear out of town. Still don’t have my dad. K bye.” Rude. Ticks me right off. The loss of my father does not mean I am not grateful for what I still have. It means, the loss of my father shattered my whole heart into a million-teensy weensy small bits. GO AWAY, jerk. Thankfully, my parents taught me to not say every little thing I think. Eh, they did the best they could with what they had. Bless.

“The loss of one does not replace the company of many.”- Unknown. Give whomever came up with that wisdom a big, fat, wet one from me.  I’m 30 & single. Sigh. The most important male figure in my life, now resides at Six Mile Cemetery with an upturned face.  Be gentle, please? Don’t tell me it’s ok. He isn’t suffering, or, wait for it, he wouldn’t want me to be sad. Let me be. Hug me. Pray for me. Tell me something funny he did. If you got nothing,  a genuine smile does wonders for the soul.

Grief takes on many forms throughout life. The loss of my father was compounded by my parent’s house fire. Most things from my childhood didn’t survive, again the infuriating mantra was, “Be thankful your parents made it out alive. The rest is just stuff.” False. I am all for less crap & stuff, but childhood photos are not stuff. My old teddy bear was not just a thing. It’s a thing with value to me. Again, the loss was totally mitigated. It’s a special kind of hell to sit in the charred remains of your loved one’s house inventorying burnt remnants of a life.

                The lack of knowledge about how to converse with the hurting is sorely lacking in society. I want to study it, write about it, and offer what insight I’ve had. It’s been a cool drink of water on a hot day to talk with others who say, “Me, too!” Others have also expressed the same sentiments in being the proverbial turd in the punch bowl. I want to expand the narrative. Include those in the fold who are divorced, widowed, or parent-less. The better we understand grief, the better we can sit who those eyeball deep in it. Baby steps. Pain will not be ignored. In my attempts to understand my own, I pray someday it will help others with theirs.

                                                    

                

Keep your Buts, and Well, Ya Knows, && You Must Not Forget About So & So.

      I've noticed a troubling overarching, underlying, redundancy is frowned upon in Writing, theme sneakily creeping into our everyday dialect. This belittling trend has a startling impact on our fellow brothers and sisters. 

We've arrived at a place, in this society, where everything is mitigated and downplayed. I'll explain in a hot second. Perhaps it's the constant buzz of a constant stream of news on our smartphones, tablets, computers, WiFI-enabled cars, wrist watches that tell us when to move, and other chord chasing gadgets. Things & stuffs that suck up our attention spam, time, and, data.  Perhaps it's being globally connected to the free world in the waiting room of your local Jiffy lube, via a handheld device with the forbidden fruit that is a global brands logo? I'm not sure how. I don't know when. I don't know why, but it's go to stop.

Recently, a good friend's parent died. Said friend and I sat at dinner discussing the ends & outs of life over cheeseburgers and spinach dip. The general rigmarole of work, love, life, topics were discussed. The conversation turned to the heavier side of things. It was brought that my sweet friend has heard, from numerous sources, "Sorry, you lost parent X. You should be thankful you still have so. so, and so. My neighbor lost both parents at the same time. You can't even imagine. Be thankful you still have so, so, and so. 

Really? You are talking to someone who just lost said mama. You have the nerve to play the comparison game? Really? In what world is that helpful? Why don't we say, "That sucks. Tell me your mom's favorite thing to do on a lazy Saturday morning? Or was her favorite holiday? Or how about a hug? Or a warm smile? Perhaps, an interpretive dance  It's akin to you telling me your house burnt down to the crumbs & dirt. I respond with.' At least you still have the garage!" My aunt's house, garage, barn, and lean to all went up in smoke!" NO NO NO NO NO NO NO 

Does that help you pick up, inventory, appraise, and reorder all of your earthly possessions, toothbrush and clean underwear all back right square again? NO! Believe me, a fire is no joke. Or stroll down the beach with a wine slushie and a caramel tan. Perhaps all of this access to news reminds us to be thankful. I agree whole heartily. Also, I hold fast to to the belief you can't speak to what you don't know. I've never lost a parent. The thought alone just drops my heart out of my butt. I know it's a road we will all walk. And even that floods my eyes. 

This is all of these Buts, and Well, Ya Know && You Must Not Forget About So & So.  No on needs your opinion, Just your love. It's devastating in the middle of suffering to hear someone ignore your strife because they have a neighbor that lost parents instead of just one. We are to be thankful in all things, not for them. World of difference. I'm just as guilty as everyone else. Not by any stretch of the imagination am I waving my Dan Marino mitts in anyone's face. 

These cataclysmic events that happen in our lives might not seem like the world came crashing down, because we can google someone else's suffering in a nano second. I'm not saying tragedy doesn't befall us all. In this life we are promised heartache and strife until the close the lid. I'm no so sure it won't carry on for 3 days after the worms have creept in, but here is to hoping. 

This past Fall, I stood over the casket of the principal's daughter of my school's baby girl. Katie was 9. She had brown hair and loved theater. It takes your breath away to even say it. Undoubtedly, he will know deep, unspeakable sorrow all of his days. He will never be whole until he leaves this world to be reunited with his love in the next life.  We were in line to greet the family at the viewing, and I overheard, "My feet hurt. I have piles of laundry in the dining room that is just sitting there. Ah, yes, like your dirty piles of Levis are such a troubling weight on your mind. Let's take care of each other? Can we? It took all I had not to punch the person in the face who popped off about the funeral line being so long. Heaven florid the worst day of someone's life interfere with your dirty underwear. When did taking care of our brothers and sisters become so hard? When did we forget how to just shut up and listen. 

Let's all agree, the next time we hear of someone's trouble. We will listen. We will care. If our big Buts, Well, Ya Knows, && You Must Not Forget About So & So, even pass through our tongue lets just put it right back where it belongs. Shut your mouth. Open your heart. 

Chin hairs & Mustache wax

Long time no see old friends.  I've been busy. Not so much busy, as I have been lazy. There I said it. Well, I'm back. Happy to join you. Writing is powerful. Words are profound.  Mustache wax is painful. Shall we?

I was diagnosed with PCOS at 18. Long, gross story short, I have problems with my womanly innards and hormones. I.e. Thinning hair, sprouting chin whiskers/ upper lip fuzz. Why get a cat that has whiskers when you can grow your own and save on Tidy cat? I rest my case.  Also, midsection weight gain. Basically a spare tire of flub you could smuggle Mexicans in. Hey, Grandpa Joe!  (Yes, these were the terms Web MD uses. I was shocked, too. How rude!- Stephanie Tanner. Long live the 90's)
Bla bla, medical words & heartache. I was put on meds to combat said ailment. FAIL.

Over the course of 6 months, things started to go awry. I was a bald walking pair of boobs. I lost about 60ish lbs. woohoo! The walking pair of boobs comes into play because that what I was.  As much as that is annoying at times,  you got to work with what your mama gave you. Suddenly, my spare tire went from Tractor tire to tricycle tire. Hay!

The problem was along with the weight also went my hair. big clumps or handfuls just it got thinner and thinner. Deb, who is a second mom to me, was cutting the remnants of what was my hair. She is loving and tender. We both knew the conversation that was bound to happen. I had a pit so deep in my stomach, I was sure it was big enough for me & all 7 of my hairs to crawl into and hide in forever. Solid plan.

It is devastingly painful to be half bald in your early 20's. A special kind oh hell fo sho. I'm as sarcastic and mouthy as the next Mccormick.  I have broad shoulders & mitts like Dan Marino.  But if someone was so much as even stare at the top of my head too long or ask me about what was wrong with my hair,  I could not stop the inevitable title wave of tears .  And it didn't matter that you were close to me or if it was a stranger I was just so uncomfortable and it was so hard I would just instantly cry . And even talking about it now I can still feel some of that old despair creep back in.

 I do believe authenticity is what we all desperately crave in a world that is so photoshopped & staged.  They call it the ugly truth for a reason. This is about as authentic as it gets.  I'm also aware that men struggle with hair loss .  I am by no means diminishing their struggle. As a woman I thought there was something particularly awful about this affliction. Meaning no one give me any crap about being insensitive or ignoring the plight of a balding man. Focus.

I went off the meds, on rogaine and all of that stuff. Read: craptastic results. Ida had more fun lighting the money on actual fire. All Rogaine ever did was drain my bank account & nothing to cross the great divide that was the chasm of my missing nothing to cross the great divide that was the chasm of my missing hair. I gained the weight back but not my hair.

 Fast forward 10 long years, and my hair is coming back. My kitchen is lab of organic experiments, teas, tinctures, balms, and bottles.  After a lot of research and book digging,  I created my own little hair serum. At seven weeks into my experiment,  I realize my results were astonishing.  I didn't tell anyone I was doing this .  I snapped a shot of my sparse part , and let the mixture work it's magic.
 My little bottle of sprouts has proven to be small yet mighty.

 I'm going to name the stuff Sprouts. I plan on selling it. Seeing how it goes, and then on from there.
 What I want more than anything,  is to help be able to hermetically seal shut that pit in anyone else's stomach that is carved out by what they have lost. Yes it's just hair. But I'll come take away half of it, and we will see how big the hole is in your heart.

The proof is in the tasting. Tastes pretty sweet. I'll post another progress picture in a month. Baby steps. From the absolute bottom of my heart, thank all of you for the love, support, and faith. There are no words to express my gratitude. 'Our deepest hurt will bring about our most powerful stories' -Amen

Dire Straits

The original definition of courage meant to tell your whole story with your whole heart. Well, this is my story.

Panel is a big, huge, obnoxious, (very important & rightly so,) test that everyone takes at Columbia. I didn't pass this past May. I had too much on my mind and not enough skill to pass. I failed. (Truth is, I spent 3 days locked in my apartment crying & watching all 8 seasons of Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe, straight through) My proclivity for a middle aged, dark hair blue eyed host not withstanding, it's a fantastic show!  Between you, me, and the fencepost, If I'm going to be sad, might as well fix my eyes on something visually appealing. ( Hello! Mama didn't raise no fool ;) Hi, mom! <3 Love you!

The ramifications of not passing this Panel are rather serious. It meant I was forced to take a summer class, and possibly be held back a semester. (totally unacceptable! I got things to do. Those things would include moving on with my life, && graduating before I'm old enough to draw Social Security. Lofty ambitions).

My original summer plans of working, soap making, & chasing around  little yahoos, wouldn't go as planned. I needed help. Lots of it. * screwed, at this point, I am so screwed.* That meant I had to ask for help. I had to make myself vulnerable *gulp* . It meant I would have to find my courage.  I would have to ask for help because I failed.  I would have to tell the story of not passing an important test. Shoot me now. I didn't want to. It was embarrassing, and awful. It meant I needed help, and was only going to get that help,  If I asked. Shoot me now!

I don't like to ask for help. I speak a few languages, can handle anything in the kitchen & consider myself a whiz with old people & babies. (I am smarter than I look. Just don't ask me how many times
 I have fallen down the stairs, or burnt the stuffing out of myself on the crock pot, k?! ) *cough
cough* Me, stubborn? What's that you say?  pride cometh before the fall? BOOM. Timber. Crash. I will take my humble pie al mode, please.

The news of my failure couldn't have arrived at a worse time in my life. The past year had been one that broke my heart in a way I never thought it would heal. If I told you I had been lonely, miserable, and down right a nightmare to be around, it would be the understatement of the decade.  I had experienced indescribable grief, forced goodbyes, and now, glaring failure. Anything else, really? Oh, yes, the roommate from Hell. Sad. I loved my former roommate. She is a peach. Very much. Broke my heart when I had to say goodbye.

I swallowed my pride, and much to my surprise, something amazing happened. The people asked for for help, did just that. There was no judgment. It is an absolutely amazing thing to ask for help and
get just that. Initially, even talking about my seemingly impending doom made my brown eyes drip.
My tears were met with warm hugs, caring eyes, and a willingness to see me pass Panel, no matter
how daunting said task was. I was blown away. I shouldn't have been surprised though. I am blessed.

Summer would prove to be an adventure in new experiences & even a new language. (Braille! I love it!)  One of the people I met at the DeafBlind retreat presented a lecture about asking for help. I spent a week volunteering at this retreat.  It was stated that it is easy to ask for help when it is obvious you need others. I.E. a person breaks a leg, or has a house fire. Of course, you would need the aid of others if your house was no longer intact. But it takes real strength to ask for help when others see you warts & all. (Your pride prove its destructive capabilities in every aspect of your life until you learn to suck it up, Buttercup!) I learned this lesson the hard way this summer. However, it is one that will stick with me for the rest of my life.

You have to learn to ask for help when it is hard and painful. You must be willing to share with others things that you would rather keep to yourself. You must accept the fact we are not 
meant to do this on our own. 




I really appreciated everyone that helped me out this pit. I spent the summer interpreitng all over everywhere this summer. I just worked my tail off and it all paid off. I have an amazing mentor that was wiling to work with me. I just cannot ask for me. The plan is someday, to mentor someone who will find them-self in the same position I was in. In order to ever give love in any capacity, you must be able to receive it.  I am beyond bless to have such a wonderful group of people in my life. I love you all. I learned so much. My heart is so full.


The good news is, I passed my test. I am on the right path. I am so happy I was able to work through it this summer. In this life you will have heartache and strife, but you must always move forward. You must ask for what you need. You must be willing to ask for what you need.  Big things coming my way!

The 3rd Party Perspective

Here is it, my opinion. You didn't ask me and I don't care! Here is it. You is welcome!

V.A.C.C.I.N.E.S

Yep. That 7 letter word (-) the plural(s). It's incited a riot between everybody. I stay out, well, because, ya know, I like my head attached. I am now speaking out because I have a blog. (whoopiedoo!) Having 0, that's right, count em' on no hands, 0 kids myself I have an opinion. (I can hear and see all of you rolling your eyes and sighing VERY loudly, geeze a whiz, just have a little patience, would ya?)  I listen to your screaming, hollerin, carryin' on kid at Target every time I go in the store, afford me the same courtesy?. Thanks in Advance :) Mighty Kind.

Woman, to the point! Oh, hi!

I have spent my entire life around kids, seriously, it's a little bit much. My mom babysat kids and then I started babysitting myself. I have years and I mean years of experience with children. DISCLAIMER. I by no means, of any stretch of any imagination am saying that I know what it's like to have a kid. Nope. Didn't  say it. Shh, shut it!… Keep reading.

I have been a babysitter/nanny/crumb gobbler/ankle biter/ taker-carer-of-em for all of my life. I love em' all. I swear. Even on the days I swear my tubes tie themselves bc the kids make me crazy. They all have a special place deep inside my heart. Despite the barf in hair or blowout on my dress. You can't take the good without the bad, smelly, and gassy. I digress.

What I have been privy to a rare glimpse into many different parenting styles and methods. The one I am paying special attention to VACCINES. Why? I know how these kids are before they have these shots and I see how they are after. It scares me. It sickens me. It makes me worry for what their lives will be like in the future.

I have taken car of many babies that after their SUGGESTED vaccines, the change in their countenance is alarming. I don't just mean a fussy baby for a day. My stomach always does a cartwheel or 7 when a family tells me the little just had the required shots. I don't what what the babies reaction will be, but it aint pretty.

 This is not an informative post to explain every side effect or reaction. It's meant to just ask you to do your homework on whatever you are putting into your child's body. I cannot tell you how many mothers/fathers I hear saying I wish I would have known..my doctor never told me…why don't people warn you..I could go on for days with this one…It breaks my heart.

MORE PEOPLE SPEND MORE TIME RESEARCHING A NEW SET OF SPEAKERS, ELECTRONIC TOOTHBRUSH, OR VACATION DESTINATION, THAN WHAT GOES INTO THEIR CHILD'S BODIES, UNTIL IT'S TOO LATE.  

It's important to remember when I say a parent needs to do his or her homework on vaccines, I do not mean go to your doctor's office. I mean do your homework, read books, watch a documentary or 6. Listen to a parent speak, let their message be understood. When you do your research, go in with an open mind. If you approach this topic with an open mind, you might be surprised as to what you find. Don't think or say what kind of idiot. Take his or her opinion in, take it to heart.

THIS IS ALSO PARAMOUNT, DO NOT, DO NOT EVER, EVER CALL PEOPLE NAMES, OR BASH AND BELITTLE. EVER. IF SOMEONE STARTS IT, WALK AWAY, THE PROBLEM IS WITH HIM OR HER NOT YOU. DO NOT THROW GAS A FIRE. BE KIND. BE OPEN, BE GENTLE, ALWAYS, NO MATTER YOUR STANCE. 

I have worked with kids who are and who are not vaccinated and the difference is astounding. The ones that aren't do not have the same health, mental, and emotional problems that I see occurring in the ones that are. I am not saying that every problem in the world is tied to a vaccine, not at all, but I do see their damage. It's not a medical perspective, my opinion is what I have seen first hand. No one can tell me what I have seen with my own eyes. No one, ever.

If anything, this should post should remind you that your children are precious, they are the hopes and dreams of the ones that went before us. They will be all that remains once we are gone. That's not an if we are gone, that is when we are, all will perish from the Earth. They are to be loved, snuggled, rocked to sleep, and taken care of. The times they are a changin', baby. Get with the times. Your job as a parent now to do the dishes, wash the clothes, and do your homework. Your choice, your kid, but it would be shame to have to say I wish I would have known…

I encourage all of you to watch this. I challenge everyone that reads this to read, watch, or find 3 articles, books, or documentaries about vaccines, that are different that the current viewpoint you hold. Understand why people believe and feel like they do. It may change your mind, save a life, or for the first time, you will understand the other side believes what he or she does.

This is a humble persectiptive from the nanny. I did not go into great detail because I am not putting out my own thoughts and ideas. I encourage you to formulate your own, based on your research. Remember cheater's never prosper ;) It don'ts mean anything unless you have made a decision because of what you believe. I am simply expressing my concern over what I have seen come to pass. 

That sucks! Want A Sammich?!

The very sound of "Bless Your Heart" makes me want to yak.  What is really being said is, "poor sucker, awe, life is rough when you are slow..." It's crap! Downright BS. It fits right up there with "that's life" really? That is what passes for encouragement these days. PTI-A-FREAKIN-FUL. So now we encourage our brothas and sistas with bumper- sticker platitudes and trite sayings from Chicken Soup for the Soul? Ouch.
*Side note* This blog could possibly be from the recent turn of events, those events being going home, the Holidays,  and Finals in 2 weeks* I know, just breathe., step away from the 5 hour energy.   So if this is blog has a bit more sass or zing to it, I make no apologies , like I ever do, but it is about time it was said! * Continue reading at your own free will :)

It is easy to forget our own thoughts and actions once we are removed from a situation. i.e. the loss of a friend, raising children, ( I got NOTHING on this one. I also refuse to open that can of worms.I am just trying to get you there, OK?) going through school, moving across state lines....yada yada yada . You get it. You is smart, You is kind, You is important :)

My (grass-fed) beef is that once we are out of a situation we become experts platitude givers . We offer little to no  empathy or support   to others who are walking the same road. I will put myself out there on this one. Most of you know over the last few years I have been gypsy livin! It has been some good times. Moved out and  away, grew up ( work in progress, I know)  Lived alone and loved it Well, 95% of the time. This ain't an SAT test, numbers are not scored here! I pride (Pride- that will come back around to bite your in the rear) myself on knowing how to make a budget, pack up an apartment, and start over. It's been a blast meeting new people, learning about different places, and really making my own life. There are stories that are special to me from each place I lived. Every place has a place in my heart and my life. but......

Each one also has its own struggles, defeats, and losses at every new place. I have forgotten how hard it is to pull up roots and start totally over. The move from home was the hardest. It by far was the best experience I have ever hard, but also the most challenging on many levels.My mind, at times,  glosses over all of the hard parts and focuses on the good. So when I hear someone wants to move away I am the first to make a list of what is needed for packing up an apartment. ( Toss your junk before you move! There is always a Bed, Bath, & Beyond & a  20% off coupon close at hand:)

A friend of mine recently got into an excellent law school in DC.  I said GO. Move across the country you can always move home, me you have seen! It is great advice, so proud of you , Jasmine <3. However, there is also more to it than just Lowes boxes and packing tape. It means pulling up roots, exposing yourself, and being VULNERABLE.. ( That means being ok with saying, HALP!) What better time to say, "Halp"

So, since I am nice and settled in CHICAGO ( I made it, baby!) , it is easy for me to dole out advice about moving, However, what I need to say is, Ah, moving. there is a reason it rates very high on the stress scale. Instead of just saying that blows.and walk away. Why not offer to help pack up, grab a box, or just say we should go spend a night walking around Bed , Bath, and Beyond. I have coupons. Bury me with em," ok?

I am reminded of how many people had patience with me when I first started out on my ASL journey. ILY BETH!!!!!!!!!!! <3 I now work in the ASL lab at school so now I deal with ASL one students. They are so cute! Scared crapless!  It is something else to walk in there with everyone who can sign like it aint no thing and ask you what you need help with. If you can get your knees to stop shakin' long enough, and your hands to work, and your brain to remember how to spell your own name, you are in the red, baby! It is a good day. But it aint, your hands are clammy, you know the sign for book and the polite girl behind the desk signs BOOK , but you get that deer in the headlight look. Fifteen minutes later communication has happened. Now, I look back on those days fondly! Ah, good times, right? Well, kinda.

It is the job of the older ones to help guide the younger ones. It is really a charge to the ones who have walked before to show them how you survived Panel 1 & Panel 2 ! OMG. That means we should speak edifying words to each other like...." I remember those days, you need to go to tutoring every week to improve," or other sound advice.Of course there is a time to lead the pack, and let them figure it out on their own. But that's another day.

So the charge is that those of us who have survived, perhaps a little beaten up, but still here, should serve as a guide to the ones who are following in our foot steps. Also, are our footsteps what they should follow? It isn't that have to be perfect, but did you do the best you could?

I think of the holiday season and how many people will be without a loved one at the table. I sobbed at I Miss You Most At Christmas Time by Mariah Carey the other day. Absolutely reduced to sobs and snot. It hurts. The holidays will be rough this year. So say a prayer for those families this year that will have one less at their table. An empty place an the table means an emptier place in the hearts of the ones that loved the one that has gone on. Hurts.

 People say life is but a vapor. I get it. SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!. When a person is closer to 50 it is easier to say that so carelessly, sometimes, even down right cold. At 26, my friends are my family up in Chi.  School and work is my life right now. So it isn't just oh whatever, it doesn't matter. It does to me. It is all about perspective. So before judgement is passed, stop, think, then speak. Remember being 26 and sometimes feeling like the world is crashing down? Sometimes it does feel that way. Sometimes it does all go up in smoke. This life turns on a dime. So saying life is short at 50 holds a different meaning than at 26. I have a longer journey. 26 > 50, 'member?

The whole point is to remember what it was like when you walked that same road. It isn't the friend who remembers those days that means anything to you . It is the one that sees you in the mire and climbs down in with you. Not the one who sees you in the hole and says, "that's life,  I would come down there, but I can't get dirty. Life is rough, wanna sammich ?" There is a time for sammiches and to pull your own self up. However, sometimes we just need someone who gets it. Who knows that grief is a process and sometimes it does SUCK.Things aren't always going to be ok. That in itself is ok, too. Jesus spent 40 days in the desert. These things take time. Dance when it's time to dance, and cry when your heart is heavy. Don't dismiss someone because you have survived said experience. Consider it a pleasure that he or she is comfortable enough to be vulnerable with you. Remember a time in your own life when if one more person said "deal, that's life" you were going to cry. The bible says love is what separates the world from the Christians. Love is a verb. Love sits in the muck and mire. Platitudes give you a handout, a sammich. Love gives you a hand up, a hand to hold. 

So are you climbing down in the trenches? Or are you holdin' a sammich?

Beer cans && Fishin' Lures was a board on my (now defunct) Pinterest account. I named it that because I had hundreds of pins of nothing but shiny pretty objects that caught my attention. Because who am I kidding, I am the poster child for all things shiny and wonderful ;) I digress.... My favorite board was the one titled " Miss Stephanie Marie" It had all these little pins about things I enjoyed, shiny objects, make up, Chicago, babies, the Titanic, all things Deaf culture and ASL....OH! I almost forgot my real all-time fav-or-ite board...the one with all the sappy, boo-hoo-hoo quotes and song lyrics. Oh mercy. *sniff *sniif* I would cry but that means my make-up would run. If anyone that knows how much shellac I cake on, these black eyes would put Alice Cooper to shame, honestly.(PS. I do not apologize at all for it either, nope, no way, not in this lifetime, sister. It is part of my effect. Well, not this semester per say, been a little more Au natural, bc it's been nothin short of the 9th circle of hell round here, as of late...

To not be ungrammatical

ANYWAY 

-Note the absence of the 's'-

I deleted the account because I found myself wasting time on things that I do not have a need, use, or want for. I have enough stuff, crap, and things. The more I was on Pinterest, the more I found myself wanting more meaningless stuff, useless crap, and worthless things. I want and need to spend my life investing in people. Building loving, lasting,eternal relationships should be my focus.

Now please, pretty pretty please, just go with me on this. Stop rolling your eyes, well, go ahead. (Jesus 360- ILY Benny <3)  They won't get stuck that way I promise. If they did I would be so cross-eyed I wouldn't be able to throw a rock and hit the ground. 

ANYWAY

I do not believe having a Pinterest account is bad, not in the least. However, for me, it was becoming a stumbling block. It was too easy for me to distract myself to look at recipes all day or to pin a board about home DYI projects, that I don't have a garage to do them in! Hello, I live in a condo downtwon Chi ! 

Now fundamentally there is nothing wrong with being able to look up how to use a mason jar in 100 creative new ways, but for me it was more than that. ( I know I know insert eye roll here. BUT it's a struggle for me) I would spend two hours on pining sappy lyrics or the picture of a sunset with a bible verse. Again, nothing wrong but it meant I wasn't doing anything. Just shaking my head at all the stuff I don't have. Sad Sad Stephanie. Oh look, what a cute pair of shoes, I need ANOTHER pair of shoes to collect dust in my closet.

But then I had to ask myself why? What about all of this virtual crap was so appealing? It is because it is an escape, for me.It means I get so focused on not having a garage with an SUV and 2.5 kids, that I forget about all that I do have. The more I would look at these pictures of other people's crap the more I wanted it. Come on! I could rattle you off 200 hundred pages of the cute stuff I saw on Pinterest that  I NEED!  However, that is not for me right now. I do believe all of those things in God's good time, but I can't wish my life away.

 As I have PAINFULLY learned, we ain't promised tomorrow. So If I spend all my time always redecorating my apartment I will never have time to have friends over to sit and chat. If I don't stop pinning away for things I don't have I will miss all that I do have. All of my blessings become a moot point if I am always peeking in the Jones' new-fancy-hand sewn-roman shaded-window. (Kudos to whomever can pull that off)

I have been practice interpreting TED talks. They are a series of amazing lectures from topics on the Paleo diet all the way to Gentrification. 

ANYWAY

One of the talks is about whole-hearted living and learning to embrace every aspect of life. Dr. Brene Brown states the simple fact that we are the most obese, debt riddled, medicated, and sedated nation in the world. WOW. She also notes that people have a hard time dealing with any sort of discomfort. The more I looked around the more I had to agree. I am right there in the thick of it myself, heated toilet seats, anyone? 

Again, nothing wrong with a heated toilet seat at 2 am. (BRRR) However, at some point the madness has to stop.

 This year has been a very tough year in my for several reasons and in many ways. So when she said we don't like any discomfort GUILITY. It hit me right then and there. I am never still. I never just be. Those of you that know me are nodding your pretty little heads right now in agreement. That is ok, I know you love me and support me :) 

But what it means is that for the longest time I have just sat without my phone glued to face, or my headphones in, or the tv blaring. I don't like the discomfort. I can't stand the silence. It hurts. My heart hurts.  Uh, turned on the news lately? some people really understand the meaning of hurt. People losing their babies, mama standing over the grave of her child, people killing others over iPhones. Real life-altering pain some people experience.

BUTTTTT

I have learned God is good even when he is silent. I know that because I stood over the casket of someone I dearly love and miss this past year. I know first hand he was a witness to thousands of people he never met. I still don't get it. I aint happy about it. So I won't pretend I have made my peace with it. I also held my little chunky delicious new nephew. I saw that life starts and life ends, at any age, and without warning. You da man Cam, all 11 lbs & 7 Oz.OUCH && that head full of hair!

The real point of the talk was that there is nothing wrong with being uncomfortable and in pain. The longer we fight it the worse it becomes. It happens, it sucks, and it aint fair. But I didn't scoop out the oceans with my hands, and I don't know how many stars are in the sky, but I trust the person who does. So I will not be led astray by the temporary trappings, the beer cans and fishing lures, of this ol' world. It is quickly fading. 

I will embrace every season of my life because I know blowing the candles out on my birthday cake another year is a priceless act. *Sidenote, my sister makes amazing and delicious cakes * Much I have seen and much I have done. I understand happiness because I understand sorrow. I do believe there is beauty in brokenness and comfort somewhere down the road. 

So for now, I am doing my best to sit in the silence and walk through the fire but not be overcome. It burns but I am not consumed. Some people say when they get to heaven someday they have no questions. Well good, that leaves more time for me to ask mine. In the mean time, I will rock the babies to sleep, do my homework, and wash the dishes. 

I will be thankful for what I do have because I was given more than I deserve. 

So my prayer is that I continue to not lose sight of all that I do have, because I spent too much time looking and what I don't have. Maybe someday Pinterest and I will be old pals instead of arch enemies. Time will tell! 

One for the road...

Travelin' Soldier

"...I guess we are all one phone call from our knees..."  Benny died on April 19, 2013.  I got a phone call from his mom, Brenda, on that blustery Chicago morning. The horrific information she had to share would send me straight to my knees.Truth be told I am still there. I'll never forget her trembling voice and the harsh words she spoke.."Benny is gone." She said them through her tears and disbelief. He was gone forever. All at once, my heart shattered, my eyes blurred with tears, and my mind raced with questions.  How? When? The most tormenting of all. WHY? 

The last question, why, still haunts me as I walk this lonesome road of loss and despair. Grief S.U.C.K.S. There is no way around it. When someone you love dies, a piece of you dies, too. The heart aches because it must now beat without all of its parts. No remedies for a broken heart. I wish there was some way to drown out the deafening silence of such a profound loss  What I wouldn't give for one more story, hear one more sweet laugh, or see that beautiful smile, just one more time. I miss you, Elvis. The only way to survive is to pray,cry, and cuddle up with a USMC pillow pet when this all seems to be too much to handle. 

If I told you Benny fought harder than anyone I have even seen fight, it would be an understatement. Benny's bravery and determination will always be in a league of its own, in my mind. He was a Marine. He was a fighter.  I was able to witness first hand his unwavering bravery. Ben made his way through insurmountable odds and physical pain that few can even comprehend. The GBS ravaged his body but not his spirit. 

His mom stayed by his side everyday with steadfast loyalty. I watched as she would graciously tackle whatever daunting tasks each day brought. She did it all, from brushing his teeth, to documenting this journey on his FB page. (https://www.facebook.com/CplBenjaminGardner?fref=ts). Brenda kept up pound for pound with the doctors.No MD initials can ever replace a mother's love. They had their fancy degrees and books smarts. However, it was no match for the wit and wisdom that she is blessed with.  Never in all of my life have I ever seen such tenderness and courage in one person. God gave her strength for all she had to endure day after day. Benny always asked "where is mom?" Every. Single. Time. I came in the room. That was always  his first question. Blessed me to always answer that she was on her way without fail. Come rain or come shine. In those early days of his illness all he knew was that his mama would never leave his side. She traveled all over this country to be her son's side. I believe they pulled from each other's love. Even when a mama pokes, prods, and asks too many questions. There is just nothing like your mother's love. 

The days have passed very slowly since Benny died. It's hell when I think off all he didn't get to do and see. He came so far and yet he still had so much that needed to be done. Ben and I were going to ride the CTA. (Chicago train) His job was to tell me how fast it went. Sometimes just hearing the freaking thing floods my eyes with tears. I am made painfully aware he will never get to ride it. This is a dark part of life for all of those that loved him. The grueling task of carrying on without him here sucks.  I do not believe this was all for not though. Even when that feeling is ever present.. His story reached thousands of people across the globe. Pastor Chad said that we are all used for God's glory. This means even when it hurts.  I do believe, with all of the pieces of my heart,  that something good will come out of all this.  However, it doesn't ease the sorrow and suffering. It's always a blessing to read his page that was filled with prayers, wisdom and encouragement. So many people came along on this journey of healing that ended up being his journey home. 

I haven't blogged in months.Nothing to really say until now. Just getting my thoughts out. I miss my Elvis. He was many things to many people. He was a friend that I was able to walk beside on his journey to the sky. He is in Heaven . One day I will see him again. What a hope we have. Keep his family in your hearts and prayers. They walk this lonely and painful road of life without their Benny. I believe there is nothing more heartbreaking than attending your own child's funeral.

 I am so thankful I have amazing people in my life that have prayed for me and cried with me. They have fulfilled the law of Christ by helping me walk this road. 

The measure of a man is what he leaves behind. You left your mark on this heart of mine, Benny. Your story lives on in those of us that love you. We will tell the world. Your light and laughter will sustain us for the days ahead. I miss you, everyday. I love you. Thank you for letting me walk along beside you. I would do it all again in a heartbeat. The last thing I said to you was that I would miss you. I do.I will for days I do not have you near. 

Those we love don't go away. They walk beside us, everyday. Unseen, Unheard, but always near. Still loved, still missed, and held so dear. <3

Butt Paste (Confessions of A Nanny Nanny Boo Boo Kisser)

Many of you know, some of you do not, I am a nanny. I have always loved children. I have mostly worked in Home Health Care for many years ( I miss you Anne & Marg) . Well, Chicago is a new city so time for something new! I am trading in my days of being knee deep in Depends & Metamucil for a little helping of  Butt Paste & Baby Yum Yum's. ( They are these waferish fruit flavored baby treats meant to soothe a fussy child and bring out enough drool to fill a large cement pond). Life is all about change right?! I have enjoyed my time being "the nanny." I will continue to do so while I attend Columbia! ( I know I know it's taking FOREVER!) Consider this your fair warning now! I will not apologize for the contents of this blog post. There will be talk about poop,farts,and, bodily functions of many forms. So if you are eating...might want to wait..or not...butt proceed with caution. (But remember I done told you this would be gross. Speaking of #2 go ahead and take a Lysol wipe over your keyboard. How do you know the person before you washed after they wiped?!)

Confession # 1

Anytime a child farts or burps in public the blame automatically falls on the adult. This happened  to me at Dominick's grocery store. The cute little crumb gobbler  who shall remain nameless! Nugget ;)  and I were having a grand ol' time until she ripped one that would put grown men to shame. I mean it was BAD. The man in the same aisle just looked at me and shook his head. No words were needed and what was there to say? Excuse me mam, you might want to check yourself. You could peel the paint off of a Buick with that kind of explosion. The potted plants by the cashier stand just all wilted and died! && PS you look like a real douchebag if you blame the child. Although it is tempting to blame it on those strained spinach and creamed pears.

Confession # 2

I have learned more words for poop in the last 5 months than I ever thought possible. This is by far one of the funniest aspects of my job. In no particular order here they are....poopa, dump, load, wad, stinky pete, meatball, brown clown, icky sticky, poopy pie,( Ok this one bothers me, please do not equate dropping off the Brown's off at the Superbowl to the scrumptiousness of the awesome wonderfulness of pie. K? Got it? Thanks!)  Turd pile,filling up the diaper...many more but these are just a few.

Confession # 3

When riding the CTA bus while on the job, I do not give a rat's butt if you stare at me while the baby cries. I am caring for someone's child, jackwagon! Ever been on a CTA bus?! Huh? There is some smooth riding. Please. There was less break slamming and horrible driving in my driver's ed class! Work with me here! I am not going to take the baby out of the stroller to soothe her on the off chance something would  happen the bus.  I can't even begin to imagine the dangers not having her in her stroller while the bus is in motion.  So rest assured I will stand in the same spot for 20 minutes and bouce the stroller, make faces at her, anything to keep her safe and happy until we arrive at our destination in one piece. Also, a huge thank you to the men that helped me off the bus that day. Not all strangers suck :)

Confession # 4

When I arrive at somenoe's house people have no shame answering the door half dressed. I mean grown men, at least 30 years old, for some reason ( I will never understand why) have no shame to stand their in their boxers, iron their work clothes, and talk about life. Umm.. Hello, you aint got no pants on! We are all adults here, yes, but eww. While we are on the subject of occupational hazards. I accidently found some adult toys one night while looking for band-aids. Seriously, kill me now. The kids are wonderful and the parents are great but ah-ha. I opend the drawer and suprise! I proceeded to very carefully push it closed with one finger. I was told to look in the bathroom drawer and I think they forgot that they wasn't no Band-aids in that drawer.( That was the for-our-married-eyes-only-drawer-don't-nobody-need-to-see-that)

Confession #5

I have "instincts." From what I am told darn good ones! I have just always loved children. I was talking to one of the mother's I nanny for and she spoke of the other nanny in a different light. Not negative, just not something you would write in a birthday card. She said she didnt' have those "instincts" like you do. You can read the baby, when she is tired, hungry, or just wants to be held. I have learned to trust my gut more. I am now more than ever aware of everyone who comes around my nanny child. Many times I am out for a walk or in public parks. I find myself noticing everyone who walks by. We can talk and be polite. However, I know without a doubt I would do anything for these kids. I would risk my own life in limb in a second for these children.(Even if they do fart loudly & in very public places!)  When I am pushing a stroller down the road I have someone's entire world in this four wheeled contraption. So I will do anything I possibly can to keep them safe and sound.

Confession # 6

I dance and sing (loudly, off key, out of time, and very loudly) However, the kids laugh and sing along with me ( or maybe they are trying to drown me out?! Hmmm ;) When I sing, normally, dogs bark and garage doors open but with the kids it's different. One of my favorite ways to pass the time is the take my Friday girl, Nugget (affectionately called Nugget. No, that is not her real name, her parents love her very much!) the 8 month old, and dance and sing around the kitchen. She laughs and tries to sing and claps her little nuggety fingers. It is by far one of the best times of my week. We twirl around the kitchen in a haze of laughter and music. For those few moments nothing else matters. Her giggles and squeals fill my heart with joy and a sense of promise. I know these moments are fleeting. I was at her house when I heard the news about Sandy Hook. I couldn't help but cry as I looked at her in her crib sleeping soundly. So these precios few moments I have to see the good in the world is what I will cling to when the horror, agony, and shock of the nightly news seems to be too much for this heart to take.

So there are many more stories to tell, noses to wipe, and books to read. But for now I am content. I will enjoy the time with these children. I will read Thomas the Tank Engine with just as much heart on the 19th time as I did on the first time :) Toot Toot, Thomas.