Dear Nice Lady,



*originally posted in 2014. Edited

Dear Nice Lady going or coming from Golds Gym,

I want to apologize to you. I or my daughter might have been the topic of conversation with your girlfriends at Starbucks or a random a tweet you sent out with a creative hashtag like, #crazylady or #justtryingtohelp.
It was a Thursday and you wouldn’t know it but it is my son’s Occupational Therapy appointment. It also happens to be one of the busiest days of my week. Drop of kids at school and sitters. Work. Therapy. Oldest son Football game (I always miss the first half). Dinner. Bath. Bed.
Yesterday or Thursday you saw a sweet helpless little girl crying outside of Pediatric Therapy Associates. The one on Austin HWY…the one next door to Golds Gym where you were probably going to or coming from. My little Tula bird was in the midst of a tantrum as four-year old’s do. She managed to dip all of her micro toys in MY Gatorade then put them in her basket that dripped all over the waiting room floor. We went to the bathroom I washed them off wrapped them in a paper towel then put them back in my mini van (gulp).
She was not happy in fact she fell to the floor screaming and crying. I wanted to do the same thing. I wanted to yell and make empty threats like counting to 3. I felt that I needed a time out. I breathed heavily. Tula screamed and yelled. I sat down. She screamed and yelled. Now by no means is the place where my son receives therapy a library and most parents who sit in the waiting room week after week understand but when your neuro-typical able-bodied 4-year-old screams and cries over toys you can’t help but feel the heat from the eyes sitting in the waiting room. Might be just be in my head. I don’t know-what I do know is that my daughter was crying VERY loud in a VERY quiet waiting room at 5pm.
I decided to put my daughter outside. I figured she could cry in a safe distance from me and me from her to give her the illusion that she was by herself getting it all out when she was just a plexiglass away. I sat down watching her and hearing her muffled cry when I got called to the reception desk to talk about billing and insurance and their you came. So nice and caring. Even through my rage at my insurance I could see how concerned you where with this little girl. I opened the door and I said I was here. Tula had told you that she couldn’t find her mommy when in fact I was on the other side of the door. She told you that I was lost to which I replied I was “lost in here” pointing to the waiting room.Trying to be funny but it most likely came out as rude and a bit like an asshole. I’m sorry. You were just being human and checked on a crying kid. I should have very briefly explained the situation at least. I didn’t I was a jerk. I hope I haven’t deterred you from helping crying kids in the future. You know even well-meaning moms can be a dick sometimes.

So to you nice pretty lady that went to help my daughter, I want to say thank you for your kindness and sorry for being such a jerk.

Just the Mom.




N-Zilla as told by his Mom


I started calling my son N-Zilla as a  toddler. He was a cute chubby little guy and the same time he was very destructive. Broken things everywhere. Lots of sleepless nights. Tantrums that would last for hours. One day he just stopped talking and potty training. It’s like he was going backwards. I can’t really explain everything that went on in those early years because I was in a blur. At age 3 he was diagnosed with Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified (PDD-NOS). At age five he was fully diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder and again just like how fast at age 3 he regressed he hit a all around growth spurt at age 5. Finally potty trained and talking. Its been a lovely and at times lonely journey thus far and I anticipate even more difficult and wonderful moments. As N-Zilla becomes older I am very aware that someday he might read this and I don’t want him to feel as if I am telling his life for him. N-Zilla will be able to do that someday. So, to be very clear this is my journey as a Autism parent full of drawings, pictures, anxiety induced rants and love to the moon and back.

Maybe. We’re All Gonna be okay.

bipolor.momjeans.hospitalPosted 6th October 2015. Edited.

(Disclosure: Posted with my daughter’s permission)

One of the staff members told me to leave my guilt at the salad bar.

But I love salad!

Sometimes there is nothing you can do to prevent the onset mental-illness but education, unconditional love, a good support team of family, friends, and medical team AND some strong coffee can make a difference.

Bipolar disorder is a real physical medical condition and sometimes in the middle of the night you have to prevent your child’s attempts or quite her thoughts of suicide.

Sometimes you’re not enough and you’ll have to spend all day in the ER.

That is life. That is love.

That is what mental illness does and maybe, we’re all gonna be okay.


Push-Up Bra for my Sanity

adee.after.30.postOriginally posted 3/2/2011. Edited. 

Yesterday I finally used my gift card to Victoria Secrets.  This was a gift for Christmas from my husband.

I decided to get the neon green push up bra. I was feeling kinda hot, because I’ve convinced myself that neon colors are a good contrast with my tanned skin. I’m not really obsessed with my breast but after nursing four children and being told, “no ones looking at your breast, trust me”, They are in need of some TLC from time to time or rather a push up.

I couldn’t wait to rush home put the brilliant neon thing on and strut around the house running errands and such. My bra wouldn’t show of course, but I would know what I had on and that was good enough. Not to mention I was excited to show Mr. S the Christmas present he got me 4 months earlier. I imagined after putting the kids to bed and while he was laying in bed I would take off my clothes and ah-like a beautiful neon burst of light my push up bra would shine. He would love it so much that he would not notice my stretch marks or the extra pounds that have accumulated from past two pregnancies. I would feel as sexy and confidant  as I did when I was 24!

Alas, it didn’t go down that. It didn’t go anyway that I planned. At. All.

Got a phone call mid bra shopping that my daughter had at 6pm.  N-Zilla had a melt down at the mall then crapped something that should only happen at a nursing home and not to mention all over himself and my new Mini Van (barf).  My mojo at this point was slowly slipping away but I was determined to feel sexy by nighttime. I was pleasantly surprised when I got home. Son #1 was home doing is homework(without being told).  I realized my home front wasn’t as spick-and-span as I had wanted it to be but I was poop’d (in more ways than one) from the mall episode.  Short story shorter  ran out of time. Dinner. Practice and quick stop for ice cream. By the time I got home the usual dinner and the bedtime routine. My boobs where waiting for their cue so patiently.  After the night-time rush Mr.S stayed watching Netflix. I read to The Baby and N-Zilla. My husband fell asleep while I was talking to him….AGAIN! At that point me, my boobs, and my neon bra raised our white flag. I looked at myself before calling it a day I thought well good thing I had lots of sex when I was 24 and regardless if  my bra wasn’t showcased tonight I had some peace of mind for a little bit and trust me that does wonders for my sanity.