Do yourself a favor - THANK THEM!

Hi! I’m back. I’m so sorry it’s been a while since my last post. Since we last spoke, I’ve been on a mission’s trip to Guatemala and have started a new venture into physical health, became part of a personal coaching group and started a 7 week intense therapy program for my 10 year old son Ben who is fighting Autism -more on all that later.

I wanted for us to reconnect again and get back into the game on “Independence Day” weekend.
Freedom. What does that word mean to you? How do you define it? How does it play into your life?

I don’t know about you (feel free to tell me) but freedom I think has to be my strongest value. Everything we ever desire to do hinges on freedom – doesn’t it? Think about it. What are you without free expression? The way you worship the job you have or the work you chose to do, the people you surround yourself with, the way you present yourself to the world – it all requires freedom. Even the way you eat, dress and express yourself through music choices, art and literature! You can’t have any of it if you’re not free to obtain it and use it! Isn’t that amazing?
Poverty is nothing more than a lie that binds – a lack of freedom. For those that suffer through illness and disease, these states often render them unable to do the things they want to do – a confinement (lack of freedom). A poor education or the lack of an education is a lack of knowledge. Knowledge is power. Why? Because when you have knowledge you have the ability to make informed (and hopefully) wise choices about yourself and your life!

I’m going to argue that freedom is everything.

So, who’s responsible for all of our freedom? How is it that we find ourselves so blessed to have the freedom to work a job, go to church, listen to the music we want, eat what we want and say whatever we want about the offices of government that make it all possible? Of course, it’s the visionaries and unconventional thinkers that wrote up their visions for our freedoms – but more importantly it’s the incredible men and women who go out there in the dark, unpredictable and lonely world of military service.

It matters not one single bit how you feel about the war right now. Put that aside. I want to know – honestly how grateful are you? Have you ever seen a man or woman in fatigues at an airport or even a grocery store and stopped to shake their hand to thank them? If not, why not?!
Imagine if everyone felt like everyone else about military conflict, or war in general? Do you think this country would exist? Never. It’s easy to talk a big game but can you imagine the kind of person that it takes to literally lay down their life for you – A PERFECT STRAGER because they feel a call to do it? It simply amazes me. They are literally walking into the unknown.
Here’s what enrages me – THE LACK OF GRATITUDE that these extraordinary individuals receive. I traveled in and out of Colorado Springs last week (home to the Air force Academy) and I saw dozens of military personnel coming and going.

I was particularly mortified not only by the fact that no one smiled at them, or stopped to shake their hand and thank them – but at the hassle they got in the security line! Are you kidding me? One gentleman was bringing his fiancé through the line with him and they barely made it through. They got drilled, hassled and she barely made it to see him off at his gate. That was rough, but only second to the run around a young man got trying to get to his gate. This guy was everything but strip searched!! The young man was new. I could tell. He was not used to traveling and was a bit nervous to begin with. He gets pulled over, everything pulled out of his bag, his cigarettes taken away, his other bag confiscated AND patted down. Hello! It’s called profiling people! Did the security staff honestly think he was a threat? A young American man in his early twenties, with a buzz cut in US issued fatigues and US issued duffle bag with matching US government ID badge which happened to look JUST LIKE HIM -and he’s a security risk?? As you can probably tell I think “random” searches are bogus. I was “randomly” searched when I was seven months pregnant and was going to be late getting onto that plane – when I finally just lifted up my shirt, exposed by huge shiny belly and said, “Its real – OK? Can I go?”
I was downright embarrassed for us watching this happen to our few and our proud. I was embarrassed for an American culture that can take the time to call into vote for their favorite “idol” but can’t tip their hat to a man willing to die because his country has asked him to defend your right to criticize the war. People actually look at these guys like they’ve got a communicable disease. What’s the matter with us in this country? How about some gratitude?

I was on a flight about a year ago in which many military personal were being deployed to a short training before going over sees. I got on the plane and began the process of minding my own business and pretending no one else existed (like we all do when we get on a plane and search for our seat and a tiny storage place for our entire life). I finally got myself situated, book and notebook in hand and sat down. As I glanced up to see with which I’d be sharing the flight, I noticed that one by one these incredible men in fatigues began walking down the aisle. No one, not one single person shot them a smile – intentionally made a friendly gesture or even said “hello.” Certainly no one paid one ounce of respect. We’re all too sophisticated and politically correct for that. Right? Shameful.

I stood up in my seat, but my junk in the seat next to me (no, no one was seated there yet) and one by one extended my hand to shake theirs, looked them square in the eyes, smiled and said loudly and proudly, “Thank you for your Service!” They were shocked. Each one of them looked stunned as they extended their hand, respectfully, nodded and said, “thank you ma’am.”
Wow. I was proud. I was proud of them, proud to be an American, and proud of myself for doing what I knew to be right despite what any other windbag on that plane thought of it.
That act had benefits all the way around. I got a chance to express my gratitude, and they got a minuscule amount – just one gesture of thanks – but here’s something else…that small, simple gesture must of meant something to a few of them.

I got up mid flight to go to the bathroom after having held it WAY to long (I do that, because otherwise I end up hopping up at least 2, often 3 times a flight to run to the powder – uh - coffin) and who did I end up standing right behind in line? Three of the gentlemen that I had earlier greeted. The line was about 7 people long so the first guy had at least 4 people to wait for. I settled into my crossed legged stance, took a deep breath and started to people watch, when suddenly the gentleman in front of me turned to glance and noticed me. He took a double take and smiled (remembering me from our earlier encounter). This young soldier tilted his hat and said, “please ma’am” and gestured for me to move in front of him in line. That wasn’t all. The two gentlemen in fatigues in front of him heard him, turned to see what was going on and again nodded with that soldier-like military nod and a smile and waved me in front of them! “Please ma’am, go ahead.” “Oh, thank you so much! No, I couldn’t I really appreciate it, but it’s a long flight for all of us.”

“Please, I insist ma’am go ahead” was the response with a big smile from the gentlemen closest to the front of the line! I said, “thank you! Thanks guys!” and proudly took my new place in the front of that little potty line.

I felt great. This wasn’t the biggest deal in the world. It was being led closer to the front of the line for the bathroom. I get it. But, clearly these young men were not used to being treated with respect and they were obliged to return the favor. Isn’t this how it’s supposed to be?

May I issue a personal challenge? I’ve taught my kids to do this – and yes I do this myself…when you see a man or woman in military fatigues please go up to them and simply say, “thank you for your service.”

You ARE grateful – aren’t you? So why not show it? Our military does not feel supported by the vast population in this country and they’re down right hated in many other countries (not that we should care, after all we’ll be the FIRST ones they cry out to when they need help of any kind – and we’ll be the first and most generous to respond).

How do I know? I have 3 extremely brave cousins that are Marines. One of them is sitting in Iraq right now willing to give his life for you – because his country asked him to. Again, this has nothing to do with how you feel about the war – or even how he feels about it. I’m just saying these young men and women in uniform…and Jesus are the only people I know brave enough to die for someone who doesn’t believe in them. How will you honor them?

"Good Mom"

I’m a good mom. I’m a really good mom. In fact, I’m a great mom (just go with me on this….I’m feeling like I REALLY need to repeat this to myself several times tonight – maybe if I say it often enough I will “will” it into existence). OK, I have a better idea. “Dear God – make me a patient, meek, graceful mother to my children.”

I yelled at my oldest son tonight. Actually, I would be accurate in saying – I SCREAMED at him. I yelled so loudly, I think I actually strained my vocal chords. I’ll be surprised if I wake up with any voice at all in the morning. I am NOT proud.

I absolutely hate yelling. I really do not yell very often at all. But when I do I sometimes surprise myself. I really have to be upset to get loud in a frustrated or angry way with my kids. As badly as I despise “yelling” – sometimes…truthfully - it’s effective.

It sort of reminds me of being a kid and watching rain roll in off in the distance, thinking the storm is miles away. You stay outside as long as you can, watch the skies begin to turn different shades of blue, dark blue, a deep purple…some of the clouds remain white and fluffy while others become jagged and ominous. Just as you’re feeling brave and “edgy” for remaining out of doors knowing you probably should be inside…just then – CRASH!! That loud, sharp, deafening bang of thunder that surges directly through you. You don’t even think – your body reacts the way God intended it to when in danger…it RUNS! So fast, you don’t even how you got through that screen door, but somehow that loud, powerful noise inspired something in you that changed the light hearted adventure into a very sobering survival moment.

I think that’s why yelling is effective. No matter who’s doing or for what reason. I didn’t say it’s always GOOD. But it does get one’s attention – quickly.

I’m a mom who loves to maintain a loving, comfortable, funny and safe environment in my home…so what gives? Why did I get so angry with an 11 year old? Could it be fear?

I think yelling is nothing more than an emotional explosion that is more likely than not – totally unplanned. Don’t most people apologize after yelling? Of course! I was really mad at my son. He pushed me, and he knew it. He was being defiant, and for that he needed discipline. But, what did it spark in me that inspired this emotional explosion? I mean, I was fighting to restrain myself from blurting out the old…”common – its go time! You wanna piece of me??!!” Hello? Yes, praying and blessing my children one moment, going gangsta’ on my 11 year old the next. This was NOT a move of the Holy Spirit.

I think it was fear. I think when we yell at our kids, it’s really because there’s a place deep inside of us that is afraid of the behavior we see, or what the behavior may become in the future. It’s not easy being the mom and the dad. It’s hard. I have to be careful with my sons especially because these cute boys, will soon be towering men – and little ole’ me (there’s a reason I have a shelf full of martial arts trophy’s – I’m no dummy, I at least wanna look tough). I pray for God’s grace daily. Where would I be without it? That being said, when I see certain behaviors in my kids that crop up here and there I’m first inclined to anger, rather than meek and gentle correction. I see down the road where disobedience can land a little person, when they’re not so little anymore. Because of my son Ben and his intensive autism therapy, I learned behavior modification from an expert when Ben was 2 ½. We learn to shape desirable behaviors and “extinguish” undesirable behaviors. But there’s something about when your child knows better and makes the choice – just to see what happens. That’s what we call “testing.” It’s not the actual behavior that makes me angry, it’s the fact that my son chose it.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and just tell you that despite what many child experts say – I’m going say a good “hollering” now and then when a child becomes defiant is a good thing. Remember that loud clap of thunder? I don’t know about you, but even now as big and brave and “adult” as I think I am, when the pitter patter of the rain on the windows is followed by a loud and soul penetrating bang of thunder – I shriek and duck. It’s just instinctive. It reminds me who’s boss. Not me. It reminds me how small I am, and how powerful and awesome God Almighty is. It reminds me that under His wing I remain safe and protected, but outside in the storm…I’m lost.

I think sending this message to my kids now and again isn’t all that bad. No, I don’t plan to schedule a good dose of yelling every third Thursday of the month and call it a “life lesson.” I’m just going to forgive myself, and notice that it’s out of love and protection for the well being of my kids that I sometimes allow my anger to show.

A few weeks ago my sister and two of my aunts went to a home schooling conference that I couldn’t attend. Before they left, my sister asked me if I wanted her to pick up a CD or something for me. After looking at the scheduling, I giggled and in a very sarcastic way said, “Yea, pick up that ‘teaching with a meek and quiet spirit’ session!!” What a brat. I even commented as to whether or not that would be right next to the “bake your own bread from scratch” session. I thought I was as funny as could be – very “hip” very “now” and WAY to “cool momish” to be interested in how to teach in a “meek” and “quiet” manner. Not my style. Guess what. Joke was on me. Those three came back, and I heard RAVE reviews about how to keep your cool while dealing with your kids. No more yelling! I was contrite and so over myself that I actually poured over my aunts notes and asked her to teach me everything she had learned. She did. I was a great student, and for 2 whole weeks…no yelling. It was very nice and very peaceful. I doled out consequences for broken rules and disobedient behavior. I lavished over nice behavior and cooperative play. It worked. It always does. Yet, here I am confessing to losing my cool.

Here’s the interesting thing. I’m not alone. I know you’ve done it too. If you’re human, and you have children…you’ve yelled. You probably regretted it most of the time. But sometimes, it may have been exactly what your kids needed to remind them that they are not in charge and that there is a place in you that will not tolerate or allow harmful or defiant behavior – and that you’re passionate about it!

I trust that my son understands that I love him more than life itself. I’ve told him so. I also know that what he’ll remember as he gets older is not “my mom sometimes yelled at me.” He’ll remember that his mother would not compromise when it came to character. He will grow to understand that being his buddy and friend would have been easy and cool – but dangerous. He will appreciate that what he needed was a strong, confident and loving parent, but one that wouldn’t waver when it came to breaking rules or disrespecting authority. Does it hurt at the time? Yea. I saw the fear of God in His eyes and he backed down ‘right quick’ when he saw my anger. I felt guilty of course right afterward. But here’s another confession – I’m glad I did it. I’m glad I yelled. I’m glad that when I went down the stairs to silently kiss him good night on the forehead in the dark, he whispered “love you mom. I’m sorry.” I’m glad that even though it scared him for the moment – he just possibly feels a bit safer, more secure and more protected because he knows he’s got safe boundaries and limits that I won’t let him cross.

No matter how many techniques in behavior modification I learn, no matter how many books I read or seminars I listen to on “good parenting” or “scream free homes” I can practically guarantee that I’ll yell again. I’m human, and after all – the parent to child ratio around here is 4:1. But the divine in me who made me in His likeness and image and who allowed me these 4 extraordinary individuals will continue to pour out grace on me and guide me.

Much like God is a loving parent prone to “righteous indignation” a loving parent does what he or she can within reason to protect and guide their child. My goal is to make certain that since “more is caught, than taught” my focus and attention needs to be on how my children see me treat OTHERS. I must be a woman of my word. A woman of integrity. They need to hear me confess my weaknesses and ask them for forgiveness if necessary. I must watch the conversations that my children hear me have with others, including and most importantly with God.

All the games

Samuel was 3 years old. It was getting late as usual and I STILL hadn’t gotten him into bed. This was about the age when Samuel would begin to actually REMEMBER to brush his teeth before bed, but usually only when it was getting really late and I’d be desperately trying to “settle him down.”

So, Samuel had begun to become very diligent about picking out just the right pajamas, having the night light on and having the door cracked just exactly that 5 inches or so (just enough to see when mommy or daddy were coming down the hall so he could flatten like a pancake, shut his eyes and play dead if we came to “check” on him).

After the second trip to the bathroom, and a ½ glass of water, Samuel was insistent on reading another story because the first was “too short.” At that point, completely exhausted from chasing the whirlwind that was young motherhood with 2 little boys 15 months apart and one little boy (Ben) who at this point appeared to be nocturnal, I walked out to go get Dan in the hopes that he could give this bedtime thing t a whirl.

Dan walked into the kid’s bedroom and said “Look Samuel, tonight we’re going to go to bed. We’re not going to play games.” Samuel, being highly intelligent and equally animated stood straight up, spread his tiny fingers at the end of his little hands, looked directly up with his big sky blue eyes and while waving his hands back and forth as if preparing to pull a rabbit out of a hat, exclaimed, “Oh…I’m gonna play AAALLLLLLLL the games!!”

Wow. “Well” I thought, “at least he’s honest.” That hasn’t changed. The games haven’t either. In fact, here’s something weird; either playing the “games” is in fact a genetic condition, and each and everyone one of my four children inherited the “games” gene, or this is common among a vast majority of children.

My four adorable little creatures actually really do have a secret sixth sense. We all know that moms have keen intuition and just KNOW when something weird, wrong, or strange is happening with our kids but I hadn’t realized for quite some time that these little people have a very similar sense.

For example: I work from home. Talking on the phone is an important part of how I earn a living. It’s what I do when I’m “working” from home. I type on my computer, and talk on the phone. My kids know that. It’s been this way for years. Nothing’s changed.

However, most adults are on the phone at various times for various reasons. While not every phone call I take, or make is part of my “work”, It appears that my kids can detect exactly how important each call is - and to varying degrees. I’m not sure if it’s my body language, the fact that I try to “occupy” them busily while preparing for a scheduled call, or the fact that I often beg and plead on bended knee for a silent, and injury free 30 minutes. Whatever the case – as soon as that phone goes up to my ear…..let the games begin!!

Each and every time I’m on an important call whether it’s with one of Ben’s doctors, or a prospective client for my work, one of my children will have become injured, endure hurt feelings, need to tell something extremely important about one of their brothers or sisters, need help on the toilet, or have a life changing epiphany that they MUST share with me immediately.
The arguments inevitably begin about 3 or 4 minutes into the call. I start to pace, try to shoe them into another room and close my eyes in order to stay “in the zone” on my call. Oops, look at that – now one of the little ones has tried to pour themselves a cup of juice – and it’s gone down their arm instead of into the cup. Thank the good Lord above for the “mute” button! I say in hyper-speed auctioneer style….”did I say you could have juice? What are you doing?? UUHH! Please, go downstairs and play!”

With that I think I’ve got things under control – for about 2 minutes, just as I’m back into the full swing of my conversation – really thinking I’ve got this things mastered…and there it is. The shrill, high pitched SCREEAAM.

I run to by bedroom, shut the door behind me and start sweating – talking slightly louder now so as to try to drown out the background noise a story away.

Don’t think I’m callous. I don’t panic when I hear the scream, because it was not preceded by a loud clunk or thud – so I know no one is injured…..YET.

It’s only moments before they find me now – they know exactly where to look. Can I get out my sentence with grace and poise BEFORE slamming myself onto mute so as not to shell shock the person on the other phone when the tornado hits my bedroom door?

At this point, the games have truly only just begun. Now they’ve got me. Now they’re at the door and I’ve just been asked an important question for which I need to at least try to sum up an intelligent answer so, what are my choices? Well, there’s that awfully inviting window. The one I’ve thought of jumping out of on several occasions during times like this (don’t get too worried, it’s only one story up and at this point I wouldn’t risk jumping only to land in a pile of dog poop – one of the very piles that my oldest son promised he’d clean up 4 days ago) or there’s the more likely scenario of me literally trying to RUN past the noise – into the kitchen fast enough to open a box of popsicles and motion in my own secret sign language that only the “players” understand. It goes a little something like this: if they can manage to be quiet – they’ll get one…or 2….or 4 popsicles (depending on how long this conversation lasts).

While I’m circling around the house from room to room trying to stay quick enough so no one can catch me – but not so quick so that you sound out of breath – the very sweet little faces that I’m trying to out run, know exactly what I’m doing. And they take advantage of it.

They’ve got the TV on, my new wrapping paper completely unraveled, the cat dressed like a monkey and they’re now pretending to be cats themselves, complete with “snacks” in bowls on the ground next their little “water bowls” ON THE CARPET!

They learned pretty early on that I really can’t yell at them. Not the way I would when I’m fairly certain that only me and Jesus (and perhaps an unfortunate neighbor with an open window) can hear me. So, they will begin asking me questions in THEIR own secret silent language - mouthing words and suggestively shaking their heads yes while I absent mindedly agree with a reciprocal head shake – only to find out later I just gave them “permission” to turn on the garden hose and spray down the patio furniture AND each other!!

I am embarrassed to admit that on several occasions while having another conversation, I have actually opened packs of cookies or potato chips FOR my children that I’ve been handed, and in an amnesia-like state without even thinking about it opened them for my children – MULTIPLE TIMES. Did they ask if they could have cookies? No! But, they handed it to me for me to open for them. And I did.

So, is this learned behavior? Nope. It’s this pesky little thing called sin. And, it is indeed inherited. They were born with it. I was too. They’re just being human beings – trying to get what they WANT in life, but not necessarily what’s good for them.

Do I do this? I think so. I think I’m always on the lookout for a new “system” (game) that will help me achieve what I want in life – not necessarily what is best for me. As an adult I know I’m getting better at making decisions, but if I’m left to my impulses and if I’m operating in a mindset of “my” wants and desires while I think God is tied up helping everyone else at the moment – I’m headed for trouble.

The next best book, program, system, theory, mantra, prayer – you name it. It all looks great at the moment because I’m human…and seemingly rarely satisfied with what God has given me at this very moment. “But she’s got....” “But he’s doing….” “But they get too….” What must this sound like to God?

God is very busy at work. He needs our cooperation. He needs our assistance to accomplish enormous things not only in our own lives but in the lives of others. Can I be patient and quiet while following directions? Am I like a child – always busting into His work, trying to manipulate the timing of it all? Is there a very important reason why He needs me to wait or be “still” for a time being while He works diligently in the back drop of my life for the greater good? Hm. Me and my kids. We’re not so different.

Can I get my kids to “behave” like little angels every time I’m on the phone? Not sure about that, but I know one thing to be true – as they get older and more mature, they will begin to appreciate the work I did while they were small. They’ll see how it shaped all of our lives as a whole and how it allowed us to live the life we lived while they were young. They’ll understand why I needed them to be quiet, and it will all make sense to them. If only I could get them to see what I see. If only God could get us to see what He sees. How differently would we behave? How “urgent” would all those little things be that we needed, wanted, and had to do?

How did I get here?

“Single mom with four kids….” I guess I’m used to saying it now. It doesn’t sound strange – even to me.

I don’t like labels. Not even my own. What does it mean to be a “single mom with 4 kids and one with special needs”? Why do we describe ourselves in these ways?

Well, it’s funny because I don’t define myself that way anymore. I used to do it on purpose – for effect. Now, if someone wants to know anything beyond my name, they have to ask. It would be later in the conversation now that they would discover this information about me – if at all.

Why? What changed? I did. Those 9 little words that I would immediately use to describe myself served different purposes depending on the situation. Sometimes it would solicit sympathy, sometimes power, sometimes shock – but it was the time that it solicited the “so what” that caught my attention.

A little over a year ago when I asked a woman who’s book I had recently read, (“Conquer Fear”) how to overcome the “stigma” of being a --- that’s right say it with me, “single mom with 4 kids and one… ” her response stopped me. She said flatly, and with a hint of annoyance “WHAT stigma?”

Huh huh, ha…weeelllll… (the beginning to my brilliant response)… you know, the stigma of being a single mom!! No. I don’t know. There is no stigma” was her matter of fact response.
What? Oh. So if there’s no stigma, than what do I do with this very useful label?

Bingo. I’d have to get rid of it. That was Lisa’s point. It was a badge I was wearing that allowed me to describe myself in a way that either protected me, or allowed me to stay in a place that felt safe and risk-free. It was my excuse for not going for all the things I really desired in life. After all, I must not deserve them, have time for them, or be capable of them. Hm.

So how did I end up here then? When all I ever REALLY wanted from early on in life was a family, and a secure home with lots of love and a perfect happy little family – how did I end up divorced and raising these kids by myself through some very difficult circumstances?

I chose it.

I didn’t WANT it – but I inadvertently chose it anyway. Long, long ago. Whether I was conscious of it or not, I made choices based on beliefs that brought me right here. Sometimes the thing we strive for and WANT the most- eludes us.

You want to know why? I think I’ve found the answer. I think it’s because when that’s the bright shiny price – the trophy at the end of the race and that’s ALL we’re focused on, we stop paying attention to the way we are actually preparing to run the race!

Are we prepared? Are we all stretched out? Are we in good running condition? IS THIS THE RIGHT RACE?

I lost sight of HOW I was preparing to run the race. I put too much focus on the prize. From the beginning, around the corners and from mile to mile I had my head straight ahead waiting for the happiness, the security and the joy that I was running so hard to find. I never looked around! I didn’t notice anything else for the most part, and even when I did I safely readjusted my blinders so as to remain “on course” toward perceived satisfaction and perfection.

Here’s what’s interesting. After letting go of the “perfect” standard of what my family should look like (it’s hard NOT to when one of your children is standing naked in a second story window – or eating dog biscuits that look like cookies in the pet store line and all the other wonderful oddities that sometimes come with Autism) I find myself in this place full circle.

I didn’t do it right. I made mistakes. I could blame and point fingers. I could be a victim. But I’m not. I chose not to be.

Here I am. Full circle. I’m brave, I’m smart, and I’m strong as steel.

Is it easy? You know it’s not. It’s tiring – exhausting at times, but man is it worth it. I actually discovered in the process of becoming what that old label described (single mom…blah blah blah) who I am, and who’s I am.

I’m a child of God. My name is Stephanie. It means “Crown One.” I am a jewel to my heavenly Father, and oh yea – I’m PROUD to say that I happen to have 4 amazing children. One of my kids is coming through Autism! Don’t I have an amazing and blessed life??!

What’s your story, and who are you? REALLY.

Hi, uh - world.

Hi. I'm not really sure what I'm doing - what a "blog" really is - or if I'm indeed actually typing copy that will be seen on my new blog.

But I do know one thing for sure. I know that if you have kids, or if you like to laugh (or both) you and I have a lot in common and will be able to learn from eachother, and enjoy some perspective on this amazing thing called parenthood along the way.

Here's the thing - I've got 4 kids. I'm divorced and have been raising my kids for about 3 1/2 years now as a single mom. I'm going to tell you about my incredible babies later - but for now you should know that our lives are unique and interestng - to say the least!

My incredible 10 year old son is fighting Autism. I wish that was part of what made us "unique" but indeed these days - I'm sorry to say it does not.
Our journey and fight for Ben is incredible for all of my kids. Later, I'd like to explore this with you espeically if you have a special needs child.

In them meantime, I just wanted to get started, say "hello" and welcome you to my world.
Thanks for being a part of it!