Crossing the Red Line

I’m not a political person. I’ve never been involved in a campaign before, but like most things – I’m willing to try anything once, especially when I believe in it or I feel I can learn something from it. Kind of like Fantasy Football. I had never done that before and thought I’d give it a whirl last year. I learned a lot. I’m not doing it again this year. See? Stuff like that.

When I say “campaigning” many people have no idea what that actually involves. I didn’t. I knew so little that when I attended the first strategy meeting on August 1^st to see where I might be useful, I left the meeting feeling nauseous. I realized it would be an uphill battle and knew that my work ethic would not allow a half-assed approach. So when I say “campaigning” here is what I am talking about: attending strategy meetings – planting candidate signs by the side of the road in the dark – wearing political branding to festivals, social events, ballgames – manning booths at vendor fairs and talking to the community, championing your cause – going door-to-door canvassing – standing in parking lots at voting precincts for hours in the blistering sun convincing complete strangers that your candidate is the most qualified – managing a volunteer schedule, trying to figure out how

to make a dozen people become 100 – getting materials to volunteers while manning a precinct yourself – giving people directions when they cannot find their assigned precinct and picking up all the signs you put out when the election is over – oftentimes doing all of the above things with children in tow and committing to a full-time career that does not involve campaigning.

Alice Wren goes canvassing!

And then there are unexpected aspects of the campaign that wear on your mentality – like when you’re yelled at by other volunteers for crossing 1 foot over the red line (the boundary separating electioneers from the entrance to the precinct) so that you can talk to a fellow veteran who will appreciate that your candidate is the wife of a 32-year Army vet and you want to lash back but you realize that you’re wearing branding that reflects on your candidate and so you find a way to respond with a smile and simply say “Thank you” – or when you hear volunteers of your opponents tell voters complete lies about their candidate’s qualifications and you want to tell the voter the truth but by doing so, you realize the drama that will ensue will distract you from your mission and irritate your voter – or figuring out how to adequately answer a voter’s question about your candidate without lying but while also satisfying their concern – – – it’s all so absolutely exhausting.

I will be forever grateful to the dozens of friends who supported me and/or voted for my friend simply based on my referral. Your faith in my judgement means the world to me.  As I reflect on the campaign and this past election season, I thought I’d share some stand-out observations based on my experience and things I’ve learned along the way:

1. If done right, campaigning is the one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. I had not felt that level of mental, emotional and physical fatigue since Boot Camp 22 years ago.
2. Republicans are mean. They just are. I realize it’s a gross generalization but it’s based on what I experienced directly and how I watched them treat other people. While at the polls, I was yelled at, challenged, mocked and disrespected…all by Republican volunteers.
3. The candidate I was supporting for a nonpartisan race is a registered Republican.
4. 100 people will tell you they will do anything to help with your campaign; only 20 of them actually mean it.
5. Signs are prohibited in the medians. Voters need to know that every sign they see in a median are put there by candidates (or their representatives) in violation of the law. (One of my pet peeves)
6. Most people have no idea what they are talking about and know very little about the election process and related terminology – the difference between a ballot, a sample ballot, a nonpartisan position and what it means to be unaffiliated vs. independent vs. libertarian, are just a few areas where the average voter has no clue. The difficulty is, they don’t know they have no clue.
7. If you live in NC, you cannot be registered “Independent.” You are registered as “Unaffiliated” if you choose not to identify yourself with any one of the 3 political parties.
8. I am registered Unaffiliated.
9. Many people actually want to learn about their local candidates. It’s a welcoming shift from those who just vote using the sample party ballot cheat sheets provided by members of the Republican and Democratic committees – which is a very dangerous way to vote.
10. Voters can be hateful. On 2 occasions, a Democratic blue ballot was taken from a Democratic volunteer, ripped to shreds and thrown in the volunteer’s face. One voter just simply made a point to crumble it in the volunteer’s face and threw it in the trashcan. I would have preferred that they both recycle it. (See point #2 above.)
11. Democrats are some of the nicest people I met on the campaign trail – volunteers and voters alike.
12. Americans are so desperate for “change”, that they will compromise their morals, ethics and human decency by voting an indisputably sexist, racist, xenophobic bully into the highest office of the nation. A scary truth.
13. I postponed gallbladder surgery until after the election so that I could be available to help with my friend’s campaign. I didn’t have 1 gallstone attack during the entire early voting process – which takes me to point #14.
14. Jesus answers prayers.
15. As a woman and the mother of a little girl, it was particularly painful for me as I stood in parking lots every day for 3 weeks of voting to see other women come to vote for Donald Trump. Instead of “change”, they voted for the same thing we’ve had for 227 years.
16. I have never worked on a campaign before. I told my dear friend Connie Jordan at the end of July that I would do whatever I could to help her win her race. When I am in, I’m all in. If I go down, I go down fighting. It was truly one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had. I’m so proud of my local hero. She did not win her race but we ran a clean campaign filled with passion and conviction. I would do it all over again.

Carrie & Connie at the polls

Please Judge – It’s Personal

It’s about a little girl. A little girl about the same age as my sweet Alice Wren, whose nipples were burned by cigarettes at the hands of her mother, the one person in the entire world who should have loved her the most. It’s about an elderly woman…a little younger than my grandmother, who was sleeping peacefully in the safety of her home when an intruder invaded her bedroom and sexually assaulted her, forcing her to perform oral sex on him. It’s about a young man, not much older than my brother who was shot while leaving a local convenience store one quiet evening in his neighborhood. He never made it home. It’s about you and me and anyone we love.

This election season has been a brutal one. With the presidential race promising little hope for our future and a level of uncertainty for our country, I find most of us emotional, tense and quite frankly, scared. We want to exercise our right to vote and yet, the options offer little comfort and no solid path forward. Oftentimes, at the local level, we don’t even know who the candidates are – what they are about, what they stand for, what causes they support. So when my friend and former colleague, Connie Jordan, informed me of her decision to run for the Superior Court Judge seat in district 5B this election season – for the first time, I felt hope.

It’s been several years since I worked as a Victim Witness Legal Assistant in the New Hanover County District Attorney’s Office – a job that I found extremely rewarding but one that took its emotional toll. I was assigned as Connie’s legal assistant during my tenure there and when I met her, I liked her immediately. She’s very intelligent, focused and compassionate – the type of person who doesn’t settle for anything less than perfection. I considered her a role model and she embodied everything I wanted to be when I “grow up”. She still does. The horrific cases I’ve described above are real, and a small sampling of the dozens of cases that Connie, an Assistant District Attorney, prosecutes every day. I’ve seen firsthand her commitment to the victims of violent crime and the staunch support she provides to the law enforcement community ensuring the law is followed at the earliest stage of the process. She is the first person to arrive in the courtroom and the last to leave, giving everything that she has to the victims in her cases. I recall the case of the older woman I referenced above and the difficulty she experienced while on the stand having to testify against her attacker. I sat in the courtroom and watched the strength of the victim as she answered the delicate questions Connie asked her…a necessary process to ensure a conviction and the certainty that this innocent victim and the surrounding community will never be harmed by this offender again. The victim literally had an emotional collapse while on the stand; unable to continue further and paralyzed by fear as the man who assaulted her sat only feet away. Connie, a tiny force, walked steadfastly to the witness stand, lifted her off of the floor and embraced her. It was Connie’s empathy and compassion that motivated the victim to continue on, which resulted in a guilty verdict and life imprisonment for the defendant.

Any one of us can be a victim. Evil exists in the world and we never know if we or the ones we love are going to be adversely affected by it. This election means that you have a say. You have a say in who gets to preside over these types of cases and render the appropriate punishment. You get to choose who has the most experience, who is the most qualified and who will ensure due process is followed and that justice prevails. The Superior Court Judge seat is a non-partisan position. It really is based on a person’s qualifications, their ability to be fair and their knowledge of the law. Connie Jordan has been prosecuting violent crime cases for nearly 20 years. She is the only candidate who has experience and knowledge of superior court and the laws associated with prosecuting cases in that court. Her emotional capacity for these types of cases knows no bounds and her support for the victims, particularly of child abuse and sexual assault crimes, is incomparable. Both Connie and her husband, Don Jordan, have dedicated their lives to public service. Don is an Army veteran having served 32 years in the U.S. Army with multiple deployments overseas including tours in Kuwait, Yemen and two in Afghanistan. Public service isn’t a job to Connie and her family; it’s a way of life.

I left the District Attorney’s Office after a couple of years to pursue a different field. I often think of the victims I met and will forever be inspired by their strength and ability to overcome impossible circumstances. I remember a photograph that I took of Connie with the little girl I mentioned at the start of my post as if it was yesterday. The little girl’s eyes were bright and confident. She was grinning from ear to ear. For the first time in her life, she felt purpose – hopeful of a future without physical and emotional torture. That is what Connie does for the people in this community. She makes it possible for them to go on.

I encourage you all to go out this November and have your say. Run, don’t walk to the polls and if you’re fortunate enough to see Connie Jordan’s name on your ballot, without question choose her. Make an investment in the safety and protection of your children, your loved ones. If you ever find yourself in difficult circumstances in New Hanover and Pender counties, you’ll want her sitting on that bench.

(L-R) Carrie and Connie Jordan

If you’d like to learn more about Connie and what she’s doing for the community, please check out her Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/conniejordan5B/ or her website at https://www.conniejordanforjudge.com/.

 

Oh, the Lies

I’m not a very good liar. Anyone who knows me would agree. I get tickled, my face gives me away and my conscience dogs me out every single time. So I’m glad Christmas is over. The month of December really puts my lie telling abilities to the test – and I’m exhausted. The number of lies I’ve told this Christmas season would impress the most compulsive liar, and I’ve told them well.

It all started around Thanksgiving with the return of the Elf – the damn Elf on the damn Shelf my son affectionately named Flex (Lie #1). Somehow over the last few years, I’ve convinced my children that this Elf flies to the North Pole every night (Lie #2), tells Santa (Lie #3) that they’ve been good (Lie #4) and returns back to the house all before any of us wake up (Lie #5). We can’t touch him (Lie #6 – I touch him every night and a number of times during the day and have not turned into stone), and in the times where we have “accidentally” touched him, I lied saying that the damn Elf would have to visit the North Pole Medac during his long journey that night to get a check-up (Lie #7).

Back in the day, parents only had to commit to one lie – the existence of Santa Claus, ok, maybe two – Rudolph. Somehow, I have managed to forego simplicity and entangle myself into a deep web of Christmas lies – with the help of teachers and social media. We now sprinkle reindeer food outside (Lie #8) that Foster makes at school so that Santa’s reindeer can have a snack when they arrive (Lie #9). On Christmas morning, when Foster investigated where he sprinkled the food, he was disappointed to see that none had been eaten. So I had to quickly concoct yet another story and told him that with all the houses Santa visits (Lie #10), the reindeer perhaps weren’t hungry (Lie #11).

What complicated things even further is when my 7-year old kid pulled his tooth out while visiting the in-laws for a pre-Christmas overnight. I was not able to go to sleep until I had moved the damn Elf that we stowed away for the journey – since he didn’t know the way from the North Pole (Lie #12) and I had to be sure the Tooth Fairy showed up at the in-laws house! (Lie #13). Like introducing two temperamental canine breeds, I didn’t know what to expect when Flex and the Tooth Fairy encountered each other, but nevertheless, I told Foster that they would be like old friends (Lie #14).

Two days before Christmas and with the help of social media, I decided to introduce a few new lies. I told the children, through a note from Flex (Lie #15), that Santa thinks they have too many toys (Lie #16) and that they had to pick 10 toys each that they no longer play with for Santa to take back to his workshop for cleaning, repair, and delivery to boys and girls who would want them (Lies #17, 18 and 19). They did it, without question.

By the time Christmas arrived, I had gotten pretty good at lying. We read the Christmas story to the children (ironically, the only truth to the entire season, which we only did once), we put milk and cookies out for Santa (Lie #20) – which Mike and I enjoyed later – I wrote a note from Santa to the children (Lie #21), I wrote a note from Flex to the children (Lie #22), I took the toys the children had left for Santa and hid them upstairs (Lie #23), I put Flex in the Target bag on top of my closet where he lives in the off season (Lie #24), and I put out the presents from Santa for the children (Lie #25) while my husband stood guard anticipating the moment when we get busted on all these lies!

But I didn’t stop there. I found myself lying on Christmas day! Lightning would surely have struck me if it wasn’t 80 degrees and sunny on the most humid Christmas season I can remember. Foster’s remote controlled dragonfly that Santa brought (Lie #26) crashed into some trees and broke. Since “Santa” brought it, Foster was perplexed by how we could email the manufacturer requesting a new one. So…well…Santa left a manual with the information for what to do if it breaks! (Lie #27).

I don’t know if it was the heat, the stress, the holiday hustle & bustle, or the lies but this past Christmas was one of the worst Christmases I’ve ever had. Next year, I’m going to get back to basics. Focus less on the magic and more on the truth. Simplify and savor. Be grateful for the blessings and bask in the love of Jesus. And that’s no lie.

A Young Perspective on Veteran’s Day

One night last week, I arrived home later than usual and only had a few minutes to spend with Foster before it was time for him to go to bed. We talked about what he had learned in school and it pleased me that the main subject of discussion was Veteran’s Day. Foster showed me a book that he was assigned to read that talked about the upcoming holiday. He knows that I previously served in the Navy prior to meeting his dad and before he came into the world, but he, like most people, doesn’t really grasp what that means. He’s intrigued by it and thinks the military, in general, is really cool – mostly the Army and Marine Corps because of the giant trucks and guns.

The next morning, I had a little more time to catch up with him and he trotted down the stairs and hopped up to the breakfast bar eager to start the day. I was busy packing lunches and Mike and Alice were getting ready to head out to work and school. Mike had recalled a story that Foster told him the night before and asked that Foster share it with me that morning. Foster said, “Oh yeah, Mom – do you know…I can’t even tell you the story without crying…” and I stood there patiently while I watched him choke back tears and try to regain his composure. I had no idea what he was about to tell me, what the story was about, or what could possibly have him so emotional but I stopped and gave him my full attention as he said with trembling lips, “Mom, did you know that the people in the military have to leave all of their family and people they love and move to a different country to live?”

By now, tears were streaming down his face and he was wiping them with the back of his little hands. Just the thought of someone having to leave their loved ones and be without them struck a chord in my little man’s heart. I said, “Yes, I do know that. And do you know what that’s called? That’s called sacrifice. When people give up things that mean a whole lot to them, that’s sacrifice and our service members do that every single day.”

Then I shared with him how mommy left her family and everyone she knew to move to another country to live and that it was difficult but really cool! We sat there at the breakfast bar and I took the opportunity to foster the discussion of a subject that means so much to me and what I want my children to understand as Americans – that we live in the greatest country in the world; and that there is no measure to the amount of love and respect we should have for the men and women who serve and protect the freedoms that we, as a family, enjoy.

My son is six years old. That was the first time in his young life that I had seen him show true empathy for something completely intangible to him. He gets it, y’all.

To my brothers and sisters in uniform, thank you for our freedom. You are appreciated and loved.

 

 

 

 

The Power of a Lemon Drop

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, having children will challenge your psyche. Every weekend around Sunday afternoon, my husband and I nearly lose our minds. I’m a southern girl and every Sunday, I like to make a big family dinner. Around 3:00 p.m. things go from chill to stress in 8 seconds. The children are over the slip-n-slide, pool and movies and they are jonesing. Jonesing for something cool to do and in my kitchen while I’m trying to prepare a 5-course meal. It’s not a good combination and doesn’t blend well with my introverted personality. Me and Billie Holiday Radio are trying to have some solo time and the children are Lord of the Flies in my kitchen.

I decided it was time to get back to basics. I strapped the two-year old in her booster seat, ordered the five-year old to sit down and I tossed a deck of cards on the table. I mean seriously, why can my children not entertain themselves long enough for Mama to get supper on the table? When I was a child, this was not an issue. We had a million things to do and nothing to do them with and common sense told us to stay away from Mom, especially when she was in the kitchen. Somehow I’m failing. I’m failing teaching this basic concept to my children. Foster said, “Mom, what are we supposed to do with those?” And I replied, “Figure it out!” I was one coat hanger away from a Mommy Dearest moment. My husband, the ever laid back one in our house quickly recognized the energy and whispered, “Hey, come here.”  

He was in the corner of our kitchen hanging out with an old friend whom I hadn’t seen since college. It was the Lemon Drop. He had prepared the most beautiful thing I had seen in a long time and with a quick refresher as to the steps, I shot one back and it went down smooth. I quickly realized that I did not want to kill myself. Within minutes, Foster had figured out a game on his own and Alice Wren put her feet up and made her own fun with five cards. I had backed away from the ledge and was still cognizant of the fact that I needed to get the fresh corn on.

The children had no idea what mommy and daddy were doing in the corner. All they knew was earlier, Mommy was one step away from being certifiable and now, we were all dancing to a soulful remake of “Stand by Me.” Foster spilled his water and I didn’t care. Alice Wren’s diaper was hanging to her knees, and I didn’t freak out. As I set the table and prepared the last of the delicious dinner I had made, I realized that it took two lemon drops to get me there. I sat down and felt so guilty. I thought, I’m failing these kids. I can’t even get Sunday dinner on the table without sneaking a couple of shots! And then my two-year old put her hands together and bowed her head and that is the moment I realized – we’re doing something right. In all of the craziness and stress we go through by working two full-time jobs and trying to raise these children, somehow we are teaching them what matters most and they are getting it! We blessed the food, talked about our weekend and laughed.

So what if you have to sneak a couple of Lemon Drops every now and then. It’s recipe for a great family dinner.

 

The Day We Lost Our Minds

The events I’m about to share with you are real.

Parental discretion is advised.

            It seemed like a normal day, everything was going according to our standard routine…Mike and I carpooled that day and left the office to go fetch the ch’ren from preschool. We picked up Foster and Alice Wren without incident…gathering the jackets, Easter baskets and other items we were required to take that day. On the way home, traffic was more tolerable than usual and Alice Wren was very vocal, sometimes on the cusp of irritability but we’ve come to love and appreciate that about her. As I embarked across the Isabel Holmes bridge, that’s when everything turned to shit. Traffic came to a stop, Alice Wren started screaming and it suddenly occurred to us that we didn’t have Bunny.

            Bunny is Alice Wren’s lovey; her soul mate, her other half, her third arm. It took a relatively short distance from school to the bridge for her to communicate to us that she did not have it. And communicate, she did. “Wah!! Wah!! Wah!!” For those of you who are parents, you know how important the lovey is. Whatever it may be, the special blanket, the Paci, whatever it is that your child attaches themselves to during infancy is absolutely vital. And if you’re not a parent, let me tell you…the moment you forget the lovey is the moment you will lose your mind. There is nothing worse than being at a dead stop on top of a bridge with a grief-stricken two-year old screaming bloody murder in the back seat. When we realized that the traffic situation was due to a wreck at the base of the bridge, we quickly ran through our options and there were only 3 we could come up with: 1) Make an illegal U-turn on the bridge with law enforcement in plain view and go back to school to rescue Bunny; 2) Stay the course in the line of traffic to go all the way home without Bunny and suffer through the night; or 3) Take a right off the bridge in the complete opposite direction from where Bunny is and turn around to go back through the wreck traffic in the direction that we came.

            I mentally checked out somewhere between my husband demanding that I quickly make the illegal U-turn and my five-year old exclaiming, “I can’t take it anymore!” and before I knew it, I had taken a right onto 421 headed for the bypass completely abandoning traffic and Bunny. Meanwhile, Mike calls the school, which closes in 13 minutes, advising that we had forsaken Bunny – that we’re on our way to pick it up and for them to leave it outside in case we don’t get there by 6:00. We weren’t going to get there by 6:00, because I was driving the wrong way from where the school was and we still had to go back through the nightmare traffic situation we had just left. “Wah!! Wah!! Wah!!” There is no point in trying to reason with her. A quick u-turn got us in the right direction and after two light rotations, we were back on track. To make things even more interesting, somewhere along the way my gas light came on.

            At this point, Foster had immersed himself into the world of video games on my phone and tuned out the screaming, Mike was still trying to reason with the Devil in the back seat and I was giving my “I’m so sorry you just wrecked your car” look to the lady in the bent up van we had just passed moments earlier….and before we knew it, what little amount of gas I still had carried us through and we arrived back at school.

            It was after 6:00 but thank the good Lord a few teachers were still there and I ran inside to get the Bunny. I checked Alice’s cubby, no Bunny. I checked her bag, no Bunny. I checked the box of stuffed animals on the chance that someone had made an egregious error and misplaced Bunny…no Bunny. I involved the staff. I put out an APB, Amber Alert and Code Red. WHERE IS THE F’ING BUNNY!!!!

            The staff checked the laundry, class rooms, bags…I went outside to make sure Mike had not abandoned the crying child and to let them know that Bunny was missing. Mike had checked the car; I had asked the teacher to call the other two teachers in Alice’s class to inquire about Bunny…my darling toddler was forlorn in her car seat, red-faced and soaked wet with tears. I took her out of her seat and told her very calmly, “We are looking for Bunny. Everything is going to be ok.”

            Finally, the teacher came out. She had been on the phone with Alice’s day teacher and that’s when she told us, “Bunny never came to school today.”

            WHAT?!

            Bunny was at home. We had just spent the last hour of our lives looking for something that was never lost. What we had lost, was our minds.

Chiropractics: All It’s Cracked Up to Be

You are not here to be liked by your children. Those were the words my chiropractor said to me after observing my children’s behavior during a consultation last fall. Both Foster and Alice Wren were diagnosed with ear infections last November, common ailments for them every cold and flu season. Foster has had four sets of ear tubes and Alice Wren was following the same path with chronic infections and fluid retention. At 19 months, she was still not speaking, not even the word “Mama.”

Determined not to get another set of ear tubes and desperate to seek an alternative approach to solve this chronic problem, I finally heeded the advice of several friends and took the children to see a chiropractor. I have been receiving the benefits of chiropractic care off and on for over twenty years; regardless, I was very nervous about taking the kids. I’m not sure why but for some reason, I was placing more stock in what my medical doctors were advising rather than taking advice from alternative practitioners. Despite my son’s four corrective surgeries, it never occurred to me that something could be contributing to the problem. I thought it was a baby’s lot in life to experience chronic ear infections until their little Eustachian tubes developed. After all, that’s what we’re told by ear, nose and throat doctors, right?

Well, actually, there are a lot of things that can contribute to ear infections. It’s not because God designed Eustachian tubes that aren’t mature enough to work properly. One of the things I learned when we visited our chiropractor is that what I had been feeding my children, as well as myself, was crap! For my son, I thought the terrible threes had turned into terrible fours and now the terrible fives. I came to realize that these weren’t just phases my son would eventually outgrow; he was cracked out on sugar! Unable to focus – unable to listen to instructions – so when Dr. Reese said, “You are not here to be liked by your children,” it got my attention and I appreciated the candor. He was right and it has never been my parenting approach to be liked by or even friends with my children. They will have plenty of friends throughout their lives, but only one mom, and my role is to protect them and give them the best shot at life. And that starts with what I feed them.

Starting last fall, we made big changes in our house. We were already eating what I thought was a well-balanced diet. The children are great about eating their fruits and veggies and we already subscribed to a low-fat diet due to my husband’s heart disease. Yet, there was so much more we needed to do. We cut the sugar, plain and simple. Yes, we made Foster choose five of his favorite candies from the Halloween bowl and then we got rid of it. You are not here to be liked by your children. No more treats after each meal if he ate all of the food on his plate. Yes, we were doing that, every meal. You are not here to be liked by your children. No more Poptarts, junk cereal, breakfast bars, crap crap crap. No more boxed macaroni and cheese. You are not here to be liked by your children. I now make homemade oatmeal using small amounts of pure maple syrup or local honey and we make our own mac & cheese! And finally, no more cow’s milk. Your children are not baby cows. My children were drinking cow’s milk at every meal and all the while, it was contributing to the chronic ear issues. I could go on and on with what I’ve learned about cow’s milk but will reserve that for another blog. The ch’ren now drink water all the time. They love it, are fine, and they still like me!

I found myself suddenly overwhelmed by all of the new information, the blogs, the articles, the research, the labels…so much is out there about processed foods and things that we thought were good for us are really not. It’s mind blowing. When you look at the labels on some of your staple foods, you will be mortified at the laundry list of ingredients. I mean, what is all that stuff? And you’ll find that almost everything has sugar! The kids received their first spinal adjustment the day after our consultation. They did great. The following morning, all of the pus that was in one of Foster’s ears drained. And after just a few adjustments, Alice Wren started saying “Mama, thank you, I love you” with consistency. By changing a few diet habits and after getting a few spinal adjustments, my kids were different kids. Fast forward four months and my kids have not had another ear infection since last November. They are happy, healthy and eating delicious foods that they love and thrive on.

What I learned from this experience is to always do your own research when presented with an issue by your pediatrician. It’s unfortunate but you simply cannot take what they tell you at face value. At no point did either my pediatrician or ENT doctor suggest diet changes or chiropractic care as a solution to the chronic ear infections we were experiencing. Not once. They were fine with performing one surgery after another on my child. It’s their bread and butter and often times, completely needless. Perhaps making those changes doesn’t help some people. However, I think it’s worth a try rather than putting your child under general anesthesia over and over again. Chiropractic care has also been a lot cheaper for us compared to what we paid for four surgeries.

I have so much still to learn and we do splurge from time to time on baked goodies or special treats but the entire experience has been life changing for our family. I only wish I had done it sooner.

 

Snack time!

 

 

 

Alice Wren Johnson (aka, “The Sugabug”)

Last spring, my daughter celebrated her first major milestone; she turned 1 year old on April 30, 2013. It was an exciting time. The first year was a whirlwind of ups and downs. Trying to adjust to our growing family and mastering the art of transitioning from a toddler to a toddler and a newborn, was very difficult. Much harder than I thought! Take the normal challenge and tack on a baby possessed by the devil and it will throw you into full blown postpartum depression. After two months of Alice Wren’s life, the devil left her body and she became the sweetest angel you’d ever laid eyes on and has been ever since.

I remember the day I learned I was pregnant. It was the summer of 2011 and I was at the beach when all of a sudden, I had an enormous urge to pee. I ran as hard as I could to the ocean and barely made it. The following Monday, I went to the clinic to test for a UTI and left with a positive pregnancy test. I could hardly wait to tell Mike. He was as stunned as I was. Sure, we had recently started trying but, like Foster, we had no idea it would work so quickly! I knew in that moment that I wanted a little girl but didn’t know just how much until we saw the ultrasound and they finally said, “you’re having a girl!” I instantly burst into tears. Having a little girl would complete our family and I immediately envisioned shopping sprees and pedicures.

Alice Wren and my son, Foster, could not be more different. Alice has pale skin and beautiful blue eyes, with a calm personality. She’s very cautious and observant, preferring to sit back and watch her brother make all of the mistakes. Her first birthday was very bittersweet for me. Mike and I both had to work and barely saw her before she succumbed to exhaustion and went to bed. I cried a lot that day. My precious Sugabug is the last baby we’ll have and her birthday was the last first birthday we’ll ever celebrate. We had a party for her the following weekend with family and were so excited about her tearing into her birthday cake. We remembered how much Foster loved his birthday cake and had the camera ready to capture the same sweet mess. Unlike her brother, Alice Wren did not like her cake, either of them. I had a healthy cake made by a local baker that she hated, and I had a yummy cake on standby for the adults, which she equally hated. So, she sat in her seat wearing her darling birthday hat and ate a teething biscuit. The year went by too quickly, and now she’s walking. Before we know it, she’ll be heading off to kindergarten like her brother!

Over the last couple of months, I’ve noticed that she doesn’t like me rocking her as much anymore. Our nighttime routine of mommy/daughter time is dwindling from what used to be 15-20 minutes to 5 minutes, if I’m lucky. She’s a busy girl, wanting to climb and explore her surroundings. I suppose it’s time to accept that my little Sugabug is now a toddler, eating all food groups and drinking from an open faced cup. The milestones she reaches through her life will always be bittersweet for me. Each one will be a reminder that life is moving, my baby is changing, she’s finding her place in the world…and despite all of her changes and discoveries along the way, one thing is for certain – she’ll always be my baby girl.

 

Sugabug eating her birthday biscuit

Pillow Talk with Foster

Bed time is an event in our household that’s looked forward to. Perhaps not so much for my nearly five year old but it certainly is for me and my husband … and not for the reasons you might think. We’ve gotten into a bedtime rhythm with Foster and it’s cherished. After we do the mundane brushing of the teeth, last minute pee and story time, he says his prayers and then…my favorite part…we do pillow talk.

I recall a discussion a few months ago that caught me completely off guard. We were lying in his bed talking about benign things like – what the best part of the day was…what we are going to do the coming weekend – and before I knew it, Foster said, “And Mom, you know what? One day I’m going to move to another house and I won’t live with you and daddy anymore.” Sniff sniff

I looked over and Foster was quietly wiping tears from his eyes at the thought that one day, he would live in a different house than his mom and dad. This delighted me and broke my heart all at the same time. I asked him, “Where did you hear that?” to which he replied, “Miss Maddie!” And now he’s into a full blown sob. Maddie is one of Foster’s school teachers. I figure she probably innocently discussed college one day in class and perhaps the subject arose of how once you get older, you will move away from home and start life on your own. It was amazing to me how much this topic weighed on his little mind since the discussion in school.

I tried to reassure him that it was not something he needed to worry about for many many years and that by then, he will want nothing more than to move away from home; however, his concerns were unassuaged. He said there will never be a time when he’ll want to live in a different house than Mom and Dad. I snuggled with my boy and hugged him tightly, “Foster, this will always be your home. There will always be a place for you at Mom and Dad’s.” As the topics moved on to other things, I couldn’t help but silently ponder the day when tears will fall from my eyes and he’ll be comforting me.

A Sunflower is Born

I’ve been blogging for almost a year now and it’s hard for me to believe that I haven’t posted anything on this page yet. My “Chartreuse Thumb” category has been dying a slow and painful death of loneliness. It’s interesting because working in the yard is my favorite pastime. If I have any spare time at all, I’m outside, I’m in it, I’m weeding, planting, pruning…yet – it’s taken me nearly a year to come up with anything to say about it. You see, I’m obsessed with something I’m not very good at. The secret to my chartreuse thumb is that the more you leave it alone, the better its odds for survival. Here’s a perfect example of what I’m talkin’ about.

A couple of months ago, I got the bright idea to spruce up our back deck with some flowers. We’ve been in this house for three years now and I’ve focused so much on the front porch that I felt our back deck was lacking a little nature. Plus, I have a wild fascination with birds. I constantly try to create a habitat that birds will love so I can stalk them. So…I got a couple of deck hooks from my favorite nursery, had my husband install them on our deck and then I hung two beautiful hanging baskets, one on each side, along with a bird feeder – a hummingbird feeder on one side and a wild bird feeder on the other. Below the wild bird feeder was a potted flower that my husband gave me for our anniversary a couple of years ago. I’m impressed that it’s stayed alive this long.

Within a few weeks, we noticed a stalk of some sort growing out of my anniversary plant. We had no idea what it was and were too busy to worry with it. It grew taller and taller and one day, we started to see the formation of a bloom. And within a few days, you wouldn’t believe what appeared…

A big beautiful bright yellow sunflower! That’s right, ladies and gentlemen! A few sunflower seeds from my bird feeder fell into my flower pot and before we knew it, we had a beautiful sunflower! After all the sprucing and supplies in order to liven the back deck, we were greeted by a surprise that I had nothing to do with.

Growing flowers is easy; you put the right elements within reach of one another and let nature do the rest.

Happy planting!

The back deck – with a little extra color