Tag Archives: healing

Stay Tuned and Get Pumped! (is what I was going to say.)

14 Dec

Patience, my dear ones. For I am off to a happy place, where I will be celebrating my 8th Engagemaversary in that very same spot.

…is what I had written, yesterday,

prepared to publish today,

as I would now be off to St. John, via St. Thomas, with my entire family; Parents, siblings, kids…

It’s funny. Just last week, Jordan said, “The way to virtually guarantee that a child will get sick is to schedule something that you really want to do.”

And it has been no secret that we have been sickie little chickies in my house for the past month.

But weeks of sick days and doctor visits all kind of came to a head yesterday when I crashed, unexpectedly, at 3pm, woke up two hours later in excruciating ear pain. I have been suffering from TMJ on my right side, but this pain was on my left. And I couldn’t hear out of my ear. Weird.

So, I shook the sleep out of my head and rallied to give the baby his nighttime bottle, give my daughter her kiss goodnight, and I told my husband that something wasn’t right. All of the local urgent care facilities were closed and all my doctor besties were stuck without otoscopes (I just wanted to see if I was crazy), so we found a Care Stat location a little ways away and I got checked out.

I told the doctor about my TMJ. “First let me look at your right ear, or your ‘good ear’,” she said.

“Yup, this ear is infected.”

Then she moved onto my left.

And all she said was, “Whoa.”

That’s never what you want to hear from a doctor.

So I have a double ear infection, but on my left side it is pretty severe, and I am prohibited from flying for a week. Which means that we had to cancel our trip to our happy place.

It’s ok. I was most disappointed for my daughter and parents, but we have made alternate arrangements so that my kids will be taken away on a fun family trip, just the four of us, that involves driving, and no change in elevation that will perforate my eardrum.

I walked out of the urgent care office, into the Krispie Kreme two doors down, and ate a hot glazed doughnut right off of the conveyer belt. Because, really, what else was there to do?

So, I will continue where I had left off yesterday before this all went down (when I thought I would be leaving you for St. John):

Please don’t think I would leave you hanging. Oh no.

Because we have some big changes on the not so distant horizon; my home for the past 4.5 years,


just got quite the makeover. We are moving on up people.

Very soon, this blog will be located at…


Mommy EA

You can visit the site to countdown to our big launch on December 22. There will be ads! There will be new categories! There will be a feathers! This is forrealz.

And I realize that my audience here is mixed; some of you have been here from the beginning, while others are newer to the land of mom. So I am leaving you with some old favorites. And the fun thing is, they lead you to other old posts. You have almost 900 of ’em to wade through as I wade through the ocean. (Editor’s note: I don’t even have to say it. Frowny face.)

Let me take this opportunity to say thank you.

This past year (and I am getting choked up) has been the hardest in my life; I am so grateful for the support I have received from YOU. You have empowered me to tell me story and motivated me to help others. Thank you. I would not be here without you.

So here you go. I’ll be popping in here and there over the next week, but to tide you over:

Something motivational

Something sweet

Something musical

Something nostalgic

Something comprehensive

Some Important Insight

The craziest call to the pediatrican ever. (Really, ever.)

The second craziest call to the pediatrican,, ever. And it’s a close second.

Something Happy.

Something Hard.

Something Hopeful.

See you on the flip side at http://www.mommyeverafter.com,

the home of everything ever after.


“In Our Time” and on my night table.

15 Nov

“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”

-T.S. Eliot, one of my favorites.

Last night before bed I scanned my night table for my glasses, and took a minute to note what I keep there, next to me, as I sleep.

I don’t have much, but everything is meaningful. I have one of my crystals (of course).

I have a mirrored frame, containing a small piece of art that reads “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.”

In the far back corner, hidden behind a silver carved wood box, I have a feather or two and (don’t judge me, please) my lucky purple underwear, folded and twisted up into a tiny little knot. Unidentifiable to anyone but me. My protection symbols. Ok. I know it’s weird. Whatever.

I have a photograph of Ernest Hemingway, older and bearded, writing at his desk.

And tucked away, behind it all, I have a few pieces from the hospital. They remind me of where I have been, where I no longer wish to be, and where I hope to go.


The pins are from a night earlier in my stay, when I was doing a partial hospitalization outpatient program and staying in a beautiful local boutique hotel. My dear, kind, amazing friend came up one night to sleep over with me, so that I would not be alone. Since my hospital was located a few miles from a lovely, quintessential college town, I met my girl at 6:30 that night, once my program for the day had ended, and we spent the evening walking around, through the college apparel shops, the pharmacy, clothing stores and savoring every second in their real, actual book store. We don’t have many (if any) of those around anymore. I must have lingered in the far back right corner between Hemingway and Fitzgerald for a good 10 minutes, just running my hands across the spines of “in Our Time” and “A Farewell to Arms” and “An Immoveable Feast”, like I wanted to inhale them.

At the checkout counter, they had these silly little pins for $1 each. We each picked out a couple, and I keep mine by my bed, because they make me smile. They make me think of this time of great transformation, but also of my great fortune to have a friend who would drive all the way to another state, after a long day of work, to spend 12 hours in a hotel room with me, just so that I wouldn’t have to sleep by myself.

There is also a beaded bracelet, that I accidentally made too big during a Sunday morning art therapy session while I was inpatient. I remember stringing each bead on carefully, knowing, as I did it, that I wold save this simple, silly little craft forever.

I guess subconsciously I keep these things, this strange collage of items, in the place that is closest to me as I rest,

hoping for healing, protection and guidance;

that somehow some of the powers of the crystals, and the safety of the feathers and the weight of the hospital stay and the wisdom of Hemingway and the reminder of eternal love will seep into me during slumber.

Hey, who knows how these things work.

Each night as I fall asleep I pray for a new beginning the next day; a new place from which to start. And, if nothing else, I can always rest easy knowing that, undoubtedly, Tulips are better than one.


8 Aug

As I have mentioned before, this has kind of been a doozy of a summer.

It has certainly had it’s moments of brightness and beauty,

but the scarier moments have only served to heighten my gratitude for the loved ones around me.

I am so so blessed to have the family that I have been born into.

I treasure my family with all that I am.

And so, after some weeks of tumult, this weekend, I went home.

My parents’ house is a mere 10 minutes from my own,

but a visit was not enough.

For one night, we moved back in.

My whole, big, furry, babyish brood.

And my sister came in from the far off city in which she dwells.

She needed to come home to.

For a sleepover party.

My dad cooked for us.

My mom held our hands and let us snuggle up to her.

We all took care of each other.

All under the same roof.

And remember how I mentioned that my dad cooked for us?

This is what dinner looked like.

And this is what breakfast and bed looked like.

And then this was lunch.

And in between stuffing our faces,

we all piled into my parents’ bedroom and did exactly what we needed;

We snuggled up,

we reminisced,

we joked around

and laughed until our eyes were wet with tears.

And talked about our fears,

until the tears dripped down our cheeks.

And then laughed some more.

We healed.

And on Sunday morning, as I hid under the covers of my sister’s childhood bed,

playing peak-a-boo with my little girl,

her sticky, pumpkin-waffle-smelling-face pressed up against mine,

I felt so filled with peace.

So filled with gratitude..

…with love.

Because that sleepover,

that time with my family,

that everything…


is where the heart is.