Just in Time for Mother's Day

It is the eve of Mother's Day and I have decided to start it off by reminding myself of something nice for a change! No moments of sadness about our financial situation, no thoughts about our government or the economy, no reflections of how we got to this point....I decided, for Mother's Day, I am giving myself a 24 hour pass from my usual and depressing train of thought.

My mother in law is totally to blame for this! She gave me an early Mother's Day present the other day, and, I think it started to actually trigger some happy thoughts in this jumbled mess of a head of mine!

She gave me a gardenia plant. To some, it might seem like a nice but unusual choice. However, for people who know me best or have read this blog, well, then, you know there is a much more meaningful sentiment behind this gift.

She first became aware of my gardenia fondness when she read my entry about my "happy places." The gardenia represents a much more simpler and happier time in my life when I was a child and the wonderful scent from our gardenia bush used to permeate in the yard at my child hood home. I loved the smell so much and that love for gardenias has always stayed with me.

I knew the moment I saw her gift, she was giving me something that she knew would give me a constant source of much needed happiness. The thought and meaning behind it was as much appreciated as the happiness that it instantly made me feel when I saw it. She, unexpectedly, reached out to me when I needed it simply because she cares and I hope she knows how much it meant to me.

So, tomorrow, I am going to water my gardenias, drink my coffee, read the Sunday paper and spend the rest of my time celebrating motherhood with my boys...Some simple pleasures that make me happy.

Thank you, Bertha, for snapping me back into reality just in time for Mother's Day :)

How Low Can You Go???

How low can you go? How low can you go?................

Oh, the challenges of life, and, just when you think it can't get any harder, yep, that bar drops one more notch again! Then, your mind starts chanting, "how low can you go?" It starts softly but gets louder and louder. So, you bend a little more, pray that your legs won't fail you now, throw that head all the way back until it barely misses the floor, and, hold on, wait a minute, I'm almost there....WHEW! I made it! (until my next turn!)

Being laid off and looking for a replacement job that doesn't exist in my field while trying to figure out how we are going to keep up with the bills, provide for our children and not lose our minds, has been our ongoing game of limbo for two years now. Yes, I have made it through every round, SO FAR, but, I have to admit that the short lived euphoria of figuring things out, temporarily, until the next time, does not come without a lot of inevitable worry.

I have ducked the bar of losing my house, having my unemployment run out, and, oh yeah, my favorite and frequent bar of keeping my sanity through these very difficult times.

How? Well, to put it simply, I have convinced myself not to give up because of my kids. Children and the list of responsibilities that come with them have inspired me with the will to make it through this rough patch my family seems to be stuck in. So, I look at their little faces and tell myself I will not give up.

With that said, I am READY....ready for the bar to drop AGAIN.......ready to bend over backwards even though I might fall on the ground THIS time.....ready to take my turn NO MATTER what the outcome. Yes, I will keep playing the game of limbo! Then, hopefully, one of these days, that short lived moment of euphoria I mentioned will finally turn into a permanent and profitable solution I have been praying for.

Yep, that's my life. The same life that 5.5 million other unemployed Americans are living right now. Are you one of them?

Image Credit: image found on http://www.bing.com/

Fire Friday

"Fire Friday;" That was the catch phrase we used for the last day of the work week in our dwindling company when a manager would swoop in, at the very last minute, and, lay off another unsuspecting worker.

It was said in jest every Friday morning, yet, underneath, there was a hidden panic we all shared, but, never talked about. The mere thought of having your income cut off in such a shaky economy terrified us all, even more so, because, we all knew a salary that had taken years to build in the unstable field of construction, would be virtually impossible to replace at this time.

So, the tense expressions consumed our faces every Friday morning as we piled through the back door and politely greeted each other before scurrying into our empty offices trying to look busy before management's watchful eyes fell upon us.

It was a HORRIBLE feeling that I felt for a very LONG two years....
Two years of watching the clock and the door and wondering if today would be my "Fire Friday." It was a heavy sigh of relief, week after week, as the axe fell and missed me. Yet, my heart would literally break for others as I saw the looks on their faces and said my many tearful goodbyes.

By Monday, I would push the notion of losing my job to the very back of my head and distract myself with anything to occupy my time. Then, slowly, it would creep back to the surface by mid week and boldly taunt me all over again.

I knew it would happen eventually, but, like the rest of us, I was hoping to just buy some more time. I would tell myself I was well liked and I had dedicated eight years of my life, 40+ hours a week, to this place. I had volunteered for everything and I'm sure they have recognized my strong work ethic...That had to mean something, right? Well, it did, for awhile, but, I knew they weren't going to keep paying me because they liked me! It was a very obvious and harsh fact that we were not selling enough houses and even more cut backs were inevitable.

So, when my phone rang and the call was coming from my boss' office at 2:45 PM on a Friday afternoon, I should have known to expect the worst. However, I walked into his office still not expecting to hear THOSE words come out of his mouth. He could barely look at me as he softly informed me that he had been told to let me go. "Hmmm," I thought, "so, THIS is how it feels." I wanted to make him feel guiltier than he already did...I wanted to yell or plead, but, neither were my style. Instead, I left, I found a box, and, I quietly started packing up my belongings, so, I could slip out the back door unnoticed. I did not want the tearful good byes or pep talks. Nope, just let me get the hell out of here as fast as I can!

Then, a coworker and friend, who was in upper management and knew of my lay off, stood in my door way. Her eyes were on the verge of tears, and, I could tell she didn't know what to say, but, wanted to comfort me somehow. Okay, so, maybe I did want a little sympathy and was secretly glad that she was there to console me!

She and my boss helped me carry out my belongings, we hugged, and I got into my car. I looked at the building for the very last time and slowly drove away as I was still trying to take it all in. It took a good minute or so, for the severity of my situation to set in, and, my hands began to shake. I pulled off onto the side of the road and told myself to just BREATHE! You have survived harder things than this!

I had always taken a back road to work. It cut through the country and I loved taking in the view before walking into my office. Now, I was sitting there, on that same road, trying to figure out where to go from here. Then, I began to look around and realized I was in a place that had always brought me a sense of calmness when I needed it.

I put down my window and felt the breeze on my face as I looked at the pine trees that wrapped around the lake. There was a beautiful silence here. It somehow managed to escape from the bulldozers in the distance and I really appreciated the soft hum of nature that was very hard to find in this town. It was at that moment that I realized I was going to miss this more than the life I was about to leave behind. Despite the heartache I had just been through, the world didn't look any different. The sun was still shining, the birds were still singing, and I had a lot to fall back on.

When one door closes, another one opens, right? I just hope I can find that OTHER door fast!

Lipsticks to Lollipops and Everything in Between......

You can tell a lot about a woman by her purse. Yes, her purse!

Not just the size and shape of it, or the label, or the color.... Although, all of those are very relevant in proper purse shopping!

It's the contents of the purse that really shouts out what a woman is all about. Think about it. It goes everywhere with you and you carefully pack it full of items you THINK you can't live without.

No, not the credit card receipts or the chewing gum....you have to dig deeper to find the real you in there, but, TRUST ME, it's there!

My purse, (a very sweet Java Blue Vera Bradley tote), which holds a large mixture of necessity and sentiment, is the inspiration behind the title of my blog. I playfully describe the disorganized clutter inside of my purse as,"lipsticks to lollipops and everything in between." Hence, my life, in a portable satchel of fabric I drag around with me everywhere.

Lipsticks: My extreme indecisiveness means I usually have about 4 or 5 of them rolling around somewhere in the bottom of my purse. I remember rushing into the parking lot at work after dropping my two kids off at two separate day cares and taking a final glance at myself in the rear view mirror before I opened the door. Now, you would think since I had several shades to choose from, I would always be color coordinated! Honestly, I would grab the first one I found, after digging and cursing for a good minute for ANY of them, and, that was as good as it got most mornings. However, a little bit of lipstick on this tired and busy woman's face before a long and expected day of chaos and frustration, seemed like a moment of...pure indulgence. Something that makes you feel somewhat presentable and a little prettier, well, the boss and the phone and the build up of paperwork, all seem a little easier to bear. So, lipsticks, and plenty of them, have become my little tubes of quick transformations, and, much needed instant pick me ups.

Lollipops: My side pockets always have a lollipop or two shoved in to quickly soothe or distract one or both of my children when they see fit to misbehave at an inopportune time. (I know, candy! Hey, it works like a charm, and, I have usually exhausted all other resources by the time I give up and yank one out and straight into their mouths!) It's funny, I am usually at my wits end with my boys when I resort to yanking a lollipop out, but, when all is well, and I catch a glimpse of one of them in my purse when I am hunting around for something else, they usually make me smile. They have become an instant symbol of my children, however good or bad they can be, and motherhood is a happy place for me. So, something as simple as a sticky and sugary confection on a stick, is a nice reminder I gladly welcome, throughout the day.

and, finally, EVERYTHING in between: Well, I guess that part, is best described as LIFE and everything it throws at you! The dreaded time of the month and a bounty of tampons stuck in there; the always leaving too late and rushing to work that finally caught up with me in the form of a speeding ticket; the daily progress report from my son's preschool and the mostly funny notes that it shared; the "hopefully" empty jars of baby food from my other son's feeding therapy session; the crumpled movie ticket stubs from my last and rare date night with my husband; the vet bill that hurt my wallet and sadly reminded me that my beloved bulldog was on his last leg;

Life. It's all in there whether you have noticed it or not. Take a look in your purse and see what it says about you right now.

Image credit: vintage purse ad found on www.bing.com

The Unexpected Answer

There is nothing worse to me than having a question without an answer. I am a person of faith but I also benefit off reason. So, I usually find myself in complete and utter turmoil when neither of the two provide me with a believable answer.
I spent months convincing everyone that there was an issue with my son's feeding skills. The majority (i.e. my family, the doctors, the babysitter) kept telling me that he would figure it out and did not share the same level of concern that I had.
I was not a first time mother, I did have some medical experience, and I am not inclined to assume the worst, but, none of that seemed to gain any support to my beliefs.
Then, it happened! I took him in for his one year check up and we saw another doctor in the same practice. He looked at his growth chart and realized there had been a significant drop in his weight. Finally, not just a new set of ears to preach to, but, a set of eyes that were actually really paying attention to what I was saying, for a change.
He admitted he did not have an answer for me, but, decided to delve into my concerns and suggested we send him to a therapist for an evaluation. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!! It was the first time in 6 months I had felt acknowledged and hopeful with this situation. Could this finally be the answer to my question concerning his difficulty eating?
I scooped up his referral, thanked him sincerely, and didn't waste any time in setting up an appointment. In fact, when I was told they didn't have an opening for months, I called the doctor back and asked him to pull some weight and see what he could do to speed the process. It worked! I had an appointment, and, that in itself, meant so much to me.
Then, the day finally came. I had been granted 30 minutes to have a "professional" feed my child and see if I was onto something or not. I knew it was going to be the beginning or the end and I begged God to provide me with some kind of answer that moment.
The therapist listened to my concerns, performed her own feeding evaluation and provided me with a final conclusion. "Your son, undoubtedly, has a sensory issue." "Well, there you have it," I thought, but, "what exactly does that mean?"
She went on to explain, "that we all involuntarily react to our senses; taste, touch, smell....your son's brain is not telling him what to do with the food, so, the reaction to swallow is not happening with him. We will, literally, have to teach him how to eat." It was not the answer I was expecting, but, it was an answer!
He was sent to a children's hospital for a swallow study to rule out any physical issues, but, it came back with the same result. His issue was all sensory related. I was given a bunch of information, set up for feeding therapy, and sent out the door even more confused than I was when I first entered. It was not a "pop this pill and you will feel better in the morning" kind of situation. We were beginning a journey with no time line and no real way of understanding when we would see results.
However, I was praised by the therapist for my persistence. She told me that it is often over looked by the doctors and that many parents delay taking care of it because they, ignorantly, think it is admitting there is something wrong with their child, and, in time, they will grow out of it (which they NEVER do).
She gave me direction and hope that early intervention and therapy was the best method for his issue and I was willing to put EVERY ounce of trust I had in her to help him get through this. I have learned SO MUCH about sensory issues, myself, and my son through this experience:

There is a strong bond between your child and your self. There is such a thing as Mother's intuition and ALWAYS recognize and listen to the signals your child is sending you.

Be persistent and be prepared to try and try again, if necessary!!! Don't let your feelings be dismissed or go unnoticed. You owe it to yourself and your child!

Sensory issues are what they are. There is no rhyme or reason as to why some senses do not develop. So, get over the "how" or "why" and quickly dig into the "what can I do" and "where do we go from here" modes.

Unfortunately, there is not enough awareness or understanding about sensory issues until you experience it first hand. I have had to explain even more times than I can count that my son is not "autistic" or "delayed" or "not normal." Even when we were provided with a diagnosis, it was not a well accepted or understood reaction from others. Do not take it personally and see it as an opportunity to inform them of sensory issues.

Utilize EVERY resource possible in your community. There is an organization, provided through our local hospital and funded by our state, which has paid for all of his therapy for the first two years. Then, the school board has picked up where they left off.

My son is three years old now and has fully gained control of his sensory issue. He is able to enjoy all foods and there is no indication, whatsoever, of his earlier difficulties.


This website provides a wonderful explanation of sensory issues: http://sensoryintegrate.com/sensoryperspective.html

Image found on www.bing.com

A Mother's Intuition

Carl Sandburg once said that, "A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on." I love that saying, and, once again, hearing it has made me smile.
I am the kind of person who cheers for triumph over tragedy; I always hope for happy endings; I expect it to take a lot of patience and practice to get things right, but, I am comforted in knowing that it almost always works out in the end. However, the last couple of years has even tested the true optimist in me.....until I had children.
They have made me want to believe in the world, and, what is right with it, all over again. Having them in my life and under my care, has given me a renewed strength that failure is not an option, sadness and fear is not welcome, and life may get difficult but not impossible.
So, when I started to notice that there was something wrong with my youngest child, I no longer cared about the recession, the turmoils developing at work, my own long and painful recovery from my own ailments. Nope, none of it had a stronger bearing on me than trusting my intuition and staying focused on listening to the words he was not able, yet, to say.
There are many challenges in interpreting babies, for obvious reasons. Their only outlet of frustration is to cry and it is our job to translate their emotions in order to fix the problem. In every other respect, it was normal issues. Wet diapers, teething, crankiness, but, hunger....that became the tricky one.
By six months, he did not want food. He did not want me to change the size or flow of his bottle's nipple. I immediately brought it to his pediatrician's attention, and, was reminded that each child develops differently. There was no reason to overreact. My mind told me to listen to the doctors but my heart told me to listen to my child, and, I knew deep down, that it was not a typical rejection.
His little eyes, kind and innocent, would quickly change to torment and fear if I approached the subject of eating. He would panic and gag and cry. So, we compromised. I watered down the cereal, I didn't force anything than wasn't pureed and I kept insisting at every check up that there was a problem with his feeding skills.
It was not until he reached his first birthday, that I had actually allowed myself to have my only real breakdown over this ongoing situation. It occurred after the party was over and the guests had gone. About an hour beforehand, when the ceremonial first candle was lit, and, the adorable Winnie the Pooh cake was sat in front of him, the crowd of family and friends sang and anxiously awaited for him to smash his cake. I'm sure most of you know the importance of this moment which is proudly caught on camera and video at every first birthday. I admit it. I too, had sat my own feelings aside, in hopes that my baby would somehow get caught up in the moment and please the crowd with a smeared mess of icing in has hands and across his face. Then, one eager guest grew impatient and helped him along by physically encouraging him to touch his cake. He cried. It was that same unconsoled cry that only I knew. It fell on a roomful of sympathetic ears, but, I crumbled. I wanted to rush to soothe him and end the uncomfortableness of it all. I tried to put on a good face, but, secretly, my heart sank and I shook inside because I knew, at that moment, that enough was enough. I had to make someone listen to me and save my child from whatever THIS was........


Image Credit: Mother and Child - Mary Cassatt

The Beginning of Another Great Depression?

Every time I see this photo, it has the exact same effect on me. I see this tired woman, draped by her urchin children, obviously aged beyond her years from, what I'm guessing, is an unfortunate turn of events that has unfairly led her and her young family to this unfair point in their already difficult lives. I'm sure she was unaware at that moment that her perplexed face was being captured on film as a symbol of poverty and the inevitable effects from hopelessness. Her honest expression humbles me and reminds me that my own life can always be worse than it has ever been.
This poignant photo of a 32 year old destitute migrant worker and mother of seven, Florence Owens Thompson, entitled Migrant Mother, was taken in 1936. It is the most recognized out of a series of photographs, by Dorothea Lange, depicting the reality and despair of America's poorest and most forgotten during the height of the Great Depression.
Despite her hardships, Florence lived to be 80 years old. It saddens me that her daughter, Katherine, pictured on the left, was quoted in 2008 as saying the photo's fame made her family feel "shame of their poverty." I wish she could see how that emotional image of her struggling mother helped humanize the tragic consequences of the economy to the rest of us. It commands empathy, not pity, and, triggers me to encourage her to persevere. That sentiment is something that will forever be immortalized thanks to Florence, and, we will always be able to relate to it, no matter what generation gazes upon it.
I have viewed many other moving images from this era, varying from the huge crowds gathering on Wall Street right after the 1929 crash, the faces of the unemployed men picketing in the streets for work and food, the growing numbers of women forced into the workforce as men were drafted into the armed forces, and the devastating effects of the Dust Bowl.
Photographers documented history in the making, and, in turn, their unforgettable images will forever serve as proof a crucial time in America where the nation, and its people, were tested like no other time, until now.
Many decades later, our prosperous world, full of greedy undertones, came crashing down upon all of us right around the time I re-entered the workforce after the birth of my second child. It was 2006 and I was in the middle of the housing bubble as it began to burst in my unprepared section of Southwest Florida.
I was working for a home construction company that had gone through many changes since I first walked through its welcoming doors in 2000. Back then, it was a much smaller and humbler version of the ravenous beast it had grown into. Our reputation as one of the area's best home builders quickly transformed us into a champion in the competitive world of seducing clients into hiring us to build their elaborate dream homes in our piece of tropical paradise.
So, we steadily drew them in and took their gorgeous money and reaped the benefits for several years. However, in the spirit of Sir Isaac Newton and his concept of "what goes up must come down," those self indulgent days of upper management's hefty bonuses and frivolous spending, fuelled by our overwhelming number of dramatically increased home sales, came to a screeching halt, and, our company, like so many other home builders, were caught with its pants down, so to say, as we had not prepared financially when we should have, for that kind of halt in home construction.
The jovial and close knit environment I had grown to love was sucked out and replaced with a hollow and untrustworthy version I could not relate to. The so called "survivors"of the lay offs and pay cuts were constantly reminded to feel lucky that they still had their jobs, but, the trade off was somewhat unbearable.
My salary was frozen, my workload had tripled, and we were quickly taught to feel guilty if we were caught socializing, or, even worse, laughing during work hours. The somberness of the effects from the collapsing housing and credit markets with the lurking probability of a nationwide recession had numbed our society and crippled our sense of stability.
We knew we had become a nation driven by money and the pleasures that came with it. The bank loosened its qualifications and funded us for houses and other luxuries that most of us knew we couldn't afford. It was a "take it and worry about it later" kind of approach which America is still heavily paying for now.
So, where did we go wrong? It took a long time for our world to recuperate from the Great Depression, but, we did. We even went on to establish a united dream, which we gloriously entitled, The American Dream, and life was good for many decades.
So, fast forward to 2006 again, and the beginning of our generation's version of another Great Depression. We all knew there was a risk in getting our hands caught in that tempting cookie jar, and, yet, it never bothered us when it should have. Sure, we could blame the government, or the banks, greed, or ourselves, but, we were, undoubtedly, headed for another economic decline.
The unemployment rate rose, the foreclosures began and the ridiculous lending stopped. It was not a good time to be in Florida and employed in the construction field. I did not expect my life to end up like Florence's, but, I knew troubled times were unavoidable for me as well.
Was it the beginning of another Great Depression? I don't know if it is even fair to make that comparison. I think about those faces from back then and wonder what they would say to all of us now. Maybe their world was simpler than ours, but, why is it that they still seemed to practice a much more controlled approach to life and prosperity than we do now? Also, although, there was severe hardship and suffering in their photos, you can also see plenty of hope and determination to rebound, that I haven't seen this time around.
Maybe we should have realized when this started in 2006 that it was not going to simply go away by putting our halfhearted faith in the government and time to correct our unsightly ways. It will be interesting to see how, many years from now, our economic crisis is portrayed and if there is anyone that stands out, like Florence, who hit rock bottom, but, rose again, as a result of perseverance instead of waiting for that infamous and unseen bailout.

Image Credit: Migrant Mother, Circa 1936, by American Photographer Dorothea Lange