Saturday, October 30, 2010

The one we missed

A friend of mine has triplets just a few months older than mine and while taking my daily scroll through face.book I noticed she had posted a great look back at pictures of their Halloweens thus far.  I looked through her pictures, mentally checking off what my kids had been each year, and wondered why I was one year of costumes short.

And the moment I remembered I wondered how in the world I could have forgotten.

I'm pretty sure that when your children are in the NICU you are in some type of time warp in which you don't really remember anything other than what kind of day they are having and if it has brought them  closer to or further from coming home.  The fact that the world was still turning outside and that holidays were coming and going was always a shock to me.   I remember heading to their sides at the end of October as I did each day and being caught off guard by the little orange pumpkins taped to their isolettes.  Halloween was our first official holiday in the NICU.

I hated it.

I did not like that someone else decorated my babies' isolettes and that I could not go buy tiny little Halloween costumes.  Nevermind the fact that I had just lost one of my daughters and was still waiting for the day that my little McKenna would even be healthy enough to hold.

But when the nurse took out this bright orange hat, knitted by one of the hospital volunteers, she made my day.  She handed my 2 lb. little man to me and I covered up his shiny bald head and took his picture with my phone because it was all I had (darn it!) and held him for as long as his little body could handle it.
And this was our only Halloween that wasn't.

Watching them now, their faces bursting with excitement of the impending sugar-filled day, you would never know that they had skipped a beat, or a Halloween.

Tonight I dusted off our box of NICU memories and showed Parker his first Halloween costume.  As he held it my mind flashed back to how fragile he truly was and I was reminded that my tiny trick-or-treater is a big, huge miracle.
Parker and his hat and McKenna holding the bow that was in her hair that day

Small Things Saturday

I think I have mentioned, every other blog post or so, that I have connected with a great group of mom bloggers who are all blogging their way through raising special needs children or coping with their own special health needs.  After many an online conversation we have decided that there is one thing that our experiences have taught us that we would like to share.... an everyday appreciation for the small stuff.

So Jen from Want a Peanut, Chris from A Crazy Kind of Faith, Amanda from Life is a Spectrum, Ginny from Lemon Drop Pie, Melody from My Twisted Stitches, Kelly from Home of Chaos and myself are starting a new blog hop...

We would love to hear from you, whether you blog or not.  Tell us something little that you took a minute to stop and appreciate.  Share as much or as little as you like, a picture, a three page essay or just a word or two.  If you blog, grab the button and link your post here.  If not just comment with your "Small Thing" on this post.

Happy Saturday!

Oh and here is my first entry...
Cereal Slurp
As much as I wanted to interrupt the mannerless fun and clean up the disaster they made of my table that I chose to crop out of this picture, I let them slurp away and enjoyed the milk-pouring-out-of-their-mouths giggles that followed.

Friday, October 29, 2010

A new guest

I mentioned last week that I have recently connected with a great group of bloggers who are all blogging under "special circumstances."  Quite a few of us have children with autism and Amanda, an amazing writer and mom of two, offered to write a guest post for me today on parenting her son with autism.  
As I read Amanda's post I realize we differ in our views because, even though I do not see autism as a sickness or something that needs to be cured I do feel that an overload of toxins (including vaccines) declared war on my daughter's developing nervous system a long time ago and we have been working hard to reverse that damage for quite some time with great results.  I'm sure that as you read this you are either shaking your head in agreement or in disbelief.  And that is fine.
I have chosen the road that is best for us and Amanda has chosen the one best for her family.
I am so glad to have met Amanda and that she wanted to share a little bit of her life here.
There are so many of us working our way through the world of autism, our journeys are as much the same as they are different.

Whether or not Amanda and I are always sharing the same map I consider myself lucky that our paths have crossed...

Loving Lampposts, curing autism, and the dark

There's an incredible documentary about autism, “Loving Lampposts,” directed by Todd Drezner, the father of an autistic son. The documentary is about the ongoing debate in the autism community: Is autism a sickness that we need to cure? Or is it a variation in the human brain and simply an alternative way to think?

The “recovery movement” is made up of those individuals – doctors, parents, therapists – who believe that there is an “epidemic,” which may have been caused by toxic vaccines, insecticides, or other environmental toxins. They look at autism as a sickness that needs to be cured or healed or from which a victim needs to recover.
The “neurodiversity” movement, by contrast, preaches against focus on cures and treatments, pushing instead for greater acceptance and support. Many autistic adults find themselves in this group, apparently, rejecting the idea that they are sick and need to be cured. That doesn't mean they don't recognize the challenge of living with autism in this world, but they would rather see more attention on embracing people with differences, rather than trying to “fix” them.
On most days now, I'm happy to consider myself a member of this second group. I do believe that autism is a fundamental part of who my son is. While the condition is to blame for many of his challenges in life, such as his communication difficulties and troubles with coordination, it is also, I believe, responsible for many of his remarkable gifts: He can easily memorize complete books, movies, TV shows. He sings pitch-perfectly and has a perfect memory for tune. He has an amazing sense of rhythm. I don't want to cure him of who he is.
But occasionally I experience what St. John of the Cross described as “the dark night of the soul.” These hours seem to last an eternity, and most frequently occur when I wake up in the middle of the night – maybe Willow needs a diaper change or, more often these days, Billy wakes us up over the baby monitor with a startlingly sudden verbatim rendition of the dance party sequence in “Charlie Brown Christmas” – and I find it nigh unto impossible to get back to sleep. During those creeping hours between about two and five a.m., I wonder, “Couldn't we just cure a couple of things? How can I recover his ability to sleep?”
And then I start planning out the next day, thinking about all the ways I can use every single moment to teach him something new. Every single moment. I'm petrified by the sense that time is slipping away from me, that a “teaching moment” might slip through my fingers, and it'll be lost forever. As though he has one moment on a Tuesday afternoon to learn how to spell “cat” and after that, the moment is gone.

It's the middle of the night. I get a little crazy.
Case in point: We had just come off a week of “stay-cation.” That's what it's called apparently when you stay at home and act like a tourist in your hometown.
We had a great week. We went to the Mary Brogan Museum, the park, the movies, the bowling alley. We tried to find “teaching moments” everywhere we went.
At the bowling alley, I showed Billy that his ball had the number 8 on it, and mine had a number 15. Each time the balls came out, he would find the number 8 or help me find my ball or Daddy's ball. It was great.
A couple of nights later, it's 3 a.m. and I'm thinking about the bowling trip. And I'm thinking about ways I could have made it more educational.
“The shoes!” I think. “There were numbers on the shoes!”
I couldn't believe I had missed that. I could have taught him his shoe size. It was printed right there on the back of his shoes. We could have talked about how Daddy's size was bigger because his feet were bigger. We could have learned sizes and “big, bigger, biggest” and which number is larger ... I could have kicked myself for missing it.
Like I said, it's 3 a.m., and things get a little out of perspective.
“I have to remember the sizes next time!” I tell myself. “How will I remember?” And it occurs to me that I have to leave myself a note. Otherwise, I won't remember by the morning, much less by the next time we go bowling.
So I sneak out of bed and downstairs at 3 a.m. to write myself a note.
And that's how I came to find Dave, the next morning, standing in front of the fridge with a puzzled expression on his face, holding a carton of milk in one hand and a Post-it note urging him, “DON'T FORGET: NUMBERS ARE ON SHOES!!!!!!!” in the other.
He doesn't even ask. He just sticks it back to the fridge with a magnetized letter “Q” and takes his milk to the table.
Billy comes to the table looking beautiful and sleepy-eyed and announces, “Cereal! With milk!” After a moment: “Please!”
And I look from Billy to the fridge covered with my crazy notes to myself and I wonder seriously about which one of us is dealing with the bigger issues.
Neurodiversity it is.
"Life is a spectrum," and Amanda Broadfoot blogs about it at www.LifeIsASpectrum.com

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Another place bites the dust

Today I found myself at the credit union, inside the credit union, with all three little ones and no stroller.  I won't get into how this happened but let's just say I had no other option and seemed to have found the only credit union branch in the state with no drive-thru teller.

I entered confident, I had talked to the kids in the car about staying by Mommy, not being too loud, not beating each other in public, etc. and I thought they may just be civilized.

From the moment we walked in the door all bets were off.

Parker headed to the brochure display and McKenna headed to inquire about getting her three year-old self a loan while I used all of my strength to keep a determined-to-get-down Sawyer in my arms.  I removed McKenna from her place in line, gave them each a brochure from Parker's quickly growing stash and steered everyone to the teller (who had NO sense of humor regarding my current children-going-crazy state).

So as I am trying to quickly handle things with the teller and stop Sawyer from ripping everything I sign I notice I can hear everything in the place too clearly and there is also a noise overhead that sounds like a speaker or microphone.

In the two seconds I was document signing McKenna had turned off their music/noise-filter and Parker had picked up the phone next to the radio and must have hit some sort of intercom button so the speaker noise overhead was MY CHILDREN.

I have to stop here and say, who uses a boom box anymore and who, in this world, keeps one two feet from their teller windows at the level of three year-olds and what is the phone for in case someone needs to make a call while in line?

I promise I have eyes in the back of my head and was turning to make sure they were not causing too much trouble every two seconds but they are fast little buggers.  Attempting to stop the madness I removed McKenna from the boom box and took the phone from Parker (silently, any comment such as "are you two insane?" or "I'm never taking you anywhere again" will be broadcast to all bank-goers).

Fortunately we were not arrested for disturbing the peace and made it out without further incident, other than the unavoidable fight over who was going to open the door when we left and then the obvious battle over who would close it.

I'm thinking our journey inside may have been worth it in the long run though.  There could be no stronger case for a drive-thru window that a visit from my children.
Parker practicing his get away run just in case I forget about today and decide to take him out in public again.

Monday, October 25, 2010

That Daddy

While cleaning up a mess worthy of a second shower for me and a bath for the rest of the crew, Parker looked over my shoulder out the window...

"Look Mommy the sun is coming up."

Awww, nothing like a child to make you stop and smile even while trying not to gag.

"It is Parker, isn't it pretty?"

"Yes.  Daddy put the sun up for us.  Daddy took down the moon and put up the sun."

Yes Parker, Mommy is on my knees putting your poo where it belongs but Daddy took down the moon and hung the sun for you.

The Sun-Hanger himself with Parker, McKenna and our nieces.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Loss Mom PSA

A friend of mine warned me not to enter Halloween USA.  Apparently they are selling a new Halloween decoration called Zombie Babies.  Who would come up with something this cruel and disgusting and who would put it on their shelves?  Sad.

I have already contacted Halloween USA and the manufacturer of Zombie Babies, Spirit Halloween and asked that they remove this item from production and from the shelves of their stores.  I also let them know how strong the loss mom community is, how many supporters we have and that I had a feeling most of us would not be giving them any business any time soon in fear of seeing something this grotesque.

If you have a minute please send them both a message, I would love to see these things taken off the shelves.  The links I gave above will take you directly to their contact pages and will not show you the Zombie Babies, I promise!

Oh and feel free to copy this post and use wherever you would like.

Friday, October 22, 2010

My first guest

I have recently connected with a great group of bloggers blogging under "special circumstances."  We have all walked paths a little ways from normal and are blogging to tell about it.  One of these amazing women has survived breast cancer and as I read her story of survival I think of the grandmother than my children will never meet.

Mark's mother passed away from breast cancer at the age of 39, leaving behind three young children.  I cannot imagine what this must have been like for her or for her children.  I am eternally grateful that she raised such an amazing son and in honor of her I have asked my new friend and breast cancer survivor, Ginny from Lemon Drop Pie, to write a guest post for me today.  I am in awe of Ginny's strength and can't tell you how much I appreciate her willingness to share her story.
Thank you, Jessica, for asking me to write this post about being a mother and surviving breast cancer. The month of October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, and this is my story about breast cancer.
Fourteen years ago, as I was wheeled into recovery, my parents were waiting for me. They sat down next to me, one on each side. The surgeon followed me, and had to deliver the news. While I don't remember the exact words he used, he told my parents something I had already heard in the operating room. I had been awake during my entire lumpectomy, as the surgeon had used local anesthesia. “The pathologist believes the lump we removed is malignant.”
My mom threw her head down in my lap and cried, “No! Not you, too!” She just sobbed.
Later, Mom told me she was embarrassed in the way she had reacted. But I understood. She didn't want her daughter to be diagnosed with the same disease she had been diagnosed with when she was 40 years old. When Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, I had just graduated from eighth grade. I was the oldest child of four. We knew that Mom was sick, but I don't think the word “cancer” resonated with us like it does now. We went to stay with friends of the family for a few days, and my sister and I were able to help take care of my younger two siblings. I don't think I realized what a scary situation my parents were thrust into.
And then, I was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 27. What a shock! This time, I knew what “cancer” meant. I was single and childless. I should have had my whole life before me, but now? What now?
I made every decision as best I could. I considered how I could keep my body healthy so that in the future, I might still be able to have children and breastfeed them. Chemotherapy can push pre-menopausal women into menopause early, so there was a chance that I might never be able to have children.
Fortunately, I didn't encounter menopause after chemotherapy, and I did meet the love of my life a few years later. We have two young daughters. I have struggled with guilty thoughts about having children. What if my cancer is genetic? What if my two girls get breast cancer someday? When I look at my two beautiful girls, those fears just float away. I never, ever regret my decision to have children.
Our family's genetic testing shows that my cancer may not be genetic...not a gene mutation that we know about, anyway. I'm just praying that we soon learn how to prevent women from getting breast cancer in the first place. Have you heard of www.armyofwomen.org? This group needs you to join, (it's free!) and when you do, you could help them find the cause of breast cancer.
Now that I've reached 40, I realize that no matter what age you are when you are diagnosed with breast cancer, you are too young. 27, 40, or 67...the age of my mom when she lost her fight with breast cancer. Please consider joining the Love/Avon Army of Women today!

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Blog Hop

This is my first week participating in the Special Needs blog hop.  Each week a question or task is posted and this week's is:

Introduce yourself and your blog to us
So here it goes... my name is Jessica and I am a wife and mom to 5.  My oldest daughter Ashlyn is 15 and has autism and then I have triplets who were born at 28 weeks.  Our daughter Hadley passed away when she was two days old and my surviving triplets Parker and McKenna have done very well despite their prematurity.  McKenna has some remaining health issues but nothing we cannot handle after the emotional roller coaster of the NICU.  After the triplets we had a little surprise, Sawyer, who is now 16 months old.  Needless to say we are a busy household and blogging has become one of my few outlets.

I try to blog honestly about life after the loss of my daughter, the ups and downs of autism and the general chaos of life as a completely outnumbered stay-at-home mom.

Thanks for stopping by!

The Autism Story

When Ashlyn was about three months old it became clear that there was not a parenting book out there that could help me.

She did not meet her milestones.  Well she did, just months, sometimes years, after they were supposed to come.  We went from doctor to doctor.  Autism was not the buzz word that it is now. and with severe gross motor delays, every doctor we met ordered x-rays and blood work and testing and testing and more testing.  Some thought is was cerebral palsy, some a genetic disorder.  No one really knew where to put us.

In the meantime we spent two days a week at occupational, physical and speech therapy (by today's standards not nearly enough) and I waited for a diagnosis with a constant tug in my mind that they were all missing something.

At three years old Ashlyn could say cheese and hot dog, she liked people but only adults, she hated the grass and the sand and tags in her clothes and getting her hair brushed and bright light and noise, but no one said autism.

She started a special education pre-school 5 days a week and she thrived.  There were kids in the class with classic autism and I did not see my daughter in them so I thought that must not be it.  Not knowing, at the time, that autism comes in as many shapes and forms as there are kids with the diagnosis.

We plugged along with no "label" just piles of discouraging testing from the school countered by amazing gains the longer she was in a classroom setting.

Eventually I learned of a nationally recognized autism expert who just happened to have an office close to us.

I drove there thinking I already know what he is going to say, I just need him say it.

He did not evaluate her the way the million doctors of the past three years had.  He brought in a doll house and wanted to watch her play.  She filled the doll house, with puzzles and books from the corner of the room.  Then she took them all out and proceeded to put them all back in again.

He looked at me as if there was never any question.
I will always remember that ride home.  I felt an odd sense of relief that we finally had a diagnosis and could move forward, but was also scared out of my mind.  Getting an autism diagnosis is like staring into a black hole.  No one can tell you what your child's future will hold.

Ashlyn is 15 now and has far surpassed any future I had imagined for her.  If you were to meet her you would not see autism unless you looked for a minute or two and knew what you were looking for.  She will talk your ear off, is great at math and can tell you all you ever wanted to know about cooking, her bus route and autism.

In all seriousness, the road to get here has been rocky and we aren't "there" yet, wherever there may be.  Every time I think we can coast for a bit we hit a bump and I fall off.  I worry about what is happening, why it is happening and what we are going to do to keep it from happening again.

She doesn't.

Ashlyn just keeps on going as she always has.  Never knowing she has a story to tell at all.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Love and War and Love Again

The theme this week for Shutterlove Tuesday is "A Story in Pictures."  

Words really are not necessary for the pictures below, especially if you have ever attempted a photo shoot with three small children...

The End

For more, less violent, picture stories visit Trendy Treehouse...


Monday, October 18, 2010

This is all I've got

Unfortunately for everyone reading, our household is full immersed in potty training and, as I sat down to blog there is not much else I can talk about.

Here are a few experiences that potty training two 3 year-olds at once has give me...

1. Saying "do you have to go potty?" so many times that now everyone is just asking each other:
    Do you have to go potty Kenna?
    Do you have to go potty Parker?
    Do you have to go potty Sawyer?
    Do you have to go potty Mommy/Daddy/Sissy? (Sissy does NOT appreciate this question)

2.  Sitting in the CVS parking lot begging my daughter, who is looking at me like I have two heads, to use the cute little portable potty that my friend, the potty genius (you know who you are), recommended.  (See #3 for results of debate)

3.  Heading through CVS to find pull ups with a 3 year old trailing behind walking like she just completed a long horseback ride since peeing down your leg while walking into the store is a much better alternative than listening to your Mommy and going on your new portable potty.

4.  Completely stripping and cleaning two car seats and covers because the refusal to use portable potty is catchy. (thank goodness for shopping trip in #3, pull ups will be worn by all seated in the back seat of our vehicle)

5.  Extensive visits to the bathroom. I have a chair in there now.  And a pillow and blanket. 
Singing, dancing, book reading, all done in the bathroom, in hopes of getting someone to stay in there long enough to get something accomplished and to avoid a trip right back in there 2 minutes later.

6.  Rearranging of the vehicle to fit their full size little potty since the portable one is not catching on.  (see #2 and #3)

7.  Prebooking dentist visits.  The amount of treats it takes to get these people to go is impressive.

7.  Creative naming of pull ups.  They are not diapers, we are far too mature for that. They are big-kid-pants-for-when-we-nap-and-go-somewhere.

And my absolute favorite...

8.  The thorough investigation of all unidentified objects.  There is no drop of liquid nor speck of brown-toned crumb that can be passed by, wiped up or swept without thorough inspection and questioning of all nearby (or faraway and hiding) parties.  NEVER. A. DULL. MOMENT.

And lastly, a bedtime conversation that sums up the learnings of our week:

Me:  Big girls...
McKenna:  go on the potty.
Me:  Right!  And big boys...
Parker:  only wipe their butts when they poop.
My crazy potty trainees + 1. Slappy happy from days and days in the house because Mommy does not want to strip clean the car seats again.

Friday, October 15, 2010

October 15th

Today, October 15th, is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance day.

Before we lost Hadley I didn't know that such a day existed.

I felt alone and shocked that I had lost a child.  I had no idea that when I was ready, there was a whole world of support out there waiting for me.

It saddens me to no end that there are so many women who are living with the pain of losing a child but at the same time, I don't know how I would have gotten through the last 3 years without them.

Some I have met in person, some I have emailed or talked with over the phone, some I have only met in the blog world and followed their journey through daily posts, finding comfort in their familiar feelings and hoping their good days out weigh the bad.

On this day of remembrance my hope is that others realize that pregnancy and infant loss touches many, many more women that you could ever imagine.  I appreciate everyone who comes here because I know that you know Hadley through me and her memory will live on through those who remember.

So today I remember all of the loss moms and their angel babies whose paths I have crossed over the last 3 years.

I never knew what strength I would find through all of you.

Heather and Ari
Dana and Benjamin
Amy and Caitlin
Allison and Alex
Ellen and Abigail and Emma
Jennifer and Logan
Veronica and Andrew
Karen and Hunter
Lisa and Alexander and Liam
Mishael and Emmalin and Elianna
Andrea and June and Charlie
Melinda and Bailey
Sarah and Alexander
Amanda and Levi
Becky and two of her triplets
Heather and one of her triplets
Nancy and Shelby, Megan and Lynne
Christina and Angelina and Gabriella
Natasha and Konstantin
Jill and Emma and Chase
Kristen and Peyton
Rachel and Courtney, Colin and Jaxon
Brianna and Lucia, Bennet, Tryg, Lincoln and Cadence
Martha and James
Laura and Andrew and Baby E
Allison and Ethan
Liliana and Angelito
Francesca and Jenna Belle
Kim and Jayce
Nikki and Finbar
Cathi and Gwyn, Raiden and Ryker
Jennifer and Emily
Keira and Zoe
Courtney and Logan, Wyatt and Brody
Jaime and Adam
Jennie and Katelyn

If they have a blog and you have a minute please visit one of these amazing moms today, read their story  and let them know their baby or babies will be remembered by you on this day.
In loving memory of Hadley Jane
October 9, 2007 - October 11, 2007

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Baby face

The theme this week for Shutterlove Tuesday is "Babies."  
I think this is my favorite baby picture ever and we have lots to chose from!

To view all of the baby entries this week visit the Trendy Treehouse...


Monday, October 11, 2010


Three years ago today you became an angel.

When I woke up this morning, my heart was heavy with the weight of this day.  I planned to blog about the heartache and pain of life without you but as the day went on plans changed...

We started out your day as we have each year since you left us Hadley.
We visited Grandma, and thanked her for taking care of you.
We sent you three pink balloons and watched them float up until you could reach them.

And then we headed home.

But as we made the drive home, your brothers and sister started getting a little antsy so we had to pull out all the stops.  We sang songs, counted buses going by (you know how Parker loves them), took off shoes and socks and tickled feet, whatever we could do to keep the car happy.

And that is when you told me what we should do next.

You said not to worry about naptime or laundry or answering the phone.

You told me it was beautiful outside and we should head out for our last boat ride because it will not be this nice again until spring.
And to tell Daddy to go fast because going slow is no fun.
You said we should have cupcakes for dinner
and that I should let your brother have one more when he asked.
You said to hold each other tight... your brother and sister had no problem with that one.
So we spent our afternoon just how you wanted us to, Hadley.

We played and giggled and filled the house with kisses and hugs, extra bedtime stories and I love you's, because you only live once and you never know just how short that life will be.

I hope we make you proud baby girl and that you looked down on us and smiled today.  You have taught us the fragility of life and how to cherish each other and how to love deeper than we ever thought possible.  

I miss you more than words could ever say but  I will always be grateful for all you have taught me and promise to cry for you less and celebrate you more. 

Your Mommy

Saturday, October 9, 2010

We are 3!

Baby A- McKenna 2 lb. 10 oz.
Baby B- Parker 1lb. 14 oz.
Baby C- Hadley 2 lbs. 5 oz.

McKenna 1 year old
Parker 1 year old

McKenna 2 years old
Parker 2 years old

My 3 year old beautiful girl
My handsome 3 year old little man

What an amazing three years. You have brought more love to your mommy and daddy than you will ever know.  
As we put you to bed last night, on the eve of your third birthday I heard this as I shut the bedroom door...

Good night McKenna
Good night Parker
Happy Birthday McKenna
Happy Birthday Parker
Your birthday is October 9th McKenna, 
I will bake you a cake.

The only thing sweeter would have been one more little voice echoing the same.

Happy 3rd Birthday my sweet babies

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Send me a rainbow

Next week it will be three years since we lost Hadley.

I still struggle to "see" her somewhere.

She was so tiny and her life was so short that I do not have a laundry list of things to stumble upon through my days that will remind me of her.
I can only guess what would make her smile, what color she would insist on wearing or what food she would want to eat at every meal.
There isn't a song she loved that I can listen to or a favorite toy that I can trip over when her siblings leave it out.
So as I finish planning what should be her third birthday party I have found myself sifting through the small box of things that were lucky enough to be against her skin.
And know I am in need of a rainbow.

Rainbows have always been Hadley to me.

She has sent them to me on the darkest of days.

When I see one I think of Hadley and all of the other babies of the many loss mommies I have met, happy together, sending a little color to remind us that they are somewhere beautiful and we are okay.

So as Hadley's day draws near I need one but there is no rain in sight.  I love finding them on my own and will take one any way I can get it (in the sky, a reflection off of a glass, in a bubble, I even bought an umbrella with rainbow stripes).

So I have a little request... if you have a rainbow or see one soon, could you send a picture to me?  I'm not sure what I am going to do with them yet but know that I want as many as I can get.

You can email me your pictures to jessb_27@hotmail.com

Thank you

Tuesday, October 5, 2010


No one held up "Happy" but you get the idea...

My group shot didn't work too well either... how did I miss that huge crumb balancing on Sawyer's chin??
It's the thought that counts right?  (No, I did not glue them to the couch, I just happened to take a picture in the millisecond they were all sitting.)

Happy Birthday to one amazing Daddy and husband!!

Sunday, October 3, 2010


This is a total departure from my normal topics but something has been on my mind all week...

There have been quite a few stories of intolerance towards the gay community in the news lately.  I won't go on and on about the subject and my thoughts about that fact that it is completely ridiculous that there is ANY population of people in the country who do not have the same rights as every one else but I will say this...

one of the most amazing people I know is gay.

He should be able to get married, have children if he wants to and he should never, ever have to worry about being who he is.

I wish that he never had to go through the struggle of learning to accept himself despite what society said about his sexual orientation and I wish I had known he was struggling when he was so that I could have held his hand through it.

I thank God everyday that he made it through that struggle and came out the other side happy with himself and who he is.

Lately I have heard far too many stories of teens in the shoes he once wore who could not see the light at the end of the tunnel who decided to stop their journey far far too soon.  I think about the families they have left behind who are reeling with grief, wishing they had known and had done something to make their brother or sister, son or daughter feel "okay" with who they were.

It is so sad to me that we are still living in a world that cannot accept each others differences.

I hope, hope, hope that someday my children, or my children's children, will be reading about this time in their history textbook, appalled at the fact that there was a time when their amazing, smart, kind, talented uncle was treated one bit differently than the rest of the world.

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