{Originally published by Susannah at Petunia Face.}

When I was born my name was Amanda. But my brother was already Andy and my parents didn’t want people to call us Andy and Mandy so the birth certificate was changed, and I was no longer Amanda.

I wonder what my life would have been like had my parents kept the name. I think my eyes would have been bigger, softer. I would have looked good in blue.

Later on I told people my name was Heidi. I wore my hair in braids and pretended the very slight hill leading up to our house on Scenic Avenue was an alp in Germany. My cat Dumb Darrell Chicken Liver Whip Whap Sick Sack was a goat. After that I was Penny from The Rescuers, then Jo from The Facts of Life which was about the time I tried speaking with a Brooklyn accent even though I had never even been. Later it was Samantha, again from Brooklyn, this time from Who’s the Boss. She had sharp eyeteeth and bitchin’ big bangs. Meanwhile I had a space in between my front teeth and frizz.

I no longer go by different names. I am Susannah and I don’t look good in blue. But at times I am a mommy, other times a mother. I am an employee, a friend, a daughter, a wife, a sister, the anonymous person in line behind you at the supermarket. I am the bitch who cut you off on the freeway. I am one name but a thousand different people when earlier, when I was young, I was many different names but one single me. Even when I spoke in an accent that was not my own. I was me no matter the name.

{Short story originally posted in L’Chaim}

She pops up the red flag , glancing over her shoulder as she does. They all do. She looks at the sky and presses the palms of her hands to her eyes.

It’s Jack I feel bad for. A postal worker in life, he didn’t know he’d be required to continue his courier services by death.

When she’s gone, I collect the letters, one from her to “Mrs. Virginia Anders” and two others. Mrs. Anders is her mom. Or is it was? I’m never sure on these things. I know this because this is her third letter to leave. The first was tentative. “I miss you and love you.” You could tell she didn’t know where this was going. The second letter was needier. “I could use you this week! What do I tell him?”

I steam the envelope to her third letter and carefully peel open the flap. She’s angry, oh so angry! “How could you leave me!” she says. In spots, the writing smudges. The color of the ink distends into this circle with ragged edges. The paper’s wrinkled.

Then I do something I’ve never done with any of the letters. I add a note at the bottom. “Mrs. Anders,” I write. “Please don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.” I refold the letter, return it to the envelope, and glue the flap shut again. Then I take it and the rest of the letters in a metal bowl to John’s gravesite. I light a match and watch them burn like I have for two years now. It’s not in my job description.

{Originally posted on MizFitOnline}

First the tip (please to file under seriously does she think we’ve never heard this before? and then cross reference under no, People, but I am hoping to trigger an Ah Ha! moment in you).

Goal setting.

It’s that time of year my MizFit friends.

While many of us set fitness goals in January the greater number of us launch full fledged workout attacks/diet revamping & newer loftier fitness goals as bathing suit time approaches.

(brief aside. two things. first? MizFit does not condone this and actually adores the I dont give a crap care attitude. second? I actually overheard a conversation at a local park between two mothers where they were discussing dropping their carbs in anticipation of the community pool opening. Really, People, please to promise me that you shall never become that obsessed. It’s all about health: feeling better, living longer, living healthier.)

Whether your goal is rocking the tankini with confidence or running in your first race the most important things is setting S.M.A.R.T. goals (here’s where you hit print):

It’s really quite easy to do and, just as with our trunk stocking last week, sets you up for success with regards to goal achievement.

By way of example lets use my goal of incorporating more yoga/meditation time in my life.

S. Be sure your goal is specific. Quite. I will start doing my Rodney Yee yoga dvd 3 times a week at 715 pm whilst wearing my boxers and a tank top (yes, Im kidding, but you get the idea. details are key.)

M. Measurable. I will know my goal is accomplished when I do the above.

A. Attainable. The ole notion of setting ourselves up for success. For example, I shouldn’t plan to have a yoga studio opened by mid-April.

{Originally published on SUSIEJ}

At my annual check-up this week, my doctor pulled out that little stick, drew the blood like a vampire and certified that I am low in iron levels; a major contributor for my exhaustion. So, together, we worked out a plan of foods, herbs and supplements she approved of, to help me feel energized and happy.

So far, I’ve emailed portions of this list to many friends, other tired women who say the same thing, “I’ll do anything to feel better.” And they mean it.

We’re sick and tired of walking around exhausted, while our kids are running circles around us. So here, is the list, hammered out with the help of my doctor, to bring my energy levels back up to normal. My favorite? The greens… instant energy in a powder. Another benefit — it makes me feel full, so I end up eating less. Enjoy!

1. Herbal Teas: Anemia (low-iron levels in the blood) is common among women, with side affects of fatigue. Your doctor can preform a blood test to find out if you have this or not. If you learn that you are low in iron, one safe way to restore your iron levels — and energy — is through teas made from the following roots; now widely available at whole foods. These herbs are the roots of yellow dock, burdock, dandelion, and Chinese wild yam. Gather a teaspoon of any or all of these dried herbs, and pour boiling water on top, cover and let steep overnight. Strain and drink.
2. Greens: Sometimes, the last thing we need is another supplement; what we really need is healthy nutrition. None of us eat enough greens, yet their full of vital minerals and vitamins. Greens Plus, is a powder that you mix with water or juice, and it provides you with the benefits of greens in one drink. Don’t even bother with the chocolate-flavored powder- it’s horrible. Berry is a much better alternative; but don’t get me wrong, the stuff is not going to be one of your most favorite-tasting beverages; but like most Moms I’ve talked to have said, “I’ll drink anything to feel better.”
3. Carrots: Carrot juice also assimilates iron quickly in your blood stream. Carrot soup, or a vegetable-based soup of carrot and beets, will increase your iron levels naturally.
4. Watch the Tea: Black tea, my favorite bevereage, unfortunately does slow down the absorption of iron. So monitor your intake. So, instead of making yourself another cup of tea in the afternoon, make your self a drink of greens plus.

{Originally published on Hope4Peyton}

I lost a child already.

When I was 21, before I met Peter, I miscarried a baby that I hadn’t even known that I wanted until the moment the choice was taken away from me. My first instinct was to get rid of that baby, that I wasn’t ready, I wasn’t prepared. I spent days planning to make this inconvenience go away. Then the clarity came that I might never BE ready for a baby, but I had one now and I was going to do my best to be a mother. I told the father. I cried when I told my mom. But I was sure I was making the right decision.

Three days later I lay in the hospital, as the child I was just starting to anticipate was lost to me forever. I cried tears from a place inside me I never knew existed. I mourned the baby that was never to be in my arms. I spent weeks laying on my bed, unable to make myself get up, move, bathe, want to live. I felt the most incredible guilt I think a person could feel because I knew in my heart that I had wished that baby away in my days of uncertainty. And now it was gone.

I spent years waking from dreams of a crying baby, me wandering halls, searching frantically for that child. I spent months unable to even bear looking at a pregnant woman or a baby snuggled in its stroller. My best friend had a newborn and I was angry and resentful that she got to have her baby. There aren’t words to describe how I felt after my miscarriage: devastated, destroyed, incomplete.

And this was a child I’d never even seen. Let alone cuddled in my arms. I’d never stared into its eyes, felt it’s silky skin against mine, soothed its cry with the touch of my lips to its brow. I still grieved for that child with every fiber of my being.

{Originally published on Surely You Nest}

Well, my friends. It’s that time of year again. Time to snap those wallets shut and think about the true meaning of the holidays (even if you are not religious). I really love tradition, and celebrating with my family and friends. And usually, making the green choice involves having forethought and carefully planning how to tackle an event. So here are a few successful strategies I’ve found for limiting the giving-and-getting beast over the upcoming holiday season. Consider this a to-do-list for myself for the fall.

Halloween

• Make our costumes; the more I can upcycle the better (signed up for a basic sewing class!)
• Buy pre-packaged treats to offer kids at the door (I just ordered fair trade chocolates from Global Exchange) including non-food options like stickers and pencils, but make (more alluring) homemade stuff for the kids we know — like caramel apples or silly looking cookies
• Get my kids to collect for Unicef
• Order kit to educate adults about fair-trade chocolate issues (from Global Exchange – deadline is Oct. 1 for groups and Oct. 13 for individuals)
• Make our decorations (ghosts out of tissues or handkerchiefs, paper-and-paint old-school decor)
• Head out to the country for apple picking, hay rides, and selecting the perfect jack o’lantern from the pumpkin patch
• Have a blast carving pumpkins and eating roasted pumpkin seeds

{Originally posted at Missives From Suburbia}

The Ambassador is a notoriously picky eater. More so than the average two-year-old from what I gather by comparing notes with my mom friends. I’m sure it’s a stage. Well, I hope it’s a stage, and he hasn’t inherited my father’s abysmal taste in food (everything dry, please, and burn if it you have the time, thanks). I suppose we’ll find out in about 20 years or so.

But really, it’s bad. The Ambassador won’t even touch the usual kid foods. No chicken fingers, no hot dogs, no pizza, no spaghetti, and let’s not discuss condiments of any kind. We’ve resorted to things like boxed mac & cheese, Hamburger Helper — which I’d never even tasted before a couple months ago — and our current fallback, Taco Bell’s Beef Combo Burritos.*

Truth be told, Hubby does end up taking the kid out to lunch more than I do, but that’s because I’m too lazy to leave the house most days, not because Hubby is any less concerned about The Ambassador’s nutritional well-being. Anyway, knowing how often they dine out together, it didn’t surprise me the other day when we swung by the Taco Bell in midtown Minneapolis (aka, the Taco Bell voted most likely to be held up at gunpoint), and Hubby said, “Hey! That’s the pimp and the hooker I told you about last time we were here!” Uhhh… refresh me on that one, honey?

{originally published on Because I’m The MOM}

When I started this blog I wanted it to be about my family, one of whom has special needs. What I didn’t want was a Special Needs Blog. I realized though, that to ignore Thomas’s story altogether means that there are things I can’t say because they wouldn’t make sense. So here you go.

When I got pregnant with Thomas I was considered high-risk because I was 36. My ob-gyn suggested that I have the 11-week Nuchal Translucency Test. No problem, I thought, this just goes along with being a little older. I have to say though, that every time someone said “advanced maternal age” within earshot I wanted to smack them sideways and shout “I’m not FIFTY for God’s sake. I’m 36! I’m YOUNG.”

About 2 minutes into the test I saw the sonographer’s face go still and she got very quiet. Not a good thing. She summoned the doctor, a very kind man with a very serious face, and he told me that there was a 50% chance there was something genetically wrong with my baby. Probably something like Down’s Syndrome. My husband and I were devastated, of course, and thus began my running of a veritable gauntlet of tests for the next 24 weeks. The thing is, EVERY SINGLE TEST came back normal. Chorionic Villus Sample? Normal. Multiple in-utero echocardiograms of Thomas’s heart? Normal. Ultrasound after ultrasound? Normal. The doctors were elated, but deep inside I knew there was still something wrong.

{Originally posted on Salt and Chocolate}