Mom

Imagine this. 

Your husband catches a fish- one of twenty safe foods your youngest can eat and yet the ONE food your third-borne is allergic to. 

You provide a substitute protein for her.   You serve it with rice- which your youngest can’t eat (FPIES) so you also offer cauliflower rice.  

There are two more children in this picture.  Two more children, 

(one of which has recently claimed she is a vegetarian) who also have needs and preferences, so you make sure to offer a variety of veggies and proteins on the table to satisfy all.

So goes the life of mom.

Honestly, my biggest fear is if something were to happen to me.  I have an emergency binder, but I worry how this show could go on.

This Sunday is Mother’s Day.  It’s just one day out of 365 but it is meaningful to moms all around the world.  

It’s a day to be seen for our service to our children, our families and our world.  

Please see us.  Thank us.  And send your love. 

-Mom

13

13 pills.

13 years old.  

I’m not sure how I managed to block this memory but once someone directly asked me if I had ever attempted suicide it all came flooding back. 

The tears as I swallowed each one. 

The shame I felt when I admitted what I had done to my stepdad. 

The disappointment in his face. 

The thickness of the charcoal I drank. 

The sharpness of the catheter.  

But most of all, the sadness. 

The overwhelming loneliness I felt, as a child. 

They always cornered me in the stairway- called me “mosquito bites” for my underdeveloped breasts, wrote LD (for learning disabled) on my shoes, and taunted me with the word “virgin” when I had no clue what it meant.  

When you are in a class with a total of 14 children, nine of which are boys, there are few places to hide.  

I was easy prey.  

Knowing what I know now, as a mother and a teacher, I no longer feel shame for that little girl. 

I feel so sorry for her.  

I wish someone had helped her before she felt like dying was better than living.  

And if by sharing my story, I prompt anyone reading to look someone in the eye and ask, “Are you ok?”, then the courage to put this into words was worth it, after all. 

If you or a loved one is having suicidal thoughts please reach out for help. You are worth it. https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org

After

What happens after?

Do you remember when you tasted something for the first time?

The equal mixture of excitement and apprehension?

That’s how I am feeling these days. 

Just when I thought things with our youngest couldn’t get any harder, they hit (what I hope is) rock bottom back in December 2020.  My husband and I were surviving on fumes- every night wondering if we should take our daughter to the hospital to find some magical cure for her nightmare flaring skin.  I was in the bathtub with her nightly at 2 am to help calm the itch and waking up at 7 a.m. to homeschool her three big sisters, thanks to the pandemic.  We knew we could not survive much longer. 

So we prayed.  We asked everyone we knew to pray and add her to their prayer list and we searched.  I spent hours and days and weeks and months researching and meeting with specialists of every kind from Virginia to Pennsylvania to Michigan and California to find any possible relief as we all, particularly she, continued to endure a living hell.  

We changed her diet, we had her relentlessly tested for multiple issues and within the last month, she has improved.  

But what happens after?

What happens once you emerge from trauma?

I’ve been waking up with Elizabeth every night for three years and even my pregnancy with her was ridden with weekly appointments due to concerns with her growth. 

How do I adapt to “normal”? 

I’ve been changing diapers for over 9 years nonstop and now she is potty training.  

What happens when I’m not?

Who am I now?

What taste is this?

Camille Vaughan Photography

My friend, Camille

It’s because of you, 

That I see this the way that I do. 

Not just another annoying mess to clean up, 

But an insight into their creativity and creations. 

You asked, on very short notice, for permission to start taking photos inside our home, before our session. 

You wanted to record life, as is, not necessarily as I wanted it to be seen. 

And you promised me that one day, I would appreciate these details. 

The toys I would have long forgotten, strewn around the background. 

The nakedness of my children, refusing to get dressed for our family session. 

So when I spotted this plastic tea cup hidden behind a tissue box in my bathroom tonight, I smiled. 

Appreciating the imagination that must have gone into placing it there, rather than exclaiming my exasperation at the limitless mess of mothering four children. 

It’s because of you,

That I appreciate my children the way I do. 

And there will never be enough words to say thank you. 

Taryn Segelstrom Boyd

Grace

You are asleep.

But I am awake.

Utilizing the only alone time I have in a 24 hour day to research alternatives and specialists that might be able to help my child.

This is LIFE UNSEEN!

We are all juggling something unseen.

Not all must be shared but sometimes it’s easy to believe all is well, when in reality, it is a-n-y-t-h-I-n-g but.

This is not a cry for attention but a cry for grace.

Grace to all you meet for you CANNOT know what they are battling.

We must give love to heal one another.

And if spreading this message is Elizabeth’s purpose in life, then, Lord, here we are.

The Road Not Taken

Los Angeles. Studio City, to be precise. 

That’s where I was headed in 2005, with a roommate I’d spoken with for months over AOL but had never actually met in person. We had the lease to our apartment and I had a lead to a job as a script-writer with Dreamworks Studio. 

Instead, I pulled the plug two weeks before I was set to move.

It remains to be, the road not taken for me.

In place of California. I lingered on the East Coast taking a room with a family of 6. In exchange for room and board, I provided care for the kids.  As the youngest of 8, I had never had 4 younger “siblings” before and was terrified.  Quickly, I adapted, finding myself taking particular interest in that first grader mastering reading.  

I read the book What Color is Your Parachute by Richard Nelson Bolles and shockingly wondered if he could be right- were the childhood games I played as a teacher my destiny?  Had I known and denied all along? 

I moved back to my hometown in my own blissful, 1-bedroom apartment,  and volunteered in the fourth grade classroom at my tiny, private elementary school, just to see if it was worth pursuing.  

And, oh, it was. 

I. Came. Alive. 

Yes, this is where I was meant to be all along. 

Until I had my own four children and stayed home to care for them. I quit my job as teacher and became Mama.

 I started my own blog to continue my pursuit of writing.  

Then a Pandemic hit and again, I became teacher. 

“I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
-Robert Frost
Camille Vaughan Photography

Necessity

Let me guess,

You didn’t want to, right?

But you had to.

Out of necessity.

Yea, I get it.

I’m that advocate, too.

And, likely, over half of those poor bastards you interact with on a daily basis are in the same spot.

Stuck, but still caring.

Trapped, but still loving.

Cornered, but still exploring options.

Always, continuously, every day.

Caring. Loving. Advocating.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Tired, but Repeat.

Exhausted, but Repeat.

No other options so, Repeat.

Yea, we’re tired.

But you know what else?

We’re resilient as hell.

We can see others differently, in spite of.

We can empathize.

We can offer a hand.

We can endure,

Out of necessity.

Camille Vaughan Photography

Appreciate

He said, “I appreciate you, babe. I see you, and I appreciate you.”

After a long day, hell, a long 8 years, there’s nothing that man could have said that would have felt better to hear than that.

It was just the right thing to say.

He wants to be able to take more of the load off of me, but the fact of the matter is, I’m the momma.

I’m the teacher.

I’m the one they want in the middle of the night and, honestly, all day.

No, he can’t be me.

But he sure as hell can see and appreciate me.

And that’s all I need.

Dee Akright Photography