We all have a ton of pet peeves.  It doesn't matter if it's simple stuff, like I hate it when the kids leave the top off the toothpaste.  Maybe it's more complex things like how it really rubs me the wrong way when you're expected to be at a doctor appointment at a specific time, but your provider doesn't have to follow the same rules.  They can be hours late without so much as an apology.  But what I think I hate the most is when pieces of your life that are painful, are dragged out, tossed in your face rather unexpectedly, and you're left wondering what just happened and how it triggered a PTSD issue.
That escalated quickly, didn't it?  Yeah, that's how I felt too.
I had a simple followup appointment scheduled with a provider.  After going through the usual, height (I haven't grown - surprise!), weight (yep, same there too) and bp (mostly dead all day) check, the medical assistant flipped through my chart and asked if I had 2 live births and a miscarriage, abortion, whatever.

Sorry Skippy

The King and I sat there looking at each other in absolute, stunned silence.  It was that scene out of Boondock Saints, the one with the cat.  We couldn't believe that just f***ing happened.
She wandered out of the room, and the King asked if that was the way it was usually asked - or if it even was.  It typically isn't brought up, certainly not in the manner and tone that it was (especially not lumped together as though losing a child at enough weeks you start having OB appointments and an abortion are interchangeable), and never by a medical assistant.  By this time the PTSD was starting to catch up with me.  The shakes were starting, the sights, smells, and sounds were coming back in all their detailed glory and it was getting hard to not cry.  The urge to flee and get out of a medical environment was overwhelming.  We left the provider's office without staying for the actual appointment and made it back to the relative safety of the car before the tears were starting.
Complaints were made to the practice, the doc was supposed to call me about the info, etc.  She did after four days and only spirals down from there, and it was left at transfer my records, I'll find a second opinion, since theirs wasn't an option and grossly inappropriate.
It's been years since an episode like that has hit me out of the blue.  I hate that I don't get to control how my brain gets to deal with things sometimes, and that's a pet peeve too.  Stupid brain, thinking it knows what it should be doing.  It's a jerk and really shouldn't be in charge of things like that.
It took at day out with the girls to just put it aside for a bit and a long weekend to work myself through the process of dealing with the loss all over again, making sense of it, sorting though how I felt then and now and separating them.  It's a difficult and painful process and it's not something I've shared before, or talked about in a way that has any meaning to anyone but me.  I'm still not sure about pressing the little orange button that says publish on it, or just leave this as some sort of therapeutic journal entry.
Part of me says maybe someone else needs to hear they aren't alone in their pain and how they feel and deal with their loss.  I'm right there with you sister, you're not alone.  I'd say trying talking to a professional who deals with PTSD, or another woman who's been in your shoes.  This walk is like wearing a pair of Louboutin's on a cobbled sidewalk for five miles and you've already broken a heel.  It sucks ass on so many levels.

When we bought our house it came with some really awesome features.  Some of those marvelous features were 70's wood-like paneling and wallpaper the likes of which powder scented grannies everywhere would kill for.

Each morning is almost the same at our house.  Up a little late, a hot shower, quick scramble for clothes and breakfast.  Then, I look at the boys, giggle at what they are wearing, help them fix it and wonder why the King is staring blindly into his side of the closet.
Is there a giant spider in there?
A monster actually living in the deepest darkest corners?
Perhaps the shoes have finally reproduced in the middle of the night and I have a new pair of peep toe sling backs?
Nope, not even close.
Another day and he has no idea what to wear.

I've always thought that having less in the options department would help a King out.  Guess not.  I've resorted to Pinterest in the past to help him conquer his daily struggle with the closet.  It was simply time to put together a few more wardrobe capsules so he could mix and match his way through the week.

Blues and Greys

Tans and Greens

The purpose of any wardrobe capsule is that you take a few classic pieces and then interchange seasonal or trendy pieces with them.


In the first capsule, the classics are jeans, leather jacket, dress shirt, boots and vest.  By adding in a henly, military sweater a pair of cargos and a sleek sneaker you end up with more than 10 other looks.

The second capsule is the same idea.  The classics are the dress shirts, a flannel, jeans and then boots and a suede oxford.  Add in different sweater, a quilted vest, some cargos and a sleek sneaker you have a span of items that go from office to weekend wear.

You can find both of these wardrobe capsules and a few more on Pinterest.

I know it's been forever since I've posted, and those of you that know me personally or read here from time to time know I've gone back to college.  I started back in January and have done 41 credits so far this year.  I'm looking to get at least another 6 in before the end of the term, and if I'm lucky 12.  I chose a competency based school (WGU) instead of seat hours.  I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying college at my own pace.  So much nicer getting paired with a stoner who never shows up to class and to whom your grade is tied to.

Happy Fall!

The stores are all adverting for back to school deals this time of year, and if you're like me, you're wondering what do I actually -NEED- for my minions this year?  

We do cyber school, which as far as I'm concerned is the best thing ever.  All the benefits of homeschooling with the added benefit of lesson plans, books, and schedules you don't have to make up!  This also means I don't have to worry as much over the big list of supplies (no more buying glue sticks by the case, yay!) the school is begging for this year.  I just have to worry about their clothes and fitting and if they have a few pencils, pens and paper to write and take notes with.

We don't have worries over Joey's shoes are cooler, or Bobby has better jeans than me.  We also don't have bullying issues, or worrying over when lunch is.  The minions come to work with us each day, have their own office to go to school in, and have to dress for the office too.  In our case it's business casual and casual Fridays.

 I've posted these lists before, and they are on my pinterest as well, but I thought I'd dust them off and get them out again.

My minions are responsible for their own clothes and keeping what's in them up to date with sizes - with some minor help.  The list to the left is great to give your kid(s) an idea as to what they need or should have.  The size card is great to keep in their wallets so they always know what sizes to buy.

Next week we'll be back to school shopping for whatever the minions determine they need based on the list and rules for the office.  We'll also be comparison shopping to get the most we can for the money.

What do you end up buying for Back to School?

Emily Perl Kingsley wrote this essay back in 1987, and I think it's a nice parting thought to start the weekend with.


I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.