Tales Of The Wild Things

As a hunting, pro-gun family I have one very important thing in common with my anti-gun friends, and that is that we BOTH want to keep guns out of the hands of our kids. I remember the first time I awkwardly had "the talk" with a fellow mom. My husband had been in the garage reloading ammo and the neighbor boy was intently watching and asking questions and then said: "I'm going to tell my dad he needs to learn to do this." My heart sunk as I realized if this kid just ran home and told his parents that the neighbor was playing with bullets in his garage, it could definitely be blown-up and misunderstood. So I text his mom, and in true Brandy-style, I word vomited more than needed to be said. "Hey. We definitely weren't playing with guns around your kid. My husband is just reloading ammo. All our guns are under lock and key, but because guns were being talked about, we also told your son that he is never allowed to touch any in our house if for some ...

The pause. It's a period of time every parent facing a diagnosis for their child finds themselves in. The pause is this purgatory of denial, and research, and blame. You wonder if this is real or if you're misinterpreting symptoms. You wonder if you caused this, somehow. You wonder what this would mean for their future. You wonder if the answers might be even worse than the questions. You pause. For me, the pause started pre-diagnosis when I had to check an entire row of "not yet" boxes on a developmental questionnaire. I wore my insecurities and fear like weights tied around my ankles, and I drug my feet through the long process of seeking help. Seeking help, then turned into seeking an official diagnosis, and that added yet another weight to my body; The weight of other people's opinions about autism. Some people built me up and commended my efforts. But some, even to this day, don't believe this is a real thing and that I was just looking for an e...

Why are we so quick to judge? The other day my family and I went to the grocery store, and right as we turned to the produce isle we saw friends that we stopped to chat with. We happened to stop right between the avacado display, and the flower display. Luckily for me, Wyatt quickly turned his attention to the avacados spaced in a way that bothered him and not to the vases of flowers that were not lined up in size order. I allowed him to shuffle the avacados around because it meant he would be quiet and mostly still rather than having a meltdown before we even had a chance to start shopping, An older woman walked up as Wyatt stacked the avacados on one side of the display. She very loudly expressed her disapproval by clucking at him. I shot a glance in her direction, but very specifically chose not to acknowledge her. Then she began to lecture Wyatt about not moving the avacados because he was going to bruise them. Wyatt stared blankly at her, my husband politely joked with her, and...

I switch off the lights and change from my yoga pants to my pajamas. As I crawl into bed, I hear my husband's heavy breath from the sleep he somehow always finds way before I do. I close my eyes and try to find rest, but my head literally feels like its buzzing. It's a hive of to-dos, and worries, and Did-I-Pay-That type questions pinging off the walls of my skull. Someone once told me that it was annoying how moms acted like their job was so hard. They just wanted to complain. It's just being a mom. That thought pops into my mind as I climb out of bed to double check that the doors are locked and that the kids are ok. I guess I do complain a lot. There are surely people who have harder jobs than I do and they definitely don't get to do it from the comfort of stretchy pants and their own home. I guess I should spend more time being deeply grateful for the fact I get to work from home and spend so much time with my kids. I should be grateful I get to go to the gym...

"Autism wasn't a thing in my day." "Doctors just want to diagnose everything these days. Everybody is sick with some made up thing". "A spankin' should knock the 'autism' right out of him." Oh, the things I was told in those early days of getting Wyatt diagnosed. It was probably the most insecure time in my life. I knew the doctors were onto something, but I would listen to these people talk at me and nod my head in silent agreement, and then cry in my car on the way home because of the fear that no one would accept my son for who he was if he didn't fit the cookie cutter mold of All American Boy. I also know this story is the same for just about everyone who's child receives an autism diagnosis. Because of that, a lot of families --ours included-- choose not to talk about the diagnosis. I've finally come to realize that people don't say these things to be malicious or to devalue our children. They say it because they...

I originally thought I wanted to talk about Holiday eating on this #FitnessFriday, but I've had a change of heart. I want to talk instead about our mental health during the holidays. More specifically I want to talk about the power that we give our relatives over our happiness. Go ahead and slip into some bell bottoms and put a flower in your hair, because I'm going to drop some hippy shit on you, but hang with me. YOU are entirely responsible for the way you let other people make you feel and YOU get to decide how much joy you take away from your holiday. And that can be a really hard pill to swallow when you are sitting across the table from a family member who you just don't vibe with. So how do you combat that? How do you push away their negativity and let yourself enjoy the festivities? The truth is, it starts with your own thoughts. In these days leading up to Christmas, take the opportunity to find the positive in the things that are about to happen. I don...