About Me

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I am a below knee amputee. More importantly, I am also Mommy to two boys, a very active 10 year old (Robby) and an mischievous toddler (Timmy). I have learned that being a parent with a disability can create some unusual and sometimes humorous situations. This blogger is available for hire! Let's talk and learn how a blog can expand your business.

Friday, April 07, 2017


Happy Spring Break! 

Yesterday was Robby's last official school day until after Easter. Picking him up from school he was giddy with excitement, vowing to enjoy eleven full days of fun, relaxation and "no learning whatsoever." My young lad is going to be disappointed when he realizes that I have some yard work projects in store for the coming week. However, I'm a nice Momom so I'll allow him to enjoy his revelry before bursting his bubble. 

Scott's vacation starts at the end of the school day today, and then we will all be together for the next week and a half. I know that Hamlet is going to be delighted to have his brother and Daddy home for an extended period of time.  While I doubt that he will be helpful with our yard work, I'm certain that he'll thoroughly enjoy being outside and in the middle of the action. Who knows, maybe we can channel his love of throwing things to help us clear sticks out of the yard. 

I know that by the middle of next week I'll be ready for my routine to resume, but I'm going to try to make the most of enjoying everybody being home. I'm bringing out the paper plates and stocking the freezer with assorted snacks in an attempt to minimize my "family vacation workload." Hopefully this time we will all be able to relax and enjoy the vacation.

Thursday, April 06, 2017

"Patching Up" the Green Belt

Yesterday my little karate Koopa earned his green belt. I am so proud of the effort that he has put towards this accomplishment. Physical feats do not come easy for him, mainly because of some equilibrium issues from his hearing problems, but what he lacks in natural skill he makes up for with grit and determination. He isn't the most graceful, but he never gives up!

What should have been a proud moment was marred at the end of last night's belt ceremony. I knew as soon as the instructors started bestowing special patches on select students that my kiddo was going to leave the mat with hurt feelings. The pride that he felt when his belt was tied around his waist evaporated when his name was not called to receive a patch. Instead of celebrating his accomplishment, he quietly asked me why his instructors don't like him.

If the patches are necessary, I suggest that the instructors consider doing it privately. Holding up select students on a higher pedestal during a ceremony meant to honor all who have earned their belts only serves to deflate those not chosen for special recognition. Perhaps privately handing a student a patch after a particularly good skill session would be more appropriate. I need to be clear on this point: I would feel the exact same way had Robby been selected to receive a patch.

I don't believe that his not receiving a patch was a purposeful slight. In fact, I think that the feelings of all of the students was not on the radar of the instructors. We live in a prize driven society, and the patches are simply an extension of that mentality. Instead of allowing kids to feel the pride from working hard to earn something, we now try to pad the experience by creating extra awards and recognition. Unfortunately, creating awards has the opposite effect by devaluing the accomplishment for each student who worked hard and earned the belt.

Wednesday, April 05, 2017

Storm Door

Although we have the best of intentions, Scott and I are not particularly adept at home repairs. Try as we might to remain calm and focused, our projects almost always end up with bloodshed, bruises and more cursing than one would hear on a pirate ship. Because we don't have a stellar track record, we tend to wait until something is completely broken or debilitated before embarking on the project.

Our front storm door had been hanging by two hinges for the past two years. We've had to physically lift the door up to put it back into place whenever it was opened. Because the door didn't close without our not-so-subtle fix, it had become a source of embarrassment whenever anybody came over. Despite not hanging properly, not closing completely and being rotted through the bottom, we procrastinated procuring a replacement because we dreaded the installation.

Over the weekend we finally had enough of our broken down front door and decided to tackle the project. With tools in hand, Scott set out to remove the old door which turned out to be easy because it was only secured with two hinges. Because the removal was so easy, Scott and I were optimistic that the new door would go up as easily.  After all, even the box boasted "easy to hang" written in large red letters.

The box is a liar. It took three hours, multiple attempts and more than one episode of colorful language to get the "easy to hang" door in place. At one point it was resting squarely on top of my prosthesis so that Scott could line it up properly. (A benefit of being an amputee I suppose; I was able to keep the door in position without feeling any pain or expending any effort.)

After an afternoon that was worth of our procrastination, the door is finally hung and fully operational. It looks and works great. Soon our bruises will heal and we will be able to look at it without scorn and resentment.

Tuesday, April 04, 2017

Shattered Glass

I think we missed the mark when we bestowed the nickname of Hamlet onto Timmy. In retrospect, we should have called him "Boo Boo" because my sweet little boy is constantly covered with bumps, scrapes, bruises and cut lips. He is my little carefree daredevil who lives to push the limits. In other words, he scares the heck out of me!

Yesterday morning I was cleaning up in the kitchen while Robby was on the computer and Timmy was in the playroom. Within moments, my typical morning turned into a panicked meltdown. Timmy walked into the kitchen and handed me a bucket, filled with broken glass and covered with blood.

I yelled for Robby to bring me a towel while I lifted Timmy onto the counter to rinse his hands. He wasn't crying from pain but was definitely fretting over the blood oozing from his hands. Once cleaned up, I counted ten small cuts over both hands. Thankfully none of them were deep lacerations requiring stitches, but my goodness they were covered with blood.

Hamlet handled the clean up like a seasoned champion. Robby was an awesome big brother, offering support and even calling his Daddy at work to provide a blow-by-blow account of the morning's events. It took awhile to get the crime scene cleaned up, but we were incredibly lucky that he wasn't severely cut.

After he was cleaned up I looked at the blood covered glass pieces in the bucket he brought to me. I found a few other shards in the corner of the playroom. Apparently he had picked up a glass, broke it somehow and tried to clean up after himself. While I applaud his intent of cleaning up his messes, I really wish he would start with his trains or Legos instead of broken glass.

Monday, April 03, 2017

Intoxicating Taxes

I've been putting it off for months, but Saturday I knew that the clock was ticking. If I was going to get the taxes done and submitted in time, I needed to buckle down and get to work. After Timmy went to bed I sequestered myself in the living room, poured a (obscenely large) glass of wine and fired up my laptop. I fully anticipated a frustratingly long evening, and I was not disappointed. 

Little frustrates me more than dealing with numbers. I have not been gifted with a math talent, but thankfully in this computerized world, taxes require little more than answering some questions and plugging information into the forms when requested. Even though it wasn't particularly cerebrally challenging, I found the entire experience agonizingly frustrating.

It seemed that with each question I answered the ticker noting the amount we owed climbed. I was almost in tears after the first hour. Knowing that crying would do little to help with the situation, I poured myself another (large) glass of wine and tried to refocus.

By the time I was done with the income section of the website, my panic about the obscene tax bill morphed into resigned defeat. Instead of pouring myself another glass of wine I opted to just grab the entire bottle before moving onto entering the deductions. It turns out that we don't owe as much as I feared, which is definitely a good thing.  Of course, I need to go over them at least one more time, without the wine. I discovered that trying to figure out your taxes while drunk may not be the best approach when you are striving for accuracy.