Kansas.com
I type the name into the address bar, and breathe in. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8…hold 2, 3, 4…
I’m beginning to recognize the physical signs of an impending panic attack, and have learned to use breathing techniques to ward them off. But it doesn’t always work.
“Kansas priest removed from parish after hiking trip with children”
Fuck. Forget triggered. Try annihilated. Strangled. Dropped from a 50-ft cliff. The month of October is already a PTSD-triggering mine field, but this just set them all off at once.
A dear friend alerted me to the article, but I already knew. I’d been informed of the pending investigation and his removal weeks ago, and I’ve been harboring it in my closet like a rabid gorilla, eager to escape. I’ve vaguebooked about it. I’ve talked to family …
I’ve written about nearly every topic under the sun on this blog. Light stuff. Heavy stuff. In-between stuff. But there’s one thing I haven’t written about. (I have on this blog’s Facebook Page, but not as an actual blog post.) And that is my 8-year-old daughter’s autism. I used to say her “autism diagnosis,” but that’s just a blip on our journey. Yes, the actual diagnostic process is fascinating, sometimes confusing or frustrating, but ultimately, it’s a phone call from a behavioral health specialist who confirms what you’ve known since your child was an infant. They’re different.
And it’s not like I’m scared to tackle tough subjects. I’ve written about my brother’s suicide, sexual abuse, my father’s death…big, hard-hitting things. But this autism thing? Folks, I’m exhausted. And sometimes the daily madness in our household must sound …
Last week, I was repeatedly catching puke in a large plastic bowl and comforting my distraught, panicked daughter while simultaneously trying to stifle my own nausea after having just recovered from the same stomach plague. It wasn’t pretty. With three kids ages 7, 5 and 2, I’m in the trenches of parenting. It gets straight up cray-cray down here, but at this point in my career, I’m able to roll with the punches pretty damn well. But as I’ve grown and matured into motherhood, I’ve had to make sacrifices along the way. Like dignity. Cause after every med student this side of the Flint Hills has seen your hoohoo during childbirth, you’re just less inclined to care about putting it all out there. And let’s not forget cervical checks. Like a damn cow I tell …
Look out Pharisee! He’s about to bop you in the eye!
Oh, friends. What a difficult time we’re living in. So much disagreement. So much tension. And admittedly, I’m adding to that tension. I am not sorry.
I recently told my sister about a snarky reply I gave a former college professor who had a political disagreement with me online. On the surface, it was benign. But below, I knew it delivered a painful blow. And then I lied to her about it. I said I didn’t meant to hurt his feelings, but…
“Yes, you did.”
*Pause, deep gasp* Yes, I DID mean to hurt his feelings. That truth bomb stung, but in a good way. I am a writer. I use words professionally. I knew exactly what I was doing, and my sister called me out. I’m …
WANT TICKETS? USE THIS LINK FOR $10 OFF!
It’s not very often that I get to spend time with one of my best friends, and it’s not often I get one-on-one time with my oldest daughter. Until last night. Thanks to some generous promotional folks with Intrust Bank Arena and Cirque du Soleil‘s production Toruk (based on James Cameron’s Avatar) I was able to do both (as well as give away some tickets on my Facebook page). We all loaded up in my road-weary minivan, and headed to the big city for a night of entertainment and culture. We started with some sushi at Kanai, a great little place in Wichita that can serve as either a fancy date night locale, or an approachable place …
Growing up, I didn’t see many faces unlike mine. I lived in a small, rural town, and I was related to probably half the population. I literally looked a lot like most everyone I saw on a daily basis. Now, don’t get me wrong, it was a lovely place to grow up, but exposure to skin tones of a darker shade than my pale hue, and ways of living other than my own just didn’t happen very often. While my parents were very open minded and we traveled frequently, nothing can replace proximity when it comes to appreciating diversity.
Diversity. That oft-used buzz word that we use but don’t often truly consider. We praise its ideals, but don’t often enough intentionally practice its principles. Or, we misunderstand its intentions, and refuse to embrace it at all. …