5 years his story

Warning: trigger post on loss.
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I’ve never fully shared his birth story. It’s been 5 years and I’m finally feeling ready because I know his soul is being redeemed. Thank you for reading if you decide to continue. I fully understand if you don’t read more.

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5 years and 2 days ago I awoke to Xavier’s Mommy’s post in the group about Xavier’s passing at 19 weeks and my heart broke. I was in bed and just stunned, never before realizing loss like that could happen. I thought once we were past the first tri we’re good! (I know, so naive!) I prayed for her and him and started my day.

5 years and 1 day ago, I was 19 weeks and I went to the gym to rest my hips in the hot tub. After avoiding the hot tub during my whole pregnancy, due to the warnings I heard non-stop, I was in so much pain I just had to go this one time. I settled in and tried to be brief. I felt him tell me he was too hot, with a little flutter and a feeling of panic. I begged him for just a couple more minutes and hovered with most of me out of the water. (I spent months regretting that until I realized it would have just been something else later that would have evoked the same response.) I finally felt a little relief and climbed out and dried off. I met Raul in the lobby and he looked at me concerned and asked if I was ok, if I got too hot. I said no, that I felt better (with a flutter of doubt), and we went home. I slept so well and was looking forward to the first Food Truck Rodeo in Seattle the next day, Saturday.

I awoke 5 years ago and pulled out my Doppler, and feeling worried from the night before, tried to listen for his heartbeat and couldn’t find it. I called my friend, who was studying to be a mid-wife and would be my doula, and asked her. She assured me that they sometimes don’t find baby easily at this stage and to rest and try listening again later. I got up and got ready, worry heavy on my heart. We went to the ‘rodeo’ and I was freezing cold the whole day, colder than I’d been for months. I knew something was wrong. I called my doctor’s office and the best they could do was an appointment on Tuesday.

But I knew. I knew he had died.

I waited until Tuesday in complete conscious oblivion and praying that what I knew in my heart wasn’t true. We checked in, the doctor who had confirmed my pregnancy was still ok just 10 weeks earlier pulled the portable u/s machine in the room and there he was, still. Still. They sent me downstairs to the big u/s machines, where I still had an appointment the next Friday for his 20 week anatomy scan. The tech didn’t say anything but excused herself and left the room. We knew. Raul held my hand and I turned my head and started crying. They sent us back upstairs. My options were a D&C or induction. My mom was flying in to town on Friday. Surgery terrified me so I opted for induction and asked to wait until Fri. They booked me a check in for Thursday morning. I told just enough of my clients and colleagues to buy a few days.

I spent two days with my angel inside of me. He would move only in reaction to my movement. I cried. I was panicked. I was numb. He was a “threatened miscarriage” from 6 weeks but they said at his 12 week NT scan he looked great! How could this happen to me? WTF do I do with myself with a dead baby in me? Well, I googled and I cried. I tried to piece together an ‘action plan’ for my hospital stay.

I took one last bump photo. I tried not to cry while Raul took my pic. He hated me for making him take it. I have NO regrets about taking it.

I had been seeing 222 frequently in the days before his death. When I got in the car to go to the hospital, our car had a range of 222 and it was 12:22pm. In that moment, I knew what it meant and I hated it. I am right where I’m supposed to be. And it is hell on earth. On the radio came the song Sail by awolnation. That became his song, my anthem of grief. It used to make me cry instantly but now I find a strange comfort in it, a ‘hi mom, I’m thinking of you,’ instead of suicide (which I did contemplate a few times when the PPM pain was too great). 222 is now comforting, I know when I see it, for better or worse, I’m where I’m supposed to be.

We pulled in to the hospital parking garage, got checked in. They made me sit in a wheelchair and pushed me to the end of the hall. It was dark, there was a white butterfly on my door. They hooked up an IV and started fluids. They put pitocin tablets up against my cervix and we waited. Slowly the contractions started to build. The dr came to check on me. She told me rather matter of fairly but with a soft touch that I could have any pain meds I wanted. I held off for quite awhile. Once the sun came up, the contractions got stronger. I asked for something for the pain, they gave me morphine. My doula came. My mom arrived. The contractions got stronger. Cervical cheeks came and went but I was little fuzzy, a little more numb. Finally they said it was time to push. It wasn’t too hard, I remember feeling his sack slide out. They popped it, cleaned him up and helped me birth the placenta. They asked if I wanted him autopsied but I declined, the thought of cutting him open made me physically ill. I was ok with having the placenta checked out. (The only thing his placenta results revealed was that he was missing a blood vessel in his umbilical cord. I believe the bleeding I had at 5-6 weeks in, just before I met you ladies, was related to that blood vessel issue as that’s when the cord forms. But that’s another story.)

He was so tiny, he fit in my hand. He was not a typical 19 week old bc of that missing vessel. His left arm was not fully formed, his head and torso were excessively swollen. But his feet and legs were just perfect. (His right side was visible in the NT scan and was formed properly so that’s why they didn’t catch anything amiss.)

I was told I could have as much time with him as I needed. The nurse dressed him as best she could, but he was too tiny for regular hospital clothing. My doula left to tend to her life. My mom went to get some food. DCW stepped out too. I ordered food for myself, and sat with my son on the pillow next to me. I pretended he was ok. I talked to him, I held him. I WILL NEVER AGAIN JUDGE A POST-PARTUM MOM FOR ACTING “CRAZY”. I get it now. I understood what a ‘mother’s love’ meant finally and it did me no good. I didn’t know before that it could hurt this terribly. I didn’t know before that it would be so beautiful. He was so beautiful. I could see Raul in him. I could see all the hard work our bodies did, G’s and mine, to build him as he was.

I spent a good 8 hours with him by my side before the nurse came to take him away. He would be transported to a nearby funeral home. I couldn’t watch her walk away with him. I wanted to scream to bring him back. To let me take him home, please just let me take him home. (Repeat after me, I will never judge a PPM mom again.)

The grief counselor came but I was too numb and in shock for her to be any good. The u/s office downstairs called wondering why I wasn’t at my 20 week scan and that they’d have to charge me for no-showing (um, hello, you saw me three days ago, who the fuck forgot to cancel my appointment?!?). That was the first, but not last, person I had to tell that my baby died. Pretty sure I cursed those words at her on the phone. They checked on me a couple more times then said I could be released. It was dark by now. Raul helped me pack. They put me in a wheelchair again.

Coming out to the lobby and to the elevator was a LARGE, maybe 30+ family of a patient. Happy, excited, cheering, with balloons. I wanted to scream at them to shut up. Instead I looked away, trying not to burst into tears. That moment, that moment right there, has been the hardest moment of my life. To wheel past all of those happy people without my baby. To go home without my baby. I succeeded in keeping my composure until the elevator doors closed. Raul helped me into the car and drove me home.

We held a small funeral service for G a couple days later. I got to see him and say one more good bye. I didn’t want to leave. Raul had to pull me away bc it was someone else’s turn.

I don’t remember much after that. The day I checked in to the hospital was the last day of summer. The day I left it was fall and started raining. It rained for days. I couldn’t get out of bed. My milk came in, a stinging giant Fuck You from the universe. Raul made me sage butter pasta for a week straight. I wore allthebras. He forced me to go outside on walks, and pointed out the lovely bits of nature. He watched me slide down and wouldn’t let go of me. For all of my bitching about him, he saved my life.

After 2 weeks I had to go back to work, to deal with my projects and the volunteer gig I had signed up for (as Madam President of a professional organization.) I threw myself into distractions. I still bled for 6 weeks.

I joined the FB group Stories of Babies Born Still. I learned how common this is. I heard stories of heartbreak worse than mine. I didn’t have a fully put together nursery I had to dismantle. I was not due in a week or due last week.

If I had a super power, it would be perspective. I can see both sides of the coin. I can understand the other’s point of view (even when my ego doesn’t want to admit it!) and if I ever seem callous or dry or harsh, it’s because of this power. Seeing these stories of others, of still born babies, of nicu babies lost, and since then of Syrian babies killed, of women who choose abortion, and so much more, gives me a weird comfort. Comfort that I got off easy. That my experience was only this bad. And I felt guilt about that for a long time, but a special reiki session helped me make peace with this. I understand now that he chose me as his mother and he only needed that little amount of time on earth to reach perfection.

The hospital classified him a miscarriage because he perished at 19 weeks, one week shy of the ‘cut off’ to be recognized as still born. I didn’t get a death certificate. I did get a cremation bill.

My grandma, who had 3 early miscarriages of her own, has, for the last 5 years, knitted small little baby blankets for me after she first heard he was too little for the hospital clothes. I tuck a card and a blanket in a ziploc and deliver them to hospitals in his name.

It was hard to be an invisible mother. It’s much easier with a rainbow baby because at least now the world recognizes I am a mom. But it’s still hard. He’s not in pre-k. He’s not losing teeth. He’s not riding his bike next to me. All these things he will never do are thoughts I usually just try not to think.

Then I’ll be alone in my car and that song, Titanium, comes on. There’s something about it, I can’t explain. It transports my heart back to that hospital bed and I’m instantly in tears. Tears of sorrow. Tears of joy. Tears of strength. I am titanium. I remember my lesson from my first son. My purpose is to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and carry them forward, to grow them into a new love. To spread love. To be love. To calm my fears, to trust my strength. To run in the fields on these most perfect feet I have, with angels lifting me up, and Bear by my side, reminding me of all I have lost and all I have gained.

I am sitting on the floor in Bear’s room as I type this, crying of course. And just as I typed that last sentence, in his sleep he rustled and then said, “whoaaa!” and I have to giggle. Thank you my son.

 

I love you forever.

I like you for always.

Beyond when I’m living,

my baby you’ll be.

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To the Mom at the park whose son has Down Syndrome

Dear Mom at the park whose son has Down Syndrome, I’ve been to this park many times since before I can remember. I’ve played in the wading pool. I’ve run around on the grass playing with my imagination and later my younger brothers. I’ve rowed on the lake and run up and down the stadium steps. I’ve walked the lake dozens of times with my dogs. I’ve stumbled across the green grass in the dark with my BFF, both of us inebriated after her bachelorette celebration. I’ve nursed my baby on the benches around the lake, by the theater and by the basketball courts because that’s where he melted down. I’ve taken my baby swimming at the pool. I know this park well, but this was my first day at the playground with my little boy, Bear.

Greenlake Greenery

Bear and I have had such a journey to get here. I remember the NT scan and genetic testing. I opted for it mostly because it was one more opportunity to see him when all I could do was feel his little flutters. I needed that reassurance even though my odds of having a child with down syndrome were low. I needed that reassurance because the last scan I had of my first little guy missed all of his problems because abnormal nuchal translucency wasn’t one of them. I came close to that alternate universe. That universe where my first son survived and had such incredible physical challenges that life would never have been the same in so many good and bad ways. As my little rainbow literally face planted in the sandbox and started eating dirt I looked around in the hopes that no one would be judging me for letting him eat a little dirt before I reeled him in. After two younger brothers I know boys = loud dirt.

Bear loves dirt

It was then that I noticed you.

Your son caught my eye next. It might have been the way the light reflected off the fire trucks parked next to us. Or really it was the halo of loving energy he exuded that caught me, entranced me. He was laughing, having such a good time. Then I noticed something a little different. It took me a few moments of watching him to put my finger on it. Suddenly it clicked and I realized he has that magical extra chromosome. That chromosome that opens hearts and comes at everyone with love. I saw how tired you were, trying to corral him into the stroller as it was time to go. I saw his older brother patiently helping you and him. I saw his older sister resisting leaving because she too was having a ball. I saw his older brother getting behind the stroller to push him around. I saw you watching me watch you. I saw you turn away, maybe embarrassed or feeling self conscious or maybe angry because I WAS staring.

Mama, I want you to know what I was really thinking.

I was really thinking your son has such a lovely soul that shines right through his beautiful face. That crocheted blue hat he was wearing looked so soft and framed his face just right. Its color made his complexion even brighter. I was really noticing his cherry red cheeks, flushed and happy from playing in the crisp morning. I was really seeing his joyous self excited by all the people and commotion. I was really watching how lovingly his siblings interacted with him. I was really thinking to myself, “Wow. He is such a beautiful little boy.”

I want you to know what I was really thinking because I don’t want you to think for one more second that I was doing anything less than marveling at the miracles of your life. I was humbled to be in your presence. You’re a veteran mom and I don’t doubt you have had to fight a lot of battles on behalf of your children. I can only imagine how you felt after your NT scan, or if you even had one. I can only imagine the stares you’ve already faced. I can only imagine the challenges you’ve faced. I hope you know, in your heart of hearts, that you are winning and wonderful and my hero.

With RAWR, Marie

The 7 Rules of Baby Sleep

I write this as my 9 month old sleeps in his crib. Knock on wood that I don’t jinx myself by breaking the rules. What rules? Why the Rules of Baby Sleep! There are rules to baby sleep? “Yes!” said every mother ever. I thought babies slept great, you know the phrase, “sleep like a baby” had to come from somewhere… See #3 said every mother ever.

1. You do not talk about baby sleep. You do not text about how long he has been asleep. You do not brag about how long of a stretch she can go. You do not talk about baby sleep. Why? It is guaranteed to wake the baby. How? The wrath of God/the bitch Karma.

2. Never ever ever ever ever ever wake the baby. Unless you got a wee nugget and the doc EXPLICITLY says so to feed her, do not wake the baby. Dirty diapers really can wait. That spit up spot will dry. Why let him slumber? If you must know, go ahead, wake him, I dare you. 

3. If you wake said baby, “stabby” becomes a legitimate description of that child’s mother’s feelings. Thoughts like, “hmm… I feel stabby” begin to appear in her mind after spending 90 minutes with her arms extended in front of her bouncing on an exercise ball at 3am to coax the woken baby back to sleep.

4. Noise levels must be held constant from the moment the child falls into sleep until as long as you can make it last. Neighbors getting a new roof and suddenly it’s lunch time? Fire up the power tools because as soon as the decibels drop so does your book/plate/deuce. The same is true for the quiet drift off. You’ll be feeling stabby when Fido starts barking at the door.

5. Laundry is awesome. Clean your undies and keep the quiet in one swing. Pick the cycles that run as long as possible. Heavy duty? Of course! Sanitize? why not? Extra rinse? You bet! Then sit back, cross your fingers and pray it lasts! (the machines that is!) Friendly reminder to turn OFF the end-of-cycle chime!

6. Anyone who tells you babies sleep most of the day is: a) really effin mean, b) has never had children, c) has a drug problem or d) won the baby sleep lotto and got one that sleeps where- and whenever. Ignore them all. Prepare for a war of love. Your home quickly becomes a battlefield with a dozen craters (places to put baby down), shrapnel (burp cloths) littered about and the residuals of (poop) explosions hiding in corners. The weapons… Swaddling and moving. Invest in an exercise/stability/big bouncy ball. Want to know why? See #2 above. 

7. You will gain a new appreciation for sleep- yours, theirs, everyone’s. If you really love him or her, let them nap!

A Rainbow for my Minions

Oh minions, dear minions, how I have missed you so.

I am sorry for not posting lately. I can offer you a lot of excuses but it’s ok not to care. You’re busy, I know that. You’re also awesome, did you know that? I’ll tell you why in a moment.

Those of you that read this blog, thank you. I hope you get a chuckle or two, maybe a laugh, a new perspective on an old situation and inspiration to let your own inner RAWR out once in a while (I promise, your RAWR will thank you). Hard as I may try, I can’t guarantee any of that will happen.

Over the last couple years, during this unexpected sabbatical, I’ve come to appreciate even more what you mean to me. You inspire me. You give these words purpose. You push me to learn more, know more, grow more and love more.

Thank you for still coming here day in and day out whether I’ve posted or not. That makes you awesome in my book. I’m finally getting (again?) to a place in my life where I can put some time and thought into this thing called RAWR and hope I don’t disappoint you.

I also have a little bit of of good news to share. (Of course I’m saving the best for last!) In July of 2013 I found myself staring down the end of a pregnancy test that read POSITIVE! After 10 months of terror, delight and worry, in March of 2014 I brought a handsome & healthy little guy into this world! For our purposes his name is Bear. I’ve grown and learned so much in Bear’s first 9 months on this planet. I’ve also honed my sarcasm stick and bullshit meter with months of sleep deprivation. I greatly look forward to sharing my insights with you as we all RAWR together.

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Happy World Down Syndrome Day_ a tribute to eternal love

It was decades ago but I still remember snippets like it was yesterday. Sitting shotgun in Oma’s station wagon, my flute case on my lap, rain misting over the car as we barreled down the back streets. Into the waterfront community we went. We drove to where the gardens are shaped like animals and everyone’s lawn is immaculate and level. Beautiful flowers peek out of the rockery used to secure the hillside to each home.

We pull into the driveway and ascend the stairs to the front door. I look behind me at the Sound, the water glistening off in the distance, a dreary dark blue grey with just a pocket of sunshine hitting the waves and glistening back at me. Stepping inside I’m hit by the smell of them. Not in a bad way, but in the way that everyone’s home smells a little bit different. I gaze up at her cases of trophies and collectibles while Oma and her chit chat. We walk down the stairs past photos of her, of him, of their son.

I don’t remember if I was ever able to meet her son. She talked about him a lot and had photos everywhere and I always left feeling her love and grief. The love made sense to me. The grief, not so much to my small self. I could not put words to it, but I could feel it’s cloudy presence over her heart.

She would walk me to her music room, help me get set up, kindly ask about my day while Oma sat to the side, or upstairs some days.

© Yiannos1

Joy would teach me about music. She would teach me about playing the flute, about proper breathing, reading music.

© Argument

© Argument

What I didn’t realize until many years later that she was also teaching me the strength to love in the face of grief. She taught me how to have an open heart, a patient mind and how “disability” is a state of mind and environment, not a reflection on someone’s soul, their heart or them at all.

She loved to talk about Davey. She loved to share his photo and tell me about what a loving a warm heart he had. Her beautiful son, Davey, was born with Down Syndrome.

Pilot with down syndrome

*not Davey, but a close stand-in

She always wanted a child. Joy and Herb had tried for many years. Joy was a former beauty queen and dedicated musician and singer. Herb was a brass man. Keen to the trumpet, her to the winds, together they would teach children to love music, to be good at music.

Then came Davey.  He grew from a baby to a toddler to a young boy. It was as he was turning into a young man that his generous heart gave out. They loved him so much, and I’m sure they grew to love him more and more each day even after his passing.

The look in her eye would be bright and shiny at first, then as her memories moved forward in time, the twinkle would dim and a veil of grief would sneak in. He was her only son and he was perfect.

Davey was a fighter who would constantly defy the odds. Growing older against doctor’s opinions. Going to school and embracing his life, he was a lover who welcomed every person he encountered with an open heart and compassion. He is an angel and an inspiration.

Joy was a mother who loved her son unconditionally. Her love for him was so great it gave her the strength to be a mentor to and love other people’s children. She tutored many dozens of kids in her years teaching music. The photos they would send her, for years even after going to college and moving away, are a testament of her work. (Any woman who can love someone else’s child as if he or she were her own, in the face of her own loss, is superwoman to me.)

What I took away from Joy and Davey was not a tale of loss, but a tale of dogged determination, hope and love. I don’t know if Joy and Herb are still around, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking of them and thanking them for their love.

For more information on World Down Syndrome Day click HERE

Mug Alert: Philosoraptor

Need a moment of RAWR in your day? Try starting off in a philosophical mood.  Just do it dinosaur style…

Munday Munchies

Most weekends Raul and I do our major grocery shopping trip of the week. We pick a couple meals we’ll want to eat in the coming days by browsing food magazines, cook books and browsing online. This past weekend we didn’t go grocery shopping. I know! It’s a travesty!

All this talk of food and my almost empty fridge this morning has my inner rex feeling extra hungry. So I thought I’d share a little collection of yummy-looking, hopefully tasty treats for our inner Rex’s that will leave you and your little rexes saying “RAWR!”

Quick Side note: When my wiggly boxer, Sadie, gets hangry, she grunts and wiggles at me. I imagine her grunting would translate into something like this…

make me a sandwich

When your little rexes get hangry and grunt at you, you can make their dinos into a sandwich.

dinosaur sandwich

And don’t stress over the shape, this sandwich cutter makes it a snap. Find it HERE.

dinobytes

Maybe this is your first real foray into dino inspired meals, so let’s start easy. Mashed potatoes, Check! Broccoli, check! Dino toy, check!

On your way to a RAWR-ific meal, you can just dip your dino’s toes in the ‘tatoes with this yummy dinner set up. Give this to your small rex when they need a little inspiration to eat and you need a low commitment meal…

Dinosaur-trees-1

Or maybe you just need a small snack, a bit of protein to tide you over. With Easter just around the corner, this would be a great week to make some edible dinosaur eggs.

dino eggs

To learn how to make these click HERE

dino eggs2

If you’re feeling really creative, or you want to throw your little rexes a curveball this Easter, try making some GIANT dinosaur eggs! These are of the Brontosaurus or T-Rex variety.

dino eggs3

SHHHH!!! They’re really Watermelons!

dino eggs4

Once you’re done with lunch, dinner and the egg hunt, don’t forget dessert! There’s always room for dessert!

First a dirty Oreo dessert…

dirt-oreo-dinos

Or host your own archeological expedition into cupcakes….

dinomuffindough

I think that about wraps up our tour of tasty T-rex treats. Is your mouth watering yet?

In case you need some assistance fully embracing the Dino Dining methods, there is a book to help… click the image to be linked to Amazon.

dinosaur book

Do you want to know how to make the dishes above yourself?Click on the photo of any dish you want the recipe for and it will link you to the original source.

Happy Munday!

RAWR & ❤

Even a Rex sometimes cries…

I cried the other day. That doesn’t sound like much of an event, especially when I have friends who cry at least once a day over what seems like trivial events to the outside world. I realized afterward that it’s been about a year since I had a really good, ugly cry. That’s a long time for someone who previously would cry at the sappiest of movies.

Leading up to my dry spell, I spent so much time crying, mourning my lost loves, that one day, I had to stop. I had to stop crying. I had to stop to survive. If I kept mourning with so many tears I would wash away my resolve to live. So I stopped crying. I put up a wall and tried to find other outlets for those emotions. Crying couldn’t be one of them.

Then the wall was punctured. A long, stressful day led me to crumble the next morning over a seemingly dumb event. It wasn’t the event that made me cry. It was the build-up of all that emotion that I tried so hard to acknowledge and let go but never really let go of. It’s the emotion that hangs onto the edge of your heart or gets stuffed into the fringes of your mind. That emotion needs out, and like water flowing downhill, it will find a way. It will leak out in the worst of places if it’s not dealt with, felt and really, truly let go.

I admitted defeat. I admitted the Universe got the best of me. I let down my walls.

Time stood still for a moment. That pesky and persistent resolve to carry on swelled up. My emotional self wanted to bash it back down.

It is in these weak moments that I think of a young woman* Oprah interviewed many years ago. Her ex-boyfriend had set her on fire and she survived but with terrible scaring. She’s had dozens of surgeries and just living is a challenge. Although she wanted to give up, her sister tells her to take 5 minutes a day to feel bad, to cry, to let down her walls. At the end of the timer, she has to stop crying and carry on.

That interview has stuck with me. That young woman was honest, vulnerable and so sad. Her strength and carry-on-ness has stuck with me.

Allowing myself a few moments to feel sad, it was soon time to stop crying and carry on.

When I looked up after drying my tears, this is what I saw.

heart in the sky

When was the last time you let down your walls? When was the last time you really felt, and then truly let go of, those bottled up emotions?

*I tried to find the story of the particular woman mentioned above, but could not find it. If I do, I’ll add it in the comments.

Mug Alert: Leash your Rex

My inner RAWR is a little too rambunctious to be allowed off-leash in public (very often). Most of the time you’ll find me wandering around my daily life looking more like I got my inner RAWR on a leash. Seeing this mug in the morning reminds me to take my RAWR out for a walk at least once a day.

leash your rex

Mug Alert: Lincoln riding a dino, yes, that’s right.

I love searching out those objects that bring a smile, a chuckle and hopefully a laugh to someone’s day. I’m terribly sarcastic and wholly inappropriate most days and only with the right people do I make any sense. Social interaction with anyone outside of my inner circle requires multiple mental filters. And yet, with all of this awesome creativity, even from the deepest depths of my comic self, I cannot come up with a good caption for this mug (that isn’t completely and wholly inappropriate).

This mug of Abraham Lincoln (yes, our former President Abraham Lincoln) riding a T-Rex is beyond words for me.

So maybe you have a better idea, dear reader, what’s your caption?

Abe riding trex

Moment of RAWR: Supermom Ninjas

This is a tribute to the Supermom. It’s Thursday. I know you’re tired. You are probably tired to the “I just put the empty paper grocery bag in the refrigerator and didn’t even realize I did it until I went to make dinner hours later” level. And yet you soldier on. In the name of love, responsibility and with a touch of the human spirit of carrying on, your actions are not lost. Someday your children will be old and will realize just how hard this all was.

I know you’re battling lost socks, single socks, dishes, the rest of the laundry, yummies, errands, work, unfinished homework, dirty diapers and poop patrols, dental appointments, dank trash, dust balls and more. It’s like you have to be part ninja or maybe just part dinosaur to get it all done and still survive. Either way, you know you can’t stop. You know the insanity of it all, doing the same chores over and over and wishing for different result. And yet you soldier on.

So for you, the Supermom, here’s your MOMENT OF RAWR.

DinosaurFunny_ninjas

 

Mug Alert: The first Om Nom Nom

My neighborhood is in the beating heart of the coffee phenomenon. I am surrounded by caffeine addicts. They are everywhere. Before 9am it’s like the streets are overrun with zombies and only the children remain normal, happy and giggling. Standing in line at one of the thousands of coffee shops leaves you recounting the list of rules from Zombieland. Then, almost like magic, there’s actually HUMANS leaving the shop, not zombies! That coffee fix is a serious thing, not one to be messed with. My beloved coffee addicts have taught me that coffee comes before words.

© Duskbabe | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images


© Duskbabe | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

I am the one in a million that doesn’t drink coffee. There’s something about it’s taste that just, well, isn’t my cup of tea. It’s mostly drinking it that repels me, but I’m not opposed to making it for my beloved coffee addicts. It’s taken a few years but I actually like making coffee now. It’s a great way to make easy friends… the zombies always smile at the person handing them a hot cup of java. It’s become an act of love.

In honor of my beloved coffee addicts, I’m starting the Mug Alert post. Now you can remind yourself and those you love to let out their inner RAWR, first thing in the morning with a cup of coffee done just right.

The OmNomNomivore

onnomnommug

Pick the Punchline

Let’s play a game… After reading through the suggested punchlines for this comic on another site, I’m a little curious what else can be thought up…

What's the Punchline?

What’s the Punchline?

Dino Munday

What’s in a Monday? I feel lucky when it’s fairly mundane but most often it is spent putting out fires. We’re talking about the fires that smoldered over the weekend and will just turn into mammoth sweeping destructive forces if you don’t deal with it right Effing now! [sigh] It is Munday indeed. So what’s a Rex to do on this most un-lucky day of the week?

Laugh a little.

Dinosaurs missed the boat

Um, there’s another boat, right?

Dinosaur sighting: The OnNomNomivore

I Love Brunch.

I love brunch SO MUCH… it makes me rawr.

Literally, I, “RAAAWWRRR” out loud because I am THAT excited for brunch.

When all else fails for dinner, I could eat brunch (which is Brinner in my home). When we travel I always want to find a good brunch spot, sitting back, relaxing and reflecting on a good/crazy/busy/lazy time usually makes for a great day. Brunch is almost like my weekly meditation, a slow meal slows me down, helps me relax before another crazy week. It helps me find and remember my gratitude’s.

Brunch at Campagne

Croque-Madame at Cafe Campagne

Finding Toast

I love finding French Toast that is thick and eggy, frenched and toasted to “just right.” Thick slices are key. I especially love a Brioche French Toast. In Seattle I can count on  Bastille to handle the french toast with respect.

I LUV finding waffles, the good ones anyway. I’m talking about the waffles that are thick and puffy, and round is always more fun. The most glorious waffle in all my years of searching was at Pomegranate. It was perfectly cooked to a soft and chewy inside with just enough crunch to satisfy and topped with house-made whipped cream and fresh summer berries. It was so good they haven’t ever repeated it, but they come close enough to still get my top spot.

I’m looking for the pancakes that give what’s on your plate the deserved name of “cake”, waiting to be devoured. Throw some fresh berries in the batter and you got pan-an-cakes in all their antioxidant-al glory. The summer outdoor patio is primo seating during the kinder weathered months and the Huckleberry pancakes are not to be missed at the Barking Frog.

I’m not above a quick sandwich either.  Some mornings (or afternoons) I just don’t have the patience to sit and wait for brunch to come to me. Some mornings, the hangry ones anyway, direct me to the nearest goodness available. In Portland, that place is the Grand Central Bakery’s Cafe. I love brunch so much I already opined upon their biscuit-egg sandwiches previously, in The Only Biscuits Worth a RAWR.

We’ll leave eggs for another day. I love eggs, but that’s exactly why it’s a post for another day.

All this talk of brunch and yummies had me wondering…What type of dinosaur am I?

It seems everyone has their favorite brunch meal and almost everyone is different. Some friends love a good vegan or vegetarian meal. Some of my friends scoff at anything without bacon. Some of my friends can eat a little of everything. Me? I’m all about the nomnomnom.

Call me, the Omnomnomivore.

DinosaurFunny-onnomnomivore

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