Anything But Ugly

Blogging Friends.... Look for my May fictional children's story which will be posted on Minuscule is good! {Lord willing!!} on May 1st!! I am going to begin the process of writing it today!! Happy. Me!! Love you later.

I was sitting at this very flat screened desktop computer last week typing away. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Writer's Block struck. Nothing pleases me more than to beat and overcome such a challenge as an artist!! Nothing. Pleases. Me. More. So, I allowed Attention Deficit Disorder to take complete command over my mind and logged onto Internet Explorer. I was simply going to fool around, wasting time which should have been spent writing. Or so I thought. What my eyes saw was a headline that read something to this effect. Mom rips apart troll who called her kid 'ugly'. Then I saw an adorable, huge smiling, blond-haired, shirtless little dude with Down syndrome. His name is Quinn. I clicked on the story and read it. Like, twice. Apparently some Reader on Mama Megan's Instagram page wrote a single-messaged comment. "Ugly", he {I am assuming!!} wrote. And Megan's response was, I thought, very classy. Not at all overly judgmental. Now. Being a weird, crazy oddball, I have never--never--been one to "jump the bandwagon", as that phrase goes. But with this story? Entirely on impulse--my heart playing the drums for Bruce Springsteen's band--I found Megan's Blog, sent some good old-fashioned love in her direction, and joined hundreds upon hundreds of commenters!! Because I had to. See. I have something in common with Hollywood actor Jamie Foxx. Something cosmic, and very, very, very personal. No, I am not a rich, hugely successful movie star. Although. I did dream of that career as a teenager!! No, I am not good friends with Robert Downey Jr.  Although. That would be pretty freakin' awesome!! No, I am not an African-American male. Well. Obviously!! So what, exactly, do Jamie Foxx and I share in common? We both have a sibling who was born with Down syndrome!! Oh yeah!! I have a brother with Down syndrome!! His name is Michael. Well. He is known as "Uncle Michael" to Rose!! Have I ever mentioned that before? Not on Beautifully Unique, I'm afraid. But Kelle Hampton {Nella's Mama!!} knows. As does Patti. {Lily's Mama!!} Yes, it seems that I am slowly but surely acquiring Blogs written by mothers who have brought sweet children into this world born with an extra chromosome!! Cool!! I wrote this in a comment on Megan's Blog. Megan.... Hi there, I just read the story Online about that Reader who wrote and called your son, Quinn "ugly". How can people be so cruel?! I love, love, loved the reply that you gave him!! It was very bold!! Firstly. When I saw Quinn's picture, I immediately knew that he has Down syndrome. Just like my youngest brother, who is--gasp!!--21 years old now. He used to be that little. What happened?! He is my very best friend, and we share everything with each other!! Thoughts. Feelings. Interests. Each other's rubber croc-like shoes, even!! My brother constantly amazes me!! Secondly. Quinn is--as my phrase goes--Beautifully Unique!! Which is the absolute opposite of "ugly". Trust me on that one!! Love you later, Raelyn. There is something about Quinn--to which my Mom can't but agree with--he looks just like a toddler version of our Michael!! Which leads me to peer into the unforeseeable future. Because I can't help but wonder. Will Quinn someday have a goatee on his chin because he wants to "be like Robert Downey Jr."? Michael does!! Will Quinn's almond-shaped eyes someday reveal distinctive laugh lines when he smiles? Michael's does!! Will Quinn someday possess an even deeper tone of voice than his oldest brother? Michael does!! My brother is a much better person than I will ever be. He's cheerful. Tenderhearted. Forgiving. Thoughtful. Loving. Funny. He's a servant. To mention only a few of his positives!! Michael also loves any subject that I like. Or my sister. Or our Mom. He simply has the ability to love whatever we like!! Although Michael is not, by any means, a completely flawless being, what I possess in character defects, he makes up for in character qualities. Among Michael's interests are movies, music, sports, good friends, canines, plus his birthday. And should I also mention that he's a fanatic of Jamie Foxx?! Now, Michael and I have twain incredible things in common. One. We were both born with life-threatening birth defects. Me? I was born with congenital diaphragmatic hernia. And craniosynostosis. Michael? He was born with multiple holes in his heart. That being mentioned. Michael and I are both fighters, both survivors, we're both "hard to kill", as the phrase goes!! We both have surgically-created scars!! Which I've always found to be pretty neat, actually!! The other thing that Michael and I share in common? We both have "special needs"!! Or learning disabilities, if you will. Michael has an incredibly brilliant "con-man" of a mind. For he is "Psyche", like Shawn Spencer from the television show on USA Network. Nothing gets past him!! Because he knows. And, unlike Shawn Spencer, Michael is not putting on some "act"!! Yeah, he actually can read people's minds!! It is kind of freaky!! Michael--like every single anything-but-ugly individual with Down syndrome--was blessed with an extra chromosome. Yes, blessed. And, you know what? I feel so very blessed to have Michael in my life!! So very blessed....

    

I Should Have Known

Blogging Friends.... Is it just me, or does it seem somewhat wrong that my family--literally!!--happily celebrates Christmas for twain months or longer in advance leading up to December 25th with festive songs, but Easter merely only lasts one day? I mean, really. "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" has periodically reemerged within my crazy head countless times this week!! I must be experiencing Easter withdrawals. Wait. That is a withdrawal from my lack of chocolate, as I just finished it!! Anyhoo. Here is my Easter Blog post, a story about Rose!! Love you later.

I should have known that something was ailing Rose. I should have known. I fed Rose her crunchy dog food on Friday afternoon, as per usual, but she never ate any of it. That is fine. Occasionally, Rose skips meals. Perhaps she was not hungry. Rose's stomach didn't growl at all, which I found strange. I had baked her some crunchy biscuits in adorable Easter/Spring shapes on Good Friday. Which she contently wolfed down!! I had given Rose some bites of hardboiled egg. Which she loved!! However. Come Saturday, Rose did not eat one single bite of her dog food. I should have known that something was ailing Rose. I should have known. It is so very hard when--although I try to be vigilant of anything that might be wrong with Rose--she cannot complain. Again, I gave her some crunchy home baked dog biscuits, and, most likely, bites of hardboiled egg. Maybe even a few baby carrots. All of which, she ate. Come Easter, we were leaving for church and I was helplessly watching out a great room window as Rose did not have a bowel movement. Occasionally--occasionally--she doesn't poop in the mornings. There is no reason none whatsoever that I will return home to an accident. Rose had been experiencing regular bowel movements before Easter. I am not worried. I should have known that something was ailing Rose. I should have known. What with having strong Beagle blood proudly flowing deep within her D.N.A., and being my food-lovin' little girl, Rose has never gone that long sans eating. Ever. For reasons beyond my comprehension, I also felt exhausted on Easter. I went to bed on time the night before. I enjoyed myself {I thought!!} a good night's sleep. However. I found myself literally nodding off during Pastor A.'s always-amazing sermon. Several times!! I was yawning, as tears stained my glasses. Sorry, Pastor A.!! Immediately upon our return home, something did not seem right in the living room. But what? I was so very out of it, that my internal Sherlock Holmes was, to quote Tony Stark from "Iron Man 3", "actively napping". I love that line!! I may be a keenly observant individual, but I was not on Easter. The red throw rug that lies in front of our magnetic white door. It was gone!! My Mom found it lying on our laundry room floor, a large yellow bile puddle caked to it. Canine vomit. I should have known that something was ailing Rose. I should have known. I did a quick inspection of the great room, as I always do upon returning home, looking for any accidents. Nothing!! I let Rose outside. She had a bowl movement!! Yes!! By the time all of our relatives had arrived and we were serving Easter dinner, Rose ate her dog food!! At last. I later treated Rose to a little cooked broccoli {Her preference to how she likes it!! Not raw.} and, apparently, my Mom gave Rose some small pieces of ham. I do not know whether or not dogs can have that. But Rose was so good on Easter!! Consider it a once-in-a-lifetime treat? Oh yeah. And I'm afraid that Rose also licked off the floor a tiny bit of dropped Cool Whip from my cake. Because I was much too exhausted for an intervention!! I am so very glad that my little girl is well, healthy and eating her crunchy dog food now!! I should have known that something was ailing Rose. I should have known. But I will look at it this way. All of my not knowing that something was ailing Rose? It saved me tons of worry!!

Meeting Roxie At Last

Blogging Friends.... "Marley & Me" author John Grogan has a bit of advice for aspiring writers. Which is this. Write every day, even when it seems impossible. Great advice!! So that is what I, a "published" writer, has attempted to do. Well. Some days I "play hooky" on account of watching my two-year old niece, "Amethyst"!! Write every day, even when it seems impossible. Thanks, John Grogan!! And, while following this advice, I have been seemingly writing more stories about Rose!! Score!! Love you later.

Rose has wanted to meet Roxie so badly, silently whining, her big brown eyes looking longingly across the street, floppy ears perked, and forehead furrowed toward our neighbors Gary and Pat's curly "blond"-furred, pink-nosed Labrador Retriever/Chesapeake Bay Retriever cross. However. For a while, my super protective instincts took complete command over whether or not I wanted Rose and Roxie to meet. I mean come on. I do not know Roxie. She's so huge in comparison to Rose!! Is Roxie friendly? Or aggressive toward other canines? Is she territorial? Truth be told? At first, whenever I spied Roxie outside--off leash--I'd wait to walk Rose until Gary finished his gardening chores and she was brought back in. Because. When canines are not linked to their leashes, it makes me nervous!! What if the loose dog charges? I know, I know. I have since mellowed down a bit with Roxie, because she is obedient while off-leash and seldom ever wanders!! So during such moments of whining, ear-perking, forehead wrinkling longing when I walk Rose, I usually gently encourage her to "keep walking". I also distract my little girl. Yes, I take complete advantage of Rose's attention deficit disorder!! I lead her to bushes. I gently pull Rose along. I act nonchalant. Anything. Eventually, based on observation, I came to recognize Roxie as sweet-natured and calm. "She wouldn't hurt a fly", as that phrase goes. But Rose still hadn't met Roxie. Not yet. It was actually my Beagle-owning, canine-loving next door neighbor who encouraged that I walk Rose across the street to meet Roxie. She somehow sensed my nervous anticipation. Was it that obvious? The following day, Rose was granted a chance to meet Roxie!! At last!! Gary had been pushing his green-colored battery-operated lawnmower through the front yard. Roxie, as per usual, happily accompanied him. Gary's friendly, cheerful, talkative wife, Pat, was also outside. My youngest brother--Uncle Michael to Rose--had been walking with me that Sunday afternoon. We did it. We crossed the street over to where Gary and Pat reside, so Rose could meet Roxie!! This absolutely thrilled my crazy, excitable little girl. Before we even stepped foot onto Gary and Pat's driveway, she let out some high-pitched bays!! Her happy sound. I love, love, love it!! Apparently Roxie--who's aging and a bit white around her muzzle--is in the process of going blind. Thus, Rose's ear-piercing baying initially startled poor Roxie. I could almost read Roxie's thoughts. Who is that youngin.... And why does she have to be so darn loud?! Kids these days. Nonetheless. Within seconds, Roxie was greeting her new friend, with crotch sniffs!! And visa versa!! However. As I chat with Pat, Roxie kept walking away from Rose. She fetched pinecones.... Then ingested them. Roxie walked toward her outside water bowl for several drinks. She wandered freely onto Gary's newly mowed grass. It was as though Roxie had attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, and couldn't stand still!! Not bad for an "old lady"!! Poor Rose seemingly couldn't understand why her new friend wouldn't stay by our side. And more importantly. Rose seemingly could not understand--or remember--that her purple harness was securely linked to a red leash. If I set Rose free? She would not only frolic around with Roxie--no leash attached--as canines should. But she might also run away without a trace. Rose is, after all, part Beagle!! I am not being overprotective this time. Just responsible!! While still chatting with Pat--and eventually a much more quiet Gary--I stretched my long right arm to allow Rose a little freedom with Roxie. I kept saying this. "We're connected!!" To quote Tony Stark from "Iron Man 3"!! Or Harley, depending on your perspective, as they both say it!! Eventually, we were all chatted out, the sun was shining hotter and hotter and hotter, plus I was insane enough to be wearing black jeans rather than blue shorts. So. I said my final good-byes to Pat--and Gary!!--as quite often once we begin that process, either she or I keep chatting away. Then {With some encouraging!!} Roxie walked back toward where Rose had been sitting and they said their goodbyes.... With crotch sniffs, of course!!           

April 19th

Blogging Friends.... Today is C.D.H. Awareness Day. Yes, I know that I mentioned this a little over twain weeks ago. However. April 19th is International Day of Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia Awareness, thus according to CHERUBS. See. Apparently, there are twain different wonderful organizations that raise awareness for congenital diaphragmatic hernia. CHERUBS. And Breath of Hope. According to CHERUBS, April is also C.D.H. Awareness Month!! Cool!! While CHERUBS is seemingly much more broadly known than Breath of Hope, I find it neat {Especially when the fatality/survival rates are still fifty/fifty.} that there's not one, but twain separate C.D.H. awareness days. Because. When people know diddlysquat about this life threatening birth defect? Twain dates equals double the awareness!! And that is a positive. Love you later.

Back in February, a dear C.D.H. Mama named Terri--founder of the Raising Healthy Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia Children's Facebook page--organized "Living with Scars" project which encouraged Followers {Young and "old"!!} to submit pictures of their C.D.H. scar{s} along with something written expressing how these "blemish{es}" make them feel on a deeply profound level. This was, I thought, quite the fun and eye-opening project!! Being a modest person, I chose not to participate. However. Being the "outsider looking in", I did send Terri via comment this. It was taken from my Life Story!! I did not made any changes to it. I don't think, anyway!!

Across my chubby abdomen is this lengthy surgically-created scar. Again, an indelible, visual reminder of a medical history which I--or nobody--had any control over. I have often found myself referring to this physical blemish as my battle scar. Which is not at all an inaccurate description!! Not at all. For this scar is an "imperfection" serving as evidence that I am a survivor. Somehow. Yet, I can touch this abdomen scar--run my fingers all the way down it--as an incredible reminder that "I've come a long way, baby". Because I have. See, I do not need any reminders to glance upward and thank God for my existence. An abdomen scar suffices just fine!!

Either I am "hard to kill" as that phrase goes, or our Loving and Sovereign God was watching over me. How about both?

Happy International Day of Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia Awareness.

Tomorrow is Easter!! Or as we prefer to call it around here. Resurrection Sunday!! Have a happy, happy, happy one, my dear Blogging Friends!!

"Did I Just Say That Out Loud?"

Blogging Friends.... Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you for all of your encouraging comments on the other day's post!! I truly appreciated them. You, dear Friends, are such wonderful "support" to me, and I am such a pain in the ass!! Sorry about that. I AM a "published" writer!! I do not want to become one. I AM. By the way? Jezabelle does not only buck and attempt to throw me on account of my lifelong dream. It is other issues, as well. That was merely a true story example. My newfound mantra has become "Ride like the wind, Jezabelle." Love you later.

There is a small resin sign that looks like wood being sold at Hallmark. It states, in bold uppercase letters, these words. Did I Just Say That Out Loud? I've seriously considered purchasing it for my bedroom as a valid reminder that I can sometimes blurt things out {Often quirky!!} in a blunt, forward manner. But then. I would also have to purchase the matching small sign that reads this. OCD: Obsessive Chocolate Disorder, and those signs are not cheap. Anyway. I have worked on improving this character defect over the years. Honest!! Now, I am very good at keeping secrets. Baby news. Christmas surprises. Huge weighty subjects. And I tend to hold a lot inside me. A lot. So less than twain years ago when I learned about Robert Downey Jr.'s past {Has it really been that long? Wow.} I learned about all sorts of things, including--yes--some hard drugs. But being good at keeping secrets? I've never--never--let on to anybody everything that I know. Especially because my loving, non-controlling Mom did not wish for me to learn about Robert Downey Jr.'s past at all. Would everything that I have knowledge of break her heart? I can't help but wonder. So I have held everything inside me. Until Saturday, April 5th, 2014, when we were eating homemade pizza dinner with a friend. Suddenly, he--who shall remain nameless!!--randomly mentioned the term "smoking rock". This friend then looked directly at me and gently said something to this effect. "That was meant for your Dad. I don't expect you to get it. Sorry." But. I did get that reference!! Then suddenly, sans warning, I spoke up. "Oh, I know what 'smoking rock' means," I said, "I'm a Robert Downey Jr. fanatic, so I kinda have to." That was blunt. Way too blunt. And it lacked a little thing called "empathy". Whoops. My heart raced. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. It was jamming away for Bruce Springsteen's band when I felt immensely guilty, as though, I, myself, had got caught smoking cigarettes behind our green backyard shed. Did I just say that out loud? This shocked the pants off of my Dad. Because why should I--a sheltered homeschooled graduate--know anything about smoking rock? He then turned to my Mom and asked this. "You let her read that?" And my Mom--equally shocked--answered with this. "She's--how old are you?" Thirty. Although I was twenty-eight years old when I learned about Robert Downey Jr.'s past. And you know what? I am also educated on how cocaine abuse can mess with an addict's head. Facts which I shall spare you of. Your welcome. I shall also spare you the specific Robert Downey Jr. quotation from which I became familiar with the term "smoking rock". Because he said four f-bombs--I counted them--plus it was a hauntingly sad, surreal glimpse into one ex-addict's life of being desperate for coke. Your welcome again. I then went on and painted Robert Downey Jr. in a truthful, real, positive light to our friend. Such as this. Robert Downey Jr. spent his 49th birthday with elementary-aged kids and watched "Captain America: The Winter Soldier". I will never tire of doing that. Painting Robert Downey Jr. in a positive light. Why? Because he is--and I believe always was!!--a good guy. My how far Robert Downey Jr. has travelled in Life. From smoking rock {And tons of it} to watching "Captain America" with kids who idolize him as Tony Stark/Iron Man. It is nothing short of beautiful.      

Jezabelle

Blogging Friends.... This post has been being written in my crazy never-shuts-down head for quite some time. I am really proud of it. Proud of myself. Love you later.

"I like Pinto Horses," I declared one afternoon while walking through a local county fair alongside my family of six, "Because they're pretty!!" I had taken a moment to observe some Pinto Horse's muscular white body with brown splotches. It looked as though the Ultimate Artist Himself, God, had personally painted them!! Using His own Fingers!! As the years passed by, I actually rode a horse--named Callie--who belonged to my cousin, Desiree. Callie was mostly all white with some brown splotches. Like a Pinto Horse!! I do not recall how old I was. Young enough to make myself terrified of falling off of Callie due to how Hollywood actor Christopher Reeve became paralyzed. Was he still alive? Or had Christopher Reeve passed on? I haven't a clue. All I know is that I am a fanatic of Christopher Reeve as Superman. I remember praying for him after his horseback riding accident, and I strongly believed that he would walk again. I went from a little kid who watched him play Clark Kent--my first Superhero love--to twenty years old when he died, and I was completely heartbroken. Completely heartbroken. Either I was insane or stupid or both, but when I mounted Callie's back, I did not wear a helmet. I refused one. For twain reasons. One, having been born with craniosynostosis, I possess an oddly shaped skull. If tomboyish baseball caps and chic top hats will not fit my head, then no helmet will. Two, having been born with craniosynostosis, I possess a freakishly hard skull. Besides. I had already survived falling backwards out of our yellow/white Chevrolet Suburban while wearing roller skates. Tons of blood and zero stitches later, I only became crazier. Well. I immediately regretted this insane no-helmet decision both mentally and emotionally. Me--who is afraid of falling--was so very high from the ground!! And I did not have a helmet on?! Stupid, stupid, stupid. They say that horses can smell fear, to which I agree. As I rode Callie, Desiree walking alongside me, Callie was--if I remember correctly!!--quite nervous!! I anxiously kept saying "whoa", which to Callie meant "hoe", or stop. {If I spelled that right!!} So Callie kept abruptly stopping!! Desiree, who could also read my fear, asked if I wanted Callie to trot. I said "yes". I lied. Now. Before I sat on Callie's saddle, my Uncle Tom distinctively told me not to scream. And what did I do when Callie trotted? That's right. I screamed. But thankfully, Callie never bucked me off, and I did not fall on my oddly-shaped rock-hard head, so everything went smoothly!! Callie, I must add, was recently euthanized. Metaphorically speaking, my negative feelings/emotions/thoughts--which are the sole cause of minor mood swing-infused pity parties--feel like some powerful wild and unruly muscular mare. I decided to name her. Well, at first, he was this handsome stallion, but I eventually gave him a "sex change". I altered his name, as well. Then, as I meditated on my negative feelings/emotions/thoughts, I decided that she is a beautiful Pinto Horse. Her name's Jezabelle. What? I love that Bible name, but could never give it to a canine. Or daughter. Or character. Oh wait. I just gave the name Jezabelle to a character, didn't I? Anyhoo. Whether I want to or not, even sans knowing it, I am continuously mounted on Jezabelle's back. Sometimes she calmly walks along, as I feel her stomach against my legs. But sometimes? Jezabelle, being the wild and untamed mare that she is, attempts her very best efforts in bucking me off. With every negative feeling? Jezabelle bucks. With every negative emotion? Jezabelle bucks. With every negative thought? Jezabelle bucks. With every hot tear that trickles down my cheek? I hold on tight {As though my life depends on it!!} to Jezabelle's leather reins. With every minor mood swing-infused pity party, whether long or short? Jezabelle throws me. There are, of course, some physical and emotional repercussions afterward--I call them "mood swing hangovers"--such as a spitting headache. But I survive every time. And I only manage to walk away stronger, as my perspective on Life becomes even better. Somehow. Jezabelle can break me mentally and emotionally. However. Jezabelle cannot kill me. Because I'm "hard to kill", as that phrase goes. Lately? I have found myself in the oddly wonderful place of gripping Jezabelle's reins so tight that my knuckles turn white. For example. I randomly visited somebody's Blog yesterday--she published her memoir--and was celebrating in a bookstore. In a bookstore. You know what? Jealousy didn't strike me that this Blogger is published and I am not. No. I still find myself at peace--for the most part--with God's answer to me that I shouldn't be a published author. Not can't. I shouldn't be a published author because my prolific Writing Projects keep me emotionally and mentally sane. Yes. My Writing Projects keep minor mood swing-infused pity parties at bay!! And I so desperately need that. Sanity. Because. With sanity, to me, also comes happiness!! No. It was the very sight of a bookstore {With its wall-to-wall published literature} and my "books" are not being sold there that suddenly hit hard. But then. Before I could throw myself yet another pity party, I wrote this down in protest against any negative emotions. I don't want to be a published author. Not right now at least. Published authors aren't allowed the time to write as prolifically as I do. I need that. The time. Which I have been so blessed with. I need the time to write monthly "books". It maintains my emotional/mental sanity. I'm. Livin'. The. Dream!!

Ride like the wind, Jezabelle. I know, sans a doubt, that you will throw me off again. And again. And again. And again. Although it has not occurred in quite some time!! But meanwhile? I am holding on tight to your leather reins. I will tame you in good time.

  

Multitasking

Blogging Friends.... I would like to clarify something about the other day's post. I wrote this. Then, in my teenage years, I developed a "thing" for Harrison Ford. Well, he hardly counted, anyway. I was really in love with Han Solo!! Wrong. Days after clicking "publish", I flashed back to my teenage self. Scary.... Anyway, I then remembered that I also had "thing" for Indiana Jones. Especially in the last film!! Swoon!! So yeah. Harrison Ford does, in fact, count as one of my "old guy" Hollywood celebrity crushes!! And you gotta love Han Solo!! As I promised, here is a story about Rose!! Love you later.

Multitasking. They say that this comes naturally to women and girls. Well. They have evidentially never met me. Because frankly? Multitasking can overwhelm and stress me out!! Why? I haven't a clue!! Perhaps this is because I am learning disabled. Therefore, I do everything at my own slow pace. Or maybe. Just maybe. My attention deficit disorder and fierce sense of focus on one task interferes. Either way, I am no "Supermom". And I have never found multitasking as one of my strengths. Never. Last Thursday, during partly sunny weather, I was taking my two-year old niece, "Amethyst", for a ride in her red hard plastic Radio Flyer wagon around our suburban cul-de-sac. I snapped the black belt around "Amethyst's" chubby tummy. Then I noticed that Rose felt left out and wanted to come with on our "adventure". Okay!! I happily linked the red leash to Rose's collar. Then, outside we stepped!! My youngest brother--Uncle Michael to Rose but just Michael to "Amethyst"--pulled the wagon while I walked Rose. At first. After one or two times around the cul-de-sac, Michael got bored and stepped back inside."Amethyst", ever observant, saw Michael leaving. I asked her if she would like to go back inside also. No. So around and around and around the cul-de-sac I walked. I was on my own this time. My left arm held the hard ebony plastic wagon handle. We heard a flock of Canada geese honk, honk, honking away. I picked some "lellow" dandelions for "Amethyst" to hold in her chubby little hands. We saw a tiny bushtit, and I taught "Amethyst" that word. She can say it now. From clear down the cul-de-sac, we could hear our next door neighbor's black and white Border Collie/St. Bernard mix, Zeke, bark loudly. "Amethyst" loves that crazy canine!! As my right hand held Rose's leash, I felt an odd sense of gratitude that I was born with two complete arms. Eventually, Rose decided that, like Michael, she, too, was bored of our same-old-same-old walk around the cul-de-sac. So my iron willed little girl tensed up every muscle within her shoulders and stopped walking. On several occasions!! But my long skinny right arm kept pulling Rose along!! At one point I even said this aloud. "To quote Tony Stark from 'Iron Man 3'. 'Stop stopping!' ". We must have looked like a sight to behold, for it felt as though I was being torn in twain opposite directions toward the end of our walk, pulling a red wagon and my canine....

I was doing it. I was multitasking!!     

Love You Later

Blogging Friends.... In case you have noticed, I've began closing comments with "Love you later". See, Robert Downey Jr. won a Kids' Choice Award the other day for "Best Butt Kicker", and he closed his speech with the words "love you later". I liked that!! A lot!! So now, I am writing/saying it. Because I am an oddball, and proud of it!! Love you later.

I seldom ever double-post. But this was just written in my private Word Document journal. It needed to be shared. Right. Now.

You know what? I have, throughout probably my entire life, loved "old guy" Hollywood celebrities. It began with Dick Van Dyke, I believe. When I was a little girl watching "Diagnosis Murder". I also "crushed" on his son, Barry. But only because he played a policeman!! Okay? I am a sucker for men in uniform!! Anyway. Then, in my teenage years, I developed a "thing" for Harrison Ford. Well, he hardly counted, anyway. I was really in love with Han Solo!! However. Being "in love" with Harrison Ford brought on some teasing from family for "liking" someone who is old enough to be my Grandfather. Sorry, Harry!! Next up was Tom Hanks--who, by the way, is the same age as my Mom!!--and whenever anybody were to ask me how old he was I refused to reveal it. Yes, refused. Fast forward to today. I love, love, love Robert Downey Jr.!! Love, love, love. A dude who used to be so "lost, lost in narcotics", that everybody--friends, family, the world at large--predicted an "untimely death" on his behalf. Well. Robert Downey Jr. turned 49 years young today--nearly midway to 100!!--and for the first time, for the first time, I am unashamed at admitting an actor's age. Because I'm so proud. Proud of him!! And because all logic screams through a blow horn that Robert Downey Jr. never should have made it this far. To age 49. Thank God that Robert Downey Jr. is "hard to kill"!! Do you see the things he does to me?!

Happy, happy, happy birthday, Robert Downey Jr.!! Here's to many, many, many more.

Jayden

Blogging Friends.... I know I owe you all a story about Rose. Looking back at my Blog post archives, I realize that it has been several weeks since I last wrote about Rose!! But never fear. Rose stories will come, I promise!! I actually plan to write one up today!! Love you later.

  

C.D.H. is, I think, much like a raging forest fire. Children born with it are fragile yet strong trees. Sometimes. The raging forest fire of C.D.H. can burn its trees, scalding them badly. These such C.D.H. children then live most of their lives with unwanted health issues. Sometimes. The raging forest fire of C.D.H. can merely singe its trees. Such as in my case. Then the only sign that there ever was a raging forest fire at all is very visible yet beautiful scars. And tragically. Sometimes. The raging forest fire of C.D.H. can burn its trees to ash. As C.D.H. children are still dying. But I have personally witnessed something miraculous firsthand. Even trees that have been badly burned grow back afresh!! Never lose hope.

Just days after I posted this--on April 2nd--the "raging forest fire" of congenital diaphragmatic hernia, heartbreakingly, took another "tree". His name was Jayden. I visit a dear C.D.H. Mama's Facebook page, "Raising Healthy Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia Children"--and am the "outsider looking in"--so, as I read about Beautifully Unique Kindred Spirits, I "knew" Jayden. Best to my knowledge, his Mommy never Blogged. I haven't a clue what he looked like. But I "knew" Jayden. I read all about his brave battles against C.D.H., how severe it was, complications, trials and triumphs on Facebook. I "knew" Jayden. And I, along with everyone else in that Online community, prayed for his survival.

This is taken from my private Word document journal upon reading the sad news. It's real and uncensored. For those of you who have issues with that, go and have a chat with my raw emotions. They will win the argument.

It hurts to be a survivor of C.D.H. sometimes.... It hurts like hell.... It hurts so damn hard.... I am alive.... My heart is beating within my chest.... Blood flows fluently through my veins.... I just wrote my ninth "book".... And yet.... Another precious Beautifully Unique little dude just lost his life today.... My Kindred Spirit C.D.H. Buddy's name was Jayden.... Rest in peace....