Las Vegas TV Interview

I would like to share an interview I did during the Postpartum Support International Training in Las Vegas. Thanks to Channel 8 News for helping spread awareness of perinatal mood and anxiety disorders.

http://www.8newsnow.com/category/28259/8-news-now-video?clipId=7512301&autostart=true

Super Mom - KARE 11 News Saturday - May 5, 2012

Broken Crayons, Black Toilet Seats and Band-Aids

I know what you're thinking - what in the world do broken crayons, black toilet seats and Band-Aids have to do with each other? I still wonder that myself and it seems even more strange seeing them all together in a headline. But truth be told, they are all symbols of a long history of anxiety. My anxiety. And reading this really makes me feel like a head case.

Let me take you back about 35 years. As soon as I was old enough to hold a crayon I developed a strange phobia about the broken ones. I screamed when I saw a broken crayon. I insisted my mother buy me a new box of Crayola's if one were to break. When I saw a broken crayon in the box it made my heart race and my tiny hands sweat. I felt short of breath and wanted to hide. A few years later, my mom got some advice from an expert to make 'cookie crayons', a blend of broken crayons that are baked together in a muffin pan to form one cool looking multicolored crayon. And that seemed to cure me of whatever was causing this strange phobia. However, I did catch myself recently going through my kids' crayon box and throwing away all of the broken ones.

To top off my quirky fear of broken crayons, I then developed a childhood phobia of black toilet seats. Not white ones. Not pink ones like my grandma had. No, just the black ones with the pointy seats that you find in public restrooms. My fear turned to avoidance. I wouldn't go into public bathrooms. If we were out in public I would hold it as long as I could. If my parents made me go to the public bathroom I became paralyzed with fear or would cry in hysteria. I still remember the humiliating day in kindergarten that I walked home with poop in my pants because I wouldn't use the bathroom at school. I'm not sure how or why, but sometime around age five I overcame the avoidance, but for several years still felt anxious in public restrooms.

Fast-forward 30 years. Now I am an adult with three kids of my own. I haven't had phobias since childhood, and then at age 35 I developed a phobia of Band-Aids. This psychological quirk happened after my hospitalization for postpartum anxiety and hasn't been resolved yet.

For the past two summers, I have despised public places where Band-Aids may be lurking. You can find these at parks, pools and beaches, and they always see to find me in abundance. For my 36th birthday I thought it would be fun to take my kids to the beach. I spent the afternoon paralyzed in one spot, afraid to step in the sand or grass for fear of the disgusting used bandage. It makes me cringe just writing about them. I want to vomit. I want to flee. I want to cover my feet in twelve pairs of socks and wear boots that go to my knees. And for the life of me, I don't understand why.

Last month we took a family vacation to an indoor water-park. I was so excited for this vacation and wasn't worried at all about the "B" word. On the first day when we arrived, we went to check out the pool area. I saw a bandage floating in the pool and that was it for me. I was frozen in fear. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to run away. There was no way in hell I was going in that water. We were at the water-park for six days and every time we went near the pools I felt sick. I did get myself to go in the hot tub and dip my feet in the kiddie pool, but even then I wasn't having any fun and was paralyzed with fear.

I don't understand these phobias - they seem so illogical to me. But I recently went back to therapy to explore some of this crap and get rid of it once and for all. My therapist thinks I have a form of anxiety called Conversion Disorder, in which anxiety is transposed to your body or the physical world. I've also seen this show up with temporary paralysis after my second child and an array of physical symptoms after my third daughter's birth.

I suppose I am just wired this way. Somehow my brain transposes my anxiety to my physical world. I am trying to make sense of it all and learn more. So if you know of anyone or have any insight on this strange disorder, please let me know. I've figured a lot out about my PPD/A, but some things still remain a mystery.

Stacey Ackerman is the author of Supermom: A Postpartum Anxiety Survival Story and lives in Lakeville, Minn., with her husband Eirik and children Evan, Eithan and Emily.

It's All About Me in 2012

This is the year for me, the mom. For the past six years and seven months I have put myself on the back burner. Beginning June 1, 2005, the day I became "Supermom" for the first time, I have taken care of everyone but myself. Now it's time for that to change.

My pre-preggo size 6 jeans are in a box in the shed. I am determined to fit into them again! I have constantly made excuses as to why I don't have time to work out, and have eaten more than my share of leftover mac 'n cheese. But now, it's all about me! I have dusted off my treadmill and made it a priority to work out every morning. As an added bonus, my kids have even learned how to make their own breakfast if they can't wait until I'm finished working out.

When I lose my first 10 pounds, I am going shopping - for me! I spend a ton of money making sure my daughter looks like a diva, but my wardrobe is more circa Target 1999. The new me is going to lose the frumpy mom sweats!

My career also took a rear view mirror spot during my children's early years. This year I am going to figure out what I need to be happy and successful and I am going to make those dreams come true.

Couple time has also been scarce since parenthood hit us like a ton of bricks. This year, I want to bring our relationship even closer together. We've done pretty well with family bonding, but couple time seems rare. So today, I took my free hotels.com voucher and booked a night away at the suite where we stayed on our wedding night. I can't wait for an entire 24-hours of kid-free time! Who knows, maybe we'll even get to the point of leaving the munchkins for a real get-away at some point in the near future.

I have also decided that guilty pleasures are okay, and they are good for my mental health. My day starts out great if I can watch 20 minutes of House Hunters with a warm cup of coffee before having to get everyone else ready.

It has taken me a long time to figure this out, but to be a good parent, you first need to be good to yourself. What do you have planned for yourself today?

Stacey Ackerman is the author of Supermom: A Postpartum Anxiety Survival Story and lives in Lakeville, Minn., with her husband Eirik and children Evan, Eithan and Emily.

Family Bonding on the Road

Some people think we are crazy, and they are probably right. For the third time, our family decided to embark on a cross-country adventure mini-van style. There is no better way to create a family bond than to be stuck in a car together for four straight days.

Planning a vacation for five on a budget is not easy, and that is one more reason to go by car. We traveled from Farmington, Minn. to Myrtle Beach, S.C. for winter break. We even took the long way, stopping in Des Moines, Iowa for an early Christmas with my in-laws. Getting to Myrtle Beach, which is 23-hours away, took us four days.

After our early Christmas, we decided to head straight south to get to warmer weather. Our first stop was St. Louis, Mo., where my hubby had planned an outing to the Incredible Pizza Company. This place looked like a casino and it delighted my children (an especially hubs) to no end.

My hubby's other quest for our journey was to find hockey jerseys at Targets in every state we went to. Much to our dismay, hockey isn't very popular in the south, but we did manage to pick up a few college football jerseys, pillows and hats.

Let me also mention that while most children sleep in the car, mine don't. Ever. I have three insomniacs. Throughout the entire adventure, I got a one hour catnap out of the two and six year old and the four-year old sucked his thumb a lot, but avoided sleep at all costs.

However, my kiddos are great car travelers. After all, who wouldn't mind singing songs, playing road games and eating endless snacks? We did give in a bit to technology and hooked them up with movies, Pandora and Angry Birds.

As much fun as the adventure down was, we decided to extend our stay at the beach another day and high-tail it home in two days. And yes, those were two hellish 12-plus hour days.

Day one began en route to Indianapolis with a stop at a souvenir shop in the middle of nowhere South Carolina. We filled up on last-minute goodies to bring home. We watched as the GPS arrival time creeped up a little more.

When we entered North Carolina, my husband asked me to locate a Target near the Interstate so he could look for more jerseys. Given my superior navigation skills, I found a Target in Ashville that was near a highway, but it was three away from the one we were on! Our GPS took us on twists and turns through this cute mountain town. Forty-five minutes later we arrived at the off the beaten path Target, only to discover the jerseys were sold out! The clock creeped even further ahead. Tick tock, tick tock.

To save time, we decided to eat our meals in the car that day. Four "I have to go potty" stops and a few diarrhea diapers later, we finally made it to Kentucky around 10 p.m. And then it happened, four-year-old Eithan says, "I'm gonna barf! Too much chocolate milk!"

We looked around and there was nowhere to stop. I handed him a plastic bag and told him to use it. Of course he missed, and warm recycled chocolate milk spewed everywhere in our car and on everything inside it. Poor Eithan was covered from head to toe in puke! We stopped in BF Kentucky where I paid $6 for a can of air freshener and did our best to clean up the mess. We finally arrived to our hotel after midnight and for the first time ever, all three children had fallen asleep.

This made for an interesting drive home the next day. We decided to drive like bats out of hell and minimize any stops. The car reeked of stale milk and I had to hold my breath the entire way because the smell made me nauseous. We made it home safe and sound by 8 p.m. on New Year's Eve. What a perfect way to end the year.

Despite the challenges, I wouldn't trade this adventure for anything in the world. We've given our kids an experience that they will remember for years to come. Road tripping is still the best way to get a true American experience.

Stacey Ackerman is the author of Supermom: A Postpartum Anxiety Survival Story and lives in Lakeville, Minn., with her husband Eirik and children Evan, Eithan and Emily.

Missing You

Last Monday I had three kids at home all day. Sick. With the flu. Stuck inside on a cold Minnesota winter day. It was the day from hell. I just wanted it to end. As I tried to grade papers for my online classes, clean up diarrhea, sanitize everything and keep the kids from killing each other, I wanted nothing more than to run away.

I called my husband at work in desperation saying, "Don't go anywhere after work. Come home immediately. I need to get out of here!"

I could feel my chest tighten and my nerves go crazy. There is nothing I hate more than being confined at home. It makes me feel trapped and claustrophobic. Even if I wouldn't go anywhere, knowing that I couldn't go anywhere made me feel insane.

To make matters worse, my kids didn't have fevers with this bug, so their energy level wasn't compromised. They had full ammunition for tattling and insults.

"Mom, Eithan took my toy!" said Evan. "Mommy, Emily hit me!" cried Eithan. "I'm poopy 'gain," said Emily.

When Eirik walked in the door at precisely 4:24 p.m. I made my escape. Phew, I'm out of prison, I thought to myself.

I went to Panera to grab some dinner alone and try to grade papers in peace. I took a deep breath and enjoyed the peace and quiet.

Until, it happened. I heard the laughter of small children. And then I felt really sad and lonely. It had only been an hour or so, but I missed my three little people. I felt guilty that I wasn't more patient today, and that I wasn't enjoying the time I got to spend with them.

I missed their little laughs, their funny jokes, their adorable smiles. Why couldn't I see those things all day? Why did I only see the shittiness of the day?

Tomorrow I will try to enjoy the cute smiles, despite the crap that the day may bring.

Top 10 Things I'm Grateful For

I often complain about what I don't have, or what I wish I had. More time. More money. A bigger house. A cooler car. Perfectly behaved children. My pre-baby weight.

However, I'm feeling in the spirit of Thanksgiving today, so instead of "what if" I am going to focus my energy on the wonderful things that I have in my life. Here is my list:

Top 10 Things I'm Grateful For

1) My husband. Even though I complain when you leave dirty dishes in the sink and wear your shoes in the house, you are my rock. We have been together through good times and bad, and I look forward to many more years of chaos!

2) My children. My children have shown me what it's like to love wholeheartedly. Despite the whining, temper-tantrums and full-blown chaos you create, I wouldn't have it any other way.

3) Coffee. While I often abuse you, you get me through those sleep-deprived mornings. You are also my guilty pleasure when I spend $4 on a single cup.

4) My anxiety disorder. I realize this one seems really strange, however, it's this part of my self-discovery that has allowed me to take care of myself. Now I go to yoga and get massages guilt-free - it's therapy!

5) Postpartum depression. I NEVER thought I would be grateful for the nightmare that plagued our family two years ago, but "That which does not kill us makes us stronger". I am a survivor. I am a fighter. And now I am a compassionate healer to other women.

6) Chocolate. Need I say more!

7) Gossip Magazines. It is this senseless reading that helps me relax and unwind after a stressful day. After all, with problems such as what to wear to the Academy Awards, it makes my troubles seems, well...

8) HGTV. This allows me to dream about a fabulous vacation home or what I want my next house to look like. However, it also makes me think how lucky I am to live in such a great neighborhood with a wonderful sense of community, a huge yard for my kids to run around in, and the hardwood floors and stainless steel appliances aren't half bad either.

9) My Health. Even though anxiety and asthma have kicked my ass over the past year, I'm still healthy overall. I can walk, talk and play with my children.

10) My Parents. Even though I'm 37, I still need my mom and dad. Over the past few months I've seen my parents battling health problems, which makes me realize how short life really can be.

What are you grateful for? I'd love to hear from you!

Stacey Ackerman is the author of Supermom: A Postpartum Anxiety Survival Story and lives in Lakeville, Minn., with her husband Eirik and children Evan, Eithan and Emily.

Paying it Forward

After I got over my postpartum anxiety crisis, the first thing I wanted to do was bury it far, far in the back of my mind. I wanted to pretend that PPD never happened to me; like it was just another mother's bad dream. That would have been the easier thing to do.

However, after I recovered from PPD, I knew my life had changed forever. I had a new sense of appreciation for my health and my family. I also knew that there were so many women out there that were searching for a light of hope.

When I was sick, all I wanted to find was someone else who understood me. It is impossible to explain mental illness to those who have never experienced it. After all, how can you be sick inside when you look fine on the outside.

That's when I decided to 'Pay it Forward'. If I am able to help other mother's out there, and even rock the boat a little bit when it comes to postnatal care, then maybe what I went through was meant to be.

I am here today and I am fine. I've emerged from hell and back, and so can other PPD mom's. It takes a lot of faith, strength and perseverance to overcome such a horrific obstacle that's put in a new mom's way, but it can be done.

People ask me if my life is the same as before PPD. It's not the same, nor will it ever be. I am so much more in tuned with my emotions than ever before. I am also a lot better about prioritizing the things that matter the most in my life. And finally, I'm a much more empathetic person than I used to be.

Material things used to be really important to me. I wanted a perfect house, a nice car, great clothes. Now I'd rather sacrifice the high-paying corporate job that would allow me those luxuries if it means more time with my family and spreading the word about PPD awareness. To me, those are the true luxuries in life.

Stacey Ackerman is the Author of Supermom: A Postpartum Anxiety Survival Story. She can be reached at stacey@supermombook.org.

Embracing Halloween

This year, I embraced Halloween with open arms. I am not afraid of this spooky holiday any more. I was finally able to truly feel joy in this celebration and it has become a special day for our family.

Two years ago things were very different. I was in the midst of a postpartum crisis, locked away in a hospital psych ward. I can remember looking out of the window in the hospital gathering room and longing to be with my children, who were looking forward to trick or treating that evening. I cried uncontrollably, because the separation and pain I felt at that moment was too unbearable.

That night it became public information about where I had gone. In fact, my neighbors hadn't even noticed I had been missing for a week, but found it strange that I was no where in sight when my husband took the kids out for Halloween without me.

This was my first step in being honest with my situation. Even though it felt shameful to share our family crisis, it was out there.

Last year Halloween was really difficult. I was still experiencing a lot of post-traumatic stress disorder and the day triggered a lot of that trauma. I treaded lightly last Halloween. This year I embraced it fully.

For years from now, Halloween will be a family affair. As long as we are all together, it's alright by me.

Stacey Ackerman is the author of Supermom: A Postpartum Anxiety Survival Story and lives in Lakeville, Minn., with her husband Eirik and children Evan, Eithan and Emily.

Anxiety and Asthma

The two A's - anxiety and asthma are kicking my ass this week. The two definitely don't mix. It's really and oil and vinegar kind of combo.

Last winter, unbeknownst to me, I suddenly developed asthma. I found myself in the place that gives me the worst panic attacks ever - the hospital.

As I sat in the emergency room bed, all I could think of was being locked up in the psych ward. I suddenly wanted to flee. I did not want to be admitted to the hospital under any circumstances. My heart was racing, and my already labored breathing got worse. I was trembling and sweating with fear. Even though it was a totally different circumstance from my ppd hell, it felt all too familiar.

Now my asthma attacks have returned, followed by its friend anxiety. I ran a 5k this summer. Now I can't even climb my stairs without feeling like I'm going to keel over. I want to kick this crap - I'm a busy working mom of three and I don't have time to be knocked on my ass.

Then comes my friend anxiety trailing behind. It is wondering why the prednisone, flovent, allergy pills and albuterol nebs every four hours are not helping. It is feeding on my fear - will I be back in the hospital again? Then I wonder if it's just my imagination. Is it post-traumatic stress disorder, or am I physically ill? When I had ppd, I couldn't tell the difference.

I ask my hubby over and over for validation. "Do I seem any better to you?" I ask. "No, you seem about the same," he replies.

Nope, it's real. It's not my messed up head this time, though my head keeps taking me to places that I don't want to go.

Tomorrow I am seeing my asthma specialist. For today, I hope to kick these A's in the ass!

Psych Ward Rememberence

Today is October 25. No, it's not my birthday. It's not even anyone in my family's birthday. Today marks the two year anniversary of the day I committed myself to the psych ward.

It's the place I still fear through night terrors, a result of post-traumatic stress disorder. It is the place I think about every morning when I take my Lexapro, or when I see my daughter's smiling face. It is haunting, yet it is healing.

It is shameful to admit I was there, yet it is powerful to tell people I was there. And I'm better now. And I'm not a crazed lunatic, nor was I ever. I am a strong woman, and I was strong enough to face the stigma behind the psych ward and get the help I needed.

To commemorate this anniversary, here is an excerpt from my book Supermom explaining what happened two years ago today:

I will never forget the day I went to the hospital. It was Emily's one-month birthday and I wasn't sure if I'd ever be the same again.

When they finally brought me back to the evaluation area, this was like no part of the hospital I had ever seen. It seemed like I was visiting a high-security prison.

Suddenly I felt like I had done something wrong. I felt like a criminal and was afraid the authorities were going to lock me away for trying to poison my son. I was paranoid of everyone and everything around me. But I wanted help--whatever it took.

Body Art

Body art is kind of cool. On adults that is. Body art is not so cool when your two pre-school age boys decide to create Picasso-style art on each others' bodies. And I do mean every square inch of their bodies. Yes, even their "junk" was colored in marker.

I should have known better when I asked them to go downstairs and clean the basement and then I heard it - silence. The kind of silence that happens when they are up to no good. But instead of trusting my instincts that mayhem may be going on downstairs, I took the opportunity to have a shower in peace. A whole 10 minutes to myself.

My oldest son Evan was so proud of his creativity, that he came up the stairs and said, "Mom, you've got to see Eithan. He looks so tough!"

I think he was shocked by my reaction of absolute horror when my then three-year-old walked up stark naked and covered in marker shades of red, blue, purple, green, and orange. Evan actually thought he was doing something nice to his little bro.

Then came up baby Em, then one, with her bare feet covered in every color of the rainbow. Horror. All I could think about was how horrified I was. What a bad mother I was for leaving my little darlings unsupervised. But I really needed a shower!

Now don't get me wrong, I love art work and creativity, but this is where I draw the line!

Yes, it was washable marker, but in case your kids ever try this at home, red does not wash off for at least three days! My kids looked like they had streaks of blood running down their bodies.

Punching Out

Welcome to the re-launch of my blog! Yes, I started a few posts last year, but you know, life gets busy. Anyway, I'm taking another stab at it and I hope you'll join me for the journey.

If you're a mom like me, whether it's to one kid or to 12, it's a tough job. And unlike any other job, there is no "lunch hour", "break" or "time to clock out". And forget vacation days and sick days, moms don't get those either.

I remember one night when my boys, 4 and 6, who share a room, would not go to bed. It had been a long day and I was exhausted. Apparently my husband was too, because when I asked him to go check on them, his response was, "It's 8 o'clock and I'm off the clock."

Really, off the clock? Can parents do that? My husband thinks he can. When the clock turns eight, parenting is done.

He's a stellar dad, don't get me wrong. He takes the kids to the park, on hikes and watches them when I work. He really is one-of-a-kind when it comes to being hands-on. That is, until 8 o'clock.

One night I came home around 10 p.m. to find my husband downstairs on the treadmill and my boys running around like monkeys on the loose upstairs.

"What's going on up there?" I asked the hubs. "I don't know. It's past 8 o'clock," he replied.

Now, what if moms were to take on this same philosophy? I guess the kids would eventually go to sleep. Or would they?

I think the rules are different for moms. We're always on the clock. When the kids are barfing at 3 a.m., we're there cleaning it up. We don't have time to be sick. Someone's got to keep the household from falling apart.

But maybe we should try "punching out" at 8 o'clock. Maybe we need a break. A glass of Riesling and a little cookie dough. Perhaps I'll give it a try.

Mommy Jail

Have I scarred my kids for life by showing them jail or did I teach them a really great lesson?

It all started one day when I put Evan in "mommy jail". As summer was dwindling, so was my 5-year-old's attitude and my patience with him. I think someone took my sweet, innocent little boy and replaced him with a smart-mouthed hellion. He could give any parent of a teenager a run for their money! I hate to see what he'll be like as a teen if he keeps up this attitude.

So one night when my husband and I were running out of discipline strategies, we watched Supernanny together and took copious notes.

The next day when Evan lipped off to me, I followed Supernanny's directions to a T. Step one: warning; Step two: time out; Step three: get down to the child's level and discuss their behavior.

After about 10 tries at this methodology, Evan continued to mock the timeout process. After keeping my cool for so long, I finally lost it and said, "Go to your room, you're not getting dinner, you're going straight to bed!" I felt bad about the no dinner, so I brought him a tray of carrots and a cheese sandwich and said, "See, this is how people in jail eat. You're in jail for being naughty."

Evan has always been smarter than his years and said to me, "Mom, you can't put me in jail, that's what the police do." I was determined to win this battle so I told him, "You're in mommy jail." I then went on to explain that I didn't want him to grow up to be a bad guy and that little boys that don't listen to their parents often end up in jail.

Apparently this message stuck, perhaps a little too well. That night he cried to his daddy, "I don't want to grow up to be a bad guy."

A few days later, the sassing started again. I really think he's just bored and needs to start school, but nonetheless I can't stand it. We were on the way to take a bike ride around the lake when I turned around the mommy van and said, "Let's go visit jail."

There was a look of horror on Evan's face like I'd never seen before. "No mommy, I don't want to go to jail!" You aren't going to jail, I explained, "We're just going to visit some guys that didn't listen to their mommies when they were little and they made some bad choices. I don't want you to ever go to jail."

Perhaps I took this jail thing a little too far. But mind you, this jail is like the Sofitel of jails. It was built two years ago and resides next to a giant Lifetime Fitness and some huge new houses. Hey, if I had to go to jail, this one definitely wouldn't suck. Besides, it isn't exactly a high security prison. More like the place that you go if you have too many speeding tickets.

I called my mom and asked her if taking my boys to visit jail was wrong. She said, "What a great idea!" Then it hit me. I've started mothering like my mother. This is exactly the kind of crazy thing that she would do, and now I've done it too!

So is he scarred for life or cured of his disrespectful behavior? I guess only time will tell.

Evan's Ice Cream Shoppe

Eirik and I have big dreams for our kids someday. We don't care if they're doctors or lawyers, but we would love them to be entrepreneurs!

I took the kids to the park the other day. There is a bench with a window. Evan sat on the bench and decided he would open up his own business called, "Evan's Ice Cream Shoppe." He told his little brother Eithan that he was supposed to get the customers. Three-year-old Eithan went around to all of the kids at the park and said, "You've got to get some ice cream at Evan's Ice Cream Shoppe."
Evan then told the kids that the ice cream was $10 each. That's my boy, way to put a premium on your product! When Eithan tried to help sell ice cream, Evan said, "No, Eithan. You get the customers!" When it was time to go, Evan found a girl to "work" at the shoppe. "I've got a helper, we can go now," he said.

I had to immediately call Eirik. I knew he would be so proud of his boys. As parents, we thought about Evan running the operations and Eithan in charge of sales with a real business of their own someday. We can only hope that they are entrepreneurial-minded and never rely on someone else's business for their livelihood.

Das Pukenshit Haus

There are many days in my life since becoming a mom that I felt like I was living in Das Pukenshit Haus. Today was one of those days! My mom babysat last night and slept over. It was a wonderful Sunday morning, and a rare day where I got to sleep in late as Nana got up with the baby. I lazily strolled downstairs to learn that the baby had diarrhea and she was giving her a bottle of water. Whew, I got out of this one! That is until six hours later when I found the diarrhea diaper still sitting on the changing table, breathing in the open air. Gotta love that smell! Then I noticed my cat, who has a strange fixation with eating balloon strings, had regurgitated it and was eating the leftovers as a snack! Top that off with my three-year-old, who seems to have forgotten show to do number two on the potty. The evening ended with his second bath of the day, thankfully from his very wonderful dad, who did his best to remove the poop that was all over his third change of clothes. Yes, it's glamorous being the Supermom in Das Pukenshit Haus!

Too Tired for Coffee

This morning, after a 6 a.m. awakening with my slightly feverish 10-month old daughter, I was looking around my kitchen knowing I had to do something that is part of my morning routine, but what was it? Oh yeah, make coffee. You know you're tired when you're too tired to remember to make coffee!

Yesterday I came down with one of those terrible summer colds, and unfortunately my daughter had it too. I decided to have a rare "home" day, but like other Supermom's out there, it consisted of baking cookies, playing outside, making homemade barrettes, putting away five loads of laundry, working on my book, attending a faculty meeting, grading papers, doing dishes, making lunches, letting in the drywall guy, cleaning up my three-year-old's poop, etc., etc., etc. Let's face it, there's no such thing as a sick day for a mom!

Ouch, Stitches!!!

Oh no, not Eithan again! My poor little guy (3) has been in the hospital so many times, but this time it was for stitches.

Grandpa was babysitting and had given him a bath. He then went running full blast on the bathroom floor, slipped and split his chin open on the ceramic tub. Grandpa didn't see any reason to call me and let me know.

When I came home from a session with my therapist and a trip to the craft store, I asked why Eithan wasn't wearing a shirt and he said, "Because he bled all over it." After being home for about 15 minutes, my dad said, "You may want to look at his chin, I put a Band-Aid on it." I had my dad remove the bandage because it freaked me out, and I gasped when I saw the huge gape in his chin.

I then called the pediatricians office and was put on hold for an eternity..."There are four callers ahead of you..........." Arrghh! Finally, I got through to the nurse and she told me to bring him to the children's hospital.

Eithan said he wanted daddy, and my husband Eirik left work to meet us at the hospital. Eithan was such a brave little guy - he didn't even cry when the nurse gave him four stitches on his chin. He was very excited by the Popsicle and all of the stickers he received.

As for mom, I've had better days! There is nothing more heart-wrenching than seeing your child in pain.

Hold It!

The other day my son Eithan said he had to go potty. I told him, "Can't you just hold it?" He said, "No mommy, I can't find my pee pee to hold." Ahh, boys!