Jsack's Mom's Blog

Sharing my heart, tears, and love, one story at a time. ❤️

Smells

It’s amazing what kind of smells will transport you back in time. When I smell fresh cut wood or saw dust I think of my Dad who was a logger for 40 + years. I think of those trips I took with him in the woods and how we talked forever and we shared laughs over our lunches. With me drinking my hot chocolate and him drinking his coffee. When I smell Vick’s I think of all the sleepless nights when I got sick and my Mom rubbed that on my throat, chest, back, and feet. She’d sing me a lullaby and tell me everything would be alright and God would hear her prayer and make me whole again. God bless my dear Mama and all her love and care for all 6 of her children. Whenever I smell fresh bread baking I think of my Ukrainian Grandma rolling out the dough with her strong powerful arms, and how she’d pound that bread with her fists. And as I was helping by spreading the flour clouds of it would be rising above my head as I was covered in it. She also made the most amazing perogies and the smell of potatoes, cheese, and onions cooking can still make my mouth water. When a catch a whiff of cinnamon and ginger I think of my Gram and her fantastic baking. She also had a special ritual when she’d get ready to go somewhere special. She’d bake treats for my Grandpa and then go and pretty herself up after. She’d layer her signature fragrance of Chantilly Lace first with body lotion, powder, then perfume. It smelled wonderful like she was wrapped up in angels wings. When she passed away I made sure to save all her Chantilly and I put it on every so often and think of her. My Dad wore this amazing cologne called Old Spice. He’d wave up his hair (like Elvis) and slap on some cologne and I thought he was the most handsomest man on the earth and he smelled wonderful. I once stopped a man on the street to ask him if he was wearing Old Spice. Much to his surprise I had guessed that, as that smell triggered that memory of my dear Dad. Now I can bath my boys and have them come out of the tub smelling like Johnson’s baby shampoo just like I did many years ago. And how I can cuddle them in my arms and smell their baby powder deliciousness. It funny how certain smells give off special memories as I sit here and reminisce with a smile on my face and a tear in my eye.

Today’s Sunday confession brought to you  by the fabulous http://www.morethancheeseandbeer.com

check her out and all the other awesome bloggers that link up. 😃

 

This photo is from my garden. My Mom loved the smell of rich red roses and it smells heavenly. ❤️🌹

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At the Doctor

In the past few months I’ve been on a health and wellness journey for my son and I’ve spent lots of time at the Doctor. Recently 3 months ago my youngest son was diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD) also known as Sensory Integration Disorder. I’m still taking the steps to tell family and friends. It’s been a long process to get to this point where I can comfortably talk about it. I believe that’s thanks to prayer, reading, researching, and absorbing anything sensory related. I have become a sponge and soaked up whatever information I could to help my son function in a world that is sometimes to big, busy, bright, and loud. I have spent time in waiting rooms in our family Doctor’s office while I try to convince my son (who’s 3) not to tear apart the place while we sit and wait up to 45 minutes to an hour. I’ve seen a Developmental Pediatrician that grilled my hubby and I with questionnaires regarding our sons birth, development, sensory issues, and our own childhoods. Recently I was referred to an ENT for my sons snoring, waking, and sleeplessness issues. I sat in his waiting room patiently reading, drawing, and coloring, with my son as there wasn’t anything to occupy his sensory toddler mind except me. I always come equipped with my bag of fun as I like to call it because waiting at the Doctor has become a job. I gladly take it on to support and advocate for my child who doesn’t have the voice to get the help he needs. I’ve sat at the waiting room in the X-ray clinic while I have to prepare my son to poked, prodded, and adjusted while explaining to the technicians about his neurological condition. I have stood there in disbelief and frustration while the ENT put my sons X-ray up on the screen and told me that bone is white, grey is air, and black is the tongue without once looking me in the eye. The diagnosis obstructive sleep apnea due to an enlarged tongue. I’ve been told due to this there’s nothing that can be done surgically to help him because his tonsils and adenoids are fine. Even if he stops breathing many times in the night. There’s nothing to be done with his sensory condition. I’ve been asked can he tolerate wearing a CPAP machine, dental device to hold his tongue in place? I honestly don’t know until I try is my response. I’ve held him in my arms and had to shake him awake and wipe away my own tears as I’ve listened to the sweet sound of his breath. I’ve fought, demanded, and pushed to get results from these Doctors who make me hurry up and wait in their waiting rooms. Only to be ridiculed, placated, angered, and frustrated as my son goes into sensory overload for all these appointments. I’ve been told my son is a mystery and requires further testing, and there’s nothing that can be done to help him. And not to forget to mention all the appointments with occupational therapists and speech language pathologists who I have to tell them what will help my son after all my research. I’ve gotten the feeling from the professionals that I’m perceived to be looking for a payout to cash in on an ASD diagnosis. I’ve spent the last 6 months on this journey into SPD land advocating, training, and providing therapy for my sweet boy who at the tender age of 3 has a long list of diagnosis’s that could make your head spin!!! And yet here I am keeping calm and pressing on to advocate for more help and yet more time spent at the doctor.
Today’s Sunday confession brought to you by the talented, fabulous, <a href=” http://morethancheeseandbeer.blogspot.com/p/how-to-participate-in-sunday-

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Resilience

I tend to think of myself as a resilient person. I didn’t always think that way though. I thought in the past I was more a victim of my circumstances then a survivor. I’ve loved, learned, and lost and yet I keep, keeping on. Recently I’ve had to take on the role of being a solo parent. A term I’ve borrowed from the amazing Mommy blogger Jen Pinarski. I’ve had to endure many months away from my hubby as he moved away to start this new life in a new city. In the meantime I’ve become the be all and end all to my kids. Dealing with their fears, lonliness, and anxiety while missing their Daddy. And putting my stress, sleep deprived nights, and my own feelings on hold. This is what Moms do, we are rock stars in our concerts of life. I’ve dealt with my sons life altering diagnosis’s and I’ve held my precious little boy in my arms and prayed for God to help him. I’ve had my heart beating on the outside of my chest getting broken, bruised, and bleeding while I’ve gone to Doctors and specialists that tell me they can’t help him. I’ve handled (although without patience) my oldest sons emotional tantrums with missing his Dad, being bullied at school, and anger at me because I’m the only one here. I have family they’re supportive and loving but they don’t know how my heart breaks when I see my precious children in pain. I have friends that help but they have their own lives that I don’t want to burden. I’ve had the death of my parents in my world shatter my heart as I still continue to find ways to work through my grief. I’ve sat with nothing but a bottle of wine to keep me company and cried buckets of tears for all of this and more. Do I feel sorry for myself? Do I think I can live and fight to face another day? No, I’m not sorry, I’m living the life I’m supposed to. And yes I did deep, and drag myself around living the life of a “Mombie.” Why do I do it, why don’t I just pull the plug and move away? Because I’m resilient, I’m there for my boys when no one else is, no matter if they rage at me because I’m a safe place for their anxiety. I still find ways to bring them fun, adventure, and most of all love. And becoming more dependent on myself than anyone else has taught me more love, self respect, and appreciation for the person I am. I’ve pushed past my own anxiety and discovered a strength I didn’t know existed!!! Some people would’ve pulled the pin of this life after all I’ve been through. Not me, I’m feeling the fear and doing it anyways. Here’s to all of us fear fighters, resilient rebels, and brave beauties because without us the world would be deprived of some bad ass super rock stars. 😃
This Sunday confession brought to you by a rock star super woman herself
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Rejection

Have you ever fallen so hard for someone that you see them in your dreams at night, you hang out at the places you know they will be, doodle their name + yours on your notebook, and smile at them when you see them, yet they don’t know you exist? Have you stayed at home on a Friday night waiting for your so called “friends” to call you when you know they’ve all made plans to get together? Have you gone to bed at night crying yourself to sleep wondering what you did, said, to make them treat you this way? Have you felt the sting, the pain, the ultimate humiliation of rejection? I have too many times in my life to count! I’ve had guys tell me it’s not you, it’s me let’s be friends. Meanwhile they’ve been banging my friends all summer. I’ve hung out with the popular girls in high school only to have myself sit and wait for them to call, pick me up, or RSVP to an invitation. I’ve planned parties where I’ve had no one show up I’ve felt that hurtful, disgusting, heart wrenching monster called rejection. I’ve sat in a classroom of 20 kids and had spit balls thrown at my head, called hurtful names and bullied till I was tears. You may be thinking wow, what a loser to not have even one friend to lean on. Or feel so much sympathy because you would’ve been that friend to me if you could. Back in my childhood I had this condition that I like to call “people pleaseitis.” I wanted people to like me, because I really liked people. I was always surrounded by a lot of people that loved me, I was also around a lot of older people that taught me their wisdom in stories about their lives. I loved kids my age, older, younger, but as a child I always related to the adults. I could go to a sleep over and while all the girls were giggling and watching movies, and I’d be sitting chatting and drinking tea in the kitchen with their parents. I wasn’t an ugly child that no one would play with I was just different. I loved to climb trees, play baseball, and go on nature hikes, read fascinating books that would take me on exciting adventures. And a one point and time I wanted to be the great Pippi Longstocking except with parents, not without. I didn’t like crowds, loud sounds, or bright lights, because those things frightened me. Now they call this a neurological condition Sensory Integration Disorder. I grew up empathic and I could see, hear, and feel energy of things that other people weren’t aware of. And when I’d talk about the “rainbows” I saw around people what I learned were called auras, kids would think I was crazy!!! And I’d say to a friend don’t be sad your Grandpa died because he’s sitting there beside you. And you can imagine the reactions I get to that bold statement? I thought everyone could see what I saw it was just that they were too busy to notice. My parents and my Grandparents knew about my abilities and they were my greatest protectors. I hung out with the other kids that got teased, and I protected them from the other bullies. At the end of my Grade 8 school year my Dad went to everyone of those kids houses that bullied me. And those little assholes had to apologize to me for their brutal behavior. My Dad, my rock, my protector, my hero. Now as an adult I care less about what people think of me. I gravitate more to like minded people that accept, love, respect, and appreciate me for who I am. I still make mistakes and choose the wrong people when I repeat my old patterns from childhood. But no one bullies me, I say what’s on my mind, and I still treat people how I want to be treated. It’s the golden rule and one my amazing Mom etched in my mind and heart. My Mom a saint among Mothers, and a true friend for eternity. And now that monster rejection touches my heart, mind, and soul a lot less. I have this thicker skin and self confidence that grew stronger, wiser, and more powerful than it. So in closing I offer these words of wisdom “be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle” -Philo

This Sunday confession brought to you by the fabulous MoreThanCheeseandBeer
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