The ladies live to sag another day!!

Benign!!!!!!

Such a relief. While I was working very hard at not being worried, underneath it all I was scared. Obviously.

Thank you for everyone's prayers and good wishes!


 

A long and rambling post about needles, boobs, titanium and puppies.

A cool little factoid about my husband is that he works at a cancer center and has been there forever 20+ years, so he knows just about everyone else that works there. It's really handy when you need your annual mammogram because not only do they offer it to spouses for free, but he just has to call over to one of the many women that work there that think he's the greatest to schedule it for me. Even better is that after they take cool pictures of my breasts, he takes me to lunch at my favorite Thai restaurant!

It's also awesome that he is able to get the results of that mammogram before they even send the results to my own doctor.

That also means that before he has to come home and tell me that there is something there that wasn't there the last time, he has already talked to one of his doctor buddies and has a promise to schedule me in asap for more scans and a biopsy if needed.

But, that also means that he is the one that has to come home and tell me that there is something there that wasn't there the last time. And that he's had several more hours to worry about it before he tells me.

So when he tells me "they found something," and I say "that's not funny, don't mess with me, Noah's been an ass this afternoon and I'm not in the mood," and he gives me the no, I'm serious look and then says "but it's small and there is a very good chance it is nothing at all" and I cry, he can make me cry harder because he says, "even if it is something we are a team and we will deal with it together."

(And then we, and by we I mean me, make really bad jokes about it for the next two days until I go in for the next level of mammogram, ultrasound and possible biopsy.)

See, it really is small! (The spot, not my boob!)

By the next night I had him promising to get me pot if I needed chemo, even though he insists that if it is something it's so small I probably wouldn't need chemo.

And then he ignored me listened to me opine about losing my hair because my scalp is in all likelihood horribly disfigured and scarred under my gorgeous and perfectly groomed locks (and no, I couldn't type that with a straight face) because I'm a picker and I wouldn't look good bald even if it wasn't disfigured, because my face is too round and fat to not have hair.  To which he responded "can we just get through Friday before you jump five steps ahead."

No. I can't. Because I'm a planner and a picker obviously and I need to think through all the possibilities so I can get the most impact out of my horribly morbid and inappropriate jokes for the next week be a well informed patient.

Anyway...I had the mammogram Tuesday, and Friday I had a focused mammogram, where they still saw the "irregular density." So then I had an ultrasound, where they couldn't find it (the "irregular density," not my boob. Those are hard to miss). I'm actually not sure if that was good or bad, but I think it maybe confirmed it wasn't a cyst.

So then the doctor said "well, let's do a needle biopsy," and I said, "yes, lets, it's already scheduled" and she looked at me and said "no, I don't think so" and I said "yes, my husband said it was" and she said "well..." and then "we'll fit you in. Go wait in the waiting room."

I sent Rich back to his office in another part of the building (down the hall, turn left, then right at the lobby - in case he forgets some day) and we had this conversation via text.

And then I told the technician and the doctor both that Rich had promised me a puppy. Because clearly that text implied that he was DEFINITELY getting me a puppy. Right?

Anyway...within five minutes they had me in a room setting up for the biopsy. They left me in the room by myself for a couple minutes so I started taking pictures. They totally caught me at it and laughed when I said I had to blog about the cool boob table.

(Remember when I was fascinated by this chair when I saw the doc before my frankenvulva surgery? Obviously I am oddly fascinated by BD/SM inspired medical equipment.)

Before I got on the table I asked the doctor if I could talk to her during the procedure and she said no, which really cut down on my ability to make stupid jokes. Way to kill my anti-stress buzz doc. :(

So... about the table - you lay face down on the table and your boob goes in the round hole and hangs down into that plastic-ish sling looking thing. I assume that is why they call it the "boob hole table."* Then they take more scans, do something on the computer, stereo something-or-other to line the needle up, shoot you up with lidocaine to numb your tit a bit, and wam bam thank you mam you have this huge ass needle in your breast (totally did not see the needle but am assuming "huge ass" is an accurate description considering they were not only taking things out of me but also putting a titanium marker in me and they had to go in almost 3 inches to get to it). 

After the needle was in the right place the doctor told me there was going to be a loud popping sound of air, like uncorking a bottle of champagne. And there was and because I couldn't TALK I could only think loudly in my head that "OMFG, she just totally popped my boob."

After that the needle did some rotating kind of thing and took part of the "irregular density" out to send to the lab. Then they shoved in a piece of titanium to act as a marker to make sure they were in the correct place. Then wam bam thank you mam the needle came out and they cleaned me up and put a totally not fancy bandage on it. Then I had another mammogram to make sure they yanked the tissue from the right place. I can't believe I forgot to take a picture of the scan of my titanium marked boob for all y'alls!

And that was it. I find out the results on Tuesday. I assume Rich will stalk the computer until they are available and then call me. Then I'll call the doctor and tell her what the results are.

In all seriousness though (for everyone that reads this blog post after searching for "what a breast biopsy is like," which I predict will be second only to "boob hole" in the ways people find this) the biopsy bit was not bad at all. The pain was minimal and I was probably only on the table about ten minutes, less than five of that involved the actual needle bit. Way less painful than a root canal! Actually, less painful than most of the dental work I've had period.

I'm still waiting for that puppy btw.


*I have no idea if that is what they call it.

 

Make the peace be with you.

One of the wonderful things Noah does is periodically give me letters/cards that he has written himself. They let me know that he really does think I'm the "pridyest mom in histery." Or that he loves me "so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so" much. It's some of the stuff that keeps me going.

This is what he gave me for Valentines Day this year.

I never doubt how much he loves me and how important I am to him. I save them all and often have at least one in my purse with me and one hanging in my office at work. I can't read them without feeling myself softening inside.

Today is my birthday, and Noah wrote me this "letter."

Do you know how much he loves me? He loves me infinity percent much!

He also drew me a picture. The picture is drawn over five pages that are liberally stapled together. He is a knight rescuing me (the princess) from a very tall tower.

There is so much I love about this picture. I love that he is rescuing me, but in doing so has armed me with my own swords because he knows I am badass. I also love his attention to detail by giving me purple hair. 

What I love the most however, is what he has written at the bottom. "Make the peace be with you Mom." I'd love to think he has written an incredibly profound statement, but in all truth I think he's just confused the message of peace I've been trying to share with him this week with the well known line from Star Wars.

What a gift he has given me!

Make the peace be with you Mom.

How much better as a person, a mother, a wife, could I be if I "make the peace be with me?"

I wonder where we would be as a nation, as a world, if we all followed this.

Make the peace be with You!

 

 

The stories I get to listen to at baseball

I sat at Kiel's baseball game the other night listening to the conversations of the other moms around me. Rich had just arrived and dropped a mini bomb about Noah's behavior at his psych appointment that day and that the pdoc was asking again if we had found someone else to see. Because of that my stomach was in a bit of a knot, and I wasn't feeling all that social, so I just sat back and listened.

The conversations took the usual turn to gossip and criticism. I zoned out for a while until I heard one of the women (a teacher) start telling stories about the kids in her class and how she wishes she could take some of them home with her because the parents are so awful. Then she talked about the families that are homeless and two of the moms audibly gasped with surprise. Homeless? Here? In Bucks county?

She started talking about a mom with five kids that lives in a two bedroom house. The kids have subsidized (free) lunch and they complain that they don't get enough food. This teacher has the only girl of the five kids. She said the family couldn't afford to send her on a field trip.

Then the other moms all gasp and say how horrible that is. How could they not pay the $50 for the bus. It's not like it was that much.

So then she starts talking again about how the girl always seems hungry, and she said that her older brothers, who she shares a room with, eat all the food in the house so her mom doesn't buy snack food. And that she doesn't sleep well at night because her brothers sneak out of the house at night and wake her up when they come home.

Again, more gasping and sighing, and horror that the mother allows this. That she doesn't buy them more food. That she isn't home enough to parent her children.

Now, I don't know a damn thing about this family, and perhaps this mom is truly the worst mom ever. But all I could think was what the fuck ladies, is it possible this mom is doing the absolute best she can with what she has? Perhaps we (in which I mean those moms) should get off our fancy camp chairs, tie back our bleached and highlighted blond hair, and consider how we can help these families as we walk to our SUV's and our Escalades and our Beemers.

I kept my mouth shut for once. It's been bothering me since though. No wonder I don't feel comfortable with these sports moms.



 

A red marker, a white napkin, and a brown paper sack

Noah's class went on a field trip Friday. He has been excited about it for months!

On field trip days the kids take a packed lunch. Every other school day Noah buys his lunch.

Rich packs Noah's lunch, but I always slip in a note, usually written on a napkin or paper towel.

Have an awesome day. 

I love you! 

Mom

Red marker on a white napkin. Thirty seconds to write and slide in the brown paper sack between an apple and a bag of chips.

.........................

Noah jumped off the bus steps when he came home and ran into the house. Full of  stories about the day.

Nate threw up when he got off the bus this morning.

They only let us go through the tunnel once this time, but it was still cool.

We didn't get to go to the gift shop, but I bought a snack from the vending machine.

Oh, I didn't want to throw this away (pulling a white napkin with red writing on it out of his pocket), so I kept it in my pocket.

Do you like it when I put notes in your lunch?

Yes. Because I know you are thinking about me and want me to have an awesome day. But I already know you always love me.  

.........................

Maybe, just maybe, I'm doing something right after all.


 

Pulling back and reconnecting

I wrote this post several weeks ago. I needed it to sit for a while to make sure I was ready to post it. I think it's ready now.

Parenting is hard. It just is, and there is no way to really prepare for it. You jump in and hope you swim. Fortunately, Rich and I have managed to keep our heads above water, despite some very deep water and long periods of doggy paddling. Occasionally we have needed some help and managed to grab on to some floaty devices at just the right time.

I've learned from every wave we have managed to navigate ourselves through. I've learned to float when I can, but always have lungs full of air just in case.

And I think maybe I got a little over confident.

Amidst juggling Noah's medical needs, his academic needs, and his physical needs, I think I forgot about his emotional needs.


We had a pretty good summer, and his transition into fourth grade and a new school overall went smoothly (on the Noah scale of smoothness anyway). Soccer was great in the fall and although it took lots of encouragement he's loving playing basketball this winter. We've seen improvement with his reading, and he's keeping up in math. He even received an A in science last marking period and a B in social studies.

He has an amazing emotional support teacher and overall the school is very supportive of him. There were bumps to be sure, but overall we have been so proud of him.

While I am always thinking about what is coming up next and what more we should be doing for him, I let us float the last few months. We received the results of his neuropsych testing from the FASD clinic the end of October. It included several recommendations, medical and academic, that I was very slowly chipping away at, but not with any urgency. Mostly I was enjoying not feeling like we were always being chased by the shark.

Looking back, I think things started to change in November. Perhaps it was Kiel's birthday. Or the month of disrupted school attendance due to super storm Sandy and then school holidays around Thanksgiving. Or maybe it wasn't any of that.

What I do know is that Noah started to struggle a little more, both at school and at home. He created more chaos at home, got into more things around the house we thought he knew he shouldn't. He was plugging up the toilet again, the encopresis was back and I felt like poop was everywhere. He was taking longer to do homework and was almost impossible to keep focused.

He started picking his nose again and washing his hands obsessively. And new motor tics started in his arms and neck. 

It was getting to the point where I didn't trust him out of my site. Too many times he created chaos in minutes. Some of it dangerous. I questioned if I could keep him safe.

He was mouthier and brattier and ruder than ever. And so incredibly oppositional.

Words were said that should never been spoken. 

I was frustrated. Rich was frustrated. The things we used to handle OK started to drive us crazy.

And then we have Kiel. He turned five. He's sleeping in his own room (finally). I'm able to spend more time alone with him and LOVE our Mommy-Kiel days. He's a sweet, funny kid that loves to cuddle. He tells me a hundred times a day (if not more) that he loves me and that I'm his best mom ever. He's the best of everything a five year old little boy can be.

I love both my boys intensely, fiercely, with a depth I never imagined was possible. But the truth is that I like Kiel far more than I like Noah the last couple months.

Looking back, I realize it's an insidious, horrible pattern. The more frustrated we became, the more Noah acted out. The more he acted out, the more frustrated we became. More frustration, more yelling, more rudeness, more acting out.

He was in trouble all the time. And while I was saying we can't let this continue, I was handling it more like a a strict no-nonsense parent, than the therapeutic parent he needed. The parent that understood why he struggled.

He had several rough days at school this week, and on Wednesday he hit a new low. On Tuesday he was in trouble for rhyming "stick" and "dick" (except he didn't know what "dick" meant so didn't understand why he was in trouble) and because he ate like a dog at lunch (except it was like a pig and he can't believe they didn't know that). Wednesday at recess he jumped the property line fence (because they were playing chase and he was running away from the kid that was "it."), he was removed from art class, and screamed at his aid, his general ed teacher, and his ES teacher; all before 1pm.

When he walked in the door that afternoon his first words were "I had the worst day ever."

Those words changed something in me.

Instead of consequences, I gave him a big hug and told him I loved him and it was OK.

We sat on the couch together and I held him.  I asked him if he knew how much I loved him.

He told me "no."

Those words broke my heart. How had I let it come to this? How did I let him get to the point that he questioned my love for him?

You can't fix everything with love, but you are going to find it much harder to fix anything without it.

We talked and cuddled. We reconnected physically. I'm not sure the last time I sat with him like that was.

Before bed we sat on the couch together again. The hour between dinner and bed had been rocky. I could see a physical difference in him. He was more settled when we were together on the couch. Now he looked angry, and sad.

We sat together, although he wouldn't cuddle then, and I asked him why he was so sad. I wouldn't let it go. He covered himself, including his face, with a blanket. He didn't want to talk. He said he didn't know how to say it. He didn't know the words. I pushed a little more.

Finally he said "it's you and Dad." He didn't say much more than that, but I didn't need to hear more. The pieces were coming together.

I know I had pulled back from him. I know things were said that made him question the stability of his life here. I know he felt misunderstood.

He was in trouble all the time and more often than not he didn't understand why what he did was wrong, or couldn't understand why it was such a big deal. It wasn't like he planned on doing those things.

While I could tell other people that he had brain damage and it affected his impulse control and ability to connect actions with consequences, I wasn't using that knowledge as I parented him.

We talked. I made it very clear how much we love him. I apologized for my poor behavior. We talked about how we could both make it better. I reminded him that my job as his mother was to keep him safe, to raise him to be a good adult, to teach him how to be a good person, a good husband, a good father in the future. We talked about how the older I get the more I learn, and that when you are only almost ten you know a lot less than your parents, and that is why sometimes you just have to accept that mom and dad are in charge and even if you don't always like it you have to do what you are told. I'm sure I said far more than he could absorb. It seemed to work though.

Rich put him to bed with a quick whisper from me that he needed to reconnect and I would explain later.

I shared with Rich and made it very clear that we both needed to rethink how we were parenting because what we were doing was breaking Noah.

Noah went to school Thursday morning with a smile on his face. He told me he was going to have a great day. I emailed his teacher to tell him what I thought was going on, especially that I thought he was feeling misunderstood.

His teacher sent me this picture in the morning and said "This is the Noah I know!"

He had a perfect behavior day on Thursday. He also participated in his first after-school basketball program and did great. He was SO EXCITED when he came out of the gym to tell me he received a 100 points (perfect day). He was a different kid than the one we had been living with the last two months.

Sometimes I forget just how easy it is to screw up as a parent. Sometimes I lose sight of why this gig is so important. Sometimes I need reminders, like the sweet, silly face of this boy.

The day I (almost) blew the tooth fairy.

Noah lost two teeth on the same day last week. He lost one a couple weeks ago at school too. They sent it home in a little plastic treasure box. 

Noah decided that day he was going to save the rest of his baby teeth and put them under his pillow all at once. He says he wants a lot of dollars at one time, not just one at a time. I'm not sure if he's holding his teeth hostage to exploit more money from her, or he's using her as a magical piggy bank. (Either way I think it's cute and just hope I manage to remember where I put all those teeth. Although, he already lost the third of the three in his bedroom the night it fell out.)

Wednesday we were at the dentist for a cleaning. We have a great pediatric dentist with an awesome staff. The dental hygienist (DH) has a parent with bipolar disorder, so she gets Noah and his meds a little bit more than some of the non-psych medical professionals we have dealt with. 

Although, for the first part of the visit I think she forgot who she had in her chair.

I don't remember what led to the conversation, but at some point Noah mentioned something about his dreams. The DH asked him about it and Noah told her about the vacuum cleaner that scares him and how it attacks him and Kiel in his dreams. He also told her that he and Kiel have the same dreams. It was a little bit ramble-y and a lot of confusing, even for me to listen to.

Then DH tried to rationalize the vacuum with him and get him to understand the vacuum really wasn't scary. Noah was not having any of it. 

I was sitting in the corner of the room laughing to myself. It's kind of like trying to convince a four year old that monsters don't live in your closet at night. No amount of rational explanation is going to push aside the real fear when you think you see the monster's eyes glowing in the dark, even if it is a reflection from the street light outside your window.

After I had my silent chuckle I decided to rescue both of them and changed the subject. I asked her how his new teeth were growing in and mentioned that he lost two of them within four hours of each other last week. 

And that's when I opened my mouth and (almost) blew the tooth fairy. 

I asked her how many teeth he had left to lose so I would know how many dollars I had to save up.

Noah looked at me and said "what? You don't pay me for the teeth, the tooth fairy does!" Then he rolled his eyes because obviously his mother is crazy, and he's absolutely correct.

The DH was sitting on her stool behind Noah, trying not to laugh and not saying a word. She saw my expression when I realized what I had said and frankly, I think she was enjoying my pain. Paybacks, yo!

Of course I'm back peddling like crazy at that point. In my head I'm telling myself to shut up, or at least slow down. Don't make it worse by over-explaining it. Take a breath. Think damn it, thank. Think think think!

So out of my mouth comes "Oh, duh, what was I thinking. I guess I'm not as plugged in with the tooth fairy as I am with Santa." 

Noah looked at me, even more confused and said "plugged in? I don't get it. What are you talking about?" 

Tears were rolling down the DH's face at that point, she was trying so hard not to laugh out loud.

Thankfully, the dentist saved me when he came in to do his check, so we both had time to compose ourselves. The DH saved me as well, because she told the dentist I was wondering if he thought braces were going to be in Noah's future, thus changing the conversation completely.

When the dentist was done I sent Noah to the waiting room.

The DH and I both started laughing. You know the kind of laugh. The half-hysterical, I'm either going to hyperventilate or pee my pants kind of laugh.

And that's when I turned to the dentist and told him I blew the tooth fairy. 

Well, actually I said "oh my god, I can't believe I did that, I just blew the tooth fairy."

He blushed, but at the time I had no idea why. The DH laughed even harder. Since she wasn't hyperventilating I'll just have to assume she peed herself.

And I'm thinking to myself "why is he looking at me so strangely?"

I didn't realize what I had said until I was walking out to the car with Noah.

It's good I don't have to go back for another four months when it's Kiel's turn.


 

Things I've learned today and an Elf party

You never save money on the cheap wrapping paper.

If you are going to buy rain boots from one of the bargain shopping sites, make sure you actually know your child's foot size.

Your child with impulse control problems will open all the windows on the Lego advent calendar if you are stupid enough to leave it where they can reach it.

Cats are better at unwrapping than wrapping.

No matter how well you keep track, you will buy two of the same toy at least once every year.

When the Elf decides to have a party in the middle of your family room, he should make sure it isn't on the day you are planning to do your wrapping, if that is where you wrap your presents.*

*Every time Noah left the room this afternoon I moved a piece on the board and changed the die. He couldn't believe more if Nelson stood up and started talking to him.

I LOVE this part of Christmas!

Messing with your kids minds for the win!

Lightening things up with a visit to Santa!

Yesterday, we took the boys to Springfield Mall to see Santa. The mall offered us free pictures plus a very nice gift bag and some gift certificates so I jumped at the chance. I rarely have a chance anymore to take advantage of mom blog events, so I was thrilled we could do this one.

We had "fast pass" access (yes, I did feel guilty when I saw how long the line was), and it was awesome!

Noah pretty much raced up to Santa and plopped himself down right between his legs, leaving no room for Kiel. I got him rearranged and Kiel settled and then smiles and clicks and we had two photos to choose from. While I picked the pic, Santa asked what they wanted for Christmas.
 

Noah wants 50 pounds of bubble gum in his stocking. Pink. With red dye. Santa got a chuckle out of that one.*

Kiel wants Transformers.

After we recieved our pictures (again, thanks Springfield Mall for the full package, plus a $20 gift card to Shutterfly!) Rich and I split up with the kids to help them do their Christmas shopping. I took Kiel first and we quickly took care of his present for Rich. Then we wandered through several stores (including a dollar store and the Disney store where Kiel found lots of things he wanted so he thought they would be perfect for Noah). 

Eventually we ended up at Target, where we ran into Rich and Noah. Noah took me through the toy aisles to show me a few things he liked, then Kiel and I went back and I worked hard at steering Kiel to toys Noah liked, not toys Kiel wanted. I have some work to do with Kiel on what gift giving means. 

We finally finished our mission and Rich took everything to pay while I took the boys back into the mall to wait. It was insanely busy in Target in the toy area and I may have had a mini anxiety attack where I told Rich I had to get the f*&k out of there and got a little bossy about what we were going to do next. OK fine, the bossy part had nothing to do with the anxiety. I'm just bossy.

See behind the boys into the entrance of Target? I tried to take the cart out in my rush to get away from all the peoples. Alarms went off. Then the cart wouldn't move. Something in the floor(?) locked the wheels or did something so I couldn't push the cart forward. I got a little flustered. Noah saved me. 

Well, actually, I grabbed my purse and bag of goodies and pretty much shoved the cart to Noah to take back into the store. I was proud of him. He managed his mother well in her moment of crisis.

Yes, this is how I felt then. And no, the picture above it is not of the boys comforting each other while they waited for Rich to save them. I'm shocked you would even think that.

After that we went to Carrabba's Italian Grill for dinner. I had a blackberry sangria and life was good. Our waiter thought the boys were great (despite, maybe because of?, the shoe and sock that went flying out of the booth and the under-booth wrestling that followed I was too busy looking at the drinks menu to notice). He didn't even blink when I told him I needed something big and fruity to drink - just recommended the sangria.

Our dinner was great and both boys shared their chocolate sundaes with us at the end. 

Then Noah and I went to Macy's to pick out a tie for Rich (shhh...don't tell him, I want it to be a surprise). I had to explain to Noah that it might make his dad a little uncomfortable if he bought him a Christmas tie, considering he was Jewish. So then Noah decided to pick out a tie that looked Jewish. I don't quite know what he considers "Jewish looking," but he found several that he felt met the criteria. He has good taste. (I did have to tell him not to bother looking at the Don.ald Tru.mp table, because we were boycotting The Don.ald. He didn't even roll his eyes at me, he just moved on.)

On our way out to meet Rich and Kiel we went past the makeup counters. One of them had very loud music playing. I commented to Noah that I really must be getting old, because there was no way I could pick out makeup with music playing that loud. 

He laughed and said "Mom, you aren't old, you'll never be old. You can do anything." (And that Noah, is why you are my favorite child!)

It was a great afternoon and we all enjoyed ourselves. I'm very appreciative of Springfield Mall for the invitation and all the goodies. I don't think we would have taken the boys to see Santa this year (because I'm cheap about paying for pictures of Santa and will do anything not to go to a mall during the holidays) if it hadn't been for this offer.

*Santa better come through on this one. Noah still talks about the year he was three and he asked Santa for a Chick race car from the Cars movie. His request to Santa that year was the first we heard him mention Chick, and when we checked into it we realized Chick was the "mean" car in the movie, so we didn't get it for him. We got him a bunch of other cars that year, but not Chick. Who knew he would still remember that six years later. Just another awesome parenting moment. Oy.

 

When reality goes beyond the imaginable.

Today started out like most Fridays. Kiel snuggled in bed with me until my alarm sounded, telling me it was time to make sure Noah was ready for the school bus. A quick shower for me, a final check of Noah to make sure he was clean, grabbing clothes for Kiel to change into before we leave for his speech therapy. And then, the bus comes and I tell Noah I love him and to have a good day as I gently steer him out the door. Blowing kisses to him and waving as the bus pulls away. Knowing I will be there at 3:35pm to great him when the bus brings him home.

And the bus did bring him home at 3:35pm and the three of us rushed off to get the boys hair cut in preparation for our visit with Santa tomorrow.

But as I sat and checked email on my phone while the stylist cut their hair, I read about the tragedy in Newtown, CT. It suddenly hit me that there were families (20 if latest reports are correct) that did not get to pick up their children from school today, or greet them as they climbed off the bus.

It is beyond my comprehension. It makes me physically ill to even consider something like that happening to Noah or Kiel. It's like my brain won't let me think in that direction. Road block constructed. Don't go there!

But we have to go there don't we? As parents we have to think about these things? If we don't think about them, if we don't consider how we can prevent things like this from happening again, it could be our kids that don't come home the next time.

We must have better gun control. I believe in the intent of the 2nd amendment, but I also believe we can have common sense gun regulations. You are going to have a very difficult time convincing me that anyone in the general public needs access to a semi-automatic weapon. Or that 20 more kids wouldn't be alive today if someone with two semi-automatic pistols and a civilian version of a military rifle never had access to those weapons. It doesn't matter to me, or to the families of those 20 children I bet, that those guns were legally obtained by someone other than the shooter.

I am sickened, just sickened, tonight as I see people on Facebook adamantly denying that there should be gun regulations. The fact is guns kill people. Guns are designed to kill.

It saddens me that this will again become a political issue. This isn't a political issue. This is a safety issue. A life issue. Guns do kill people. Period. And it is never too soon after a tragedy like this to start the discussion, because it can't continue like this.

(As an aside, this is an interesting article about the lack of available guns in Japan that was written last summer. FYI - I haven't "fact checked" it.)

And as important, maybe more important, we also need better, more comprehensive, and more accessible medical mental health care. Have any of the shooters in our recent history not had a psychiatric condition that someone was concerned about somewhere in their past?

I worry about Noah's mental health every day. Any time a tragedy like this occurs I can't help but think "what if it was my son." And as much as I worry that it could be Noah or Kiel in the wrong place at the wrong time, I mean, what if it was my son that did something like this? What if I'm not getting Noah enough help? I have had to fight for every piece of assistance we have received, and I'm not convinced we have done enough. What if we didn't have the strength to fight for the help we have received? Or the knowledge to know how to do it? 


Tonight Noah was mad at Kiel for something, and mad at me because I turned off the TV and separated the two of them. He went to his desk and started to loudly draw. I asked him what he was drawing. Killing people he said.

I'm still finding it hard to breathe.