Our Simple Southern Home

This sweet little boy is so wonderful... happy, bright, and bold.  He is in his element outside, playing and running and yelling, and being "all boy".  Those moments are sweet and wonderfully normal.   But some days are not wonderfully normal around our house.  There are days filled with temper tantrums, yelling, and over-the-top meltdowns over things large and small, mostly small... where it is difficult to comfort or even connect with him.  Such is the life of a family dealing with sensory integration disorder. When we began to see super intense reactions and behaviors that were out of sync with his development age we began investigating why things (everyday normal transitions, routines, activities) seemed so hard.  It took a long hard year and a half to identify the issue we were dealing with.  By age three we had a formal diagnosis.  And it has taken us nearly two years to figure out how to set this little lamb up for a semi-successful launch ...

  This has been interesting summer,  to say the least.... Recovering from corrective toe surgery (a type of surgery I will never do again!) Adjusting to one income... yes, I quit my job! Going to Dollywood  (It's a real theme park!) Transitioning to a one-car family... we go everywhere... TOGETHER! Emergency surgery for hubby's detached retina... fun!       and being a mom. We have survived our summer and are adjusting to the changes that have flooded our lives these past few months and I am getting used  to the idea of being  "just a mom".  I know in my head that motherhood is the most important thing I will ever do.  But detaching myself from my identity as a teacher, a good teacher, a mentor teacher/teacher trainer, has been one of the most difficult things I have done in a long while.  Maybe not physically or mentally ... but emotionally and spiritually.  I think I have always had a fear of being overlooked, forgotten, or l...

  In 1990 my first gray hair showed up, at age 24.  Horrified, I plucked it out and taped it on the bathroom mirror, and cried.   I left it there for weeks for some significant reason, I can't right now remember.  I've spent decades and thousands of dollars hiding from reality.  So six months ago... I decided to take the plunge into the unknown and unmask my natural hair color. I have loved my dark hair created with the help of  Hairprint , but the upkeep was getting a little excessive... like every three weeks excessive... and I felt anxious, embarrassed, and almost apologetic every time my "skunk line" would show up for the world to see.  Powders, sprays, and dyes have done their job to keep my gray covered up for years.    I have been tempted more than once to cave and re-dye the whole thing.  The script that feeds my self-perception and encourages this cave-in runs something like this: You look old. You let yourself go. You will...