The first time I saw “The Baby-Sitters Club” in graphic novel form, I rolled my eyes. “Why on EARTH would they make those into graphic novels when there are perfectly good books out there?” It annoyed me. It seemed a cheat. I was a snob. It took me looking at my child, my Molly, eagerly reading for the first time in ages after declaring she now hated reading. Her attention span wasn’t enough for chapter books to hold her interest, but graphic novels were another story. It took me letting go of my bias to see how graphic novels could benefit a child like my girl. I picked up those exact Baby-Sitter’s Club books for Molly at the library. I picked up a bunch of graphic novels for myself to try. I found I don’t care for the comic-book ones…but those that tell a story (or stories), I enjoy. My favorites so far have been Through the Woods and Amulet. I have several more to try, and I’m excited to do so once this chaotic work week is over. The best part of opening my mind has seeing my daughters both excited to read again. Molly is so excited that she’s actually begun picking up chapter books again. Kennedy is enjoying interspersing her chapter books with these quicker reads of graphic novels. I’m enjoying expanding my painfully narrow repertoire of reads to include something different, and learning what I like in this new area. So, in short…you can teach an old dog like me new tricks. It just takes me letting go of my bias and opening my eyes to see the benefits. So now that I’ve opened my eyes, I need your help!! What are the best graphic novels for my girls? What are the best ones for me? Read more »
I’ve always been the “Silver Linings” girl. Well, maybe not always. I did have a rough time as a tween/teen. Still, since adulthood I’ve tried to always keep on the bright side, to put a positive spin on things, to see the good in people and believe in their best when they might not be showing you their good side. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve tried – and mostly succeeded. There’s been times I’ve been down pretty deep in the doldrums, times where it lingered. Somehow I’ve always pulled myself out. I’d hesitate to call it anything like depression because I’ve seen depression, I’ve seen what pain others feel, and I was never that deep, never that lost. This year has been rough. I’ve said it many times. It’s knocked me down over and again, every time I’ve tried to pick myself up. I thought it was just the bad times knocking me down. Those were the reason I couldn’t pick myself back up so easily. Those nasty, horrible events were the reason I couldn’t drum out the doldrums as I always had before. They were the reason the good times didn’t have the luster they usually did. In the past couple of weeks I’ve had to be honest with myself. I’ve had to be honest with my husband. And I forced myself to be honest with my doctor. I am depressed. I can’t do this on my own. I’ve been trying to claw my way back out for months all on my own. All it’s done is left me nasty, bitter, and angry on top of depressed. I was always worried I’d insult those with severe depression by admitting mine. However, my bipolar husband thinks I’m being ridiculous by thinking that. As he put it, “Would you not admit you were sick because someone else has cancer?” Sometimes, he’s pretty damn spot on. So here I am. Being honest with you all, as I’m attempting to be honest with myself. I am surrounded by my family, but I feel alone. I am surrounded by joy, but I feel removed from it. I feel like I’ve tried to reach out, but no one reaches back. I’m tired of not going out, because I don’t see the point…and because I’m afraid no one will care either way if I’m there anyway. I feel like the bad is winning. That we will never be in a good place again, personally, financially, physically. I’ve begun to seek help, but I think it’s going to be a long row to hoe. And I’m so tired of feeling alone. Read more »
by Sarah CassMulti-published author. Mom of 3 special needs kids. Wife to 1 good man.
Redefining Perfect every day.
We waited a month for this visit. In the grand scheme of “waiting for a specialist” times that has ever been for us – a month isn’t bad. Still. We waited a month. Worried over her shoulder, and what the doctor would say. Our geneticists suggestion of “Connective tissue disorder” ringing in our ears. We worried. Hoped for the best, expected the worst. Wondered over whether there’d be an MRI. Or possible surgery. Of all our fears we never once expected it to become what it was. We never expected to be left wondering how a visit to a specialist would turn into a horrible vaudeville joke. “It clicks when she does this.” “Well, then don’t do that.” ~blink blink~ You would think I was exaggerating. But I’m not. None of our concerns were truly addressed. We were dismissed with a prescription for therapy for “Scapular strengthening”. Told that she shouldn’t click her shoulder. And that was that. No words about the connective tissue question. He barely touched her shoulder, only tested her strength. The geneticist spent more time on her shoulder than this doctor. He didn’t check to see if her arm dislocated like the referring doctor did. An X-Ray. A bad vaudeville joke (and he wasn’t even kidding). And no answers. Still. I don’t even know where to go from here. Read more »