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The Secret Life of the American Teenager, Anxiety, Chronic illness, teenage girls, Anxiety attack, anxiety symptoms, teenage girls

Raising a teen is hard. Being a teen is hard. I know a lot of us parents complain about our teens and how inconvenient their ever-changing moods are. We wonder where our sweet little children have gone and why in his/her place a grouchy, nonverbal awkward almost adult has arrived. Maybe we need to look a little deeper and exercise a little more patience.

Sometimes, I can be overbearing and dismissive. I’m tired and my life is pretty monotonous. I know after 14 years, sometimes I run on autopilot. We get so caught up in our own inner dialogue that we forget that everything our children do is not always just to make our lives harder, even though it may feel like it at times. For example, my girls bicker almost constantly and it’s become something that I’ve begun to take personally because I feel like they do it in spite of my requests for them to stop. It almost feels like a collateral act of defiance. I’m trying to step back and see the whole picture, take into consideration that maybe they’re going through something that I’m missing.

Which brings me to the entire point of this post. Children of all ages who are experiencing anxiety and how they express those feelings. My daughter has been suffering from chronic sinus issues for the last couple of years. This year, it has been particularly bad. She’s already had 5 sinus infections since the beginning of the school year. Per our pediatrician, she is on meds to control her allergies and prevent the subsequent sinus infections that follow any sort of congestion, but that no longer seems to be helping.

READ ALSO: Parents Guide to Teen Slang Words

It’s gotten so bad that she is getting migraines which, if you’ve ever had chronic sinus issues, you know, is debilitating. She’s starting to feel like she’s sick and she’s not getting better. She doesn’t understand and neither do I. We do what we’re supposed to. We go to the doctor. We follow her instructions and still my child is sick. Today, we are seeing a specialist, an allergist, because we have to get to the bottom of this.

We love our pediatrician and I trust doctors. I have close friends and family members who are doctors, so I have no problem with doctors. But when your child isn’t getting better, you have to advocate no matter who it is or whose feelings it might hurt. This is where I am today.

The thing is we’re at a point now where my daughters is in such pain that the thought of being at school with no one to help her sends her into a panic. Her anxiety kicks in and she is practically immobilized. I’m talking, gets to the office at school and goes into flight mode. The other day her sinus infection was so bad and she couldn’t be medicated because of tests, she cried for 3 hours in the nurse’s office before they called me to bring her home.

How can I send her to school when she is so obviously in pain and, on top of that, terrified of not knowing why it won’t go away. Which, I won’t lie, I am getting concerned myself. I’m thinking if this appointment with the specialist doesn’t give us answers, maybe we need an MRI. I won’t say that to my daughter and I can’t lead on that I’m more worried than she thinks I am. As her mom, it’s my job to keep my shit together while handling business on the backend.

READ ALSO: When You Just Need a Moment for Yourself

I’m trying to stay cool but I get why she is having this anxiety of the unknown. I try to keep her comfortable. I have chronic sinus and allergy issues too. I get migraines. I know how painful all of this is but when I’m sick, I have the luxury of burying myself in bed. When she’s sick, she still has to show up but lately, even when she’s showing up, she’s not really because she’s so preoccupied by the pain.

I guess what I’m saying is that sometimes kids and teens are not jerks just for the sake of being a pain in the butt. Most times, there is something behind it. Whether it be anger, worry, fear or embarrassment. Sometimes even teenagers can’t use their words to tell us how they’re feeling. They are like toddlers in that way.

They say things like, “I’m tired”, “My head hurts”, “My stomach hurts” all very non-specifically and for a parent that can be frustrating because you feel like maybe they are trying to get something over on you. A long time ago, I started going deeper on my questioning (once we rule out that it’s not an actual physical ailment) I ask, “has anything happened at school?”, “Did a friend say something that hurt your feelings?”, “Did a boy say something that made you feel weird?”, “Did a teacher get too close?” “Did anyone make you feel uncomfortable or compromised in any way?” Sometimes, the answers will come out without them having to find the words.

READ ALSO: Parents who Send Sick Kids to School are the Worst

But in this situation, my daughter is actually sick. I’ve been to the pediatrician so many times this year that I feel like I should get frequent flyer miles. I’m also not too sure they don’t have me on some weird mom Munchausen by proxy watch list. It’s embarrassing but every time I take her in, there is actually something wrong with her. So it’s not in either one of our heads. I know how to advocate for my children and I’ll do whatever I need to get them healthy but how do I help them deal with their anxiety?

As a mom, how do you differentiate between your child being legit run of the mill fear of something and having brain chemistry induced anxiety attack about it? One might only need a hug but the other might need a professional. What would you do if your teenage girl was experiencing anxiety while suffering a physical illness?

Update: Allergy tests showed that she is allergic to every Midwestern allergen except cats. We have a dog. The allergens are triggering sinus infections. If your kid keeps getting sinus infections, it might be worth a trip to the allergist. Also, I will write some posts next week to help your kids deal with sinus issues, give you the low down on allergy tests on kids and teens and the symptoms of anxiety in teenagers. Basically, I’ll help you understand the secret life of the American teenager. We’ll all get through this together.

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gratitude, thank you, sponsored post, king's hawaiian, mahalo

thank you, gratitude, mahalo, sponsored post, king's hawaiianYesterday, I was very sick and feeling kind of sorry for myself. You know how when you are so sick that you feel like you might cry and you begin fancy yourself a martyr. Yes, I do. I normally just try to carry on but there is a point where I am so sick and worn out that every breath I take, every moment that I am still folding clothes and cooking dinner, becomes a debt the world owes to me.

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Cry, miscarriage, loss

I swore that I wouldn’t be this person. The woman who lost a child and then feels like she gets kicked in the gut every single time someone she knows announces their pregnancy. Fuck. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to suck all of the joy out of the room. I want to be happy and excited. I really do. I tell myself that I am and then it hits me like a sledgehammer, right in the heart. A painful reminder of what I can’t have, of what I’m too afraid to ever let myself want again, of what I will never get to experience again because I won’t. I can’t. I am too afraid to go through that pain again. Once almost killed me. It changed me. I don’t know if I can handle another shift like that. I might become unrecognizable, even to myself.

I remember that morning at the hospital, seeing a small child, not even a year old, sitting with her parents in the waiting room; waiting to be called back for her surgery. I remember sitting there, with my silent womb, not a stirring, thinking to myself, I am glad I am not those parents because there is nothing worse than having a sick baby and feeling helpless. I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Maybe it does to someone who has been through it or maybe the pain was just too much and I had to detach myself from what was really happening to me.

I saw that same little girl in the back when they were prepping us for surgery and I was again overwhelmed with gratitude that I was not sitting there as the parent of a child who was sick. I looked at my husband and I said (out loud), “It could be worse, we could be here with one of our girls who was sick.” He looked at me sort of bewildered. I guess he thought I was crazy because our baby was as sick as a baby could get, our baby no longer had a heartbeat. I was grateful that I could not hold my baby, see its eyes looking to me to save it, it’s cry begging me for relief; it was not tangible. My hurt was underlying. My baby was a promise that had been broken before I ever had the chance to fully appreciate it. In the first days, I wanted nothing more than to have had the chance to hold my baby but now, I know that if I had, the pain of the loss might have killed me on the spot.

Now that broken promise haunts me. I can’t stop it from infiltrating my thoughts. I can’t stop being this fucking person who feels empty and a little bitter. I’m pissed. Pissed at the situation. Pissed at myself for still feeling so vulnerable. Pissed at myself for still getting so pissed. I fucking want to punch somebody. I’m envious of other people’s happiness and I don’t want to be that person. I want to be able to genuinely feel happy without the happiness carrying with it a tinge of pain; the reminder of my loss. I’m afraid to be around my friends who are pregnant because I’m afraid I will spontaneously burst into tears and ruin their happiness. Every first of the month, I mark the day that my baby died. It coincides with my period just to remind me that my womb is in fact empty.

I know this sounds morbid and maybe a little crazy. I am so sick of pretending that everything is normal. I’m sick of pretending that I am all right. I’m not. All. Right. I am all wrong and I am afraid that I will not find my way back to my normal and that’s all that I want. Is normal so much to ask for? I am slowly beginning to live again but there is this damn underlying anger that I can’t shake. How does one shake the anger caused by a promise that can never be fulfilled? How do you fix a problem with no solution?

Linking up this morning with Just Write because sometimes you just need to write it out to move through it.

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miscarriage, loss

I swore that I wouldn’t be this person. The woman who lost a child and then feels like she gets kicked in the gut every time someone she knows announces their pregnancy. Fuck. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to suck all of the joy out of the room. I want to be happy and excited. I really do. I tell myself that I am and then it hits me like a sledgehammer, right in the heart. A painful reminder of what I can’t have, of what I’m too afraid to ever let myself want again, of what I will never get to experience again because I won’t. I can’t. I am too afraid to go through that pain again. Once almost killed me. It changed me. I don’t know if I can handle another shift like that. I might become unrecognizable, even to myself.

I remember that morning at the hospital, seeing a small child, not even a year old, sitting with her parents in the waiting room; waiting to be called back for her surgery. I remember sitting there, with my silent womb, not a stirring, thinking to myself, I am glad I am not them because there is nothing worse than having a sick baby and feeling helpless. I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Maybe it does to someone who has been through it or maybe the pain was just too much and I had to detach myself from what was happening to me.

I saw that same little girl where they were prepping us for surgery and I was again overwhelmed with gratitude that I was not sitting there as the parent of a child who was sick. I looked at my husband and I said (out loud), “It could be worse, we could be here with one of our girls who was sick.” He looked at me sort of bewildered. I guess he thought I was crazy because our baby was as sick as a baby could get, our baby no longer had a heartbeat. But I was grateful that I could not hold my baby, see its eyes looking to me to save it, it’s cry begging me for relief; it was not tangible.  My baby was a promise that had been broken before I ever had the chance to fully appreciate it. In the first days, I wanted nothing more than to have had the chance to hold my baby but now, I know that if I had, the pain of the loss might have killed me on the spot.

But now, that broken promise haunts me. I can’t stop it from infiltrating my thoughts. I can’t stop being this fucking person who feels empty and a little bitter. I’m pissed. I fucking want to punch somebody. I’m jealous of other people’s happiness and I don’t want to be that person. I want to be able to genuinely feel happy without the happiness carrying with it a tinge of pain. I’m afraid to be around my friends who are pregnant because I’m afraid I will spontaneously burst into tears and ruin their happiness. Every first of the month, I mark the day that my baby died. It coincides with my period just to remind me that my womb is in fact empty.

I know this sounds morbid and maybe a little crazy but I am so sick of pretending that it never happened. I’m so sick of pretending that I am all right. I’m not. All. Right. I am all-wrong and I am afraid that I will not find my way back to my normal that I so badly crave. I am slowly beginning to live but there is this damn underlying anger that I can’t shake. How does one shake the anger caused by a promise that can never be fulfilled? How do you fix a problem with no solution?

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This morning on our drive to preschool, Gabi began asking me her daily quota of questions about death, heaven and God and/or Jesus.  I’m not joking this kid is suddenly obsessed with death and what happens in the after life. Or rather, what happens to people who die. She’s four and shouldn’t be asking these questions, or maybe she should. I just wish she didn’t even have death on her radar yet. I never thought I’d be contemplating how to explain death to children at this age.

It’s my own fault. In July, my estranged Grandmother died. But in the weeks before she died, my presence was requested by her. I hadn’t seen her in about 20 years in any real capacity, save for the 5 minutes she had stopped by baby shower and disappeared just as quickly six years ago. I hadn’t really known her and she had never met either of my girls but I hated to deny a dying woman her last wish.

I decided that I needed to tell the girls about this woman if they were going to meet her. I told them that my grandmother was sick and very old. I was trying to prep them for meeting a woman on her death bed. Of course, my Gabs would ask daily if we were going to see the “sick oldie.” You know how four-year-olds are, they tend to get stuck on repeat.

We never made it to Ohio to say goodbye. After she died, my girls were still asking what happened to the sick oldie. I told them that she had went to God and Abbi has been preoccupied with people dying and what happens to them once they die ever since.

 

God, Jesus,Care Bears, grandma

Gabi: Mommy, is Jesus dead?

Me: Well, Abbi his body died but his soul went to heaven to be with God.

Gabi: Who’s God? Is that him Daddy?

Me: Yes, that is his father.

Gabs: Mom, is Jesus with the sick oldie?

Me: Yes, Abbi. My grandma is in heaven with Jesus.

Gabi: Mommy, how is Jesus in heaven if he is dead?

Me: His body is dead, his soul is in heaven.

Gabs: Mommy, what’s a soul?

Me: It’s what’s inside all of us. It’s what makes us special.

Gabi: Mommy?

Me:Yes, honey.

*Seriously, how long is this ride between schools. This was the longest mile and a half of my life.

God Help me explain death in a way a little brain can digest it.

Gabi: Mommy, do you think God and Jesus are playing with the Care Bears and making the sick oldie feel better?

Me: The Care Bears?

Gabs: Yes, Mommy because  you know what ? The Care Bears live in the clouds just like God and Jesus.

Me: Maybe, honey.

Gabi: Mommy, you know what? Th sick oldie is happy because she is with Jesus, God and the Care Bears. Me know it! Okay, Mommy?

I didn’t get to say goodbye but I’d like to think she is in heaven with God, Jesus and the Care Bears having a good time frolicking above us all and keeping an eye on us.

God, Jesus and the Care Bears this is how you explain death to children.

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insomnia, mommy sex and the man cold, man cold, feminine hygiene, U.T.I, motherhood, dad cold

Mommy sex and the man cold don’t mix. If you thought pregnancy and crabs was the worst things you could catch from unprotected sex, you’ve never caught the man cold. And when I say protected, I’m not just talking about wearing a condom, I’m talking about sporting some sexy hazmat suit from head to toe. I learned the hard way that mommy sex and the man cold are a bad combination.

I woke up this morning feeling like I had been run over, backed up and run over again by a mac truck full of cattle. That’s almost how bad I felt, but actually…I feel worse than that. I blame myself, really. Apparently, there are no “poor girls not gotten laid in awhile” pass clause when it comes to your husband being sick. Girl, if you back that truck up and let him cough on you…hey, sex at your own risk; proceed with caution.

See, normally I’m all, “Don’t kiss me on the mouth” all hooker style when he’s sick. But being with the way things are lately ( the whole living situation, limited time together) once we hit the conjagulorium all bets were off. In the heat of the moment, I didn’t care where he kissed me I was more focused on the fact that he was home to kiss me at all. Desperate times, desperate measures.

Now, I’m sneezing so much that I’ve already had to change my panties twice this morning and its only 1 pm. I’m coughing non-stop. My throat hurts like I swallowed razor blades and then took a shot of Drano and my voice is crackling. I have a runny nose that keeps producing the most unladylike green substance that I have ever seen in the entire of my whole life.

That’s not even mentioning my chapped red nose, my chapped lips, my deafness and lack of smell. Plus I pretty much feel like I am walking around in a big giant bubble of sickness.

Guess what? A 3 and 5-year-old, don’t care. They don’t give even one fuck that I caught daddy’s man cold. One’s yelling at me because I won’t take them to Healthworks science museum, the other one is pissed off because she wants me to bring up her winter clothes from the basement and all I really want to do is curl up and try not to die. Why won’t these tiny people let me be sick in peace?

So, you can just imagine what happened when I saw the dirty dishes in the sink this morning. You know, the dirty dishes that I asked the Big Guy to do before he left back out of town. I believe my exact words were,

“Please do the dishes before you leave. I’ve done them for three months straight and I think I might blow my head off if I have to do them again!”

Really, does he want me to blow my head off?  Because sure as I am standing here with a red nose and a pocket full of green riddled used Kleenex, he left those damn dishes for ME! It wasn’t too big of a deal until I was on my way to pick up Bella from school and realized on top of everything else…I have to NOW do those damn dishes.

I texted him.Something to the effect,  “I am dying over here. Are you fucking kidding me!!!!Thanks a LOT!!!”

His response….”I shouldn’t have taken that nap you FORCED me to take” ( yeah, he was sick so I was being nice but it wasn’t like I put a gun to his head and FORCED him into bed).

Next, as if he wanted me to murder him, he said: “Leave them until next weekend. I’ll do them then!”

Really, seriously, as if I am going to leave dirty nasty dishes in the sink until the weekend. I’m NOT and I’m pretty sure he knows that.

But I am really sick and don’t feel like doing the dishes. In fact, it’s probably the last thing that I want to do right now. I may, however, throw them all in the garbage.

Anybody else have these kinds of days? Just me then? So, to recap, thanks honey for the literal kiss of death you shared with me and the dirty dishes that you left me, as well. Anything else that you want to give me? Maybe a hefty case of gonorrhea? lice? The Bubonic plague? Dysentery? 5 loads of laundry? Throw up in the bathrooms? See you this weekend, the dishes may or may not be waiting too.I guess it depends whether or not they sprout legs and walk away on their own.

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moving, motherhood, being sick, new home. relocating

moving, motherhood, being sick, new home. relocating

I’ve been moving and trying not to die. I’ve disappeared off the face of the earth once again. Seems like I’ve been doing that a lot lately. I told you all awhile back that our house sold and that we were closing on a house. It’s all been a cluster, as everything we ever do always is. Long story short, there were foundation issues. So on to the next house. We found another house, made an offer and closed last Friday. We are ecstatic, except for the fact that I have a tradition that I’d love to quit.

This is so sad but true. Just one more verse to what seems like the longest summer and saddest country song ever. I thought  “and my dog died” was the end. I mean, isn’t that the punch line? But no, there is more. We do everything the hard way around here, apparently.  On the day of closing, I woke up so sick that I, quite seriously, thought I would cry. Mind you, this was after a week of a raging case of the stomach flu.

It felt like I had swallowed razor blades. I had gotten no sleep and the pressure and pain in my head was only second to the unrelenting snot that was blocking every possible air passage that I have. I couldn’t breathe people. Just to add an element of surprise, I began randomly vomiting pure foaming snot. Yes, beautiful visual. Think morning sickness with quadruplets and a tequila hangover. It was not pretty folks.
This is not conducive to moving weekend. Did I mention that the last time we moved, I had to do it in the rain, by myself (my husband was out of town) and in the rain? I did.

Moving is hazardous to my health

This time, thank God, I hired long distance movers that will provide professional moving services on Friday, but we didn’t close until 6 pm on Friday night and by the time we got the truck (because it was the last truck available in the history of the universe) it was almost 8 pm and pouring rain. The truck had to be back by 9 am. You can guess what happened next? Yes, we moved in the rain (again) into the wee hours of the night.

By this point, I couldn’t breathe and I look like a drowned rat. My eyes were sore; my head was aching. I was sure that I had west Nile, the Ebola virus or the freaking bubonic plague. You all know that I seem to catch the most outrageous diseases; whooping cough, herpangina and scarlet fever…all kids diseases, and I have caught them all as an adult since having children. So, it would be perfectly normal for me to assume that I had caught the plague from one of my carrier children via the elementary school aka cootie central. Damn it.

I just knew I was going to die. There was one point Saturday where I was so dizzy and my fever was so high that I swore I saw Jesus, right there in my living room. I’d assumed he’d come to take me and put me out of my misery. No such luck, it was just the appliance deliveryman. Too bad there was nowhere to deliver the appliances, as the kitchen has to be redone. But they are beautiful and shiny, stainless steel. I just wanted to lie against the appliances to cool down before I had a febrile seizure. But I couldn’t because on Saturday, I had to unload two pallets of wood flooring into the house. Never mind, that I was so sick that I could pass out at any moment and my eyes were rolling back into my head. Who cares if I were hacking and yakking on everything in sight? The house has no flooring right now so that took priority.

Just let me say it, moving is hard

I received no sympathy from anyone while moving, until Sunday when I could barely get mobile. Then I was told to stay home (because home is still my in laws because we couldn’t move into a house with no functioning kitchen or floors with small children) but it was said with the definite look of  “you should stay home if you are too much of a pussy to work. No problem, we will all work at YOUR house while you sleep in a plague-induced coma”. So, I did what any self –respecting woman would do, I got up, rubbed some dirt on it and took my daughter to the Nutcracker auditions, then picked up lunch for everyone helping with the moving and worked until I literally couldn’t breathe anymore. So for those who’s thinking of moving to a new house or thinking of an office relocation (kontorflytting Oslo), you should leave the tedious workload of packing and moving to the professionals, if you are having trouble storing your stuff in your new home, learn more about One Stop Self Storage.

Monday, I woke up determined to go to the doctor, the emergency room, anywhere that could prevent my untimely demise. My plan was to go get meds and then sleep until pick up. No such luck. The Big Guy woke up and said he too was sick. I made him go to the doctor. We’re both sick. He has Strep throat (but you’d think he was dying) and I have acute sinusitis with a side of ear infections because I am special. His comment to me on our half-dead ride home, “Man, you really were sick. I don’t feel like moving, just sleeping.”

“Yeah, me too asshole. All three days that I had to move in the rain while trying not to vomit on myself from the snot in my belly and the excruciating pain in my head.”

Next time we move, he’s paying professional movers or doing it himself. It’s too hard on my health. But as soon as these antibiotics kick in, I’m moving into my new old house and finally, after 3 years, we will be a normal family again. The kids are ecstatic.

What’s your worst moving story?

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Throat Punch Thursday~Marissa's Bunny, Mike, Marissa, Fairfax Bunny

This week’s Throat Punch Thursday goes to the blogging mastermind behind Marissa’s Bunny blog.There’s a lot of sick people in the world and a lot of them have access to the internet, as evidenced by people googling search terms like ” chloroforming your child” and “little people having sex.”  This is nothing new to me. I’m sure you are not surprised. God knows how you might have found this particular post yourself?

Marissa’s Bunny, real deal or not?

Bloggers are absolutely fabulous people to get a cause out in the world. We can seriously bring down any wrong in the world..if we set our minds to it. We take a topic and spread it like wildfire.It is amazing what we can do. But every once in awhile, I see something getting spread that sets off my spidey senses. In my 2+ years of blogging, I’ve seen a few of what seemed to be great causes brought to the social media Gods, ran with and spread like jam all over the social media world. Even if I do feel the cause is worthy, sick children, cancerous mothers, unemployed dads with testicular cancer..whatever the case may be, I am always leery to support a cause that I do not have direct and complete knowledge of the circumstances. I just feel like I have worked too hard for the trust of my readers to lead them off on any old quest. Not to mention, I’ve seen many well respected bloggers colored red with embarrassment because their good hearts led them blindly down the path of swindledom.

Who is Marissa’s Bunny? Really?

So today when I saw a post on ShePosts shared by Jessica Gottlieb, I checked it out and then all my faith in the world went out the window. Long story short, Marissa’s Bunny is a blog narrated  by a father, Mike, of a little girl, Marissa, diagnosed with Infantile Spasms, a rare pediatric form of epilepsy. For years, the Marissa’s Bunny blog has shared news of “Marissa’s daily struggles, meetings with doctors, the high cost of treatment, theories and possible surgeries, and even a disturbing video of Marissa in the midst of a seizure.” It really is heartbreaking and I know most parent bloggers, most humans, would feel compelled to do something to help this baby. (For the complete sordid story, please go here)

Bottom line, people’s heartstrings were pulled like the strings of a puppet and money was donated in the name of a sick little girl. But what were the donations really being used for? Where did they go? Is there really a Mike? A Marissa? There is nothing I hate more than good people being duped. My throat punch goes to any asshole who will use a sad story , invoking the name of a sick child ( real or imagined) to solicit funds under fraudulent circumstances. It’s like the 57 year old crack head I saw standing on the corner by the liquor store, missing her teeth with a piece of card board saying she had a 1 and 2 year old and needed money for food. Uhhm, no! I don’t buy that bullshit for a minute. Proof please. I hate that the world has made us so cynical but a 57 year old crack head having babies is about as believable as a company giving away 20 ipads in the name of charity.I’m saying whether or not it’s legit but from what I’ve read, there are a lot of things that don’t add up. Be weary of where you place your faith in people. Be careful and do some research before investing your complete trust and hard earned money in people.

Throat Punch, Chuck Norris,bloggers,Marissa's Bunny, Mike

*Today, I was featured at Hersay.com revealing the mystery of the man cold! Stop by and check it out!

 

Marissa’s Bunny Trust Abusing Blogger?

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Catherine Schaible, Herberty Schaible,Pneumonia. faith healing, murder

Throat Punch Thursday,fcatherine schaible, herbert schaible, faith healing, fundamentalist christian,PhiladelphiaIt’s Thursday and do I have a throat punch for you; a Philadelphia fundamentalist Christian couple, Herbert and Catherine Schaible, are being charged with third degree murder for refusing to seek medical attention for their baby who had pneumonia and died.

Catherine and Herbert Schaible are being charged in the faith-healing death of their 8-month-old son, Brandon, who died in April of pneumonia after his parents refused to take him to the doctor opting instead to pray over him. Leaving their sick child, helpless and resigned to his fate. This is unacceptable!

Catherine Schaible, Herberty Schaible,Pneumonia. faith healing, murder

Maybe you think the judges are being too hard on the Schaibles. I mean, after all, they are Christian fundamentalist and they have a strong faith in God and they made a mistake. Aren’t they being punished enough by losing their baby?

The answer would be NO! In fact, it would be HELL NO!! Because, you see, this is not the first time that the Schaibles have let one of their children die before seeking medical attention. Four years ago, they let their 2 and a half year old son, Kent, die of pneumonia because they refused to take him to the doctor and decided to pray over him and leave his fate in God’s hands. He died and they were put on probation for 20 years. The judge stipulating that if any of their children were to ever become sick again, they were to seek immediate medical attention. In April, they ignored that court order and now little baby Brandon lies in a small-unmarked grave next to his brother who died four years ago. Apparently, these assholes think their children are disposable.

The Schaibles’ defense lawyer, Bobby Hoof, argued that Brandon died within 3 days of becoming ill and there was no evidence of malice, which is required for a third-degree murder charge. The judge disagreed and the murder charges still stand.

Catherine Schaible was released into the care of her parents, Herbert Schaible is still incarcerated and their remaining, living, 7 children have been taken into protective state custody.

Look, I get it. I believe in God too. I was raised believing that God can do anything; make the blind see, heal the sick, etc. I was also raised knowing that God helps those who help themselves. People, he gave us the intelligence to develop the medicine to cure the sickness, to keep our children alive. Choosing to ignore that was a willful act of malice. They had the option to treat their child or let them die. The Schaibles have let not one but two of their children die. I am not a judge, but as a parent, I think they are guilty. Guilty of being really shitty parents.

I would do anything and everything necessary to help my children get well if they were sick. Sure, I would pray because I have a faith in God and I believe he can do anything but damn, people, maybe he’s busy saving someone else. Help yourself. Help your children. These people are a menace to society and dangerous to their children. They need to be locked up so their children can survive childhood. They face the possibility of 20-40 years in prison if found guilty. I say, good; Great! Don’t let them out until their youngest is at least 18-years-old.

Catherine Schaible, Herberty Schaible,Pneumonia. faith healing, murder

What do you think? Should the Schaibles be held accountable for the death of their son or are they just victims of their own naïveté? You know my answer. I want to hear yours.

What would you have done if you were Catherine and Herbert Schaible?

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Pret a manger, grilled ham and cheese recipe, copycat recipe, Pret copycat recipe, lunch recipe

Last week, we were eating our way through Boston and falling in love with a grilled ham and cheese sandwich like no other. We love Boston. I love the rich history and the big city vibe. I love the friendly people and the smell of salt air and food trucks. In fact, there is nothing that I don’t love about Boston.  The girls love to eat and shop their way through Boston and the Big Guy, well, when his girls are happy; he’s happy.

Unfortunately, for the first three days of this year’s annual Boston trip, I was sick sick. Like running a fever, eat a bite of your dinner, cry sick. Thank God and the Boston Hyatt Regency for a comfortable bed and a beautiful view or none of us would have survived the ordeal.

But by day 3, come hell or high water, I’d promised the girls I’d make the 3-minute walk through the Hyatt Lobby that was connected to Macy’s, out the door and across the street to Primark. My girls are legit crazy for that place. Hey, I can’t blame them. I love a good bargain on cute clothes too.

However, in the time it took me to walk to Primark, I had gone sheet white and was covered in cold sweats. I was seriously going to pass out. Did I mention that Primark is 4 stories tall? The girls were in heaven. It really is a tween/ teen girls shopping mecca. I tried to last as long as they needed me to be upright but once I started to hear the blood rushing around my head, I knew it was time to get out and find some food.  At that point, I had consumed a total of maybe 1 bite of aforementioned sandwich, a granola bar and 3 cheez-its in 72 hours.

READ ALSO: The Ultimate Monte Cristo Recipe

We headed to Pret a Manger. It was our first time but hey, “ready to eat” to a woman about to pass out in public sounds like the best place to be. The girls could see that I was fading fast so we headed to the selection and made our choices; chicken noodle soup for me, a grilled ham and cheese for each girl, a couple of iced chai lattes for the girls and some fruit because mama was in desperate need of some vitamin C.

We paid, got the heck out of dodge before mama went timber and returned to our hotel room. No sooner had I relinquished 2/3 of my soup to the girls before I heard “oohs” and “ahhhs” explode from the other side of the room, like fireworks. I couldn’t imagine what basic option I had just purchased in my haste that was making my children lose their minds. It was the grilled ham and cheese, btw.

It’s hard for me to understand as ham generally turns my stomach inside out. In fact, the very thought of the smell of it makes me want to heave. They begged me to try a bite but seeing as this 1/3 of a cup of chicken noodle soup was the first thing I’d been able to keep down in 3 days, I graciously declined their offer.

READ ALSO: Red, White, and Blueberry Trifle

But they couldn’t stop talking about this Pret a Manger magically delicious grilled ham and cheese sandwich. In fact, they insisted on having it again that night for dinner. As we have no Pret a Manger anywhere near us, I made it might mission to figure out how to make this magical sandwich. I mean, dang, I want them to rave about my cooking like that.

I scoured the Internet and did some sleuthing and found the recipe for the Pret a Manger grilled ham and cheese sandwich. Well, everything except the secret sauce that is. But you know me, I figured that out too! So guess what my girls have been having for lunch every single day since we got home from vacation? Mommy’s Pret a Manger copycat grilled ham and cheese sandwich recipe. Made with love, by yours truly.  It’s so good that all the “oooohs” and “aaahhhhs” at my own kitchen counter convinced me to take a bite and guess what? It truly is magically delicious.

So if you are sick of your kids asking what’s for lunch and then replying that they don’t want “that” again or you’re just plain chicken nuggeted out, I’ve got the super-secret recipe for you. My gift from me to every mom on the planet.

Ingredients

2 slices of sourdough bread

1 slice of Vermont white cheddar cheese

1-2 slices of your favorite thick sliced ham (my girls love wildflower honey ham)

 

*shhhh secret sauce ingredients

1 tablespoon of mayonnaise

1-2 teaspoons of whole ground Dijon mustard (depending on your personal preference)

 

Directions:

Mix secret sauce ingredients together in a small bowl.

Pret a manger, grilled ham and cheese recipe, copycat recipe, Pret copycat recipe, lunch recipe

Heat small frying pan to medium heat

Assemble sandwich

Slather one piece of bread with the secret sauce

Pret a manger, grilled ham and cheese recipe, copycat recipe, Pret copycat recipe, lunch recipe

Top with ham and then cheddar.

Pret a manger, grilled ham and cheese recipe, copycat recipe, Pret copycat recipe, lunch recipe

Pret a manger, grilled ham and cheese recipe, copycat recipe, Pret copycat recipe, lunch recipe

Add top piece of sourdough.

Pret a manger, grilled ham and cheese recipe, copycat recipe, Pret copycat recipe, lunch recipe

Butter both sides of the sandwich.

Pret a manger, grilled ham and cheese recipe, copycat recipe, Pret copycat recipe, lunch recipe

When the pan is hot, place the sandwich in the pan.

Lower heat.

Cover sandwich with lid (to help melt cheese).

Pret a manger, grilled ham and cheese recipe, copycat recipe, Pret copycat recipe, lunch recipe

Toast to your liking.

Flip.

Repeat.

When cheese is melted, remove from heat.

Cut in half and serve warm.

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