More On The Anonymous Note..  As I mentioned in the HuffPost Live interview, and to all news sources that have since inquired,  I originally received the anonymous note on my car awhile ago, and at that time originally published the personal blog post that was republished this week by HP and continued to go viral. I believe the recent web interest here on my blog for this post, may have been a result of the news popularity of recent anonymous notes to parents of a disabled children, also being published. That said, readers seem to feel the content and conversation was still relevant. You can click the link above for the HP Post, HP Live video and the 7K+ comments. To further clarify my personal perspective I have written the post featured below. 

“ How did I get the line on my leg Mommy?” 

Zoe asked me about her scar last night, as I lay next to her, mostly murmuring that she should go to sleep.. while I tried especially hard not to nod off. Kids are funny at bedtime, vulnerable to the mysterious truth serum spell of near sleep, and Zoe is no different. This is a new place we have arrived at, the magic of bedtime, when affection is still abundant, but now her worries and fears are also at the forefront of thought.

I rolled over and took Zoe’s hand in mine, trying to focus on her face in the nightlight glow. She is eleven now and bedtime lately has taken a serious turn. We talk about kids who stare, what she is afraid of and how people are different. Tonight she has chosen to ask me for the first time ever, about the surgical scar on her thigh. My mind drifts, and I speak softly, saying one thing to her while thinking another. Buying time to choose my words carefully, and tell her this story. 

Every time I see that scar, I am thankful. Thankful we had the diagnostic muscle biopsy test. Thankful we finally got the answers were were looking for back then.  The funny thing is though, I haven’t really seen that scar for years.. When I look at Zoe, I don’t see her scars, the label of her diagnosis, her walker she uses at home  or her wheelchair she uses out in public. I see my daughter; her can-do attitude, her awesome sense of humor, her smile, her spirit. I see how far she has come and how hard we have worked to get here. 

ScaryMommy.com

My first post for Scary Mommy is a true story about the normalcy I wanted on a sunny day at the park with my kids. Instead it turned into something else. The most interesting thing about sharing this story on Scary Mommy, was the feedback and suggestion that maybe I was being a bit judgemental and displaying preconceived notions of my own. This is just another example of how being vulnerable, makes you grow, think and think a little more. 

The story starts like this.. 

The Golden Hair Girl In The Princess Tower

I have always been the nice mom in the neighborhood, comforting the upset kid waiting alone at school pickup, worrying about the preschooler cruising the grocery store aisle, until yesterday, when I told the golden haired little girl at the park to go away. It was a warm beautiful day, and I was intent on making some memories. Head on over here to read the rest.. please comment, tweet and share the love while you are there...

After a summer of constant mothering and all things tween girls; ice cream cones and boy crush movies, neon nail polish and icy cold lemonade, afternoon swim sessions with late summer night secrets..seeing my girls go back to school again has left me feeling out of sync.

As much as I want to expand into the quiet empty space, claim it as mine, and finally clear my never ending list of things to do, there is something about that first day of school, that tugs at my mother’s heart.

Today was my daughter Zoe’s start to middle school and at 6 am I stood nervously surveying her pile of stuff stacked on the kitchen table. After only a single cup of coffee, I was working extra hard to concentrate, double checking my mental list from the school year before. There was a super full backpack, an extra water bottle, extra snacks, purse with toiletries, extra cold wipes for relief from the Arizona heat, medicine and Ipad, and the power wheelchair was charged and ready for loading. Check, check and check.

I don’t know which love is greater, the love I share with my husband, or the love I have for my children. More than intertwined, they are deeply tangled. To try and choose, would require unraveling their knots of time, and pulling them apart would cause too much pain. 

Both of these loves began with worry. Early on love's seed was barely planted, still loose beneath the soil.  I should have been nurturing it's newness but instead raced ahead. I was worried about what loss would feel like, before love even had time to take root, grow and blossom. 

The story of my husband and I began with a dance. Something moved in me that moment when he took me in his arms. We danced the way my parents did, after spending half their lives together. And like my parents, my husband and I are both tall, yet still somehow I felt small and light within his arms, as if we were floating across that room. 

Note: Guy Kawasaki dared me to do this. I couldn’t resist. 

At the BlogHer 2013 Conversation Keynote with Guy Kawasaki and BlogHer Cofounder Elisa Camahort Page, Guy shared this tantalizing secret to his social media success "...The secret to my success on social media is a woman named Peg Fitzpatrick, .. what she does is she takes my Google plus stuff and looks at what else is interesting, and she, shall I say, enhances me. And so now you know that behind every successful man on social media, is probably an amazing woman. So that is Peg Fitzpatrick. And one more thing. Don't you dare freaking try to steal her from me. I will make it my life goal to bury you if you try to steal her from me. She does not have email. She does not have a cell phone. There's no way to get in touch with her" 

Who could resist such a dare?