Cradled in my Mother’s arms,

my little fingers reaching out for Papa’s.

Daddy’s scratchy beard,

tickles my soft newborn skin,

as he leans in to kiss me.

Mama’s Daughter,

Daddy’s little girl.

No matter what age I am still.

The light is passed on-

trying to care for my Son,

Like my Parents still continue

to care for us.

The most loving Grandparents

anyone could have,

still the best Mom and Dad.


Beautiful Chaos


My Son and I

Amongst all the mess, the toys strewn across the floor, screeching children running around my house -after the week we had been through as a family- I welcomed it.

I was simply happy that my Son was able to play with his friends, and squeal with delight and joy -that the previous week- he had been unable to do.

Sometimes we just have to take a step back and realize, that when it comes to life, not much is in our control.

Sometimes born out of this chaos of life, we find things we never expected. A friend to laugh and cry with. Unconditional love and advice from our parents… Pure joy, and realization that life is so darn precious. We find gratitude, and are sometimes humbled by our experiences. If we listen close enough, dare I say we may even find the voice of God?

Children, we are all children of God. Maybe if we saw the world through the eyes of a child, it wouldn’t be so bad. Chaotic and Beautiful, something that we did not plan.

Just Keep Swimming…

I wanted to keep you all up to date on what is going on and why I have been neglecting my blog…

I rarely try to post things that are too personal, but I feel this time it is necessary. I recently started a go fund me account, because my Son has been in and out of the hospital. You can read about it on the go fund me page if you would like.

Read more here on our story….Just Keep Swimming

If you can’t contribute, all I ask is you share our story to raise awareness for childhood asthma, and please pay it forward to others that are in need. Even if it is just to lend a ear to listen to, and kind words of encouragement.

The kindness that people have shared with us, has been more than enough to get us through those difficult days and nights, and the many more difficult days we have ahead of us. (As I am having suspected Gallbladder issues.)

As Dory would say, “Just Keep Swimming.” That’s all we can do right now at the moment.

God Bless,






Fade so fast.

Away, Away flies the past.

Upwards and onwards floats like water on a river.

With currents and streams that turn over and over.

Watersheds, that empty into the ocean.

Then back into the eather from wither they wander.


Fade so fast


life is gone

too fast.

Harry Saves the Day, and Dr. Penguin to the rescue!

Being a Mother has its challenges, but it has been especially challenging as of late. We finally have an answer to the question, why my son continually gets croup, has trouble breathing, and has an E.R. visit or ambulance ride every time he gets a respiratory infection. He has Asthma.

I am learning, because I know nothing about asthma. Perhaps, if I had, my Son could have avoided numerous trips to the E.R. for the oral prednisone he so desperately needed to reduce the inflammation of his airway.

There are many things that I have learned about my Son. He gets really anxious and agitated when he is having difficulty breathing. Because he is four, he does not always tell me when he is feeling unwell. He just becomes more active.

He hates taking oral prednisone. I got one of his favorite stuffed animals from one of his favorite books. “Harry the Dirty Dog,” and pretended Harry was taking his medicine. I told him, “Harry does not like the taste either. So he is gonna open his mouth and I am gonna pinch his nose so he cant taste it, then he gets a shot of orange juice for being so brave.”

“I’m gonna be brave like Harry Mommy! Let me try it! Let me try it.”

My Son was able to take his medicine. Let me tell you, I tried it. It is bitter as hell, even with the flavoring the pharmacy puts in there. Thankfully, just like Harry my Son was able to take his medicine.

The penguin nebulizer the doctor gave us to take home was a genius idea. Whoever thought of this was brilliant. My Son was a little scared of the noise at first. I told him, “That’s the noise that Doctor Penguin makes when he is trying to make you feel all better.” 

So begins the saga of Doctor Penguin and his adventures. So I began to do what I do best. Tell stories to my Son of Doctor Mommy Penguin, and her little baby that she was trying to help get better. I talked in the goofy voices that each of the characters have. My Son, laughs and giggles and loves this so much. To make a long story short… It worked! He is now taking his medicines as long as I tell him the stories that he requests.

My Nightwish series, has been put on hold for a while, because I am not working on writing and illustrating Doctor Penguins adventures at my sons request. He has had quite a few adventures this week!

“Tell me a story Mom… read me your book…Oh yea! And please draw Doctor Penguin for me in my book. “

and this is why I am writing children’s stories and YA fiction. It has made this difficult time much easier on us both. Sharing something so unique and special has brought us so much closer. It helped him to understand what was going on inside his body, and why he needed the medicine so badly.  Harry the Dirty Dog might have saved the day, but mama penguin came to the rescue!

The Giver

On Christmas, my Son was looking at all the gifts he had received. He pulled out one of the books we had gotten for him. Looked through it and then handed it to me and said, ‘Mommy I think my friend would like this, she needs it more than me. She loves Vampires.’ (It was a Vampireology Book)

It just touched me. He gets a concept that most adults fail to learn. The gift of giving. He couldn’t wait to give his friend this gift. I saw pure joy on his face when he was able to deliver that gift to his friend.

You did good Son. This Christmas you made me proud to be your Mom.

To see your soul…

To see your soul...

To see your soul walking outside of your body, is a most unusual thing. There he is with a smile on his face, ready to greet the day no matter what life brings his way. In seconds that all can change. It can happen so fast.

One minute he was talking. The next minute he started coughing and was blue and could not speak. He began motioning to his vocal cord trying to talk. No sound came out. During this time I tried not to show my fear, rubbing his back as I did so many times when he was a baby.

I literally saw my life flash before my eyes. My soul as well as my Husbands soul, walking outside of our bodies wrapped in this package.

I now know what it means for ‘life to flash before your eyes,’ now.

All these memories and moments come into your mind, like a movie playing.

The first time he smiled. His first word. The first time he walked. The first time he crawled. His first Birthday. First Christmas. The first time he found music. The first time he cried, because he understood deaths finality. His first day of school. The first friend he made. All the times I held him in my arms, when he needed reassurance. Or more simply, all the times I held him in my arms because I loved him.

That little chubby face looking up at me when I brought him home from the hospital. The time he smiled at me with his little milky grin when nursing. It was cute enough to make you cry. Just because you were so happy to be in this little angels presence.

This soul. My Son. One part me, one part my husband. The rest of his soul, bits and pieces of other family members scattered thought him. He lives in us and we in him. That is the beauty of life. It goes on.

Its why this little boy means so much to me. He is my soul, staring back at me and looking through me. He knows me better than anyone in this world.

He used to kick me wildly from the inside when I played the violin. He got hiccups whenever I sang to him. He knew how I felt before he was born. He was kicking my ribs, when my Husband and I said our vows. I know he knew how nervous I was. I like to think that he was just as nervous.

One day he heard Ave Maria on the T.V. He looked at me with those big blue, all knowing eyes and said, ‘Mommy they played the song at your wedding.’ I was shocked. But then of course he recognized all the songs I sang to him when he was a baby in my belly.

My child is still a very observant and caring child. Always thinking of other people before himself.

He is my own soul walking outside of my body. It is the most beautiful thing to witness, and yet, the most painful. That is what it means to be a parent.



Fear, a writers worst enemy.

I often find myself making excuses for myself.

I can’t write today because…

  • I’m too tired.
  • I have to much cleaning to do.
  • ..not enough time in the day.
  • To busy with my child
  • I need to read some more books before I write.

I think the hardest part about writing, is starting. It is also hard to let go about what people think.

Last year I completed my first book, and then finished half of the second book. (the sequel to the first.) I self published it, and let me tell you what… boy what a learning experience.

It was not a success. I got quite a bit of feedback. Some positive, but much of it was negative. It wasn’t so much the writing, but the content of my writing that people did not like, or were shocked by.

I didn’t write a fairy tale. Nothing in real life, is ever that pristine. I wanted to write something messy, beautiful and wild -Rife with pain and learning experiences- complete with frustration. Sometimes, out of pure frustration, obscenities fly out of my characters mouth. Shocking, I know! Many people I think did not expect that. I think because of the stories I many times write on my blog, which are more geared towards non-fiction, and are light hearted.

My fiction is completely different, in style and tone. I think in many ways, my characters become something that I can’t become. They explore parts of myself I would not dare explore in real life. They often morph into fantastical beings with supernatural ability, that I will never have. For that, I am grateful, for it is fiction after all.

There were grammatical errors in my book. I did not pay for an editor, because it was not in my budget. I think this is a mistake I will not make again.

Self-Publishing, while a learning experience, I would not do it again until I have experience under my belt with traditional publishing.

Here lies the biggest problem for me with my writing…

My idea has become much larger than I have ever imagined or envisioned. It started with a little short story, about 60 pages in length. Then the second book in the series has become a novel. I am not even finished with it, and yet I have found I have ideas for at least three more novels in the series. The subsequent novels morph into exploration of the human spirit, and of our true nature as spiritual beings.

Overall, the whole topic and basis for the series of books I am writing is  this…

Good people can make poor choices and therefore bad decisions. That doesn’t make them at there core, bad people.

Overall the fear remains…

  • Fear my books won’t be good enough.
  • Fear that I will not finish… well gosh if I finish what then?
  • Anxiety of not finishing…
  • What if I die and these stories are never told?

That leads me into my next blog post… My life long struggle with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity disorder and how it affects my writing and life.


Preview of “My Father’s Keeper”

My Father's Keeper.jpg


The Accident

I got a panicked call from my Father. That was the day that everything changed. I rushed up to the hospital, not knowing what to expect. He was not making sense.
“Your father is ok, sir,” the police officer assured me on the other end of the phone.
On my end of the phone was an awful silence, the likes of which I have never known.

“Sir, sir? Are you there?”
“Yes, Yes. I’m here. Just give me a few minutes.”
“Yes, I understand. This is a lot to process. Your Father will be waiting in the lobby of the E.R.”

I didn’t have time to respond. I didn’t have time to be angry at the police officers, and staff that attended to my father. All I knew was he was scared and panicked, and I had to reach him quickly. Two of my parents had been to the hospital this week and it was almost more than I could handle. I changed out of my work clothes, and scurried out the door.


The hospital staff was less than friendly when I arrived. They offered no help or support for my ailing father.
“What do you mean? You can’t help him.”
“Sir, we can not keep him here. He will have to go home with you.”

The police officer explained to me that his license was taken away from him and he would no longer be able to drive anymore. The officer and the hospital staff, would not admit him to the hospital or transfer him to a long term care facility. Apparently, they did not see the danger in leaving him alone unattended, for a period of time, while I was at work.

I had just learned, unfortunately that Dementia can be unpredictable, and my Dad’s Dementia had just gotten a heck of a lot worse. It was no longer safe for him to be alone. My Brother, Sister and I worked out a schedule, so someone was able to check on him every couple of hours. At least that was the plan.

“Dad, I’m gonna take you home” I said.
“But Earl, what has happened… why am I here… where is Cindy?”
“Dad, Cindy is here in the hospital. She fell and broke a hip. Right now, we need to get you home safely.”
“I can drive myself. Give me my keys Earl,” my father said, getting slightly agitated.
“Dad, I can’t?”
“Why not?”
“Don’t you remember your car was totaled. There was an accident. You fractured your shoulder in the accident. That is why it is in a sling.”
“No I did not,” my Father said trying to pull his arm out of the sling. “Ouch, Dammit! That hurts,” my Father said.

Even with the additional pain, he still didn’t realize that his arm was hurt. I could not keep the sling on his arm at all. Dad would just remove it every time I put it back on.

“Come on Dad. Let’s get you out of here, and get you a bite of food to eat.”
“Ok, he said. I forgot to eat. I haven’t eaten in three days.”

I grabbed my father’s walker, and reminded him to use it, guiding him to the door of the E.R. While he was focused on walking. I silently, cried, behind him. I wish I would have known, what a difference a day makes, in the life of a Dementia patient.