Happy Birthday, Danger.

Today is my daughter's birthday. Typically milestones don't effect me much. Five years of being a special needs mom has taught me to disregard the "normal" developmental stages. But, 5 is pretty big. I remember picking out my own Punky Brewster ensembles and learning to read. Reily hasn't learned to use the potty. There are a million and a half milestones that Reily hasn't reached today on her 5th birthday. I'd be lying if I said I haven't been dwelling on thinking about all of them as this day has approached. But, instead, today I will celebrate 5 ways that Reily is killing it.

1. Reily Runs
Reily got her first cast when she was two weeks old. Toe to hip. Both legs. Her last cast was about 8 months ago and she'll likely be sporting another for the Holidays (I'll save you a spot to sign). She had surgery on both feet, wore a fancy shoe brace and a not so fancy hip brace that earned her the nickname Frogger. And yet, she runs. And runs. And runs, runs, dances and runs. Not bad for a kid with bi-lateral club feet so severe it was detected in my womb. Check her out.

2. Reily Eats
The only thing keeping Reily in the NICU after 30 days was an ability to eat. She couldn't get the suck, swallow, breathe thing down. Enter the feeding tube. A surgeon pulled her stomach close enough to her abdomen to attach a button. That button connected to a tube that connected to a big syringe that when filled with formula was pushed directly to her stomach. It was gross. It was scary. It cured me of being squeamish.  For a year and a half, the village tried to feed Reily three times a day by mouth. It didn't work. She choked, she spit it out, she refused to eat. It was the most valuable lesson in patience I have ever learned. And then, Papa made asparagus feta puree and she was hooked. Six months later the tube was removed and she hasn't stopped eating since. Seriously, she doesn't stop. Send food.

3. Reily Talks
I am pretty sure Reily is bilingual. Her first word was Agua. But, since I don't speak Spanish, I can't be sure that she isn't fluent. However, when she chooses to speak English she is pretty consistent in communicating exactly what she wants. Granted, she's not reciting Shakespearean soliloquies; not that you'd expect that from a 5 year old. Regardless, she communicates! She knows what she wants and tell me. In case you are curious, Berries (blueberries) and Bars (breakfast bars) are a top priority. Second only to Walk,  Bye-Bye and Elmo. Speaking of Elmo...

4. Reily Loves Elmo
Every parent has their opinions on TV. Parking your kid in front of a television may be frowned upon, but when Reily discovered Elmo, I DVRed every daily Sesame Street episode. I spend a lot of time "playing with a purpose," but, having 30 minutes of independent play time so that I can do dishes...well, I am just glad she didn't discover The Jersey Shore. Independent play. It sounds so psycho-babble. But, it extends beyond Elmo to books and puzzles and activities that don't require constant intense supervision. Reily has discovered much more than Elmo, she's found something that keeps her attention.

5. Reily Hugs
Reily is on the "autism spectrum," for whatever that means. The truth is that Reily is missing a tiny portion of her 2nd chromosome and there are no other cases in medical history of the same isolated chromosomal micro-deletion. That doesn't make her autistic. Or maybe it does. Who knows? What I do know is that she gives hugs freely. She gives kisses. Her laughter is infectious. She is happy.

My daughter is happy. She is different and quirky and incredibly happy. Happy birthday, baby girl.

Pinned It. Did It.

I saw this on hairstyle on Pinterest and gave it a shot. Worked well enough to convince Hubby:)

See You Soon,,,

I am having a GoDaddy issue with my domain. (That's the formal excuse for my lack of posting).

The informal reality is that Yours Truly is distracted. By work, by housework, by Danger, by Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, Mardi Gras. By life. And while I work out my domain issues, I am also working on exactly what this blog is...my life as a mom (maybe, but there are so many wonderful women covering that), my life as a professional trying to balance it all (whine, whine whine), my sage social media advice (that'd be on the FSC blog).

So, for now, Your Truly is on hiatus. Until next time. xoxo- Tiffany

How Not To Suck at Twitter

Before you read further, this is not a professional step-by-step guide on how to use Twitter. It's more of a list of grievances based on some particularly peevish Tweets that have graced my stream recently. It is by no means comprehensive, but rather a few tips I feel the need to share.

So, that said, here are few word of wisdom from Yours Truly...in no particular order:

1. Stop Selling
Look at your Twitter stream. How many of your past Tweets refer to something that puts money in your pocket or in your drinking buddy's pocket? I get that you are proud of your accomplishments. Kudos. And don't get me wrong, I want to hear about them. Just not not all the time.

2. Use Your Words
This includes vowels. While I understand that your infinite genius is hard to contain in a mere 140 characters, I suggest you consider a blog post. Because, to be honest, nothing trumps your pithy insight and intellect more than a string of nonsensical third grade abbreviations.

3. Don't Tweet Angry. Or Drunk.
We all get fired up and trust me, I am guilty of my own social media rants. But, before you hastily dash off that seething Tweet, stop. Breathe.

As my co-worker other person sagely pointed out:



Put. The Twitter. Down.

4. Stop the Exploitation of Hashtags
Now before you get all "But you are the Queen of #insertwittysubtexthere.", that's not what I mean. I mean attaching a trending hashtag to a completely unrelated Tweet just to leverage its popularity. It's like riding coattails, but geekier. It's riding hashtags, which is really just embarrassing.

5. Just Be You
I might be guilty of one or all of the above at times. There are no rules. Except maybe one, which is be authentic.

So, these are a just few of my most recent pet peeves. What are yours?

Fat Harry's Full Circle (Shop Local Day 5)

A few days ago I met Hubby for Happy Hour at a local high school bar called Fat Harry's. Yes, I said "high school bar." For those not familiar with this phenomenon, New Orleans was late to implement the 21 year old drinking age and it was pretty normal for 16 year olds to frequent drinking establishment brandishing 18 year old fake IDs. Now, seeing as I am far from my high school days, I can't say that this type of behavior is still prevalent...but nonetheless, Fat Harry's remains in my brain a "high school bar."

In fact, it was my high school bar. It was the last stop before curfew on our regular crawl. So, sitting outside on a balmy summer evening, sipping a beer and watching the streetcars roll down St. Charles, I was suddenly struck by a strong sense of nostalgia. I texted my high school partner in crime in North Carolina. To which she replied with horror "WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?" She proceeded to ask if there were white hats and khaki shorts...the ultimate frat boy uniform. I looked around and there was not a single white hat. But what should I spy? A pair of khaki shorts. Sitting next to me. On Hubby.

Gasp. Had I made the transformation from high school delinquent to Uptown yuppie? Was I that sweet doddering couple that I used to see with their AARP friends sitting outside the bar before sunset?

And there it is. That weird moment, having moved back to my hometown, where my past self meets my future self on the same stomping grounds, when I am suddenly slapped in the face by my 16 year old assumptions. Luckily, my 30 something self finds it charming. So, I sit back with my khaki-wearing husband, drink my beer and clear out before curfew.

And luckily, there are New Orleans high school bars institutions where my past, present and future self can mingle with generations before me and to those come. And hopefully, one day I will sit with my doddering partner in crime, back home from North Carolina.

Sheet Rock Star

Last week the St. Bernard Project had a Women's Rebuild Week and the FSC gals traded our keyboards for power tools. It was empowering to get filthy dirty and covered in insulation, knowing that my small effort would help a family return home...after 5 long years.

Turns out, I am also quite the sheet rock expert. Yep. Don't believe me? See for yourself:

Mother's Day Can #suckit

To begin with, let me state for the record things I do not want to do on Mother's Day. Or any other day for that matter:

1. Wake up at 6:45am. (Not a morning person)
2. Eat at Olive Garden (Goes without saying)
3. Install a carseat (while running an hour an a half late to an event)

So, this Mother's Day wasn't all bubble baths and breakfast in bed. But, to be honest Hubby and I have never really been big on the Hallmark Holidays. Nonetheless, I was just a wee bit bitter at 7am as he rested peacefully in bed* while I fed Danger (read: got cottage cheese thrown in my hair). My bitterness quickly evaporated as it always does after a strong cup of coffee. And Mother's Day evolved into a comedy of errors that ultimately ended in a wonderful evening with close friends.

But, this is less about my Mother's Day. This is about another mother whom I have never met. Never spoken to. Never had even the slightest contact with other than a stream in my Twitter feed for the past many years.


I don't know @queenofspain. To confess, I rarely catch her Tweets these days in the onslaught of information. Prior to my first BlogHer in 2006, I signed on to Twitter as a way to understand exactly what this social media thing was really all about. I began by following a handful of smart, snarky and utterly hilarious women. And I got hooked. Throughout the years this handful was a lifeline during a difficult pregnancy and even more difficult 1st year with Danger. These women validated my crazy.

In more recent years, Twitter has morphed into more of a professional resource. The personal interactions I have are largely with the same circle of people and I filtered myself to sanity at the cost of losing touch with some of those early moms that I valued the most. The ones who completely unknowingly held my hand across the world wide web. Now, just to be clear, none of these women can be wrapped us as just "moms." Erin Kotecki Vest is a political power house and I probably subconsciously avoid her stream to protect myself from feelings of civic inadequacy. She is solely responsible for introducing me to one of my most favorite hashtags ever. #suckit But, today, on Mother's Day, she is above all an inspirational mom.

Every so often, while I am waiting for the coffee to brew or stuck in traffic, I'll scroll through my Twitter stream. And this morning I saw this:

What follows throughout the day is a chronicle of a pretty crappy Mother's Day, not to mention a painful and scary health crisis. OK, so, I don't know this person. But I was compelled to follow her narrative. I was inspired by the raw honesty

the mom's protectiveness

the ability to laugh even when stuck in a hospital hall for hours

and mostly by the bond she shares with her husband. As they exchange banter he is at times protective

and witty. (I can sooo see Hubby tweeting this while I am hooked to an IV writhing in pain)


So, there were times when I thought to myself, "Why the hell are you Tweeting??? Put the phone down and rest!" But then I realized that I was fully reading all of these Tweets. So, what the hell is wrong with me that I am following the personal details of a life I know nothing about? Does that make me a freaky voyeur stalker? Her a Twitter addict who shares way too much?

Honestly, some might say so. But, not me. In the midst of my whacky Mother's Day, I found inspiration and humor (and a touch of humility) as another woman's day unfolded in time with mine. Little did this stranger know that hundreds of miles away I was commiserating and laughing and remembering why I got hooked on this Twitter thing in the first place. It connects me to people I've yet to meet who give me a swift kick in the ass for wallowing in my Olive Garden snootiness. And stories that captivate my attention because they inspire, validate and reflect the strong, snarky and honest woman I aspire to be. A woman who in the midst of calamity can find perspective and is brave enough to share it with a gal like me.

Thank you, Erin. Happy Mother's Day.

* Hubby 100% deserved to sleep after pulling a 4:30AM shift, having lunch with my family, soothing our tantrum throwing toddler and then rushing to a tasting for the restaurant he is days away from opening. To hell with Mother's Day and Father's Day. It's Parents' Day every day in our life.