Fill me up

by Ashford - 1

  As a mom I spend a lot of time filling things up. I fill up snack bags with goldfish, lunch boxes, diaper bags, and sippy cups (“Not the RED one the BLUE one!”). I fill up my time card at work each week and when I get home I fill little bellies, the washing machine, the dryer, and the dishwasher. I fill up schedules and empty seats at cheerleading practice. I fill up empty spaces left by tiny broken hearts and hurt feelings. I fill up my husband with the encouragement he needs after a hard day at work. There are boxes of girl scout cookies to fill the orders which will fill the bank account for the troop. Some of the

What I didn’t expect to get from cancer

by Ashford - 3

  You know how people say things and it just rubs you the wrong way sometimes? They certainly don’t intend to offend and yet there it is. You force a smile because you know they mean well. But all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and all you can feel is your cheeks getting hotter and hotter. This is exactly how I feel when I hear people say “Cancer is a gift”. I don’t know what kind of a crappy gift giver you are but I am sure that no matter how bad your taste cancer most certainly is NOT a gift. But, when you wade through the flood waters you will find that although cancer itself is not

Living with the white noise

by Ashford - 6

  I don’t sleep since I became a mother. Long after my children began sleeping through the night I found myself up and fretting in darkness. My mind spinning with chores, to dos, and nightmares. The fears that come when loving something so much the very inkling of losing it keeps you up for weeks on end. Every sound, every cry jolts me awake in a fight or flight stance. Ready to defend what’s mine against the terrors of this world. Some time ago I bought noise maker to drown out the creaks and whimpers made by a house full of three sleeping children. The white noise covers the anxiety like a thin veil. Just long enough for me to drift away. And

My confession

by Ashford - 2

I feel like I need to address something with all of you, my readers. I need to set the record straight. After a recent post I received countless emails, texts, comments, and messages declaring my bravery and my strength. And although I truly appreciate these heartfelt sentiments there is something I need to confess… I am not strong.  No, I am not. In fact, I believe I may be the antithesis of strength. I struggled, I cried, I broke. I barely made it through. I clawed my way through each day- each moment. And somehow found myself standing here. On the other side. No. I am not strong but there is strength all around me. My God is strong. He provided for me in ways

Switchbacks and Sippy Cups

by Ashford - 2

I cry when I hike. It’s not because I’m weak or miserable. It’s not because I dislike hiking. In fact, I really like hiking. It’s because when I hike I push myself beyond all reasonable limits. I move beyond physical exhaustion and pain to a place where I lose the ability to regulate certain things. I feel my body giving out and I don’t believe I can go anymore. Yet somehow I do. One foot in front of the other. I put mind over matter and detach. I continue taking step after step, my mind somewhere far away, and the tears begin to slide down my cheeks. It doesn’t stop me or slow me down. I give myself the space to

Walking through the valley

by Ashford - 1

It’s the little things that clue you in- the nuances. No one ever said to me “this is an emergency this is dangerous” but somehow I knew. It was when the nurse insisted that he sit in a wheelchair. When she didn’t ask him to step onto the scale to do a weight check. When she left the exam room door opened and casually pointed out the call button on the wall. These were the things that made my heart start to pound and my senses heighten. It was when the doctor ordered a head CT and a chest x-ray that sent me grappling through my purse to find a discarded pill bottle of xanax because I knew- somehow I

I wish that I knew what I know now

by Ashford - 0

"I wish that I knew what I know now- when I was younger." You know that famous Rod Stewart song? It’s one of those songs that gets stuck in your head. (I apologize that now it will be the soundtrack to your entire day.) It came on the radio the other day and ever since Rod has been crooning the chorus loud and clear in my brain and it got me to pondering. I wish that I knew what I know now. Except that I don’t.  I’m glad I didn’t. Because now I know that the world is a scary place full of horrible people lurking around every corner. There is no escape from the terror that grips me with every news cast. Horrible

My Suburban is a WMD: A Christmas Story

by Ashford - 2

We were looking forward to an uneventful Christmas this year. We had forgone all the pomp and circumstance and opted for a low key holiday. Eeny (6) was to play an angel in the church pageant at the Christmas Eve service. I stuffed my purse with enough candy canes to occupy the boys during the service and we loaded up our suburban and headed to church. To be honest I couldn’t even pay attention to the children on stage as I was wildly flipping between the needs, nay demands, of Meeny (4) and Miny (1). The hubs was the designated historian and was standing three rows behind us videoing the entire production. I’ll have to watch the video later as I

Motherhood and McDonald’s: It’s really all the same

by Ashford - 1

Originally featured on Scary Mommy. My first job some 20 years ago was working in a fast food joint. It’s almost a rite of passage for an American teen these days and quite frankly I’m probably better for it. The only thing is- I had hoped that after 20 years, several years of higher education, and several jobs later that portion of my life would be over. I have served my time in the trenches and I should be on to bigger and better things. And I thought I was. Until I realized that I wasn’t. Sadly, very little separates being a mom and working at McDonalds. Case in point… 1. It sure as hell isn’t Burger King. I can’t tell you the

Embracing the crazy. Merry Christmas.

by Ashford - 2

I haven’t written a Christmas letter in several years and wasn’t planning to this year either. However, as you open our card I think you will begin to see that this letter is just begging to be written. There are stories waiting to be told. 1. The Family Picture At some point in life you just have to stop fighting it and simply embrace the crazy. With three small children (Eeny 6, Meeny 4, and Miny 19 months) we simply have no choice. There is a backstory with this photo. We had the best laid plans to have a professional photographer come out and shoot a session with us. Alas, the scheduled morning brought with it torrential rains and historic floods that not only

Top