2012 September

CONVENT

September 25, 2012 by Queen of Spain 2 Comments

I know we joke about it from time to time at our house, but recent events are actually making me consider sending my seven-year old to a convent.

Stop laughing.

Somewhere in Florida my mom is cackling.

As if it weren’t bad enough that my darling daughter was embarrassed to have me take her and pick her up from a friend’s birthday party this past weekend, she also has decided I know NOTHING about fashion, and she knows everything.

I hear this ‘knows everything’ thing gets worse with time, by the way.

You see she actually needed jeans for horseback riding and new boots. So we began the hunt long ago, with me picking out what I thought were some really cute and damn cool boots.

Apparently whatever I think is cute and damn cool is just the opposite.

So she picked out her own, with me zipping my mouth shut tight. Ok, maybe I didn’t zip that tight. I TOLD her the pointy ones would pinch her toes. She didn’t care.

I told her how dusty and dirty the black pair would get while riding on the ranch and wouldn’t brown make more sense?

…bad move Mom. You know what that wins you? That wins you a daughter who orders EVERYTHING in black.

Like I said…CONVENT. Anyone know a good one?

Filed Under: kill me now, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

Press Pause

September 25, 2012 by Queen of Spain 1 Comment

Even miracles take a little time. – The Fairy GodMother, Cinderella

There is a Lupus walk this weekend for our Lupus charity of choice, but our family won’t be there.

Don’t get me wrong. I would love for you to donate to the Lupus Foundation of America. They rock. They rock hard. And whenever we can, we send them money. We also encourage our friends and family to walk, donate…do what they can. Just this past weekend my beloved in-laws walked in my honor in Fayetteville, North Carolina’s walk. It was emotional for me.

We support the Lupus Foundation 110% and I’m even working to get members of Congress to join the Lupus Caucus at the foundation’s urging.

With that said, there are times my family and I just need to forget the hell that is what we have been through. Come Monday, I will be back in treatment, so we can never forget for long. But there is always a walk. There are always donations needed. There is always the constant reminder that our lives have changed.

So this time around, we’re not going. Aaron isn’t running. In fact, he’s run in one Lupus related 5k just after my diagnosis but that’s it.

Regardless, we’ve decided to spend this weekend at Disneyland. This is one of those times where I’m lucky to be a blogger, and have been invited to check out Mickey’s Halloween Party for what will be the… 5th? 6th? year in a row? Could it possible be that long? And then we’ll stay, as guests of Disney, so the following day we can check out the new Carsland. And then we’ll stay again, as guests of a friend, so we don’t have to brave Carmageddon 2 and can lounge by the monorail themed pool and then eat some Mickey shaped waffles for breakfast…in bed of course, as I am the Queen of all things room service.

Part of living with a chronic illness is understanding it’s chronic. That means I refuse to be Lupus 24/7 and my family shouldn’t have to feel obligated to walk every single walk or be at every single Lupus related event.

Yes, it’s very important to us. Yes, I want to raise as much awareness as possible. But I think I do a good job of doing my fair share.

I also think we’re allowed to take a break, just once in a while, from the drumbeat of illness. Never fear, I’ll be back with an IV in my arm on Monday. It won’t last long.

But until then…please, just until then…give me my rest. Let me pretend. Let me make-believe in a place made for make-believe.

Let me dress as a pirate and giggle with my fake bottle of rum and whistle for the dog to bring the keys to unlock the cell. Let my children laugh and jump with excitement as the fireworks blast overhead, begging to have cotton candy for dinner and turkey leg for lunch. Let my husband find joy in the smiles of his family as we plot Splash Mountain vs Big Thunder Mountain Railroad and experience Radiator Springs for the first time.

Think of all the joy you’ll find when you leave the world behind and bid your cares goodbye. – Peter Pan

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Feeling YaYa

One Small Step for Boy, One Giant Leap for Tourette Syndrome

September 20, 2012 by Queen of Spain 40 Comments

My son has gone back and forth about wanting to talk about his ‘ticks.’

That’s what we call his Tourette’s and OCD in our house. They are simply known as ‘my ticks, Mom’ or ‘…because of my anxiety.’

So when a writing assignment came along in school this week- very innocently, just the usual daily few sentences with a writing prompt to get them going- he froze.

He tells me some kids were writing about beating bosses on video games. Something he has done over and over again and is very proud of.

He tells me some kids were writing about no longer being afraid of spiders, or in the case of one kid, getting ‘bumped’ by a shark.

You gotta love 4th graders.

And there sat my son, debating with himself back and forth and back and forth if he should tell his teacher or his class or anyone that every single day he battles and overcomes all the zigs and zags of his brain. His brilliant, sensitive, amazing brain that causes him to (currently) do everything in ‘3s’ and mutter the last word of a sentience under his breath three times or hand wash and hand wash and hand wash or hand wash.

His ticks come and go with his anxiety level and he can control them very well with all the tools from our therapist. His ticks also change constantly. Sometimes they rotate and a new tick I’ve never noticed before is suddenly very prominent while another has faded. Some fade and never return. Others seem to be on a regular rotation. Regardless, he handles them with more grace and ease than any child should have to and he has zero shame or embarrassment.

At least, he didn’t. Until he began to mature and realize not everyone does what he does. Not everyone flaps their hands and jumps up and down while playing a video game, simply because it’s exciting. Not everyone covers their ears during a school play, because the cheers are too loud. Not everyone cries while looking out the window of an airplane, simply because the earth below is so beautiful.

Not everyone would take an in-class writing prompt home, so he could talk to his Mom about whether he should tell everyone he has Tourette’s.

I think they should know, but I’m not ready to really talk about it. I don’t want to give them a speech or anything. But maybe they won’t bug me so much then.

My stomach did a flip.

What do you mean ‘bug you’… has anyone said anything?

Well no, not really. But you know my friends they don’t care but some of the other kids might look at me and think I’m weird. You know Mom, I know I’m a wimp.

You are not a wimp. Why would you say that?

Well, I don’t mean that like a bad thing. I like video games and I’m not into like sports and stuff. And I’m a geeky wimp kind of kid, not like a kid that pushes other kids outside and plays those games where you punch arms and stuff.

There are LOTS of kids at your school like you buddy. LOTS. It’s great to have all kinds of friends and maybe it’s time to find some more of those kids that are like you.

But if I tell them about my ticks, they might think I’m even more weird.

Or maybe, they will better understand you and like you even more for who you are. But you can still write about anything you want honey. Anything.

…and he gets up and does this thing he does…his running from our front door to our back door. Something he just does that I’m sure is a tick, but we’re so used to it that it doesn’t register. He’s thinking. This is how he thinks. Sprints in my living room. Always having to touch the door a certain number of times. Always needing to ‘balance’ it out with exact same number of touches on the opposite wall.

Mom, I’m going to write it, but I’m not going to write a lot. My teacher might be the only one who sees it anyway, but maybe not. And maybe someone will ask me what I wrote. But I don’t want them to know too much. I will just write one thing about what I overcame and that’s it.

..and with that one thing, he took one very big step.

Filed Under: By Order of the Charter, Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Stepford Crazies, tic-toc

47%, a Mother, & Damn Proud

September 19, 2012 by Queen of Spain 11 Comments

When you basically tell a mother, fighting for her children to stay fed and warm and with a roof over their heads, that they are moochers…or feel ‘entitled’ to handouts…yeah, you better believe the claws come out.

I sat here tonight thinking about all the people in my life and how hard they work, or have worked, over the years. My parents. My friends. My husband. Myself.

How many years of paying into the system that was supposed to be there for us when needed. It wasn’t supposed to be there for us with the promise of ‘shame’ and ’embarrassment…’ no, it was just supposed to be there. There was no shame or embarrassment in working hard and taking your money back out.

But don’t tell that to Mitt Romney, Paul Ryan, and the rest of the gang who has somehow turned the typical American dream into a nation of victims, expecting government to care for them at every turn.

Sigh.

Then I stopped and thought about how many of those people in my life, at one point or another, used a government program to give them a boost, or provide them a safety net, or even just furnished their fridge with some food when times were tough.

Parents on Medicare and Social Security. Grandparents on the same, along with a pension. Myself having once collected short-term disability from the State of California and now having applied for Social Security disability benefits.

Friends and their children on state programs to make sure they have vaccinations and well-checks. Formula. Diapers.

Other friends who used Pell grants and student loans to enter higher paying jobs. You know, the kind of jobs that are now supporting their families, have gotten them off all assistance, and have put them in a position to give back to their communities and put money into the economy.

And then there are those I know and love who have made the ultimate deal with the government and entered the government’s ultimate program: to serve their country in uniform in exchange for many programs unavailable to the rest of our citizens.

I’m not sure where this entire idea about government programs are all ‘bad’ came from. I’m not sure how or why those who use them are moochers or freeloaders or undeserving entered the public discourse, but I can tell you this…it’s all bullshit. All of it.

You may have some tiny percentage of people who abuse the system. Why they are the stereotype, I also have no idea. Why that is what is stuck in some conservatives minds as the ‘real’ 47% is beyond me when every stat shows otherwise…but I can’t convince crazy. They are, however, very fond of saying ‘oh but not you Erin…not people like you, either.’

Bullshit.

Because statistically, it’s allllllll people like me. The disabled. The ones who need temporary help. The ELDERLY.

Just recently, I was finally approved for long-term disability through my private insurance. We began this process in November. As part of this ‘deal’ I’ve also agreed to use the lawyers provided to me by said private insurance so they can now deal with the Social Security Administration on my behalf. You see, they don’t want to pay me…they would much rather the federal government forked over the dough.

I’m sure this somehow also lowers me in the eyes of the holier-than -thou conservative who think government shouldn’t be taking care of me. Never mind that in order to even get the money I put in out of every paycheck, this is what I need to do…none of that seems to matter…what matters to them is these are THEIR tax dollars and apparently since I am currently not putting into that system, I’m a freeloader for taking out.

I’ve gotten nasty emails about taking my kids out to dinner. I’ve gotten tweets asking where I got the money to buy a nice handbag. I’ve even gotten Facebook messages wondering how someone publicly discussing her attempts to get her mortgage modified and having a mountain of medical debt has the audacity to take her children to Disneyland.

It seems that the moment you have accepted any sort of government help, the citizens of said country believe it is their business to manage your family’s budget.

I could tell you all about what gifts I have received or what family has paid for. I could tell you what we’ve saved for in order to provide treats here and there for the kids or myself. I could even tell you what has arrived in the mail, generously, from wonderful friends.

But I don’t feel I need to explain. Nor do I feel it is your right to know. For all you know, I spent every single dime that came to me via the government on something entirely frivolous just to piss you off. And as far as you all know, that is my choice.

In a way, I wish I had, because the outrage has made me just angry enough to do it…and I could use a nice pair of $4k heels.

Instead, I find myself reminding people my husband is still gainfully employed and my current check comes from a private insurance company…but then I get mad I even said that. Even wanting to tell people that is bullshit. It may be none of your damn business but you sure have made me feel like I need to justify things. Something. Anything. All because of this utterly insane notion that somehow, somewhere down the road, it became un-American to accept help. It became un-American to pay into a system and then retrieve that money from the system.

But what is worse…what is even more insulting…is that somehow they have made me feel as though I didn’t work for what I have. That my father didn’t work for what he has. And that all of my friends and family and loved ones are not currently doing all they can to simply provide for their kids and their parents and wouldn’t choose work over taking help any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Do you think I ENJOY Lupus? Do you think I ENJOY collecting my disability check so I can sit on my ass and receive treatment and NOT be able to travel and rule the motherfucking world as God intended me to?

Shame on you Mitt Romney. Shame on you Paul Ryan. Shame on you fellow conservatives for emotionally and mentally abusing so many of us who have worked, wanted to work, or tried to work. For publicly shaming anyone down on their luck, looking for compassion, looking for just a little bit of understanding and love.

I always knew politics was ugly. But never in my life did I think a group of people would stoop so low as to kick those who are down. Never in my life did I think those wealthy and those in power would laugh and spit on the poor. Never, ever in my life did I think you would treat a mother, this mother, with anything but respect for doing all she could to take care of her family. For doing all she could to get herself healthy so she could work again. For doing all she could to make sure she never had to take any money, from anyone. EVER.

Perhaps family and love and compassion means something a bit different to Democrats than it does Republicans these days. Perhaps you see dollar signs and we see people. You see deficits and we see a table in need of food. You see tax hikes and we see a child in need of books.

You see the entitled and the victims and the 47%…and we simply see Americans.

Damn proud Americans.

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Obama2012

Rock the Red: Erin Kotecki Vest on Katie Couric’s New Show

September 13, 2012 by Queen of Spain 16 Comments

So I did something a bit daring while in New York. Ok, I did a few things that were a bit daring but today you got to see one of them on national television.

Source: katiecouric.com via Karla on Pinterest

Yup, that’s me. In a custom made-for-me dress standing next to the bombshell Kelly Wickham, and Jennifer Lawson. You may know them better as MochaMomma and The Bloggess. Then, of course, is Katie Couric and Karen Gilmour, and the only one NOT in red…the amazing Brene’ Brown.

I could talk about how my fears nearly overwhelmed me and I almost canceled when the tailor couldn’t make a dress that made me look presentable.

I could talk about why I’m in flats, while you’ll notice everyone else is in matching heels.

I could talk about what it’s like to wonder what the whole world will think when they last time they saw you on national tv you were slim, fearless, and talking about women in politics.

Instead…I want to tell you about what was going on backstage. Because backstage is the reason I had the courage to go on stage.

Many of you know my husband, and know all he has done for me as we have battled this horrible illness together. What you may not know, is that being the ‘caregiver’ of someone with a chronic illness might be worse than having the illness itself.

I can’t imagine watching him suffer, trying to help, and being able to do nothing but watch and wait. And wait and watch. And maybe do some laundry, and grocery shop and take care of the kids…because it’s all you can do while you watch and wait.

He’s watched me lay in a hospital bed more times than I care to remember.

He’s watched the clock tick by, slowly, as he waits for the doctor to come out of surgery to tell him I’ve made it through.

He’s watched me sit on our couch, healing, sleeping, typing, talking, frustrated and fuming that nothing was changing.

He’s watched me undergo treatment bi-weekly, take a million pills, inject myself with drugs, writhe in pain when things don’t work, and get up and smile when things do.

He’s watched his children watch me. He’s watched me comfort them and try to hold it all together. He’s watched them grow even closer to him as Mom became untouchable at times.

He’s watched me do my best to put on a brave face, when all I want to do is hide in his arms and have him tell me everything will be ok.

He watched me get so ill and small. He watched me get so large from the drugs. He watched me get angry at the world. He watched me screw up. He watched me say I’m sorry. He watched me become healthier, only to get knocked back down. He watched me slowly get stronger and healthier, as the roller coaster of the role of ‘caregiver’ continues.

And in that green room, he watched me own the hardest part of being the ‘sick one’ and him the ‘healthy one:’ He watched me tell the entire world it was ok to NOT be the strong one.

It took me too long to get there. So long, I could be a healthier woman now had I just not been so damn stubborn.

But I decided to dare greatly, and change.

Change is so hard. Especially for a strong, independent, take no bullshit kind of woman who was determined to have it all. The career, the kids, the white picket fence.

All the while with him watching with pride, with fear, with hope.

Not many people get a chance in their lifetime to have what we have. The friendship. The fierce loyalty. And the genuine respect.

When I sat on that couch, with one of America’s best know talk show hosts, he watched. But what he may not have known as he did, was that all I could think about was him and how he got me here.

I know how strong I am. I know I can get anywhere I want and put my mind to- from the White House, to a maternity ward, to the end of treatments because I will be, someday, in remission.

But on that stage, I had to own my faults and I had to declare to the world that my ‘caregiver’ was and is what has gotten me through. I did not need to be strong and I had to be vulnerable in order to survive.

I wish I could tell you it gets easier from there. That you dare greatly and then POOF! life is grand. But no. There is much work to be done. Because the wake of all those mistakes, the wake of all that fear, the wake of finally letting go and entering a new normal makes for hard work.

But for one moment, that one serene, I accept what has happened and I am ME moment, came in that red dress. And it carried over onto that stage where once again he watched. My constant. At the ready.

So I’m going to soak up this moment. For him. For me. For us. Because it will be gone quickly…just as the Katie Show aired, I was receiving an IV infusion cocktail to make my body stronger and push me to remission.

And I will only get there if I continue to dare greatly, with a great man by my side.

So put on YOUR red dress and tackle what YOU need to tackle in life. Make yourself vulnerable. Be brave. Be fearless. Step out of your comfort zone and do what I did: admit and admire.

Then rock the red.

On September 14th, 2012 at 12pm Eastern you can register to win a gift card from Gilt.com to purchase a red dress. If you do not win, never fear. You can still buy a dress at Gilt’s red dress sale.

And if you happen to like the design I was wearing, Gilt has arranged for you to have it custom made by one of their fabulous designers. Fit to your specifications, for us bigger girls. If it was a bit hard to see, it has these great Kimono sleeves and I blinged it out everywhere. I’m calling it the ‘Erin’ dress because it was made special for me, by their designers, for the show. Why? Because steroids do evil things to a woman’s body and nothing, sometimes not even regular plus sized clothing, fits right. So if you want the ‘Erin’ made for you, contact press@gilt.com and they will take care of you. Price will depend on size, etc. but the dress will be around $385. But then you can name it the ‘Jane’ or the ‘Debbie’ or the ‘YOURNAMEHERE’ and know it was YOUR red dress, made JUST for you.

And if this is all just too much, and you aren’t quite ready to rock the red…email me. Let’s talk about it. I’ve been there. As I told Katie Couric, I didn’t want to do it either. queenmediallc@gmail.com – or leave a comment.

Battling chronic illness is hard. It leaves its mark on EVERYONE in the family, in your life. It has left its mark on my marriage and I am grateful every day he shows up to watch, to help, to just be.

Because daring greatly means loving hard, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Feeling YaYa, Kaiser

Our Trip to the Democratic National Convention- Part II

September 10, 2012 by Queen of Spain 7 Comments

Things are different now. As a Mom with Lupus, needing a wheelchair for long walks, the kids and I are automatically treated differently where ever we go. So as we went into the Time Warner Cable Arena to hear Thursday’s speakers, I wasn’t surprised to find us in the ‘wheelchair’ section. That means you are behind a curtain and in a balcony where all the chairs are taken out and wheelchairs pull on in. We got to put a chair next to my chair so my nine-year old could sit next to me, but my seven-year old needed to stay on my lap. Due to the weather and the change from Bank of America Stadium, we were lucky to get in at all…so I wasn’t going to complain and demand another chair.

But this meant a 2nd grader on my lap for nine hours.

As soon as we got settled in section 213 the kids immediately got excited. Congressman Barney Frank was at the podium and the crowd was fired up. My daughter, in particular, cheered with enthusiasm every time the crowd did…while my son was a bit more reserved. Soaking it all in.

As the hours went on…and on…and on…the kids acted as kids do. They listened, they cheered, they ignored and played on their iPads, they cheered again, they watched videos on the jumbotron, ate concession food, and then started to slump a bit and wiggle as time ticked on and on.

Mom, what does he mean about that dogs don’t hunt? Don’t dogs hunt all the time?

Mom, I’m glad they are thanking the soldiers but I can’t hold the sign up anymore my arms are tired.

And then, over the course of dozens of speakers and many hours, something happened.

It was that something I had hoped might happen. The reason I brought them.

Mom, why do they keep talking about women getting as much money as men? Do women really not get as much money as men?

Why would anyone say climate change is a hoax? That’s just dumb. I’m sorry, I know that’s a bad word…but that really is dumb, Mom.

Mom, why can’t that lady walk right? I know the pledge and I can say it too- (puts hand over her heart) but why are you crying? What’s wrong with that lady on stage Mom?

Who was that last lady speaking? She was really awesome! She’s the leader of the whole Democratic National Convention? I really like her!

…and this went on. And I answered as best I could while holding one child and trying to keep another from kicking the chair in front of him.

Think about that for a second. My nine-years old son who was fidgeting like a typical boy, was listening intently enough to catch the President calling out climate change deniers. My daughter was INSPIRED by an accomplished female politician at the age of SEVEN.

My children did what I had hoped they would do, even if they found a lot of it “boring” and even if it was exhausting for all of us…they had that spark lit.

It happened. I saw it happen.

And then, to top it all off, once the President took the stage they were swept up in the excitement of it all. They forget how tired they were. They forget that just moments before they were complaining and ready to go home. They listened to every word. They waved their flags with pride. They leaned over and craned their necks to see him better at the podium. They jumped up and down as the confetti fell and cheered for their country, their own beliefs, and the President of the United States.

The convention gave our family moments we will never forget.

It took a lot out of me to get us across the country to Charlotte in order to be there while the President accepted the nomination. Something we could have watched easily on tv from home.

I get to start treatment just after we land back in Los Angeles, the kids will be back in school, turning in their reports about their trip and telling their classes about everything that happened. But my hope is they won’t soon forget that they were part of history. That they were there. And that their Mom was healthy enough to take them, even if she needed some help.

The President and this administration has done so much for my family with their legislation and their work, when the opportunity to travel to Charlotte crossed our path- how could I say no?

I got to share my family’s story with the world so they could experience exactly what the president talked about on Thursday night – hope, and yes, change. Change that comes from you and I blogging our lives be it about living with chronic illnesses to single parenthood to just the everyday monotony of being Moms.

Politics is personal.

Take your personal story- even if you think it doesn’t matter- and tell the world. It matters. If my family can travel to Charlotte just so I can talk to you about the Democrat’s platform, just so I can tell you what it means to support President Obama, just so I can explain a bit better why ObamaCare is vital to my health…then you can talk about your day, your life, your struggles as an American.

Politics is personal and in 2012 it is vital to making sure we re-elect President Obama.

As my kids will now tell you…it may be a bit boring, but the confetti at the end is worth it.

Let’s see some more confetti come November 6th.

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Obama2012

Our Trip to the Democratic National Convention- Part 1

September 7, 2012 by Queen of Spain 9 Comments

An Open Letter to the Anti-Abortion Protesters at the Democratic National Convention in Charlotte:

Hi. You might not know me. I was the Mom who was wheeled by with her two small children yesterday somewhere between 3-4pm eastern. My beautiful and smart-as-a-whip little girl was on my lap, as my father-in-law pushed my wheelchair. My son was holding his grandmother’s hand and my hand on the wheelchair as we crossed the street onto your corner.

We needed to enter the convention center to get our credentials to see the President speak and there was no way around you.

I saw you when we parked. I mentally calculated how to avoid your area. Not because I have any trouble teaching my children about abortion, or about differing opinions, but because they did not need to see 9-foot tall posters of dead fetuses while you screamed about me being a murderer through your megaphone. Scare tactics meant to frighten me and my kids.

On our first trip past, we avoided you. I gave myself a Mom pat on the back, but then quickly learned we had to doubled back and head right through you in order to get where we were going.

So I did what any Mom would do and explained to the kids, quickly, that we needed to walk near ‘a bunch of idiots’ who had ‘scary pictures’ and were yelling ‘very mean things.’ I then had them both cover their eyes.

We nearly made it past you, but my son, who was walking, had to look up every so often so as not to trip.

He happened to look up just as you put one of your horrible, misleading, evil, shocking for the purpose of shocking, posters in front of him.

He recoiled and yelled out. I held his hand tighter and said ‘It’s ok, we’re nearly through’ and we went as fast as we could past you.

Mom, why would they even do that? What is WRONG with those people?

They think they can change people’s minds about abortion. They think they can get women to give up control of their own bodies by shocking them with those pictures. They think if they are loud and they scare you they will get you to vote their way.

Mom, that is horrible. They are horrible. I HATE those people.

I don’t like them very much either honey. And normally I would tell you not to hate anyone, but I think in this case it’s ok. These really are some awful people.

So you see, guy with megaphone, lady holding baby, men with signs…while you have every right to be there and every right to scream and shout and shock your message from that corner- it didn’t work.

My daughter was horrified to the point of hiding her face, my son was disgusted and angry. He was angry you were trying to get people to vote your way by showing them those pictures. And once I explained to him what he was looking at threw his squinted eyes, he became even more angry you were flashing those fetus photos for the world to see.

But Mom, I thought you said girls had a real hard time with that, and it was sad. Why would they think it is easy?

Honestly honey? Because they are jerks. I know that’s a bad word…but they are. They didn’t care that you saw those photos, in fact, you saw how that man tried very hard to get in front of you and show it to you.

Yeah, that made me sad.

Do you want to talk about it?

A little. I’m sad those people are so mean Mom. And I’m never voting for what they want because they are so mean.

There you have it protesters. If you were out there to try to change the hearts and minds of those willing to even slightly consider your point of view, you failed miserably. As it turns out, you may have made sure to have driven away an open-minded young man.

And for all your talk of loving babies and children, you certainly showed zero love for the ones right in front of your face as we passed your way. You needlessly frightened little children, the same children you swear you care about so much you are compelled to stand on a street corner to preach about their souls and the soul of their mother.

Consider yourself at least two more votes down.
Oh, and you are still jerks. And I’m using my nice words.

Erin Kotecki Vest
Mom, Wife, Angry Democrat working hard to keep abortion safe and legal

Filed Under: #suckit, Obama2012, Stepford Crazies

Erin Kotecki Vest & Kids Head to the Democratic National Convention

September 4, 2012 by Queen of Spain 8 Comments

My Lupus ravaged body creaked getting out of bed before dawn this morning, as it does every morning these days.

I took my pills and made my usual cup of green tea, mentally going over the check list.

Sweatshirts in case it gets cold
the special bag that attaches to my wheelchair
Gum for the kids
Notebooks and pencils for homework
Those pills I switched to…no, not those, the other ones, the ones instead of the injection….

This went on in my head for a good 20 minutes before I sat here at my computer, wondering if I was crazy for attempting this trip at all.

But I know I’m not crazy. The President and First Lady keep asking if we’re ‘in’ this election.

As we pack up the car to head to the airport. Flying from Los Angeles, California to North Carolina…with two kids, two suitcases, a wheelchair, and enough medication to ensure I am comfortable for many days…we couldn’t be MORE ‘in.’

We will fight for those who fight for us. The kids know it. They understand without blinking an eye why this is so important…

Mom, the President has helped you while you are sick. Now we have to get people to help him.

That’s right baby. It’s time to help him.

See you in Charlotte.

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Feeling YaYa, Obama2012