Hey Mama!



It’s my mama’s birthday and I wish I had a more recent picture of her and I, but alas, one from her wedding a few years ago will have to do.  This girl deserves the best day and the best year because she does everything, always with others first in her mind.  She is kindness and beauty of spirit personified.

She and I have a lot to celebrate this July. Birthdays. Our first year of being cancer free. Anniversaries. Little joys.  I hope she has a big glass of wine and a bubble bath because nobody deserves it more.  I love you, mama.

In fact, George Washington said it best:

My mother was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. All I am I owe to my mother. I attribute all my success in life to the moral, intellectual and physical education I received from her.

Sparkles and Glitter,
Sara Rose

A Very Special #GuestPost: Meet Vanessa


Vanessa and I went to college together, about a million years ago.  Or maybe way less than that. But to fill the void as I work out some writing kinks, she’s written something pretty awesome.  See, we’re both rebounding from pretty major life stuff and doing our best to be our own ‘every things’.  It’s hard, it’s tiring, but at the same time, the sweet moments are such incredible triumphs.  Meet such an amazing friend to me and remember to keep on swimming, every day, and that this isn’t everything you are.


Vanessa, Vanity and Chronic Illness


I wanted to write something inspiring and deep and change lives.  But then I remembered that there are plenty of people doing that and doing a much better job than I ever could, so I decided to write about a small struggle.  Reading this isn’t going to make you smarter.  It’s not going to save anyone’s life.  Hopefully though, it might make you feel less alone or help you relate to someone you know.

Back in 2010, I had to have my thyroid removed.  Let me tell you, if you want to make your body hate you, take something out that it needs to function.  I don’t recommend this, I’m just saying I know that it really, really works. As a result of this surgery, my parathyroid glands quit working.  Parathyroid glands are what regulate your blood calcium.  Why is that important?  Beyond keeping your bones strong, calcium helps your nerves send messages (like telling your legs to move) and works to make your muscles contract (like your heart).  My body no longer regulates its own calcium levels.  I have to take medication to do it.  The best analogy I have is this:  having this disease is similar to Type I Diabetes.  I’m reliant on an outside source of something my body needs.  The thing is, I have no way to know what my calcium levels are.  I have to play a really-not-fun game of Guess How Much Calcium You Need Today!  Too much…I deal with kidney stones.  Not enough…extreme weakness and pain.  Ever had a charlie horse?  That’s what low calcium feels like. A charlie horse. Except it happens everywhere, all at once.

Ok.  So you’re caught up on the basic medical stuff. Do you feel smarter?  Can you just pretend you feel smarter, so that when I ask you what you think about this little writing experiment, you can say, “Yes!  I definitely feel smarter!”?  Thanks.

Now to the not serious stuff.

My hair started to fall out.  My eyebrows did, too. I looked like an unfortunate chemistry experiment gone wrong.  After a year of rest and having my mom make me sit down (thanks, Mom), my hair has started to regrow.  And I have some eyebrows.  My fingernails never grow anymore.  When my calcium is low, my skin gets grayish/bluish/LochNessMonsterish and I get some pretty serious dark circles under my eyes.  My skin also gets dry and old-lady-looking.  I look sick.

And of all the things that drive me crazy about this constant battle with chronic illness, this is the one thing that I struggle with the most.  I look sick.  I can be cheerful and joke around and pretend all I want, but the simple fact is that I can’t lie about how I feel when I look like the undead version of Kate Hudson.  Alright, maybe I’m reaching by comparing myself to Kate Hudson, but no one said I had to be realistic in my celebrity comparisons.

Some days washing my face and putting my hair in a bun is an achievement.  Not in a lazy way, in a “standing requires some major effort” way.  It’s not much, but it’s what I can do.  I also get my nails done now.  Getting my nails done is not something I need.  But no matter how crappy I feel, I can look down at my hands and think “they look nice”.  I may look like Zombie Kate Hudson, but my nails look good.

Then there are other days.  Days when I don’t feel so weak and tired.  Days when the thought of doing my hair and makeup sound like a great idea. So, that’s what I do.  I blow dry and curl my hair.  I put on makeup.  I wear clothes that don’t have Muppets or comic book characters on them.  I feel normal.

I do this every single time I feel good, because I am so very aware of the fact that I might not feel up to it tomorrow.  And yep, I post some of those pictures to Facebook the second I take them. Why?  Because the next time I feel weak and tired and angry because I feel weak and tired, I can look at those pictures and remind myself that I will feel good again.

So why am I telling you this?  Besides the obvious “make you smarter” thing that we discussed earlier, it’s to ask a favor. Well, two favors, really.

One, if you’re suffering from a chronic illness, please remember that you are not alone…at all. There are people who may not fight the same medical battle, but we fight the same mental battles.  If you’re one of these people, and you do feel alone or overwhelmed, send me a message.  True empathy from someone who gets it can go an awfully long way in conquering that mental battle.  Also, if you have a chronic illness and you feel good today, brag a little about it.  If you take one of those dreaded selfies and you think you look good, post it to Facebook. I’ll “like” it and I won’t judge you or think you’re narcissistic.  I’ll know that the picture isn’t about wanting attention or being self-centered. I’ll know it’s about a tiny battle that, for today, you got to win.  Go on.  Do it.

Two, if you know someone who suffers from a chronic illness, take one second to compliment that person.  It doesn’t have to be appearance-related.  It just needs to be something to remind that person that he or she is not their disease.  It doesn’t even need to be a compliment.  Talk to us about something funny or interesting.  We need to feel like, even though how we interact with the world has changed, we’re still a part of it.

Thanks for reading. And if anyone actually does think I look like Kate Hudson, I will instantly proclaim you My Favorite Person.

Vanessa will always be one of my favorite people. Besides. She’s HOTTER than Kate Hudson.

Glitter and Sparkles,

Sara Rose

Bloghopper Madness and Methods.

Cristina and I met in that gangsta’s paradise of writers known as twitter during Reverb in its first year.  We traded barbed humor and quiet graces.  Fearless in our honesty with one another but also in the wonderland of blunders we make, we don’t tread lightly. I dig it.  I also like to call her and harass her in Spanish.  She makes me think, encourages wonder, and helps me embrace my honesty.  I am honored that she asked me to write for her.



What am I working on?

Well.  When I’m not yelling, “I HAVE A MIGRAINE, SO BE QUIET, EVERYTHING!”… I work on thinking.  Reading, jotting, thinking, then writing.  Writing used to come to me like veritable word vomit and I blogged, journaled, and wrote on manuscripts or freelance pieces nearly 24/7.  I would say that moving from my old blog to this website has slowed me but not in a bad way.  I think far more before I speak, or write, l vice versa. Possibly too much?  Let’s think about this.

Ok so, I’ve been reading more because of the things I am writing or want to work on.  I’ve been working on a lot of opinion pieces that relate back to specific issues that are incredibly important to me- women’s rights, glbt discussion, those with disabilities or special needs (especially as we traverse my son’s journey with autism), native rights, parenting hot button topics, and a massive amount of other things.  This is why I read.  I read about our culture, I find the missives I’m passionate about, and try to make sure I’ve read each side of it.  My opinions may not be earth shattering but they are mine and I try to be fearless in being the voice a lot of women want to hear but aren’t.

I’m also working on a variety of essays for different submissions.  Some are about time, power, or even fiction pieces.  I don’t write a lot of fiction so that’s been both new for me and hard for me to write about.  I am also writing a memoir that is a series of vignettes.  I work hard to keep it from my childhood perspective and revisit because I felt like there was a real voice missing when it came to the idea of “Lets have a gal write another memoir about having a drunk dad”.  It’s not necessarily entirely about that but about a young girl who came into her own power early on by being unafraid of what she actually was/is.

I write a lot about hard choices and that these are beautiful moments, if you let them be that.  I think my own decisions in the last 5 years have been hard to embrace at times but I wouldn’t change them.  Just walk your walk and know that your choices are important.  I know that what I write will help someone some day and I find a lot of beauty in hard truths.  Thus. I embrace them and I write them.  My writing may be all over the board but it is who I am.  People don’t always ‘get’ me for the fact that I am willing to be both hard and soft, but I don’t mind.  It’s not my goal to be everyone’s favorite.  I just want to write.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

I look for little truths because what we often do, each of us doesn’t change the whole world. It changes our corner of the world.  Little moments are what build into larger thoughts that deserve being written about.  But some very clear ways in which my writing differs are somewhat humorous to other writers, like my husband (for example).  I can TELL a story with tons of dialogue.  I can never write a story that’s heavy with the talk, nor a piece that requires massive amounts of SAYING.  I’m trying very hard to learn to show and not tell with my words.

I’m not afraid to be brutal or controversial but I do think carefully about my readers.  I want, at the very least, for my readers to come away thinking about things differently than they might have.  I also hope to inspire people to step out of their comfort zones.  There has been no comfort zone for me for over a decade.  But I have learned more, written more, and made beautiful memories because of that.  Life is never easy, but it keeps my eyes open.  I feel terribly for those who sleepwalk through life and hope that by being so open, I can snap some eyes, you know?

It’s really important to me to spend time researching every facet of what I want to say before I state it.  Words are powerful creatures, they leave your mouth or your mind and they aren’t really yours anymore.  You may have shaped the thought but it has its own power once it goes out into the world.  Writing is much like raising your kids, you have to think about where you are totally honest and where you need to tell a story or if these things can merge for something more powerful.

I’m not really content to be classified into one genre.  Not just a lifestyle blogger but I try talk about life’s intricacies, instead of how I made candles out of recycled sheep udders and shampoo bottles or whatever.  I do write about my kids and our life yes, because we are shaping it in a way that I hadn’t imagined doing so- that’s just so wild to me.  But I also care about so many millions of other areas, ideas, opinions, that I cannot ever say I want to write about just one thing.  Right now, yes I submit a lot of freelance work, a lot of essays, I work on this website, my book of vignettes, and a children’s storybook… but I also dream of writing long Salon pieces, interviews, a cookbook, books of letters, and so many other things.


Why do I write/create what I do?

I don’t have any choice.  To be frank, for my sanity, if I were not writing, I would be clinically insane and in a mad house.  I already work in that area and it’s just not pretty if you aren’t doing what you are meant to be doing.  When I was halfway done with being pregnant with the Owen-boy-child, Nolan sat me down during a day of existential hormonal drama and said “You are supposed to write.  I am supposed to support this family.  We both have big things that are meant to happen but none of your great things will if you aren’t putting pen to paper every, single day.”  I was a casual writer before that but in a way, he gave me the permission I had not given myself.  I do not always write on the computer, every single day, but I need to get back into that habit.  I do write in a notebook, on scraps of paper, in note apps on my tablet, or on the computer in some variety daily.  You should see my desk.  It’s ‘an organized blizzard’.

I also think it’s important to read every, single day.  I am so proud to have cultivated this in the kids.  Even when Owen went through this weird phase with his autism and stimming where he hated the feeling of books, he liked looking at them and being read to.  This is important because we do spend too much time in front of monitors.  We spend too much time indoors, and not enough time exploring our own minds or thoughts.  There is a minimum of an hour of dedicated reading in this house.  I have no earthly idea where we find time.

How does your writing/creating process work?

I read something. Or I hear another thing.  Or a thought flits across my mind and I write it down.  I mull any of these things over, collecting and writing more thoughts.  Research it.  Read obsessively and talk my husbands ear off.  Once in awhile, I do a draft.  A lot of times, I write out what I want, have Nolan do a quick edit, see if anything bugs me, and hit publish or send it off.  I’m terrible.  All the stuff about revisions and edits, I always feel like I dilute and weaken what I want to say whenever I ‘do it’. So I don’t very often.

I am tagging three very unusual authors and I hope you take some time to read them!!!!  Each has a powerful story and message that I want to share with the world.  Enjoy-

Meet Rae- http://www.initfortheparking.com


“In It For The Parking” summarizes my attitude towards my disabilities. I always joke and say that I’m just in it for the parking – or in it for the perks (like riding the carts at the airport!).

Remembering that I am not defined by my illnesses and recognizing the benefits (whether hidden blessings or not) of my situation are two of the ways I cope with the changes in my life and the frustrations of being chronically ill.

This blog is all about living well, finding your happiness, maintaining positive relationships, and caring for ourselves and our caregivers.

Meet Jami- https://ahahahahstayingalive.wordpress.com


AhAhAhAhStayingAlive is an autobiographical blog I have created to etch a way for my voice as a multifaceted woman. I am a wife, a mother of a one year old, a cancer patient, and so much more. I intend to keep the content playful and cheeky, but sometimes it is full of true grit, because that’s life. I am the laughing phoenix throughout this ordeal because I have already been to hell and back in this lifetime, what’s one more look through those purgatory doors?

Meet Angie- amaranthine29.wordpress.com


Whole food rocks; stop the clocks! If you are sick & tired of suffering from symptoms such as fatigue, weight gain, depression/anxiety, and other maladies, head on over to my nutrition & wellness blog to learn about how to take back control and begin your journey to better health!


RIP Maya.

Maya Angelou 1928 - 2014 (86)
Maya Angelou
1928 – 2014 (86)

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Maya Angelou

Skin Deeper.

Sigh. Let me whine. I get this disconcerting series of comments regularly lately.  They usually go in about this fashion, pardon me if I get it a bit off….

“You always look SO cute and put together! I could never pull that off!”

“I don’t have the TIME to look as polished as you do!”

“Wow. Your hair and make up! Always perfect! I bet your husband totally loves it!”

Wait, what?
Wait, what?

You get the basic idea.  What girl doesn’t love to get a complement?  I’m getting a bit older!  I’ve had kids and cancer and life so yeah, it’s nice to feel pretty.  It’s just that some of these comments are laced with an edge. Because some are followed by things like,

“It must get awfully tiring to do all that. I just don’t bother.”

“Wow, your daughter must learn a lot from you. Is it all intimidating?”

“Bet this gets harder as you get older!”

That’s really sorta weird, don’t you think?  Let’s talk about this.  I have always appreciated the mystique and beauty of strong femininity.  There is nothing saying a woman in heels and red lipstick cannot have quiet command over everything she does.  There’s also nothing saying that the woman in sweats and flip flops isn’t smart enough to run a corporation.  I like having command over my self and presence.  I like that people get a pretty clear read of the kind of woman I am when they look at me.

Lovely ladies value themselves!
Lovely ladies value themselves!

Because it’s not just about doing my make up and hair, or wearing a nice outfit or diet and exercise. It is about how I walk into a room and treat other people.  But, how can I treat other people decently if I don’t feel good about myself. That is the catch-22.  I don’t actually need tons of compliments.

I need to feel pulled together.  I need to feel ready to face my day.  I like feeling comfortable.  My own comfortable actually is a polished outfit, nice make up, pretty hair, and smelling good.  These little touches remind me that no matter what comes through my day ‘I got this!’.  There is nothing wrong with enjoying glamour and the idea that, as a mom, you should put that on the back burner, makes me laugh.

Look who is blossoming into herself? Beautiful.
Look who is blossoming into herself? Beautiful.

Feminism happens whether you are wearing diamonds, flannels, or both.  Being your own person simply means owning your best self.  So, do I have a routine? Yes.  Does it help me feel like a stronger, more confident woman. Yup.  Does it define me? No.  It outlines me.

I will say that I don’t do this to please other people. I do it for me. With an exception that probably sends me straight back to the 1950′s in most people’s eyes.  I do take care of myself in part, for my husband. Yes, I said that.  I said it because I think in any relationship, the care you take of yourself spills over into being a more confident and caring partner.  I do care that my husband looks at me, smiles, and thinks “Dang, am I lucky!” Because I think that of myself when I look at him!

Bare-faced is beautiful too.  Especially when you take care of yourself.  When you actually drink enough water, get enough exercise, have a decent mind set, most days you’ll wake up looking decent.  It’s important to always know that you, yourself, are enough.  Beauty is your own.

Take care of yourself and the ones you love.
Take care of yourself and the ones you love.

There is a difference.  By the way, I think those flannels and that bare face is just as beautiful.  Just own it, sisters.

Sparkles and Glitter -

Sara Rose



My kiddos don’t fit the apparent ‘hair regulations’ set forth by the universe of parenting.  So, apparently, I have failed on that aspect of parent but I find it to be bonkers to be told things like,

“Little boys don’t have long hair!”

“Young ladies don’t have short, strangely colored hair!”

Sigh.  Ok, here we go.  Constructs of beauty, normalcy, and conformity aren’t high on the list of household priorities we teach our kiddos.  My daughter watches how I act, my interest in beauty and fashion and asks me about it.  I explain that it’s a fun way to to express my personal sense of style, emotions, and feel good. But that if something doesn’t help me feel awesome, it’s not part of my routine.

Since this, her hair is an awesome blend or purple and pink!
Since this, her hair is an awesome blend or purple and pink!

Thus, my daughter has short hair. Short, brightly colored hair.  Usually pink or purple.  She’s learning to express herself and she likes to pair her fun hair with bright, slim outfits because she prefers to be able to move quickly and quietly.  She is athletic, elegant and part of her own routine is being able to be graceful and bold in a quiet way.  She has no desire for long hair again and some of the most beautiful women she admires for their style and grace have short hair.  If Eva had 3 words for her personality it would be bright, smart, and elegant.

Her favorite Aunt Barb has short hair and is also small, athletic, and elegant.  Barb is extraordinarily smart, fun, and charismatic.  The fact that Eva will pick role models of such finesse makes me proud to be raising a young lady who is confident in her skin.

I get the best pics before nap.  Tee hee!
I get the best pics before nap. Tee hee!

Owen has nearly shoulder length hair that is white blonde with wild curls and he always looks like a little rock star.  He also gets called a girl on a regular basis, despite his preference for robots, race cars, and monsters.  Because he has autism, his echolalia can be pretty strong and he might repeat what you say about something being cool or awesome, style wise, but he always shows preference for bold patterns, soft fabrics, and NOBODY TOUCHING HIS HAIR.

He crashes through the world and boldly announces his entrance with his sweet but strong demeanor.  What I am most proud of with him is that he lets nothing hold him back and like the Memoirs of a Geisha Quote revised, “Water carves its own path”.  As does he.  This autism thing does not define him but he feels strongly about his hair being a part of his identity.  I won’t be denying him this.

Really, we need to examine the idea that long hair equals femininity but short is akin to masculine traits.  I was never raised with that ideal.  Post cancer, yes, I have been growing my hair out but not necessarily because I found my short hair unfeminine.  More because I wanted to see my hair long again since it has been a decade and I adore my crazy, wild curls as they grow.

People tell me VERY OFTEN about how I need to reign in my kids’ hair.  Um. Okay. Well, when you can explain to me how dictating my kids’ hair choices makes me a better mom and garners us all a more respectful relationship in the long run, I’m interested. Because reigning my children’s personalities is akin to me training them to become people that they aren’t.  There are other battles I would rather fight.  No, letting my daughter try out a crazy pink hair color is not letting her go wild.  I would rather agree to this than a $500 iPhone that I watched her classmate break during a tantrum to be assured by mom that she could have another.

Apparently, letting my son have long hair is letting him be a sissy boy? Well, let’s all just work together to find a way to get poor sissy Autism boy calmed down enough so he isn’t a danger to himself or a stylist wielding a pair of scissors.  That’s prejudiced, irrational, and terrible.  Not to mention, if it soothes this kid, sensory wise, to have long hair?  I am not messing with it.  I am not messing with something he finds integral to his sense of well being and self.

What this boils down to is our fight with ourselves and conformity.  If who you find yourself becoming is comfortable, strong in self, and in line with your ideals….you might be making the right choices.  If that person you wake up and face in the mirror every morning frustrates you to no end, reexamine.  By no means am I suggesting that we don’t all have moments that we get sad, confused, or down.  But having some self confidence to back us up while getting through those moments, might just make this life thing a lot more easy.

Just some food for thought.

Sparkles and Glitter,

Sara Rose

Poetry Month: Selections from Nolan

Odin is Nolan's muse.
Odin is Nolan’s muse.

April is, or rather was, National Poetry Month. Nolan, our resident poet, has been diligently writing every day since January as part of his New Year’s resolution. He has some poems from this month he finds acceptable to share. Enjoy!

Big Bang Concerto

Heaven is made of atoms, too,
tiny strings strung, humming stars
vibrating over black holes,
the bang of formation
a screaming trombone glissando
falling flat on the manifold
backs of humanity, a turtle’s burden,
humped homeward toward the north,
the missing center,
magnets and microwaves
distributing souls innumerable
down twisted cords swollen with hope
where blood runs bass rumble deep,
disengaged at the last,
dissolving harmonics radiating faceless,
familiar tangles across the infinite.

*   *   *

Lizards and Monsters

In the days before man
wild ego roamed the earth, dinosaurs,
all flash and teeth beneath
scales and hooded eyes, green
like trees and envy, black
as tar in the dark, devouring
lesser creatures for lunch, death
running down the supercontinent,
famine, disaster, blissful ignorance -
sixty-five million years of drift,
evolving species and cities -
not a thing has changed.

*   *   *

Differences in Lighting

The orange dome of the city
is a prison of polluted light,
a plague on all hours, all houses,
blinding through eyelids
down the main drag, endless
billboards, spotlights, mobiles -
blinking neon, endless,
where the light fluoresces
together it isn’t white, the filth
of millions silently standing
corners, illuminated
in the half lux of half lives,
but if eyes ever saw
stars beyond city limits
streetlights would be cut down,
the first to burn in the funeral pyre,
the last flash in the pan
before hazarding mapless
into a blanket of constellations.

Autuism Awareness Day. Meet my Little Prince.


Today is Autism Awareness Day.  The spectrum for Autism is so new and vast for a lot of people that they will tend to unfairly lump any kid who may be struggling into it.  This is sad to me.  Not just as a mother or as a professional who has dealt with kids that have an autism diagnosis, but as a human who sees that the majority of us are different and lovely.  Our quirks, struggles, and uniqueness should never be an area of torment or improper diagnosis but that of acceptance and learning.

Owen loves glasses.
Owen loves glasses.

But I have a son on the Autism Spectrum.  He has good and bad days which is inherently human.

When you, yourself, know your kid may fall into this ‘category’ it can be overwhelming and terrifying.

It is fairly easy to look for something to blame.  The weather, the pregnancy, the immunizations, the environment, your faith, etc.

Thing is, nothing is put into your life if you don’t have the stuff to learn how to handle it.

I suspected things might be awry with my son when he was as young as 18 months but kept quiet.

His speech skills were slower, his mood swings were more elevated, if he didn’t have a routine that was consistent, his day was a mess.

He only ate 4 foods, he slept erratically, and generally life was exhausting.  But I didn’t feel like labeling a baby.

As he got older, the need for routine grew more intense. His moods were our life predictors and if he didn’t sleep with somebody, nobody slept.

We decided he would share a room with his sister, a really great decision considering it’s one of the few ways he has learned to 1. Sleep through the night and 2. Actively engage with us on a more personal level.

We suffered through bad speech and occupational therapists and good ones.  We went through spirals with his behaviors and moods and we had great days, weeks, or months as well.

Professionals will often tell you that you need to do a lot of things to get your kid to be the same as other ‘normal kids’ but I don’t really embrace this.

My child is something rare, really they both are, and it’s very beautiful.

There may be days where, no, he doesn’t engage with you and his routine may be thrown by something you never even noticed so your ears will ring and you collapse into bed frustrated with yourself.

Then, there are days where you are able to take him to the park and he runs and shouts with glee the entire time.

He goes to the potty every time and is okay that you tried something new for lunch.

He love robots and superheroes and his nightlight penguin, Coco, and he will steal your glasses.

He looks just like his mother but the way he moves reminds you of his father.

He sits next to you and before he cuddles up for his nap, he turns your chin to look him in the eye and says “I love you.”

You draw him a box and say, “What’s this?” and he says, “A pirate ship!”

You are raising The Little Prince, a child more content with the stars than with others.

To me, this is more than okay.  He will be 5 in a few months and he has a more severe diagnosis now.

Doctors have asked me about meds for him and people have asked “What do you intend to do with him?”


I intend to let him be. I will let him grow up.  I will help him the best that I can but I won’t ask him to be a different person.

I already love him for who he is.  That is the best that I can offer him.

I will give him everything else that I can but I think the parent of any child, not just one with ASD, does their baby right but accepting who they are.

Sparkles and Glitter,

Sara Rose

Another Article! #GoRead

I am so happy to have become a regular write for www.blackhillssimplelife.com. A lot of you have asked about my recent cancer journey since I went radio silent about both here on this site and other places that I write.  There were a great deal of reasons behind that, none that I care to go into. But I love this article series on my illness because it will be focused almost entirely on the journey of recovery and how we have changed our life around in so many ways.

Please come peruse our latest issue!  Here- http://blackhillssimplelife.com/Black_Hills_Simple_Life/Welcome.html and my article starts on page 54.  Be sure to support local publications like this because they fuel the next big writer that you know!!!!

Glitter and Sparkles-

Sara Rose

Guest Post: The Edge’s Flame

Find her here- http://streetlightsimagination.com/
Find her here- http://streetlightsimagination.com/

 Cristina is my gemela. She is fire and I am water. We think and walk in much the same way but also in ways that would cancel each other out if we didn’t adore each other so damned much.  She graciously wrote here for all of us today.

I don’t believe in love.


And I don’t believe it exists.


That is, I don’t believe it exists anymore. I think it did once, and I am sure it was the love that many people would like to think they could have once more. Yet, I also don’t believe in the impossible.


The red and pink mirage that we have today is far too saturated with cliché and sentiment for it to be real. All things have become a vehicle to love and be loved.

We toss Love around like careless confetti not caring that it is tracked in our carpet or floats into someone’s eyes or left behind in the streets for sweeping. We are told that love means price tags and push-up bras, it’s about loving yourself enough to put yourself first, it’s about not even stopping at the bases before you go straight for home.


In the midst of reality shows helping people find their one true love, the career they love most, the wedding dress they always dreamed about loving, and even competitions for chefs to prove their love for food, there are commercials convincing us to buy the ones we love flowers, to protect them with insurance, to immunize them, or to house them in secured homes.


Is the love I have for my children the same love I have for a new mop? Of course not, and yet I will say I love them all, because even mops need love. And so there goes Love, overused like an inflated currency or a junior high fad. Because if everything is loved, nothing is loved.


Connection, however, is what we so passionately crave. This is what drives people to social media or to multi-dimensional movies or even to flash mobbing… it’s the innate desire to be a part of something more than the individual, to have the ability to reach out and be entirely absorbed with other people.


It is this emotion – this intensity – that we’ve replaced with a counterfeit. It’s easier to feel connected online than it is with someone you must invest feeling with, and it is easier to simply say you love someone you have not risked a deep connection with. We have learned the false courage needed to walk the edges of smoldering coals all the while celebrating our ability to dance in a flame.


No. Love doesn’t exist. It has long been extinct. What burns inside us, one with another, is the need to match pulses and let them beat together. One forehead against the chin of another, and simply listen to the breathing that comes from two hearts connecting.