I've never loved the Rocky Mountains. Admitting that in writing surely puts me at risk for a Salem-witch-style trial for heresy since most Coloradans worship at the altar of the Rocky Mountains (no matter their theological beliefs).

I grew up in Georgia with the Appalachian Mountains. A lovely collection of green hills that ebb and flow, more resembling green clouds, or piles of green cotton balls. They are warm, almost cuddly mountains.

On the other hand, the Rockies are large and looming.  Cold and foreboding. They have always looked lonely to me. Plus, I don’t like being cold… most mountain activities are cold.

But I’ve spent the last 14 years madly in love with a man who loves the mountains and we built a beautiful life here in Colorado. So the Rockies have been a part of my life (no matter their desolateness in my eyes).

Then this year, Tennyson hit a great stride in managing her anxiety and she went months without a panic attack. Tait and I thought we could try the unthinkable... we thought we could camp. We took our bus about 90 minutes west into the mountains. We knew this adventure had a very-low probability of success. We had “disaster” plans for packing up our family and driving home in our bus in the likely event that camping was a failure.

We found a beautiful campsite that made it look like we were all alone in a gigantic valley. If there had been a house in that location in the national forest, it could have commanded just about any price. It was magical. It was quiet. It was still. The air smelled crisp and fresh. Our daughter was at peace. It was a transformation. It was magical.

For the first time in my life I understood -- and on that trip, I fell in love with the Rocky Mountains.

We found ourselves back at that same campsite in less than a week. This 2nd trip came with a middle of the night Tennyson wake up. As I said “go back to sleep” she nearly screamed back to me, “I NOT GO ASLEEP A-CAUSE I SEE SO MANY STARS!” She was thrilled. It was precious.

We found ourselves up another mountain a couple weeks later. Our 4th camping trip was to a 300 acre pasture soon after that.

4 camping trips in 6-ish weeks taught us something. Our daughter needs to be out of the city. Often, we find ourselves “trapped” at home. She seeks stimulus even when she can’t handle it.

• We can’t go on a walk and turn left if she is feeling anxious. Turning left is the playground. Sometimes we can’t go there…. even if she wants to go there.

• We can’t walk Colfax if she is feeling a certain way (of course, she loves the high input of the busy street even though she can’t process it).

• We can’t turn right without Tennyson and Gavin trying to force us to ride the light-rail. Sometimes that is ok. But other times, we don’t have hours to go on these adventures. Plus, the train requires Gavin and Tennyson to follow a bunch of directions under time pressure (sometimes that can accelerate her anxiety). It also doesn’t burn enough calories. We MUST BURN AS MANY CALORIES AS POSSIBLE to try to burn off the anxiety that lives in our little girl.

In the past many months, we’ve become more and more aware that we need to live on land. We need the stillness. We need the space. We need to be able to hike everyday. We need to be able to give her jobs and responsibilities. We need her to be able to work off this anxiety.

We realized we NEEDED to move... and soon.

This was a TOUGH realization for us.

Back in early 2011, we bought a foreclosed upon crap-hole of a 5-plex. The day we closed, we did a walk through and I told Tait, “I’ve got to get out of here! It smells so bad, I might barf.” The neighborhood cops literally thanked us for buying it.

We had built our business buying uninhabitable-crap-homes and transforming them into lovely places to live. With the purchase of our home back in 2011, we embarked on our biggest, craziest, wildest adventure. We finished the 2 apartments upstairs and moved in. We worked and worked. We had a baby-Tennyson. We moved out and into a rental property for almost 2-years so Tait could do more work. We moved back to our home 4 days before Gavin was born.

We have turned our home into a sensory gym. We have lived and loved and laughed here.

As real estate investors our eyes are often on exit strategies in our real estate. But many years ago, our home was rezoned to main street zoning. This meant that when we moved out our home would likely be knocked down. We took this and RAN with it! If no one was going to live here after us, we can make it as WEIRD as we want! We left the teeny-tiny 1895 bedrooms (who cares what your bedroom looks like, you are asleep!). We converted all the space to play space. We took one of the small bedrooms and put the washer and dryer in it. We ran closet bars to every wall and we put ALL the clothes in there. I can do laundry and put it away in less than a minute. It has taken all the “chore” out of that chore. This has been our home. Tait’s art project. The base of our family… and it was time to leave it...

The night of October 15th, I was scrolling through real estate listings when it happened. That magical moment I’ve experienced as a real estate addict happened again-- I saw it. This property, it was big and sooooo-odd (a prerequisite for Vernon real estate). It was lovely. It was perfect.

In the course of a few months we have broken apart our home and life in a way I wouldn’t have imagined possible. The stress on us parents has been hard on our Tennyson (Gavin hasn’t noticed) but she knows are a working so hard to move to a place that SHE LOVES TOO!

Last week, we closed the door of our sweet home in Denver for the last time. We believe it will be turned into a fancy-pants residence -- we hope that will happen. But if that doesn’t pan out, our lovely home will be reduced to rubble to make way for new townhomes.

The year after we bought our house, we were told it had a ghost. We figure the only person who could care enough to haunt our house would be Patrick Gavin, the orchard farmer who built it in 1895. We told Patrick that he is free to come visit us in the mountains if his house gets knocked down.

We only moved 29 minutes west, and we are technically in the foothills. It feels like a world away. We are SO GRATEFUL that we are able to have this opportunity. (I keep NEEDING to remind myself of that… the stress has been truly impressive!)

Goodbye to our lovely home. Tait and I have definitely shed some tears saying good-bye.  

Here are some pictures of the beautiful home we are leaving, (yes, there is still much to do). We took out the swings and staged it so it would look like “normal” people lived here! Sale pictures (and real estate showings) require a level of neurotic-cleanliness and lack of “real-life.” I hope to NEVER live in a house that clean EVER again. It did give me more understanding for my friends with with OCD -- everything in my house that was out of place was a PROBLEM that required my immediate attention. I did NOT love living like that!!!

The pics are stunning --- but I miss the toys and swings! :-)

Upstairs was STILL unfinished so no pics of that. 

Ok, SERIOUSLY how cool are these cabinets!
They are the 1950's metal cabinets just stripped to the metal.

I LOVE this kitchen that we did for less than $500 in cabinets. Oh, and the kitchen island was free too... granted I did have to get permission to take it out of the building they were demolishing next door... but I have no pride when stainless tables are at stake!

Best part - the new owners don't want to keep the cabinets!!!
So we get them back in a few months when they do the kitchen.

We've been here on 25 acres for a week. 
Our house, yard, and life all look like a garage sale BARFED all-over ALL-of-the-everything! I am sure there are people who can move with order and dignity... apparently, we are NOT those people!!!

It is a mess and yet still magical, peaceful, and beautiful.

I KNOW Tait and I both loved living in the city... but I can no longer remember why!

I will write more about our new place later. 

Tait says we owe our new house to our beloved shuttle bus. Without it we would NEVER have been brave enough to go camping - or - drive 30 minutes away to look at a house.

My Most Favorite and Least Favorite Possession

Earlier this week, I found myself sitting with my sweet Tennyson listening to a song from Moana. The condensed lyrics (with emphasis added) are:

The journey may leave a scar

But scars can heal and reveal just

Where you are

The people you love will change you

The things you have learned will guide you

This little Disney song beautifully sums up how I’ve been feeling. As regularly happens these past couple months, the tears rolled freely down my cheeks.

That evening I told Tait about the song. As I talked, I looked at my forearm. As a horse riding, old house demolishing tom boy, my forearm is covered with dozens and dozens of tiny scars. These little white lines cover my arms and bear witness of climbs through barb-wire fences, runs through the forests of Georgia as a child, bug bites I scratched too much, old plaster I tore out of old houses, and many other blood-producing events that I will never remember. My journey through life has definitely left scars on my body. Like this song lyric says, these literal scars do tell who I am and where I’ve been.

But of course, I am not staying up late spending my much needed sleep time typing, thinking, and struggling with thoughts of the silly literal scars on my arm (that would be insane, and much more vain than I could ever care to be).

These past couple months, my heart has been changing, hurting, and healing with new scars. Again, as this song teaches, the scars are revealing who I am --- and a person I LOVE is changing me.

This week we made a purchase that is LITERALLY a several-ton shrine to our daughter’s difficulties. It is so big that any denial in my heart was brought out of the hidden corners of my thoughts and subject to the BRIGHT and glaring light that is reality.  

The title of this little journal, is about our purchase of a shuttle bus -- yup a BUS -- to move our family with just 2 kids in it.  

As she grew, we thought Tennyson would “grow out of” many of her difficulties:

• “When she can speak better… she’ll be able to tell us about….”
• “When she gets bigger… she’ll be able to understand that…”
• “When she can… she’ll be able to process… better.”

Our happy, smart, sweet, caring, beautiful, animal-loving, running, climbing, wiggling Tennyson almost certainly has Sensory Processing Disorder, and/or Autism, and/or social anxiety. (FYI: Nothing “happened” to her to give her this. These are hereditary conditions and we see these issues on our combined family tree).

I remember being a new mom and trying to explain baby Tennyson to people:

• “She is very sensitive to location, where she is is very important to her.”
• “She can’t sleep/nap in a space she doesn’t know.”
• “She is only comfortable in spaces she knows.”

YES, I SAID THIS WHEN SHE WAS A YOUNG BABY, and it was all TRUE! I did NOT know how insane I sounded!!! In contrast, Gavin has NO IDEA where he is, EVER. He simply sleeps when he is tired and bounces through his life like a happy potato.

Back to the issue at hand, we just bought a used shuttle bus with a gazillion miles on it as we still think spending significant money on a depreciating liability (a car) is insane (luckily these things are tough to resale and thus surprisingly cheap). This $2,000 T.W.E.N.T.Y.-F.O.U.R. foot long, 9 ½ foot tall, 8 foot wide MONSTROSITY will be OUR COMMUTER VEHICLE, our daily driver, and yes, we live in the city too… so that should be extra-easy!

Tennyson needs a space she knows to relax and reset when we can’t get home, or if we have to go to social events. For example: This year, Tait’s family was doing Christmas a week before Christmas day. We made sure our nanny could work that day so we could LEAVE Tennyson AT HOME. As much as thinking of leaving our daughter home during Christmas made me CRY, we knew it was the right choice. All that noise, that many people, that much excitement --- all of that would HURT our Tennyson in a very real way.

In an effort to be with family during the holidays (and take care of Tennyson), we hosted Thanksgiving at our house so that Tennyson could be in “her” space. She did better with this situation. She was able to retreat to her bedroom to hide in her blankets every 45-minutes or so. Tait was able to sneak away to rock her and hold her until she recovered from the excess sensory input. But after a bit she stopped coming out of her bed and stayed there the rest of the party (one of the few times we let her watch as much TV as she wanted… we knew her brain was at capacity!) It was hard for her even in the most Tennyson-centric situation we could engineer for her.  

Our lives changed when we read: These kids have “meltdowns” which are much more similar to PANIC ATTACKS than tantrums (and they should be treated accordingly).

I relate to Tennyson’s panic attacks and their impending nature by using the analogy of a staircase with 10 steps. At the 10th “step” the panic attack awaits. It is our job to keep her off the 10th step. The 10th step is damaging. The damage of these panic attacks can last days (sometimes weeks). Our little girl hurts with a pain that I can’t imagine and it hurts us to watch.

Some people who know Tennyson will think that I am crazy for thinking these things. Most of the time, she seems “normal.” (What does “normal” mean anyway!) And if we do our job of keeping her off the higher steps, you won’t see what we see. If we do our jobs PERFECTLY (hahaha!) everyone will think she is “normal.” But life is NOT perfect. I am NOT perfect. Tait is pretty freaking great, but he is NOT perfect either.

We are planners. We want to plan what to do when we fail (not if). We need a plan for what to do when crazy stuff happens -- like the time some kid hit Tennyson in the face and she went from the bottom of her panic attack staircase to the TOP in a single instant.

Tennyson is the most naturally happy person I’ve ever met. She has a genuine desire to be good. This seems a contradiction when coupled with her extremely strong will and stubbornness -- but somehow, it isn’t a contradiction (I can’t possibly explain how that is true, but it is).

Our Tennyson is the kindest little girl. She loves playing and sharing. Her progression up the “steps” comes with little signs. If we are at the Children’s Museum or at church and she stops sharing, I KNOW we are somewhere above the 5th “step.” And it is time for us to act. We can go on a walk, or we can go somewhere quiet. If that doesn’t work, we need to get home FAST. If she stops sharing, starts bossing people around, and has this scared little look in her eye, I know we are at least on the 7th “step” and I’ve missed my chance to get out gracefully. If she gets to the 8th “step” then getting her out of wherever we are, into the car seat, and driving home is almost guaranteed to drive her into a panic attack.

The only way to help her DESCEND the stairs is to be in a safe low-sensory space for a long time. If we catch it before the halfway point, it might only be 30 minutes in the low sensory room at the Children’s Museum which will allow us to go back out and play for another 30 minutes. Or if she gets too much stimulus, but isn’t stressed about it, she EXERCISES her anxiety away. Almost every Sunday after church, we spend at least an hour with Tennyson RUNNING around the gym, climbing the stairs, and doing everything short of climbing the walls to process her anxiety.

Other times, it is coming home and seeing her hurt (without a panic attack) for hours.

Last summer, we went to a family reunion for 4 days in the mountains. We really thought Tennyson did well. Tait and I thought we had turned the corner with Tennyson, we imagined a future where we could travel (even just drive to the mountains for a couple days). Then, Tennyson came home and was a DISASTER for WEEKS. These are BIG feelings.

These fun-facts mean that to BE a good mom, somethings I have to LOOK LIKE a bad mom. I get to say “no” to almost every invitation we receive (A kid’s birthday party is not a great place for her). When she is struggling, she looks BOSSY and BRATTY, as she tries to CONTROL these huge feelings with all the “skills” of a 3-year-old. It is times like these when I get to scoop her up and carry her away. Sometimes it is peaceful, like rocking a big baby. Many more times she SCREAMS at me like I am hurting her. Most everytime, I get to rock her, tell her I love her, I am proud of her for doing whatever she did, and I sing to her. She will only let me sing 1 of 2 specific songs. I figure out which song doesn’t make her scream more and I sing it over and over and over and over and over … easily 50+ times. Sometimes, she cries, “Help-a me!” with all the pain her little voice can muster. These panic attacks are heartbreaking!

I know, the part people see looks like I am telling my kid “good job for being a brat.”

Luckily, my self-employed, nerdy, successful, mini-van driving, Croc-wearing, spreadsheet-loving self usually doesn’t give a crap what people think of me! I haven’t been “cool” for a single moment of my life. Although, having people think I am a bad mom stings, it doesn’t tempt me to change my behavior when I know what is best for my little girl.

Our hope in buying this shuttle bus is that when we get to a 5th “step” or above situation, all we have to do is make it to the parking lot! We will climb into our shuttle bus which will serve as a portable living room. Our bus will be decorated comfortably. Tait will install an awesome storage system. We will have seats, bean bag chairs, mats for the floor, a bed, extra clothes, diapers for Gavin, snacks, food, and a toddler potty for Tennyson (icky!). We will be able to be content, happy, and prepared as we sit in our portable living room for hours and hours while our precious Tennyson re-sets. She won’t know we are sitting in that shuttle bus in a parking lot trying to stave off a panic attack. She will just think she is reading books, snuggling with her parents, playing with her beloved little brother, and eating snacks in her awesome clubhouse-bus.

Right now Tennyson doesn’t need to know she is “different” (b/c who is “normal” anyway???). She will learn that in the future, and we will love and support her through everything. We will be sure to provide all the help and tools we have available. We will get to teach her that everyone has challenges. She will need to own her challenges and manage them responsibly. After all, challenges build strong people.

Lest you feel the need to comfort us with platitudes of “oh, she’ll be fine” or similar, that is totally unnecessary. We KNOW she will be fine. She is already a STRONG little girl. This difficulty will help shape her, but this will not define her. All of her character traits will guide her as she chooses her path in life: hobbies, friends, career, spouse, favorite TV show, favorite food, pets, etc. These struggles will shape who she is, just as my struggles have shaped me and Tait’s have shaped him (and yours have shaped you).

This shuttle bus which holds this portable living room is something that I will hate driving, I will hate the gas mileage, and I hate that we need it.

However, even more, I LOVE what it will provide for our family. I LOVE the peace it will bring to our sweet Tennyson. I LOVE the flexibility we will have for the 1st time in years. I LOVE what is says about us as parents (seems braggy, but it’s true). I LOVE that it will make things easier for our freakishly-patient little Gavin. I LOVE that it will reduce the anxiety Tait and I have developed about outings with Tennyson.

Note: A kid with anxiety means that Tait and I need to get any and all of our own anxiety issues MANAGED asap! (especially those related to our daughter).

I am grateful for the things I’ve learned in my life journey that make this something I CAN handle. I can close the chapter where I have grieved this and move forward loving our little girl even more. After all, who is “normal” anyway?

The journey may leave a scar
But scars can heal and reveal just
Where you are
The people you love will change you
The things you have learned will guide you

 Link to the song if you want to listen to it for 2 hours straight over and over and over like I did. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEiSF8HpyDg  

UPDATE: We've taken the bus out once, and it was LIFE-CHANGING!!! We are excited to get it set up the rest of the way so we can take this MONSTROSITY everywhere!!!

For mothers of hard babies

Now that I am the mother of Gavin, I understand.

I understand so much more of what people said.

I understand the things other mothers said to me when Tennyson was a baby. I understand how they took their babies on planes, road trips, or even just to the store. I understand why everyone looked at me like I had 3 heads when I talked about Tennyson’s sleep pattern (or lack thereof). I understand why people thought I was crazy. I understand why their advice left me feeling judged and hurt, so hurt.

I understand why I felt no one believed me when I said how I struggled. I understand why it was so hard. I understand why I NEEDED a nanny when I only had 1 baby and I worked part-time and from home.

I understand why my family questioned my sanity when I left a family vacation after just a few hours (with tears streaming down my face). I understand that no one believed me when I said through sobs that my selfish desire to try coming to the mountains and the resulting interruption of Tennyson’s ONE nap would DESTROY all of her nights of sleep for a week (and my sleep).

I understand now that it wasn’t my fault. I thought that was true but I didn’t have any proof until now. Tennyson is like her dad. Tait is the worst sleeper in the world. I am grateful that Tennyson (zombie that she is) sleeps so, so, soooooo much better than her dad.

I now have a baby who I think must be some sort of tranquilizer-stuffed gift from God. I have a baby who can nap through the sound of people talking. I have a baby who can nap with the lights ON, or his bed getting bumped, he can sleep in the car, etc. I have a baby who naps in the car and I can take him OUT of the car and get him back to sleep when he gets back in the house. I have a baby who doesn't have 10 different 15-step "go to sleep" routines that rotate without notice.

I have a baby who doesn’t HATE the way his car seat vibrates in a shopping cart. I have a baby who can wake up in Target and look around happily. He might even sleep briefly without total destruction of our sleep for a week.

I have a baby who sleeps better than his 2 year old sister. I have a baby who sleep 7-8 hours a night... IN A ROW!!! Let me repeat that 7-8 HOURS in a ROW!!!!! It is the CRAZIEST THING!!! I am more rested than I’ve been in years.

I parent Gavin the same way I parented Tennyson. I feed him when he’s hungry and respond to every cry as quickly as I can. (I know some of you “cry it out” mom’s just got up your high horses and thought, “Oh that is why Tennyson didn’t sleep! Brittney actually responded to her crying baby.” To anyone that just thought that… uh-oh... I can't complete this sentence without swear words and/or threats of smacking you upside the head. I will just let you imagine my response).

My happy-wonderful-zombie-baby-daughter has blossomed into the BEST big sister. A hug-dispensing, dancing, happy, loving, beautiful picture of toddler perfection.

I am grateful that Tennyson was a HAPPY baby, but I didn’t know what a hard baby she really was until now. I am grateful she was my 1st so that I didn’t know any better.

Mothers of hard babies, it isn’t your fault. Try not to smack the people who say crappy things to you. Love your zombie babies. You can do it. Who knows, your next baby might be a seemingly tranquilizer-stuffed miracle too!