But there’s an underlying current of hate on twitter right now, and it’s not against the shooter.

It’s against mental illness as a whole.

Ok so shoot up the only place that can help your crazy ass, talk about insanity........ #westernpsych

March 8, 2012 4:02 pm via Twitter for AndroidReplyRetweetFavorite

@Darko_Darlin

Jessica

Western psych should be in the woods they're crazy anyway so who cares

March 8, 2012 4:29 pm via Twitter for iPhoneReplyRetweetFavorite

@soyourPOOHBERRY

Taraya Lynn

Thanks @Hova1914! I'm safe. I'm crazy, but not Western Psych crazy (yet).

March 8, 2012 4:22 pm via TweetDeckReplyRetweetFavorite

@ThunderBroad

Thunder Broad

There are more. Many more. Jokes, puns, flat out hatred toward mental illness. People are injured and dead, and we’re taking to twitter to make fun of people with mental illness. Classy.

It’s frustrating. It’s discouraging. It’s a conversation that needs to be had, shooting or otherwise.

Western Psych provides services for mental health and addiction. Let me tell you something about places like Western Psych: There is no shame in seeking out help, in going to therapy, in having hope that there’s something more beyond the shadow in which you currently live. If we don’t want, as the shooter has been referred to ceaselessly on twitter, “crazy people” to “shoot up” buildings, then we have to have places like Western Psych. We have to have access to services and treatment. We also have to help spread the word that mental illness does not deserve the social stigma we still attach to it, whether it’s depression or bipolar disorder or postpartum psychosis or anxiety or eating disorders or addiction or ADHD or what have you. The finger pointing, the name-calling: they don’t help.

More over, Western Psych has a great program for children and adolescents. They have services for autism. For teens at risk. Behavioral intervention. The list goes on and on. In fact, Western Psych has more specialists in children’s mental health than any other behavioral health provider in the nation. These are children — innocent children who need help for various reasons. Could you look at one of them and call them crazy, simply because they’re wired a bit differently than you?

So we’re just going to say that the people at Western Psych don’t matter because they’re “crazy.” That people with depression aren’t worth our time and effort. That children with autism are useless. That trying to overcome addiction isn’t worthwhile. Really? That’s how we’re going to play?

Because I call bullshit.

I stand with those at Western Psych today and ask you to drop the name-calling, the finger-pointing.

I have anxiety. I have sought both in- and out-patient therapy for my anxiety and various bouts of depression. I have taken medication, sought alternative remedies and generally fought to live a normal life… despite the fact that people make fun of me when I say I have to go to therapy. Despite being given a hard time by friends who don’t believe that anyone should ever take medication for mental illness. Despite the stigma and shame that are thrust upon those who aren’t “normal.” Despite being told I’m “broken” or “less than” or that I won’t ever be good enough unless I ignore my diagnosis. But I am me. I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I have fought Postpartum Depression. I am me.

I urge you to drop the crazy talk, tell your story and encourage others to do the same. What happened at Western Psych is a tragedy. It’s not less of a tragedy because it was in a place where people with mental health issues go for help. In fact, when you stop and think of it, it’s an even bigger tragedy when we invade a place that should be safe for all people and ruin it with senseless violence.

Our prayers go out to the victims of this senseless crime. We hold you in our hearts during this awful time.

Now, I’m off to get cooking. We’re having:

• Corned Beef and Cabbage and Potatoes
• Homemade Shamrock Shakes
• Lime Cupcakes with Lime Cream Cheese Frosting (miniature ones)

I hope you have a very green day. Just lay off the green beer… or you’ll look like these guys by the end of your evening.

Oh, man. That was funny. (But only because FireDad and I were responsible drinkers — as you should be too.)

HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY!

Before I start in with the cute kids, this is me on the field of the Steelers vs. Jets playoff game in January 2005. Pre-boys (barely) me was awfully excited to be on the field for the news station I worked for at the time. We won, but lost in the next round to the Patriots.

The very first picture I have of BigBrother in Steelers gear is this one, one week and four days after he was born. It was taken during a game on November 28, 2005 — which, thanks to Google, was against the Colts. We lost. Badly. 26-7. But BigBrother didn’t mind. He spent most of the game like this:

The rest of the 2005-2006 season was kind of dreamy, wasn’t it? Considering we won the Super Bowl and all. A collage of various BigBrother pics works best. The top two photos and the left and right side are from the Super Bowl — which was a good, good day for us.

By the time football season rolled back around in 2006, we were living in our house, BigBrother was mobile and life was feeling pretty good. The season was, uh, not as great, but BigBrother enjoyed another football season all by himself.

The 2007-2008 season was a bit better…ish… and at least we made it to the playoffs. BigBrother started off the season alone. And I was on bedrest. And then along came LittleBrother! There are not many pictures from this football season with the whole Level III bedrest followed by the newborn phase.

Along came the 2008-2009 season and, man, did we have a great year with those boys of ours. And the football team. You know, what with winning the Super Bowl again.

In fact, that year brought my most popular photo on flickr ever, which gets shared on its own here.

That was Grandpa’s last Steelers Super Bowl with us, and I know he’ll be waving his Terrible Towel from Heaven with us on Sunday.

Picture by BigBrother with his camera.

Along came the 2009-2010 season. It should be noted that while I have been to Steelers games before, FireDad had not. So I ponied up some money and took him. He was pleased.

And while the season wasn’t all that great, the boys continued to grow and learn and change and have fun.

Which brings us to this season. I wasn’t great with picture taking this season, partially due to that thing we won’t talk about. There are… some.

But they were all taken on the same day when I recognized the issue and realized that we had just about zilch photo wise in our Steelers gear for the 2010-2011 Steelers season. So on the day of the AFC Championship, I shot a family picture. It’s a keeper. Heck, it’s a framer.

I’d love to hold off on doing another one of these retrospectives for another five years. I wonder how many Super Bowl rings we’ll have on our fingers by then? (And imagine how the boys will look! OMG!)

Happy Pittsburgh Steelers Super Bowl Weekend, my friends. Be safe — select a Designated Driver or offer to be one. Wave those Terrible Towels with pride. Take lots of pictures. Eat lots of food. AND CHEER FOR THE BLACK AND GOLD! HERE WE GO, STEELERS! HERE WE GO! (Yes, I’m pumped now.)

Kind of like how the Steelers won the Super Bowl. Wouldn’t it be nice to have dual-bragging rights… to make up for the occasional fleeting whiff of mediocrity offered up by our (beloved) baseball team, the Pittsburgh Pirates? (By the way, they’re currently tied for last place in the Central division. Swell.) I think so. As such, we’re kind of geared up for tonight’s game. And by kind of, of course, I mean “totally stoked.” As the game falls after TheBrothers’ bedtime (What? Your kids don’t have a bedtime? Mine do. Hush it.), I figured we would get in the hockey mood ahead of time.

First, we colored the Pittsburgh Penguins logo(ish) on a coloring page found here. See?

And, BigBrother got serious about it as well.

(I’d claim that I don’t know why he makes those faces but, well, that would be a lie. Anyone who viewed some pictures that I recently uploaded to Facebook from my junior year of high school musical will see that I’m, uhm, quite the performer. As such, BigBrother seems to have inherited my gene for, uhm, drama. Yes. That’s it.)

And because I have little to no ability when it comes to cookies (minus sprinkles on hearts), I couldn’t fenangle these awesome cookies. (I want a Crosby jersey cookie. Someone send me one.) We will, however, be cutting out some cookies in the shape of a hockey puck (you know… a circle) and baking them after supper tonight. I think (perhaps?) that I have some yellow food coloring to make the icing “gold” for on top of the “hockey puck” circles. I’m banking on the Penguins coming off with a win so that we can take our yellow circles hockey pucks home with us to The Farm in Pennsylvania tomorrow as a form of celebration.

And so, tonight, when the kids go to bed (jealous?), I’ll kick back and cheer on my beloved black and gold… quietly… because kids will be sleeping. FireDad, sadly, will be at the Fire Department. So, it will just be me, the glow of the television and lots of hope. (Sadly, no IC Light or Primanti’s sammich to make it a real Pittsburgh experience.)

And, since I can yell right now, GO PENGUINS!

_
[By the way, I'd like to point out that I'm on Discovery Health's site right now for Baby Week. You can go here to view my smiling face but, if you'd rather cut to the chase, my birth stories are here. And, no, they don't involve hockey (though I'd love to read a birth story that somehow involved hockey... links?!).]

Every third day, I push down the fear that the clicking of the lock on our door will be the last.

I say “push down” because I have learned, the hard way, that dwelling on the fear is not the way to spend every third day. When FireDad first joined his department, I spent that day in a general state of fear. I called his cell phone far too much just to “check in” and see if he was “okay”… or not. I left the scanner on at a high volume and would pause everything to listen if there was a fire call. I once panicked when I heard that he was heading to the hospital, only to find out that he was heading there with a patient in the ambulance. I drove myself crazy every third day.

That process became somewhat unhealthy and hard to maintain when two little dudes were relying on me to be present and non-hysterical. I knew something needed to change. I couldn’t sit, ear glued to the scanner and still be the mom I needed to be. And so, I turned off the scanner. And I started scheduling lots of things to do on the days he was working.

And it worked. Kind of.

I am still aware that my husband is in danger when he heads out the door. When we go to bed the night before his shift day, more so than other nights, I make sure that we fall asleep without any issues between us. (I don’t normally go to bed mad but, well, it’s happened.) Keeping busy with the boys and life does help but, every now and then, my mind gets away from me. It’s usually when we’re out and about in town and a siren sounds. Like the time we were at the bank and watched the trucks round the corner and head off into the distance. It takes all of my willpower not to follow those trucks. And, to be honest, my sons would love to see their daddy in action but, for right now, we talk about what daddy is doing (manning the hose or driving the truck) as we head off to whatever it is we were doing.

He’s only had a minor injury in the four years he has been on his department. But I’ve watched enough fire movies and episodes of Rescue Me (season 5 airs tonight on FX!) that my mind can jump to worse-case-scenario at the drop of a fire helmet. At the same time, I know my husband is a smart man and that his crew members are loyal. But, even keeping busy and knowing what I know, those fears haven’t managed to fully dissipate. Perhaps I need more time.

All of this is brought to light, of course, as three police officers were ambushed in Pittsburgh this past Saturday as we were home visiting friends and family. As we watched the events unfold on the news, I thought of FireDad who was working and stayed back home. No, he’s not a police officer. But as I learned of the officer’s families, I knew the difference in uniform made no difference. A wife and a fiance sent their loved one off to work that morning, pushing the dangers that their men may face to the back of their minds. One officer was off duty and set to be returning home. His wife was likely awaiting his arrival. One was just engaged, a fiancee not fully understanding what she was up against and whose life is now forever changed. Between them, five daughters are now without a father. Like a fire set by an arsonist, these men were unnecessarily taken from their families. The loss of these three men in a city that I love continues to bring tears to my eyes. I have no words that make it all better as I never hope to understand the loss. I can, however, offer my prayers, my shoulder and my thanks for those who gave their lives to protect other people.

So today, as FireDad sits in the fire station about a mile from our home, I’m torn. How busy do I have to keep myself to ignore the dangers that wait? How many times do I call? Do I turn on the scanner today? Do I panic every time I hear a siren, imagining the worst? Or do I just say a prayer that he will be kept safe, let him know that he is loved and go about the business of our family life because normalcy seems safer safer than any alternative?

I don’t think I have another option.

[If you are interested in donating to the families of the fallen officers, the city of Pittsburgh has set up a fund where you can designate to whom/for what you want the money to be used. (For the children, for the mothers/widows, etc.) You can read more here. The FireFamily will be making a donation for the children as I can't imagine my children, at any age, saying goodbye to their daddy.]

Personally, we saw some violations ourselves like the older gentleman that walked by with a glass of what I assume was gin and tonic. In a glass from the bar he had probably just left. So, a little theft and open container violation going on with that one. A short time later, a group walked by, pouring drinks into each other’s cups. Also, I can’t say if anyone I saw was actually underage but, well, they all made me feel old. That is all.

The band we saw at the Red Star Tavern was pretty darn awesome. They played music from the 80′s, 90′s and whatever you want to call this decade. I sang and danced and had a few beers (none of the green variety). We had a late, light supper. All in all, we had a great time. Kind of bummed that we missed the parade due to my practice but I think we’ll live.

We have a few pictures to share. This one is for Julie Gong.

We found that plastered to the bricks in Market Square while walking around on Sunday morning. We were amused. Apparently Mayor Luke felt a little vain this St. Patrick’s Day?

And a nice macro of my Primanti Brothers sammich, consumed on Sunday for lunch.

And a nice picture of us with bellies full of Primanti Brothers sammiches.

All in all, it was a great time. We slept wonderfully in the swanky bed in our swanky hotel room. We took our time driving back home. And we felt happy as pie when we picked up the boys. We’re lucky we felt refreshed because last night wasn’t a night that involved a lot of sleep thanks to leftover teething issues, a possible eye infection and a possible ear infection. But a weekend away like this always reminds us that we’re lucky to have the family that we do.

Now when is our family vacation? (Answer: camping in July, beach in August. All seem far away.)

Pittsburgh! Home of the 5th largest St. Patrick’s Day parade in the country. Sadly, we will be missing the parade this year (did you know it is the 5th largest in the country?). And the after-party in Market Square. Why? Well, I have four hours of choreography for our Spring Show on Saturday morning. We won’t hit the road until shortly after 1:00pm. The parade is at 10:00am (and lasts for 3.5 hours) and the last call for the party in Market Square is at 3:30pm. (Of note: there is now a one-dollar fee to get into Market Square this year. Wrist-bands will be given to those over 21. Hopefully this keeps things a bit more… legal.) We’ll likely just head straight to our swanky hotel, enjoy some of the food at the tavern and get ready for our evening out.

While the economic slump may have a large number of people seeing less green, FireDad and I did notice something different this year while shopping for our St. Patrick’s Day wear: more green clothing. When we started this tradition (in 2006), it was almost impossible to find anything green. 2007 and 2008 brought a few more things but only because I was diligent to look for green for months before the big day. This year? Green must be the “it” color. I can’t say that I’m complaining as it is my favorite color. But it really is everywhere. We still went with some internet deals for some of our clothing.

FireDad will be sporting this Lucky Firefighter shirt from Black Helmet (more on them in the near future). On Sunday, he’ll be wearing a mid-sleeve-length raglan t-shirt with green sleeves that he got at That Store That Has Everything from Shirts to Fish that Die Quickly. I have quite a few options. I’ll be hitting the city in my fleece pants and a hoodie tee, both from Victoria’s Secret and both in “kelly” green. (Of note: I got both of those on super sale, not for the prices they are currently listed.) In the evening, I’ll be changing into my new favorite green turleneck, also of the kelly/grass green variety, with some nice pants and probably these socks from last year. I also got some shoes with green on them… because I’m nothing if not thorough. On Sunday, I’ll be wearing a green sweater that I got on clearance ($14!) at Victoria’s Secret, no longer listed on site. We had a great time shopping for our clothing picks this year (and, in fact, bought some of them on Valentine’s Day… we’re awesome). What have we worn in years past? (I have no pictures of “us” in 2006. Fail.)

Ignore FireDad’s face. He thinks he is funny.

The best news is that, as of right now, they’re still predicting a balmy 51 degrees for tomorrow. In years past, it’s been… ridiculously cold. We’re normally bundled up pretty well to head outside. Perhaps we won’t need to wear umpteen layers. Then again, it’s Pittsburgh. A random snow storm could blow through and dump eighteen inches on our unsuspecting green heads. Perhaps we’ll also be able to visit more than one restaurant/bar in the evening instead of deciding it is too cold to head back out and find a new place. Then again, if you can find somewhere to sit, leaving for another place is a bad idea.

Notice I have said nothing about the children. That’s right. This is an adult weekend. We don’t drag our stroller into Market Square where fights break out and beer is spilled. No. The boys will be spending the weekend with their Nana and Aunt Nettie. They will have a great time (also dressed in green shirts, mind you). And we, as parents, will return refreshed and ready to tackle teething (sigh) and BigBrother’s frustration with not being able to read by himself (help!). It’s a win for everyone.

Especially since FireDad and I will get to eat some Primanti’s on Sunday afternoon before heading back to Ohio. Win indeed.

Any other bloggers going to be descending on the city? Ahem, Julie Gong or Burgh Baby’s Mama?

Edited to add thanks to the Today Show: I just downloaded an album by Celtic Woman for the drive. Amazing.

When the game started, I began editing this photo of LittleBrother. I took it this afternoon when I picked him up at his grandparent’s house. He was happy and sporting his Roethlisberger jersey. I played with some textures and came up with this gem. I told myself I would only post it if we won as the texture is rather celebratory and if we had lost, well, it wouldn’t have felt right.

I can’t begin to explain my excitement. Our excitement. I am so glad to have married an Ohio man who happens to love the Steelers almost as much as I do. And now? We’ll be heading to The Farm on February 1, 2009 to celebrate with my (crazy, Steeler-loving) family in style. I didn’t get to go to The Super Duper Super Bowl Party at The Farm last time around because I was working for our local NBC affiliate. This year? We’re celebrating on home territory.

But I think BigBrother has to graduated to his size 4T Polamalu jersey because his Roethlisberger one is, shall we say,  snug around the middle. And my Mom is on the hunt back in Pittsburgh-land for a size 2T Willie Parker jersey because he’s almost too long for his onesie Roethlisberger pictured above (only two of the three snaps were done). FireDad and I will be clad in Steelers gear as much as possible between now and the big game. In fact, I’m sending BigBrother to school in a jersey on Tuesday. It’s nice to rub it in the face of Browns and Bengals fans a little bit.

I keep trying to form words to explain what we’re feeling. But I’ll save them all up for the big win. You know what I’m talking about. And, no, I’m not going to verbalize that just yet. It’s just like not talking about a perfect game. I’m just going to wear my gear and this smile from ear to ear until the time comes.

Until then, do two things for me: 1) give me good Super Bowl recipes and 2) go enter my Super Bowl Prize Pack giveaway! Pittsburgh fans: 1) make the best food and 2) deserve to win (but the drawing is still random, I promise).

I grew up in Western Pennsylvania, for those who aren’t in the know, and as such, I am a Pittsburgh Pirates fan. It’s true. They’re awful. But when you’re from Pittsburgh, you tend to look past the doom and gloom and find that silver lining. The silver lining, of course, being PNC Park. (Of course, I was still able to find that silver lining at Three Rivers, but, you’ve got to admit… PNC Park is swanky.) FireDad somehow escaped the love of the heinous teams of the state in which he was born and raised and in which we now live and raise our children. He, too, is a Pirates fan.

He’s also a fan of sandwiches with french fries on them, so, it’s really win-win. (Yes, Primanti Brothers has a restaurant at the stadium. See? Totally win-win.)

And while we had a great night (because the Pirates won in extra innings!), I’ve been mulling something over since we left the stadium that night. And by mulling it over, I do mean that I’ve been stewing over it and getting angrier and angrier. And now? It’s time to rant.

The past two years that we have made it out for a game, we have been seated in front of, next two and/or behind the Most Inconsiderate Fans Ever. This year, as we attended the game on Fire Fighter’s Night, I figured there would be some camaraderie, some laughter and a night of baseball among brothers. The guy seated directly behind me had a different idea. Apparently he and his crew had been drinking in the parking lot for four hours prior to the first pitch. And his language showed it.

FireDad and I decided, even prior to that first pitch, that if we took one sip of beer every time the guy behind us called the Cubs, the Pirates, his friends, other fans, the umpire or the Parrot a “bum,” we would have been rip-roaring drunk by the bottom of the first inning. Everything that happened warranted use of the word “bum.” Cubs pitcher walked our guy? He was a bum. Umpire called a Pirate out? He was a bum. Pirates batter struck out? He was a bum. The Cubs fans seated in front of FireDad and I stood up to cheer? They were bums.

Now, the word itself doesn’t really strike me, while writing this, as overly offensive. And, by itself, even at the loud volume with which it was screamed, it would have been tolerable. But it wasn’t just the word all by its lonesome. We had some big-f-word bums. And you know if he’s dropping the f-bomb, all other words are “fair play” as well. You know, even though the announcer says, prior to that first pitch, that the ball park is a family environment and foul language will not be tolerated.

I never said anything to the bum himself because I learned never to fight with someone who is drunk. But I started to think. And as I thought, I started to get mad.

I went to Three Rivers with regularity as I was growing up. My Dad loved a baseball game and I loved anything that my Dad took me to, especially if it involved nachos. I grew up understanding the game and played softball myself (pitcher) for eleven years. I want to share that same kind of love with my boys. But how am I supposed to take them to a game when bums like that are always sitting around us? Now, granted, we were sitting pretty darn close on the first base line (no foul balls; bummer). Looking up to “Peanut Heaven,” I saw some seats that we could have sat in without being bothered by any bums. But is this fair? Should children and their heights-wary Moms have to be forced to sit at the tippy-top of a stadium just to avoid something that the announcer said not to do in the first place?

I’m not talking about taking BigBrother to the game this year. Or even next year. Our goal was the summer that he is four (two summers) as that will be his first year playing T-Ball (should he choose to actually stick with it after they start). And I realize that I can’t shield him from foul language for all eternity (have you heard what I say when I step on a tiny, sharp and pointy fire truck?) but I really don’t want him walking out of PNC Park calling everyone he sees a big-f-word bum!

True. To protect my child (and my ear drums) (and my sanity) (and the guy’s face), I could be the Language Police and go find security to whine about the guy’s language behind me. But do you know what? They don’t always eject those guys. Most often they just come and tell them to tone it down. Do you know then gets nasty things said to them? Yeah. The Language Police. It’s a lose-lose situation right there; one that surely won’t make the kid’s game more enjoyable.

And so, it looks like two summers from now, you will find our family in the tippy-top row. I guess we’ll find out if BigBrother has good eyesight, right? It’s a shame we don’t… and that heights make me squeamish. Oh, it’s all for the love of the game, right?