Why is Negativity so Loud?

I only have one surviving grandparent. It's my mom's mother, Ann. She is bat shit crazy. I know I'm a Christian and I know I'm not supposed to say that kind of thing about people but in this case, it's absolutely true.

She and I stopped getting along when I turned 11. She has only ever been interested in my weight. Literally, that's really the only thing about me for which she expresses concern. She used to sit me down to try to express to me how concerned she was about my weight. It always came off as condescending, especially because it was usually right after she had goaded me into eating some dessert. She even went out of her way to comment on my weight when I was four months pregnant with Bekah. I mean, c'mon. Really?

Right after I ran my first marathon, she flew in for my parent's wedding. (They are remarried to each other after a period of having been divorced. A whole book wouldn't cover the entire subject.) I was the thinnest I had been for a long, long time. She fawned all over me because of the weight loss and had nothing to say about the major accomplishment of having run 26.2 miles without stopping.

She has never really been the warm, fuzzy grandma that is so idolized in our culture. I've never been ladylike enough, petite enough, thin enough, anything enough to get real approval or accolade from her. I have tried to love her as she is but she's incredibly prickly, especially as she has gotten older.

The point I'm trying to make is this woman is crazy but not in a packing the cat as a present, including cat food in the jello kind of way. She's crazy like "I-need-to-tell-everyone-how-I-feel-regardless-of-whether-they-want-to-know" crazy.

Now I have a wonderful husband, three beautiful kids, friends of every shape, size, kind, religion, etc. There were gobs of people cheering me on at that first marathon. I have had people show up to celebrate birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, milestones, etc with me. My kids tell me almost 10 times a day that they think I'm beautiful. My husband has always thought I'm beautiful.

I have posted my weight on Facebook pretty regularly since I started on this current weight-loss journey. Not a single soul has had anything negative to say about it. Once in a while someone will tell me to take it easy on myself, but otherwise even perfect strangers have been supportive of my efforts.

It's this strange phenomena, really, that the voice(s) I hear in my head, the ones that I give the most credit to, are negative. I could have a day that only happens in movies, where everything happens as I think it should, something I was worried about paying for gets paid for magically, Jeremy has a banner day at school, I've lost weight, my business has a great day....and yet one negative comment and all of that is undone.

Just one e-mail, comment on Facebook, off-handed remark, sarcastic reply to something and my mind wraps it in neon lights, sets an alarm off and suddenly, that's all I'm able to consider.

Today has been one of those days. It doesn't help that I am fighting either a cold or an ear infection. I'm still sleep-deprived from the other night, when Jeremy was ill. I am overwhelmed with a volunteer position I hold. I am on the precipice of hitting a good stride with my business, but I'm still climbing the hill that looks over the valley of success. I know it's just over the hill but I'm tired from all the climbing. Emotionally, I'm drained from so much. Physically, I'm drained. Mentally, I've got nothing. Really, nothing--aside from the huge, flashing Broadway-type negativity sign dominating my brain.

I am generally a positive person. I really do look for the silver lining in situations. I want to try to help people accentuate the positive. I love November because even though I refuse to join in the gratitude game on Facebook, it helps me get on a path of remembering the good stuff in life (however small it may be). I know when I am focused on what I have--versus what I don't have, how much money aren't making, what things we still need to buy--life is really pretty good. I am Peter walking on the water toward my best friend.

If I'm standing staring at the flashing Broadway sign of negativity, I am suddenly being swallowed whole by the waves that have been at my feet the whole time.

I wish I was the person who let things run off my back like a duck. I think I was never a popular kid in high school because everything hurt so much. I had such a tough time letting things, people, situations, bad interactions, go. To my credit, it all became fodder for my writing and I won a few awards for it all. Maybe there's something there, huh? But my point is, I always took myself and my life way too seriously.

I wish that there would be a day that I could just accept Ann Shannon (my grandma) for who and what she is. I wish I could just internally chant "what she says doesn't matter, what she says doesn't matter..." and it would form a barrier of protection around my heart and mind. I don't know why I'm so bothered by her but I'm sure it's because I'm like her; not in the oversharing, bitterness and craziness but in that I'm trying to recover from that and so I'm even more acutely aware of it. It's like when I quit smoking. Toughest thing I have ever done. I don't judge anyone who smokes because I've been there and I get it.

At the same time, cigarette smoke gives me a headache every time I'm around it. I hate the smell and do everything I can to stay away from it. I want to be the cool friend who says, "no, that's okay, you can smoke around me," but honestly it's just a migraine waiting to happen.

In the same way, I have worked hard to learn how to keep my mouth shut, to keep thoughts to myself, to keep advice to myself, etc. I think part of me is pissed that my grandma gets to do, act and think however she wants. Granted, she's miserable, no one wants her around and she literally is pissed at my grandpa for dying and leaving her alone. I'm not joking, she wishes she was dead. Like I said, bat shit crazy.

So she's not getting away with it but she's also not bothered by it and that bothers me. I don't know. It's so screwed up that I am so hyper-focused on the 0.1% of people who feel I'm failing on many fronts. I wish I could call that a margin of error and be done with it. My life would be so much easier. Then, though, I wouldn't need to lean on God so much. And there's the rub. If I'm not struggling, God is an afterthought. If I'm in a season that's tough or dealing with difficult people, God and I are best buds. I can see why he'd want to be my best bud. I am pretty awesome.

Yeah, I think I'll start chanting that tonight.

Stomach Flu

Jeremy came home from school yesterday seeming fine. He was upset because he got sent home with a yellow card. He called a friend a "butt." There's a part of me that thinks it's extreme to punish for something obviously so juvenile. Then there's the part of me that was called names and I totally support the teacher.

He didn't run out to see me as he usually does. I think he had some remorse about what he said. This is actually encouraging as it's something we've struggled to instill in him. He is six years old and doesn't always understand that his words have impact. To see him ashamed to talk to me about his day is confirmation that we are getting through to him. I didn't rejoice in it but I was happy about him making a connection.

He went to my parent's house, as he normally does on Tuesday nights. We went to pick him up and everything seemed fine. It's funny, though, as a mom there are just noises I know are not good. Brian and I were watching Conan and I heard Jeremy. I knew it was Jeremy and not Bekah or Doug. I knew he was probably not feeling well. Not sure how or why I need to have a part of my brain responsible for this but I'll accept it.

Sure enough, Brian went to go check on him and he had thrown up in his bed. I retrieved the puke bucket (it's a pink bucket you receive when you are in the hospital--we've all been in the hospital so much we have several just lying around), grabbed his sheets, his Star Wars blanket and prepared myself for a long night.

It was 3 AM before his stomach had emptied and he was able to (fitfully) sleep. Every 45 minutes or so I was jolted awake by the sound of dry heaves. It was enough to make sure I got no restorative sleep. Luckily, I am pretty good at making swift decisions. I knew the parents at preschool would not want me exposing their children to Jeremy's germs. It was a no-brainer to keep Bekah home. I knew Jeremy would have to stay home as well.

We designated it a pajama day (an extremely rare occurrence in our house anymore) and worked hard at watching every show Disney Junior and Nick Jr. had On Demand.

I have been fighting achy joints, a headache and fatigue all day, even after a nap this afternoon. I am glad we are past this illness. I am glad it doesn't seem to be jumping to anyone else. I am a bit disappointed but for an odd reason. See, I just had the thought that it would be so cool if Jeremy could have perfect attendance this year. He hasn't had the stomach flu since January of this year and he's not needed to be on antibiotics for over a year. I knew it would be something he could strive for and appreciate.

Now I'm bummed that he can't achieve it. His only comment about missing school was "she [Mrs. Martin] is going to mark me absent." He was pretty worn-out from a sleepless night--I think if he was in his right mind he would have been upset about missing school.

I periodically messaged with another mom throughout the day. Her son and Jeremy are friends and both were out today with the flu. She found out from Mrs. Martin that 7 (of 24) students were absent today because of this. We are both a bit leery of sending the boys back tomorrow for fear of them being re-infected. This bug has been making the rounds and I'm just afraid it's going to double back.

Ah, well. The washing machine is empty and stands at the ready. Me? I could always go with another pajama day.

**I do understand that by discussing the lack of illness Jeremy has experienced, I have guaranteed an awful winter health-wise for him.

Flat Monday

I am not a huge fan of Mondays. I have a fabulous husband who gives me a lot of latitude on the weekends. I get up early on Saturday, on purpose. Other than that, I try to nap both days, run errands by myself, go out with friends, basically I'm on furlough. 

There is a buffer for me with the kids. I have to cook still, but I don't have to make sure the kids aren't killing each other or climbing into the oven while I'm doing it. It's a beautiful thing, the weekends. 

I used to have panic attacks, mild though they were, on Sunday nights. The overwhelming feeling of being out back in the driver's seat would sit on my chest like an elephant. It felt suffocating and I would cling to the vestige of the weekend. My version of that was to stay up late and get no sleep. 

It guaranteed that I would be cranky on Monday morning. It guaranteed that I would be short with the kids, that we would rush like crazy and run late. 

Coming into this school year, I changed that habit. I have, until last night, made sure that I'm in bed at a reasonable hour. I have started setting two alarms on my phone, to make sure I'm up in time. I've done everything I can to cage the elephant, to bypass that crushing feeling. 

I am sure that the lack of sunlight contributed to my flat feeling today. I felt like one of the balls my kids have had-slightly under-inflated, a lack of bounce to it. The headache I ended up with didn't help either. 

I went through the motions today. I did everything I should do. I cleaned the house, decluttered, did laundry, read to Bekah, made bread, vacuumed. I exercised. I didn't get to run like I wanted to but I still worked out. Usually this pries me out of my funk but today it didn't. I am better now because Monday is almost over. I am better because I will soon crawl under the covers and say goodbye to the beginning of the week. 

Let's talk more tomorrow. 

Up to Speed...

I have been so inconsistent this month with writing. There has been a lot of mental conflict. I haven't been able to decide if I should write about my family or my business. It's meant that I just don't write at all. 

Things have been going really well, honestly. I started beta-testing a strength-training routine last week. The first few days were hell. I was sore beyond belief, could barely move and was still getting over bronchitis. 

I fought like hell to get through the first week. I went running two days, both short distances. The first time I really hobbled but by the end of the second run, I found my legs. Today, I started the second week. It was the same exercises (reps, number of sets) as last week. I am happy to report that I was able to complete it all--last week I had to truncate some of the sets--without resting as much and without any soreness. 

It feels great to make my body work harder. I am glad that I am fully over my illness. I am looking to start my training again, through the app Running for Weight Loss. I am at the beginning of week 7 (of 8). I am contemplating doing a half-marathon in the early to late spring. The problem is my mileage is nowhere near where it should be before I start training. So we'll see. 

The other issue working against me is the cold. I have no performance wear for the winter. I went out last week and wore a sweatshirt and sweatpants. It kept me warm but I know it's not a long-term solution. 

I am hoping maybe a local consignment shop may be of assistance. Or I will have to do the sweatpants thing until after Christmas. We'll see.

In other news, we had our pictures taken today. We had been using a photographer who had moved in a few doors down. Her pictures were great but her attitude wasn't. Jessica Martell, with Studio Pop Hair and Photography, friended me on Facebook a year or so ago. I always admired her work and she has always been easy to talk with and kind. It was kind of a no-brainer. 

She organized a mini-session at a local tree farm. She and another photographer worked together to conceive of 7-8 vignettes. We were able to do three of them-one in the back of a red pick-up truck, one near a sign saying "joy" and a present, and one where the kids held a banner saying "Merry Christmas." 

I knew Doug was going to be the least cooperative and he was. He has not napped well enough the past couple of days. Plus, he's 2 and always on the go. Even with these things working against him, Jess was able to capture some really great frames of my little man. 

The surprise was that the big kids were terrified of Santa!! He was there as a bonus (it was a secret). They were initially excited, but when he appeared out of the trees they were terrified!! He even offered to take their gift requests from a distance, but they both flatly refused. (They did acquiesce at the end with some prodding.) 

All in all, a fantastic experience. She even convinced me and Brian to jump in on a few shots. I was nervous because I'm not where I want to be with my body. It went really well, though, and honestly it was awesome because it was our first family picture. 

The other reason I was happy about today is that Jess let me promote my business. I made cinnamon rolls for everyone getting their picture taken. I wrapped them up, included my name and business info and got them to Jess's house. It remains to be seen if it will result in new business, but I'm trying to do my best to think outside the box when marketing myself. 

That's it for now. I'm glad it's Monday tomorrow because it means I get to run tomorrow night. Dinner is already figured of and I'm mostly caught up on laundry (even putting it away!). I could actually get some other projects done this week, yippee!

Getting Back

I have had a busy few weeks. After a triumphant return to racing, which included a recent 5K PR of 29:40, I came down with bronchitis. I am happy to report that it seems to have left completely. I am hoping to get back to running in the next few days. 

Meanwhile, I've had very little energy for anything else. I've of course not had any true days off. I will say, though, that Brian is great about letting me rest on the weekends. I have spent the last couple of weekends resting as much as possible. 

Last weekend, though, I spent Saturday trying to grow my business. My kids attend preschool at a local Lutheran church. I serve on the preschool committee (think PTA) and we decided to hold a vendor fair/craft bazaar as a fundraiser. 

I have been milling my own flour for the past year. In the past few months, I decided to start demonstrating it for other people. I wanted to do the vendor fair to raise awareness, network and make some money. 

I have to admit that I was fairly terrified in the days leading up to the event. There is a part of sales that I struggle with and that's rejection. It has gotten easier to accept it as part of the business. I just was worried that all the hard work leading up to the even would be for naught.

I shouldn't have spent so much time worrying. It went quite well. I struck up a conversation with the vendor sitting across from me and she had a lot of wisdom to share. I was able to network with some people, talk to others about my products, promote myself and make some money. All around, it was a successful event. 

I am hopeful that this holiday season will be busy for my business. I love being able to earn some extra money and doing it while baking-one of my absolutely favorite things. 

Hostages

I am an extrovert. I love to talk to people, I love to be around people, I love to meet new people, I love being out of my house among people. If I am tired before doing any of these things, I am energized afterward. If I am gloomy or depressed or overwhelmed, doing any of these things will temporarily lift my mood and set me on a better path. If I have anxiety or am nervous, doing any of these things will help ease that out of my being.

As a mom of three small kids, though, I am not able to get out to do these things on my own. I am fortunate to have a husband who understands me. He is great about letting me out of the house to go for a run, meet a friend for coffee or attend a meeting with my moms group. However, he is only home for a couple of hours a day. He works quite a distance from our home and his commute is quite long.

Meanwhile, if I want to be among other adult people I have to take my small people along with me. I have been on countless play dates to different locations. I always enjoy meeting a friend and her kids at a park and chatting while the kids play.

The fly in the ointment has always been Jeremy. I have discussed at length how his diagnosis and symptoms can seem anti-social, even aggressive. I have witnessed them first-hand. We were at a friend's house a few years ago and he threw a train at one of his friends. In Jeremy's mind it was justifiable. I obviously corrected the behavior but the damage was done. A few months after that, while at his other friend's birthday party, he scratched his friend's face. We didn't know about this incident until later so we were unable to correct the behavior immediately. This was, according to Jeremy, one of his best friends.

Over the past couple of years, we have explained to Jeremy time and again that his behavior was going to lead to him not being invited places. This is something he couldn't understand, something I couldn't convince him of.

I, on the other hand, have seen the invitations to play dates all but dry up. I'm Jeremy's mom. He is my flesh and blood. It absolutely breaks my heart that we are not invited to people's houses as frequently anymore. My feelings absolutely get hurt because I know he's not being invited to parties. I absolutely want to knock on people's doors and beg for another chance, beg for them to see past his behaviors.

But I don't. And I can't. And that breaks my heart even more. I love these friends of his and their families. I have spent time with their children and have affection for them. If my son was having a train chucked at him, I wouldn't rush to invite that friend over again. I would avoid any attempt to cultivate future play dates. It would break my heart to have to explain that, for my son's safety, I can't allow him to play with your child.

There is a part of me that wishes Jeremy could correlate the consequences of the lack of play dates with his negative behavior. In the past week, he has gotten two notes sent home because of extremely negative behavior. Today the note explained that he pushed his friends. When I asked him which friend, he mentioned the name of a girl who has been very kind to him both at school and AWANA. I was outraged! I admonished him for what he did, I sent him to his room (away from me and Bekah, which is where he always wants to be) and I had to stop myself from digging out the e-mail address of the girl's mom, to apologize to her for Jeremy's behavior.

I can't learn that lesson for him, though. It's going to be one he'll hopefully figure out on his own. It's unfortunate that he's already burned so many bridges because he's only in kindergarten. My hope is that as he continues to receive help, he will be able to change his behavior and seek to mend relationships.

Meanwhile, I have had an epiphany. It's tough to be Jeremy's mom in this situation. I am 35 and I understand, sometimes slowly, when I am getting the brush-off. This is not about how other moms have treated me--this post is speaking to the realization that Jeremy's behavior is robbing me of opportunities to be social. I see now that it must be difficult to tell a friend that you can't allow your child to be around their child. It's easier to just avoid eye contact, make bland excuses, to be cordial but detached.

It's because the time we spend alone, just as moms, is so brief that makes this situation difficult for someone like me. If I want to spend more time with another mom, more than likely I'm going to spend time with a mom whose kids are compatible with mine. Time spent out after hours, if you will, with other moms is going to grow out of the time you spend with those same moms.

Anyone who talks to me knows I'm insanely scheduled. I am a part of the McHenry Chapter of Mothers & More, attend MOPS, attend church and am part of another fellowship. I am connected in every possible way. There are few nights, if any, in a week when I am not busy. I do this because it gives me more opportunities to meet other moms, to get out of the house, to do the things that energize, calm and focus me. Now that Jeremy is in school all day, I figure it's more likely that I can fellowship with other moms. It's still a tough thing because Bekah attends preschool 5 days a week, but it gives me more chances to get out of the house and at interacting with other adults.

This is not meant to be a morose post. I am just starting to understand that while the consequences of Jeremy's behavior effect me, they are not caused by me. I am not Jeremy's puppetmaster. I can't control him or his behavior. I am seeing this more clearly than I ever have before.

I will not, however, let Jeremy's behavior take me completely hostage. I treasure the friendships I've made over the past couple of years. I appreciate that not everyone is going to be a confidante. I have taken even more advantage of the moms programs offered locally. I get out at night whenever I can.

Tonight was a great example. Jeremy came home with this note about his behavior. He was acting surly and brooding and I felt really overwhelmed. I talked to Brian about it for a while. I brooded about it for a while. Then, I was fortunate enough to have to attend a budget meeting for one of my mom's groups. I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to maintain my composure. I don't have answers about Jeremy's behavior and I feel powerless and weak.

The reality was I never mentioned Jeremy while at this meeting. I was happy to have a distraction, to have two other adult women with whom to interact. I was grateful I didn't have to put my own kids to bed. I was grateful to see my friend and her husband struggle (a bit) to get their kids to bed. I was able to have a conversations that wasn't punctuated with screams and fighting for which I was responsible to quell.

It was a little slice of heaven, honestly. I am already counting the hours until Friday night when I will join other moms to play Bunco. Hopefully I'll have my voice back by then (my real voice, not my sultry French-cafe singing voice). I will continue to pray fervently that Jeremy can make a connection between his behavior and it's consequences. I will pray that God will bring someone into his life who can help him. I will pray that God will give his educators and Brian and me wisdom about how to deal with him.

Meanwhile, I will spend as much time as possible with other moms not talking about him. I will go out and not worry about how bedtime goes. I will enjoy my friends' company and not apologize for the umpteenth time for my son's behavior. When I do have the chance to take him on a playdate, I will pray for peace. I will do what I can to help mitigate Jeremy's behavior but otherwise I will let him be and I will chat.

It's taken me a long time to articulate all of this. I've come to some peace about it but that doesn't entirely remove the sting of Jeremy being rejected. I guess I'll have to pray about that as well.

I'll Be Brief...

So very exhausted from a full day. I am feeling overwhelmed and anxious about so many things. I want to collapse into bed but I think I'll write a bit, just to keep the rhythm going.

Every day is not packed to the gills with activity. However, I have an issue with time management and scheduling. Therefore, the days that are packed are really, really packed. Today was such a day. Had another tough drop-off with Jeremy at school. It's become the new pattern. He's fine all the way to school, gives me, Bekah and Doug hugs and kisses, goes in the cafeteria to put his backpack and lunchbox down. I start walking away and he races out ahead of me, stops in front of the stroller and crosses his arms that he doesn't want me to leave.

It started last Monday and was, at the time, an isolated occurrence. My dad intervened that day and I walked away to the sound of Jeremy saying, "mommy....bekah...mommy...come back." Good times. It got better the next day and was better for the week. It started again this Monday and I thought maybe it was just about it being Monday. Unfortunately it's not but fortunately the school has great staff who have started intervening for me. It still is awful to walk away from him but now I'm not worried about his safety.

We raced home from that to go to preschool for Bekah, then back home for speech with Doug. I have decided to give up BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) this year so that Doug can have a morning appointment with his speech therapist. It got too difficult to amuse Bekah for the hour that Kathleen, his speech therapist, was there. We tried various approaches with Bekah and none worked well. It seems less painless for everyone to have speech when Bekah is in school and Doug is fresh.

I am incredibly bummed to give up BSF, but I figure it's just for this year and then I will have three kids in school on a regular basis. I still attend MOPS and church and for right now that's quite enough for me.

Meanwhile, we are still struggling a bit. My mom always told me I would either have money or time (usually not both). I am working at teaching people how to incorporate whole grains (not breakfast cereal whole grains but actual, real live whole grains) into their family's diet. I had hoped it would be a quick way to make money but it's turning out to take some time building my business, which is fine. Meanwhile, I make all of our bread and bread products. (Time, not money in this case.)

I've been bartering with my bread and also trying to figure out how to use the bread as a ministry. I really feel led by God to use it in a way that can bless people. I finally got plugged into a ministry where it will be put to good use, so I committed to making 10 loaves of bread. This is on top of our family's normal 5-loaf bread batch. That's 15 loaves of bread! Crazy business but again time, not money.

But this is where my time management and my ambition usually collide. I learned today that in the future it will be better if I make some bread on Tuesday and some on Wednesday. Trying to make essentially three batches of bread on an already crowded day was perhaps a bit nuts.

Meanwhile, I had to drop off the loaves at a friend's house, then take Jeremy to his occupational therapy appointment and then take Jeremy and Bekah to AWANA.

I got overwhelmed with all of it and so was driving madly home (while exercising extreme caution) so that I could put my running clothes on and hit the pavement. I had a pretty good run and still felt anxious and overwhelmed afterwards, but it was diminished. These kind of days dare me to pick something unhealthy up in an attempt to cope. It would be easy to pick up a bottle, fill a bowl up with ice cream or just space out to TV. The relief is temporary and ends up with more problems in the long run.

I've been trying to not do carbs after 2 PM. So far I've not done well but I am more conscious about what I'm putting in my body after 2 PM. To this point in my weight-loss journey, sometimes just having a conscious thought about what's going into my body is what I need to make those tough choices and stop the bad habits.

Okay, enough for today. I'm not sharing my day to brag--I'm sharing it to demonstrate how blessed I am to provide for my family even without working a traditional job. Today I followed Colossians 3:23-24--"whatever you do, work at it with all your heart as working for the Lord, not human masters, since you know you will receive an inheritance." I'm completely exhausted but I feel wonderful knowing I followed God's commandments.

An Open Letter to Me

I was talking about something tonight and it made me think about myself in high school. I've blogged about it before. I am a late bloomer and I'm talking late as in post-high school. I started wondering what, if anything, my current self would say to my former self. Kind of a Big/13 Going on 30 moment. Here's how I think it would go. 

Dear Sue:

I know you hate high school. I see you, when no one else does, eating your feelings. I know you feel misunderstood and left out. I know you hoped that managing the basketball team would make you cooler. It didn't. 

I know you had hoped that one boy would notice you and ask you to the prom. He didn't. Or that the teacher would have caught the boy who bullied you in the act. I know you wanted to have a well-attended Sweet 16 party (or at all attended). 

I know you feel invisible everywhere. There are not the confidantes where you had hoped there would be. Your body is not cooperating with you and I know how frustrating that feels. I've seen you cry in your room when jeans and t-shirts don't hide the multiple folds of fat. 

I know you feel like a geek because you didn't want to break the pasta bridge you made for physics class. You feel wimpy because you go in the hallway when your classmates view graphic slides in history class. The angst you pour into your poetry seems dramatic but I know it feels and is real. 

Your family of origin is fractured and broken. Your parents aren't the people you need them to be. Your church family is scattered, your church life is not what you hoped it would be. 

Friendships are fleeting. Trying to make friends is like trying to grab broken eggshells out of the skillet, elusive and hard to grab. You are popular because you drive and have a car but friendships don't extend courtesy and warmth beyond the end of the car ride. 

I wish I could tell you the moment when the flaws you perceive will turn into assets. It's a little squidgy, honestly. It gets far worse before it starts to improve. You will lose the faith of your only allies, your family. You will alienate what few friends you scrape together. You will end up mostly homeless. 

Just as you feel the subfloor underneath you, cool and hard, God will intervene. You will have cried out to him as your cheeks presses against the concrete. He has been standing by, in the shadows, waiting for you to ask for help. 

Over time, a long time, time that will seem to creep by in days measure by seconds, you will begin to know yourself better. Your body still won't fully cooperate. Don't fret, the muscles you carved during swim practice will help you grow to love running. You will run multiple marathons. Marinate on that. 

The angst that you felt will help you parent a child who struggles to contain his emotions. Remember the juice stain on your wall, where you threw the juice box in a fit of rage? That will help you empathize with a son who almost comes unglued when a friend wants to pop a balloon. 

Your writing will help you process your life. You will not be rich and famous, but to be fair most writers aren't. Poets especially aren't. You will still struggle to make sense of your checkbook. Your car will still make you popular but mostly with the under 5 set. 

You will still be bullied, though not as often. Those in authority still won't see it and the pain will be dull and headache-inducing. 

In exchange for slowly fitting into your skin, you will receive gifts you didn't know to ask for. You will be popular but it won't earn you invites to parties. It will earn you sloppy kisses, bear hugs and all the smiles your heart can hold. 

You will finally learn how to cook and you'll be surprised to find out how good things taste. Your body is soft, this time from giving life to three different people, but your cooking will help change that. 

You will still get low. You will still shy away from gore, violence and ugliness. Your heart will still be tender, but now you have friends and people in your life who appreciate (not exploit) it. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is....hang in there. Your life isn't even a quarter over. Take a deep breath. Don't take yourself too seriously. Don't apologize for who you are--embrace it. That's what people will eventually love the most about you.

You. 

Sincerely,

Sue

Starting Over Again

I have talked at length about my love for running. I talked about how I've run marathons, half-marathons, 10Ks, 5Ks. It is different to be someone who used to run marathons. It's a feeling that looks like a deflated balloon. I have felt good, over the last couple of months, slowly building miles and endurance. It is not the best experience ever every time my shoes hit the pavement.

Last Friday was a perfect example of that.

I typically run at night. Usually, I head out the door for a run as soon as Brian hits the door on his way home. It's the perfect time of day for me. My head hurts thinking about getting up at 4:30 for a run. Any later than 7:00 PM and it starts getting dark. I live in a good neighborhood but I don't like running when I can't see into hidden corners.

There are times, though, that I need to vary my routine. Friday night I was heading out to a friend's house so I couldn't go running when Brian came home. No problem, I figured, I will drop Bekah off at preschool, toss Doug in the jogging stroller and off I go. I have done this one or two times and it's been fine. However, I forgot to take into account that previously I had a lot of walking breaks in my running program. (I'm following the 8-week program on the Running for Weight Loss Pro app. It started out with a lot of run/walking but has morphed into all running.)

Doug weighs almost 30 pounds. The jogging stroller is a few years old so it's not as lightweight as it could be, but it's still better than a typical stroller. Easy peasy, I thought.

Wrong. Apparently, there's a huge difference walking a 30-pound infant in a jogging stroller and jogging with said infant. I do everything I can to edit the run in a way that minimizes hills. I'm just not there yet. Maybe next summer it will be a different story. Even so, there are a few low-grade hills. They are mildly challenging when jogging on my own. Pushing Doug felt like I was trying to hike Everest with no oxygen. I was out of breath and worse yet my quads were screaming at me.

The program uses intervals to increase endurance and boost weight loss. I'm not a sprinter by trade but I like to push myself now and then. I don't run fast (typically a 13:30 min/mile) but am running faster than I was last year (15:30 min/mile). I just heard from a friend that running between a 10:00 min/mile and 12:00 min/mile is optimum. I hope, by next spring, to get close to that.

On a good day, when I have to sprint at 100% of my maximum intensity I have good form, arms pumping by my side, long strides, good breathing. Friday, however, I was lucky to get to 75% of the intensity for either the 80% or 100% portions. It didn't help that the air was heavy, but the heavy air combined with the heavy infant spelled doom.

I have been shooting for 3 running days a week. On the other days, I pop in a Leslie Sansone DVD and sweat in front of my TV. I even rest some days. I was never more grateful to be done with a run than I was on Friday. It's outings like that when I start to doubt my ability as a runner. I start to doubt that I will ever again be Sue Carbajal, marathon finisher.

And then I stop for a minute. The beauty is, I will always be Sue Carbajal, marathon finisher. Just because I'm fighting to get back to finishing a 5K doesn't mean I've been stripped of my previous finishes and accomplishments. After I finished my first Chicago Marathon in 2004, I had my picture, my bib and my medal framed. It hangs over Doug's changing table as a constant reminder to me that I am more than capable.

I have never met any elite runners. To me, anyone who runs faster than a 10:00 min/mile over long distances (greater than 3 miles) is an elite runner. I don't know if I'll ever get there myself and that's okay. Elite runners put their pants on the same as I do--one leg at a time. I'm sure that even they have runs that don't go exactly as planned. It probably frustrates them as much as it frustrates me.

Luckily, the story doesn't end there. I got organized today and had dinner ready for everyone before Brian got home. I had to fight to get out the door, as usual. Jeremy likes to try and sneak out with me. I've learned the hard way that the kids don't run in the traditional sense. They run at continental drift pace while exploring nature and complaining about tired legs. Not my style. I fought my way out and was rewarded with a great run.

The air was crisp and dry, the temperature was cool but not cold and my clothes all stayed in place. (This has become an issue because none of my performance wear fits anymore. The 40-pound weight loss has made me too small for all of it which is great but my lack of funds means that I am struggling to find things to wear while running. Currently it's either a worn-out pair of sweatpants or a worn-out pair of cotton shorts with a rip in the one leg.) My sprints were great, I wasn't huffing and puffing and I finished strong. I got home to find some peace with the kids, sat down to a great meal of pork pad thai (homemade, yum!) and reminded myself that I will always be Sue Carbajal, marathon finisher. In the words of the Gershwin brothers, "they can't take that away from me."

The Week that Got Away

I started last week with high aspirations! I had a lot that I wanted to accomplish. I was really excited about getting a handle on the office. My hope was to spend 15 minutes a day on it, but the truth is I spent about 15-20 minutes on it three times in the last week.

I have had several moments as a mom where I under react to something and then feel awful and guilty about it. Most recently this happened early this past week. Jeremy came home from school and seemed okay. He has taken to setting up elaborate train systems throughout downstairs. I like it for two reasons. First, it keeps him busy for long stretches of time and doesn't involve watching TV. Two, I bought a large bag of train tracks for $15 at a resale several years ago. I hoped he would play with them then, but I'm patting myself on the back for such a strategic purchase and for holding on to them.

I do applaud his creativity and ambition. Most of his creations resemble the train systems of major metropolitan areas. He makes up stories for his different trains and leads them all on adventures.

The problem is that the tracks drift into the kitchen. I hate having toys in my kitchen. I spend so much time in there cooking and baking that I don't want anything on the floor that I might step on. Doug (aka Baby Destructo) has been known to dismantle the tracks, walk off with them and deposit them in random locations.

I usually don't make Jeremy deconstruct his creations for a few days. I know he'll play with them and that's fine with me. But I was having people over on Monday night and I needed to have a sense of order. When I asked Jeremy to pick up his train tracks, he said, "but mommy my thumb hurts." I am a grizzled veteran when it comes to evasive maneuvering. I found it interesting that his thumb only started hurting when I asked him to clean up. I dismissed the statement and pushed harder for a quick clean up.

Tuesday morning I received a phone call during Doug's occupational therapy session. I just recently updated my iPhone and lost all of my contacts. I didn't immediately recognize the phone number and so I sent it to voice mail. After the therapist left, I had an hour before the next therapist arrived. I was going to check my voice mail but got sidetracked.

My friend April brought Bekah home from preschool just as Doug was completing his developmental therapy appointment. I worked to feed everyone lunch, then got Doug down for a nap. In a rare moment of rest, I sat down with Bekah on the couch. I was going to exercise but my phone rang again. It was the same number from the morning. I answered it and discovered it was....my son's school nurse. Jeremy's thumb had actually been involved in a door-smashing incident on Monday afternoon. It was quite swollen and although he refused an ice pack (he hates ice packs, along with any analgesic medicine or really medicine of any kind), he seemed to be treating it gingerly.

Jeremy has an incredibly high pain tolerance level. It's part of his sensory diagnosis and it can actually be dangerous because it doesn't allow us to diagnose and treat things in a timely manner. A couple of years ago, quite by chance, I discovered a lump on the back of his head. It was quite large and seemed warm. It turned into an infection that required emergency care and IV antibiotics. He has a Patrick Dempsey amount of hair, but he never mentioned it to me because I don't think it ever really bothered him.

In fact, when I went to retrieve him and take him to the doctor, he was more upset that I was taking him away from playing in centers than that he might have a broken bone. It took me about 10 minutes to get him out of the school and into the van.

Our three-ring circus descended on the pediatrician's office and stayed for what felt like forever. It included three trips in the elevator--up, down and up again--an x-ray and horseplay in the waiting room. Oh, and sweating. I don't know what it is about his doctor's office but I break out in a flop sweat whenever I'm there for more than 15 minutes. I'm sure it has to do with stress more than anything else.

The official diagnosis was a broken thumb. We were referred to an orthopedic doctor and sent home. The next day, when I went to pick Jeremy up at school for the appointment, I found out he had pushed a girl down in the playground. He had dark circles under his eyes and seemed exhausted. Our three-ring circus then descended on the McHenry County Orthopedics office. The wait there was much shorter than that at the pediatrician's office (thankfully).

The doctor decided to cast Jeremy for precautionary measures. He was afraid that if he didn't, Jeremy might hurt it worse. The cast will be on for 3 weeks and then that will be that. I was so incredibly anxious about Jeremy getting a cast but he really handled it like a champ. He only balked briefly but I was able to talk him through it.

We left the doctor's office and headed off for a celebratory donut. I pulled into the parking lot at Jewel and parked so I could finish a conversation with Brian. Bekah came up from the way back and informed me thatt there were 2 sleeping boys in the van. Sure enough, Jeremy had passed out in his seat. (I was expecting Doug to fall asleep because the doctor's appointment and his naptime overlapped. He was incredibly tired.)

We re-routed to Country Donuts and headed home. I put Doug down for a nap and let Jeremy sleep in the van. Meanwhile, I laid down on the couch and closed my eyes. I had some far-off notion when Jeremy came in from the van but otherwise had a refreshing cat nap.

I wish I could say the craziness stopped there but Jeremy had his six-month check-up at the dentist the next day. Yep, I pulled him out of school early three days in a row. I didn't want to do it but I figured if I got the dentist appointment out of the way we'd be doctor-free until he got his cast off. Unfortunately, we would not be so lucky.

I noticed a few weeks ago that Jeremy had an adult tooth coming in behind a baby tooth. I posted something about it on Facebook and was reassured that this was normal and would probably resolve on it's own. I tried to goad Jeremy into wiggling the baby teeth but got the sense that either it creeped him out or he got distracted.

Jeremy's dentist is old school but I like her. She's firm with him and we only see her twice a year so that's okay with me. She doesn't really understand his diagnosis but again, she sees him for like an hour all year. She doesn't need to be an expert. The appointment went as I expected--Jeremy cried the entire time and got a bloody nose. That's what happens frequently when he gets all worked up. I went back briefly to help stop the nosebleed but then left him in capable hands.

She informed me that she would need to pull the two baby teeth that were in the way. She called it "God's cruel joke," that someone with such a phobia of the dentist would need so much extra work. (He has had several cavities but is one of the healthiest eaters I know, eschewing junk food for fresh fruits and veggies. Bekah, on the other hand, never met a cookie or cake she doesn't like but has had no cavities and rejoices when it's time to go to the dentist.)

It was an exhausting way to end an emotionally exhausting week. We are scheduled to go back on October 10th. I am going to try and find someone to watch Doug so I can focus all of my attention on Jeremy. I am going to keep Jeremy out of school that day and do everything I can to make him more comfortable. Though I felt awkward, I did let the dentist know that she will have to give him a higher than normal dosing of nitrous. Jeremy metabolizes medicine really quickly and so it is not very effective unless given in high doses. When he had that infection on his head, it had to be lanced but of course he was not interested in cooperating. The ER doctor gave him a dose of ketamine (appropriate for his height and weight) and assured me that he would fall right asleep. Nope. Even after a second, identical dose, he remained awake and mostly alert for what they were doing. His eyes creeped me out a bit but otherwise he seemed normal.

I feel like, as his mom, I need to let his medical providers in on this. They need to know how to does him. At the same time, I feel awkward, as a mom, saying "hey, give my kid more medicine." It feels like I sound Munchausen-esque. I did tell her, though, so she is at least aware and can adjust accordingly.

I'm exhausted just re-telling the events of last week. The whole point was that I felt awful for not believing Jeremy on Monday when he told me his thumb hurt. Or not answering the voicemail that the nurse left me. Or for not realizing he was in so much pain on Wednesday that he was up from 3:30 AM on.

I have to remember two things, though. I am human. I may appear to be a superhero but mostly I'm just a human being who makes mistakes and errors in judgement. The counter to this is that I'm mommy. There's very little I can do to remove the love my kids have for me. I try not to abuse this power by being manipulative and cruel but I also cherish the tremendous grace the power allows me. It's a constant reminder about how small I am in comparison to the universe. Which is odd when the reminder is coming from someone 46 inches or under.

Work in Progress

These are the before pictures of the office. Couldn't get to my 15 minutes of decluttering yesterday. Worked on getting the shredding under control today. Will post updated pictures on Sunday night.

Keeping Consistent

I have previously disproven the theory that I am lazy. I have not yet been able to be consistent about things over a long period of time. Take, for instance, brushing the kids' teeth in the mornings. I have done wonderfully with achieving an earlier bed time. I haven't been asleep past 12:30 for the last several weeks. This seems late for some but trust me, it is earlier than when I was going to bed over the summer. Running on some nights has pushed the bedtime even earlier.

Waking up is still a tough thing. I have shared our bedtime struggles and we are still finding people in bed with us. This means less restorative sleep (after several hours of struggling to get them to go to sleep) for me. When the alarm goes off, I do not spring to my feet. In fact, I've been waking up at 6:45 even though my first alarm doesn't sound off until 7:00. I'm not sure why, but I refuse to let my feet hit the floor that early. It just seems wrong.

I have worked hard to get the morning routine compressed so that everyone is ready to hit the door no later than 8:20. It takes us about 5 minutes to walk Jeremy to school, 5 minutes back and then we're in the van headed to Bekah's preschool.

Teeth brushing is important and essential. Jeremy has awful teeth and needs extra attention paid to the process. Neither child is brushing independently yet. I make them brush (I use the term lightly as mostly it consists of them sucking on the toothbrush and moving it around minimally) first and then I rinse them. Really, I give all four quadrants a good brush and then make them rinse and spit.

It seems pretty straightforward, but the entire process is fraught with pitfalls. First, it seems that no 4- or 5-year-old can come into the bathroom and stand still on command. I am usually calling them 2 or 3 times. Upon arriving in the bathroom, wackiness ensues. There is a rule that "poop," "peepee," and other bodily-function related words can only be uttered in the bathroom. For good measure, Jeremy exercises his right to use these words liberally while waiting to start brushing his teeth. Neither can stand still--it's rather like trying to manage two Mexican jumping beans. I honestly don't know how kindergarten and preschool teachers aren't chronic drinkers.

It's these kinds of tasks, like brushing teeth, where I struggle to be consistent. I have talked previously about my attempts to de-clutter. I was, for a period of time, working with an organizer. That process ended abruptly and without the whole job being finished. There are various reasons why this happened, but ultimately I was left holding the bag. If I were consistently spending 15 minutes a day decluttering, my office wouldn't be the pit of doom it currently is. Alas, 15 minutes gathered together in an uninterrupted bundle is difficult to find with three small children around. I can't even manage to get 5 minutes together to take a shower without interruptions.

It's the inconsistency that drives me nuts. The paper clutter started in earnest when school started. It is a non-stop flurry of artwork, homework, permission slips, calendars, newsletters and junk. I cannot find a system that works for me to get a handle on it. I am finding myself going a bit crazy with it.

I just brought a pile of it up to the office because I was having people over on Thursday night. It joins several other piles of paper already living in the office. Artwork is the worst, for me, because Bekah scribbles two colors on a piece of paper and considers it art. She does that approximately 10 times a week and it's a crazy amount of random pieces of paper with swipes of paint on them. I am sentimental but 10 pieces of paper a week over 9 months of school...well, you do the math. It's unmanageable.

I think the biggest frustration I had with the organization process is I was required to buy more "stuff" to organize my "stuff." I have very little money and I was paying an organizer most of it. I didn't have extra money to be buying bins and other stuff like that. I needed her to go through the "stuff" with me to eliminate the extra and therefore the need to have organizational "stuff." Part of it too is that I don't have extra time to work on projects. I had hoped that working on it with an organizer an hour and a half a week would cut it but it never did. Now my house seems to be in worse shape and I am even more lost. My kitchen, the laundry room and the kids' closet are all still in relatively good shape. Other than that, I'm losing my mind again.

I need to just commit to 15 minutes a day. Flylady talks about it all the time. I have her timer and my commitment is to spend 15 minutes a day for the next week decluttering my office. I will have to report back (with pictures) to see how it goes. I have decided I can do anything for 15-minute periods for one week.

Take Two

So sometimes I forget that I blog on the internet. I don't have a large readership, but it always catches me off guard when someone sees me and says, "hey, I read this on your blog..."

Tonight was one such instance. It was the second week of  AWANA. I have been anxious about it all week. Jeremy and I have been talking about it. His reaction last Thursday was that he had a great time. After all he had endured, I was taken aback but accepted what he said. 

I have been trying to talk quietly about this all week with a few confidantes. I am so out of my depth in dealing with Jeremy and his condition. It's tough, I've decided, because 95% of the time, there's no physical manifestation of his SPD. He appears, for all intents and purposes, to be a fully functioning 6-year-old. It's not until you add loud noises that the cracks in his armor appear. 

Tonight's arrival at AWANA was 1000% calmer, more organized and smoother. I was correct in my assessment that the chaos from last week can be attributed to it being the first week of club. I totally get that. I never expected the process to be perfect out of the gate. 

I will say, though, that a lot about last week was about my own expectations. It gets me every time--if I have unrealistic expectations then most likely I'll end up being disappointed. 

This week I aimed a little lower and I was pleasantly surprised. The youth pastor, a friend's husband, pulled me aside and had a chat with me. He had read my blog post from last week and wanted me to know he had heard me. I got a bit defensive because I felt spied on, but then I realized that the blog post opened a dialogue that probably wouldn't have been opened otherwise. This man (can't remember his name for the life of me) was humble enough to acknowledge that there were rough edges. He asked for some grace, which I am happy to extend, and he apologized. 

I had hoped, when I started blogging, that I would be able to add income to my family's bottom line. That has not happened. Yet, anyway. I also wanted a voice. 

It's tough, as a stay-at-home mom, to feel like you have a voice. I know people slam moms who are glued to the screen of their smartphones. I am guilty of that on occasion, but smartphones and technology allow me to connect with the world around me. Play dates have almost become obsolete. I can get out in the evenings but not always. Social media allows me to interact more freely, especially with other friends who have kids. I can connect with friends whom I can't see all the time. I can see pictures of extended family members. The world gets smaller and more manageable for me everyday. It still surprises me, though, that people are listening to what I have to say. 

To that end, though, I have tried to use my power for good and not evil. There are things, events, situations, about which I choose not to write. I do not want to alienate people, groups of people, family members, etc. It is never my intention to cast aspersions anywhere; rather, I am trying to share the world from my (and my kids' perspective). I do not want people to shrink away from me out of fear of being skewered in cyberspace. 

Blogging, for me, is therapeutic. I can talk about the things that bug me, that give me pause, that perplex me. I have connected with people from across the globe (I have some readership in the Ukraine, which just blows my mind) and there's something so common about the human experience. I don't end up feeling over-important but I do feel like there are people hearing what I have to say. And really, that's like money in the bank. 

Week 2 of AWANA? Much better. Still a little squidgy, but Jeremy was allowed to do crafts all night (versus crafts and games). He came home seeming in good spirits. We are going to try again next week. We are going to bring some headphones for Jeremy to wear and try out for council time. I feel much better this week than last and my kudos to all the staff at LGCC at their handling of Jeremy, myself and his accommodations. I'm going to pray like crazy that every week just keeps getting better!!

Accommodations

I don't know what to write about tonight. I have a lot going on in my head. There are tough conversations I have to have with people over the next week. I can't talk about them, which is tough for me. I love to gab and the way I work things out is to talk someone's ear off. 

I think the weight of these future conversations, combined with the stress of correcting bedtime and AWANA, is taxing me a great deal emotionally. Any one of the things would be enough to bend my back. 

Bedtime has become quite a weight. I know Tina Fey (and Jim Gaffigan) talks about the fact that bedtime is a huge challenge. I can't remember which comments on the surprise elicited from announcing bedtime. It's like that here. The very mention of bedtime causes moaning, mumbling, gnashing of teeth and general unhappiness. 

I guarantee you, my kids have been put to bed every night of their life. They are not allowed to sleep where they fall, we don't co-sleep, we don't make them put themselves to bed. 

From an early age, we have been very strict with nap time and bed time. Our experience has been that our kids function better and more happily if they have a regular sleep schedule. It has not always made sense to everyone else, but I learned long ago that we have to make decisions that are best for our family. 

So there's the initial shock of learning that it's bedtime. Then the shock of having to take off their clothes and put on pajamas. Lately, Bekah has been claiming that her pajamas--even ones picked from her drawer--smell like urine. There's an ensuing argument about said smell. It usually ends with me, exasperated, going to retrieve new pajamas. 

Then come the negotiations. I know that TV before bedtime is not conducive to a good night's sleep. The problem is that Brian is in charge of bedtime. He works over an hour away and his commute is brutal. Upon arriving home, he doesn't have the energy to be active with the kids. I have spent all day with them and I have no energy for bed time. 

Typically, they get to pick a show to watch. During the summer, both Jeremy and Rebekah got to pick a show. After that, negotiations kicked into high gear. They would ask if Doug could pick a show. They would ask Brian to read them a book. The negotiations would spill into the hallway while they walked (think the Bataan Death March or the Trail of Tears) to their bedroom. 

And that wasn't even the end. No, it was the beginning of the litter patter of feet as they travelled downstairs, repeatedly, with varying degrees of ridiculous requests. This is after the sound of them "playing shows" spills further and further into the hallway upstairs. The requests and statements range from "I'm not tired" to "my sister's asleep" to "I can't close my eyes." 

On a good night, when Brian and I are in great moods, we handle these requests like a good outfielder. We catch them and throw them back home-to their rooms. 

Finally, they're asleep. Brian and I usually enjoy Conan and then head upstairs for bed. I am very strict about sleeping arrangements. No one touches me when I sleep. There is a pillow I use as a barrier between Brian and me. I am deadly serious about this. In order for me to recharge, I need at least 6-8 hours of sleep. I can't sleep with someone's hand on me, let alone with an elbow in my spleen. 

Just when I think it's okay to fall asleep, the doorway to our bedroom is darkened by a sleepy-eyed monster. Usually the monster is 4 feet tall or so. Usually they have had a bad dream, although it's not unusual for them to "almost have had a nightmare." I do my best to shoo them back to bed. They know, though, that once I'm asleep I'm unable to object. Then the trick is to get into bed without disturbing or crowding me. This typically means they lie on Brian's side of the bed. It's not unusual for me to wake up and find Brian's feet resting on top of Bekah. 

Meanwhile, I don't sleep well. The kids don't sleep well because they're in bed with us. I wake up feeling cranky and out of sorts. They wake up in a frenzy. It's crazy, they wake up energized even when bedtime has stretched past 9. 

And so the pattern repeats. It has all come to a head now that we're back in school. I know now that we should have been correcting the bedtime--moving it up--before school started. We will next year. Meanwhile, we have started using the Supernanny method for getting them to stay in bed. The first time they get out of bed, we tuck them in, say good night. Each time after that, we say nothing and put them back in bed.

Last night was the first night doing it and it took quite a long time. Tonight, Brian said Jeremy was asleep in 15 minutes and it took Bekah 1 hour and 15 minutes. Seriously!! Just close your eyes and be done with it!!

My hope is that they will be in bed sooner tomorrow night. Otherwise, I may take to sleeping in public parks. Whatever it takes to get a good night's sleep. I won't be able to function without it!!

Run, Forrest, Run

I love The Big Bang Theory. It's one of my favorite shows (next to Modern Family). It's made it cool to be a nerd and I wish it was around when I was in high school. 

One of my favorite episodes is called The Cruciferous Vegetable Amplification. Sheldon, after performing a series of equations, realizes he will not live long enough to merge his consciousness with a robot. In order to bridge the gap, he institutes various health measures designed to keep him alive longer. 

Hilarity ensues, obviously. My favorite attempt of his is running. I was thinking about this as I was running tonight. Sheldon decides to run with Penny. They meet in the hallway before their run. Penny is wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Sheldon, on the other hand, has an iPod and other gadgets. 

They have a short exchange about what equipment Penny uses to measure her run. She quips that she uses none--she runs until she gets tired, eats a bear claw and runs back. Sheldon is aghast. Then more hilarity as Penny tries, to no avail, to get Sheldon to stretch with her. 

This exchange makes me laugh for several reasons. It also highlights why I enjoy running so much. I am fortunate enough to have an iPhone. It is indispensable to me on my runs. 

But it wasn't always that way!! I was fortunate, after a few years on my own, to be able to afford a membership to the Buffalo Grove Fitness Center. It was affiliated with Northwest Community Hospital, not intimidating and not full of lunks. I started out running on a treadmill. I did intervals on a treadmill and trained for my first 5K on a treadmill. (It was on the campus of Northwestern and I smoked a cigarette not long after I was done. 

After I got proficient with the treadmill, I started bringing my portable CD player to the gym! I also branched out and ran on the inside track. That's where I trained for my first half marathon. Yes, I trained for a 13.1 mile race inside on a track. What's worse, the race was set in Highland Park--a town built on a ravine. 

You'll be happy to know that for my first marathon, I trained outside. I listened mostly to the Snatch soundtrack. I didn't train with a group so I was responsible for mapping out my own runs. I would literally drive my green Hyundai hatchback around Buffalo Grove, marking the miles in my head. I would stash water for myself and keep an eye out for public restrooms. I am especially grateful for the Starbucks on the corner of Lake Cook and McHenry. I dashed in there on multiple occasions and am glad there was never a line. 

While training for the Flying Pig Marathon, I discovered a bike trail in Crystal Lake. It had convenient mile markers (no more driving around to find routes). I had an iPod, so I had more variety in music. I am one who's pretty comfortable listening to the same songs over and over again, but it was so refreshing to make different playlists. 

I also had performance wear!! I had clothes that wicked the moisture. No more running in cotton shorts and a t-shirt! I had running shoes! I had a water belt! I felt like I had finally arrived. I still wasn't training with a group, but in every other respect I actually felt like a runner. 

Fast forward six years. I have finally gotten back into a good groove with running. I have run three times a week for the past three weeks. I am following a program on my iPhone that prompts me when to run and walk.

Unfortunately, my active wear doesn't fit right now. Nor does my water belt. I don't have headphones that work well. Consequently, everyone passing by gets to hear my playlist. It has a little of everything, from La Roux to Belle and Sebastian, Feist, Black Eyed Peas and Jem. I know how far I've gone but I sweat into my cotton socks and my gym shorts are all starting to fall apart. 

The beautiful thing is that I still, for brief moments, feel like Phidippides. I stretch my legs out more, hold my arms correctly and really, really haul ass. I also love that I can take pride in my version of hauling ass. I know it's not the fastest version out there but it's faster than it was last year. My iPhone told me so. 

So really, that scene with Sheldon and Penny perfectly encapsulates my own running history. It's a little bit funnier when Jim Parsons does it but I assure you, I don't end up falling down the stairs. 

Crazy, Mixed-Up Day

I knew, going into today, that it was going to be nuts. We had three things on the schedule for after school and that is not typical for our family. We do not attend mid-week services and generally once we're done with school we're done all together.

We started doing AWANA a few years ago and that started tonight. Two years ago, Jeremy attended AWANA at Living Grace Community Church in Cary. He had struggles and this was before we had a diagnosis for him. We also didn't know any members of the church, although a friend of mine enrolled her kids (we attend the same church) LGCC's AWANA program.

Last year, my dad found a small church in Lake in the Hills that did AWANA. We still didn't have a diagnosis for Jeremy and didn't know a soul, but Bekah and Jeremy both took pretty well to the program. We were hoping that they would do it again this year, but the pastor of that church just had open heart surgery and didn't feel up to having the program there this year.

So back to LGCC we went. This time, though, I know a few more people that attend the church and some more friends from my own church enrolled their kids as well. I figured that he would see all of his friends, get excited and settle in fine.

This was going to be the last stop of the day. He was supposed to have an appointment with his therapist, an hour break, an appointment with his occupational therapist and then head over to AWANA. Of course, it's our family so it couldn't happen so smoothly.

I had to take him out of school to get him to see Dr. Dean. I love her because she has not rushed to a diagnosis with Jeremy. She is firm with him and has worked hard with him to reduce some of the behavioral problems we see with him. A lot of his acting out is tied into his sensory issues. For example, if he is in a loud environment, he will start being loud to match the sound. This is not a behavioral issue, per se, but it seems non sequitor. In fact, he makes the loud noise because that's something he can control and that helps him when he is in a situation he feels like he can't control.

After retrieving him from school we headed over to see Dr. Dean. I unloaded all three kids from the van, we walked into the building, rode the elevator, got into the office...only to find out that our appointment is in fact scheduled for next week. Lovely. Go back downstairs, load everyone back in the van (after first scowling over the phone to my husband--my appointment keeper--for not having told me the appointment was for next week).

Now we have an hour and forty-five minutes to kill before the occupational therapist. Hmm, I think...maybe I'll go home and make the soup Brian and I are supposed to have for dinner. Then we'll head back out to the therapy appointment. Nope, I opt to run a couple of errands--to the bank and to pick up some cardstock for the resale this weekend. (Luckily I didn't have to go to a store to get the cardstock, it was waiting on someone's front porch for me.)

We run those errands and still have forty-five minutes left. We drive to the parking lot of the Lutheran school behind Jewel in Crystal Lake. I turn off the van and hand out dinner (cold cut sandwiches, pretzels and cut-up veggies) to everyone. We observe a turkey buzzard, we talk about silly things, Bekah tries to meet her quota for daily questions. I think she's set the bar high for herself--approximately 750,000--but she seems to be right on target.

When it is almost 5, we drive to the appointment. Typically I take Bekah and Doug elsewhere while Jeremy is in therapy. Today I'm trying to conserve on gas. In addition, it's still 8 bajillion degrees outside and I am wearing jeans. (I don't want to wear jeans but I am between sizes in clothing and so nothing without legs fits me very well.) I sweat like a man in all situations but even more so when it's 8 bajillion degrees outside and I have a 2-year-old (see yesterday's post for more information).

While at the appointment, Doug destroys one magazine, almost steals another lady's coffee, rearranges the welcome mat and Bekah almost manages to cut her finger off in the stand fan. Meanwhile, I have called Brian and asked him to meet me at LGCC. I still had to pay for dues and books and knew it would be impossible to do so while also monitoring Doug's behavior. Brian calls to tell me where he is. He asks if he should go to the church or somewhere else. I say, hmm...seems like you should come to the therapy place and meet Jeremy's OT. He pulls up just as Paula is about to go get her next appointment. I introduce them (as Jeremy and Bekah almost smash Doug's head while wrestling at the front door of the place) and then we head out.

(I should add that after picking Bekah up at preschool, it was readily apparent that she needed a nap. She doesn't nap as a general rule but I think going to preschool every day has been kicking her butt. She was weepy, angry and yelling at me on the way home from preschool. I thought she was okay but I think it was just foreshadowing of the storm that was brewing.)

We leave Brian's car at the therapy place. We drive as a family to LGCC. I take Jeremy and Bekah in to church because I still need to pay for them. I drop Bekah off. No problem (as expected). I take Jeremy to his side (Sparks).

There are moments, as a mom, when you just know that what comes after is not going to go well. I had a plan for tonight. Drop the kids off at AWANA, go home and cook soup for me and Brian. While soup is cooking, go for a run by myself. Wait at home for my parents to bring Jeremy and Bekah home. What followed was not at all what I planned.

Disorganization ruled the evening. They didn't have Jeremy's emergency contact form even though I had pre-registered him. They also didn't have his book or his vest. The name tags from last year were thrown, in a heap, onto the registration table. I was standing there, patiently, watching them set out vests on the second of two banquet-type tables. On my left, a woman walks up and says, "what, you're going to use my table?" I have no idea who this woman is and if she was being sarcastic or not but I immediately felt uncomfortable.

When we arrived, there were very few people around. As we waited by the registration table, there was a surge in the size of the crowd. The noise level started to go up. In response, Jeremy got loud. I placed my hand on his head (a technique we use to calm him down). He seemed okay. I filled out the paperwork, left my check and went to take him into the room where they start out.

There was only one other person in the room with their daughter. I told Jeremy that his friends would be there soon. I offered him a high five and he hesitated, motioning like he wanted a kiss. I gave him a kiss and then he seemed to want the high-five after all. I knelt down and gave him a big hug and a high-five. I told him that d'da and bubba would be picking him up, spun on my heel and left. I was eager to get out because there was a fever pitch of people, noise and chaos happening in the hallway. It was too much for me to handle and I have no sensory diagnosis.

I got into the van with Brian and we drove back to the therapy place. We arrived and I decided to take Brian's car. I was going to my parent's house. At LGCC, they have a card that you turn in to retrieve your child from Cubbies. If my parents were going to get Bekah, they needed that card. My plan was, go to my parent's house, drop off the card, go home, start the soup, go running while soup is cooking, wait for my mom and dad to bring the kids back.

As we're pulling up, though, my phone rings. It's one of my girlfriends. Apparently, Jeremy bolted from the class not long after I left. One of my friends found him upstairs, ready to leave. She did what she could to coax him back into the classroom but he was pretty adamant he wasn't going to go in there.

So what happened instead is I ditch all other plans and head back to the church. Jeremy is upstairs with Cara and is still pretty sure he doesn't want to participate. We head downstairs under the guise of retrieving his bag. Once in the room, I immediately understand why he's overwhelmed. There are (by the leaders' count) 40 kindergarten to second graders in a very small room. The kids all look like lost sheep and the leaders seem harried and overwhelmed. It's one of those rooms with awful acoustics, so that everything reverberates and makes even the most calm person bonkers.

They split the group (21 kids in one group, 19 in the other) and they send one group to the gym for games, one group to do a craft. We head upstairs for games. The one bright ray of sunshine is that there is a little girl from Jeremy's class in his AWANA group. They hold hands together going up the steps and when we get in the multipurpose room, they stand next to each other. I didn't realize her family attended that church (I don't know any parents from his class) and I feel like it was such a God thing that she was there tonight.

There are three male volunteers to do games with the kids and it's immediately apparent that they are out of their depth. Meanwhile, for reasons I don't understand, Jeremy found a small bag of birdseed in his AWANA bag and wants to hold it. While standing and listening to instructions for the games, the bag opens and birdseed falls out. This sends him into an emotional tailspin. Also, the leaders are telling the kids they should wear sneakers so they can run. We have one pair of sneakers for Jeremy right now and they are at school. Heinforms me that I need to go to kindergarten immediately and retrieve his sneakers. I tell him, calmly, that I can't but that we will get them for next week. That seems to satisfy him and so I sit down next to Cara and giggle about how many hands go up when the leaders ask if there are any questions. They meant were there any questions about the information they had just shared. They asked a group of young children if they had any questions and indeed, they do. They always do. Any semblance of order they had was lost in trying to answer all the inane questions. (Point kids.)

Now what happens is he is mostly fine but another little girl is emotional and wants her mom. As I don't attend LGCC, I have no idea who she is or who her mom is. Owing to Jeremy's momentary stability, I take the little girl on a hunt for her mom. I run into some friends on the way back up and sit down to talk with them. I keep checking on Jeremy and then realize I can't see him in the room. Additionally, they have started playing absolutely the worst game ever.

It's a game I played when I was younger (and probably in AWANA). You take a piece of yarn, tie one end to your ankle and the other end to a balloon. The object is to protect your balloon while popping everyone else's. To know Jeremy is to know that popping balloons causes him a great deal of anxiety. If it even appears that someone may be coming close to popping a balloon, he freaks out and either flings himself at said person (to get them to stop) or tries to wrest the balloon away from said person. Neither approach is ideal.

I talked to one of the leaders a week ago and let her know about Jeremy's issues. They assured me that they understood, that they could accommodate him, that they were capable. It took me a few minutes to find him tonight (which, why hadn't one of the leaders tried to find me or sit with him to keep an eye on him) and then he refused to go back to the side of the room where they were playing the game. Then, to make matters worse, his friend from kindergarten wanted to pop a balloon. The game was over and there was an errant balloon that she was trying, unsuccessfully, to pop.

Jeremy was heartsick about all of it. He had his hands over his ears and he was yelling her name, trying to get her not to pop it. She couldn't hear him yelling--that's how loud it was in the room--or she didn't understand that he was yelling at her. She tried a few different times, with the help of an adolescent helper, to pop it. Another friend of Jeremy's tried to help her. This all made it worse for Jeremy who was fighting to go get her or the balloon. I held him as tight as I could and just kept telling him that she didn't understand, she didn't understand. She had no idea how she was torturing him and he had no idea how to ask her to stop. It was painful to watch. To make matters worse, a few of the kids came over and asked me what was wrong with Jeremy. It's an innocent question and there was no malice but it's painful to hear. It means that the kids have figured out that Jeremy is different and I absolutely loathe that. He is such an outgoing, friendly, compassionate guy and I hate for him to have a handicap when it comes to making friends.

Next was craft time and the funniest thing about that was the sign on the wall indicating the room's capacity was 19. Just the amount of children was 21 and then there were 5-6 adults buzzing around. I felt like at any moment the fire marshall was going to bust in and make some of us leave. It was also not a great room for acoustics. I stayed with Jeremy because I was waiting on my parents. I couldn't take the kids home because I had no carseats in Brian's car. I physically couldn't take them. I figured it would be no problem to have d'da and bubba take them home. 

Well, I figured wrong. Getting out of AWANA was just as problematic as getting in. There was a throng of people trying to retrieve their Sparks and there was seemingly no organization for doing so. My dad was already having a stressful day and this pushed him over the edge. Meanwhile, now Bekah has decided she can't possibly go home apart from me. I try to explain to her that I can't take her home. I walk her to my parent's car and she (without exaggeration) is trying to grab onto anything so that she can hold on and resist my attempt to wedge her into their car. Literally, wedge her. She is using all of her available 4-year-old muscles to resist any attempt to put her into her seat. 

Finally, I walk away from that (leaving my dad to fight her into place) and back into the fray of pick-up. I need to find out about the kid's books. I re-enter the building and discover that they will be there next week. Now I'm ready to go home. I sit in the car talking on the phone to Brian for a good 20 minutes, then realize neither of us have eaten. A quick stop at Wendy's it is, even though we never eat there and we have a fridge full of food. It's one of the pitfalls of cooking from scratch--if you don't have a back-up plan and it's after 8, you either end up eating around 9 or you eat crap. Concurrently, I never got that run that I was hoping for. Double whammy of crappy food and low activity level. I hate it, especially on the heels of a weight gain. It seems to suck all of the wind out of my sails. 

All in all, I have incredible misgivings about continuing AWANA at LGCC (at least for Jeremy). Even though they told me they could handle him, it seems like they are severely understaffed or overbooked. I am going to give it a few more weeks and see if there are changes. If not, we'll probably just take the year off. Less than ideal but I don't know what else to do. 

And now for the sign off. I am going to go collapse into bed and start over tomorrow, maybe even with a run. 

Exhaustion

I am beyond tired right now, I'm not even joking. I want more than anything to be under the covers, watching Friends reruns on Nick at Nite and obsessively checking Facebook. (Which is even funnier when you consider that I'm sitting at my PC right now, blogging and checking Facebook.)

It was a better day today than yesterday. I am not sure how, but I am more physically exhausted since the kids started school. I thought, mistakenly, that I would have more free time with them in school. Unfortunately, that's not really been the case at all.

The problem is I've sent to school the two older kids and have kept the 2-year-old. And therein lies the rub. If you're not a parent to a 2-year-old (or it's been more than a few years since you've had one around), I will try to describe how Doug operates. Keep in mind that he is only talking minimally, so I'm spending a lot of time coaxing and encouraging him to use sign language where appropriate. Meanwhile, it's really like chasing a pinball around.

Doug is not interested in any one activity/item for more than a few seconds at a time. He doesn't want to sit down and color. Rather, he would like to take the crayon, walk over to my walls and start coloring there. A few strokes on one wall, a few strokes on another, maybe some on the kids Step 2 table for good measure. My pots and pans haven't lived in my cabinet for more than 2 days at a time. The lids and pots are in various locations around downstairs. Clean laundry gets tossed out of the basket, dirty laundry never makes it to the laundry room. He drinks out of sippy cups and those get deposited in random locations (most recently the air vents) and left for various periods of time.

If I take Doug someplace outside the home, forget trying to have an adult conversation with anyone. I am lucky if I get to stand in one place for more than a few minutes. I can't take him (uncontained) into any place that has breakable items. I can't really let him walk in public places because if I attempt to hold his hand, he throws a tantrum and then has to be carried. For someone who was once classified as Failure to Thrive, he's a hefty boy. I can't carry him and complete any tasks. If I'm holding on to him, nothing else is getting done and I have to leave said location before the big meltdown happens.

If we're at home, I must have a line of sight on Doug at all times. Even today, I turned my back for a few minutes to work on a batch of bread. I saw him climb onto the Step 2 table (a frequent occurrence). When I turned back around, he had pulled out the drawer in our entertainment center that holds movies (the top drawer) and was standing on top of that. I'm not worried about the TV falling on him but I am worried that the drawer will give out, spilling both Doug and the movies all over the floor.

Doug is a crafty boy. If I've left the door to the powder room open, I will sooner rather than later either hear the splish splash of his hand in the toilet or see him emerge from the bathroom with the plunger in his hand. If I forget to fasten the child lock on the cabinet with my Corningware in it, I will soon hear the clank of glass on glass as he rearranges the contents of the cabinet. If I don't lock the recycle bin, I will find him curiously removing and examining the contents. If I've forgotten to put the gate up at the bottom of the stairs, I will soon hear things clanking around upstairs.

In short, having lost my junior supervisors to school, I am now realizing how active my 2-year-old is. When they are around, he is more likely to play with toys, he is more likely to be found out sooner, he is less likely to get away with as much. I am expending a crazy amount of energy just trying to follow my little human pinball around. It's probably why I'm losing weight so effectively--not only am I doing my 1-hour (sometimes plus) work-outs, I'm spending the remainder of my time in constant motion keeping up with him.

Luckily, (and honestly I think by design), Doug is incredibly cute. He is talking more and more every day and has taken to saying things I say to him all the time like "hi-ya," which is what I say when I pick him up unexpectedly, "whoa," when he sees something cool, "wook," when he is pointing to something, and "mamama," when someone redirects him. He gives open-mouthed, drooly kisses. He loves to snuggle into me when I pick him up from naps. He gets jealous if I'm loving on his brother or sister. He roars like a dinosaur for almost every animal. He tries to wipe up after himself if he's spilled something (as he did when he knocked over my glass of iced tea after climbing--unnoticed--onto our dining room table).

Now excuse me while I try to rest up for tomorrow's round of human pinball.

No Stone Unturned

I was born in Chicago and lived there for about three years. I moved from there to Belvidere and lived there for about five years. From there we settled for a while in Streamwood, and that's where I'll pick up my story. 

When we moved to Streamwood, my dad was not attending church. I never really asked him what was going on, I just know for a period of time he didn't attend with us. My mom, though, hunted out a church for us. We found a church named Our Redeemer Free Methodist in Elgin. 

They were about ready to plant a church in Streamwood. Parkside Free Methodist church met for a while in an elementary school. Our pastor was Rick Alf and we were a small, tight-knit congregation. 

I am a bit fuzzy on the timeline, but at some point after we began attending the Stones (not Rolling) also began attending. Jim, the patriarch, was a quiet man. He was a mechanic, adept with his hands but not one to be called chatty. His wife Liz and my mom became quick friends. She sewed and stayed home with the kids. Mary Beth was the oldest, about two years older than I. I have met many, many people over my life and I can say, without equivocation, that Mary Beth is one of the sweetest-tempered women in the world. She never had many cross words to share and loved everyone who came across her path. 

There were two boys, Jimmy--my age--and John--my brother's age. Maybe Jimmy was a year older (again, fuzzy memory) and John a year younger. They were a handful from what I remember. John had an easy smile (still does). Jimmy always seemed to have a dark cloud following him around. It's possible I had a crush on him at some point (honestly, I had a crush on most of my male peers at one time or another). Josh came along several years later and I only really ever knew him in the context of being a kid. 

It was pretty natural that I would hang with MaryBeth and her brothers. I was intimidated by how pretty she was. She was just so sweet and easygoing, neither of which came naturally to me. We would get together as a church and I would gravitate to her and her brothers. 

Pastor Rick got called to a church in Texas and Mark Adams took his place. We decided to move into a storefront and out of the school. Over the next few years, our numbers declined. We had a small youth group (run by Donna Wagnaar and her husband Shane) and the Stones continued to be a fixture at the church. My dad started, at some point in the transition from the school to the storefront, to attend church again. He and Mark were close and I know he attended retreats with some of the men at Sky Lodge Christian Camp, the Free Methodist church in Wisconsin. 

Then came a painful time. We decided as a congregation to close our doors. Most of the congregation decided to start attending Our Redeemer again. We went on a multi-year hunt for a new church (during which my dad again stopped attending). 

It's at this point that I lost touch with the Stones. We had moved from Streamwood to Elgin and so I didn't end up going to high school with them. This was pre-Facebook and MySpace, email was limited and I didn't drive. I struggled to fit in with the youth group of the church where we finally landed. It was tough to squeeze into a group where bonds had been forged for years (much like mine had been at Parkside). 

From time to time, the ladies of Parkside would get together for a reunion. My mom and her girlfriends would go to someone's house, have coffee and catch up on what was happening. I would get snippets of information about MaryBeth and her brothers. 

It's through this information tree that I found out Mr Stone had passed away. My mom called me on Wednesday night to let me know about the wake. It hit close to home for me because he was 63. My dad is about to turn 60. My parents are young, really, but to hear about someone else's dad passing away and there only being a 3 1/2 year age difference is spooky.

Mr Stone was a diabetic and I found out from MaryBeth he knew and was on top of managing his diabetes. He was unaware, however, that he had severe blockages in his major arteries. I was happy to discover that he spent the day he had his heart attack with his family. They were celebrating Jimmy's birthday and had just recently vacationed in the Smoky Mountains together. We all knew he was in a much happier place, even though that doesn't erase the heartache of not having your loved one nearby. 

True confession time for me. I am 35 but still a spoiled brat sometimes. I live about 5 minutes away from my parents and they are an immense support to me and my family, both emotionally and physically. We attend church with them, we see them twice a week, they take the kids on Tuesday night most weeks so that Brian and I can attend a meeting. 

I therefore feel bad that I hate their hobby because it seems to take them away from us. They took ballroom dancing lessons several years ago and really loved it. Since then, they discovered that there are whole weekends revolving around ballroom dancing. (Please don't think my parents are like the competitors on DWTS. Picture seniors in semi-formal wear, like at a prom.) 

My parents are not athletes but they get a good workout doing the dancing. I resent the dancing for stupid, selfish, self-centered reasons. They have always tried to impress on me the importance of building a relationship with my husband. I know that it is important and while Brian and I don't go out on dates a lot together, we do spend time cultivating our relationship. 

The pressure of three young ones makes me want more help from my parents. I know I'm selfish to want more from them and I have worked to not ask for more from them. What I will say, after attending the wake last night is I am grateful my parents carve out time together to dance. 

I am grateful because I would rather be away from them for a weekend than the rest of my life. I'm no fool, the odds are high that I will outlive them (not vice versa). I know they are young and the end is not nigh, but there's no guarantees in life. We are not given anything more than today. 

Driving home with my dad, we talked about everything and nothing. I wanted to give him a hug or spend time telling him how much he means to me, but I also didn't want to burst into tears. I love my dad a lot, I always have. One of the benefits of having a small blog with squiggly focus (meaning it's not about a specific thing or business or whatever) is that I can, in a meandering way, sing the praises I have for my dad. He is the person who started me down the blogging path. He is my cheerleader, encourager, supporter and tireless advocate. 

I didn't know Mr Stone well enough to speak to his relationship with his kids. But I saw him in pictures yesterday and I saw the love he had for his wife, his kids and his grand kids. He wasn't a ham or showy, but the twinkle in his eyes and the smile on his face spoke volumes. Everyone is going to miss him, that is for sure. I stood with MaryBeth as she studied him in the casket. She started crying and I teared up as well. We both knew that he was not there, that he left the moment he had the heart attack. I still could understand the heartache of being ripped away unexpectedly from someone you love, the person who gave you life. There are no words that can patch that wound. 

I imagine the next few days will speed by because there are people all around. It seems like the family is tight-knit and I hope that as the months pass, they will continue to lean on each other. Oddly enough, John lives near where I live and our kids attend the same school! I hope to see more of him and also hear more about his brothers and sisters. 

Meanwhile, I will continue to make sure my parents dance, dance, dance. I will make sure I give them plenty of hugs and kisses, tell them how much I love them and remember that I am not the center of their universe. And really, thank God for that.