I know exactly how it happened. And were it not for my current condition, it wouldn't have been a big deal. My Dansko-clad left foot somehow landed crooked on the pavement and my ankle turned. I could see my bags dropping to the ground in slow motion in front of me. My right elbow hit first and then my right hip. Hard. By the grace of God I managed to avoid the all-important mid-section. But there I sat. On my ass in the parking garage. I imagine watching a hugely (and I do mean hugely) pregnant girl try to right herself into a standing position is a bit like watching a turtle try to flip back over when it finds itself upside down.
The whole 2 seconds it took to go from walking to....that....seemed more like an eternity. "This is not happening....This is NOT happening!....Oh. Crap. That. Just. Happened."
Fortunately, for my pride's sake, no one saw. (I have since been reminded that we have cameras in the parking garage. Awesome.) The day started out SO well! I was late because I had just had the wonderful privilege of attending my little boy's first ever awards ceremony. And for some unknown and most likely illogical reason, I felt the need to hurry once I got to work. So I walked fast....and tripped over nothing....on flat pavement.
I gathered my things as quickly as I could...leaving the crucial coinage (quarters, dimes, nickles) that spilled from my open purse on the ground. Completely embarrassed even though no one was watching, I continued on to my office....and started panicking. I tried calling my doctor's office and could not get a live body on the phone. After a few very impatient minutes I just decided to head over there. I started trying to call on the way and on the second try I got exactly who I needed to talk to. Joy, the head nurse. She loves me. :) She told me to come on in and they would check on baby.
I got to see everyone I needed to see to give me peace and let me know all was okay. My favorite nurse. The nurse practioner/midwife. My beloved doctor. I got to have a full extra visit. And when my doctor asked me what happened, I told her that I fell because I was walking too fast. She said "Stop that." ....Sometimes I just need to be told.
I love hearing the sound of my baby's heartbeat, but yesterday it was especially sweet. She was fine. Actually, I think my fall woke her up. She was a good girl and continued to let me know throughout the day that she was still there and still wiggly.
My arm, hip, back, and neck hate me today. And rightfully so. But I ditched my Danskos in favor of bright green Chucks this morning. And I made it into the building just fine....nice and slow. :)
Friday, October 28, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Anyone Know the Words to Unhappy Birthday?
I cleaned off the breakfast room table and arranged the chairs so they were evenly spaced. I put away the laundry that had piled up and sat there waiting for someone to walk it upstairs. Wiped down the counter and the stove of the remnants of the morning's breakfast.
He hadn't been asleep as early as I had hoped so my post-bedtime trip to the store for supplies had been delayed and I was tired. But everything seemed to be in order. He would be up in just a few hours. The small but colorful balloons arranged together, their plastic stems cut to differing lengths so they appeared "more". The tall carafe was perfect to hold them in place. Bright green ribbon tied around its neck and curled in large sweeping swirls that puddled on the table. "Happy Birthday" banner hung from the window once and then again to make sure it was centered.
I woke J up early to come downstairs and be ready for when our little newly-turned-six-year-old descended the stairs on his birthday morning. The candles, six of them in white with flecks of multi-colored glitter, were tucked carefully into his waffles and lighted just as I went upstairs to wake my birthday boy.
And that's where everything went wrong....
Wes had it in his mind....the vision of his perfect birthday. He had instructed us to be standing by the table when he came down for breakfast. And we were to be prepared to sing to him. Slowly, not fast. I could tell he wanted to savor his moment of specialness. (Don't we all?)
Problem is, he forgot that in order to get to that point in his plan, mommy needed to wake him up. And so his special day was ruined from the very beginning.
I woke him as gently and cheerfully as I possibly could and still ensure that he woke up. This only made him angry. He seemed to not understand that he no longer has the luxury of sleeping until he wakes up on his own. He's a kindergartener now.
So he kicked me. And yelled at me. And was all around unpleasant.
When he finally came downstairs, it just got worse. He saw the candles flickering on the table and burst into tears. This was not what he had envisioned. He wanted a cake. And a bouncy house. And a party. At 6:30 in the morning.
He didn't understand that we couldn't do any of the specific things he wanted on a Tuesday....a school day. But aside from his lack of understanding, he was also outright unreasonable.
I slipped into the half-bath and cried. I tried so hard. So hard to make this day special, to give him something special. And he kicked me. And yelled at me. And told me it was all wrong.
I quietly got him ready for school. Cleared away his uneaten waffles. Zipped his jacket and took him to school. My day was ruined, too.
I talked to my mom later in the morning and told her what a terrible morning we'd had. She, who loves my child more than anything else in this world, said "I'm sorry your kid is an ungrateful butt. I've been there." She said this while laughing, of course. I quickly apologized for all the times I had been an ungrateful butt.
And then I realized something else. I wonder if God ever wants to slip into the half-bath when His children are ungrateful butts....
How many times has He given me something special....a day, an hour, a gift, a friend....only to have me kick Him and yell and tell Him it wasn't what I wanted? It wasn't what I had envisioned and therefore was ruined and not at all perfect??
I suddenly decided to forgive my child. He is, after all, only six. (And at this point I make myself laugh, envisioning God saying "She is, after all, only thirty-five.")....
Today will become tomorrow and it won't be a birthday anymore. At least not in our house. But we can be grateful for it just the same. And we can celebrate. Because each day that we have here, together, is worth celebrating. Sometimes we forget that.
He hadn't been asleep as early as I had hoped so my post-bedtime trip to the store for supplies had been delayed and I was tired. But everything seemed to be in order. He would be up in just a few hours. The small but colorful balloons arranged together, their plastic stems cut to differing lengths so they appeared "more". The tall carafe was perfect to hold them in place. Bright green ribbon tied around its neck and curled in large sweeping swirls that puddled on the table. "Happy Birthday" banner hung from the window once and then again to make sure it was centered.
I woke J up early to come downstairs and be ready for when our little newly-turned-six-year-old descended the stairs on his birthday morning. The candles, six of them in white with flecks of multi-colored glitter, were tucked carefully into his waffles and lighted just as I went upstairs to wake my birthday boy.
And that's where everything went wrong....
Wes had it in his mind....the vision of his perfect birthday. He had instructed us to be standing by the table when he came down for breakfast. And we were to be prepared to sing to him. Slowly, not fast. I could tell he wanted to savor his moment of specialness. (Don't we all?)
Problem is, he forgot that in order to get to that point in his plan, mommy needed to wake him up. And so his special day was ruined from the very beginning.
I woke him as gently and cheerfully as I possibly could and still ensure that he woke up. This only made him angry. He seemed to not understand that he no longer has the luxury of sleeping until he wakes up on his own. He's a kindergartener now.
So he kicked me. And yelled at me. And was all around unpleasant.
When he finally came downstairs, it just got worse. He saw the candles flickering on the table and burst into tears. This was not what he had envisioned. He wanted a cake. And a bouncy house. And a party. At 6:30 in the morning.
He didn't understand that we couldn't do any of the specific things he wanted on a Tuesday....a school day. But aside from his lack of understanding, he was also outright unreasonable.
I slipped into the half-bath and cried. I tried so hard. So hard to make this day special, to give him something special. And he kicked me. And yelled at me. And told me it was all wrong.
I quietly got him ready for school. Cleared away his uneaten waffles. Zipped his jacket and took him to school. My day was ruined, too.
I talked to my mom later in the morning and told her what a terrible morning we'd had. She, who loves my child more than anything else in this world, said "I'm sorry your kid is an ungrateful butt. I've been there." She said this while laughing, of course. I quickly apologized for all the times I had been an ungrateful butt.
And then I realized something else. I wonder if God ever wants to slip into the half-bath when His children are ungrateful butts....
How many times has He given me something special....a day, an hour, a gift, a friend....only to have me kick Him and yell and tell Him it wasn't what I wanted? It wasn't what I had envisioned and therefore was ruined and not at all perfect??
I suddenly decided to forgive my child. He is, after all, only six. (And at this point I make myself laugh, envisioning God saying "She is, after all, only thirty-five.")....
Today will become tomorrow and it won't be a birthday anymore. At least not in our house. But we can be grateful for it just the same. And we can celebrate. Because each day that we have here, together, is worth celebrating. Sometimes we forget that.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Worth Watching
Some of you know why I love this song and how it is so special to me....but this brings it into a whole new perspective....a twist that a parent could never fathom and prays they never have to. Please link over and watch this precious video and then join me in praying for Grayson. I don't know him, but my sweet friend Gia does. To anyone else he might seem like "just" another little boy. 5 years old. But he is his mama's whole world. Her sunshine. And he's sick with leukemia. Jesus heal....
http://www.whenskiesaregray.com/?p=59
I don't actually know how to create a clickable link here....so please cut and paste into your browser. And if someone wants to teach me how to do this, I'd greatly appreciate it. Here's the video, but please go read the original author's post. It's important.
http://www.whenskiesaregray.com/?p=59
I don't actually know how to create a clickable link here....so please cut and paste into your browser. And if someone wants to teach me how to do this, I'd greatly appreciate it. Here's the video, but please go read the original author's post. It's important.
Grayson--When Skies are Gray from Kristy Lane on Vimeo.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Stretch Marks
Seven months in and I'm already bigger than the day I gave birth to Wes. Why I thought anything would be the same this time, I don't know. Nothing ever is.
The differences are many. And precious.
We stretch to accommodate those we love. Sometimes they leave marks. We can't always remember the instant one mark appeared. But we can remember the time, place, circumstance, or happening in the grand scheme. A feeling. A week. A month. Or maybe just a year. One sliver of time that makes up the whole of our lives.
Over time they fade. Or multiply. Just depends on how accommodating we allow ourselves to be.
Since my little boy started kindergarten, I've found a new purpose for myself. These past few years of self-focus have come back around to show me that life is so much prettier....fuller, brighter....when focused on those I love.
Returning to school was good for me. I learned how to write again with the ink of my own voice. That alone was worth everything.
My initial panic at the thought of having to sit out another semester or two on my long and winding path toward that hollow and yet yearned for degree has been replaced with peace. Having another child is not an interruption. It's a continuation. A surprise blessing I never thought I would get to experience again.
I am nowhere near ready for her arrival. She has a big room, a wonderful room in our big and wonderful new house. It sits empty, save for the crib that lies on the floor in pieces and the rocker that my sweet friend so graciously passed on to me. I can see the fluid finish of what will be the mere beginning of her room in my mind. Peaceful and full of love. It's not there yet. But it will be.
If her walls are not the exact shade of turquoise I envision on the day she arrives, it will be okay. We can grow into her room together.
There will be time for me to return to the things I loved before. Reading. Writing. Lifting loaded bars and learning to run faster. But those things can be done in the dark of night, after I have tucked my children into bed with kisses and blessings for sweet and peaceful slumber. After I have looked into their eyes and witnessed their sparkle as they tell me they love me and mean it from the very depths of their hearts. After I have promised them from the very depths of mine that out of all the little kids in the world, I really did get the very best ones. After we have practiced our nightly readings of "Go, Dog, Go!" and "Brave Little Bear." And after I have rubbed their backs and watched their little bodies rise and fall with each sweet and restful breath.
And if after each day that has begun in the still dark of morning, making hot breakfast for my little family, preparing and packing lunches, creating the perfect cup of coffee for my husband, delivering my boy to school and my girl to Grandma's, working through the day, gathering them up again in time for dinner, playtime, bath and bedtime routines....if then I find that time for myself is cut short, I know I can stretch and accommodate. It's not that hard to do for those we love.
The differences are many. And precious.
We stretch to accommodate those we love. Sometimes they leave marks. We can't always remember the instant one mark appeared. But we can remember the time, place, circumstance, or happening in the grand scheme. A feeling. A week. A month. Or maybe just a year. One sliver of time that makes up the whole of our lives.
Over time they fade. Or multiply. Just depends on how accommodating we allow ourselves to be.
Since my little boy started kindergarten, I've found a new purpose for myself. These past few years of self-focus have come back around to show me that life is so much prettier....fuller, brighter....when focused on those I love.
Returning to school was good for me. I learned how to write again with the ink of my own voice. That alone was worth everything.
My initial panic at the thought of having to sit out another semester or two on my long and winding path toward that hollow and yet yearned for degree has been replaced with peace. Having another child is not an interruption. It's a continuation. A surprise blessing I never thought I would get to experience again.
I am nowhere near ready for her arrival. She has a big room, a wonderful room in our big and wonderful new house. It sits empty, save for the crib that lies on the floor in pieces and the rocker that my sweet friend so graciously passed on to me. I can see the fluid finish of what will be the mere beginning of her room in my mind. Peaceful and full of love. It's not there yet. But it will be.
If her walls are not the exact shade of turquoise I envision on the day she arrives, it will be okay. We can grow into her room together.
There will be time for me to return to the things I loved before. Reading. Writing. Lifting loaded bars and learning to run faster. But those things can be done in the dark of night, after I have tucked my children into bed with kisses and blessings for sweet and peaceful slumber. After I have looked into their eyes and witnessed their sparkle as they tell me they love me and mean it from the very depths of their hearts. After I have promised them from the very depths of mine that out of all the little kids in the world, I really did get the very best ones. After we have practiced our nightly readings of "Go, Dog, Go!" and "Brave Little Bear." And after I have rubbed their backs and watched their little bodies rise and fall with each sweet and restful breath.
And if after each day that has begun in the still dark of morning, making hot breakfast for my little family, preparing and packing lunches, creating the perfect cup of coffee for my husband, delivering my boy to school and my girl to Grandma's, working through the day, gathering them up again in time for dinner, playtime, bath and bedtime routines....if then I find that time for myself is cut short, I know I can stretch and accommodate. It's not that hard to do for those we love.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
The First Day is the Hardest, Right???
I got back in the car and shut the door just before the first few pitiful squeaks escaped from my mouth. You know, the kind that attempt to prevent but only precede uncontrollable sobbing? I expected to be teary eyed, sad and proud at the same time. Maybe have a little lip quiver going. But I wasn't exactly prepared for the wash of sheer emotion on my little boy's first day of kindergarten. The tears that started last Friday and have yet to stop. Over the weekend I thought "Oh, good. I'll get it out now and will be just fine for Monday morning drop-off."
Nope. Didn't work like that. Outwardly, I'm not a hyper-emotional being with raw, exposed edges and a super sensitive tear faucet. But this was unlike anything I have ever experienced. And I wouldn't change any of it.
I took the day off work, just to be there to walk him into the cafeteria to meet his class. And to walk slowly back to the car. To enjoy the hours of the day as they ticked by. To look at the clock and check his schedule and know what he was doing each and every minute.
Those minutes seemed to creep. At one point I thought he must be getting ready for lunch, only to look at the clock and see that it wasn't even out of the neighborhood of 9:00 a.m. How could this big day be going so slowly?
I resisted the urge to drive past the school multiple times throughout the day. I'm not really "that" mom...except that I sort of am....at least on the inside. I want so much to shepherd him through his day, just to be there and know that he's okay and he's not nervous like his mama is. I don't want to do everything for him....I really don't. I just can't stand the thought of him being lost or confused or nervous or afraid to ask questions. Afraid to use the restroom by himself because the door is difficult to open and he might get stuck.
After school on the first day, he asked me if I had cried. (Once I cry, my face does not go back to normal for at least 12 hours....I bring literal meaning to the term "ugly cry"....so it's not surprising that he asked.) I told him I did and asked him if he did, too. He said "No, but my heart was beating like I missed you." The way he held his little hand against his chest and pounded it with thumping demonstration made the still lingering lump in my throat ache all over again. I must have sobbed in the bathroom five times that night.
Yesterday, I walked him to meet his class in the cafeteria and again began my slow but deliberate trudge back to the car. I prayed for his day, for his safekeeping, for his little heart to be just fine this day. I prayed for good friends for him and for no one to mock him because he wears glasses and is colorblind. "Lord, help me..." The words "to let him grow up" stuck in my throat. I couldn't yet speak them. So I just nodded my head and He knew what I meant.
Today I'm wearing a Cars band-aid across my forearm that my little man stuck there to protect me from the flu. He takes care of his mama. And I will pull myself together and take care of him. In front of him I remain enthusiastic, celebrating each red star he earns on his take-home folder. While he sleeps I whisper prayers of love and protection over him, pleading for extra help as we make this childhood transition together.
Nothing could have prepared me for this rush of emotions this week. I know I'm hormonal, but still. He's my baby. My miracle. And we will get through this first week of kindergarten. I will find the right schedule that allows each of us to bathe, eat, enjoy clean clothes and sheets, do homework, fill out forms, check calendars, get to school, get to work, get back home and get into bed at a semi-decent hour. But this week is about survival. And if he can do it, I know I can. The band-aid helps.
Nope. Didn't work like that. Outwardly, I'm not a hyper-emotional being with raw, exposed edges and a super sensitive tear faucet. But this was unlike anything I have ever experienced. And I wouldn't change any of it.
I took the day off work, just to be there to walk him into the cafeteria to meet his class. And to walk slowly back to the car. To enjoy the hours of the day as they ticked by. To look at the clock and check his schedule and know what he was doing each and every minute.
Those minutes seemed to creep. At one point I thought he must be getting ready for lunch, only to look at the clock and see that it wasn't even out of the neighborhood of 9:00 a.m. How could this big day be going so slowly?
I resisted the urge to drive past the school multiple times throughout the day. I'm not really "that" mom...except that I sort of am....at least on the inside. I want so much to shepherd him through his day, just to be there and know that he's okay and he's not nervous like his mama is. I don't want to do everything for him....I really don't. I just can't stand the thought of him being lost or confused or nervous or afraid to ask questions. Afraid to use the restroom by himself because the door is difficult to open and he might get stuck.
After school on the first day, he asked me if I had cried. (Once I cry, my face does not go back to normal for at least 12 hours....I bring literal meaning to the term "ugly cry"....so it's not surprising that he asked.) I told him I did and asked him if he did, too. He said "No, but my heart was beating like I missed you." The way he held his little hand against his chest and pounded it with thumping demonstration made the still lingering lump in my throat ache all over again. I must have sobbed in the bathroom five times that night.
Yesterday, I walked him to meet his class in the cafeteria and again began my slow but deliberate trudge back to the car. I prayed for his day, for his safekeeping, for his little heart to be just fine this day. I prayed for good friends for him and for no one to mock him because he wears glasses and is colorblind. "Lord, help me..." The words "to let him grow up" stuck in my throat. I couldn't yet speak them. So I just nodded my head and He knew what I meant.
Today I'm wearing a Cars band-aid across my forearm that my little man stuck there to protect me from the flu. He takes care of his mama. And I will pull myself together and take care of him. In front of him I remain enthusiastic, celebrating each red star he earns on his take-home folder. While he sleeps I whisper prayers of love and protection over him, pleading for extra help as we make this childhood transition together.
Nothing could have prepared me for this rush of emotions this week. I know I'm hormonal, but still. He's my baby. My miracle. And we will get through this first week of kindergarten. I will find the right schedule that allows each of us to bathe, eat, enjoy clean clothes and sheets, do homework, fill out forms, check calendars, get to school, get to work, get back home and get into bed at a semi-decent hour. But this week is about survival. And if he can do it, I know I can. The band-aid helps.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Me & My Big House
I love my new house. Love it. And I'm so glad God didn't allow us to settle for the several that we liked but didn't love. To us, this house is HUGE. I didn't think I would miss our little house, but I did....at first. I was comfortable there. Small houses have always been my thing. I like the cozy feel of having everyone close by, the comfort of knowing that if a window breaks during the dark of night, I will hear it. In the new house? Not so much....
Moving from 1,292 square feet of cozy to nearly 2,600 square feet of sprawling was a shock to me. I don't have enough furniture to fill all of this space. Not that I'm complaining....this is really starting to feel like home. We're still living out of boxes. Still trying to figure out the best way to cool the upstairs. Still replacing light fixtures and installing ceiling fans. How this house went so long without ceiling fans is beyond me....
I'm still cursing the stairs every time I have to haul my pregnant self up them. Turns out that bear crawling is a rather efficient way of traveling upward, especially if you're currently top-heavy. I will one day love these stairs for the awesome legs they will give me (aided of course by a return to CrossFit). But for now, I reserve the right to mutter bad words to myself each and every time we meet.
The dog has also had a difficult time with the stairs. I should give him more of a break. He's 10 years old, after all. And large. And spoiled. And I so should have known not to leave him alone with an all access pass to the house just hours after he was first introduced, and not all that properly. I decided to make a grocery run and truly didn't think anything of leaving him alone in a strange house. He's trained, well-behaved, a member of the family....Yeah. Bad, bad move.
Wes and I returned home to find that Gunther had climbed the stairs, panicked about getting back down, and then SHAT.ALL.OVER.BABY'S.ROOM....ALL.OVER. I don't mean a nice little pile of good, solid poo. I mean nasty, runny, nervous as all get out, my family has left me and I'm stuck upstairs poo. ALL.OVER.THE.ROOM.
I stood in the doorway and just cried. Jason came home and I went downstairs to greet him....and stood in the doorway and just cried. Bless that man for knowing his way around a full bottle of Folex and a powerful shop vac.
We now know to block the stairs when we leave. I love my house. Now I just need a good steam cleaner....
Moving from 1,292 square feet of cozy to nearly 2,600 square feet of sprawling was a shock to me. I don't have enough furniture to fill all of this space. Not that I'm complaining....this is really starting to feel like home. We're still living out of boxes. Still trying to figure out the best way to cool the upstairs. Still replacing light fixtures and installing ceiling fans. How this house went so long without ceiling fans is beyond me....
I'm still cursing the stairs every time I have to haul my pregnant self up them. Turns out that bear crawling is a rather efficient way of traveling upward, especially if you're currently top-heavy. I will one day love these stairs for the awesome legs they will give me (aided of course by a return to CrossFit). But for now, I reserve the right to mutter bad words to myself each and every time we meet.
The dog has also had a difficult time with the stairs. I should give him more of a break. He's 10 years old, after all. And large. And spoiled. And I so should have known not to leave him alone with an all access pass to the house just hours after he was first introduced, and not all that properly. I decided to make a grocery run and truly didn't think anything of leaving him alone in a strange house. He's trained, well-behaved, a member of the family....Yeah. Bad, bad move.
Wes and I returned home to find that Gunther had climbed the stairs, panicked about getting back down, and then SHAT.ALL.OVER.BABY'S.ROOM....ALL.OVER. I don't mean a nice little pile of good, solid poo. I mean nasty, runny, nervous as all get out, my family has left me and I'm stuck upstairs poo. ALL.OVER.THE.ROOM.
I stood in the doorway and just cried. Jason came home and I went downstairs to greet him....and stood in the doorway and just cried. Bless that man for knowing his way around a full bottle of Folex and a powerful shop vac.
We now know to block the stairs when we leave. I love my house. Now I just need a good steam cleaner....
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Ink Stains & Permanent Regrets
I think a common misconception about depression is that it doesn't actually hurt. Oh contraire...It hurts a lot. It's not just tears and sadness. It's pain. Pain that no medication can truly touch. Dull the edges, maybe. But make it "better"? No way.
I'm fortunate that I can consider myself a survivor of depression. A casualty that didn't stay down. For a very long time, too long, I let that demon have me.
"Normal" people (that's what I like to call them) seem to think that one can walk away from depression bearing no physical scars or signs of wear. I beg to differ. Wounds glossed over, un-stitched, hidden, covered, unspoken. The remains of your life, unmatched and scattered. Maybe it's not what the illness does to us so much as what it causes us to do to ourselves.
I don't usually show people my scar....the one I commissioned and paid for and had placed over my left shoulder....on the same side as my heart but behind me thinking no one would see. I'm not proud of it.
When your heart and mind are clouded, sometimes you don't think about what may lie ahead. If there even is anything ahead. Something better. Anything better. If you will ever be better.
The tattoo that served as her burial ground....the one I thought would make me feel better....or make me feel pain....or something, anything....will have to be seen on my sister's wedding day. That beautiful dress, a berry shade of wine, so pretty by itself, doesn't hide that painful scar. I hate it now. It's no longer a symbol of love or remembrance for me. It's a symbol of sickness and self-hatred. Punishment for something I couldn't prevent. An internal struggle that seeps through my skin.
It's a scar. The remnants of a battle fought unwillingly. It's just ink to some. Red and black, purple, green, and blue. But to me it's a bruise that won't fade. A reminder not of the baby I thought it represented, but of the subsequent sickness that nearly took me down.
In a way, I guess it can also be a reminder of grace. A reminder that once you're down, you don't have to stay there. Sometimes you have to wait it out. But you can get back up. And you can bare your scars when necessary.
I'm fortunate that I can consider myself a survivor of depression. A casualty that didn't stay down. For a very long time, too long, I let that demon have me.
"Normal" people (that's what I like to call them) seem to think that one can walk away from depression bearing no physical scars or signs of wear. I beg to differ. Wounds glossed over, un-stitched, hidden, covered, unspoken. The remains of your life, unmatched and scattered. Maybe it's not what the illness does to us so much as what it causes us to do to ourselves.
I don't usually show people my scar....the one I commissioned and paid for and had placed over my left shoulder....on the same side as my heart but behind me thinking no one would see. I'm not proud of it.
When your heart and mind are clouded, sometimes you don't think about what may lie ahead. If there even is anything ahead. Something better. Anything better. If you will ever be better.
The tattoo that served as her burial ground....the one I thought would make me feel better....or make me feel pain....or something, anything....will have to be seen on my sister's wedding day. That beautiful dress, a berry shade of wine, so pretty by itself, doesn't hide that painful scar. I hate it now. It's no longer a symbol of love or remembrance for me. It's a symbol of sickness and self-hatred. Punishment for something I couldn't prevent. An internal struggle that seeps through my skin.
It's a scar. The remnants of a battle fought unwillingly. It's just ink to some. Red and black, purple, green, and blue. But to me it's a bruise that won't fade. A reminder not of the baby I thought it represented, but of the subsequent sickness that nearly took me down.
In a way, I guess it can also be a reminder of grace. A reminder that once you're down, you don't have to stay there. Sometimes you have to wait it out. But you can get back up. And you can bare your scars when necessary.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
20 Days and Counting
Yesterday I told Wes that we only had 20 days left until school starts. He smiled with some relief and said "Oh. Okay." I asked if he was excited. "I'm not excited, but I'm happy for the 20 days....it means I still have time to grow up."
My baby! His precious little five-year-old mind has been worried that he has to grow up before kindergarten. I hate that I can't always make his worries go away. And I hate that I didn't realize this even was a worry.
So much he will have to do on his own. I wonder if he will ask for help when he needs it, or just pretend to know what he's doing the way I always did.
I wonder if his little hands will figure out how to hold the scissors and if he will be brave and make conversation with his table mates. I wonder how he will choose his seat at the lunch table....and if he'll remember how to open his hot lunch container.
I wonder if the things he learned in pre-school will come back to him. So many things seem to have been lost over the summer. But maybe that's because he's had one last opportunity to live care-free.
It seems unfair. That the last opportunity we have to be care-free ends when we're five.
20 days left until we have to grow up. Maybe I'll figure out how by then, too. Maybe I can show him how to hold the scissors. And maybe he can show me how to be brave.
My baby! His precious little five-year-old mind has been worried that he has to grow up before kindergarten. I hate that I can't always make his worries go away. And I hate that I didn't realize this even was a worry.
So much he will have to do on his own. I wonder if he will ask for help when he needs it, or just pretend to know what he's doing the way I always did.
I wonder if his little hands will figure out how to hold the scissors and if he will be brave and make conversation with his table mates. I wonder how he will choose his seat at the lunch table....and if he'll remember how to open his hot lunch container.
I wonder if the things he learned in pre-school will come back to him. So many things seem to have been lost over the summer. But maybe that's because he's had one last opportunity to live care-free.
It seems unfair. That the last opportunity we have to be care-free ends when we're five.
20 days left until we have to grow up. Maybe I'll figure out how by then, too. Maybe I can show him how to hold the scissors. And maybe he can show me how to be brave.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Sittin' in the mornin' sun....
It's summer and I want to read Like Water for Chocolate again. It has to be the heat. Summer...a time of rest for some but a time of work for me. It's good work, don't get me wrong. But it's still work. I would be grateful for a little rest. Maybe a day or four spent on the beach, freshly polished toes in the sand and coconut oil slathered on shoulders that cry out for a kiss from the sun. A light shade of brown to replace the darker shade of pale on my legs and just enough sunshine to turn the ends of my hair red. Pandora app tuned to Otis Redding, Cowboy Junkies, Allman Brothers, Mazzy Star and whatever other eclectic mixes I can think up.
My rest will come. But for now I have preparations to make. I have an office to organize. I say I'm going to do this every summer. But the only summer that it truly happened was the one when I was making preparations for Baby Wes' fall arrival.
It's that time again. Surprisingly. As in, not planned. Not planned, but welcome.
Up to this point I have been cautious and wary of sharing this news. I learned the hard way about announcing these things too soon, only to be the one comforting others just as they were trying to comfort me. I said it was fine and I was okay. It wasn't. And I wasn't.
Years have passed and oddly enough, I wouldn't change them. Circumstances make us who we are. And today, I am "mommy" to a wonderful little five year old boy. And last night, his daddy and I had the awesome privilege of watching his face light up as we told him that he is going to be a big brother. He skipped and jumped and shouted through the house. "Yippee!" and "Yeeeeehoooooooo!!" I could never have imagined his exact reaction. But I sat in quiet thankfulness that we have been blessed enough to give him this gift.
Stay tuned. I have a feeling this is going to be one sweet ride.
My rest will come. But for now I have preparations to make. I have an office to organize. I say I'm going to do this every summer. But the only summer that it truly happened was the one when I was making preparations for Baby Wes' fall arrival.
It's that time again. Surprisingly. As in, not planned. Not planned, but welcome.
Up to this point I have been cautious and wary of sharing this news. I learned the hard way about announcing these things too soon, only to be the one comforting others just as they were trying to comfort me. I said it was fine and I was okay. It wasn't. And I wasn't.
Years have passed and oddly enough, I wouldn't change them. Circumstances make us who we are. And today, I am "mommy" to a wonderful little five year old boy. And last night, his daddy and I had the awesome privilege of watching his face light up as we told him that he is going to be a big brother. He skipped and jumped and shouted through the house. "Yippee!" and "Yeeeeehoooooooo!!" I could never have imagined his exact reaction. But I sat in quiet thankfulness that we have been blessed enough to give him this gift.
Stay tuned. I have a feeling this is going to be one sweet ride.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Little House
Tenth day on the market and tenth showing this morning. There was a flurry of activity over Memorial Day weekend, and we've had one or two showings every day this week, but now I see nothing scheduled and I'm getting nervous.
All of the realtors say the same thing..."Shows beautifully, but...." Not big enough. Client doesn't like the flooring. Needs to be closer to UTSA. (REALLY? It's practically in my backyard.)
I've never sold a house before. It was momentous just to buy one, let alone ever think of passing it on.
She sits there, all pretty in her new coats of paint and freshly planted garden, scrubbed clean and just waiting for someone to ask her to dance.
We just need that one right person to come through. I know what the statistics say about it being harder to sell after the tenth day on the market. But I also know that my God is bigger than statistics. I've been praying that we would get an offer on the house in His perfect timing. And I'm more stubborn than you even know, so I'll just keep believing that no matter what anyone says about the real estate market.
I don't normally bring things here that concern me in the present. It's easier to talk about past trials and experiences waiting with expectation. But to say "This is what I need" or "This is what I worry about right now"....that's another matter. I guess I don't like for anyone to know that I worry or that I have needs and wants. I can have knots in the pit of my stomach, but I'll still smile and tell you everything is fine. I think I'd rather look like an idiot than let anyone see an ounce of disappointment on my face.
This might be my not very sly way of asking that you pray with me. I'm not good at just asking out loud. But will you? Please?
All of the realtors say the same thing..."Shows beautifully, but...." Not big enough. Client doesn't like the flooring. Needs to be closer to UTSA. (REALLY? It's practically in my backyard.)
I've never sold a house before. It was momentous just to buy one, let alone ever think of passing it on.
She sits there, all pretty in her new coats of paint and freshly planted garden, scrubbed clean and just waiting for someone to ask her to dance.
We just need that one right person to come through. I know what the statistics say about it being harder to sell after the tenth day on the market. But I also know that my God is bigger than statistics. I've been praying that we would get an offer on the house in His perfect timing. And I'm more stubborn than you even know, so I'll just keep believing that no matter what anyone says about the real estate market.
I don't normally bring things here that concern me in the present. It's easier to talk about past trials and experiences waiting with expectation. But to say "This is what I need" or "This is what I worry about right now"....that's another matter. I guess I don't like for anyone to know that I worry or that I have needs and wants. I can have knots in the pit of my stomach, but I'll still smile and tell you everything is fine. I think I'd rather look like an idiot than let anyone see an ounce of disappointment on my face.
This might be my not very sly way of asking that you pray with me. I'm not good at just asking out loud. But will you? Please?
Monday, May 16, 2011
I Just Think I Know What I Need
I had it all planned out. This weekend was going to be do or die time to get our house on the market. I know some of you are thinking "Really? Still??" Yes. It's taken us a looooong time. And out of sheer frustration I wanted this weekend to be absolutely it. No more. Take the pictures and list it already.
But it didn't happen. I just couldn't go any further and neither could Jason or Wes. That little boy, in particular, had been so patient (most of the time) all weekend and he'd finally had enough. So we piled in the car with the bikes and went to the trails to catch the last hour or so of sunlight. I decided that a good, long walk would help clear my mind and maybe recharge my spirit just a little and that maybe I would hit the house with renewed energy when we were done.
That didn't happen. But what did happen was good for my soul. The boys took off down the paved trail and I listened as my child's giggles faded as they rode away. I started to talk to God about my frustration but got the sense He really just wanted me to shut up and listen. So I silenced my inner whining. Good grief, she's loud....
I walked along without counting my steps in my head (I do this for pace when I run, but also because I'm just a touch OCD...) and listened. In my own silence I heard the breeze rustling through the trees, the occasional splash in the creek newly replenished by last week's rain, birds and squirrels and the tires of other riders as they whizzed by me on the left.
And then I just happened to see a fawn tucked away under a cedar tree just a couple of feet from the trail. It watched me intently and stayed very still. I watched it for a while before I decided I was probably making it very, very nervous.
I walked on a ways and decided to wait for Jason and Wes to come back that way. Not more than a few minutes passed before I heard those familiar giggles and saw my little boy in his silver helmet come blazing down the curve on his beloved blue bike. He excitedly called out "There's mommy!!" and I was more than proud that he was happy to see me again. We'd had a rough day that included tears for both of us.
I was excited to show him the fawn. It's not something we get to see up close very often. We continued our trek back to the car but this time, my little boy chose to stay with me. He didn't want to leave me behind. So we happily chatted and moved ahead and I was silently thankful that we were on good terms again.
Wes spotted a coral snake in the grass just off the trail and immediately turned back to notify me. I saw the last several inches of it slither away into the tall grass and was thankful that my boy had done the right thing and left it alone. It's not the thought of coral snakes that bothers me....it's the rattlers. I don't know if he'll see them. I don't know if he'll have time. I don't want to think about it....all I can do is remind him that they're out there.
Wes was very proud of his snake spotting. He warned everyone we passed on the way back to the car. From the looks on some people's faces, they had forgotten that we share space with other creatures. Wes was happy to provide the service of a reminder.
I could not have asked for a more perfect ending to a crappy day. I did not receive the renewed strength or energy that I had so stubbornly prayed for. Instead, He gave me rest. Sometimes He knows best like that.....
But it didn't happen. I just couldn't go any further and neither could Jason or Wes. That little boy, in particular, had been so patient (most of the time) all weekend and he'd finally had enough. So we piled in the car with the bikes and went to the trails to catch the last hour or so of sunlight. I decided that a good, long walk would help clear my mind and maybe recharge my spirit just a little and that maybe I would hit the house with renewed energy when we were done.
That didn't happen. But what did happen was good for my soul. The boys took off down the paved trail and I listened as my child's giggles faded as they rode away. I started to talk to God about my frustration but got the sense He really just wanted me to shut up and listen. So I silenced my inner whining. Good grief, she's loud....
I walked along without counting my steps in my head (I do this for pace when I run, but also because I'm just a touch OCD...) and listened. In my own silence I heard the breeze rustling through the trees, the occasional splash in the creek newly replenished by last week's rain, birds and squirrels and the tires of other riders as they whizzed by me on the left.
And then I just happened to see a fawn tucked away under a cedar tree just a couple of feet from the trail. It watched me intently and stayed very still. I watched it for a while before I decided I was probably making it very, very nervous.
I walked on a ways and decided to wait for Jason and Wes to come back that way. Not more than a few minutes passed before I heard those familiar giggles and saw my little boy in his silver helmet come blazing down the curve on his beloved blue bike. He excitedly called out "There's mommy!!" and I was more than proud that he was happy to see me again. We'd had a rough day that included tears for both of us.
I was excited to show him the fawn. It's not something we get to see up close very often. We continued our trek back to the car but this time, my little boy chose to stay with me. He didn't want to leave me behind. So we happily chatted and moved ahead and I was silently thankful that we were on good terms again.
Wes spotted a coral snake in the grass just off the trail and immediately turned back to notify me. I saw the last several inches of it slither away into the tall grass and was thankful that my boy had done the right thing and left it alone. It's not the thought of coral snakes that bothers me....it's the rattlers. I don't know if he'll see them. I don't know if he'll have time. I don't want to think about it....all I can do is remind him that they're out there.
Wes was very proud of his snake spotting. He warned everyone we passed on the way back to the car. From the looks on some people's faces, they had forgotten that we share space with other creatures. Wes was happy to provide the service of a reminder.
I could not have asked for a more perfect ending to a crappy day. I did not receive the renewed strength or energy that I had so stubbornly prayed for. Instead, He gave me rest. Sometimes He knows best like that.....
Friday, April 29, 2011
Every Little Girl's Dream
July 29, 1981....I remember waking up early that morning. So early it was still dark outside. I sat on the floor of my family's living room just inches from the television set, soaking in every detail of what was happening on the other side of the world. It was the day I fell in love with Princess Diana, the 20 year old girl who had no idea what she was getting herself into or who she would become in the years that followed.
I couldn't stop looking at her dress. The acres of silk that enveloped the real-life princess, the bows and lace and tulle. The big, over the top sleeves and the veil that shrouded but couldn't quite hide the uncertainty on her face. I was obsessed with that dress for years throughout my childhood. My interest in her faded, but the event that was her royal wedding.....that stayed. The tradition, the history, the reverence for things of old. I'm still enchanted by all of it.
I knew it would be a stretch trying to get up at 3:00 this morning to see her son marry his own princess. My life is complicated and I don't get much sleep. My own child went to bed early last night and I had hopes of actually pulling it off. Those hopes were dashed when he woke up around 10 p.m. not feeling well. I sat with him and snuggled on the couch until well after midnight while we watched The Incredibles again for what must have been the twentieth time.
I didn't bother to set my alarm for 3 a.m. as planned. It wasn't going to happen. But as soon as the alarm went off at 6, I checked the news sites for a glimpse of Kate's dress. I had missed the big event, but I still got to see the princess....
I've noticed a lot of annoyance today with the wedding and the attention devoted to it. I understand. Really, I do. There are many, many things going on in the larger world and in our own smaller worlds within. But to criticize others' enjoyment of the celebration just seems mean spirited and self-righteous to me. Let them celebrate. Let there be joy. God knows we need some. And if you don't want to participate, then don't.
But just for a few minutes, let me remember what it was like to be 5 years old....Please.
I couldn't stop looking at her dress. The acres of silk that enveloped the real-life princess, the bows and lace and tulle. The big, over the top sleeves and the veil that shrouded but couldn't quite hide the uncertainty on her face. I was obsessed with that dress for years throughout my childhood. My interest in her faded, but the event that was her royal wedding.....that stayed. The tradition, the history, the reverence for things of old. I'm still enchanted by all of it.
I knew it would be a stretch trying to get up at 3:00 this morning to see her son marry his own princess. My life is complicated and I don't get much sleep. My own child went to bed early last night and I had hopes of actually pulling it off. Those hopes were dashed when he woke up around 10 p.m. not feeling well. I sat with him and snuggled on the couch until well after midnight while we watched The Incredibles again for what must have been the twentieth time.
I didn't bother to set my alarm for 3 a.m. as planned. It wasn't going to happen. But as soon as the alarm went off at 6, I checked the news sites for a glimpse of Kate's dress. I had missed the big event, but I still got to see the princess....
I've noticed a lot of annoyance today with the wedding and the attention devoted to it. I understand. Really, I do. There are many, many things going on in the larger world and in our own smaller worlds within. But to criticize others' enjoyment of the celebration just seems mean spirited and self-righteous to me. Let them celebrate. Let there be joy. God knows we need some. And if you don't want to participate, then don't.
But just for a few minutes, let me remember what it was like to be 5 years old....Please.
Monday, April 25, 2011
It All Works Out in the End
I normally am not without things to share here, but lately I've found myself standing before this blank, white canvas only to look down and realize I have no paint. No instruments or medium with which to share my words, my thoughts, my feelings.
I have officially reached end of semester burnout. Even so, I had a stellar start to my day. Woke up an hour early and ironed Jason's clothes for work, scrambled eggs for him and Wes, made and packed lunches for both, and even managed to apply make-up before heading out of the house right on time (for once)....only to discover upon arriving at Kids Day Out that I had forgotten Wes' glasses.
Fail.
No worries, just e-mail the boss and head back home. Exactly an hour later, I made it back to the school and delivered the glasses. His class was lining up outside to return to their room from recess. I was so glad to have the unplanned gift of seeing him again this morning. Once he recognized me (another reason I'm glad I went back for the glasses) he darted over to me at the door to his classroom and gave me a big hug. The day will come when he will no longer do this in front of his friends. But for now, it's still cool to have your mom stop by at school.
His cheeks were red and warm from playing outside. The tips of his hair were slightly damp just around his little round face. He plays hard. And tonight I will open his green folder and review his letter tracing sheets and craft, child's play from what I have been warned to expect from what is apparently now cut-throat kindergarten. Until then, I can still feel the warmth of his face and his enthusiastic hug, my rewards for being accidentally, and happily, forgetful.
I have officially reached end of semester burnout. Even so, I had a stellar start to my day. Woke up an hour early and ironed Jason's clothes for work, scrambled eggs for him and Wes, made and packed lunches for both, and even managed to apply make-up before heading out of the house right on time (for once)....only to discover upon arriving at Kids Day Out that I had forgotten Wes' glasses.
Fail.
No worries, just e-mail the boss and head back home. Exactly an hour later, I made it back to the school and delivered the glasses. His class was lining up outside to return to their room from recess. I was so glad to have the unplanned gift of seeing him again this morning. Once he recognized me (another reason I'm glad I went back for the glasses) he darted over to me at the door to his classroom and gave me a big hug. The day will come when he will no longer do this in front of his friends. But for now, it's still cool to have your mom stop by at school.
His cheeks were red and warm from playing outside. The tips of his hair were slightly damp just around his little round face. He plays hard. And tonight I will open his green folder and review his letter tracing sheets and craft, child's play from what I have been warned to expect from what is apparently now cut-throat kindergarten. Until then, I can still feel the warmth of his face and his enthusiastic hug, my rewards for being accidentally, and happily, forgetful.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
A Letter to My Little Boy
My little Wes...
You're five years old. Five! And so filled with simplistic wisdom. Your curiosity, always wanting to know not just how, but why things work the way they do. "I don't know" is never an acceptable answer for you. If I don't know the answer, you want me to look it up, as if you already know that knowledge is something that must be sought out and gathered and taken in and made your own. You amaze me. And I wonder how I ever got to be so blessed. To be the one to answer when you call "Mommy." To have the privilege of tucking you in at night and waking you up in the morning....or more often, being awakened by your sweet, round face, your perfect nose just inches from mine, your five-year-old not-so-quiet whispers excitedly announcing the day.
I wonder if I will teach you the right things. I wonder if my example will be one that I would want you to follow, or one that I would caution you to ignore.
I wonder if you will listen to me about good music, or if you will lean toward the interests of your father. :) I wonder if you will always sing in the car the way you do now. Snippets of songs you love, played by request and repeated to your delight. I wonder if you will always put on little concerts for me, telling me specifically how you wish to be introduced and correcting me when my tone or volume isn't just right. I know you won't....I'm trying to soak it all in so I can one day say "Remember when..."
I wonder if I will always have a clear picture of you waving to me from your preschool classroom, one little hand adjusting your tiny glasses and the other sweeping the air with resignation, calling after me in the hallway to make sure I see you, to make sure I hear your reminders. I always do. And I wonder if I will ever think of this and not have tears that fall in audible drops.
I wonder if you'll always think I'm a "genius" or if someday I'll know nothing at all. I wonder if you'll always believe that I can answer all of your questions, that I can do anything, that I can always protect you.
I wonder if you'll ever know how I failed you in the first years of your life. That I screamed back at you in frustration when you were only three and how I hate so much that I can never take that back. I wonder if I will ever learn to accept the forgiveness you so readily offered and still do.
I wonder if you will always feel compassion for those around you. And I pray that you will always carry that light inside you, the light that seeks to shine upon others and brighten the spirits of those who feel forgotten.
I wish I could tell you that little part about sticks and stones and broken bones and that words will never hurt you, but the fact is that words will hurt the most. Blood dries and cuts heal and bruises fade, but the blows to your heart, your confidence, those are the ones that ache unseen...sometimes for years, sometimes forever.
I wonder if I'll ever really be the mommy that you so innocently believe I am....
I'm trying, baby. I'm trying.
You're five years old. Five! And so filled with simplistic wisdom. Your curiosity, always wanting to know not just how, but why things work the way they do. "I don't know" is never an acceptable answer for you. If I don't know the answer, you want me to look it up, as if you already know that knowledge is something that must be sought out and gathered and taken in and made your own. You amaze me. And I wonder how I ever got to be so blessed. To be the one to answer when you call "Mommy." To have the privilege of tucking you in at night and waking you up in the morning....or more often, being awakened by your sweet, round face, your perfect nose just inches from mine, your five-year-old not-so-quiet whispers excitedly announcing the day.
I wonder if I will teach you the right things. I wonder if my example will be one that I would want you to follow, or one that I would caution you to ignore.
I wonder if you will listen to me about good music, or if you will lean toward the interests of your father. :) I wonder if you will always sing in the car the way you do now. Snippets of songs you love, played by request and repeated to your delight. I wonder if you will always put on little concerts for me, telling me specifically how you wish to be introduced and correcting me when my tone or volume isn't just right. I know you won't....I'm trying to soak it all in so I can one day say "Remember when..."
I wonder if I will always have a clear picture of you waving to me from your preschool classroom, one little hand adjusting your tiny glasses and the other sweeping the air with resignation, calling after me in the hallway to make sure I see you, to make sure I hear your reminders. I always do. And I wonder if I will ever think of this and not have tears that fall in audible drops.
I wonder if you'll always think I'm a "genius" or if someday I'll know nothing at all. I wonder if you'll always believe that I can answer all of your questions, that I can do anything, that I can always protect you.
I wonder if you'll ever know how I failed you in the first years of your life. That I screamed back at you in frustration when you were only three and how I hate so much that I can never take that back. I wonder if I will ever learn to accept the forgiveness you so readily offered and still do.
I wonder if you will always feel compassion for those around you. And I pray that you will always carry that light inside you, the light that seeks to shine upon others and brighten the spirits of those who feel forgotten.
I wish I could tell you that little part about sticks and stones and broken bones and that words will never hurt you, but the fact is that words will hurt the most. Blood dries and cuts heal and bruises fade, but the blows to your heart, your confidence, those are the ones that ache unseen...sometimes for years, sometimes forever.
I wonder if I'll ever really be the mommy that you so innocently believe I am....
I'm trying, baby. I'm trying.
Monday, March 21, 2011
For the Love of God, People.....Be Kind
I have to say this and it pisses me off. And it makes me sad. But other Christians embarrass me.
I am a Christian. I love Jesus. I really, really do. And by His grace (especially as evidenced in these last few years), I know that He loves me. But some people.....
My family and I were in a restaurant the other night and I saw another family at a nearby table be rude to their server. The poor girl was obviously moving as quickly as she could, but somehow their needs were greater than anyone else's at that moment. After they oh so unkindly reminded her that they needed extra lime for their beer, they all bowed their heads to pray.
Sometimes I wish I had the nerve to approach people, tap them on the shoulder, and say "Yeah, hi....don't be an asshole.".... I realize that I just used that word in the same post with "Jesus"....don't worry about it. The people who will condemn me for this are the same ones who think it's okay to embarrass a child in front of his classmates when a kind word of correction off to the side would have been all that was needed. Or speak condescendingly to a stranger while praising God on Facebook. Or judge a single mom when they don't know her story of grace, nevermind that it's none of their business anyway. Or pass along gossip by way of "prayer requests."
Stop it. Just stop it. I think if we would just stop and take a good, long, hard and truthful look at ourselves, we would see that what we really need is kindness. We want that for ourselves, but we can't expect it from others if we don't practice it. I believe that everyone has some sort of great wound. It might be one huge tragic event, or it might be a collection of little wrongs that were never made right, piled up over the days and weeks and months and years. Either way, there is a great need for each of us to know that we are loved.
Think about your actions. Think about the words you speak to and about other people. Think about how these things reflect upon you.
There's a quote out there and I can't remember it exactly but it speaks about how people will forget what you said and forget what you did but they will never forget how you made them feel. It's so true. There are people I dislike to this day because I remember how they made me feel in elementary school. That's for me to get past (...Hi, I'm 34), but I hope that people will remember me as kind....and if they can't remember me as kind then I hope they just remember me as quiet.
I am a Christian. I love Jesus. I really, really do. And by His grace (especially as evidenced in these last few years), I know that He loves me. But some people.....
My family and I were in a restaurant the other night and I saw another family at a nearby table be rude to their server. The poor girl was obviously moving as quickly as she could, but somehow their needs were greater than anyone else's at that moment. After they oh so unkindly reminded her that they needed extra lime for their beer, they all bowed their heads to pray.
Sometimes I wish I had the nerve to approach people, tap them on the shoulder, and say "Yeah, hi....don't be an asshole.".... I realize that I just used that word in the same post with "Jesus"....don't worry about it. The people who will condemn me for this are the same ones who think it's okay to embarrass a child in front of his classmates when a kind word of correction off to the side would have been all that was needed. Or speak condescendingly to a stranger while praising God on Facebook. Or judge a single mom when they don't know her story of grace, nevermind that it's none of their business anyway. Or pass along gossip by way of "prayer requests."
Stop it. Just stop it. I think if we would just stop and take a good, long, hard and truthful look at ourselves, we would see that what we really need is kindness. We want that for ourselves, but we can't expect it from others if we don't practice it. I believe that everyone has some sort of great wound. It might be one huge tragic event, or it might be a collection of little wrongs that were never made right, piled up over the days and weeks and months and years. Either way, there is a great need for each of us to know that we are loved.
Think about your actions. Think about the words you speak to and about other people. Think about how these things reflect upon you.
There's a quote out there and I can't remember it exactly but it speaks about how people will forget what you said and forget what you did but they will never forget how you made them feel. It's so true. There are people I dislike to this day because I remember how they made me feel in elementary school. That's for me to get past (...Hi, I'm 34), but I hope that people will remember me as kind....and if they can't remember me as kind then I hope they just remember me as quiet.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Unkindness Will Cost You, Even If You Don't Know It Yet
So much is changing right now. And finally, it's all for the better. As one who traditionally resists change with everything she has, it's nice to let go and support it all for once. Funny how at the same time I'm still going against the larger flow of things....continuing to make my own way but now being certain that I'm doing what's right and good and for the benefit of not just me but in support of those I love.
Embracing kindness.....I think that's where it started. Kindness has this wonderful domino effect. When you begin practicing kindness with yourself, you then unlock the ability to pass it on to others....beginning in your own home and spreading outward from there. Without meaning to sound trite, you begin seeing your world, however large or small it may be, through a new filter. The good glows with greater brightness and the bad....well, the bad just starts to stand out in ways you may have never seen before. It stands out to the point where, if not adjusted, it can begin to ruin the whole picture.
I've been weeding out the bad. Things that aren't necessarily bad for others, but bad for me. Things, people, places that were weighing heavily on my mind and spirit. Things that caused me what I thought were dilemmas, but once I cut them out all of that space just seemed to fill with joy and peace.
I struggled for months about things I had seen and heard....little unkindnesses that were thought to go unnoticed. I noticed them. I felt them. And the only decision that made me feel any better was the decision I made to withdraw my support and participation. It probably won't even be noticed....but I notice. And by making a difference for myself, I make a difference for my family and for my own little world.
The withdrawal of financial support might be the grown-up equivalent of taking your ball and going home. But so what? Sometimes it's the only way to say that you want something better. That you want a different way or a different method or a different outlook or different standards.
Resistance is not futile. Resistance builds strength. And with enough resistance, a real and noticeable and measurable difference can be made.
Know where your money goes. Research the things you support. Talk to people. Gather facts and ideas. If research isn't your thing, ask me to help. I'm pretty good at it. I have my own little boycotts and while they may not be noticed on a large scale, that doesn't mean they don't make a difference. I don't buy chemical-based cleaning products. I don't buy milk products containing rBGH. I no longer frequent certain establishments.
I seek out and support locally produced goods whenever possible. I would love to start a vegetable co-op with my neighbors. And I would love for there to be better choices in terms of deciding where our money goes. If you have a moment, please link over to a friend's new page at http://thenonprofitmanifesto.blogspot.com/ for some ideas and thoughts to promote discussion and action in the larger community. We actually can make a difference....and we can promote kindness and change the course of our society.
Profits and popularity should not be the beacons by which we chart our course. And we shouldn't depend on others to tell us what we want or need. We can determine that for ourselves if we just stop to think about it. And I don't think anyone ever said "You know, I wish I hadn't been so kind..."
Do something good everyday. It might make a difference to someone, even if they never know it.
Embracing kindness.....I think that's where it started. Kindness has this wonderful domino effect. When you begin practicing kindness with yourself, you then unlock the ability to pass it on to others....beginning in your own home and spreading outward from there. Without meaning to sound trite, you begin seeing your world, however large or small it may be, through a new filter. The good glows with greater brightness and the bad....well, the bad just starts to stand out in ways you may have never seen before. It stands out to the point where, if not adjusted, it can begin to ruin the whole picture.
I've been weeding out the bad. Things that aren't necessarily bad for others, but bad for me. Things, people, places that were weighing heavily on my mind and spirit. Things that caused me what I thought were dilemmas, but once I cut them out all of that space just seemed to fill with joy and peace.
I struggled for months about things I had seen and heard....little unkindnesses that were thought to go unnoticed. I noticed them. I felt them. And the only decision that made me feel any better was the decision I made to withdraw my support and participation. It probably won't even be noticed....but I notice. And by making a difference for myself, I make a difference for my family and for my own little world.
The withdrawal of financial support might be the grown-up equivalent of taking your ball and going home. But so what? Sometimes it's the only way to say that you want something better. That you want a different way or a different method or a different outlook or different standards.
Resistance is not futile. Resistance builds strength. And with enough resistance, a real and noticeable and measurable difference can be made.
Know where your money goes. Research the things you support. Talk to people. Gather facts and ideas. If research isn't your thing, ask me to help. I'm pretty good at it. I have my own little boycotts and while they may not be noticed on a large scale, that doesn't mean they don't make a difference. I don't buy chemical-based cleaning products. I don't buy milk products containing rBGH. I no longer frequent certain establishments.
I seek out and support locally produced goods whenever possible. I would love to start a vegetable co-op with my neighbors. And I would love for there to be better choices in terms of deciding where our money goes. If you have a moment, please link over to a friend's new page at http://thenonprofitmanifesto.blogspot.com/ for some ideas and thoughts to promote discussion and action in the larger community. We actually can make a difference....and we can promote kindness and change the course of our society.
Profits and popularity should not be the beacons by which we chart our course. And we shouldn't depend on others to tell us what we want or need. We can determine that for ourselves if we just stop to think about it. And I don't think anyone ever said "You know, I wish I hadn't been so kind..."
Do something good everyday. It might make a difference to someone, even if they never know it.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Say Goodnight, Gracie
"Say Goodnight, Gracie".....that was her official name as registered with the American Kennel Club. Yesterday, at the age of 9 years and 7 months, she passed from this life into the next.
She was my brother's dog. Selected from the last litter of my parents' Labs when she was just hours old. He took the only yellow female, I took the only black male. Gracie and Gunther.
Gracie went off with Jared to live in College Station. He trained her according to the advice given him by his boss, the owner of the Dixie Chicken. "Tie her to your leg for a day and she'll never leave you." And she didn't. Even when Gracie came back to live in San Antonio with our parents, if Jared was around, she was right next to him.
She was a good, GOOD dog. But she was also terrible. Much like her father, she loved the art of escape. She would tear boards off the fence and scramble her awkward yellow body out and run as fast as she could. She always came back, but she had to be watched. Tricky little girl. Jared said he once saw her climb a chain link fence in College Station, perch all four feet on the top, and jump to the other side. Always after adventure. We all have a "remember that time I had to tackle Gracie" story.
Mom asked Anna yesterday if she thought that maybe Gracie had been trying to escape again because she knew she was dying. Anna replied "No, she was always a little shit."
She didn't escape because she didn't want to be wherever she was, she did it for the sheer joy of running free, unbounded by fences and property lines. I'm pretty sure that if she had been human, she would have been a messy little girl with lopsided pigtails, strawberry jam dripped down the front of her ruffled dress, chocolate smeared across her face. Dirty hands gripping a crayon with determination, but completely unable and unwilling to stay within the lines. That was Gracie.
She often forgot how to eat from the self-feeder. She was awkward in many, many ways. Big and tall and with a tail that was slightly longer than the rest. Lopsided ears, but the sweetest face you could ever know. Rough and tumble from the get-go and possessing a ferocious bark that was heard only when she sensed a threatening presence on the other side of the fence.
Gracie was the embodiment of fun. She ran with big feet, always tilting a little to one side. Never quite with balanced form. And she loved everybody. She was especially fond of "helping" my sister get her tan on in the backyard. There was never a way for her to just be with you....she needed to be on you.
Our family is exceptionally close....even down to our dogs. So when Mom messaged Jared to come yesterday, he went immediately. She and Dad had discovered Gracie laying in the yard. Still. Her breathing was labored and she didn't wag her tail in characteristic greeting. A massive infection had begun to seep from her ear and eyes. They tried to move her but she was dead weight. She couldn't help move herself.
Anna was able to leave work for just a few minutes and tell her goodbye. If she could have, she would have stayed with her all day, brushing her and stroking her head between her eyes....that always made her relax.
When Jared got there he scooped Gracie up and carried her to her bed where he stayed with her, holding her for her last few hours. She was his little girl. He was her first love.
She was smitten with him from the very beginning. And she never stopped looking at him with the same awe. It was almost comical....she would very nearly swoon when he was around. It's like she would sink into her large frame, tongue hanging out, doe-eyed look on her face. Precious.
He carried her into the vet's office. Dad went with him. The vet felt of her and knew immediately. "Labs are prone to this...." She had a very large tumor on her liver, most likely pressing on her spine and causing the immobility and breathing difficulties. Had to be cancerous to take down such a big dog so fast.
She had been healthy just days ago.
So on Thursday afternoon, my Bub said goodnight to his beloved Gracie. One last time. And ever loyal, he held her as she slept.
Gracie ~July 13, 2001 - February 24, 2011~
She was my brother's dog. Selected from the last litter of my parents' Labs when she was just hours old. He took the only yellow female, I took the only black male. Gracie and Gunther.
Gracie went off with Jared to live in College Station. He trained her according to the advice given him by his boss, the owner of the Dixie Chicken. "Tie her to your leg for a day and she'll never leave you." And she didn't. Even when Gracie came back to live in San Antonio with our parents, if Jared was around, she was right next to him.
She was a good, GOOD dog. But she was also terrible. Much like her father, she loved the art of escape. She would tear boards off the fence and scramble her awkward yellow body out and run as fast as she could. She always came back, but she had to be watched. Tricky little girl. Jared said he once saw her climb a chain link fence in College Station, perch all four feet on the top, and jump to the other side. Always after adventure. We all have a "remember that time I had to tackle Gracie" story.
Mom asked Anna yesterday if she thought that maybe Gracie had been trying to escape again because she knew she was dying. Anna replied "No, she was always a little shit."
She didn't escape because she didn't want to be wherever she was, she did it for the sheer joy of running free, unbounded by fences and property lines. I'm pretty sure that if she had been human, she would have been a messy little girl with lopsided pigtails, strawberry jam dripped down the front of her ruffled dress, chocolate smeared across her face. Dirty hands gripping a crayon with determination, but completely unable and unwilling to stay within the lines. That was Gracie.
She often forgot how to eat from the self-feeder. She was awkward in many, many ways. Big and tall and with a tail that was slightly longer than the rest. Lopsided ears, but the sweetest face you could ever know. Rough and tumble from the get-go and possessing a ferocious bark that was heard only when she sensed a threatening presence on the other side of the fence.
Gracie was the embodiment of fun. She ran with big feet, always tilting a little to one side. Never quite with balanced form. And she loved everybody. She was especially fond of "helping" my sister get her tan on in the backyard. There was never a way for her to just be with you....she needed to be on you.
Our family is exceptionally close....even down to our dogs. So when Mom messaged Jared to come yesterday, he went immediately. She and Dad had discovered Gracie laying in the yard. Still. Her breathing was labored and she didn't wag her tail in characteristic greeting. A massive infection had begun to seep from her ear and eyes. They tried to move her but she was dead weight. She couldn't help move herself.
Anna was able to leave work for just a few minutes and tell her goodbye. If she could have, she would have stayed with her all day, brushing her and stroking her head between her eyes....that always made her relax.
When Jared got there he scooped Gracie up and carried her to her bed where he stayed with her, holding her for her last few hours. She was his little girl. He was her first love.
She was smitten with him from the very beginning. And she never stopped looking at him with the same awe. It was almost comical....she would very nearly swoon when he was around. It's like she would sink into her large frame, tongue hanging out, doe-eyed look on her face. Precious.
He carried her into the vet's office. Dad went with him. The vet felt of her and knew immediately. "Labs are prone to this...." She had a very large tumor on her liver, most likely pressing on her spine and causing the immobility and breathing difficulties. Had to be cancerous to take down such a big dog so fast.
She had been healthy just days ago.
So on Thursday afternoon, my Bub said goodnight to his beloved Gracie. One last time. And ever loyal, he held her as she slept.
Gracie ~July 13, 2001 - February 24, 2011~
Friday, February 18, 2011
There's Grace and Then There's Not So Much
7 minutes and 37 seconds. That's how ridiculously long it took me to complete 30 clean & jerks for time this morning. I knew better than to try for the prescribed weight of 95 pounds. That's my standing one rep max. 30 ain't happening....at least not quickly.
I don't know what happened. Other than I just got lost concentrating on form and repeating reps that I didn't think should count (I have no idea how many times I did this). On the very first rep, something happened in my right deltoid muscle and I lost power. (What is with my right arm this week??) It was ugly, so I didn't count it. The very beginning and I already had to start over....
I have a great tendency to overthink things. I know....shocker! So when everyone else was done and I still had 10 reps to go, it just kind of unnerved me. It was 65 pounds. I should have had that, no problem, in less than 5 minutes. It feels like I've been waiting to meet "Grace" forever....and now I feel like I made a bad first impression. Kinda like the kid who lopes over to the cute girl at the school dance and fumbles over his words and wants to ask her but never quite gets to it before muttering something along the lines of "I'm gonna go" and loping back off into the mirror-ball flecked blackness of obscurity....Okay, that might be a little much. I'm just disappointed.
Does anyone ever attempt "Grace" twice in one day? Not that I'm going to....but I should have gone heavier. 10 extra pounds would have made me feel more stable and I would have stuck the landings better.
Nothing left to do now but leave it alone and learn from it and try not to feel like such a failure. I did complete it, after all. Just feels like it wasn't my best effort. My mind got loose and wandered. Now that it's back, I think I'll go buy some new shoes.
New shoes make everything better.
I don't know what happened. Other than I just got lost concentrating on form and repeating reps that I didn't think should count (I have no idea how many times I did this). On the very first rep, something happened in my right deltoid muscle and I lost power. (What is with my right arm this week??) It was ugly, so I didn't count it. The very beginning and I already had to start over....
I have a great tendency to overthink things. I know....shocker! So when everyone else was done and I still had 10 reps to go, it just kind of unnerved me. It was 65 pounds. I should have had that, no problem, in less than 5 minutes. It feels like I've been waiting to meet "Grace" forever....and now I feel like I made a bad first impression. Kinda like the kid who lopes over to the cute girl at the school dance and fumbles over his words and wants to ask her but never quite gets to it before muttering something along the lines of "I'm gonna go" and loping back off into the mirror-ball flecked blackness of obscurity....Okay, that might be a little much. I'm just disappointed.
Does anyone ever attempt "Grace" twice in one day? Not that I'm going to....but I should have gone heavier. 10 extra pounds would have made me feel more stable and I would have stuck the landings better.
Nothing left to do now but leave it alone and learn from it and try not to feel like such a failure. I did complete it, after all. Just feels like it wasn't my best effort. My mind got loose and wandered. Now that it's back, I think I'll go buy some new shoes.
New shoes make everything better.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Fail....But Don't Not Try
Today I failed on my third rep of a 75 lb power snatch. My right elbow came up way too soon and I somehow leaned back mid-rep and felt something tug in the lower right side of my back. As much as it hurt my pride, I knew that it might not be a good idea to attempt the three rep max again this morning. My goal (albeit lofty) was 80 or 85, but it just was not to be today.
I've always hated working that particular movement (and no, not because of the name....). I'm just not "good" at it. Anything with a wide grip makes me uneasy. Those two outside fingers on my left hand tend to go numb due to some misfire between my neck and shoulder and I think I'm losing my grip. I might not actually be losing it, but I don't know because I can't actually feel it. To lose grip on a bar bearing a bunch of weight while holding it over my head isn't exactly my idea of a good time.
And 75 lbs may not seem like a bunch of weight to you. Me either....but I'm not done. I want each of my max weights to be three digits. I'm just a touch OCD and I like things in 3's.... I'm not so close on this one, but I'm not that far away either. Two months ago, my max snatch weight was about 45 pounds. Today I got 75 up...twice. Two months from now, it'll be 105.
I might have failed on that third rep. But by failing, it means I at least tried.
I hate it when I hear people say "Oh, I could never do that." How do you know? Have you tried? You might not get it the first time.....but you might on the twenty-first. If you're not willing to at least try, you're welcome to watch me do what you think you can't....
Or watch me at least try.
Today's WOD:
12 minutes to find max 3 rep power snatch
*maxed at 70 lbs*
12 minute AMRAP:
10 dumbbell power snatches (left)
10 dumbbell power snatches (right)
200 m run
*5 complete rounds (Rx...20 lbs)
I've always hated working that particular movement (and no, not because of the name....). I'm just not "good" at it. Anything with a wide grip makes me uneasy. Those two outside fingers on my left hand tend to go numb due to some misfire between my neck and shoulder and I think I'm losing my grip. I might not actually be losing it, but I don't know because I can't actually feel it. To lose grip on a bar bearing a bunch of weight while holding it over my head isn't exactly my idea of a good time.
And 75 lbs may not seem like a bunch of weight to you. Me either....but I'm not done. I want each of my max weights to be three digits. I'm just a touch OCD and I like things in 3's.... I'm not so close on this one, but I'm not that far away either. Two months ago, my max snatch weight was about 45 pounds. Today I got 75 up...twice. Two months from now, it'll be 105.
I might have failed on that third rep. But by failing, it means I at least tried.
I hate it when I hear people say "Oh, I could never do that." How do you know? Have you tried? You might not get it the first time.....but you might on the twenty-first. If you're not willing to at least try, you're welcome to watch me do what you think you can't....
Or watch me at least try.
Today's WOD:
12 minutes to find max 3 rep power snatch
*maxed at 70 lbs*
12 minute AMRAP:
10 dumbbell power snatches (left)
10 dumbbell power snatches (right)
200 m run
*5 complete rounds (Rx...20 lbs)
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
It's the Little Things
Not every day can be a PR day....but today is!
Little things. Small victories. Instances and incidentals that matter to no one else, really. But in my mind and in my heart they matter, nonetheless.
The little way my son puckers his lips without opening his eyes as I peek under his warm blankets and ask him for a good morning kiss. The two small race cars that he put in my lunch bag as I rushed out the door and didn't remember until I opened it just now. Made my heart soar.
The look of pride and contentment on his face as I let him wash the dishes last night. Of course the sink overflowed and a little water got on the floor. But it was just a little water. No match for the big feeling of accomplishment and the smile that beamed on the face of one precious little boy.
It's things like that....
And things like that little boost of confidence that came from pushing more weight over my head than I ever thought possible....That little dip of the knees just before the drive overhead that makes the little and yet big difference between a strict press and a push press. Lowering oneself to increase power....novel idea.
I might miss a lot of the big things, but I hope I never stop seeing the little things.
Not every day can be a PR day....but I'm thankful for every little day that comes.
Today's WOD:
"Dingle"
5-5-3-3-1-1 max effort push press
*maxed at 105 pounds* PR!!!
then...
10 dumbbell push press (Rx 20 lb)
10 toes to bar (modified)
5 rounds for time
6:43
Little things. Small victories. Instances and incidentals that matter to no one else, really. But in my mind and in my heart they matter, nonetheless.
The little way my son puckers his lips without opening his eyes as I peek under his warm blankets and ask him for a good morning kiss. The two small race cars that he put in my lunch bag as I rushed out the door and didn't remember until I opened it just now. Made my heart soar.
The look of pride and contentment on his face as I let him wash the dishes last night. Of course the sink overflowed and a little water got on the floor. But it was just a little water. No match for the big feeling of accomplishment and the smile that beamed on the face of one precious little boy.
It's things like that....
And things like that little boost of confidence that came from pushing more weight over my head than I ever thought possible....That little dip of the knees just before the drive overhead that makes the little and yet big difference between a strict press and a push press. Lowering oneself to increase power....novel idea.
I might miss a lot of the big things, but I hope I never stop seeing the little things.
Not every day can be a PR day....but I'm thankful for every little day that comes.
Today's WOD:
"Dingle"
5-5-3-3-1-1 max effort push press
*maxed at 105 pounds* PR!!!
then...
10 dumbbell push press (Rx 20 lb)
10 toes to bar (modified)
5 rounds for time
6:43
Monday, February 7, 2011
Prayers x 400 meters
Today I am *this* close. This close to getting my chin up over that bar without help from a giant rubber band. Going in, I didn't know I'd be that close. My first workout in a solid week...usually doesn't bode well for me. But sometimes we resolve to just do what's on the board. Don't think about it. Don't talk about it. Just do it.
And then sometimes we resolve to do more than we think we can. After the first round of "Nicole", Coach Mike told me it looked like I was ready for the lighter band. I'm not sure what might have given him that indication. Probably the 20 reps I busted out unbroken. He told me I was banned from the green band from now on. (At 6:30 in the morning, that's really funny...)
And then, after my second 400 meter run, instead of deciding that I would give the lighter band a go the next time we do chins, I decided to switch right then. No more comfort zone. No one actually improves by staying in their comfort zone. I knew that the lighter band would require more effort from me and my reps would go way down. But somehow, I was at peace with that. This isn't a race. I'm not competing with anyone but me.
The lighter band felt like almost nothing at all. I was truly having to work. My max reps dropped from 20 to 7...and then 6...and then 5....and then 4. For the last two rounds, I suppose I could have counted 6 and 5, respectively. But the last attempted rep for each of those rounds didn't actually make it over the bar. In my world, that doesn't count.
Surprisingly, I didn't mind the 400 meter run at the beginning of each round. There were only 3 of us in the class and we ended up pretty spaced out after the first, so I had a lot of alone time. Most of the time I pray for the run to be over quickly, but this morning I just prayed. Fervently. For one little girl I don't even know.
As the faint streaks of orange sun appeared, I thought about how Sadie's mama would most definitely rather be running at this hour than sitting at the hospital bedside of her 6 year old baby. Just one week ago, their life was normal. Sadie had been sick with a stomach bug for a while, but she went back to school. On Tuesday, the school nurse called her mom to come pick her up. She was sick again. This time, a knot was felt in her abdomen. This wasn't right. In the ER that day, Sadie's mom would learn that her daughter had a large tumor on her stomach. Surgery the next day. Tumor ruptured. Cancer. Sadie's daddy would be making his way home from Afghanistan....
I ran and I prayed. For Sadie. For her mom, Jennifer. For her dad, Ryan. For my sweet friend Brittany who knows and loves them dearly. For my own child, sleeping at home in his own bed.
Lord, let me never take for granted.....
And please, if you are moved to do so, storm heaven with me for little Sadie. She doesn't leave my thoughts. My prayers for her do not cease. God doesn't need our help to heal her. But I know He listens when His children cry.
I know He does.
Today's WOD:
tabata burpees
"Nicole"
400 meter run
max unbroken pull-ups
20 minute AMRAP
My effort:
400 meter run (6 total)
20/7/6/5/4 max unbroken pull-ups per round
And then sometimes we resolve to do more than we think we can. After the first round of "Nicole", Coach Mike told me it looked like I was ready for the lighter band. I'm not sure what might have given him that indication. Probably the 20 reps I busted out unbroken. He told me I was banned from the green band from now on. (At 6:30 in the morning, that's really funny...)
And then, after my second 400 meter run, instead of deciding that I would give the lighter band a go the next time we do chins, I decided to switch right then. No more comfort zone. No one actually improves by staying in their comfort zone. I knew that the lighter band would require more effort from me and my reps would go way down. But somehow, I was at peace with that. This isn't a race. I'm not competing with anyone but me.
The lighter band felt like almost nothing at all. I was truly having to work. My max reps dropped from 20 to 7...and then 6...and then 5....and then 4. For the last two rounds, I suppose I could have counted 6 and 5, respectively. But the last attempted rep for each of those rounds didn't actually make it over the bar. In my world, that doesn't count.
Surprisingly, I didn't mind the 400 meter run at the beginning of each round. There were only 3 of us in the class and we ended up pretty spaced out after the first, so I had a lot of alone time. Most of the time I pray for the run to be over quickly, but this morning I just prayed. Fervently. For one little girl I don't even know.
As the faint streaks of orange sun appeared, I thought about how Sadie's mama would most definitely rather be running at this hour than sitting at the hospital bedside of her 6 year old baby. Just one week ago, their life was normal. Sadie had been sick with a stomach bug for a while, but she went back to school. On Tuesday, the school nurse called her mom to come pick her up. She was sick again. This time, a knot was felt in her abdomen. This wasn't right. In the ER that day, Sadie's mom would learn that her daughter had a large tumor on her stomach. Surgery the next day. Tumor ruptured. Cancer. Sadie's daddy would be making his way home from Afghanistan....
I ran and I prayed. For Sadie. For her mom, Jennifer. For her dad, Ryan. For my sweet friend Brittany who knows and loves them dearly. For my own child, sleeping at home in his own bed.
Lord, let me never take for granted.....
And please, if you are moved to do so, storm heaven with me for little Sadie. She doesn't leave my thoughts. My prayers for her do not cease. God doesn't need our help to heal her. But I know He listens when His children cry.
I know He does.
Today's WOD:
tabata burpees
"Nicole"
400 meter run
max unbroken pull-ups
20 minute AMRAP
My effort:
400 meter run (6 total)
20/7/6/5/4 max unbroken pull-ups per round
Monday, January 31, 2011
But If I Sleep I Might Miss Something
5:00 a.m.....snooze. 5:10.....snooze. Repeat until 5:30.....get up. I don't know what I was talking about when I said the 6:30 class was too late. For now...today, at least...it just felt right. I'm not going to let myself blow another entire day/week/month because I can't get up to make an earlier one. It just means I'll work a little bit later...but chances are I'd be working later anyway. And now I'm so glad I didn't sleep in. Because here's what I would have missed:
500 meter row
50 jumping chin-ups
500 meter row
50 situps
500 meter row
50 air squats
500 meter row
50 pushups
500 meter row
50 slam balls
My time: 25:54 (I think)....
The 5:45 class had 18 people in it this morning. 6:30 had....two. Just two. I'm so glad Jenn was there. One, because that meant I didn't have to do this alone. And two, because (and she doesn't know this) she pushes me. She's always just a little bit faster than me. And she makes everything look easy. But for the most part this morning, I kept up. My row is improving and I stayed focused (as opposed to spacing out at some point and falling off pace...which might actually be drifting in and out of consciousness and I'm somehow unaware of it...)
AND, I finally got knees to elbows!!! Maybe not all of them, but I got at least two during the warm-up today. The others were at least knees to armpits, which is still a progression from knees to boobs and that, for me, is pretty exciting.
Know how I know I'm back? Aside from being upset and irritated that I can't go on Tuesdays and Thursdays because of school now, I've now told myself that I can watch "The Bachelor" tonight only if I do kettlebell swings during commercial breaks. This morning's WOD looked like it was going to kill me. But it didn't. And now I'm bouncing off the walls and I haven't even had coffee yet.
Today is also the first day of the gym's Whole30 paleo challenge. I have a special love for Whole30. It's one of my favorite things and just how I personally feel a paleo challenge should be done. No cheats. I'm the kind of person that, in regard to food, if given an inch I will take a mile. You want a reset? Go all in. Don't say "I can't go without ________." Really? You can't or you won't?? Because there's a serious difference between the two. You actually CAN drink your coffee black. (Here's a tip: Don't drink it hot at first....let it cool off and down it. It's easier that way and you still get your caffeine hit.) You CAN eat salad without ranch dressing. You CAN make it through a paleo challenge without paleo candy bars. And you CAN stay off the freakin' scale. (I promise....this can be done. Let me set you free....) I'm not trying to sound know-it-all-ish. But I've done this. And I'm really, really good at it.
I will admit that I baked probably the best chocolate cake I have ever made in my entire life yesterday. J's birthday is Tuesday and I couldn't let an opportunity to have cake just pass right by. I'll refrain from a full description of the deliciousness of it, but I did enjoy two full pieces last night while making my gigante pot of paleo chili.
The next 30 days are going to be phenomenal. I can feel it. And it's nice to be excited again. I won't wish you all, my fellow challengers, good luck....because luck doesn't have ANYTHING to do with it. This is yours to make or break. Do it and do it well...because you're worth the effort.
Game on!
500 meter row
50 jumping chin-ups
500 meter row
50 situps
500 meter row
50 air squats
500 meter row
50 pushups
500 meter row
50 slam balls
My time: 25:54 (I think)....
The 5:45 class had 18 people in it this morning. 6:30 had....two. Just two. I'm so glad Jenn was there. One, because that meant I didn't have to do this alone. And two, because (and she doesn't know this) she pushes me. She's always just a little bit faster than me. And she makes everything look easy. But for the most part this morning, I kept up. My row is improving and I stayed focused (as opposed to spacing out at some point and falling off pace...which might actually be drifting in and out of consciousness and I'm somehow unaware of it...)
AND, I finally got knees to elbows!!! Maybe not all of them, but I got at least two during the warm-up today. The others were at least knees to armpits, which is still a progression from knees to boobs and that, for me, is pretty exciting.
Know how I know I'm back? Aside from being upset and irritated that I can't go on Tuesdays and Thursdays because of school now, I've now told myself that I can watch "The Bachelor" tonight only if I do kettlebell swings during commercial breaks. This morning's WOD looked like it was going to kill me. But it didn't. And now I'm bouncing off the walls and I haven't even had coffee yet.
Today is also the first day of the gym's Whole30 paleo challenge. I have a special love for Whole30. It's one of my favorite things and just how I personally feel a paleo challenge should be done. No cheats. I'm the kind of person that, in regard to food, if given an inch I will take a mile. You want a reset? Go all in. Don't say "I can't go without ________." Really? You can't or you won't?? Because there's a serious difference between the two. You actually CAN drink your coffee black. (Here's a tip: Don't drink it hot at first....let it cool off and down it. It's easier that way and you still get your caffeine hit.) You CAN eat salad without ranch dressing. You CAN make it through a paleo challenge without paleo candy bars. And you CAN stay off the freakin' scale. (I promise....this can be done. Let me set you free....) I'm not trying to sound know-it-all-ish. But I've done this. And I'm really, really good at it.
I will admit that I baked probably the best chocolate cake I have ever made in my entire life yesterday. J's birthday is Tuesday and I couldn't let an opportunity to have cake just pass right by. I'll refrain from a full description of the deliciousness of it, but I did enjoy two full pieces last night while making my gigante pot of paleo chili.
The next 30 days are going to be phenomenal. I can feel it. And it's nice to be excited again. I won't wish you all, my fellow challengers, good luck....because luck doesn't have ANYTHING to do with it. This is yours to make or break. Do it and do it well...because you're worth the effort.
Game on!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Don't Tell Me What I Want
There's this camera that I've been eyeing for quite a while. I've always had a special love of photography but haven't paid much attention to it for several years. But I couldn't stop thinking about this one camera. I would spend hours looking around online at various photo sites comparing images and specs. Not having ever purchased a digital SLR, I didn't know what most users were talking about.
Just after Christmas, my camera went on sale. I still didn't move on it, preferring instead to admire it from afar. I guess you could say I had a bit of a camera crush. One day, though, I got bold enough to go into a store and ask to see it. The sales person wasn't very impressed by my request. "This one's better....it's the one I have," he said as he pointed to one that I knew was actually a lower model. I asked him why he liked that one better. He mentioned a couple of features that I knew "my" camera also possessed. I replied, "Okay, but this one (the one I wanted) does bracketing....yours doesn't." I should have walked out when he said "I don't know what that is," but I didn't. Impressionable person that I am, I actually bought the one he recommended....
It sat there in its shiny new box on my kitchen table for three days. "Aren't you going to open your new camera?" my husband asked. "I guess....but it's not the one I really wanted." "Then go back and get the one you want."
So I did. And I was ecstatic. I still have no idea how to use it, what it's actually capable of....I just know it's what I wanted.
Don't settle. Don't let someone else tell you what you want. Only you can decide that for yourself.
Just after Christmas, my camera went on sale. I still didn't move on it, preferring instead to admire it from afar. I guess you could say I had a bit of a camera crush. One day, though, I got bold enough to go into a store and ask to see it. The sales person wasn't very impressed by my request. "This one's better....it's the one I have," he said as he pointed to one that I knew was actually a lower model. I asked him why he liked that one better. He mentioned a couple of features that I knew "my" camera also possessed. I replied, "Okay, but this one (the one I wanted) does bracketing....yours doesn't." I should have walked out when he said "I don't know what that is," but I didn't. Impressionable person that I am, I actually bought the one he recommended....
It sat there in its shiny new box on my kitchen table for three days. "Aren't you going to open your new camera?" my husband asked. "I guess....but it's not the one I really wanted." "Then go back and get the one you want."
So I did. And I was ecstatic. I still have no idea how to use it, what it's actually capable of....I just know it's what I wanted.
Don't settle. Don't let someone else tell you what you want. Only you can decide that for yourself.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
To Honor One Little Girl Lost
"Christina"
20 minute AMRAP of:
9 pull-ups
9 squat cleans
9 kettlebell swings
9 toes to bar
9 push press
9 burpees
This is a new one. A new workout of the day to honor one little girl, Christina Green, killed in Tucson, Arizona on January 8, 2011.
9 for Christina's age, 6 elements for the 6 who died, 20 minutes for the 20 injured.
This morning, my first actual morning back at the box in ages, was better than I could have imagined. As soon as I read the board, my anxiety backed itself right on out the door. This wasn't about me. At all.
I would not dare complain about that 65 lb bar, wishing instead that I could have pulled the 95 Rx weight with the speed and proper form that this memorial workout deserved. It got a little heavy, but not one time during those 20 minutes did I wish it was lighter. I wonder if Christina herself even weighed 65 lbs. Such a little girl. My burden is not heavy. 3 and 1/6 rounds is not enough.
I pray every day for the protection and safety of my child and I cannot imagine the agony that now belongs to Christina's mother. We cannot change the events of the day her light went out. But we will do what we can to honor the life that was taken too soon.
Rest in peace, little one. You will not be forgotten.
20 minute AMRAP of:
9 pull-ups
9 squat cleans
9 kettlebell swings
9 toes to bar
9 push press
9 burpees
This is a new one. A new workout of the day to honor one little girl, Christina Green, killed in Tucson, Arizona on January 8, 2011.
9 for Christina's age, 6 elements for the 6 who died, 20 minutes for the 20 injured.
This morning, my first actual morning back at the box in ages, was better than I could have imagined. As soon as I read the board, my anxiety backed itself right on out the door. This wasn't about me. At all.
I would not dare complain about that 65 lb bar, wishing instead that I could have pulled the 95 Rx weight with the speed and proper form that this memorial workout deserved. It got a little heavy, but not one time during those 20 minutes did I wish it was lighter. I wonder if Christina herself even weighed 65 lbs. Such a little girl. My burden is not heavy. 3 and 1/6 rounds is not enough.
I pray every day for the protection and safety of my child and I cannot imagine the agony that now belongs to Christina's mother. We cannot change the events of the day her light went out. But we will do what we can to honor the life that was taken too soon.
Rest in peace, little one. You will not be forgotten.
Hiding and Seeking and Writing it Out
Sometimes I wonder what people think of me, knowing what they know based on what I write here. I wonder if they see me as damaged or messed up or fragile or just a few thoughts shy of normal. There are only a handful of people that I know who read these posts with regularity, the rest I have no idea who they are, what they think, or if it even matters. But I know they're out there.
I love it when I get feedback, even if it's just a word or two. It really does mean a lot to me. That someone would take the time to offer a few words in response to mine still surprises me.
I was excited to see that this blog is read in Canada, Russia, France and the UK. I'm international, baby! But conversely, it also made me a little bit (more) self-conscious. Because truly, these are just my thoughts, my ramblings, my insecurities put on display. Some of the things I write are intensely personal and I would never, ever be comfortable announcing them to the world with my actual audible voice.
So I hide. Behind my writing. Behind one photo. Even behind the name. (It actually does mean something).
But this, here, is my therapy. I've learned that sometimes it's okay to let someone else get close. I don't have to be pretty or perfect or poised. I make a lot of mistakes. But I think what compels me to say the things I need to say here is the thought that it might, just might, help someone...even if that someone is just me.
I write mostly about CrossFit....and loss. I know both. And believe it or not, one helps me deal with the other. I finally have a physical outlet for my emotional pain. I can't say that it gets better with each passing day. Some days are really good. And some days that pain swells and leaves me bruised on the inside. It's that internal pain that's hard. I can handle physical pain...it's easier and it goes away. To effectively turn myself inside out for others to see has been an incredible, rewarding, and healing experience.
I've been blessed to see that the posts that hurt me the most to write are the ones that end up having the greatest impact. I can see that by the number of times any one post is viewed. I wonder if maybe someone sees it, recognizes something in someone else they love and passes it on, just to let that person know that there is someone, some girl, that gets it. That thought stays in my head, but mostly I write them for me....to help myself heal, to work things out in my own language.
Thank you for allowing me to do that. And thank you for taking the time to look through these windows. I'm learning to leave them open and let the soft scent of friendship surround me. It's an incredible feeling.
I love it when I get feedback, even if it's just a word or two. It really does mean a lot to me. That someone would take the time to offer a few words in response to mine still surprises me.
I was excited to see that this blog is read in Canada, Russia, France and the UK. I'm international, baby! But conversely, it also made me a little bit (more) self-conscious. Because truly, these are just my thoughts, my ramblings, my insecurities put on display. Some of the things I write are intensely personal and I would never, ever be comfortable announcing them to the world with my actual audible voice.
So I hide. Behind my writing. Behind one photo. Even behind the name. (It actually does mean something).
But this, here, is my therapy. I've learned that sometimes it's okay to let someone else get close. I don't have to be pretty or perfect or poised. I make a lot of mistakes. But I think what compels me to say the things I need to say here is the thought that it might, just might, help someone...even if that someone is just me.
I write mostly about CrossFit....and loss. I know both. And believe it or not, one helps me deal with the other. I finally have a physical outlet for my emotional pain. I can't say that it gets better with each passing day. Some days are really good. And some days that pain swells and leaves me bruised on the inside. It's that internal pain that's hard. I can handle physical pain...it's easier and it goes away. To effectively turn myself inside out for others to see has been an incredible, rewarding, and healing experience.
I've been blessed to see that the posts that hurt me the most to write are the ones that end up having the greatest impact. I can see that by the number of times any one post is viewed. I wonder if maybe someone sees it, recognizes something in someone else they love and passes it on, just to let that person know that there is someone, some girl, that gets it. That thought stays in my head, but mostly I write them for me....to help myself heal, to work things out in my own language.
Thank you for allowing me to do that. And thank you for taking the time to look through these windows. I'm learning to leave them open and let the soft scent of friendship surround me. It's an incredible feeling.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
A fine line between love and hate
I could be upset with myself for yesterday and today....but I'm not. Yesterday morning I was in a rush, as usual. Not getting in bed until midnight the night before meant ignoring my 4:15 a.m. alarm, which means I didn't make it to CrossFit. The 5:00 a.m. was right out and 5:45 didn't seem any more appealing. And 6:30 is just too late these days. So, good girl that I am, I packed a bag with clothes and shoes so that I could make the last class of the day straight from work. It would be great if said bag had actually made it into my car. :/ Boo. Fail. But I didn't get to leave work until 6:45 p.m. anyway....
No use being mad at myself for missing today either...I skipped my 8 a.m. Sociology class in favor of a couple of hours of sleep. Last night didn't work so well....I was up until 4:30 this morning and I have no idea why.
It's for weeks like this that I bought myself a 35 lb kettlebell online this weekend....and I'm ridiculously excited about it. Sometimes I just need to swing something heavy to make my troubles go away, even if it's just for a moment. And I kind of wish I could be there to see the scrawny little mail carrier haul it up to my doorstep when it arrives later this week. I bet they love those packages. Small and unassuming until you try to pick it up. :)
I also bought myself a band for assisted pull-ups....because even after seven months, I still can't pull my chin up over that bar without help. I will....I just can't do it yet.
I don't know what goes through other people's minds while they work out, but I'm working on things. Emotional things, spiritual things, and physical things. The longer I do this, the less the physical seems to matter....most of the time. But this week, I can't seem to shift my focus away from it.
I read an excellent blog post yesterday over on Paleo Chix. Aileen Ryan wrote about why she doesn't see the need to put herself through another strict paleo challenge ever again. And I think this might be why I couldn't sleep. The point of her post was that such challenges, when repeated out of fear, are not necessary. That hit me so hard. See, on January 3rd, I started my second self-imposed Whole30 strict challenge. Not because I wanted or needed to learn anything new from it....and I didn't realize this until yesterday, but it was out of guilt and fear and self-loathing....punishment for everything I put in my mouth over the holidays. Here I've been, preaching about how we need to be kinder and gentler and more receptive to our emotional selves....and this whole time, I've been feeding myself good, whole, clean food not out of love but out of self-hatred. That's just backwards!
I am absolutely not saying that no one should undertake a strict paleo challenge. Not at all. I believe that going strict (and I mean STRICT....no paleo-fying junk food here, people) for 30 days will reset your body so that it can tell you what it needs and what it doesn't need. But to do it again for the wrong reasons is just, well, wrong. I've been punishing myself with healthy food. That just does not make sense.
And on the other hand, I've been hiding from the gym. I know what some of the reasons are, but the others probably have a lot to do with the same self-loathing, guilt and fear. I'm punishing myself for not being where I want to be skill-wise by....not going?!? Seriously??? (Do you see how I work things out right here?)
That fine line becomes so clear at times. That fence I've been sitting on isn't so comfortable anymore. It never was. It's just a matter of deciding that it's time to jump off.
No use being mad at myself for missing today either...I skipped my 8 a.m. Sociology class in favor of a couple of hours of sleep. Last night didn't work so well....I was up until 4:30 this morning and I have no idea why.
It's for weeks like this that I bought myself a 35 lb kettlebell online this weekend....and I'm ridiculously excited about it. Sometimes I just need to swing something heavy to make my troubles go away, even if it's just for a moment. And I kind of wish I could be there to see the scrawny little mail carrier haul it up to my doorstep when it arrives later this week. I bet they love those packages. Small and unassuming until you try to pick it up. :)
I also bought myself a band for assisted pull-ups....because even after seven months, I still can't pull my chin up over that bar without help. I will....I just can't do it yet.
I don't know what goes through other people's minds while they work out, but I'm working on things. Emotional things, spiritual things, and physical things. The longer I do this, the less the physical seems to matter....most of the time. But this week, I can't seem to shift my focus away from it.
I read an excellent blog post yesterday over on Paleo Chix. Aileen Ryan wrote about why she doesn't see the need to put herself through another strict paleo challenge ever again. And I think this might be why I couldn't sleep. The point of her post was that such challenges, when repeated out of fear, are not necessary. That hit me so hard. See, on January 3rd, I started my second self-imposed Whole30 strict challenge. Not because I wanted or needed to learn anything new from it....and I didn't realize this until yesterday, but it was out of guilt and fear and self-loathing....punishment for everything I put in my mouth over the holidays. Here I've been, preaching about how we need to be kinder and gentler and more receptive to our emotional selves....and this whole time, I've been feeding myself good, whole, clean food not out of love but out of self-hatred. That's just backwards!
I am absolutely not saying that no one should undertake a strict paleo challenge. Not at all. I believe that going strict (and I mean STRICT....no paleo-fying junk food here, people) for 30 days will reset your body so that it can tell you what it needs and what it doesn't need. But to do it again for the wrong reasons is just, well, wrong. I've been punishing myself with healthy food. That just does not make sense.
And on the other hand, I've been hiding from the gym. I know what some of the reasons are, but the others probably have a lot to do with the same self-loathing, guilt and fear. I'm punishing myself for not being where I want to be skill-wise by....not going?!? Seriously??? (Do you see how I work things out right here?)
That fine line becomes so clear at times. That fence I've been sitting on isn't so comfortable anymore. It never was. It's just a matter of deciding that it's time to jump off.
Friday, January 21, 2011
"Mommy, can I snuggle with you?"
"Jesus bless you and keep you safe always." These are the words I whisper over my little boy's head every night as he goes to sleep, and every morning that I have to leave before he wakes up.
As I was sitting in my Sociology class this week, the class discussion turned to the subject of women working outside of the home. The professor asked how many of us had children. A lot of hands went up....all women. Of those, he asked how many also held jobs. One woman said she needs to work to get away from her kids. This kind of comment always pisses me off, mainly because I would give anything just to be able to stay home with my little boy.
That was a dream that is now faded and far off; one that escaped, unrealized. My baby will start kindergarten next fall. I never got the chance to stay home and play with blocks and have tummy time and pull him in a little red wagon on a sunny afternoon. All of those things that a good mom is supposed to do.....
This is why my evenings and weekends and early mornings are so important to me. It's why I turn down dinner invitations and girls' nights and why I could have my husband take him to Grandma's house in the mornings or to preschool on the days that he goes, but I choose to do it. I want to do it. If I hadn't taken him to school this morning, I would have missed his little voice singing all the words to "Spirit in the Sky." Those few minutes in the car have carried me through this day that has otherwise been very sad.
I think this is also why I've been so lax about getting up in the morning to go to CrossFit. Actually, I know that's it. I'm becoming more aware every day that his childhood is slipping through my fingers. I can't hold on to it. And when he crawls into bed with me at 4 a.m. on these cold mornings, I find it so, so hard to tear myself away from his sweet self, his soft little hand holding mine. So, I don't. I have so few of these days left. So, I will make it in to work out when I can. And I will be more disciplined with my schedule so that I'm not stretched so thin and will actually make it in those three times a week that I pay so dearly for. But that little boy comes first. And he always will.
As I was sitting in my Sociology class this week, the class discussion turned to the subject of women working outside of the home. The professor asked how many of us had children. A lot of hands went up....all women. Of those, he asked how many also held jobs. One woman said she needs to work to get away from her kids. This kind of comment always pisses me off, mainly because I would give anything just to be able to stay home with my little boy.
That was a dream that is now faded and far off; one that escaped, unrealized. My baby will start kindergarten next fall. I never got the chance to stay home and play with blocks and have tummy time and pull him in a little red wagon on a sunny afternoon. All of those things that a good mom is supposed to do.....
This is why my evenings and weekends and early mornings are so important to me. It's why I turn down dinner invitations and girls' nights and why I could have my husband take him to Grandma's house in the mornings or to preschool on the days that he goes, but I choose to do it. I want to do it. If I hadn't taken him to school this morning, I would have missed his little voice singing all the words to "Spirit in the Sky." Those few minutes in the car have carried me through this day that has otherwise been very sad.
I think this is also why I've been so lax about getting up in the morning to go to CrossFit. Actually, I know that's it. I'm becoming more aware every day that his childhood is slipping through my fingers. I can't hold on to it. And when he crawls into bed with me at 4 a.m. on these cold mornings, I find it so, so hard to tear myself away from his sweet self, his soft little hand holding mine. So, I don't. I have so few of these days left. So, I will make it in to work out when I can. And I will be more disciplined with my schedule so that I'm not stretched so thin and will actually make it in those three times a week that I pay so dearly for. But that little boy comes first. And he always will.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Absence and the art of getting out of bed
I can't seem to get back on schedule. Everytime I look in the mirror I see puffy eyes that my new eye cream is supposed to be handling, but seems not to be taking seriously. Maybe it's allergies, or that sinus infection I suspect I have, or maybe I'm not sleeping well or enough. Two months ago, I was a machine. Wake every weekday morning at 5:00 a.m., drive to the gym for my daily dose of CrossFit kool-aid and back home again to shower and get ready for work. Each day ran like clockwork. I was getting stronger. I was running on adrenaline. And I was happy.
And then I had to stop.
A forced removal from active participation in my own life...hibernation in the pursuit of academic credit. Talk about throwing a wrench into the gears that run my existence, my being, my place in the everyday. I gave myself a break for what I thought was the immediate after but has since turned into a new normal, and not one that I'm comfortable with.
I still set my alarm for the same time every morning....and nearly every morning for the last month, I've found myself unable to muster whatever that drive was to get out of bed. I have no excuses. I can run in the cold. I can do anything that the whiteboard asks, albeit sometimes in modification. But I just don't want to. I guess that's it. I've lost my "want to."
I know that once I find it, I'll be that happier version of me again. And this is not about being lazy. I have stuff to do, I've just somehow forgotten how to juggle, forgotten how to say "Wait...I have to do this...it's important." I've lost my figurative voice. Or maybe I just feel lost.
I want to go back today. No, really....I do. I didn't want to do it at 5 this morning. But I want to go...after work if at all possible. I know today is deadlifts and sprints and I remember that I love those. And maybe if I keep going...force myself to slip out from under the covers, one foot on the floor and then the other...maybe I'll find my "want to" again.
And then I had to stop.
A forced removal from active participation in my own life...hibernation in the pursuit of academic credit. Talk about throwing a wrench into the gears that run my existence, my being, my place in the everyday. I gave myself a break for what I thought was the immediate after but has since turned into a new normal, and not one that I'm comfortable with.
I still set my alarm for the same time every morning....and nearly every morning for the last month, I've found myself unable to muster whatever that drive was to get out of bed. I have no excuses. I can run in the cold. I can do anything that the whiteboard asks, albeit sometimes in modification. But I just don't want to. I guess that's it. I've lost my "want to."
I know that once I find it, I'll be that happier version of me again. And this is not about being lazy. I have stuff to do, I've just somehow forgotten how to juggle, forgotten how to say "Wait...I have to do this...it's important." I've lost my figurative voice. Or maybe I just feel lost.
I want to go back today. No, really....I do. I didn't want to do it at 5 this morning. But I want to go...after work if at all possible. I know today is deadlifts and sprints and I remember that I love those. And maybe if I keep going...force myself to slip out from under the covers, one foot on the floor and then the other...maybe I'll find my "want to" again.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Another first day down
Because the previous post was rather heavy in subject matter, and because I'm still struggling to put it behind me, I thought I'd blog my first day back to school for the spring semester.....just to lighten things up around here.
I still get nervous on the first day of school. I'm 34 years old and you'd think this wouldn't be an issue anymore. But as soon as I hit the access road to 1604 this morning, I realized I forgot my phone...my lifeline...my connection to the outside world...and I'm fairly certain this is today's equivalent of feeling naked. Too late to go back (Note to self: must leave well before 7:15 on Thursday...) and caught in a monster traffic jam, I just had to let it go and pray that no one would need me for the next three and a half hours...and that I wouldn't need anyone else...or Facebook.
Made it to school in a surprisingly efficient manner, but without a lot of time to spare. Opted to park in the north campus garage to maximize the time I did have....for a fee. So, after the tuition, fees, books and already purchased parking permit, it cost me an additional $7.50 to park today. Awesome. That's okay, I didn't really want lunch....
Did I mention it was butt-ass cold this morning?? Well, it was. And I'm kind of glad for that, as it gave me reason to bust out my super sweet new Uggs. Not the kind of Uggs that 13-year-old girls wear during the summer with their short shorts and malnourished stick legs....but they do have genuine sheepskin lining and my toes were most thankful. I was warm from the knee down (I have a penchant for wearing knee socks) and from the waist up (down filled puffy jackets are my favorite). Apparently, jeans just don't cut it in cold weather. The wind pretty much cut right through them.
Braving my way through the cold air, I made it to class and settled into my seat in the back, thankful that I had at least remembered to bring my coffee. The lecture hall was less than packed but full enough that sitting in the back would not be considered inappropriate. I like it when the seat to student ratio allows for a good 2 to 3 seats between each person....so why the guy who walked in at the last minute chose to sit right next to me, I don't know. And, he had the burps. Fantastic. And my stomach only growled once and I'm pretty sure he thought it was his.
All in all, I had a good morning. I like my first professor, and my second professor is tolerable, though he seems to have a bit of an arrogant streak....and by that I mean he gave us an outline for how we are to e-mail him, and if the e-mail is not in proper form, he will not respond. A little on the picky side....
I'm optimistic that this semester will not wear me down the way last semester did. See what new boots can do for one's outlook?
I still get nervous on the first day of school. I'm 34 years old and you'd think this wouldn't be an issue anymore. But as soon as I hit the access road to 1604 this morning, I realized I forgot my phone...my lifeline...my connection to the outside world...and I'm fairly certain this is today's equivalent of feeling naked. Too late to go back (Note to self: must leave well before 7:15 on Thursday...) and caught in a monster traffic jam, I just had to let it go and pray that no one would need me for the next three and a half hours...and that I wouldn't need anyone else...or Facebook.
Made it to school in a surprisingly efficient manner, but without a lot of time to spare. Opted to park in the north campus garage to maximize the time I did have....for a fee. So, after the tuition, fees, books and already purchased parking permit, it cost me an additional $7.50 to park today. Awesome. That's okay, I didn't really want lunch....
Did I mention it was butt-ass cold this morning?? Well, it was. And I'm kind of glad for that, as it gave me reason to bust out my super sweet new Uggs. Not the kind of Uggs that 13-year-old girls wear during the summer with their short shorts and malnourished stick legs....but they do have genuine sheepskin lining and my toes were most thankful. I was warm from the knee down (I have a penchant for wearing knee socks) and from the waist up (down filled puffy jackets are my favorite). Apparently, jeans just don't cut it in cold weather. The wind pretty much cut right through them.
Braving my way through the cold air, I made it to class and settled into my seat in the back, thankful that I had at least remembered to bring my coffee. The lecture hall was less than packed but full enough that sitting in the back would not be considered inappropriate. I like it when the seat to student ratio allows for a good 2 to 3 seats between each person....so why the guy who walked in at the last minute chose to sit right next to me, I don't know. And, he had the burps. Fantastic. And my stomach only growled once and I'm pretty sure he thought it was his.
All in all, I had a good morning. I like my first professor, and my second professor is tolerable, though he seems to have a bit of an arrogant streak....and by that I mean he gave us an outline for how we are to e-mail him, and if the e-mail is not in proper form, he will not respond. A little on the picky side....
I'm optimistic that this semester will not wear me down the way last semester did. See what new boots can do for one's outlook?
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Six years and not forgotten
I'm just warning you. This will be a hard one to read. I know, because it's a hard one to write. I've tried over and over and over again, but haven't ever been able to get past the first few words. But I'm determined to get it out. It might explain some things about me....or it might not.
I get an uncomfortable lump in my throat, so big it almost chokes me. My nose starts to burn and my eyes well up with tears. I can't help it. Happens every time I think about it. And I think about it at the oddest times and in the oddest places....the on-ramp from 410 to 281 South, sitting at my desk, minding my own business, in the grocery store. A familiar panic sets in....don't do this....not here....not now. (Even now as I write this, I keep having to get up and walk around, run to the ladies' room and pinch the bridge of my nose until the burning stops but unable to do anything to prevent the big, fat tears from falling to the small square tiles on the floor. You know the kind of tears....so big that they splash.)
Her little face appears. I know it's her because a mother knows the face of her child. And she looks exactly like Wes did at that age. It first happened about six months after I sat there in the doctor's office, on that cold and uncomfortable black plastic chair, the doctor's words echoing in my head while she placed her hand over mine, held her head with her other hand and struggled to hold back her own tears. "This is not a normal pregnancy...."
If I close my eyes I can still see it today. It was January and we were at April's house, in her driveway just outside of the garage. The driveway is long and distinctive, with curves and a turn around, and a cedar tree that's missing a limb because I very gracefully backed my husband's truck into it one day. I don't know why we were there, but I was holding her on my left hip, swinging her around and around in circles, her soft light brown bangs brushing her face in the breeze. Her brown eyes sparkling as she smiled into mine. In my dream, she must have been about 2 years old. Small white sweater buttoned at the top and a thin red ribbon in her hair. It was just a moment. That's all I was given. All I have of her.
I buried my face in the pillow and pleaded with God, my knees tucked underneath me and my hands fashioned into fists, trying desperately to go back to sleep, back to the place where for one brief moment...."Please, Lord, just a few more minutes....just a few more minutes....please!" ..... He said no. But He's allowed me to remember every detail for these six years since.
And I'm grateful.
I get an uncomfortable lump in my throat, so big it almost chokes me. My nose starts to burn and my eyes well up with tears. I can't help it. Happens every time I think about it. And I think about it at the oddest times and in the oddest places....the on-ramp from 410 to 281 South, sitting at my desk, minding my own business, in the grocery store. A familiar panic sets in....don't do this....not here....not now. (Even now as I write this, I keep having to get up and walk around, run to the ladies' room and pinch the bridge of my nose until the burning stops but unable to do anything to prevent the big, fat tears from falling to the small square tiles on the floor. You know the kind of tears....so big that they splash.)
Her little face appears. I know it's her because a mother knows the face of her child. And she looks exactly like Wes did at that age. It first happened about six months after I sat there in the doctor's office, on that cold and uncomfortable black plastic chair, the doctor's words echoing in my head while she placed her hand over mine, held her head with her other hand and struggled to hold back her own tears. "This is not a normal pregnancy...."
If I close my eyes I can still see it today. It was January and we were at April's house, in her driveway just outside of the garage. The driveway is long and distinctive, with curves and a turn around, and a cedar tree that's missing a limb because I very gracefully backed my husband's truck into it one day. I don't know why we were there, but I was holding her on my left hip, swinging her around and around in circles, her soft light brown bangs brushing her face in the breeze. Her brown eyes sparkling as she smiled into mine. In my dream, she must have been about 2 years old. Small white sweater buttoned at the top and a thin red ribbon in her hair. It was just a moment. That's all I was given. All I have of her.
I buried my face in the pillow and pleaded with God, my knees tucked underneath me and my hands fashioned into fists, trying desperately to go back to sleep, back to the place where for one brief moment...."Please, Lord, just a few more minutes....just a few more minutes....please!" ..... He said no. But He's allowed me to remember every detail for these six years since.
And I'm grateful.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Resolutions are for habitual quitters
If I get one more e-mail that says anything remotely close to "New Year, New You" in the subject line, I swear I will slap the person sitting closest to me at that moment. No, LIVESTRONG, I don't want to log my daily food intake with you. And Weight Watchers, I know I have unsubscribed from your e-mail list at least half a dozen times. Do you require notice of a restraining order?
For the first time I think ever in my life, I do not have a New Year's resolution that has anything to do with my weight or clothing size. Instead, I resolved to wash my dishes every night before I go to bed. I realize most people probably already do this, and if you're going to judge me for not doing it then we probably don't need to be friends. But I'm happy to report that I have been 100% successful in keeping this resolution....nevermind that it's only January 4th.
My other goal (I don't actually like the term "resolution" anymore) was to write something...here...every day. That, I'm sorry to say, has been an absolute fail.
This is where I come to work things out, but lately it's felt dark and damp and not at all welcoming. I feel the need to keep my coat on, just in case I have to dash out the door that I didn't quite close all the way for the very same reasons. I can't say exactly what's keeping me in this state of uncertainty, I just know I feel it.
2010 was a year of monumental changes for me. I don't know how ready or prepared or comfortable I am with any more changes that might come forth in 2011. But I'm also excited. It's all silly, really, being confined by the four corners of a calendar. At the same time, it's how we compartmentalize our lives.
2010 ended with the quiet sense that I'm not so sure of where I belong anymore. And the second it took to go from one year to the next didn't bring any clarity. But the difference in this New Year and New Years past is that I was a little sorry to see 2010 go. It was a year of change, but it was a good year. I made great strides as an individual. I tried new places and new things and sort of found a new sense of being....which is probably why I find those e-mails so irritating. Do we really need a new us every new year? Because I'm pretty sure that would qualify as schizophrenia.
So I'm not great at keeping all of my goals or resolutions. People change and so do our views. And I'm still not sure of some things that hitched a ride on the hands of the clock as it struck the first midnight of 2011. But at least my dishes are clean.
For the first time I think ever in my life, I do not have a New Year's resolution that has anything to do with my weight or clothing size. Instead, I resolved to wash my dishes every night before I go to bed. I realize most people probably already do this, and if you're going to judge me for not doing it then we probably don't need to be friends. But I'm happy to report that I have been 100% successful in keeping this resolution....nevermind that it's only January 4th.
My other goal (I don't actually like the term "resolution" anymore) was to write something...here...every day. That, I'm sorry to say, has been an absolute fail.
This is where I come to work things out, but lately it's felt dark and damp and not at all welcoming. I feel the need to keep my coat on, just in case I have to dash out the door that I didn't quite close all the way for the very same reasons. I can't say exactly what's keeping me in this state of uncertainty, I just know I feel it.
2010 was a year of monumental changes for me. I don't know how ready or prepared or comfortable I am with any more changes that might come forth in 2011. But I'm also excited. It's all silly, really, being confined by the four corners of a calendar. At the same time, it's how we compartmentalize our lives.
2010 ended with the quiet sense that I'm not so sure of where I belong anymore. And the second it took to go from one year to the next didn't bring any clarity. But the difference in this New Year and New Years past is that I was a little sorry to see 2010 go. It was a year of change, but it was a good year. I made great strides as an individual. I tried new places and new things and sort of found a new sense of being....which is probably why I find those e-mails so irritating. Do we really need a new us every new year? Because I'm pretty sure that would qualify as schizophrenia.
So I'm not great at keeping all of my goals or resolutions. People change and so do our views. And I'm still not sure of some things that hitched a ride on the hands of the clock as it struck the first midnight of 2011. But at least my dishes are clean.
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