Dear Universe, I'm tired!

I recently read a very informative article on successful marriages and it noted that we shouldn't always save our "leftover" selves for our spouse while giving everyone else our best.  And, I'm the first to admit, I do this EVERY SINGLE DAY!  My spouse comes home to a wife that is exhausted, battered, broken, messy, crumpled, ornery, and maybe even a little wacky from the INSANE DAY that is the life of a mom.  After reading that article, I decided to make a point of being my best self around the man I love, and letting the universe have my yucky leftovers for the day.

SO HERE YOU GO UNIVERSE!!!

I am tired!  I'm spent!  I didn't get to bed until 3:30am and then had my alarm screaming at me to wake up at 6:00am so I could start another Cinderella day of cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, organizing never-ending piles of stuff, scolding teaching children who can't seem to get along these days, and homeschooling three kids who are on very different levels of learning.  I will be honest and admit that I didn't even have two minutes to brush my teeth today (ewwww!) so I have been chewing cinnamon gum instead.  But, hell, I can tell you all about rock cycles, William the Conquerer, the Battle of Hastings, every phonogram and spelling rule known in the English language, all of the books of the bible, some very lengthy memorized historical and math facts, and the tested fact that certain substances do NOT wash out of clothing (if you know how to wash hardened green slime out of a cotton shirt, be my guest).  I will also have fresh smelling kids tomorrow, thanks to the laundry I've been doing all day.  I will have healthy kids, I hope, after forcing them to take a bite of each vegetable on their plate and then agreeing that, yes, ketchup can count as a vegetable (you win some, you lose some).  I will have a happy husband by not unloading all of my frustrations on him today, and instead turning to the power of the super-fast-mega-speed typing on this blog.

I'm really angry today.  I just am.  I'm not an angry person, but today I have just had enough!  I am still stuck in the mystery of what is going on with my body these days.  Some days I feel fine, others I feel so tired and fatigued and start shaking if I exert myself in the slightest.  We went to the outlet mall on Saturday after Beckham's soccer game in Austin, and my arm started shaking uncontrollably after carrying a stack of maybe 5-6 clothing items into the dressing room.  I've continued getting terrible migraines on the right side of my head every night around bedtime.  I've been trying to sleep better, eat healthier, and exercise more, but I feel like the universe is somehow against me.  I try to sleep and have an intensely painful headache.  I eat healthier, for sure, but sometimes I'm so busy that I'll go 8 or more hours between meals.  I've been trying out Blogilates (free on youTube - if you haven't tried it, I highly recommend it) each day, figuring it is a nice, low-key, low-impact workout (I mean, it's pilates, how hard could it be!?) and find myself doing only the beginner versions of all of the moves and shaking and unable to get through the entire workout half the time.  I've been training for a 5k that my friend talked me into signing up for next month, and since I am NOT a runner, I figured I could use the Couch to 5k app on my phone to help me out.  Oh my, let me reiterate that I am NOT a runner!  As I jog with my jogging stroller full of kids, I feel like I am pushing a load of bricks, uphill, against the wind.  When did I get so old and out of shape?  Ha ha!  

Two years ago I was in the best shape of my life, dancing at the Russian Embassy, and feeling like Wonder Woman.  I weighed in at my healthy base weight of 118, looked fabulous, and felt amazing.  Ever since my hospital stay, about 18 months ago, I haven't felt like I've regained my strength.  I continue to have problems with my legs getting shaky and weak.  I get tired too fast.  I fatigue too easily.  I could nap just about anytime anywhere (if only!!!), hence the suspicion of narcolepsy.  And, despite my healthy eating and lack of calories due to my busy, frantic schedule, and my exercising, I've gained 10 pounds!  That alone makes me want to kick something.  What the hell?!  Luckily I have another doctor appointment next Thursday (they want to discuss the possibility of seizures tied in with the migraines...) so we can run some tests and see what is going on!

I guess I'm also angry because I feel like my husband, being a doctor, should have more sympathy for what I'm going through and help me solve this mystery.  But I get the feeling that if the neurologists can't even pinpoint what's wrong, then he just would rather write it off as nothing.  Like if science can't prove it, then I must be making it up?!  Why would I make this up?  I don't know!  I actually started crying last night because I couldn't get through 30 minutes of my workout without fatiguing too quickly.  I was supposed to be training to become a yoga and dance instructor and open up my own studio after he finished residency, and instead my body just won't have it.  I'm spent.  I'm tired.  Unnaturally tired.  I'm really fed up with this.  I'm doing everything right and still I feel like I'm getting more and more out of shape, more and more weak.  And, at that realization, my fury and anger just turns into a little bit of sadness and defeat.  BUT I CAN'T HAVE THAT!  I have to overcome this and be bigger than whatever this ailment is.  This invisible thing that drains me of my lifeforce.  My kryptonite.  Only, it doesn't have a name yet.  Do all moms feel this exhausted?  Did I just hit a speed bump that has thrown me off?  

Rant over, Universe.  Carry on.

Searching for Answers: a blog entry to myself

I have been having increased incidences of weakness in my legs, lack of coordination, fatigue, excessive tiredness, and shakiness the past few months.  It seems to always accompany anxiety.  So, it made perfect sense to me when my neurologist suggested I could very well be narcoleptic with cataplexy.  Cataplexy is a condition that some narcoleptics have where their muscles go weak or floppy when they feel strong emotion such as laughter or stress or sadness.  While journaling my symptoms, I found one common denominator: anxiety.  I was a little bit relieved to finally be finding some answers to some scary symptoms, because I had feared that I had something that would continue to get worse and worse, such as Multiple Sclerosis (MS).  If all I had to do was manage my anxiety and sleep patterns, I could do that!  Right?

I went in for my sleep study last week and was hooked to wires on my scalp, on my face, on my chest, on my arms, on my legs.... all attached with gooey glue.  To top it off, they put tubes in my nose and mouth and attached bands around my chest and stomach to monitor breathing.  Now, I'm not sure how effective these so-called sleep studies are under these circumstances, because I am telling you I normally sleep like a rock and I could NOT sleep all night because I was so uncomfortable with all of those attachments!  In fact, my doctor reported that in a 9-hour sleep period, I slept for 6 hours.  No surprise there!  Have these sleep doctors tried this method of sleeping?!  I sort of already knew there would not be an accurate reading of my symptoms under these circumstances.

I received a call from the doctor's office yesterday, and I expected to hear that I was indeed narcoleptic and they had a magic pill that would help me stay awake and alert during the day and help with the cataplexy.  But that's not how it went down.  Instead, they told me that the test was inconclusive, that I most likely did NOT have narcolepsy and cataplexy based on the findings, and that since my symptoms are linked to anxiety, they recommend being placed on an anti-anxiety medication or anti-depressant while they continue to search for answers.  Phooey.  Now I don't know how all of you feel about "mental illness," but it seems that any physical illness seems more tangible and easy to treat than a mental illness, at least to me.  Not only that, but a more acceptable one.  If I tell me doctor husband that I have a physical disease that is causing my symptoms, he is going to nod and understand the physiology of that disease and be understanding of those times I just need to lie down and rest after a 16 hour day with the kids, because, you know, I have a categorized illness that says I need normal amounts of sleep!  But, if I tell my doctor husband that I have anxiety, his reaction is going to be, "well, stop being anxious then!"

So, you can imagine how frustrating this "preliminary diagnosis" is for me.  In fact, ironically, I kind of want to cry about it because I am not supposed to be fragile or tired or stressed or anxious or (in hushed tones) depressed.  I am supposed to be Wonder Woman.  I am supposed to wake up early and stay up late, washing, scrubbing, fixing, baking, kissing, bandaging, wiping, dabbing, loving, hugging, tugging, plunging, did I already say scrubbing?, dressing, undressing, redressing, taxiing, running, making, ...and faking a whole lot of energy I just don't have!  I am a mom of three.  I am a wife to a very busy doctor who has spent the past 12 years of our marriage in school and residency, busily working towards  his career, while I hold down the fort at home, sometimes feeling like a single parent during those times I'm raising kids alone, running a household alone, and feeling completely alienated from the man I married.  Of course I have joined Facebook groups of other women in my same situation: Military Medical Wives, LDS Doctor Wives, Medical Wives That Homeschool, LDS Military Medical Wives That Homeschool!  I know I'm not alone in the life I live.  I meet other women online daily who have the same exhaustion and frustrations and fears and muted moments of celebration that the outside world does not appreciate or understand like the joy of finally paying off $120,000 in student loans or getting your #1 spot for your first PCS tour (albeit a spot you'd never ever choose to live if you were not in the military).  I know I'm not the only mom in the world who is tired, and stressed out, and lonely, and overwhelmed.  But, sometimes it kind of feels that way.

So, I'm going to be completely honest on this blog and tell you exactly how I feel, because I think it will help with a lot of my pent up anxiety.

1) I hate Killeen.  I really do.  This military town is trashy and there's not a single grocery store I can go to here that is not dirty and overcrowded.  People in our neighborhood think they live in the Bronx.  When we first moved in, a neighbor warned me, "you think you're moving into a nice, suburban town where kids can ride their bikes and play, but don't be fooled - you are living in the Bronx here.  People are trashy and you keep your kids close."

There are flies everywhere, I kid you not!  Every time I open the back door, ten more fly in, despite all our efforts to keep them out of the house using screen curtains and scents that supposedly deter flies.  I even considered FILLING our yard with Venus Fly Traps because those dang flies make me so furious.

One thing I do love is our house and the view out my back windows.  There is a big, open ranch that reminds me of an African Savannah behind us.  I half expect to see a giraffe walk by on the horizon where the trees are.  It's beautiful.  I make a point to look out those windows as often as possible.  It feels free, and open, and lovely.  It is my escape from the boxed in feel you get living in a packed neighborhood surrounded by more packed neighborhoods.  I get kind of claustrophobic looking at neighborhood after neighborhood here.  It's funny because in Maryland, outside of D.C. there were a lot more people, but it was so green there with all of the tall trees and the vines and the shrubs that you just didn't notice all of the houses as much.  Here, you can see rooftops for miles, and that, somehow, makes me feel more claustrophobic than living in an urban area!  I'm looking forward to moving in a few years and dream of living in a cute little house by a lake, surrounded by nature and fresh air.

2) I wish I got a break every once in awhile.  Everywhere I go, I have three kids with me.  I love those three kids dearly, but after 9 years of having kids with you CONSTANTLY, you kind of feel like a bird in a cage - trapped and missing the days when you could fly freely, at your own pace.  My husband and I don't fight often, but when we do, it is usually me telling him that he does not understand that I need some freedom and space, that he doesn't understand it because he's never done what I do.  He gets to drive alone, listen to his own music, go to the gym on his own time (and not with three kids during that two hour window they offer child-minding), stop by the store and go shopping for clothes, run errands (without dragging kids in and out or buildings and getting them back into the car and in their car seats each and every time).  He gets a last-minute invitation to go to dinner or a soccer game or a movie and he's gone.  For me, I always always always have three kids with me.  From the moment I wake up until I go to sleep, and very often all night long as well.  I never drive alone.  I never listen to the music I like.  I go to the gym when the planets align perfectly and by some magical coincidence we don't have any scouts or sports that evening AND are done with dinner in time for me to drag three tired kids to the gym during that small window of time when child-minding is actually open, while I run in late to a spin class or piyo.  I don't shop.  I don't socialize or accept invitations for outings, because that would require an advanced notice to a babysitter I can't afford.  Lately, hubsters has been gone an awful lot.  He was gone for a week for boards review, then a few days to take those boards, then another week for a conference, and then we all took a lovely two week vacation together, and he left again for a week for a guys trip.  And I'm happy he can do those things, but it puts a lot of strain on me in the evenings when he's not here.  To add insult to injury, my best friend wants to do a girls' trip with me over Labor Day weekend and I can't do it because we spent all of our money on all of these recent trips, plane tickets, tuition for the kids' private school next year, boards for Jordan, etc.  I know, I know, first world problems.  The hoity-toity doctor's wife can't take a vacation because she spent all of her money on frivolous things like boards exams for hubby's career and tuition for the kids to go to a decent school.  I sound spoiled rotten!  But, it's not about the money.  We are absolutely NOT rich.  We make a lot of sacrifices for these things as we pay off student loans on a humble military salary (NOT a doctor's salary, mind you).  But it IS about getting two ounces of time to myself.  Having any amount of freedom.  I feel trapped, caged in, stifled.  Sometimes I hide from the kids in a closet so I can just breathe and be alone for five minutes.  Of course, they always hunt me down and find me :)

3)  I am really insecure about my husband's feelings for me and it drives me nuts!  I know he must find me attractive to have married me, and I know there's more than just looks that makes you love a person, but I apologize constantly for looking frumpy or tired or unkept.  By the time he gets home, my hair is a mess, my makeup is either smeared under my eyes or non-existent, and there are nose-wipe stains on my pant leg or shoulder.  He somehow loves me all the same and tells me I'm a beautiful mess.  But I have these recurring nightmares about him leaving me, or cheating on me, or accepting affection from another woman after brushing me off.  Last night I dreamed that we were with a large group of friends somewhere and I was trying to cuddle up next to him as we all laughed and talked, and he kept brushing me off.  I wasn't bothered and figured he needed space and I walked over to socialize with some other friends.  I came back to find some other girl flirting with him and stroking his arm and offering him a bite of her food and he was just happy as a clam, and I was furious that he wouldn't let me do the same thing with him.  It's kind of funny how dreams bring out your innermost fears.  I was most angry that he didn't let me be the number one girl in his life, in front of his friends.  Later in the dream, I caught my husband's best friend giving me a disgusted look and I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror and I was a hideous old, wrinkly, frowny, very ugly haggard woman, like the kind that you only see in fairy tales because no body actually looks like that.  That was me.  And I thought, "no wonder Jordan doesn't love me!"  I woke up pretty upset, and of course he's out of town so he couldn't let me cuddle up in the nook of his arm and tell me it was just a bad dream.  But, seriously, why am I so insecure about my own husband loving me?!  I was proposed to seven times in college!  Seven!  I used to be so thin and attractive and bubbly and fun and full of life.  I had an endless list of dreams and desires and aspirations.  I felt smart and my opinions were valued back then.  I was an individual.  I was that girl who had a date every night of the week.  I was constantly being asked out by complete strangers that would walk into my work or run into me at school.  I had a sweet Peruvian boy come into my work one day and shower me with adoration as he told me I was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen and he wanted to ask me out but did not dare.  Of course, I was engaged at the time so I had to break the news to him.  Once I rear-ended a guy driving a Mustang, and he got out to inspect the damage and, upon seeing me, smiled and told me he'd gladly call it even if I'd go out on a date with him.  Another time, I had my transmission replaced in my beater car and when the guy called me to tell me how much the repairs came to, he added, "but if you'll go out on a date with me, I can take care of those charges for you."  I was that girl that would show up to a job interview and not only get the job, but also get set up on a date with the boss's brother.  I was that girl that would get mysterious emails on my college email account from guys that never dared ask me out when we had class together and were suddenly working up the nerve to ask me out at the end of the semester.  Once I walked out of a concert with my guy friends and we were all invited to a party - the GIRL inviting us to the party stopped mid-sentence to tell me how gorgeous I was.  Why do I say this?  Am I a conceited, self-absorbed girl caught up in getting attention from others and only caring about looks?  On the contrary, I am a woman in her mid-30s with low self-esteem trying to remember who I used to be.  I don't think all of those examples make me feel better because it reminds me that I used to be better about doing my hair and makeup.  I think I used to possess a certain glow that drew people to me.  I was alive and excited to be alive.  I was happy and carefree and loved life and loved people.  I smiled a lot.  Like, all of the time.  I was friendlier.  I was probably a lot more naive, but I was also happy and trusting and loving and caring and had a lot to be excited about.  Now, what happened to THAT girl?  That girl who wanted to learn a dozen languages and travel the world and learn to play the guitar?  That girl who could happily sit and eat a popscicle and talk about life and music and just enjoy the moment?  That girl who could drive up to a lake and sit on the cliffs and watch the sunset, completely by herself, and know exactly who she was?  I miss her.

Now, I'm a little battered and tired and have an extra ten pounds I can't seem to shake (Dang that limited child minding schedule at the gym!  and Dang that sweet food that I eat when I'm stressed and tired!)  but I'm still somewhat attractive, I think, if only I had the time to do something to my hair and put on some nice makeup rather than just ruffling up my messy bob and putting on a quick dab of eye shadow and mascara before searching for kids' shoes and running out the door.  And I think I can be interesting and funny if only I weren't so tired all of the time.  What scares me the most is that I feel like I'm losing myself in the midst of being a wife and mother.  I want to be that bubbly, fun girl full of life with a million aspirations, and I feel like she's in there somewhere inside of me but is afraid to come out ... I don't know... I guess I just feel caged in, sad, stifled, no longer like me.  I love being a wife and a mother, don't get me wrong.  It is seriously the most wonderful thing I could ever dedicate my life to.  But I kind of feel like something is out of balance.  Like my new life is to keep my husband and kids happy and taken care of, and I just stay out of everyone's way without any regard to what makes me tick.  But something has to change because I'm not happy.  I'm not me.  And don't my kids deserve a happy mom?  Won't my husband like it better if he's married to a happy, bubbly, fun wife rather than one that just fulfills basic household duties (but, hey, I multitask like a champ and no body can manage this house full of kids better than me!)?

I've joked for years that I could use a valium, whenever I'm feeling especially overwhelmed and high-strung and stressed out.  My grandma, the sweetest lady you could ever meet, used to take half a valium here and there for her "case of nerves" as she called it.  It sounded so normal that way.  When something is labeled as anxiety or depression, there is automatically a stigma associated with it.  But, if a sweet, hard-working old lady pops a valium because she's becoming a little worrisome, it seems completely normal, right?  And that's why I hate labels!  I am not "depressed."  I do not have "generalized anxiety disorder."  But, what I do have is a very busy life that I am managing alone and under unique circumstances, and I could use a pill to help calm my case of nerves every now and then, I suppose.  "Mother's Little Yellow Helper" is a Rolling Stone's song about Valium.  And I laugh a little bit on the inside sometimes when I feel like my kids are going to drive me crazy and I think, 'I can see that... I can see how a homemaker and stay-at-home mom of three young kids might need a valium.'  There's not shame in that.  If I can be happier and healthier and enjoy my life where I sometimes feel like I'm tied down and imprisoned against my will, why not?!  Ha ha!  There's something so supremely messed up about that sentence.

Obviously I'm being a little ironic.  But I am, in all seriousness, searching for options to make some changes.  Otherwise my health is going to keep going downhill, especially as I take on this new homeschooling adventure next year with this mixed method private school the kids are doing (they go to school two days a week and I teach them from home three days a week).  I've considered a few holistic options:

a) yoga and meditation at sun up and sun down
b) getting to bed earlier (despite my desire to have "me time" after the kids go to bed
c) waking up before everyone else to start me day alone.  100% ALONE.  Awwww.  Sounds nice.
d) eating healthier - when I tried out Whole30, I felt much more energetic.  Couldn't hurt.
e) seeing a therapist, not to medicate, but to discuss pent-up feelings that I don't release otherwise
f) making time for myself, as in MAKING the other people in this household allow me to have time for myself :)
g) more connection with nature - get outside more and find a way for it to not be stressful with the kids
h) take deep breaths throughout the day.  some people have a smoke break.  i need a breathing break.
i) have sit-down meals (what?!  moms get to sit during waking hours?!)
j) rediscover a hobby or find a new hobby and do it
k) socialize (scientists found that monkeys that socialized more had lower stress levels than the more solitary monkeys and theorized it was because oxytocin is released during the grooming routine of the monkeys... so, at the very least, maybe I could get a monkey to groom me???)
l) don't hold back so much - don't be afraid to laugh and be happy
m) journal about these things!  hopes, dreams, aspirations, frustrations, fears, everything
n) take time to feel good about self each morning - put on makeup, do hair, smile
o) get a bike and trailer and go for rides with the kids!
p) decorate the house with some color, how I like it, and don't be afraid to spend money on those things!  Jordan got his $10,000 movie room; you can get some rugs and pillows and throw blankets and art!
q) speaking of movies, watch something you like - don't be afraid to voice an opinion about preferences
r) the same goes for music
s) dance!  you used to love to dance - find that love again and just do it
t) get certified to teach yoga - keep the studio dream at the top of the list and don't give it up
u) do things just because they make you happy - paint your nails, buy that yellow dress, get a snow cone!
v) lists can be therapeutic or your worst enemy - don't make overwhelming to-do lists
w) be happy
x) listen more; talk less
y) read good, happy books and poetry that makes you come alive
z) don't forget to actually do the things on this list.

Been a Long Time...

I think the last time I posted anything here was last year before we moved.  And life has been rather crazy in 2014 and has carried over to 2015.  Between the mysterious and scary hospital stay last year and the perplexing doctor's visits, the house-selling and the traveling and moving across the country with kids, the new house in the new town during Jordan's long(ish) 3-month absence for military training, and the joy that is the Texas school system, I have done nothing but live day to day for the past year.

And, let me just tell you, it's nothing like I expected.  In both good and bad ways.

I am still working harder than ever with running our household and raising our children, oftentimes alone.  We added a cute Boston Terrier puppy to our family and that was a lot of work, but a lot of fun.  The schools here, as mentioned above, are terrible - terribly strict, terribly long, and terribly behind.  My 2nd grader gets on a bus at 7:45am and doesn't get home until close to 4:30pm most days.  He's bored out of his mind and not learning anything new... it seems the 2nd grade here is at the same level as the 1st grade in Maryland.  The teacher is overwhelmed with her 26 students and doesn't do differential learning, so my son ends up sitting at his desk with his head down most of the day while he waits for the other children to catch up.  It has been mind-boggling and frustrating and I actively started searching for a better school for him, which is surprisingly difficult when you're in a military town in central Texas.  I finally found one!  Then I started to stress about the costs of putting him in a private school, so I started to explore ways to make money from home while also raising my young children.  I started my training to become a Kindermusik teacher and had to pass vocal reviews and take pedagogy courses and do my student teaching over the past few months.  I'm just about done with all of that and am happy to say that I love teaching Kindermusik and preschool and will be doing both next school year.

Anyhow, we are loving the new house with the movie theater room.  We are loving our large fenced yard where the kids can play safely (you know, with the exception of the "rabid skunk" scare in the neighborhood).  We are adjusting to the work of the puppy who is smellier than I expected (note to self:  Boston Terriers fart!)  We are adjusting to the military town and the lack of charm but the access to everything one could ever need.  There is nothing frilly or cute or charming about this town.  It is a practical place and it is a pretty ugly place.  But, once you get outside of Killeen, it can be pretty.  We like to travel south to Austin or East to Waco as often as we can.

But, I'm telling you, the biggest adjustment is the loneliness here.  Don't get me wrong, Texans - true Texans - are the friendliest, most polite people you will ever meet.  They greet you with a large buttermilk smile, a "howdy ma'am," and will offer to hold your door or carry your groceries or assist you in any way possible.  But, friendly doesn't always equal friendship.  Being a military town, everyone here is working class and doing their best to scrape on by.  There are not a lot of stay-at-home moms in my neighborhood because everyone works full-time.  With all of the deployments, you also have a culture of families that either leave as soon as their husband deploys or they have family members come in town to help out or they merely run the household as a single parent, which means that most people here are very busy with their own lives.  Not unlike myself.  I am in a season where friendships come second to running my household and keeping my kids alive.  But, when you're home all day every day raising three kids, cleaning, teaching, and so on, you start to realize that you are pretty far removed from any sort of social life outside of facebook and texting the occasional friend or family member.  Luckily for me, many of my friends are in the same situation and completely understand the lack of communication or time available for chit chat.

Still, it gets lonely.  Once, for a History of the American West class, I had to go to an art exhibit displaying art dedicated to the western frontier.  I was drawn to a painting of a lone woman, young and quiet, standing up against a hitch-style fence with her hair blowing in the breeze, surrounded by rolling golden hills and fields of bluebells, with a tiny house off in the distance.  It very well could have been depicting Texas.  It just felt lonely to me, looking at that woman.  She very well may have felt happy and free and loving the space all around her as she stood with her back to the wind, but that's what I love about art: it speaks to everyone differently.  And, to me, I thought she looked lonely, surrounded by vast emptiness and feeling the great unknown around her.  That's me right now, in a way.  I look out my windows and feel free and happy looking at the open ranch behind our house.  So much open space.  It's beautiful.  I should feel free.  But, I hold myself back and it makes me feel a little anxious.  I want to be able to let go and just breathe and just be and embrace everything in my life right now, but the uncertainty of things makes me feel a little hesitant and uneasy.  Moving is always difficult for me.  And it takes me a good year or more to adjust, it seems.  It takes me about that long to make good friends, too.  I have always struggled with making casual friends that come and go, but I am more likely to make a couple of really good friends that I stay friends with forever.  It's been like that as long as I can remember.  When I make a friend, it's a lasting friendship that carries on through the years.  For now, I haven't really found that friend in Texas.  Or maybe I have and just haven't realized it yet :)   Anyhow, that's what's going on with me in my life right now.  Momming.  Working hard.  Holding down the fort.  Being as strong as I can.  Loving husband and kids.  Giving kisses and hugs.  Reading Curious George books with my arms full of kids.  Enjoying the simplicity of it all but also recognizing the huge task at hand each day of raising (and cleaning up after) these wonderful children.

I'll have to write about my adventures with the garage door and the Honda dealership and the sick kids another time.  Duty calls!

Five Minute Friday: Grateful

Go.

I am grateful for five minute friday that gives me a five minute window scheduled into my day where I am allowed to actually SIT down and just type.  Type type type.  Something I love to do, but something I so do not have time for these days.  I would love to own an old typewriter that I can actually type on.  Something about it seems so romantic and innocent.  Pure.  I just love to write.  Even if it's nonsensical writing, as I seem to be doing presently in my sleep-deprived, distracted state.

The past couple of months have been extremely trying for me.  I have worked harder than I've ever worked before - and I've always been a hard worker, staying busy for 16 hours a day or more, so that's saying something!  I have been stressed and panicked and worried and lonely and scared and uncertain in the midst of all of this.  And, at the height of it all, when I could bare it no longer, I finally collapsed, literally, and ended up in the hospital.  I learned a lesson.  I learned I need to lean on someone.  Someone in particular.  I learned to count on our Heavenly Father in ALL things.  I always think I can do it all, be it all, and all by myself with no help or support from anybody.  I learned that our strength does not come from being solitary, but by leaning on our Heavenly Father and, through the grace of our Savior, we find strength to bare all things.  One day I collapsed onto my knees into prayer.  It had been a long time since I had said a personal, heartfelt prayer.  My day is so caught up in kids that my prayers are usually the ones at mealtimes with the children or at their bedside at night.  I hadn't realized that I had lost my personal connection with the Lord.  As I humbly prayed and cried and pleaded for help and strength, I felt a flood of relief go through my body.  I opened my eyes feeling refreshed and cleansed and hopeful.  Within a couple of hours, friends that had NO idea what I was going through (because I was going to do it all on my own, damn it!) were calling and texting asking if they could help me out with the kids that week.  Wow.  I was amazed at that quick communication out of no where, and I knew I was being watched over.  Furthermore, a lady I have only ever met twice in my life, a lady who was like a mission "mom" to Jordan out when he was a missionary in Kentucky, sent me a random Facebook message telling me that she felt inspired to write to me and tell me that I was an amazing wife and mother and that the Lord loved me and that she knew I must be busy, maybe even busier than I hoped to be, but to know that through it all, people notice the good work that I'm doing and that my family appreciates me and that she is grateful to know me.  It was so completely random!  I hadn't shared anything about my personal life on Facebook.  Jordan and I had not had any contact with her in months, and here she was pouring her heart out telling me exactly what I needed to hear to feel strong, to feel like I could go on.  Then, as I was hit with more and more, including a flood in the basement during a three-day flash flood in Maryland, I made a new friend who helped lift me even more.  We had only ever met in passing at church, but she had offered to loan me her dehumidifier.  When I went over to pick it up, we ended up have a two-hour chat about everything and nothing as the kids all ran around the yard and played.  I didn't tell her about my awful month or the stress I was going through.  We just talked, like old friends would, and laughed, and I realized that I really need to make more time for friendships.  It was such a stress-reducer to have someone to share a beautiful spring day with.  I was so grateful to make this new friendship in the midst of my chaos.  Friendship is such a beautiful thing and I think we so often forget how important it is when we get caught up in all of the to-dos as moms.  I made a goal right then and there to make a point of building more meaningful relationships with the people around me.  To open up and be a friend.  All of that other "stuff" is so much easier to bear with friends by your side.

I am grateful for inspiration.  For friendships.  For not having to do it all alone.  For the gift of this life... even the hard times.  For a Heavenly Father and a Savior who give me strength through prayer.  For the Holy Ghost that guides me, even when I choose not to listen.  For learning experiences that give me wisdom.  For this moment.  For you.

Stop.

houseprep-hospital-roadtrip-paperwork-appraisals-chaos!

This month.  Wow.  Where do I begin?  April went something like this: cleaned house top to bottom, packed boxes, organized, made everything spic-and-span perfect for showing, painted walls, painted trim, painted ceilings, steamcleaned carpets, met with realtor daily as she walked through house pointing out flaws - everything from our cheap walmart sheets to well-worn books that needed to be hidden and replaced with her high-end fancy staging items.  It was beyond stressful.  I would work all day taking care of the kids and cleaning and doing laundry, and then work all night doing the heavy work that is next to impossible to do with children around, like painting and steam cleaning.  I would forget to eat and hardly sleep, trying to fight against the ticking clock to make our house absolutely perfect for the big day where we would list it, show it, and sell it.  I could barely breathe.  I felt like I had split into five different people who had to be in five places at once, frantically working as hard as humanly possible.  Or perhaps even beyond what was humanly possible.  I was wishing for super-speed and the ability to never sleep.  I was begging my husband to please take a day off work and help me.  Friends started to notice my frantic state and started calling to offer to take the kids, and, with hardly enough time to even drive them over, I would show up with no makeup, my dirty, messy hair knotted up in a messy ponytail, covered in paint-splattered clothes, thanking them profusely for offering to help.  I wanted to crumble and cry.  I felt exhausted beyond repair.

Through this particular week, I kept feeling a phrase resonate through my whole being:  "it is not requisite for a man to run faster than he has strength..."  And I would nudge aside that feeling as if saying, "I can't listen to that right now... I have work to do!"  But I kept feeling it.  I can't describe it any other way except that I felt the words flood through my soul.  But I kept going.  I would stop around 3:30 or 4:00 a.m., pass out in bed for a couple of hours, and then start all over again with the daily breakfasts and getting kids ready and my oldest out the door to school and then work work work work work in the midst of still trying to be a good mom who keeps her kids clothed and fed and entertained through the day.  That particular week was very chaotic.  I was indeed going faster than my legs could carry me, faster than I had strength.  My legs even gave out at one point as I was reaching for a bowl, and I came crashing down onto the counter, breaking the bowl in the process.  By the Wednesday, I could hardly walk.  I felt no pain, I just couldn't walk.  But I kept pushing through the day.  I had errands to run and cleaning to do and I just couldn't stop for a second.  I knew something was wrong with my body, particularly my legs, but I just kept pushing forward, desperate to be done.  Thinking that if I could just finish everything on the list, I could finally rest.  That night, Jordan got home from work and saw me hobbling around the kitchen, gripping the counter for support, stumbling around like Ariel the Mermaid when she got her new legs.  Something was wrong.  He insisted I go to bed before 10 that night, and I conceded.  I still had caulking to do and paint touchups and more packing.  I was one day away from listing day.  I could do it!  But I couldn't.  I barely pulled my legs up the stairs, feeling like I had no control over them, feeling like my feet must have weighed 200 lbs each.  I was so fatigued.  I tried a bath.  I had to crawl from the bathtub to the bed.  I just couldn't walk.  I decided not to worry.  It would all be over in the morning after a good night's sleep.


When I woke up that next morning, Thursday, my legs were not working properly at all.  It was the strangest thing.  I would go to walk, and it was if I were walking waste-deep against a current.  My legs were pulling behind me, lifting slowly, and stepping slowly like a funky bird.  It's like my brain was sending signals to my legs to move, and then they'd get those signals a few seconds late and try desperately to move in any way they could.  I was terrified.  I got downstairs with the kids and tried making breakfast.  I couldn't get around without holding onto the counter or the wall.  I decided to sit.  I kept falling backwards in my seat, unable to sit up straight.  I got up again, hoping standing would give me some more stability.  I was swaying and stumbling and falling all over the place!  I sat back down, swaying backwards, feeling like the wind would just blow me away if I were to go outside.  Then my diaphragm started to seize up.  I couldn't breathe!  It would only last for a few seconds, but it was crazy scary having no control over it and wondering if it would go away or get worse.  I texted Jordan, a little panicked at this point.  Next thing I knew, a Neurologist was calling me, because Jordan had paged him.  I told him my symptoms and he told me to get to the ER immediately.  I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.  I had no control over my body.  I had kids to take care of.  My house was being listed that day.  My husband was at work.  I tried to drive and my left leg kept jerking over the side like a sudden reflex.  That worried me, so I decided to wait for Jordan to drive me.  Jordan hurried home, we dropped the younger kids off at a friend's house, and we drove to the hospital.


I spent hours being evaluated in the ER by both the ER doc and the neurologist.  They decided to admit me immediately and ordered dozens of tests.  Jordan and Beckham both left and suddenly I was there alone, in my hospital gown, feeling very vulnerable, being wheeled in for an MRI and then a lonely hospital room.  Again, I wanted to laugh and cry.  For months I had been begging Jordan for a vacation, or at least one day off from working, and now here I was, in the hospital, with nothing to do and nobody to talk to except medical personnel.  Not exactly what I had in mind.  All night I had people coming in and out taking blood samples and checking my vitals.  My blood pressure was dropping as my heart rate increased and I became more fatigued.  I couldn't sleep.  My monitor kept beeping like an alarm clock.  I had no appetite.  My body was failing me. 
The next day came with no answers.  Just more tests, more x-rays, more EKGs, more MRIs, and visits from at least six doctors.  In the meanwhile, I was getting calls from unknown people wanting to see the house already and I was frantically texting Jordan with instructions on what needed to be done to make the house ready to show and how to set up the lock box and times to be out of the house for people to come by.  I felt helpless, miles away in that hospital prison, with no physical way to even bust out of there even if I wanted to.  I tried to get sleep, but kept getting a feeling like people were in my room watching me, and so I would sit up and look around and no body was there.  It was spooky.  I hate hospitals.  Not to mention those awful gowns they make you wear!

Tests kept coming back normal.  On paper, the doctors could not figure out what on earth was wrong with me.  I just couldn't walk normal, that's all!  I felt like a heavy weight was on my chest and was having difficulty breathing as well.  None of it made sense.  I finally asked if I could just be released from the hospital.  The neurologist on duty that day agreed that I could be discharged after one more MRI.  So, another day went by, and I waited and waited... and waited.  Not a single person came into my room for hours.  All was silent.  I was told the MRI would happen that night.  Night came and went.  No sleep.  Just a few more blood draws by a friendly male nurse from Africa who talked about his days raising rabbits and chickens and sheep and telling me the best way to kill and prepare them to eat.  I found it oddly interesting.


My third day in the hospital, I finally received my final MRI and was then allowed to go home.  Jordan showed up to get me sometime in the early afternoon, and I was so relieved to finally see my family!  We had originally planned to leave for a long roadtrip to Texas that day.  Jordan asked me if I still wanted to go.  I couldn't think of a reason why not.  I mean, at least that way I would get to sit and wouldn't have to walk around like a fool.  We drove home and I packed all of the kids' things and my own, stumbling around, holding onto walls for support, and kneeling down on the ground as much as possible.  I teased Jordan... even when I'm fresh out of the hospital, it is still my job to pack for everyone in the house.  Some things will never change.  Within two hours of being discharged from the hospital, we were on the road, driving to Texas!


It took us almost three days to get to Texas.  I was still hobbling around but felt like I was slightly improving each day.  The first days were really rough.  I  had a lot of blood draws while in the hospital and felt very faint on the drive.  As soon as we'd arrive at our hotel, I would fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.  One night, as we entered our hotel room, I had the sensation that my head had fallen asleep.  It was tingling and everything around me was fuzzy and buzzing.  It was a trippy sensation.  I had not been given any medication, so I couldn't even blame it on that!  It was all me and my messed up body.  I also felt completely ridiculous any time we'd stop at a gas station for me to take Ava in to use the bathroom.  I was walking funny still, and I didn't want people to think I was some drunk mom escorting her toddler into the loo.  But each day got a tiny bit better with some improvement.  We spent two days in Texas checking out potential houses to buy.  I would start feeling like I was walking normal as we'd walk through a couple, but by the third house I would start to get fatigued and stumble and pull my legs up the stairs one by one.  The realtor noticed and asked if I needed to take a break.  That's the part I hated most, was other people seeing me in my weak and desperate state.  At the same time, I found myself getting a little angry at Jordan that he wasn't doting on me and helping me out.  Which really wasn't fair, because of course he was concerned; he just knows me well enough to know I'm fiercely independent and don't like help.  But, in this particular instance, I just wanted a shoulder to lean on.  I wanted him to look concerned and worry about me, because I was scared to death that whatever was going on wasn't going to get better.  But he kept reassuring me with his unfaltering optimism, telling me that it would go away eventually. 


Doctors!  Anybody who has a doctor for a husband or, I hear, a father, will tell you that they are the least sympathetic people on the planet when their own family member is ill.  I have a theory that it's because of two things.  A)  They've seen FAR worse.  They've seen people on their death beds, literally, and know that you're just not in that bad of a state.  They'll tell you to take an ibuprofen and a bath and get over it.  B) They think far too logically.  If there's nothing wrong on paper, that science can explain, then nothing is the matter.  In my case, something was obviously wrong.  I was beyond fatigued, couldn't walk normally, and was struggling to breathe, as my blood pressure dipped down and my heart rate shot up.  But labs were coming back normal, therefore I was the picture of perfect health on paper.  VERY FRUSTRATING!  I almost wanted something to come back with red flags so we could pinpoint a problem and, therefore, have a solution!!!


But, hey, we got an offer on our house just a few days after putting it on the market!  At our asking price, too!  So, that was nice.  We handled all of the documentation from Texas, and then made the drive back to D.C. just in time for Easter.  I still hadn't gotten the kids anything for Easter (I mean, come on, it had been a LONG TWO WEEKS at this point), so I drove to the store as soon as they were in bed.  And I felt confident that I would be able to handle it.  Ten minutes into my trip, I found myself relying more and more on my cart for support.  I felt fatigued.  I started to fall and stumble.  My legs started to wig out again and not walk properly.  I tried to hurry along, grabbing a few items to make our Easter dinner, as well as some candy for the kids' baskets, and was grateful that not many people were there.  At the checkout, the bag boy asked if I was okay.  I held back tears and smiled and said I was fine.  I got out of there and into my car, as quickly as my gimpy legs could carry me.  I bawled and bawled in the parking lot.  I drove home and cried all the way, angry that I was not at my full health.  If I could not even buy a dozen items at a grocery store by myself, how was I supposed to be able to go grocery shopping with three kids?!  Why wasn't I back to being healthy yet?!  I was angry.  Angry that there was no explanation.  Angry that I didn't have any answers or solutions or ways to make it magically go away.  Angry at the unknown.  Would it ever go away?  Would it get better or worse?  WHAT was wrong with me?!


I wiped my tears, climbed out of the car, and loaded all the groceries inside.  I was relieved that Jordan didn't see me in that state.  I wanted to have a chance to get rid of any trace of tears.  To put on my strong face. 


Later, we hid the eggs filled with money (because I forgot to buy candy that would fit inside eggs), put together their Easter baskets (painting books, and a couple of treats, and bubbles).  We had a fun weekend of watching the kids on Easter morning, having brunch, and going to church.  We had our Easter feast.  I was exhausted, but I didn't want to kids to see that, so it was almost twice as exhausting trying to hid the fact that I was exhausted!


I would have liked to think that the busiest time was over and that I could just focus on healing my body and getting rest, but we got word that the inspector and appraiser would both be by that week!  I felt like I had barely had time to start to rest and I was being thrown right back into the fight.  I finished painting the trim.  I finished caulking areas that I had neglected before.  I finished steamcleaning the stained areas.  I cleaned.  I cooked.  I took care of my family.  Go go go... work work work... and I felt good about pacing myself this time with the largest things behind us.  The morning of the inspection was a tad crazy.  I noticed a new leak dripping from my ceiling that had never been there before, a lightbulb burnt out, and I realized I didn't have eggs in the process of making muffins for the buyers who would be coming by that day to check out the house!  I also just about broke our new garbage disposal.  My heart was racing, beads of sweat were forming, and I was scrambling to keep the house clean while juggling three young kids in the midst of all the chaos.  We left just after the inspector arrived and I actually had a really nice day, despite the stress of the house, meeting up with friends in downtown Bethesda to enjoy a children's museum and Georgetown Cupcakes.  It was exactly what I needed.  An escape.  And my legs were acting mostly normal.  And I didn't feel all that fatigued.  It was a good day.

Which brings us to the present.  So, after all was said and done, we found the cause of the leak and I am in the process of fixing it this week.  I have been trying to clean out mildew and water from floorboards, clean gunk out of my shower runner, and dry out the actual leak, in preparation to glue everything back down, recaulk and seal everything, and place new shower seals on the door... and a shower curtain just to be on the safe side.  Apparently the leak was caused by the leakage holes being covered up with caulk the night before when Jordan was helping me caulk the shower.  We had no idea those holes were not supposed to be covered!  We just thought we'd seal everything off to make a nice, tight, waterproof, seal.  But, by doing so, we were actually creating a disaster waiting to happen.  Because, as soon as I showered, water gets trapped in that shower runner, with no place to go, and starts leaking out the sides at the seems, and to the level below.  Whoops!  We have a lot to learn about houses and DIY home repair.  So, yeah, my job this week is to undo the damage and reseal everything.  If our buyers back out because of the inspector noting a leak, which I'm hoping is not the case, at least we have a backup contract in place with more buyers, not to mention plenty of people still stopping by or calling daily to ask if our house is still for sale.  I think it will all work out.

And that is how the past three weeks have been.  Exhausting.  I could have just said that and made this a much more concise entry:  The past three weeks have been exhausting.


Here's to a much less stressful, much more enjoyable, much healthier month of May... hopefully with some answers to this strange health dilemma. 

Outlet for an Extrovert

I haven't been on here for awhile... and by the looks of my friend's blog pages, no body else has had time for blogging these days.  Life is BUSY!  Sometimes crazy busy, and sometimes just busy, but always busy. 


We are in the midst of preparing our house to sell - upgrades and renovations and painting and oh-the-cleaning!  Try deep cleaning a house while constantly meeting the demands of three young children and you have entered a whole new ballgame.  We still haven't gotten official word about where we are being sent after residency.  First we were told Texas, but then we heard that everything is changing with the military downsizing and certain installations and departments closing.  So, now, who knows?!  Certainly not us.  We don't have a clue!  It's rather exciting, actually.


Right now, I will apologize if I use any English terminology or phrases from the early 20th century - we have recently started watching Downton Abbey for the first time and are hooked.  Like, watching it every night on the Kindle sort of hooked.  And since I don't get out much, my language exposure consists of either the early 20th century English aristocrats or my young children and the details of cars and trains and pet spiders (fake pet spiders, thank goodness!). 


But, let's get to the point of why I'm even here today, blogging, ever-so-randomly, about absolutely nothing.


I NEED AN OUTLET!!!


A few weeks ago I was having a discussion with a longtime friend of Jordan's about personality types and the tests that tell you what yours is.  I was always a "yellow" and an "ENFP" back in high school and college.  An "Extroverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceptive" personality type.  I suggested that whereas I used to be a yellow and an extrovert, now I was probably much more of an introvert.  I have always been fairly shy, even as an extrovert, but now I keep to myself all the time.  This friend just laughed at me and insisted that I was still the extrovert that he has always known.  Then he suggested that I just think I'm an introvert because of my circumstances of being home alone with kids all day every day, but as soon as I'm around anyone I have this innate need to release my entire heart and soul for everyone to see, at least those I'm comfortable around.


He's right.  And it is an innate need.  I feel like I'm going to burst sometimes if I can't share what's on my mind with someone.  I feel like sometimes I let people see too much of my heart and soul and other times I bottle it up, but eventually it all has to come out like a shaken up soda pop.  I have to share me.  I have to let people see me, even the vulnerable parts.  Even all of my vices.  The good, the bad, the ugly, I can't hide it and hold it in and let it simmer.  I really do need to have a release.  And writing, even if no body in the world reads it, provides me with at least one outlet.


What I need to do is write a book.  Or two.  Or several.  I need to get it all out.  Write fiction, using elements of my life that I so badly feel the need to get out of me and into the world.  One of my favorite aspects of history and humanities is reading the personal writings of people from the past.  It is what brings them to life and makes them real to me.  They took the time to write something that meant something to them, whatever that might be, and no matter how trivial or extraordinary, I feel a little piece of their soul in that writing and I imagine the person being so full of life.  I guess I want to show the world that I am still so full of life and ambition and dreams.  I didn't disappear when I became a mom.  I just became extraordinarily busy!


So, if you ever wonder what my blog is all about, there's your answer.  It's about nothing.  It's about everything.  It's my outlet when my heart is full or my mind is spinning or I'm so excited or mad or sad that I have to shout out to the world.


Today, I don't feel the need to shout out anything, but to just let the words flow out and provide my mind and body with a release from all the pressure of doing it all by myself all the time.  Running the household, raising the children, figuring out the finances and running the numbers to see if it's in our best interest to sell or rent and how much we can afford to lose in the process, packing, cleaning, making the meals, taking kids to appointments or extracurricular activities, teaching, listening, planning, all the while wishing... wishing for the best for my children.  Wishing my husband will always love me no matter how cranky I am at the end of an exhausting day or through the years as I get old and lose my beauty.  Wishing for a break to go exercise or take a sunny walk instead of being stuck in the house during a week of snow and icy rain.  Wishing and hoping and dreaming.  My life is so good.  So blessed.  So extraordinary in ordinary ways.  And sometimes it just all has to pour out of me.


And since I've been doing a lot of yoga lately, I feel like I need to end with a "Namaste" - and I was going to say that I won't because I'm not into that new-age hippie stuff, but maybe I kind of am. 

Mercy

I'm back!  It has been a few weeks, but I'm back for Five-Minute Friday.  I almost missed it.  I almost forgot it was Friday!  And Friday the 13th, at that!

Mercy.

Go!

Oh no!  Somehow I just entirely erased the paragraph I had just typed!  Tender Mercy, where are you now?!

I will try this again....

Eh hem, as I was saying before all was erased.....

I am at the mercy of all those around me.  As I lug my kids from point A to point B, struggling to get them all out of the car and across the parking lot and into the grocery store or the gym or the church, all it takes is a little bit of understanding and mercy to make all the difference with even the slightest hardship.  A gentle pat on the arm, a kind word, a smile.  One day I was buying metro tickets to go downtown while trying to keep all three kids within arms reach.  A happy man, probably not much older than myself, walked up to me and made light conversation.  He commented on my little girl who was dancing around me so happily.  I'm used to people being annoyed by the presence of my children in this bustling city (D.C.), and it was refreshing to find someone who seemed delighted by their presence.  But, and here is what made this interaction absolutely remarkable, then he reached over and touched my shoulder kindly as he said goodbye and told me to have a great day.  A simple touch from another human being - compassion, mercy, kindness - all reflected in a simple act.  Another time I was boarding an airplane with my toddler who had just thrown a monumental tantrum in front of everyone who was going to be on our flight.  I was exhausted, embarrassed, and worried about the upcoming five-hour flight.  A kind, elderly woman reached across her seat into the aisle and kindly patted my arm and nodded with a gentle, understanding smile on her face.  My heart melted.  Compassion, mercy, kindness.

I am in a town that seems rather unfriendly at times.  It is not like any place I have ever lived.  We have lived in military towns, student towns, and small towns, all family-friendly.  Suddenly I arrived in a town where children are not welcome at the grocery store.  Sweet old ladies do not approach me and make chit-chat with my little ones, as they did in other towns.  Rather, they scowl at me as I pass and shake their heads disapprovingly or make rude comments.  It is amazing what experiences I have had since moving here.  An old man honking and yelling obscenities at me in front of my children as I wait for a mother with her child to cross the street before making my right turn.  An old lady hollering for me to get out of her way and that she doesn't like children as she approaches my family.  A man in my neighborhood flatout telling me that I look too young to have so many children (I am a grown woman in my 30s; I have three children - nothing crazzzzy).  Many experiences have floored me and made me wonder why everyone is so mean around here.  I went to Hawai'i on a family vacation recently.  Everyone we encountered was so warm and friendly and welcoming.  I returned to my "heartless" town and decided I was going to be the change I wanted to see in the world, just as the famous quote directs us to do.  If I couldn't live in a friendly town in Hawai'i, I would bring that friendliness to where I was.  I saw that same elderly man that judges me for having so many kids, and while he usually walks away from us with his little dog, I smiled and called out to him with a friendly hello and asked if he minded if we pet his dog.  And something happened.  First he looked a little shocked, a little hesitant, but then... then he smiled, just a little.  He moved over to us.  He let the kids play with the dog.  We made light conversation.  It turns out he has been struggling with depression and loneliness since his daughter moved out for college and he underwent chemotherapy for some cancer that was found.  We walked together for nearly 30 minutes.  He joined us at the park that day.  Now he stops to chat with us every time he sees us.  I decided to keep it up.  When people would scowl at me as I approached with my children, I would smile kindly and say hello or ask them how their day is going.  Most everyone has received me in kind, although I did have an experience with one lady snapping back at me to not talk to her.  It has been an interesting thing, though, seeing how you can be that kind smile, that warm touch, that compassion and mercy and kindness in somebody's world.  And couldn't we all use a little more of that?

Stop.

It's Five-Minute-Friday!

Topic:  Lonely

Go!

I can only think of one thing right now, as my little 23-month-old munchkin climbs all over me and as I try to type one-handed despite his face in my face:  How could I ever feel lonely with this guy around?!


There is an E. E. Cummings poem that has always touched my heart.  It speaks to me, as a mother.  I'll try to copy and paste it below before my little guy erases my document or demands I give up on this endeavor altogether.... Oh, how I love him!  I am never lonely with my sweet babies. 


By E. E. Cummings 1894–1962

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart)

i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)

i want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

 

 

“[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]” Copyright 1952, © 1980, 1991 by the Trustees for the E. E. Cummings Trust, from Complete Poems: 1904-1962 by E. E. Cummings, edited by George J. Firmage. Used by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation.

Source: Complete Poems: 1904-1962 (Liveright Publishing Corporation, 1991)

 

 

Story

It's Five-Minute-Friday!  Topic:  Story

Go!

What's your story? 

I was born in Provo, Utah, as my parents oldest child along with my twin brother.  I had two younger siblings growing up and we spent most of our childhood in Woodland Hills.

When I was only 16, I met the man I would marry some day... Jordan. We dated casually for a year, then seriously for a year.  I was on my way to NYU on a full scholarship - I don't know why I chose NYU, it was just as far away from Utah as I could go and it offered opportunities in my two areas of study - Dance and International Relations.  But, the more in love I fell, the more I decided to not run away just yet.  I canceled my NYU plans.
(here we are when we were only 18)

We broke up out of necessity.  We made a fateful decision to break up in order to stay together, if that makes sense. 

I stayed busy to get over him.  I got scuba instructor certified.  I started college at BYU - I wanted to get out of Utah so badly, but decided I could transfer to BYU-Hawaii after a year of saving money.  I got engaged.  Jordan showed up not-so-randomly and told me he still loved me and to not get married to that other guy.  I broke off the engagement.  Jordan and I dated for three weeks.  Jordan left on his mission for two years.

I stayed busy.  I went to school.  I worked full-time.  I joined every extracurricular activity I could think of to stay busy and keep my mind off Jordan - Sailing Club, Hip Hop Club, Unicef, United Way, etc.  I got proposed to seven times.  Seven!  Silly college boys.  They all knew I was in love with the elusive Jordan who was gone on a mission, and college boys always want what they can't have, I guess.  Or maybe I was just really fantastic back then, ha ha!  Just kidding.  A close friend compared it to the movie, "There's Something About Mary."  And I was in Provo, Utah where all college boys seem to be in a hurry to get married.  I was in no hurry.  I just wanted to be with Jordan.

Jordan got home.  Maybe out of spite, he felt he should go ahead and date everyone but me for awhile.  Sting!

Jordan asked me to be patient and stick around.  We dated for a bit, madly in love.  And, one evening, to my shock and surprise, he proposed.  I said yes.  We got married.  In the midst of busy college life, we got married. 



We both worked full-time - he at a boys home for troubled youth, me at an eating disorder recovery center for women and as a dance therapist for a private school for girls with learning disabilities.  We both went to school full-time.  We moved to Iowa for a semester for a soccer scholarship, randomly.  He encouraged me.  I encouraged him.  I got into the dance program.  He got into medical school.  We moved to Virginia. 

We had our first baby on the first week of medical school.  We had our second baby during the fourth year of school.  We moved to Washington D.C.  We got just crazy enough to decide to have a third baby at the end of Internship year/start of Residency.  We have worked hard.  We have played, we have dated, we have loved through it all.

I always continued to work on school - I studied International Area Studies, Linguistics, Dance, Journalism, Community Health Education, History, Creative Writing.... But, every class I took continued to convince me of two things - I wanted to learn everything I needed to know to be the best mom I could be, and I want to be a teacher when my kids are out of the house.

Now I am a full-time mom of my three rascals, ages 2, 3, and 7.  Outside of staying really busy with being a mom, I dance with an international dance troupe here in the D.C. area, where we perform for the Russian Embassy, the World Bank, cultural events, etc.  I love taking really long walks with the stroller.  I love the outdoors.  I love hiking and camping.  I enjoy exercise that really gets me to push myself while also having fun - Jazzercise, Kickboxing (the real kickboxing where you punch the crap out of the boxing bags), Spin, Body Pump.  I love the water - I love to swim, go boating in any kind of boat, go waverunning, body surf, and love love love to S.U.P.  I love the beach.  I don't like to sit still, at all.

Stop.  

It's Five-Minute-Friday on a Tuesday

It has been one of those crazy times where the weekend just flew by too fast and one week just merged into the next without skipping a beat.  And the server is broken on the Lisa-Jo site.  So, I procrastinated.  And here I am.

Topic:  Broken

Go!

Broken...
bones
hearts
signals
promises
pencils
crayons
lamps
guitar
tune
nail
toe
spirits
home
speech
man
(woman)
humanity
window
system
town
clown
frown
record
old junk
mirror
back
egg
wave
song
heel
circle
flow
train of thought

Stop.

Which one resonates with you?  At this moment?  In your life?  At this moment, I feel like broken thoughts and broken crayons define this moment.  I wanted to keep this post simple.  My life could use some simplicity.

 

Belong

It's Five-Minute-Friday! 

Topic:  Belong

Go!

I have been and continue to be a member of several groups and organizations.  But I don't necessarily feel like I "belong." 

I am a member of the Larsen family, but I haven't always felt like I was a Larsen.  At times I even wondered if I might have been adopted.  I just felt different, somehow.  I felt like the odd one out. 

I had groups of friends throughout my life where I felt kind of like the outsider or the fifth wheel as everyone else would pair up with their best friends and I just wanted to branch out and be friends with everybody. 

I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and although my beliefs are strong, I haven't always felt like I belonged there, either. 

I went to BYU, and I certainly didn't feel like I belonged there.  I kept wondering, "where do I belong?  What is my purpose, anyhow?"  I changed my major a hundred times.  I changed schools.  I kept searching. 

After I got married, my husband and I ran off to Iowa for a semester for a soccer scholarship.  I tried out for a dance team just to get the scholarship... It was fun, but, still, I didn't feel like I belonged.

After we had our first baby, I joined the MOMS Club.  I loved getting together with other moms in my small town of Blacksburg, VA, where we were living at the time, but somehow I didn't really belong there either.  I wasn't quite at ease in that tiny town, I wanted to keep moving, I had to get out and move on.  I wasn't quite ready to be at a point of settling down into a routine.

We moved to Fayetteville, NC where I joined different Meet-up groups in the area for military moms.  It was a great way to make friends and have support, but I still hadn't found my niche.  I joined Stroller Strides, made great friends, enjoyed the outdoors of NC while exercising, but I was still seeing myself as an outsider, someone who would move on soon. 

We moved to the D.C. area, and I joined the Oakleaf Club (for military medical wives), and instantly decided I certainly did NOT belong to that group. 

Where do I belong??? 

I became a member of a gym, here, but don't always feel like I belong.  I go to work out amongst the retired population, because that is who is there mid-morning, and they don't always appreciate my bunch of noisy children that I bring with me through the hallways.   That goes for the grocery store, as well.  The elderly people in this town do not take kindly to children.  I always feel like an outcast here.  There are not many stay-at-home moms in this region.  I was invited to dance with an international dance group.  I feel a connection with these women through our love of dance, but, being the only one with kids, I still feel like I didn't quite belong.  I always have to turn down their offers to go out to lunch or to evening concerts, etc. because I am a busy mom of three young children.

All of these groups have offered me something in the way of feeling connections and friendships, but I still never quite... belonged.

Then, I thought about it.  Where do I really belong?  Like REALLY. 

At the end of a long, frustrating day, as I sit down to read to my children and they all huddle up close and fight over who gets to sit in my lap, I feel ultimate love and acceptance and I most certainly belong there.  After I kiss them and put them to bed, I go downstairs and my husband takes me into his arms in a loving embrace and I just melt.  I certainly belong there.  There's no where else that I feel more love.  There's no where else that I feel more belonging.  I belong here, alongside my man, raising these children, enveloped in love.

Stop.

"I belong to you... and you belong to me"

The Art of Doing... Nothing

Summertime brings back a flood of memories from my youth, namely from the good ol' days of high school and college.   Swimming, eating popsicles, listening to music, laughing about dumb things, going on rambling walks through the canyon, or UP the canyon if we felt so inclined.  (Ha ha... just caught that pun.  Sorry for that.) 

Some of my most cherished memories are those moments that were seemingly uneventful, but ever-so-significant - those small moments of time where a friend and I just sat in the sun eating a popsicle and talking while listening to Tom Petty songs.  I have very fond memories of doing nothing.  And, I think my best friendships were built upon those moments.  Those moments of driving aimlessly in the car because everything was closed for the night and we just weren't ready to go home, or sitting next to the lake after an evening of cliff-jumping just to watch the sun go down.  I kind of miss the freedom to just do absolutely nothing.  Because nothing was really quite something!  90% of the time I was working or studying or accomplishing something, and then I truly felt alive when I would finally just STOP and breathe and take in life all around me by doing nothing.  You should try it some time.  It's fabulous!

I was thinking about it today as I watched my children eat popsicles and splash in the kiddie pool at our neighborhood health club.  My first inclination was to tell them to hurry and finish up so we could go home.  But, then I stopped myself.  Why hurry?  We're always rushing to the next thing, we're always doing something.  Why not just stop for a moment and just be?  I smiled and thought to myself, "I want to make sure they have as many of those playful, meandering moments in their childhood as possible."  Life will always be so rushed and so busy.  I want to teach them the art of enjoying life, so they can appreciate the beauty and the friendships around them in those very significant moments suspended in time.

Because, after all is said and done, I regret the moments where I didn't just sit and enjoy everything around me more. 

In the midst of our busy, chaotic schedules, my husband and I never even get to finish a sentence when talking to each other.  There's always a pager going off, or a kid making a demand, um, I mean... request, or a timer going off on the oven.  There have been way too many instances of having to stop mid-sentence and hollering over our shoulders, "I'll finish telling you later!..." as life drags us off in separate directions.  Even in the midst of typing this blog post, ironically enough, Jordan called from work and the kids kept interrupting as I tried to have a conversation with him.  I asked him what he thought of having a night of eating sushi and relaxing and having fun and not planning anything... just doing nothing.  He was all for it for five whole seconds before he was told he had to rush over to assist on a surgery.  Doing nothing will have to wait.  But, I tell you what, all these years of being students and going through a long surgical residency makes me want to move to a little cabin on the lake in a small town and just truly enjoy life once and for all.  Last summer in Maine was bliss.  I want that lifestyle.  And why not?  Who can tell us we can't do that?!

I miss my husband.  So, enough is enough.  I'm planning a date with my husband where nothing is planned.  We just go do nothing together and see where it takes us.  I'm unsure of how it will go... one or both of us always tries to be productive... But, no, we will fight that urge and just be lazy and free and enjoy doing nothing for once! 

It's Five-Minute-Friday! Topic: Present

Go!

I am giddy at this concept of just getting to write.  Anything?!  I don't have an agenda or the worry of getting it just right and going back and editing again and again.  Thank goodness for instant spellcheck!  After spending so much time in college classes, this is such a breath of fresh air.  And here I am not even able to stay on topic because I'm so ecstatic!

But, in this moment, I am certainly PRESENT.  I feel it in my eyes as they glisten with utter happiness.  I feel it in my heart as I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my life and my family and my friends and this wonderful sense of community all around me no matter where I go in life.  I find it when I look for it.  Too often I get so caught up in everything else.  Way too caught up in the tangles of what was going on yesterday or what is going on tomorrow, forgetting to appreciate this moment in front of my very eyes.

My sweet little 3-year-old is asking me for a marshmallow with her big, blue eyes and then pitter-patters across the kitchen to go get it as I holler for her to wait.  Then she rebounds with a plea to have fruit snacks.  She wants me to be present.  She wants me to see her.  I see her.  I do.  I love her.  I love all of my sweet children.  And I know the best thing I can ever do for them is to live in every present moment with them, exploring the adventure of life together.  The dandelions blowing in the wind.  The bubbles popping in the grass.  The sidewalk chalk all over our hands.  Laughing, singing, without a care in the world because it's bliss.

Stop.

It's Five Minute Friday! Topic: In Between

http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/

In Between

I laugh because this is the very definition of me right now.  My life.  I am in between the cracks, where I am invisible to the busy passer-bys.  I am in between a life where I was social and outgoing and reaching and striving for the next big thing and a life of motherhood and barbequeing and driving kids to school.  With toddlers at home, everything feels very much "in between."  Literally and figuratively.  I find crackers shoved in between the couch cushions.  I finish sentences in between helping kids refill milk cups.  I think about what's for dinner in between diaper changes.  I am in between a life of a student and my ideas of being a career-woman to the life of a full-blown homemaker who dusts and vacuums and repeatedly wipes sticky fingerprints off of everything in between kissing away the owies and the boo-boos and teaching the alphabet.  I am in between focus.  I am searching for tranquility and a stable life where I can live in the present moment instead of being pulled between helping one kid with homework and potty training another and putting another down for a nap.  I am in between being a loving wife and a loving mother, giving both husband and children the attention they crave.  I am in between post-partum body and rockin' hot gym-going body.  I am in between thoughts, in between dimensions, in between hair styles, in between ideas about whether or not we will go camping tonight for the first time with three kids.  Always in between.  Teetering, finding which direction to go, always this way or that way, it doesn't matter, just moving forward happily.

Stop.

Here's just a couple of photos from last summer that I felt depict me "in between."  In between the clearing.  In between the life out there and the life in here.

 

 

 

Coming soon....

Check back every Friday for something called "5-Minute-Friday" - for more details, check out lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday

Tomorrow will be my first time participating, and hopefully I can figure out how to post it because I have never used twitter and am still not quite sure what it is.  I am very technologically challenged.  It seems I missed the technology era by about 3-4 years and, of all the classes I took in college, not one of them had to do with computers. :)

You should try this "5-Minute-Friday" out, too!  It sounds fun.......

I continue to find inspiration in strong women all around me.  Today, I found that inspiration through a woman I have never met, who happens to live in my neck of the woods.  Lisa Jo.  As I read an article she submitted on motherhood, I realized we had a lot in common already.  And then I realized once again the connection you can feel with someone just through their writing.  Then I read an article she wrote on the importance of writing, and realized we share a common interest.  Writing is such an incredible tool of communication.  Sometimes I miss the letters my friends and I would write to one another, because I feel it was the letters that connected us most.  I love to write.  I don't always write well.  Most of the time when I am writing, it is broken up by constant interruptions (like right now as my little girl calls out that she went potty and my son hollers out to me to come look at his fort and then to come over because he wants to show me in the anatomy book where the heart is).  And most of the time when I am writing, it is with a toddler climbing all over me and trying to pound on the computer keys or steal my pen as my six-year-old asks me questions or urges me to stop because it has been the "two minutes" that I promised it would take me to finish my thought.  And then I'm so scatter-brained with all of this going on that I wonder if anyone can even comprehend what I'm trying to say. 

So, if you can figure out what I'm saying, or even if you have no idea what I'm saying, try it out.  Spend five minutes every Friday writing with me.

Every Friday, possibly at midnight when I can be alone, I will be participating in this "Five-Minute-Friday" where I follow the given prompt on Lisa Jo's web page and just write for five minutes.  No editing, no proofing, no second-guessing.  Just writing and submitting.

I read this essay, "On Why You Need to Keep on Writing" on her web page and loved it.  These are all of her words, not mine.  I decided that she said it so well, that I would just copy the entire passage and paste it here to share.  Maybe this will encourage you to write.  Here's an excerpt:

Words are a road map for those who come behind.

To write is to give. To be flat out, all out generous with your story. To wrap up your words, your life, your failings, your most miserable moments and your wild and wonderful discoveries and give them to somebody else. To share them with someone, to encourage someone, to re-gift what have been the hardest parts of your story in ways that make other people feel they are not alone.

To write is to pour out your life as a love offering for people you may never meet, because when you do so you feel God’s pleasure in your fingertips.

And maybe you were made for this time and these keyboard letters to leave a legacy. Maybe you were made to connect a family. Maybe you were made to tell the story of someone who can’t. Maybe what you whisper over your kids at night or dream in the dark hours, or doodle in your head while waiting in the car pool line is essential to somebody else.

Maybe when you write it down you will discover not only your own pleasure, but the pleasure of the God who gives you the words, the prompting and the message.

Run with it, my friend. Forget the doubts and the reasons why you think you can’t. Don’t look back – run with abandon like you used to when you were just six and discovering the joy of your own strength.

Run like you used to when you believed you could fly.

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/2012/02/on-why-you-need-to-keep-on-writing-especially-when-you-dont-have-time/#sthash.wBMRWkbx.dpuf