My One Word 2014: Act...

In a recent post I bagged on New Years resolutions a little bit; or rather, just admitted that I stink at keeping them. Instead I've hopped on the fairly recent bandwagon of choosing a one-word theme to focus on throughout the year.

I was pretty sure someone had written a blog post dedicated to choosing One Word so I Googled it, and it turns out there's an entire website/book/online community dedicated to helping people choose and live out their One Word. I'm not sure how I feel about that, but if it floats your boat, click on the link above and CHANGE YOUR LIFE WITH ONE WORD (no pressure).

So I've been hearing about the One Word thing for a few years now, and I'm not sure that I've chosen a word before this year. I mean, a year is a long time, and keeping to anything throughout the entire year is kind of daunting to me.

But one time a friend of mine told me about her word. We have some similar, um, non-strengths, and that particular year she'd chosen the word "Now" to remind her to take advantage of her time and gifts whenever she could, rather than putting things off until later and crowding her life and schedule.  I really liked that because it was pretty low-key--it didn't require any great shifts in routine or anything--but at the same time I could see how all those little "nows" could really add up and make a difference.

I actually swiped that as a thing in my own life, and I have found it to be helpful, particularly in the  everyday, mundane stuff I'd rather not ever do, but has to be done just the same, OR the tasks I know I hate but sometimes (not all the time, but sometimes) I need to suck it up and stop being a baby about them.  It's got to be done, and if I can do it now, well, it will be done (Sometimes my profundity amazes me (/s)).

Anyway, my friend Emily posted about choosing a word here, and encouraged her readers to post what they might consider for their One Word 2014.  And somehow, rather than my normal scoffing and rationalization why choosing one word was almost as dumb as resolutions, and some other such cynical nonsense, I rather quickly came up with the word ACT.

Now at first I wondered if Act meshed well with my overall theme in life to learn to Relax, but the more I thought about it the more I realized they actually go pretty well together for me.

You see, the whole idea behind Relax is facing my fears and anxieties, not letting them define me. The goal isn't to never be nervous; rather, the goal is to realize one thing that is true about me (I am a nervous-type) and work from there.

One of the things about being a nervous introvert who moves a lot is that I tend to sit back in new situations. At group gatherings I like to observe and get a feel for things and people before injecting my personal brand of crazy into the mix. In general this works fine, but it does take me a while to form relationships and such, and then when it's time to move I find myself going "Why did I not do/meet/share/invite/risk such-and-such sooner??"

But as I was thinking about our Alabama assignment, understanding that it's only for one year, I realized that around the time I normally start feeling comfortable and settled, we will be getting ready to move again, heading on to our next assignment.  So naturally I started to think about what it would look like to challenge myself just a little bit. Like when we get into our new house, instead of collapsing into a shell-shocked pile of goo for a week or two (or four), what if I can somehow manage to jump in full-force (or maybe even 60% of full-force) to get our house situated that much sooner?

Or what if I summon up the courage to somehow be more fully me as I get to know people, rather than holding back for a time, as I often find myself doing? It sounds simplistic, but one of the things I've been learning this time around is that old truth about just being yourself, and those who like you will like you, and those who don't like you maybe aren't meant to be your friends anyway, so why not figure it out earlier rather than later.  What if I take that risk to Act, and then Relax and trust God with the results?

Honestly, it sounds exhausting. I'm not sure how well I'll pull it off, but ever since I mentioned it on Emily's post it has really stuck with me, so I think it's worth a shot.  Also, I'm big into not necessarily aiming for a specific outcome. I'm not sure if that's healthy or not, but in many cases I find it helps me to keep perspective better and stick with the goal, rather than trying to manufacture some sort of rainbow-and-unicorn storybook ending. My job is to Act, and see what happens. Maybe nothing, and that's OK. But maybe not.

How about you? Did you do some resolutions? Or one word? Or did you stick it to the man and do nothing for the New Year?

Lazy Snow Day, My (Finger In the) Eye...

The following things were true and/or actually happened today:

--A solid 6 inches (or more?) of snow fell in Loudoun County VA, beginning at approximately 8:30 am.

--Weather.com had predicted a 7am snow start time.

--Weather.com is also predicting below-freezing temps until Saturday.

--I noticed the discrepancy and squeezed in a jog as the snow was beginning, but before it started sticking. GOLD STAR: SKERRIB

--My car had an appointment on account of the "Check Engine" light coming on over the weekend, so after my jog the Littler One and I took it into the shop.

--The government was also closed today, so the Cat Daddy was home.

--The Cat Daddy would've been home anyway because he has been sick.

--He was well enough to hunker down on the couch and hog the remote, and keep an eye on the crazies (sort of) while I attended to errands, but sick enough to make noises and need stuff and ask for comfort food for lunch.

--He was definitely too sick to drive. So Honda sent the Littler One and me home via shuttle while they hooked my car up to their fancy machinery and performed diagnoses and prognostications and whatnot.

--When all was said & done the bill sent a dagger through my heart, but my car was fixed in less than half a day. Normally I'd say it's better than a finger in the eye, but today I'm really re-considering that scenario. Like, if a finger to the eye is just for a split second and doesn't do any permanent damage or sight loss, I'm thinking I might take the pain of that over a dagger-bill for car repair. I mean, I once took a head-butt from a baby that left me squinty-eyed for an entire evening. It was truly disruptive, but the next day it was better, and it didn't cost me a thousand bucks. I could endure that. But maybe that's just me.

--I felt motivated to provide the kids with some mental stimulation, so I made His Highness do some of his regular homework and during that time I let the littles glue stuff to paper and draw with markers.  It occupied them for a solid 20 minutes, so I felt really good about that. Also, the glue and marker that missed the paper came up easily with a wet washcloth, so we were all winners at crafts and creativity today.

--Honda shut down their shuttle due to the snowfall so they couldn't come and get me to pick up my car, and the Cat Daddy was still too sick to drive. We were going to wait until tomorrow, but due to a series of plans (both usual and unusual), we decided I needed to pick it up today. Thankfully a neighbor was able to offer shuttle service, plus good conversation to boot. GOLD STAR: NEIGHBOR SHUTTLE SERVICE.

--The Littler One was in fine form today. My favorite highlight included his using his bunk bed ladder to get to some contraband by hanging it from my closet shelf (the wire kind). Meaning the bottom was off the ground. It is still a mystery to me how he managed the balance of it, but manage it he did--I imagine this is where weighing 35 lbs comes in handy--and I came in to find several things on my closet floor where they had previously been up on the shelf.  Second place was shoveling the back deck in full snow gear, except wearing shorts instead of pants.  Last place was injuring his sister--he's learning some hard lessons today.

--On the way home from picking up the car I decided to grab some things from the store as well as a movie from the Redbox, because why not. This was fortuitous planning on my part, as we have another snow day tomorrow due to predicted frigid temps.

--I arrived home to injury on the part of Tiny E. I'm still not entirely clear on the whole thing, but suffice to say that there was blood involved, and everyone is patched up and safe.  The Cat Daddy performed the initial triage, we conferred and decided that home care would suffice, and I took over with the first aid kit and Bactine. Also, Tiny E barely batted an eye and is therefore the champion of all things.

--You know what the Cat Daddy is also too sick for? That's right, cleaning up blood.  One challenge with small children is that sometimes they try to help by getting a Band-Aid for their sister when the wound is too big for a Band-Aid, so their sister follows them around dripping little droplets until they find their way to Daddy so he can do the triage (and call Mommy to urgently demand that she return home NOW).  And blood somehow always appears greater in quantity than it actually is, so Mommy is left hoping she got it all, lest visitors think the snow day involved some kind of household blood bath. On the upside, it came up well and properly, so I think I'd take that over the finger in the eye.

--One of tomorrow's unusual plans is having our new-to-us piano delivered. This involves meeting the seller at 8 am to finalize the sale and do whatever the piano movers need to help them get the piano out of her garage and into our house safe & sound.  Task number one (I assume) was getting the solid 6 inches (or more) of snow out of the driveway.

--You know what else the Cat Daddy is too sick for? That's right, shoveling snow.

--All the children got dressed and consumed three meals, and the Cat Daddy began eating solid foods again. The day's allotment of laundry was completed (though portions of the putting-away were deferred because ain't nobody got time for that in this house), and bathing happened for at least one child (the Cat Daddy is NOT too sick to handle baths, thank God).  Apple cider vinegar was administered in vapor form to two individuals for the clearing out of sinus and nasal passages, although one balked and chose a conventional steam bath instead.  The dishwasher was run twice, and the toys were left strewn about until tomorrow, for when everyone is yelling and bouncing off the walls, and Mom decides to lay down the hammer and make these children WORK, for heaven's sake.

--And somehow I managed to squeeze in the season premiere of Psych on the DVR. Or rather, I managed to squeeze in one and a half season premieres of Psych, as my children disrupted the first showing and I had to go back and replay about half of the episode to gain understanding of the story. Totally worth it.

--I'm uncertain as to the Cat Daddy's whereabouts tomorrow, but it is no secret that I'm very much looking forward to a return of our normal routine (please God, let there be school on Thursday).  And this is the time of year where I start to dream about escaping to the Caribbean. Someday, it will come true...

January Snippets...

I am on approximately day 10 of the dreaded Winter Crud of 2014. The Cat Daddy taunted me about not getting a flu shot this year, and I was all "Flu shots don't work against a cold!" and besides, he got both the flu shot AND the crud, so either way neither of us proved anything. This is why it's good to live in the United States and enjoy the freedom to make one's own healthcare decisions.

Anyway, I'm this close to being all the way better, but one sinus is being a little stubborn about clearing, so I'm just waiting it out while I feel just a titch behind the curveball in wit and whatnot. So don't mind me if I stare at you more blankly than normal--it's not you, it's my sinus.  Also I'm headed to the doc next week on an unrelated matter, so if it's not better by then I'll answer "yes" when they ask if I'm having any pain that day. It's awesome when patients bring up extra stuff to squeeze into a 15 min appointment, right??

...Speaking of healthcare, I've been seeing this hullabaloo about the FDA making companies pull their antibacterial soaps from store shelves unless they can give a whole lot more substantiation to their antibacterial claims, and also something about triclosan being bad because it's a chemical (Everything is a chemical, BTW. I'm certainly in favor of minimizing the weird made-up ones whenever possible, but the tricky thing about not being a chemist is not always knowing for sure if you should be as alarmed as the article says you should).  I would like to jump on the bandwagon right now and say I was never fully on board with the antibacterial stuff anyway, because it's easier to say "I knew it!" than to have been the one along the way that may or may not have been perceived as "gross" for finishing a friend's gobstopper after she dropped it on the boardwalk a gazillion years ago (immunities!).

I will say this though--as little as I care for hand sanitizer, it has offered a baseline level of consolation in the absence of proper soap and water numerous times in my diaper-ridden season of mothering young children. What's more, it has given the Cat Daddy and me some much needed understanding and solidarity in times of trial, such as when we were road-tripping from Ohio back to Mass, and he was aggravated that I was taking so long changing His Highness's diaper, and went to put the diaper bag away, and I said "NO, I need that!" and he shot daggers at me with his eyes, and was about to launch into a speech about road trips and how getting started is half the battle, and for-the-love-of-all-that's-good-and-holy-we-need-to-GO-already, until I replied with great emphasis, "I have POO HANDS!" To which his demeanor softened entirely and he brought back the bag. Because once you've experienced poo hands, you understand the urgency...

...the countdown for Alabama 2014 is underway, although it's still in the early, I-Can't-Believe-It stages. Back when we used to move ourselves we'd already be gathering and assembling boxes by this point, and strategically planning packing order and whatnot, but we've agreed (some of us more eagerly than others) that the diaper-ridden season of mothering young children is a time to let go of a little control and let the moving company take most everything. This is extremely helpful when it comes to trying to move amid wrangling small kiddos, although it adds an extra phase at the beginning where you have to gather all the things you'll need ahead of time and hide them under lock & key, lest the movers pack them away and you don't see them for a month, as well as an extra phase on the tail-end of things, known as the Filing-Claims-for-Lost-or-Broken-Stuff phase, a subset of which is the How-On-Earth-Did-They-Break-THAT?? stage.

As for me, I'm somewhere between "Here we go again, we're winners at moving by now!" and "O God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?!?" We already have people in place on the receiving end, so we have that to look forward to, and if all goes well we will have quarters secured within the next several weeks. Some of our super-motivated go-getter friends have already signed leases--cycles turn quickly in the world of military school--but because of our holiday travel and overall hectic pace the past couple months, we are trusting there will still be some livable rental houses to choose from...

So overall, instead of a bang, I guess one could say our year is starting off with a kapow, or maybe a zoom, or something.

And speaking of the New Year, I've all but given up on resolutions.  Much like (many) rules, I've not had much success or positive outcome with resolutions--at best I tend to stop after a few weeks, and at worst, well--I guess the worst thing that's happened is that I've stopped trying after a few weeks. So basically, I stink at New Years Resolutions.

I like that One Word thing, though.  One word as an overarching theme doesn't rope me into certain failure at every occurrence, and it keeps with what God seems to do in my life anyway, which is to take me through seasons where I stew & meditate and learn about one idea at a time. So the One Word fits well, and my One Word is "act," which I'll explain in my next post...

On Hinky Butts and the In Between Years...

Because it's been a while since I wrote about my butt, I figured it was time for an update.

Long story short, the procedure I had (Google: prolotherapy) has been possibly life changing. For the first time in 19 years, my sacrum is stable.  I can bend or kneel or squat without fear of throwing my butt/back out of whack. Which is a big deal on its own, but bigger even so when you factor in kid-wrangling.  I'm not even sure I've taken time to process the magnitude of difference it has made.  There's something called body confidence, which in this sense is not about what you look like, but it's referring to telling your body to do something and being able to trust that it's going to do it. Over the years I trained myself to do all sorts of things asymmetrically, to avoid hinkifying my butt (highly technical terms, there), so in the past 6 months or so I've been working on undoing old habits and retraining on new, healthy, good body mechanics, trusting that my joints will hold as they should. So where sitting on the potty used to be cause for concern and anxiety, as I gain body confidence it is a celebration of my butt's alignment and stability. Yay for stability.

It would be wonderful to close the book there and say that's all there is, and Skerrib lived happily ever after with body symmetry and awesome alignment, but that's not quite the whole story. In fact, it's really only half of it.

In my last post about my back, I believe I left off with Dr Laub, which would've been around 2003 or 2004. After that time I entered several "in-between years" of fairly good results with physical therapy, followed by childbearing and breastfeeding, both of which are not good for keeping joints stable because there's this hormone (?) called relaxin which makes all of your ligaments loosen...which as my PT Mark pointed out is a very good thing for helping the baby exit the body in all the best ways  (Plus, even though my PT results seemed good, I was doing a whole lot of "favoring" my weak side, so I'll probably never know how stable I truly was--or wasn't).

The thing is, all that relaxin, as well as my propensity for extended breastfeeding, did not lend themselves well to encouraging joint stability, but I found myself in a weird state of equilibrium and peace with the whole thing. Of course I wanted my back to be all fixed, but we were pretty adamant about the children, and I'm a hippie about the breastfeeding, so it won out as a priority. In the meantime I did what I could to build some strength while understanding that as long as I insisted on having more babies I likely wouldn't be able to get a long-term fix on this thing.  The upside was having a fantastic PT in Wyoming whom I could see periodically, and just kind of letting my sacrum off the hook for a while. I mean, I was still frustrated with it, but not quite as adamant or crusade-y as before.  I gave myself a fuzzy deadline of "after the last kid," but beyond that tried to relax a little and keep perspective.  

Like I said before, even though my back pain seemed to take up a lot of space in my mind, there was a whole lot of life going on at the same time, and the upside of all that relaxin was that while it wouldn't let my SI stay stable, it also relaxed it enough to take away a lot of the pain, so other than knowing I was walking weird (to me), it really wasn't so bad for the most part.  I could keep running, and even noticed an improvement when I changed my running form and took out the heel strike. They say that it is less pound-y on the joints, and it sure seems that way for me.  

And finally, with the birth of our third kiddo, we declared ourselves DONE with great emphasis and glee, and three months later had all our stuff packed up for our relocation to the greater DC-area.  All of that followed by getting settled, and acquainted, and other such necessities.  

For a while I did that thing that happens to a lot of moms, where I got so caught up in caring for the kids, particularly the new baby, that I put my own issues aside. But after a few months (and my maybe-Lyme-Disease scare) I began to feel situated and pursued my own little health overhaul, which was less about doing lots of things differently and more about catching up on preventive stuff. Dentist, eye doc, and the like. And as I got to thinking about it, I realized that the greater DC-area is a veritable haven for doctors of all types. Seriously, there are a gazillion of them here, for anything you could possibly think of. So I figured I'd see if I could find one who was knowledgeable about spinal things, and see if (s)he knew about this procedure I'd been thinking about/avoiding for several years, and see if I might be a candidate for it...later on, of course. I don't know why I kept thinking "later on," but there you have it.

Well. It turns out in the 10 years or so since my diagnosis, there has been great advancement in the medical community's overall knowledge and acceptance of SI joint dysfunction and the treatment options available.  I did some serious digging on the internet (like 10 minutes) and found an entire medical GROUP dedicated to spine stuff, who takes my insurance. I made the appointment and prepared a big long speech. After years of explaining and re-explaining my issues and maladies, I was ready to self-advocate in a big way, only to have the doc go "Oh, here's this one move you can do. Go get some X-rays and an MRI, and come back in a month and I'll do the prolotherapy on you." And I did some huge mental prep work, because prolotherapy involves needles and I kind of hate needles, and it truly wasn't very much fun, but it was over within 20 minutes. 

I've decided that's how life is a lot of the time. When you're lucky you see the significance of the bigger moments ("Markers," if you will). I certainly saw the significance of getting a 19 year injury corrected.  But on the other hand, there is often a certain nonchalance about it. I was ready for a fight. I was ready for the profound struggle, many visits if necessary, the motivational montage, and possibly my own segment on 20/20 about overcoming adversity, but in the end it was 20 minutes of unpleasantness followed by a weekend of bed rest and then back to real life for the most part. 

Now of course it still doesn't end there, but this is where I'll have to pick up the next time. Dinnertime, and all...

A Little Jesus on Hump Day...

My friend, the Good Reverend, posted this on his Facebook page today:

Whenever I speak at a Christian college I can see the blank, anesthetized expressions of students who've already checked out. Bad religion has already vacated their hope and innocent trust. They are just complying through the motions of their faith. But each evening on this trip to Southwest Baptist University in Bolivar, Missouri, I spoke to an assembly of students who are risking the Original Good News is true. They showed up because they wanted to, enexorably drawn to the hope of a Jesus without the moralistic filter, like moths to a porch light. We laughed, cried and spoke life back and forth, each visibly verbalizing emerging confidence. And God met overwhelmingly with us. It was like we were saying to each other, "You believe this too? All my life I've secretly thought this was who Jesus was. I just didn't know anyone else did!" And we found each other. The Original Good news of grace and trusting our identity in Christ, it is finding footing again. Students like these, all over the world are finding each other. They will not be quiet. They will carry this freedom wherever God sends them. They know too much and cannot return to vapid, stifling religion of ought, pretending, control and shame. They've seen Narnia and will not return to anything less. It is beautiful to witness. One more chapel this morning, then home to my world where I learned this life. Reporting from Bolivar, Missouri, this is John Lynch, filled with stunning hope. I'm out.

I felt compelled to speak out in support. This is the kind of Christianity I've come to believe in. There are so many OPINIONS out there, even about what Jesus thinks and wants of us, and over time I am more & more convinced that this is the root of it. 

Some will say "Wait a sec, what about doing good and helping the poor and all that?"  And to that I say, absolutely he wants us to do that. But I think as much as the uptight Christians get it backwards and say "Hey, you'd better get your stuff together so God will be pleased with you," other folks get it backwards with different words: "Hey, as long as you care for others and do nice things, that secures your position with Jesus." 

Here's what I think: all of us are born broken in a broken world. Some call it sin nature, some simply call it humanity. But when it comes down to it, the standard is perfection and none of us can reach it. So Jesus died, blah blah blah, and now we can be saved from our sin, ourselves, sin done to us, etc.  It's available to anyone who wants it.  And if you want God, you get him.  And if you trust in him to save you, it's a done deal. You're his.

After that of course, we are still left with nice people and jerks. Yes, jerks can be Christians. And Christians can be jerks. A lot are, in fact; it's kind of sad. The working out of who we are in Jesus is messy business--just take a look at all the Christian religions, denominations, sects, and all that.  

But when we trust Jesus, not just to save us from our sin in the big-picture-sense, but to mature us into the new creations he says we are, things can get really beautiful (and NOT hateful, rude, and intolerant like we so often see in the outrageous media stories). And I'll be the first to say hey, I'm proof of that (And also I'm still a jerk sometimes, but I'm getting humility and he is always maturing me, so there's hope).

So maybe I'll start a series of posts talking about the Original Good News and all it has come to mean to me. There's a lot there to talk about--how to act toward others with different beliefs, how to maintain healthy boundaries and self-care, how to care for others without being co-dependent. And these are just my own personal issues--there are a ga-jillion things to talk about.  

Then again, maybe I'll lose focus and forget; so just in case, go here:

Truefaced (this is where the Good Reverend works)

or here: Truefaced Youtube channel

or here: Another Truefaced Youtube channel

Also, for those who know me in real life, I'm not going to sit you down and try to convert you or anything. Unless you want me to. Then of course I would be glad to.

But I do want to put this out there because it really is important to me, and I'm always glad to share. I keep trying to boil it down to a starting point, and I guess that starting point would be the same thing you can find in the New Testament:

Jesus died and rose again, and that changes everything...

On Displacement and Flying With Small Children...

Before I begin, a sidenote. I recently learned there is a made-up notation for sarcasm in the written word. It looks like this: /s  

As in:

Flying with kids is the best. It is the most fun ever. Flying standby is also the best (obviously), so put the two together and you are bound to have a rip-roaring good time.  /s

Due to a series of events of varying degrees of awesome and awful, my family found ourselves traveling mostly standby this morning, and by 'mostly standby' I mean that I had a confirmed seat and the others didn't. Also, by 'standby' I do not mean 'non-paying.' Good? Good.

Since she is still under 2, Tiny E was the wild card (maybe a lap baby and maybe not), but in the end there was space and she was awarded her very own seat. In between 2 strangers, about 20 rows behind my assigned seat. In addition, immediately upon boarding I found someone in my assigned seat (20 rows up from Tiny E's, remember).

Now, in general I am no-nonsense and a big fan of workings things out myself when possible (and I feel it's worth mentioning that the Cat Daddy had the same issue with the boyz and was able to negotiate a seat next to them in like 10 seconds with no trouble), but I also like to think I know when to call in help when I need it, so I skipped everything and went to the flight attendants for backup. It took some effort but in the end they were convinced that I did indeed need their help. 

First order of business, vacate my seat up front. A coupla calls, badda boom badda bing, and the occupant was directed to her proper location across the row. Second, offer one of the two ladies next to Tiny E a nice kid-free window seat (by the bulkhead, no less--I provide the best trades) in exchange for letting me take a seat next to my 18 month old who still nurses and isn't a fan of being away from Mommy (and who, by the way, isn't allowed to sit by herself, per the airline). A no-brainer, right?

Nope.

Both refused to move. One was nicer about it than the other, but neither was taking me up on the bulkhead window seat. 

Now, a moment to remind us all to be a little gentle. I have been the person who has moved to accommodate others, and I have been the meanie who wouldn't move. I truly understand both sides, and sometimes one really just wants to stay in the seat they picked out ahead of time, and got all comfy and situated, and all that. I get it.

That said, I also think they didn't fully understand the situation or the consequences of their decision, because the natural conclusion for me was to buckle my baby in and proceed peacefully to my quiet seat far away from any family members for the entire 5 hour flight. I mean really, that would've been a win, yes?? /s

I reeeeally wanted to see this all unfold, but sadly the flight attendant intervened, and we ganged up on the aisle seat lady, and she grumbled off in a huff to the bulkhead. The remaining lady apologized for not being 'able' to help us, and offered us some homemade banana chips, and we are on pretty good terms now. 

The best part though (/s), was that the displaced lady left her water, tablet, and foodie magazines in the seat pocket, forcing her to come back and ask for them several minutes later while I was nursing Tiny E (nursing in public prevents screaming babies; write that down, kids). 

I gave the lady a wry half-grin as I handed her things over and while she was not amused, I hope in that moment she understood. I mean, I forget sometimes that it is not my responsibility to make others see it my way...but I still like it when it happens.

And so I would like to ask you to keep your wits about you when asked for a favor, and make sure you understand what you are accepting or declining, because nursing toddlers on planes do best with their mamas, and there's really no getting around that. Even if you ALWAYS get the aisle and HATE being asked to move.

Also, if you have the opportunity to put your 18 month old in his/her own seat next to you instead of on your lap stuck between 2 (very patient) dudes for 5 hours like the week prior, by all means take it. Trust me on this...

Morningtime Concerns...

I live in a house of bossypantses.

His Highness went to bed with a very, very loose tooth. He spent the day wiggling it in our faces, showing us just how hangy-loose it was, and we spent the day going "Come on, just let me pull it," but he wouldn't let us. After he was asleep, the Cat Daddy even gave it a go, but it was just stuck enough that he couldn't get it out before His Highness would pull away and sleep-mumble "No, don't pull it..."

Well, guess what. His Highness woke up with a gappy grin and no tooth to be found anywhere.  We looked and looked and looked, but so far haven't found anything except his missing shin guard. He not only lost his tooth, he LOST his tooth.  

The Cat Daddy and I figured maybe he swallowed it. Having heard the story about how he once swallowed a penny, he said, "You'll have to check my poop, Mom."

Now I'm generally willing to help with a lot of things, but poo is where I draw the line.

I replied, "I will not. You can check your own poop, my friend, if you want your tooth so badly."

I did reconsider slightly. I said, "Look, we'll keep an eye out. If we see it on the outside of your poo, I'll help you recover it, meaning you will do the digging and I will give instructions. But I will do no actual digging or searching. If you want to do that you're on your own."

**Sidenote--I gagged a little bit, writing that last paragraph, and the thought of poo with teeth has set my brain down paths no one wants to consider, except maybe the South Park folks. End Sidenote** 

For his part, His Highness didn't seem terribly troubled. He's heard enough stories to know that if one loses one's tooth, one can write the Tooth Fairy a note and she will generally show grace and leave cash anyway. I told him to ask around at school to see if his friends and/or teachers had any other suggestions. 

It would be poetic justice if, along the way to our house, the Tooth Fairy somehow fell asleep and swallowed the dollar by mistake.

She'd better not though, because there is no way I'm digging through Tooth Fairy poo...

My Equilibrium Is A Little Off...

I’m touchy lately. And fragile. And I'm mad that I’m touchy and fragile. I possibly have an ear infection, and I’m mad that a stupid (possible) ear infection is enough to throw off my mojo. I was watching Glee on the DVR today (SPOILER ALERT), and Rachel Berry was in a snit because she was pretty sure she didn’t get a part in a Broadway play, and Kurt came in and told her she needed to get her mojo back, so they sang a Beatles song, resulting in the timely return of her mojo, along with an accompanying explanation along the lines of “I’m awesome, and if they don’t see that then bummer for them, but secretly of course I’m gonna be wistful and reserve a teensy glimmer of hope in the darkest corner of my soul.” (then of course at the last possible moment she found out she did in fact get the part in the big Broadway play, so double mojo for her). Also, Santana was in a TV commercial for yeast infection medication, and Kurt got a job working at the same diner as the two girls, and they all made a pinkie-swear promise about staying in New York for two years to follow their dreams and toasted with champagne, and I was all “YOU’RE ALL 19, WHAT THE HECK IS THIS SNOOTY CHAMPAGNE BUSINESS??”  But then again all these 19 year olds somehow afford a huge, industrial-looking loft in Brooklyn while two of them attend a fictional Julliard-esque college, so hey, if they want to (be underage and) pop some champagne to celebrate their dreams coming true, then who am I to argue??

On a similar note, I’ve either grounded or am considering grounding myself from nearly all media-related topics, both fictional and real-life. Having read a few too many articles and STRONG OPINIONS about the government shutdown, I have come to the conclusion that a lot of people think they know how government works, but no one really does (myself included)--or the ones who do know don’t have much to say because it’s not as sensational as the loud ones are making it out to be--so waxing eloquent about how the other party and/or the president is the cause of this mess, or how so-and-so needs to do such-and-such to fix it, is unproductive. Also, even though the government is shut down because the money for the new fiscal year hasn’t been approved, they have managed to get/keep a large portion of the government up & at least limping along until they can sort through some of the mess. How? Who knows--I got a “B” in Government class, so I’m not the one to ask. 

Furthermore, hearing all this bickering makes me think of when the Cat Daddy and I were in marriage counseling back in the day (don’t tell him I told you), and we had to learn the Fair Fighting Rules, and we also had to do some awkward role-playing exercises so we could learn to talk to each other without feeling controlled or attacked, and basically we had to learn to be on the same team instead of against each other all the time. And let me tell you, our Congress is breaking at least a few of the fair fighting rules (and probably all of them, but one of the rules is to avoid absolutes like always, never, all, or none, so I can't in good conscience claim ALL, even though it might be true).  So basically Congress needs therapy, and possibly a cookie. 

Besides all that, my children and possessions are trying to eat me alive. The following is a list of resolutions I pass in my own head in a single morning of child-rearing. Some are more reasonable than others. Most are completely nuts.

--I need to keep a closer eye on all the children all the time.
--I need to quit Facebook altogether.
--I need to check Facebook RIGHT NOW.
--I'm going to get serious about being on time for preschool.
--No more snacks that produce crumbs of any sort.
--No more food or drinks outside the kitchen, EVER.
--The children need to drink plain water more.
--The children need to reuse one cup each throughout the day.
--I need to go through and organize the toys. Again.
--We need to cut WAY back on the toys.
--The children need to keep the toys within a three-foot radius of the toy bins at all times, and they need to put one toy away before moving on to the next toy.
--The children need to learn to amuse themselves without toys. Or screens. Or anything.
--The children need to stay out of the junk drawer and/or closets.
--I need to get rid of ALL the things.
--I need to teach these ruffians how to treat me.
--I need to find a family that will listen when I speak, and make them adopt me.
--Everyone needs to poop before we leave each morning.
--I'm gonna get up at 5:30 tomorrow.
--I'm gonna go to bed EARLY tonight.
--I'm gonna spend time writing/reading/etc tonight.
--Starting tomorrow, I'm gonna be awesome and productive.
--I need a jog.

That last one I can do...

On Kitty Curfew and Doomed Best Intentions...

Here's the deal: school starts in two days. We have had a glorious summer.  I have gotten up early (but not always early enough) and improved my fitness and back/butt health, the boys have made great strides--or strokes--in swimming lessons, and now we are tired of being in each others' faces and need some structure. They are looking forward to school, I am looking forward to school, we are all looking forward to school.

Except Nipples. He's in a bit of denial, walking around like he owns the place, but in a matter of days his kitty-curfew will be reinstated, restricting his roaming to non-school hours.

Actually, I'm in a bit of denial too. In reality kitty-curfew will be in effect only as long as Nipples consents to enter the house sometime in the vicinity of school hours. Otherwise he will just live outside indefinitely, being fed BBQ from a restaurant by generous and loving neighbors.

The thing about Kitty Curfew is that it originated as the weather was cooling off for the winter, so while it wasn't always easy to enforce, it was at least somewhat doable, as Nipples felt compelled to come into the warm house.  The downside, of course, is that Kitty Curfew is precisely during the warmest and most pleasant hours of the day in wintertime, so my wandering through the house with small children yowling and hanging on me added an element of the cat yowling and clawing my pants in an effort to help me understand the urgency of his need to go outside.  

On good days I responded just as I might with the kiddos--kindly unyielding to his demands, maintaining the boundary. On some days my perspective was skewed though, and in weaker moments I trudged up the stairs thinking, "Everyone is yelling at me, even the cat. There is no way I can be expected to abide such hardship." 

Another lesson learned is that it is entirely possible to speak with the principal, understand where he is coming from, agree to be on board with Kitty Curfew (KC), and subsequently have ZERO buy-in from anyone else in the household. Certain children would listen intently to the whys and wherefores behind KC, and agree that we must be good helpers by keeping Nipples inside until after school (write that down, kids), only to gaze blankly as he bolted outside when they opened the door to greet the day. Certain other household members may or may not have thought the whole thing was funny and refused to enforce KC because they are instigators and like to see Skerrib become nervous about breaking the rules.

Outside of school hours, life was grand. One afternoon we all--cat included--went to the playground to work off some sillies for a while. We took the long way home, which involves using the crosswalk where our neighborhood lets out onto the main road. We were a motley parade, what with me carrying the squirmy baby ala sack o' potatoes, His Highness motoring across with a sense of purpose, and the Littler One, for whom it took a little more effort to keep up.  We crossed mostly single-file in front of patiently-waiting drivers, and had very nearly cleared the crosswalk when Nipples decided to join us, sauntering at his own pace thank-you-very-much, and clearly impressing both the principal and assistant principal, who were in line at the intersection, waiting for the cat to cross the street.

As the school year began to wane, so did my resolve. It was springtime. Flowers bloomed, the weather warmed, a new batch of young birds and rodents was born, and suddenly Nipples ramped up his escape efforts.  Being watchful and stealthy, he began to succeed more often, and I trod the line between "I don't care," and "Dangit, now we're gonna be in trouble."

The thing about Nipples is that he is clever. He watches and waits, and he is opportunistic. On days when he had either escaped or hadn't come home to begin with, I carried a spray bottle in order to dissuade him from trouble areas, but never used it. He knew enough to keep a certain distance from us when out & about, lest he be caught. He knew to bide his time until the stars aligned and conditions were just right to accomplish his objectives, and he saved his best efforts--his piece de resistance--until the end of the year.

To be continued...

Running Deep...

I've come to the conclusion that there are a few themes that keep popping up in my life, and that one of the major themes in my life that God is showing me is this: Relax.

There's a whole lot I could say about that. Posts I could write. Speeches I could give. Amazing connections and wisdom pouring forth from my brain. Maybe even a book deal; I dunno (that would make me nervous). But another thing that's true about me is that I hear Him speak big truths in ordinary places, so I'll offer this thought from one of my jogs last week...

I felt a little antsy that morning, so I ran in a completely different direction from my normal route. It was refreshing. The terrain was fairly similar to my usual, and the scenery not exactly profoundly different, but enough to keep things interesting.

About halfway through I realized I was really dragging. My feet felt a little like lead boots, and I was all hunched over. Not at all tall and commanding as I've been taught to visualize.

Once I realized it, I was able to straighten up a bit and pick up the pace some, but it really got me to thinking things over and kind of evaluating.  I've been working on increasing my pace lately, so I'll do some loosey-goosey intervals sometimes.  But I was really tired now, and it made me worry a little.  What was my problem? Was it a bad run? I'd started out really well--why was my stamina suddenly down? Maybe I'd estimated the distance wrong and I was going waaaaay farther than I thought, and I was just that tired out.  Maybe I needed to work on drinking a little more water before starting out, or eat a banana or something and get some fuel into my body. Maybe I needed to work on my foot mechanics, or overall running form, or have my stride or foot-strike analyzed.  Maybe I needed to run with people to develop more of a community feel and get feedback and stuff. Maybe I just needed to suck it up and run harder more.

Then--and only then--did it occur to me to look around and realize that I was on a very long, very slight, very subtle incline. In other words, I was running uphill.  Which, you know, is at least a little hard most of the time, particularly when compared with the easier flats or downhills.

And God said, "Relax." (He also may have chuckled at me a little; this was not my first time getting all worked up over things.)

When you're on an uphill, there are things you can do to help. You can lean a little to let gravity help propel you forward. You can swing your arms to help move your legs better. You can get up on your toes more. Being conscious of where you are lets you be more intentional about dealing with it.

But no matter what you do, you can't make an uphill feel like a downhill (which, by the way, has its own dangers and difficulties, but that's another post). It's okay that it's hard--an uphill is difficult by its very nature, but other than turning back toward where you were, the only way to get out of it is to reach the top so you can head down again. Can't go around it, have to go through it.

So guess what I did? I swung my arms and leaned forward just a touch. I went on to get past the hill and finish in a reasonable time, feeling very good indeed. When I went back later to drive the route, I found that it was in fact a little longer than my norm (3.6 miles total). All told it was a good run.

So the next time you're plodding along with your feet dragging and your shoulders hunched over, and you're thinking about freaking out, remember to take a moment and look around. It's entirely possible you're running uphill...