You Haven't Changed a Bit!

Have you ever come across an old acquaintance, maybe an old friend, a middle school classmate or family member that you haven’t seen in years (and I mean years) and the first thing they say to you is “You haven’t changed a bit”! Does it really make you smile, does it? Are you actually happy to hear someone say to you that, in their opinion, you are exactly the same as you were in 6^th grade when you forgot how to brush your hair and you wore your mom’s clothes to school?? Does it?

At 33 years old, I literally cringe when I see people I went to middle school with simply because of that one sentence…also, because half of them went to High School with my ex husband. There’s a lot of history and a lot of “stories” that in a nutshell made people want to hide their children from me around 1998 through early 2002. To this day, the “it girls” always give me that head tilt, “poor Liz, ended up exactly how we anticipated” sympathy smile. My stomach hurts, I sweat, forget how to speak and immediately plan my exit strategy. I go as far as hiding my face thinking “if I don’t see you, you don’t see me”. Half the time, I end up making myself more obvious than necessary. I plaster on my “I’m so excited to see you, but really I’m not, smile” and then I leave as quickly as possible. And all I can think of after the fact is, why? Why do I feel like I’m back in middle school? There’s this movie, You Again, that sort of reminds me of my life however at the end of the movie (or where I am today) I’m not BFFs with my old arch nemesis.

The honest truth is that I bring these behaviors on to myself. I know I’m not the person I was in middle school, I know I’m not the person I was in my first marriage and I know in 10 years I won’t be the person I am today but I’ll tell you something, I’m sure going to like her a heck of a lot better than those other two girls. My real struggle is coming to terms with who I used to be. People, old school friends, family, etc. may actually be referring to my looks and hey, I’m going to argue that I still think I look better then my Kris Kross phase.

Coming home from oversees and finding that I couldn’t just jump into my old life with my old friends caused a lot of resentment. We had all changed and the world did not stop turning just because I left town. Still, it bothered me beyond words. The entire mix of settling back in MA, having to go through my last year of HS and having absolutely nothing to do unless my mother drove me to a soccer field to kick the ball around was a recipe for disaster. I pulled away, got mad at my friends and assumed they would bend to my selfish needs. I started resenting my own life, my own choices and suddenly those choices started reflecting who I was. I allowed the wrong people to come into my life and to put it bluntly, I didn’t care. However, the wrong people, which included the future ex-husband, were friends with the mean girls that I went to middle school with that were now the it girls in HS. Can you see the hole I began to dig for myself? They quickly relayed my lifestyle throughout the neighborhood and I quickly became the town outcast. My “I don’t’ care attitude” only grew stronger. I was on a downhill spiral of “it’s everyone else’s fault”.  So you see, every time I run into someone, they become a reminder of my middle school years and worse, that place between 1998-2002. I try to believe our past tends to resurface every so often because it’s an opportunity to acknowledge it and hopefully one day accept it so then maybe, just maybe it won’t sting so much the next time it comes up.

I remember writing in Calvin’s journal shortly after I went back to school around 2002. I promised him a better life. When we bought our “forever home” this past May, the first thing I thought of was that journal entry. In 13 years, I have come a long way from “poor me”. Finding peace in the road I traveled to get to where I am will always be a lifelong journey. Learning to accept that with each conflicting memory that sometimes I’ll revisit the hurt, embarrassment and even anger. Part of me sees it as penance, a life lesson, and the other part, a gentle reminder in case I decide to pass judgment on others. I had to be broken down in order to build myself back up. If I didn’t lose my way, I don’t think I would be able to overcome some of the challenges that I have faced and still face in my life now.  

Moving into our home in Methuen, the town that I grew up in, meant that there would be a lot more opportunities for people to say to me, “You haven’t changed a bit”. Instead of becoming defensive or running away maybe I should change my way of thinking otherwise it will continue to consume me. So where else should I test this theory...but on Facebook, right? I’m surrounded in the Facebook world by people I grew up with. For a long time I wouldn’t accept friend requests from people that looked at me wrong in middle school. I finally accepted a friend request that kept coming through but like the rest of the people I was friends with as a child, I just didn’t subscribe to her. Basically I avoided the town of Methuen at all costs. Obviously, this new way of thinking was going to take some time. I started slow, “Liking” pictures on people’s walls that I used to be friends with, adding a comment here and there. Slowly some started responding back and then they started responding to my own wall posts, even posting pictures of us when we were younger. Then, I thought, let’s step a little further out my comfort zone and comment on the wall of one of the people that I would otherwise run away from. It took a few days but, sure enough, she responded back and was actually pleasantly sincere that I was asking about her. Huh, who would have thought? Apparently the world, not only, didn’t stop turning when I left but people apparently didn’t stop growing up either. Suddenly I feel selfish, hmm.

I changed my behavior and something happened, people I least expected started opening up. Not everyone but some and that’s at least something. We give advice to each other, we laugh at pictures of our kids and we offer support when it’s needed most. The experience, in many ways, has been humbling, I learned a lot about myself and my own actions. Maybe we won’t ever hang out but when/if I do see them out and about, my smile will be genuine even if I still get the initial head tilt. It’s on me if I assume that everyone I run into thinks I’m a train wreck. We are our own worst critic and I see now that I brought on a lot of the behaviors because I assumed people were stuck in 1998. For me now, I haven’t changed a bit means...that I have the same quirky smile, the same laugh or maybe the same light in my eyes that I did as a child. That’s what I’ll think of and that is now the best compliment.

15 Natural Beauty Recipes Using Everyday Foods

Someday, I would love to turn to all natural remedies. Articles like this give me hope that someday will come...eventually.

15 Natural Beauty Recipes Using Everyday Foods

Good Morning Christmas

“Good Morning Christmas!”…Ms. Maisie yelled as she sat in the backseat of the car on the way to church Christmas morning. She was so excited to say Happy Birthday to baby Jesus. As if she knew I had an ulterior motive, shortly after we arrived and service began so didn’t Maisie’s big show. Two trips to the bathroom and a glove across three pews later and we made it through Mass.  Calvin carried Maisie over to the manger as her chants of “I want to go home” grew progressively louder. The details of the manger in our church were beautiful, right down to the lighting and the placement of the hay. You could feel the warmth that surrounds a family welcoming a child into the world. They captured it perfectly.

Christmas is my second favorite holiday with the first being Thanksgiving. There is something warm and comforting about Thanksgiving. The family gather’s at my parent’s house for a day of eating, napping and putting on my turkey pants so I can eat some more. To this day, Adam laughs at me every time I say turkey pants.

Christmas somehow loses its luster and becomes about decorating, baking, wrapping, buying and any other “ing” you throw in there that just zings the joy out of what should be a very peaceful and thankful holiday. It is timing, organizing, writing lists and budgeting. Magically we come up with all this extra cash in the month of December that we don’t have any other time of the year. And as if Adam knows my anxiety level has peaked, he comes home and say’s, “I have secret Santa and Toys for Tots to do”. Correction, MY DARLING, I have secret Santa and Toys for Tots. And then suddenly Christmas morning is upon us and there is a quiet sense of joy that overcomes me. I get up extra early so I can shower, have a cup of coffee and just enjoy the moment. I’m not sure how or why it seems to be the one day that the kids sleep in but if that’s my present, I’ll take it. After I wake the kids up (yes, I wake the kids up on Christmas morning) and we open stockings, we go to church and then we come home to make cinnamon buns and open presents. That is the best gift I can get each year. It makes all the stress and anxiety so worth it, right down to getting a sinus infection and hearing my dishwasher finally kick the bucket on Christmas day.

Maisie loved her new kitchen and Calvin said, “This year was awesome!” And it truly was a great year. But in my opinion, every year with my children is a great year. The part I love the most about being a parent is that I have this “corny card” that I get to play every so often. You know the one that makes your children look down at the floor and shake their head? I turn on Christmas music any time I do anything remotely Christmas-ey from wrapping presents to baking cookies and right down to the “Christmas Eve” candle. No one complained until I said, “tid-bit” and then I heard my 12 year old say, “mom, no one says tid-bit anymore”…must have gotten carried away.

I love all the traditions we’ve created in our home including the ones we’ve carried over from our families. Adam’s mother always makes cinnamon buns every morning for Christmas and since we’ve lived in our home he makes them every year as well. After leaving mass, Calvin says “I hope when we walk into the house I smell cinnamon buns”. Guess we’ve successfully passed that on.  

And then there are the new traditions that seem to keep sneaking up on us. I was driving Calvin to karate and we were looking at all the Christmas lights, in awe of how detailed some houses can get. I usually don’t get past the tree, candles and a wreath on the door. Anything outside is Adam’s domain. My only preference has been white lights and candles in the windows. The candles, a tradition from my side, will have to wait until our new home welcomes us. Until recently I thought the multi-colored lights looked cheesy. And then Calvin says, “Mom, every time I see the lights with all the different colors, I think about candy”. So now, I think next year we’ll have to get some new lights.

And then there’s New Year’s Eve, the last hurrah of the year. Ringing in the New Year is a celebration I only partake in while I’m sleeping. Started happening around the time I turned 30. Calvin celebrates with his grandfather and the little ones are fast asleep well before midnight. The week of though I tend to reflect on the year that has past. The year began and I was 8 months pregnant with a 6^th grader and a two year old. Adam and I were working at the same job living in our home of 4 years and just going with the flow. The year ended with two 30lb children and a 7^th grader who was finally convinced to look into vocational schools! The house is on the market, we’re waiting patiently for our new home to get approved, Adam is waiting patiently for a well deserved promotion and me…I’m looking to change up my career a bit, go back to school in hopes that it will give me more time with my crazy kids. And then maybe when this year is over it won’t feel like it went by in a flash.

Testing 1,2,3...

It starts with a feather…and then you’re given a penny and with that a pebble, and ever so slowly it grows with a heavy ache. Your hands are full, your heart is thick with hurt, and the shadows of your worries show within the corner of your eyes. Just when you think you can’t bear to hold anything else, God places a crater on your back. Maybe if you believe hard enough, if you pray long enough, if you look through all the pieces for the good, then maybe you will find whatever message he is trying to send to you. God must love me so much to test me like this.

Worst week ever? Starts with your son at his follow up appointment for his double ear infection, guess what, he still has a double ear infection. Oh, so the diarrhea that he experienced for 10 days on the previous medication has now been extended for another 10 days?

The worst week continues with your daughter, her first week out of school because you need to save money, playing make pretend in the living room with “Eva”. Who’s Eva? With a sad voice, chin perfectly tucked into her neck, big round eye’s looking up at me, “She my friend from school”. Insert guilt…anywhere.

Let’s not leave out the oldest, of course not, it starts with a detention because…he forgot his homework… again. And just when I thought the detention would trigger some sort of desire to succeed, fast forward two days, and yes, we forget again. Let’s end with the ADD meltdown because mom has decided it’s time to earn back all our privileges which includes bed time, electronic time and possibly even a new haircut. Why, because apparently I wake up every morning thinking of things to do to make my 12 year olds life miserable.

But how could it be the worst week without including my own resentments? No I have not forgotten. 10 years with my company, a decade already gone at the tender age of 32. I didn’t get a phone call to say Happy Anniversary; I didn’t even get an email. I’ve worked under a brick ceiling (forget the glass) and micromanaged because the boss needs to feel important and finally I saw a tiny little light. Redeployment is when we continue to work for the same company but move into a different position. Redeployment should always be spelled in gold letters. I’ve applied for 9 jobs, and I finally got a call for an interview. I was petrified. I loved the office and I loved the people and when I left I felt something spark, a small flame, something that had burnt out so long ago. I wanted this job. 6 days later, I got a lovely email telling me that I wasn’t what they were looking for.

I cried out my week of frustration on Thursday night, I took a bath and then… I ate nachos. I went to the gym 4 times that week so a different approach was much needed. But then I woke up at 2am and the left side of my face and neck were swollen. The walk-in confirmed my strep throat and by noon on Friday, the fever and chills had set in, my skin hurt. Getting sick and juggling kids is when the super hero in any mother needs to comes out. When I would rather be face first on the couch with vicks and chicken soup, I manage to find an ounce of energy to get the kids into their pjs, to lift a spoon to the baby’s mouth and to press the power button on the remote (and then whisper a special thanks to God for On-Demand). My family is my saving grace; keeping the kids late so I could rest Friday with the hopes that daddy would be home. Unfortunately I “scheduled” my sick time right in the middle of the holiday rush so 6pm came and went and then 7 and at 7:45 when all were changed and Carson and I were rocking each other in the rocking chair, daddy came home. Daddy then forgot to do the dishes and then worked until 8:30 the next evening. Auntie came by Saturday morning and brought the kids to breakfast with Santa. Shortly after the kids came home, my fever broke (thank you lord) and slowly we got through the rest of the day. When I woke up on Sunday the first thing I did were the dishes. I had high hopes that Sunday would be a much needed day of family and holiday cheer. My worst week was not over. I was supposed to make cookies and Adam was going to decorate the tree with the kids. Marriage is hard. It is my hardest test and I don’t want to fail my God. I know what it’s like to grow up with a dad that isn’t around all the time. I know what it’s like to be a rebellious and angry teenage daughter…I do not know what it’s like to have one…but if my husband continues down the path of broken promises, I’m pretty sure God is going to let me find out.

So it’s now Monday morning. I wake up to a naked tree and sugar cookies sitting on the counter waiting to be decorated. It’s a new day but my heart is still heavy with all of these worries and I have no where to put them. I think maybe I can get lost at work, go to the gym and then decorate some cookies with the kids tonight. Maisie’s excitement is enough to make me smile.

The crater to my worst week ever came in an email, conveniently while I was trying to get lost at work. My realtor tells me that my short sale on my home has fallen through. The bank wants more money and the buyer has decided to walk away. Emotion is a very powerful thing, your heart clearly doesn’t have the capability to fall down two rungs in your rib cage but that is exactly what happened. At that moment when my head fell perfectly into my cradled hands, I stopped seeing two footprints in the sand. It has been so long since God has had to carry me but I don’t think I can walk on my own right now. 

The emotion from this week begins to bubble over and in spurts there are tears. Tears you may see a crazy person burst into at any given moment. A blubbering mess speaking in tongues and the only words you can make out are Eva, cookie and house. Tears, in my case, that are quite obviously due to the mixture of events that have occurred in only just a few days. I’m sure even passer-by’s questioned my sanity as I had a mini temper tantrum in the office bathroom.

I am only human and maybe this crater is the cross I have to bear. I’m sure I will get sick again and it will land on some sort of inconvenient work day and I will need to fend for myself. I’m sure the job was just not meant to be and I was only in love with the idea of it. I have 8 more applications. My home is but a material thing, it’s the pride that went into it that I will grieve the most. I’m sure the kids will find loop holes that form some sort of resentment towards me whenever the need arises, and I’m okay with that. As God kindly reminded me, as if to end a letter with PS to my worst week, on Wednesday after I made a call to 911 because my youngest couldn’t discreetly swallow a pine needle, I should appreciate the meltdowns and temper tantrums. The mother’s and father’s of this world who’s little ones have gone before them would be overjoyed to have a child with diarrhea if it meant one more second with them. Above all of this, I’m absolutely sure that no marriage goes without its own crater. I have learned that in order to get change, we must first look within ourselves. With all of my worries and no where to put them I have no choice but to face them, learn from them and be thankful that God believes I am strong enough to handle it all.  

I walked with you today

I walked with you today.

I was 14 years old when my Pepe passed away. It was barely a month into my freshman year of private school. My brother Peter picked me up. That was the first sign. He offered me ding dongs, the second sign and then…he asked me how my day was…the red flag, the sirens, the 5-car alarm. “What’s wrong?”  

No one prepares you for the death of a loved one. Do you really want to be that person that sits with a child to explain the different stages of grief? No, you just pray that they don’t ever have to go through it. I thought he was being mean and joking, and then I thought he was lying and then I just didn’t want to talk anymore. We pulled into the driveway of our home and he looked at me and said, "are you okay". I shook my head, afraid that if I spoke I would crumble into a million little pieces. I don’t remember exactly when I started crying, if it was in the car or when I walked in the door and saw my mother sitting on the couch. Probably both. It was the first time I lost someone. I liked playing cards with him and scrabble, I liked that he never let me win. I liked visiting him when he went to the nursing home. And I secretly enjoyed that he always remembered my name. I liked listening to my Aunt Marlene tell stories about him when she was young. He was so tough and strong and he ruled with an iron fist. I smiled when I heard these stories, when I looked in his eye's all I saw was an ocean of love and affection. I knew there was a teddy bear in there. He knew that I saw right through him.

My work schedule recently shifted for the next few weeks. Since Adam leaves before the sun comes up, I get up in the morning at the same time to get the kids up and off to school. I come home to an empty house and do busy work passing the time; the dishes, I make up the beds and open all the curtains. This morning we had a showing scheduled. We’re in the midst of trying to sell our home, my financial burden in this suffering economy. I wiped down walls and dusted, lit the candle for a bit so it smelled like fall Harvest and then I took some time out for me and went to the gym, third day in a row. While my trainer was impressed with my dedication, my muscles were not happy with my newfound need to beat up on them.

Lily, my beautiful little pain in the butt of a dog waited nervously in the car for me. Nice fall day, I thought the fresh air would be good for her, I can be so naive some times. As I walked back I saw her shaking out of her fur as though she hadn’t seen me in years. I could go to the bathroom and walk out to her and still get the same reception, every time. When I got in the car I looked at the clock, 10:35am. The people coming to see my house were going to be there at 11 and since it only took 10 minutes for me to get back home I looked at the anxiety attack sitting next to me and said, “Well, what are we going to do for the next hour?” If she could talk I’m sure she would have recommended a blanket, a couch and a warm body. As I drove back home I figured I would go to the bank, run an errand, get gas and then drive over some glass…wait, COME ON, yup that was glass I just drove over. Oh how convenient, the cemetery is right here, “God…I know…it’s been awhile…but if Pepe wanted me to come see him, those flashing signs on the side of the road work to.”  

I could see the fright in my little dog’s eyes, “You’re leaving me again...here?!!”. "No dog, you get to come to". My visits are always well received, I feel the warmth around me and I can hear the rustlings of a home. I never met my Meme but one thing’s for sure, that’s her tidying up and not my Pepe. I always envision him in his old home, sitting on a recliner, something made of corduroy, with his glasses on…just listening, happy to see me. He has two good legs now and doesn’t like to sit too long. I catch him up on all my “poor me’s” and then we walk. I walked around the entire cemetery with Lily, the spaz, and my Pepe. I caught the grounds-man staring at me as I talked to myself, it couldn’t be the first time he saw someone doing that. Towards the end of our walk I found myself listening to my Pepe; he talked about the things that were important to him. And I swear, every time, I learn something new about my father. Maybe I can’t buy my children the latest gadgets or the most expensive Halloween costumes. Maybe I’m angry that I’m letting go of the roof over their heads, something I worked so hard to give them. Maybe I’m angry that my career is not so much a career anymore. I should stop being so angry, so selfish and I should remember what drove me to work for all of that in the first place. What can I keep doing for my children? I can love; I can parent them, play with them, tuck them into bed, teach them, read to them and love them completely and unconditionally. It doesn’t cost a thing, it’s something I can pass on to them and they can pass on to their children. I see this gift in Calvin already, and every time, I say “Thank you so much Mother Mary”. They won’t remember the Nike shoes I bought them that one Christmas but they will remember that I insisted on a kiss and hug every night before bed, yes even the 12 year old.

As we walked back to Pepe’s spot, I could feel my Meme’, as if she were coming out to greet me. The weather was crisp and warm, there was a gentle breeze and there were leaves and pieces of tree lying all around the ground and I realized that Lily was no longer in a state of panic. I felt my Pepe pat me on my back as an old memory came to mind, as if he were standing right in front of me “Remember when I used to give you a zero when you did gymnastics for me? I did that because I wanted you to work harder, challenge yourself more”. My Meme wrapped herself around me, a warm departing that brought tears to my eyes. So much of me wished to taste her cooking, sit with her at the dinner table and just watch her. And there I go down the selfish road again. Suck it up, my Pepe would say. As I got in the car I peaked at my tires, “Thanks for sparing them; can you work on a better sign next time?”

I said my Hail Mary and went home to drop Lily off; it was 11:27am. “Please God, sell this house”. I didn’t see a realtor card on the counter like I usually do so I called my realtor to make sure they weren’t running late. Apparently it was someone from her office and someone who actually might be interested in the house. “Don’t get your hopes up”, my realtor said. “We’ll see what it comes in at and if it’s worth sending to the bank”. No, there are no hopes, just my prayers and my faith that God has a plan. And he is clearly watching over me, it’s not even noon yet and I’m pretty sure he’s laughed at me twice today.

Daughter's

“Maisie, can you get momma a diaper?”…from the bottom of the stairs I hear, “NO! Not right now”. As the naked baby lies before me with a twinkle in his eye as though he and his sister planned this whole thing out, I wonder to myself, can we make it downstairs in time to get a diaper. “Maisie, please get momma a diaper before Carson pee’s all over me”. Thankfully I hear her coming up the stairs, oh gullible me assuming she has brought along a diaper, I watch her sit comfortably on the top step only to say, “Maybe later”. It was as if she was getting a front row seat to the show, the only thing she was missing was popcorn. So I look at my good little boy who was perfectly content in his nakedness and I will him with all of my silent subconscious super mom powers to not let the cool air stir any need to release all over my work clothes as I hop over his sister and down the stairs to the safety of the diapers. And so begins my Wednesday morning.

When did my little helper become so joyously defiant in her ways? When did my requests turn into an invitation to challenge her loving mother? I’m in the midst of asking a question when a resounding, “No” interrupts the words that are coming out of my mouth. She has even mastered the art of balling her fists and making this sound, sort of a cat-like growl just for dramatic effect. Particularly, and the timing I must say is award winning, after I’ve raised my voice to her older brother Calvin. All of this behavior tends to be followed with a sweet little smile, a quick hug and squeaky little voice that says, “Momma, I love you”. 

Even her one-liners are enough to make me pause. After walking into the bathroom, I look at her sitting pleasantly on the toilet and say, “are you done, did you go to the bathroom” and with all seriousness, she responds “no, maybe next week”.  To which I contemplate adding some Miralax to her yogurt.

She is stubborn and willful and in every way a very quick study. Listening to her call Carson, “Boo-Boo” in her baby voice and say things like “Ooohh Carson, why are you mad” is like listening to myself on a recorder.  She’ll go into Calvin’s room and wave her finger at him and say, “Calvin, stop being fresh”. And poor Calvin has such a fit. He asked me once, “What if Maisie has ADD to?” to which I responded, “I’ll move out”. I’m glad he found it funny.

No, there is a clear difference between a child with ADD and a 3 year old ninja. When Calvin was 3, he was so instinctively reactive that going out in public was a rarity. Yes, I know, most 3 year olds are instinctively reactive. Passing a candy bar at the store voids out all rules that applied prior to walking into that store. With Calvin, however, I had to make very specific rules like, mommy is going to the store to buy you a red notebook and then we will go visit Mimi and Grumpy. I would bring a timer or a toy that he hadn’t played with in a while and we would play games like, I spy. If I didn’t buy a red notebook, if I went somewhere else first or if I decided not to go at all I was guaranteed a 3 hour meltdown.

Maisie, well she’s a whole other species. I truly believe that upon waking up in the morning she makes a mental list of things that tick mom off just to check them off throughout the day. She does this thing where she repeats herself very loudly over and over and over, I particularly enjoy it when she does it at church. She agrees to all of your threats, “I will take away your doll if you continue to yell”, “you will not get a snack when we get home” or “you will have to take a nap when we get home”. She obsesses over her request and giving into her only presents the opportunity to obsess over another request. And by the time you get home, she’s on her best behavior and quite understandably blindsided to have no snack, no toys and why is she going down for a nap? This only welcomes a second wave of obsessions and more reprimands.  And without saying anything, I can hear her voice inside my head saying, “this is all your fault”. By the end of the day, I’ve won the Mother of the Year Award, I’m exhausted and she’s now plotting out the next day of events. She emits this monsoon of emotion with complete disregard to her surroundings and, conveniently, only when we’re out in public. Luckily enough, I have three children now and my ability to disregard my surroundings exceeds her desire to yell and cry at the drop of a dime. My only saving grace, a time out chair is not necessary for time outs. If there is a bathroom, there is a corner and we will stay in that bathroom until (a) moody has learned how to use her quiet voice, (b) we pack up and leave with nothing, no one wins or (c) church is over.

It is a battle and she seems to have her wits set on me. When we sit at the dinner table and she takes a sip of her milk and lets it sit in her mouth with her cheeks puffed out staring at me…willing me to say something, Adam and Calvin quickly find a spot on their plate of food avoiding the lasers that are apparently coming out of my eyes.   

Her teacher’s praise her behavior, her friends give her hugs when she arrives at school and again when she leaves for the day, her grandparents tell me she sleeps all night when they keep her on Thursday’s. To all of which I’m so thankful, jealous, but so thankful.

 Someone said to me, “maybe she enjoys your attention”. Oh no, I believe she just enjoys tormenting me. It’s trial and error really. I had one child with a very challenging and very special gift and I blindly assumed that I knew everything about having children. And then God said, “I’m giving you a girl”. People always told me that girls were easier and yet since I’ve had her, everyone has changed their story. There was no warning and there are no books to prepare for it. However, I’m pretty sure she got the cliff notes on Calvin’s childhood, studied them, found the loop holes and is now mastering the art of driving mom up a wall. I applaud her spirit, I applaud her drive and I even applaud that mischievous little spark in her eye. She makes sure that every single day of our lives is an eventful one. I love you Ms. Maisie Moo.

I Can

It stared at me, for so many years, stared me right down and I would dismiss it like it was trash and continue on my way. I rolled my eyes at even the mention of it. “You people are crazy” I would say. It would take years of silent mocking before I would finally accept its challenge. I would quiet the beast once and for all.

I barely made it half a mile before I thought my lungs were going to spontaneously combust. I couldn’t talk, I could taste metal, sweat was dripping off my elbows and my face was the color of the fire extinguisher, the one I contemplated using to put the flames out in my chest. I thought, why do people do this to themselves? I could actually hear the machine cheering its victory song, it had defeated me. As I wobbled away and my heart rate slowed to a less terrifying beat, this calm came over me, a calm I hadn’t felt since childhood.

When I woke up the next morning, I had no intention of even acknowledging the beast. I packed my workout gear and thought about bringing along one of my husband’s hammers to “accidentally” drop on it….woops, but I held my head up high and planned to accept my defeat like a rational adult. Instead maybe I would throw a blanket over it.

There is something to be said about the words, “I can’t”. I am an athlete, I played soccer, was on the swim team, did gymnastics and dance, played softball, volleyball and even flag football. Running is an instinct, a natural part of my athletic being and therefore should be the easiest feat to accomplish. Bullshit. If the machine could talk, that is exactly what it would have said to me. And something along the lines of, “sit down little girl you have no idea what you’re doing”. I did my usual workout, watching the beast from the corner of my eye the entire time, doing its little victory dance. Before I left the gym that day I got back on that treadmill. And just like the day before, I thought, “there is no one here to save me if I go into cardiac arrest”. But I didn’t and there it was, I refused to believe “I can’t”. I didn’t keel over and that was a success in itself.

I ran every day, taking one or two days off a week and on those days I thought about running. At some point the beast became my confidant, a lesson to be learned by all. Breathing gradually became easier, my distance longer, my speed faster and my mental health was clearer. Yes, I know machines don’t actually mock people. I challenged myself, I thought for so many years, why do people put themselves through this kind of torture. In reality I was missing out on freedom.

I am not a long distance runner; I am not the fastest and by no means am I the greatest. I am just a runner. When the weight of the world rests itself on the back of my neck, when I don’t get enough sleep because the baby’s sick, when my son tells me the night before he has a 5-page report due, when my boss puts up another brick ceiling for me to chip through, when my house decides something major needs fixing, when someone say’s I can’t…I run. It is all the when’s in my life that make me run. And especially just because.

Running is so much more than just endurance, it’s mental and visual. For me, it starts with a tingle that creeps onto my toes, a sort of darkness that starts to claw and grab at my legs and work its way up in root to engulf me. I run and all the frustration, all the aggression and emotion comes off in chunks of gray. I run and I envision the beauties of the world, like the Cliffs of Mohr. I know when I get there I can stand at the edge overlooking its wonder.  I can close my eyes and let the sun kiss my cheeks as the wind whips around my hair and tickles my neck, I can spread out my arms and feel it trace through my fingertips. And what I have left to inhale is peace. A cleansing breath, as simple as that.

Running off the treadmill and onto the pavement was another feat all in itself. I barely made it out of my work parking lot before I had to use a tree to support myself. And just like the treadmill, I conquered it and then I ran through a pregnancy. I surprised myself when I hit the pavement after nearly 12 weeks of rest and went for a 2 mile morning jog. And then a friend suggested I try a new gym. I think the reference Drill Sargeant came into the conversation. Running made me very aware of how naïve I was so naturally I thought, “cool, a new beast to conquer, this will be fun”. My first class was a conditioning class, some sort of circuit training? Having never belonged to a gym, I now believe the words conditioning and circuit training should have been followed with a large flashing sign that read “BEWARE, all newbie’s may want to bring a bucket”. I thought, “This is not fun, why do people do this to themselves?”

There is something else to be said about the word, “pride”. I am proud that I made it through the first class without throwing up. With that said, I called my husband on the way home to express the overwhelming feeling of nausea and to warn him that I would probably look like death when I walked in the door, “please make sure you clear a path for me to the couch”. I’m also proud that I was able to go golfing the next day, although I’m sure the sound affects I made with every movement only made it harder for my mother to concentrate. That night, as my baby boy lay on the bath towel waiting for me to pick him up and put him in the tub I asked myself, “how are you planning on getting down there”. Somehow I did and I thought, “It’s a miracle, my legs stayed intact”. And just like running, I went back the next week. It suddenly became my “mom time”, the much needed mental break away from my every day routine of kids, work, kids, home, kids, bed, kids.

I know why people do this to themselves; it’s about feeling good all around. Forget about the quest to get your teenage body back, I took for granted my youth, this is my new youth. My life is becoming about the “I can’s” and when, I do, I inhale peace. Small goals lead to great successes. Making it through a conditioning class, running a half mile, these were my goals that I conquered that led to more goals, bigger goals and made me appreciate the accomplishments I have in my life even more. A cleansing breath, as simple as that.