'Tis the season to begin thinking of the proverbial New Year's resolution. Most of us make them. We go full force with the intent to keep them and change our lives for the better instantly, only for the desire to fade, the enthusiasm and motivation flicker and ultimately, the flame die. This has happened to me time and time again. I keep trying to come up with a resolution that I will like so that I can stick with it... such as, eating more ice cream. Why can't that be my resolution with no ill effects?
For me, making changes for the better requires 3 things: resolve, patience and time. Many of us have the resolve to do better in certain areas of our lives, but we lack the patience to give it the time needed. Hence the reason many enthusiastic newbie runners end up with injuries and the feeling that running is somehow "bad" for them. When we are excited, we jump head first (and full force) into it. With running, you CANNOT DO THAT. Your body is not ready for speed and volume, even if your mind is. So when a few weeks in we find ourselves with sore everything, we decide it isn't for us. Not only that, we've burnt ourselves out trying to run every single day, never allowing ourselves a break for fear of breaking some magical cycle.
So if running is on your agenda for 2013, let me give you a small piece of experiential advice.... take it slow, be humble, start with 3 days a week and increase gradually. But most of all, BE CONSISTENT!!! That is your biggest factor for success.
Before Thanksgiving, I wrote about our challenges with Jack and his performance in both school and at home. I promised myself that before we made the decision to medicate him for ADHD (inattentive type), I would try whatever I could to manage him unmedicated. If after a trial period, it was obvious he could not function successfully in school without meds, then we would begin the search for the right medication. Translation... I would not let a stubborn mindset about medication keep my son from reaching his academic and social potential. ADHD is a biochemical issue and some kids simply need it. But first I wanted to be CERTAIN he needed it. I made reference to some dietary changes that we were making that were very difficult. After extensive reading and searching, we decided to remove gluten from his diet. There have been many documented successes with elimination diets in regard to managing ADHD without medication. We have also removed the majority of processed foods from his diet (and now subsequently ours), as much research has pointed to additives and preservatives as "triggers" for these kids. We've also added an omega-3 supplement and a children's probiotic, both of which are recommended for kids like Jack. We were able to pinpoint that large amounts of sugar trigger meltdowns and complete lack of attention at home, so that too, has been lessened considerably.
Yes, we are becoming that ridiculous family that I used to make fun of. I never believed or put much stock in what I would call "granolas". And although I feel my family's diet is way off from that definition, it's slowly inching that way. I have yet to plant my own organic vegetable garden and I do not have cattle in my back yard that I am grass feeding (but I have moved toward grass fed beef...). But we also live in a busy and real household with lots going on, so yes, sometimes, LaRosas is on the menu for dinner. See? Balance :)
I have to credit my sister, Maria, and her influence on our family's diet. Maria made some extreme changes in her daughter, Ellie's diet. Ellie suffered from a long list of vague symptoms that both puzzled and made my sister crazy trying to figure out if her issues were really physical or psychological. Being a single mom with a full time job, Maria's diet was to say the least, sub par. She will tell you that herself. With a heavy emphasis on processed and fast foods, Maria did what was quick and easy to suit her busy life. But Ellie's constant fatigue, malaise, mood swings, complaints, stomach aches and headaches sent Maria on a quest for answers. I give her worlds of credit for not buying the "Irritible bowel" or other diagnosis the pediatricians were guessing. Finally out of desperation, she put Ellie on a dramatic elimination diet. It was like a light switch. Had I not seen the changes with my own eyes, I would not have believed it. My once very stoic niece, who adorable as she was, was never happy at any age, has blossomed into this smily, happy, feeling good little girl. She is delightful! Maria has since been able to reintroduce some of the things she pulled out, knowing now her exact triggers.... corn and soy, which are seemingly in EVERYTHING (aka corn syrup and soy lecithin) and in which over 90% that is put into food is in the "GMO" (or Genetically Modified) category. Ellie cannot eat any animal product in which the animal is grain fed. It must be from a grass fed source, since corn is such an issue. Upon Maria's further research, which she has done exhaustively and much more extensively than me, she has learned about what exactly our food sources contain and is pretty certain the FDA is approving poisons in our food. I am not quite there as I have not done any scientific research on any of this. But it's hard to ignore the ever increasing incidence of allergies and ADHD in kids as well as cancers that are affecting people at an alarmingly high rate these days. From a strictly statistical standpoint, the evidence is glaring what is in our food is a culprit. Again, I say this with caution as I have no proof, rather simply cause to think so. Is a fresh ear of corn on the cob bad? Of course not! But the crap they put into the corn they use in processing probably is. So Needless to say, thanks to my sister, I've bitten on this one. And I'm glad I have as it seems to be helping Jack too.
In addition to diet, Jack now has a strict bedtime of 8:45. The goal is to have him asleep by 9 pm every night. This requires either John or I to physically lay in his bed until he nods off. We were finding that although he had a decent bedtime, he was distracting himself with various activities and staying awake until God knows when. Everyone knows I go to bed early. At times, something would wake me up at 10:30 or 11:00 and Jack's light would still be on and he'd be drawing or reading or making a mess in his room. The truth is, I cannot tell you exactly how much sleep he was getting each night. I only know he was difficult to wake each morning and at least 3 nights a week, he would wet the bed (make fun of him for this and you'll deal with mama bear). The pediatrician told us this is normal with some kids his age still (especially boys), but I have also learned it also goes hand in hand with ADHD.
We are now about 5-6 solid weeks into all these changes and the results are ASTOUNDING! In two weeks, with more sleep per night (about 10-10.5 hours), Jack has not wet the bed. His math teacher has texted me at various times saying he is having some "amazing" days. Homework is taking much less time, he's more obedient and attentive at home.
One could argue it's the sleep. But if you think we are going to change anything right now, think again. What puzzles me is that he is sleeping LONGER and having no bed wetting incidents. When he was sleeping less, they were what I would consider frequent for a 10 year old. That physical change is enough to keep me doing everything the same and leads me to believe that diet "could" be a contributing factor when it comes to this. Why else would more sleep cause fewer accidents?
Jack is still Jack. He is quirky and a bit immature for his age. But that is what makes him completely lovable to me. I didn't want his personality to change, I just wanted him to be able to reach his potential. I feel like I have the best of both worlds...the real Jack who is doing very well right now.
It has been really hard to keep up the diet. I get complaints daily from Emma, my little chocoholic, that there is "nothing" to eat in the house. What she means is that there is nothing to eat that she would like... junk. Organic dairy and produce is expensive and with growing kids, I am constantly at the grocery store. Often times I find myself thinking "Just forget it. I'm sure what we used to eat is just fine...". And maybe it is, but I wholeheartedly put a lot of stock in a "clean" diet now more than I ever did as evidenced by Jack's progress and as I also mentioned, my niece.
Our success has also been in Jack's unbelievable ability to stick to it. Perhaps he physically feels better or is noticing that focus comes a bit more easily than it used to. I'm not really sure. The first two weeks were tough. He was agreeable, but was having a tough time and would often say "I HATE this diet..." He was so addicted to crackers, pretzels and anything flour based that I am sure he was experiencing withdrawal. I worried that our days with it would be numbered as I realized how very little control I have over my kids and what they eat at school if they are trading snacks or being given friends' snacks (I can assure you, none of his friends likely want his lunch). But Jack is very diligent. He finally got to buy on soft taco day, with me forgetting that the soft shell tacos were flour tortillas, not corn (which he can have). When he got home, he said "mom, the shells weren't gluten free so I just ate the inside." Victory!
My point... change is HARD. Especially when it is not immediate. I don't doubt there will continue to be many days where I find myself questioning the validity of an extreme wellness diet. But put my child's well-being in the mix and give me positive results and it's enough to keep me keeping on.
Here's hoping all of your resolutions for 2013 bring about the changes you most desire.
Merry Christmas!
Monday, December 17, 2012
Friday, December 7, 2012
And So it Begins...
"I certify that I am adequately trained, physically fit, and capable of participating in this 100 mile ultra-endurance event over and off roads, trails, and extremely rugged terrain and I recognize the significant risks involved, such as exhaustion, physical injury, heat stroke, dehydration, and vehicle and pedestrian traffic. In consideration of allowing my participation in the Burning River 100, I hereby waive and release all claims and liabilities arising directly or indirectly out of, or relating to my participation in that event, and I further agree to indemnify and hold harmless Western Reserve Trail Running, Inc., Cuyahoga Valley National Park, Cleveland Metroparks, and Metroparks Serving Summit County, and their respective directors, trustees, officers, affiliates, agents, contractors, representatives, and volunteers from all losses, costs, liability, damages, and claims arising from my participation....."
Uh, YES.... wait, MAYBE.... oh, jeez, I don't know. Where is the "I think so" box. Or even better the "I sure as hell hope so" box for me to check.
I was going to wait to register until January 1st. But since I couldn't stand "not training" any longer, I officially jump started 100 mile training this week (which conveniently started with a rest day... going well, don't you think?) Give me credit, though. Two months is a long time to be resting. Since the MCM on October 27th, I have been running very sporadically. Mostly 3 days a week and not very far, either. My longest run was 10 miles (this past weekend). So that was a good 5 weeks of downtime and about as much as I could handle. I realize I SAY a lot of things I don't really mean. And saying I was going to take it easy for two months turned out to be one of them.
So this is my adventure/goal for 2013. To COMPLETE the 100 mile distance in the Burning River 100 on July 27/28th. You know it's a long-ass race when the race date has 2 days listed!
The looks one gets when telling people about this are not of admiration like they are when telling people you are running a marathon. It's funny, the response is usually "...all in one day? Why? That sounds horrible and unsafe." And to those people's credit, they are right. I remember being with Jack during his 2nd Burning River (yes, the one I said I would NEVER, EVER do... please refer to the above sentence about me saying things I don't mean). Anyway, there were horrible and scary moments. There were times I felt it was unsafe for him to go on. I was miserable and was completing less than 1/3 the distance. But that wasn't my race and it wasn't about me so I couldn't possibly understand that Jack's mindset was totally different than mine. He was committed and ready to complete it and I was not. He spent a crazy amount of time preparing the psychological aspect needed to succeed. I had not. And I believe that without question, he KNEW his life was never in danger, even though I didn't. He felt terrible and was exhausted, but that is to be expected when doing an event like this. And because he pushed past all of it, he realized just how much the human body can endure. This is something so few people are willing to go find out. They aren't wrong or necessarily missing out for not wanting to, but the point is that we always have perceived limits and then we have actual limits. The difference between the two is ENORMOUS. I remember the surprise of my pregnancy with baby number 3, Jack. In my own perception, there was NO WAY I could handle another baby at that point in my life. With two small children, a husband who was a full-time student, living out of town, and a full time job, it simply seemed like an impossible feat. But as always, God knew I could handle it and he had a purpose for this tiny person. And gee, didn't it all work out so perfectly? Look where we are now? I can't imagine my life without this adorable, tender hearted, loving child. Perceived limits vs. actual limits... (Dear God, really... I think I've reached my actual limit on this one. Kindly requesting not to be proven wrong :)
Do I think God is telling me to run 100 miles? No way. Does He know I'm going to try anyway? Yes, He does. Does He know the intent I have in doing so and what I hope to make of it? Yes, He does. Does He know if I can do it? Yes, He does. Even if I don't know it. He already knows the outcome... whether I will complete it or not. But the outcome doesn't matter so much as the attempt in something like this and how I go forward with training and preparation.
I have a fund raising goal for this race (I really need to stop referring to this as a "race". That implies speed will be involved). In a few short weeks, more information about that will be put out, both here and on Facebook. My goal is to raise money for a select few organizations by obtaining pledges per mile. No money will go through me. All expenses incurred ... registration, travel, crew... will come out of my pocket and not be reimbursed by the pledges. Stayed tuned....
I am taking a risk and searching to bypass my perceived limits, but not quite reach my actual limit (I assume that is bad thing). I already know I can go 50 miles. I am certain I can also go 100. But don't be fooled, I am scared out of my wits to attempt it. I hope that the reminder of who/what charities will benefit from it serves to keep me strong and motivated during my training.
A few prayers from y'all would be nice too!
Sidenote: I got a lot of very nice e-mails from people who read about Sergio in my last post. Thank you for your prayers, especially for those who don't know him. Sergio's follow up appointment with his pediatrician revealed a grade 3 concussion. Concussions are labeled grade 1-4, depending on severity. The doctor was perplexed as his recovery is not matching the severity of what happened. Sergio is acting and recovering like a grade 1. Not that any one of us present needed it, but it is further proof of God's glaring presence in that gym as well as the power of prayer. Deb says that she is certain that when you call in angels for help, they come. Sergio had quite a few that night. Thank you for the prayers.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Play On
There are times in races or on runs when you must soldier on, despite what obstacles decide to pop up. Of course, everyone knows that we really have a choice of whether to keep going or shut it down, but sometimes we don't allow ourselves choices and we just continue. These reasons vary and are often times quite personal. Sometimes it's to prove to ourselves we can. Sometimes it's to prove to others that we can. And then sometimes it's to honor someone who we know would want us to go on... to keep trying, keep pushing and finish what was started. So often the ability to push aside the challenges and keep going are the result of years of life experience and practice. The trials of failure and the victories of winning serve to propel us forward until we are finished.
But there is nothing quite like witnessing the tough challenging of continuing on from a group of 13/14 year old boys, or as I like to call them, "man-children".
Will had his first regular season basketball game yesterday. We pulled into the parking lot simultaneously with my friend Deb and her family. Her son, Sergio, is a friend and teammate of Will's.
As Deb and I exchanged hellos, the boys walked ahead together and into the gym. Deb and I filed onto the bleachers and settled in to watch the end of a game already in progress. Somehow the conversation came to the startling fact that our boys were getting ready for high school. We talked about how some of our boys have been together since preschool. This was where Will met Sergio and I met Deb. We laughed as I recalled Will's 5th birthday party. As Deb dropped Sergio off, he asked his mom to write down their phone number in case he needed to call her. About midway through the party, Serg asked to use my phone. He took the crumpled up paper from his pocket and dialed the number. "Hi mom! What are you guys up to? Good... yes it's fun. I just called to say hi. Ok... I love you too. Bye." His little self could barely reach the phone dock on the wall as he tip-toed to hang up. He then proceeded to join the boys again as if all was well. I will never forget that. This small boy who needed his mom's voice of reassurance. Once he heard it, the world was right. We also laughed as Sergio then proceeded to invite all the boys to his house for a sleepover. He did that often, without first consulting with Deb. One time Sergio called Will and asked if he could spend the night. Knowing Sergio's habit of concocting grand parties without his mother's knowledge, I asked to speak to Deb. Sure enough, when Deb got on the phone, she knew nothing of the invitation and then said "That could explain why he's hiding under the table right now..."
When the game in progress was over, we moved seats to the "home" side and settled in. All the boys playing had known each other at least since kindergarten. I noticed the difference a year makes in watching the intensity of the playing. They all looked so BIG and were so physical. The game was intense and exciting, with our boys trailing by a hair, then getting ahead by a hair. Sometime during the third quarter, Will and Sergio collided while going for a rebound. In a split second both boys were on the ground. I saw the boy's coach jump up and run and as I looked over, I saw Sergio in the midst of a full-blown seizure.
Instinctively I raced over. Deb was already at his side. Sergio was having a grand mal seizure after the back of his head slammed to the gym floor. His arms were straight ahead and fists were closed tight and posturing. As I looked at his faced I noticed the blue color getting more apparent. Sergio was not breathing. His eyes were wide and fixed and his body was jerking wildly. Deb kept him on his left side as I began to recall the steps of CPR in my head. Would his mother be able to do this? Deb is an advanced practice nurse and was more than capable, but to her own boy? I kneeled down... frantic in my head, calm on the outside. In a frenzy of activity, I looked up and saw the boys... his friends... watching in horror as their friend lay on the ground. All I could do in the moment was say "God, please take over. Please help him." Nothing else came to mind. In an instant I feared that Deb and Steve were watching their son's life as they knew it, slip away. I feared that even with survival, a blow to the head that was hard enough to cause this seizure, was going to have some serious and life changing effects on his brain.
Slowly, Sergio's body began to relax. His grunts turned to deep breaths and the color began to return. With the blink of his eyes, he looked around and looked a bit perplexed. Deb continued to calmly talk to him and tell him he was ok. "Do you know what day it is?" In very slurred manner, Sergio replied, "Sunday." Praise God! "Do you know where you are?" "Basketball." Again, a wave of relief like none other washed over me (can't even imagine what that was like for Deb). Little by little, Sergio's speech became more coherent. "I hit my head... Jeezo Pete!" It was clear that he knew exactly who he was, where he was and what he had been doing. I heard the distant sound of siren's approaching. Deb kept him laying there and I noticed his right arm, still straight ahead and his fist clenched. I had yet to see him move (although she kept him still, I wasn't really sure he could move yet). When the paramedics arrived, they questioned him and his mother. I saw them check his head and then run their fingers down the back of his spine. Not having seen him move yet and noticing the position of his fist and arm, I held my breath, fearful of what was going to be discovered. "Hey buddy, can you sit up?" The EMT took his top arm and slowly Sergio began to move it. He then pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked up and began answering questions appropriately.
What I did not know was that while Sergio's body lay in a fit on the floor, one of the mom's had huddled his frightened teammates together. Some of them were crying. She led them in prayer. Now I don't know how often God gets the undivided attention of some very sincere, helpless, panic stricken eighth grade boys. But I can't help but think that God's infinite compassion and love for these young men who were turning to him had much to do with Sergio's amazing turnabout. I compare it to parents who love all of their children, fiercely and equally. But there is something about that little one who can ask for things unlike the bigger ones. Something happens that softens you so much when the tiniest voice in the family cries out in need or makes a request.
As Sergio was loaded on the stretcher and strapped in, they sat him up. I was certain the game was going to be called after that kind of traumatic event. But Sergio requested the game continue. And so after he was safely in the ambulance, the boys played on.
No doubt they were shaken. But those boys jumped back in the game and did as their buddy had requested. They finished it.
Sergio was taken to Children's Hospital, where he was evaluated and had a CAT scan. The scan was normal... no fracture in the skull and a bad concussion. And so with precautions, they sent him home.
I continue to witness God's presence and power everywhere. I am reminded how fragile this life is and how it can change in a split second. I am humbled beyond words that He was right with Sergio, his family and his friends and took complete control of a situation that could have gone so much differently. I believe these boys witnessed it also and for that, I am so thankful.
But there is nothing quite like witnessing the tough challenging of continuing on from a group of 13/14 year old boys, or as I like to call them, "man-children".
Will had his first regular season basketball game yesterday. We pulled into the parking lot simultaneously with my friend Deb and her family. Her son, Sergio, is a friend and teammate of Will's.
As Deb and I exchanged hellos, the boys walked ahead together and into the gym. Deb and I filed onto the bleachers and settled in to watch the end of a game already in progress. Somehow the conversation came to the startling fact that our boys were getting ready for high school. We talked about how some of our boys have been together since preschool. This was where Will met Sergio and I met Deb. We laughed as I recalled Will's 5th birthday party. As Deb dropped Sergio off, he asked his mom to write down their phone number in case he needed to call her. About midway through the party, Serg asked to use my phone. He took the crumpled up paper from his pocket and dialed the number. "Hi mom! What are you guys up to? Good... yes it's fun. I just called to say hi. Ok... I love you too. Bye." His little self could barely reach the phone dock on the wall as he tip-toed to hang up. He then proceeded to join the boys again as if all was well. I will never forget that. This small boy who needed his mom's voice of reassurance. Once he heard it, the world was right. We also laughed as Sergio then proceeded to invite all the boys to his house for a sleepover. He did that often, without first consulting with Deb. One time Sergio called Will and asked if he could spend the night. Knowing Sergio's habit of concocting grand parties without his mother's knowledge, I asked to speak to Deb. Sure enough, when Deb got on the phone, she knew nothing of the invitation and then said "That could explain why he's hiding under the table right now..."
When the game in progress was over, we moved seats to the "home" side and settled in. All the boys playing had known each other at least since kindergarten. I noticed the difference a year makes in watching the intensity of the playing. They all looked so BIG and were so physical. The game was intense and exciting, with our boys trailing by a hair, then getting ahead by a hair. Sometime during the third quarter, Will and Sergio collided while going for a rebound. In a split second both boys were on the ground. I saw the boy's coach jump up and run and as I looked over, I saw Sergio in the midst of a full-blown seizure.
Instinctively I raced over. Deb was already at his side. Sergio was having a grand mal seizure after the back of his head slammed to the gym floor. His arms were straight ahead and fists were closed tight and posturing. As I looked at his faced I noticed the blue color getting more apparent. Sergio was not breathing. His eyes were wide and fixed and his body was jerking wildly. Deb kept him on his left side as I began to recall the steps of CPR in my head. Would his mother be able to do this? Deb is an advanced practice nurse and was more than capable, but to her own boy? I kneeled down... frantic in my head, calm on the outside. In a frenzy of activity, I looked up and saw the boys... his friends... watching in horror as their friend lay on the ground. All I could do in the moment was say "God, please take over. Please help him." Nothing else came to mind. In an instant I feared that Deb and Steve were watching their son's life as they knew it, slip away. I feared that even with survival, a blow to the head that was hard enough to cause this seizure, was going to have some serious and life changing effects on his brain.
Slowly, Sergio's body began to relax. His grunts turned to deep breaths and the color began to return. With the blink of his eyes, he looked around and looked a bit perplexed. Deb continued to calmly talk to him and tell him he was ok. "Do you know what day it is?" In very slurred manner, Sergio replied, "Sunday." Praise God! "Do you know where you are?" "Basketball." Again, a wave of relief like none other washed over me (can't even imagine what that was like for Deb). Little by little, Sergio's speech became more coherent. "I hit my head... Jeezo Pete!" It was clear that he knew exactly who he was, where he was and what he had been doing. I heard the distant sound of siren's approaching. Deb kept him laying there and I noticed his right arm, still straight ahead and his fist clenched. I had yet to see him move (although she kept him still, I wasn't really sure he could move yet). When the paramedics arrived, they questioned him and his mother. I saw them check his head and then run their fingers down the back of his spine. Not having seen him move yet and noticing the position of his fist and arm, I held my breath, fearful of what was going to be discovered. "Hey buddy, can you sit up?" The EMT took his top arm and slowly Sergio began to move it. He then pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked up and began answering questions appropriately.
What I did not know was that while Sergio's body lay in a fit on the floor, one of the mom's had huddled his frightened teammates together. Some of them were crying. She led them in prayer. Now I don't know how often God gets the undivided attention of some very sincere, helpless, panic stricken eighth grade boys. But I can't help but think that God's infinite compassion and love for these young men who were turning to him had much to do with Sergio's amazing turnabout. I compare it to parents who love all of their children, fiercely and equally. But there is something about that little one who can ask for things unlike the bigger ones. Something happens that softens you so much when the tiniest voice in the family cries out in need or makes a request.
As Sergio was loaded on the stretcher and strapped in, they sat him up. I was certain the game was going to be called after that kind of traumatic event. But Sergio requested the game continue. And so after he was safely in the ambulance, the boys played on.
No doubt they were shaken. But those boys jumped back in the game and did as their buddy had requested. They finished it.
Sergio was taken to Children's Hospital, where he was evaluated and had a CAT scan. The scan was normal... no fracture in the skull and a bad concussion. And so with precautions, they sent him home.
I continue to witness God's presence and power everywhere. I am reminded how fragile this life is and how it can change in a split second. I am humbled beyond words that He was right with Sergio, his family and his friends and took complete control of a situation that could have gone so much differently. I believe these boys witnessed it also and for that, I am so thankful.
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| First grade trip to Applefest From left: Sergio, Claire, Michael H., Patrick, Will, Dylan and Jonathan All but Claire are on the basketball team, along with some not pictured |
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Glimpse of Divinity
Right now, more than ever, I need the psychological release that long runs provide. Unfortunately, physically, I also need this downtime.
These days I find myself wishing for the simplicity of small children and their small issues over the complexity of big children and their bigger issues. I refer to, of course, my almost 14, 11, 10 and 6 year old. I imagine that those with even older kids, say mid to upper teens, are thinking, "Oh honey, just you wait. Yours are still young!" And I know that. But the glimpse of the uncertainty of the years ahead is a bit scary and some days I want to go back to babies who have kept me up all night, skinned knees and crying over having to take a nap.
Each of my kids needs me right now. They need me in ways they never have even if they don't necessarily want me. This is especially true with Will, 14 next month. This very easy going, loving, sensitive and funny boy has transformed into this moody, argumentative, know it all teen. He pushes my buttons, pushes his limits and many days we go head to head in battle. I often find myself wondering if I just need to be silent and listen or continue arguing my point to make sure he gets it. All I can think of is the fact that I have one chance to not blow it. There are no do-overs when raising kids. I believe God knows my fears and occasionally sends me messages that I (or I should say WE) are doing a good job and that he is on his way to becoming a wonderful young man, despite the bumpy road. Will recently wrote a student essay for a high school application. In it, he mentioned how fortunate he is to be growing up in such a faith-filled family. He described this influence as being one that he hopes helps him lead others. During the last two weeks, I have gone back to that in my mind to help ease some of the anxiety I have right now. If he really means that, and I believe he does, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he will be just fine.
Jack, 10 next week, has very different needs. At the age of 6, based on a thorough assessment of his teachers, pediatrician and us (John and me), was diagnosed with inattentive ADHD. I scratched my head at the diagnosis back then since Jack is not hyperactive, nor is he really a discipline problem. I now realize that the "H" (for hyperactive) is just standardly put into most attention deficit diagnosis. When this was first discovered, I was adamantly opposed to medicating him. I made myself extremely clear that this was not a route we wanted to take. Thankfully, our pediatrician was sensitive to our wishes and helped give us ways to manage his inattention and focus ability so that he could do well in school.
With that discussion, however, came a warning... "As the workload in school becomes harder and more focus and attention is needed, no matter how intelligent he is, he may begin struggling to maintain his grades. Often times we begin to see these kids bringing home Ds and Fs in about the 3rd or 4th grade, where they were bringing home As and Bs before. At this point, many parents find themselves needing to introduce meds and when they do, their children's grades go back to As and Bs since they are able to focus and pay attention."
His words were eerily prophetic. That is exactly what is happening right now. Only I am still trying my best to manage his inability to focus on difficult tasks without medication. We have turned our house upside down revamping his diet, removing things we have researched as being harmful for kids like Jack and putting him on a diet that has been shown to help these kids. Let it be known that this is killing us. We spend hours doing homework, most of the time trying to get him to just sit down and start working (or stay down and continue working). He forgets everything and is the most disorganized child you will ever meet. He refused to go to basketball practice yesterday and instead came home in the carpool and told me he quit. I was so angry until I looked into his little face and saw the fear he had telling me. Sports are getting harder for him. He can't remember the drills or where he is supposed to be on the court. He's small and can't make a lay-up (he told me as he cried). The other kids are bigger and better. My heart breaks for him and yet I know that there are other kids with MUCH bigger challenges in life. But he is MY kid and he is struggling and this is very hard for me to watch and wonder if I am doing him a terrible disservice by my refusal to medicate. His 10 year check up is December 5th, where we will go back to the drawing board and discuss all of our options.
I sometimes forget that 6 is still little. I think we are out of the woods when it comes to needing a watchful eye on Lucy around the house. Things don't need to be baby proofed anymore. I don't need to put the liquor up high (on the contrary, these days I keep it VERY close) and she is free to run about without me needing to follow her. So on Friday night when she crawled across the stove, putting her hand on the hot range in an effort to reach the salt shaker, I was reminded that she IS still little. Lucy has 2nd degree burns across her entire palm and some of her finger tips. I had no idea how serious this is when it happens on the hand. She earned a trip to the ER, where the on-call physician told John that a consult at Shriners Burns Institute would be a good idea. We thought he was being a little over the top until yesterday. Last evening I spoke to a neighbor who is a fire fighter and paramedic. His 6 year old recently burned her elbow on the stove and it became infected, causing a fever and earning her a nice round of antibiotics. Figuring he sees this sort of thing often, I texted him a picture, concerned about the redness around the large blisters. He texted me back and told me to call him. I did and he asked if we had been to Shriners. He began to tell me all the reasons it is necessary to get a consult there when a burn like this occurs... the high risk of infection due to it being on the hand, the fact that there are so many tendons in the hand that when the blister heals, the hand is likely to remain in a contracted state, requiring lots of PT to help release the scar tissue. Lucy is already holding her hand continuously in a "C" shape. He continued to tell me that every single child he has brought to Children's ER with this type of burn is sent over to Shriners. Huh? Her hand was off the burner in less than 1 second and we had it under cold water immediately. How could this have become such an ordeal? She sees the pediatrician at 9 this morning. I am hoping we don't have to cancel Thanksgiving for a Shriners admission!
The silver lining in our house these days is Emma, age 11. The most unlikely of the four to be showering me with hugs and love is indeed, showering me with hugs and love. Emma was the baby who didn't like to cuddle or be rocked. She was squirmy and on the move all the time. She was a rotten toddler, a punkish little girl and a sassy child. She has a quick temper and a sense of humor far beyond her years. She makes me crazy and she makes me laugh. And yet lately she has been my one child that has given me the affirmation I've needed that I am not failing my children. Emma is beautiful and graceful and funny as heck. She is fiercely protective of Lucy and a top notch student. I have yet to find a teacher who doesn't love having her in class and love her humor. When she is not home, I miss her presence. And I firmly believe that this will all come to a screeching halt in about 14 months, when she turns the ripe old age of.... 13.
But for now I am able to see how God works. Through all the uncertainty and worry of raising kids, there are constant messages that He is close and that I am doing ok as a mother. For these things I encounter daily, I am so grateful. Monday it was the hour and 10 minutes I spent running with Sarah, talking about many of these issues and so much more and feeling in good company with many of my motherly struggles. Yesterday it was Lucy telling me that when she grows up, she wants to be "a mommy, a nurse, and a marathoner..." It was Will giving me the requested hug in the morning and knowing it was sincere. It was watching Jack, once again, play priest (when he was supposed to be at basketball practice) and seeing the reverence and respect he had for the crucifix he was parading around. And it was Emma telling me she loved me as she hopped out of the car and in to school.
But mostly, it was John walking through the door at 5:11 pm and taking over :)
Happy Thanksgiving! In the midst of hardship and chaos, notice your blessings and the Divine presence that it with you always.
These days I find myself wishing for the simplicity of small children and their small issues over the complexity of big children and their bigger issues. I refer to, of course, my almost 14, 11, 10 and 6 year old. I imagine that those with even older kids, say mid to upper teens, are thinking, "Oh honey, just you wait. Yours are still young!" And I know that. But the glimpse of the uncertainty of the years ahead is a bit scary and some days I want to go back to babies who have kept me up all night, skinned knees and crying over having to take a nap.
Each of my kids needs me right now. They need me in ways they never have even if they don't necessarily want me. This is especially true with Will, 14 next month. This very easy going, loving, sensitive and funny boy has transformed into this moody, argumentative, know it all teen. He pushes my buttons, pushes his limits and many days we go head to head in battle. I often find myself wondering if I just need to be silent and listen or continue arguing my point to make sure he gets it. All I can think of is the fact that I have one chance to not blow it. There are no do-overs when raising kids. I believe God knows my fears and occasionally sends me messages that I (or I should say WE) are doing a good job and that he is on his way to becoming a wonderful young man, despite the bumpy road. Will recently wrote a student essay for a high school application. In it, he mentioned how fortunate he is to be growing up in such a faith-filled family. He described this influence as being one that he hopes helps him lead others. During the last two weeks, I have gone back to that in my mind to help ease some of the anxiety I have right now. If he really means that, and I believe he does, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he will be just fine.
Jack, 10 next week, has very different needs. At the age of 6, based on a thorough assessment of his teachers, pediatrician and us (John and me), was diagnosed with inattentive ADHD. I scratched my head at the diagnosis back then since Jack is not hyperactive, nor is he really a discipline problem. I now realize that the "H" (for hyperactive) is just standardly put into most attention deficit diagnosis. When this was first discovered, I was adamantly opposed to medicating him. I made myself extremely clear that this was not a route we wanted to take. Thankfully, our pediatrician was sensitive to our wishes and helped give us ways to manage his inattention and focus ability so that he could do well in school.
With that discussion, however, came a warning... "As the workload in school becomes harder and more focus and attention is needed, no matter how intelligent he is, he may begin struggling to maintain his grades. Often times we begin to see these kids bringing home Ds and Fs in about the 3rd or 4th grade, where they were bringing home As and Bs before. At this point, many parents find themselves needing to introduce meds and when they do, their children's grades go back to As and Bs since they are able to focus and pay attention."
His words were eerily prophetic. That is exactly what is happening right now. Only I am still trying my best to manage his inability to focus on difficult tasks without medication. We have turned our house upside down revamping his diet, removing things we have researched as being harmful for kids like Jack and putting him on a diet that has been shown to help these kids. Let it be known that this is killing us. We spend hours doing homework, most of the time trying to get him to just sit down and start working (or stay down and continue working). He forgets everything and is the most disorganized child you will ever meet. He refused to go to basketball practice yesterday and instead came home in the carpool and told me he quit. I was so angry until I looked into his little face and saw the fear he had telling me. Sports are getting harder for him. He can't remember the drills or where he is supposed to be on the court. He's small and can't make a lay-up (he told me as he cried). The other kids are bigger and better. My heart breaks for him and yet I know that there are other kids with MUCH bigger challenges in life. But he is MY kid and he is struggling and this is very hard for me to watch and wonder if I am doing him a terrible disservice by my refusal to medicate. His 10 year check up is December 5th, where we will go back to the drawing board and discuss all of our options.
I sometimes forget that 6 is still little. I think we are out of the woods when it comes to needing a watchful eye on Lucy around the house. Things don't need to be baby proofed anymore. I don't need to put the liquor up high (on the contrary, these days I keep it VERY close) and she is free to run about without me needing to follow her. So on Friday night when she crawled across the stove, putting her hand on the hot range in an effort to reach the salt shaker, I was reminded that she IS still little. Lucy has 2nd degree burns across her entire palm and some of her finger tips. I had no idea how serious this is when it happens on the hand. She earned a trip to the ER, where the on-call physician told John that a consult at Shriners Burns Institute would be a good idea. We thought he was being a little over the top until yesterday. Last evening I spoke to a neighbor who is a fire fighter and paramedic. His 6 year old recently burned her elbow on the stove and it became infected, causing a fever and earning her a nice round of antibiotics. Figuring he sees this sort of thing often, I texted him a picture, concerned about the redness around the large blisters. He texted me back and told me to call him. I did and he asked if we had been to Shriners. He began to tell me all the reasons it is necessary to get a consult there when a burn like this occurs... the high risk of infection due to it being on the hand, the fact that there are so many tendons in the hand that when the blister heals, the hand is likely to remain in a contracted state, requiring lots of PT to help release the scar tissue. Lucy is already holding her hand continuously in a "C" shape. He continued to tell me that every single child he has brought to Children's ER with this type of burn is sent over to Shriners. Huh? Her hand was off the burner in less than 1 second and we had it under cold water immediately. How could this have become such an ordeal? She sees the pediatrician at 9 this morning. I am hoping we don't have to cancel Thanksgiving for a Shriners admission!
The silver lining in our house these days is Emma, age 11. The most unlikely of the four to be showering me with hugs and love is indeed, showering me with hugs and love. Emma was the baby who didn't like to cuddle or be rocked. She was squirmy and on the move all the time. She was a rotten toddler, a punkish little girl and a sassy child. She has a quick temper and a sense of humor far beyond her years. She makes me crazy and she makes me laugh. And yet lately she has been my one child that has given me the affirmation I've needed that I am not failing my children. Emma is beautiful and graceful and funny as heck. She is fiercely protective of Lucy and a top notch student. I have yet to find a teacher who doesn't love having her in class and love her humor. When she is not home, I miss her presence. And I firmly believe that this will all come to a screeching halt in about 14 months, when she turns the ripe old age of.... 13.
But for now I am able to see how God works. Through all the uncertainty and worry of raising kids, there are constant messages that He is close and that I am doing ok as a mother. For these things I encounter daily, I am so grateful. Monday it was the hour and 10 minutes I spent running with Sarah, talking about many of these issues and so much more and feeling in good company with many of my motherly struggles. Yesterday it was Lucy telling me that when she grows up, she wants to be "a mommy, a nurse, and a marathoner..." It was Will giving me the requested hug in the morning and knowing it was sincere. It was watching Jack, once again, play priest (when he was supposed to be at basketball practice) and seeing the reverence and respect he had for the crucifix he was parading around. And it was Emma telling me she loved me as she hopped out of the car and in to school.
But mostly, it was John walking through the door at 5:11 pm and taking over :)
Happy Thanksgiving! In the midst of hardship and chaos, notice your blessings and the Divine presence that it with you always.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Another blog not really about running, but whateve... it's needed
I am still afraid, but after taking a step back, I decided that I simply need to focus on becoming a better, more spiritual, tolerant and wholesome person and not succumb to the hatred and division that is making Satan rejoice. But then I think of my children and the anger and panic come back. How do I raise these people to adhere to a moral code that society does not? How do I drive home the point that just because something is legal, doesn't make it right? And how do I do it without creating pompous, self righteous judges in the process? Why does this have to be SO HARD?
My 13 year old loves Instagram. If you don't know what that is, look it up. Too lazy to explain. Anyway, I follow him and the other day I was looking at the things he was posting. A lot of them were political poster pictures poking fun of President Obama. I immediately called him in and told him he needed to remove them and that he could not do that.
"Why? I'm just standing up for what I believe."
"No you aren't. You are being callous and disrespectful and you cannot do that. Respect the office, Will. It doesn't mean to have to like what he stands for, but if you are going to be stupid with social media, you cannot be on it anymore."
Ok, I'd better admit that I immediately wanted to go back and delete my angry post election entry should he see it. While I want my kids to adhere to a moral code different from that of our government, there is definitely a way NOT to do it. I am trying very hard not to be a "Do as I say, not as I do..." parent. Because any idiot knows that kids do what they see you do (even if they tell you that you are not cool and not funny).
So how do I go forward as a parent and as a Christian and as a runner (I just needed to throw running in there to make this mesh with the blog)?
There were a series of events that got me thinking about how to go about this. I am going to tell you, and I am really not proud of this, but on Wednesday I could not really bring myself to pray. I know, I know, never a good thing to give God the silent treatment. I was so mad at everything and everyone. I knew I needed to stop and just say some prayers, but I was busy being ticked. So I ignored that ever present voice inside my head telling me to hit my knees. But that God is so clever and does not like to be ignored. He simply will draw your attention to things, that if you are aware of His constant presence, show you what He wants you to do.
The first was a greeting card I received on Monday from a dear friend with a beautiful and sweet message. As I was shuffling some papers on my desk, the card I had already read, caught my eye (this was on Wednesday). I opened it up again and read it again. One of the sentences said something about being awed by my "deep commitment to love unconditionally." Immediately I stopped what I was doing. All day my mind had been filled with resentment and anger. That one line suddenly made me feel like a fraud. I was anything but "loving unconditionally" that day.
The next was my creeping on Will's Instagram account (poor kid hates that I follow him... too bad he has no choice :) Doing this made me realize what a hypocrite I was by telling him to essentially "hate the sin, love the sinner." Didn't I love the idea of "outbreeding those bastards"?
On Thursday morning, I was driving home from dropping the kids off at school. I was listening to 93.3, which now is featuring Christmas music. No judging... I could listen to Christmas music all year long and sometimes do. Anyway, the song "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" came on. I love that song, but have never really listened to the words. Thursday I did and boy, it's meaning could move a boulder to tears.
Finally, while I was ironing table cloths for Thanksgiving (stop being jealous of my exciting life and instead be proud that I am two weeks ahead on that task...), I got a text from my sister Maggie. And I hope you don't mind, Mag, but I am sharing it because it was very powerful.
"Well, I've resigned myself to implore the help of St. Paul, who like Obama, hated Christians, and yet he was converted. Converting the thug in chief is our only hope for the next 4 years...(icons with little sad faces)."
So maybe Maggie wasn't ENTIRELY Christian in her text, but her message was awesome. Suddenly things kind of clicked and I think I actually said out loud, "Ok. I hear you."
Hate breeds hate. Division and anger is just as big a threat to our country as its immoral laws. It is our duty to pray for one another. That is how change is made. That is the only way this great nation will stay great. This incredibly powerful message was coming at me from every direction, as evidenced by the things I just talked about.
So that is how I will go forward. I will pray for our president, our Senate, House and Supreme Court justices. I will pray that the decisions they make are in the best interest of the country and that whatever they are, they align with the will of God. If we all do this, miraculous things will happen. That is our only hope for change.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOC0HaGmOBg&feature=related
My 13 year old loves Instagram. If you don't know what that is, look it up. Too lazy to explain. Anyway, I follow him and the other day I was looking at the things he was posting. A lot of them were political poster pictures poking fun of President Obama. I immediately called him in and told him he needed to remove them and that he could not do that.
"Why? I'm just standing up for what I believe."
"No you aren't. You are being callous and disrespectful and you cannot do that. Respect the office, Will. It doesn't mean to have to like what he stands for, but if you are going to be stupid with social media, you cannot be on it anymore."
Ok, I'd better admit that I immediately wanted to go back and delete my angry post election entry should he see it. While I want my kids to adhere to a moral code different from that of our government, there is definitely a way NOT to do it. I am trying very hard not to be a "Do as I say, not as I do..." parent. Because any idiot knows that kids do what they see you do (even if they tell you that you are not cool and not funny).
So how do I go forward as a parent and as a Christian and as a runner (I just needed to throw running in there to make this mesh with the blog)?
There were a series of events that got me thinking about how to go about this. I am going to tell you, and I am really not proud of this, but on Wednesday I could not really bring myself to pray. I know, I know, never a good thing to give God the silent treatment. I was so mad at everything and everyone. I knew I needed to stop and just say some prayers, but I was busy being ticked. So I ignored that ever present voice inside my head telling me to hit my knees. But that God is so clever and does not like to be ignored. He simply will draw your attention to things, that if you are aware of His constant presence, show you what He wants you to do.
The first was a greeting card I received on Monday from a dear friend with a beautiful and sweet message. As I was shuffling some papers on my desk, the card I had already read, caught my eye (this was on Wednesday). I opened it up again and read it again. One of the sentences said something about being awed by my "deep commitment to love unconditionally." Immediately I stopped what I was doing. All day my mind had been filled with resentment and anger. That one line suddenly made me feel like a fraud. I was anything but "loving unconditionally" that day.
The next was my creeping on Will's Instagram account (poor kid hates that I follow him... too bad he has no choice :) Doing this made me realize what a hypocrite I was by telling him to essentially "hate the sin, love the sinner." Didn't I love the idea of "outbreeding those bastards"?
On Thursday morning, I was driving home from dropping the kids off at school. I was listening to 93.3, which now is featuring Christmas music. No judging... I could listen to Christmas music all year long and sometimes do. Anyway, the song "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" came on. I love that song, but have never really listened to the words. Thursday I did and boy, it's meaning could move a boulder to tears.
Finally, while I was ironing table cloths for Thanksgiving (stop being jealous of my exciting life and instead be proud that I am two weeks ahead on that task...), I got a text from my sister Maggie. And I hope you don't mind, Mag, but I am sharing it because it was very powerful.
"Well, I've resigned myself to implore the help of St. Paul, who like Obama, hated Christians, and yet he was converted. Converting the thug in chief is our only hope for the next 4 years...(icons with little sad faces)."
So maybe Maggie wasn't ENTIRELY Christian in her text, but her message was awesome. Suddenly things kind of clicked and I think I actually said out loud, "Ok. I hear you."
Hate breeds hate. Division and anger is just as big a threat to our country as its immoral laws. It is our duty to pray for one another. That is how change is made. That is the only way this great nation will stay great. This incredibly powerful message was coming at me from every direction, as evidenced by the things I just talked about.
So that is how I will go forward. I will pray for our president, our Senate, House and Supreme Court justices. I will pray that the decisions they make are in the best interest of the country and that whatever they are, they align with the will of God. If we all do this, miraculous things will happen. That is our only hope for change.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOC0HaGmOBg&feature=related
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Retreat
It's time for a break. And I don't mean just in running mileage, but in other areas as well. Two days ago, six year old Lucy came home from school and wanted me to see her paperwork. Her sense of urgency was over the top.
"Mommy, you HAVE to see my stuff. I took a test today and I want you to see it. Oh and I did "dibels" and I was done in seventeen seconds mommy... SEVENTEEN! We actually get one minute, but I was done in seventeen. Isn't that GREAT?" Are you proud?" Dibels refers to a test that kindergarteners are given to test their recognition of numbers and letters and the sounds different letters make. They are supposed to recognize a minimum specific number in one minute. Apparently Lucy was quite proud that she crushed it all in seventeen seconds. And got them all correct.
"That's awesome, Lucy. Give me one second and I'll look at your stuff." I was preoccupied at the time. I was following an all important Facebook battle between two of my "friends". It was a political battle and the two people going back and forth were on opposing sides. It was getting quite heated.
"Mommy, look NOW! I don't want to wait. I want to show you."
I could feel the heat rising as she continued to hound me. It was honestly the first time I'd sat down.(except for the long two hour lunch I had just sat down for to celebrate a friend's birthday... funny I don't count that). I had just gotten on the computer ten minutes before the kids got home. Lucy continued to plead, which quickly turned into a whine. Jack walked in and immediately asks me if I'd gone out to get him the sweatshirt he had been asking for.
"Jack, I said you could have it for your birthday. Now please go away." Please go away? He'd been gone for nearly eight hours at school.
"That's STUPID. Why do I have to wait for my birthday?"
"Because you don't get anything you ask for just because you want it right now. Now GET OUT."
I finally slammed down my fist, shut down my screen and stomped downstairs. Lucy followed with her backpack in tow.
"Now will you look at my stuff?"
"Give it to me. I don't know why you guys can't just be patient. Jeez, you need attention 24/7 and God forbid I am not giving it to you the second you ask..."
And so it went on. My ranting about what ungrateful, selfish, needy little time suckers they were. I didn't actually say that, but my words definitely implied it. Emma and Will seemed unaffected. It was as if they'd heard this broken record so many times they could recite it word for word.
The evening went on as it normally does. I read a book and went to bed and woke up at 3:30 yesterday morning. I laid there with a very unsettling feeling. Something wasn't right and I could not put my finger on it. I got up, went downstairs and grabbed some coffee and went to my computer and as soon as Facebook popped up, I KNEW what it was. I was reminded of the exchange with Jack and Lucy the day before. I was immediately able to see that this virtual world in front of me had taken priority over my live children. All four of my kids are gone all day in school and when they get home, not only do they need my undivided attention, but they deserve it. And on so many levels, over and over again, I have failed to acknowledge that. Instead, I am dependent on a world that doesn't matter. I am over the top involved in lives that light up my computer screen. That doesn't mean the people on Facebook don't matter, it means that it shouldn't matter to me what the hell they had for dinner or what their kids are selling or why they think Obama is God (or Romney). At least it shouldn't matter at 3:40 in the afternoon. Maybe it should matter instead at 5:00 am, on a morning that I am not running. But then again, maybe it shouldn't matter then either. Facebook isn't bad. There are wonderful prayer pages and prayer chains that stem from Facebook. It's been a way to see my family from out of town and see my nieces and nephews grow up. It's been the way that my friends and I have built a running community and inspired so many in our town to run. It's been a way to promote businesses. And if I could limit myself to using it for just those things things, or in other words, find a healthy balance, it would work perfectly into my life.
And so I realized my harmful attachment to this thing that was affecting my parenting had to go, at least for a little while. I don't have the discipline to just not get on FB when my phone pings with notifications anytime I get a message or comment. So I deactivated my account until January 1st. Then I suppose I will reevaluate whether or not I even want to be back. Perhaps it's like an alcoholic saying they will have "just one beer..." But I am going to try to use it only for the above mentioned things.
My neighbor approached me last night and said "How will I get my Nora fix if you don't post?" I said that she may actually have to type in the web address... if she thought she could manage :)
I find it amazing, and then again I don't, that the things I pray for are answered in such an obvious way. I also ask for help in recognizing how they are being answered. I always ask for help to be a better mother and wife. All other earthly jobs or titles I have pale in comparison to the importance of those two. What reason did I have for waking up unsettled? Why did I know as soon as Facebook popped up what needed to be done? Some days I don't even know what to pray about or ask for and so my prayer is simple. "You know what I need today more than I do. Guide me." And so He did.
It is time for me to retreat from my usual world of running many miles and keeping up with virtual reality. It is time for rest and time for weeding out what does not matter. It is time to really cherish and give thanks for what is physically in front of me, begging for and needing my attention and guidance.
And what a perfect and beautiful season for such a retreat to begin!
"Mommy, you HAVE to see my stuff. I took a test today and I want you to see it. Oh and I did "dibels" and I was done in seventeen seconds mommy... SEVENTEEN! We actually get one minute, but I was done in seventeen. Isn't that GREAT?" Are you proud?" Dibels refers to a test that kindergarteners are given to test their recognition of numbers and letters and the sounds different letters make. They are supposed to recognize a minimum specific number in one minute. Apparently Lucy was quite proud that she crushed it all in seventeen seconds. And got them all correct.
"That's awesome, Lucy. Give me one second and I'll look at your stuff." I was preoccupied at the time. I was following an all important Facebook battle between two of my "friends". It was a political battle and the two people going back and forth were on opposing sides. It was getting quite heated.
"Mommy, look NOW! I don't want to wait. I want to show you."
I could feel the heat rising as she continued to hound me. It was honestly the first time I'd sat down.(except for the long two hour lunch I had just sat down for to celebrate a friend's birthday... funny I don't count that). I had just gotten on the computer ten minutes before the kids got home. Lucy continued to plead, which quickly turned into a whine. Jack walked in and immediately asks me if I'd gone out to get him the sweatshirt he had been asking for.
"Jack, I said you could have it for your birthday. Now please go away." Please go away? He'd been gone for nearly eight hours at school.
"That's STUPID. Why do I have to wait for my birthday?"
"Because you don't get anything you ask for just because you want it right now. Now GET OUT."
I finally slammed down my fist, shut down my screen and stomped downstairs. Lucy followed with her backpack in tow.
"Now will you look at my stuff?"
"Give it to me. I don't know why you guys can't just be patient. Jeez, you need attention 24/7 and God forbid I am not giving it to you the second you ask..."
And so it went on. My ranting about what ungrateful, selfish, needy little time suckers they were. I didn't actually say that, but my words definitely implied it. Emma and Will seemed unaffected. It was as if they'd heard this broken record so many times they could recite it word for word.
The evening went on as it normally does. I read a book and went to bed and woke up at 3:30 yesterday morning. I laid there with a very unsettling feeling. Something wasn't right and I could not put my finger on it. I got up, went downstairs and grabbed some coffee and went to my computer and as soon as Facebook popped up, I KNEW what it was. I was reminded of the exchange with Jack and Lucy the day before. I was immediately able to see that this virtual world in front of me had taken priority over my live children. All four of my kids are gone all day in school and when they get home, not only do they need my undivided attention, but they deserve it. And on so many levels, over and over again, I have failed to acknowledge that. Instead, I am dependent on a world that doesn't matter. I am over the top involved in lives that light up my computer screen. That doesn't mean the people on Facebook don't matter, it means that it shouldn't matter to me what the hell they had for dinner or what their kids are selling or why they think Obama is God (or Romney). At least it shouldn't matter at 3:40 in the afternoon. Maybe it should matter instead at 5:00 am, on a morning that I am not running. But then again, maybe it shouldn't matter then either. Facebook isn't bad. There are wonderful prayer pages and prayer chains that stem from Facebook. It's been a way to see my family from out of town and see my nieces and nephews grow up. It's been the way that my friends and I have built a running community and inspired so many in our town to run. It's been a way to promote businesses. And if I could limit myself to using it for just those things things, or in other words, find a healthy balance, it would work perfectly into my life.
And so I realized my harmful attachment to this thing that was affecting my parenting had to go, at least for a little while. I don't have the discipline to just not get on FB when my phone pings with notifications anytime I get a message or comment. So I deactivated my account until January 1st. Then I suppose I will reevaluate whether or not I even want to be back. Perhaps it's like an alcoholic saying they will have "just one beer..." But I am going to try to use it only for the above mentioned things.
My neighbor approached me last night and said "How will I get my Nora fix if you don't post?" I said that she may actually have to type in the web address... if she thought she could manage :)
I find it amazing, and then again I don't, that the things I pray for are answered in such an obvious way. I also ask for help in recognizing how they are being answered. I always ask for help to be a better mother and wife. All other earthly jobs or titles I have pale in comparison to the importance of those two. What reason did I have for waking up unsettled? Why did I know as soon as Facebook popped up what needed to be done? Some days I don't even know what to pray about or ask for and so my prayer is simple. "You know what I need today more than I do. Guide me." And so He did.
It is time for me to retreat from my usual world of running many miles and keeping up with virtual reality. It is time for rest and time for weeding out what does not matter. It is time to really cherish and give thanks for what is physically in front of me, begging for and needing my attention and guidance.
And what a perfect and beautiful season for such a retreat to begin!
Monday, October 29, 2012
MCM
In regard to my last post, Dad, rest assured, I have cleared Purgatory and everyone is now in Heaven.
Yesterday John and I ran the 37th annual Marine Corp Marathon. It was humbling, unexpectedly challenging and indeed, a marathon I will not soon forget. My husband shocked me with his performance. I see a tried and true ultra runner in this guy. At one point, I do believe he was not even coherent, but I never would have known had he not told me later. He looked completely unaffected by the hills, the wind and the distance. The entire race, I kept expecting his wheels to fall off, his calves to cramp up or something to snap or pull and take him out. After all, he didn't listen to me when I gave him advice. He took weeks off for an injured calf muscle and neglected my ongoing suggesting (ok, nagging) that he get on the elliptical or accompany me to Sarah's cycling class to keep his cardiovascular fitness. He never got nasty, but he continued to do his own thing, which in my opinion, was the wrong thing. I told him of how agonizing that race would be for him if he did not do as I say. I am, after all, a running coach!
Well this running coach was wrong. Dead wrong. Not only did I NOT take my own advice on what I know to be proper training (INCORPORATE REST!), but I also clearly did not know what was best for him. Somehow, he did. And don't think in days to come that will not annoy the living heck out of me. But for now, with post marathon euphoria in full swing, I will admit that John did exactly as John should have done.
My morning started at 3 am Sunday. I awoke from a solid sleep of six hours with a headache. I had been dealing with it all day on Saturday and was taking ibuprofen every four hours. I first thought I was just dehydrated. We had an early flight that had me up at 2:45 on Saturday morning. Our flight was at 7, but I needed to make sure the house was presentable. We had our neighbor coming to take care of our pets and should anything happen to us while away, people would surely be coming in and out of the house. So I got up and cleaned (maybe the headache is not a mystery after all...). I also knew we'd be sore and tired and I would not want to do a darn thing on Monday.
All day Saturday I forced fluids. I drank water and Gatorade until I was floating. I carbed up and was pleased as can be to go to bed at 8 pm feeling bloated and heavy. I knew this would come in handy during the race. The headache would lessen considerably when I took ibuprofen, but by that 4 hour mark, I needed more. I could tell the medicine was working as a "symptom masker". At 3 am on Sunday morning I got up to go to the bathroom. The headache was evident and my body was wiped out. The day before was exhausting and I could feel the lingering effects of it all. I leaned against the edge of the counter and began to cry. How in the world could I go out and run a marathon today? I just wanted to go to bed and sleep all day. What the hell am I doing to myself? I am exhausted and just couldn't fathom running at all. It wasn't a shitty attitude that was bringing me down. It wasn't negative thinking. It was absolute dread of what was to come with the way I felt.
I went back to bed and tossed and turned until 5. I then got up, knowing I had to eat. Maybe coffee would help. The little hotel pot had 1 single packet of regular coffee. John and I both drink it and he was beginning to stir. Well, actually, I was telling him to get his ass up and eat. I decided to do the nice thing and offered him the coffee. I did let him know that I had not had any either yet, but he happily accepted that only cup. I put the freshly brewed cup of watery hotel coffee with nasty powdered creamer on his nightstand. He continued to lay there and not move. So I walked over, picked it up and said, "Well since you aren't going to drink it, I will!" He kind of snickered at my attempt to be selfless, which quickly turned selfish, and got up. I, on the other hand, left the room in pursuit of REAL coffee (STARBUCKS!) in the lobby (carting the hotel cup of coffee in hand).
Upon my return to the room, John said he wanted to tell me something. He sat down on the bed and said, "I know I've been telling you for weeks that I want you to run with me. I know you want to race this and go for a 3:45. I'm telling you that I want you to race. I was just saying that, but fully intended to let you go race. I told Suttan so we have been snickering at all your comments over the past few weeks. I will be fine and will enjoy the marathon. You just go do your thing." Hey Suttan, we need to have a little chat.
"Why did you not tell me this?"
"I didn't want you to get all crazy nervous."
"No."
"No, seriously, I want you to go for it."
At that point, John had no idea of my 3 am bathroom tears. He had no idea that I wanted nothing more than to crawl back in bed. I didn't want to walk the marathon, let alone, run it.
"I can't do it today, John. I don't have it. I am running with you and we will go for a sub 4. We will line up with the 4 hour pacer. Ok, well maybe we'll line up with 3:45." Yup, that quick. And then came the nerves. I am as crazy as a shit house rat.
We met my cousins, Sean and Brian, in the lobby. Stephen joined us shortly and we were off to the start. The start was over a mile away and we were accompanied by lots of nervous and giddy marathoners. As we approached the start, we walked along a fenced in area with tombstones as far as the eye could see. It was Arlington National Cemetery. Chills came over me and I stopped to take a picture. On the website I read that the race starts in between the Pentagon and Arlington. Right in between those working to protect and keep our country safe and many of those that died doing so. You'd have to be rock to not feel overwhelmed by just being there and the significance of it all.
We got the start, went to the bathroom with minimal wait and hopped in our corral. We could see the 3:45 pacer up ahead and that was enough for me. I didn't know what would happen... we'd just wait and see. Shortly before the wheelchair race, we were treated to a flyover of 2 Osprey planes. It was crazy cool. The National Anthem followed shortly and then the wheelchair racers were off. In no time at all, the cannon boomed and the marathon began.
In the first 5 miles, I knew a 3:45 wasn't happening. That sluggish, tired feeling was present even with the adrenaline rush of the marathon start. I was totally ok with that and settled into a 9 or so minute pace, with John setting the pace. John felt great from the start. I could just tell. His breathing was easy, he was chatty and he looked as relaxed as could be. By mile 6, my body had warmed up and I felt much better. "Ahhh...", I thought, "I really DO get better with distance." This is where I began to enjoy just running alongside my husband, talking and noticing the surroundings. We were having a great run, racing each other to the timing mats to see who could get the better split (for the record, our splits were exact until the finish, where he crossed one second ahead... whatever!). I took out my phone to take some pictures of some of the incredible things I'd witnessed along the way. I smiled at the sweet, encouraging texts from Sarah, who was tracking us. At the 15k split, I remembered Air Force. This was when I knew I was in trouble. No such trouble lingered today. My legs were not heavy and I felt well fueled. Although I felt confident a sub 4 hour race was a given today, I approached that thought with caution. John commented on the number of runners passing us. I replied, "Just wait until the last few miles. We will see many of them again."
At around mile 15, the race began to change. John made a comment that made me think "Boy, it's early for this..." He was hurting. I got very worried with still 11 miles to go and his training history. "It's ok. Just stay steady. We are ok.", I said. And then the wind started. We looked at each other and said "Well, here it is!" in reference to the nasty winds predicted for the race. We both got quiet and settled into the task at hand. One foot in front other. With the wind picking up, our pace began to slow a bit. I didn't want to fight it because I knew what would happen... we'd be done by mile 20. So we didn't fight, but just readjusted and chugged along.
My race changed dramatically at mile 21. While John seemed to come out of his struggling spell, I was slipping into mine. We were on pace for just under 4 hours and I knew I was the decisive factor. "You have just 5 miles to do this for him. Just 5. That's nothing. That's a Marvin loop. Ok, Marvin sucks, don't think of that. Ok, how about 2.5 out and back on the outer. Yeah, much better!" Then what I like to call the "real stuff" had to be pulled out. It was time to run in prayer. It was time to suck it up and stay steady. Why was I here? I was here because my cousin, Brian, asked me to be. Brian has an autistic son, Brian, and we were running in support of the school he attends. I was thinking of what it would be like to deal with not only that diagnosis, but day to day life, with an autistic child. A hell of a lot more challenging than anything I have ever dealt with. I wore a reminder on my head of the "puzzle" of autism spectrum disorder. Sarah bought me the head band a couple of weeks ago to wear in the race. I thought of what she was doing... watching the splits, crossing her fingers and hoping we were going to hit that sub 4 time. I thought of how lucky I am to have such an awesome and dedicated friend. I continued to pray, certain a gazillion people were entering Heaven as I ran. I prayed for my goddaughter, Mariana, and the challenges her sweet life will bring for her. I prayed for sweet Nora, Aleisa and William. Each thought carried me forward. But the miles were getting super hard. At one point we had a small, but insurmountable hill. I remembering asking Jesus that if He could kindly push me up, I would appreciate it. My Garmin battery had died around mile 19 and I could no longer see what pace I was running. John was calling out our splits with each mile and I was certain we had a shot. By mile 23, John seemed to be a bit ahead. I looked at him.. perfect form, no shuffle and strong. "Buddy, go. Go get that sub 4. You can get it." "Nope, I don't care. We are running together." "Please, John... YOU CAN DO THIS!" I thought of my friends who had run Columbus the week before and qualified for Boston. I remember the pain on their faces when I saw them. "Come ON, Kate... get it together. 2.5 miles to go. Those girls gutted it out and so can you. DO NOT lose this for John." Hard as I tried, my exhausted body wasn't having it. I believe the months and weeks preceding this race had come to a head. There wasn't anything to give and nothing to do but survive the duration. It wasn't a fuel issue. I wasn't shuffling, I was running. It was an exhaustion issue. At mile 26 there was a hill to the finish. Knowing we were already over 4 hours, I pleaded with my husband "Don't leave me." I could not believe those words came from my mouth. But somehow I didn't think I could get up that hill. That finish was so close, yet a lifetime away. Anyone who scoffs at the last .2 miles of a marathon has clearly never run one. That point 2 is brutal and deserves credit. As we neared the mat, I grabbed John's hand. We crossed hand in hand.
Immediately the 3 am bathroom episode came to mind and I smiled. I was disappointed that we didn't get sub 4, but so happy I was able to complete it in the time we did. There wasn't a hint of disappointment on John's face. He was ecstatic!
We made our way through the finishers chute and a line of Marines greeted us and shook our hands and thanked us for running. "No, THANK YOU!", I said over and over to nearly every single one.
It is hard to run a race like the Marine Corp Marathon and come away unaffected by the things you see on that course. I hope if you are a marathoner, you will put this one on your list of ones to do. It is worth the cost of the entry fee and of getting there. God Bless the USA.
Semper Fi
Yesterday John and I ran the 37th annual Marine Corp Marathon. It was humbling, unexpectedly challenging and indeed, a marathon I will not soon forget. My husband shocked me with his performance. I see a tried and true ultra runner in this guy. At one point, I do believe he was not even coherent, but I never would have known had he not told me later. He looked completely unaffected by the hills, the wind and the distance. The entire race, I kept expecting his wheels to fall off, his calves to cramp up or something to snap or pull and take him out. After all, he didn't listen to me when I gave him advice. He took weeks off for an injured calf muscle and neglected my ongoing suggesting (ok, nagging) that he get on the elliptical or accompany me to Sarah's cycling class to keep his cardiovascular fitness. He never got nasty, but he continued to do his own thing, which in my opinion, was the wrong thing. I told him of how agonizing that race would be for him if he did not do as I say. I am, after all, a running coach!
Well this running coach was wrong. Dead wrong. Not only did I NOT take my own advice on what I know to be proper training (INCORPORATE REST!), but I also clearly did not know what was best for him. Somehow, he did. And don't think in days to come that will not annoy the living heck out of me. But for now, with post marathon euphoria in full swing, I will admit that John did exactly as John should have done.
My morning started at 3 am Sunday. I awoke from a solid sleep of six hours with a headache. I had been dealing with it all day on Saturday and was taking ibuprofen every four hours. I first thought I was just dehydrated. We had an early flight that had me up at 2:45 on Saturday morning. Our flight was at 7, but I needed to make sure the house was presentable. We had our neighbor coming to take care of our pets and should anything happen to us while away, people would surely be coming in and out of the house. So I got up and cleaned (maybe the headache is not a mystery after all...). I also knew we'd be sore and tired and I would not want to do a darn thing on Monday.
All day Saturday I forced fluids. I drank water and Gatorade until I was floating. I carbed up and was pleased as can be to go to bed at 8 pm feeling bloated and heavy. I knew this would come in handy during the race. The headache would lessen considerably when I took ibuprofen, but by that 4 hour mark, I needed more. I could tell the medicine was working as a "symptom masker". At 3 am on Sunday morning I got up to go to the bathroom. The headache was evident and my body was wiped out. The day before was exhausting and I could feel the lingering effects of it all. I leaned against the edge of the counter and began to cry. How in the world could I go out and run a marathon today? I just wanted to go to bed and sleep all day. What the hell am I doing to myself? I am exhausted and just couldn't fathom running at all. It wasn't a shitty attitude that was bringing me down. It wasn't negative thinking. It was absolute dread of what was to come with the way I felt.
I went back to bed and tossed and turned until 5. I then got up, knowing I had to eat. Maybe coffee would help. The little hotel pot had 1 single packet of regular coffee. John and I both drink it and he was beginning to stir. Well, actually, I was telling him to get his ass up and eat. I decided to do the nice thing and offered him the coffee. I did let him know that I had not had any either yet, but he happily accepted that only cup. I put the freshly brewed cup of watery hotel coffee with nasty powdered creamer on his nightstand. He continued to lay there and not move. So I walked over, picked it up and said, "Well since you aren't going to drink it, I will!" He kind of snickered at my attempt to be selfless, which quickly turned selfish, and got up. I, on the other hand, left the room in pursuit of REAL coffee (STARBUCKS!) in the lobby (carting the hotel cup of coffee in hand).
Upon my return to the room, John said he wanted to tell me something. He sat down on the bed and said, "I know I've been telling you for weeks that I want you to run with me. I know you want to race this and go for a 3:45. I'm telling you that I want you to race. I was just saying that, but fully intended to let you go race. I told Suttan so we have been snickering at all your comments over the past few weeks. I will be fine and will enjoy the marathon. You just go do your thing." Hey Suttan, we need to have a little chat.
"Why did you not tell me this?"
"I didn't want you to get all crazy nervous."
"No."
"No, seriously, I want you to go for it."
At that point, John had no idea of my 3 am bathroom tears. He had no idea that I wanted nothing more than to crawl back in bed. I didn't want to walk the marathon, let alone, run it.
"I can't do it today, John. I don't have it. I am running with you and we will go for a sub 4. We will line up with the 4 hour pacer. Ok, well maybe we'll line up with 3:45." Yup, that quick. And then came the nerves. I am as crazy as a shit house rat.
We met my cousins, Sean and Brian, in the lobby. Stephen joined us shortly and we were off to the start. The start was over a mile away and we were accompanied by lots of nervous and giddy marathoners. As we approached the start, we walked along a fenced in area with tombstones as far as the eye could see. It was Arlington National Cemetery. Chills came over me and I stopped to take a picture. On the website I read that the race starts in between the Pentagon and Arlington. Right in between those working to protect and keep our country safe and many of those that died doing so. You'd have to be rock to not feel overwhelmed by just being there and the significance of it all.
We got the start, went to the bathroom with minimal wait and hopped in our corral. We could see the 3:45 pacer up ahead and that was enough for me. I didn't know what would happen... we'd just wait and see. Shortly before the wheelchair race, we were treated to a flyover of 2 Osprey planes. It was crazy cool. The National Anthem followed shortly and then the wheelchair racers were off. In no time at all, the cannon boomed and the marathon began.
In the first 5 miles, I knew a 3:45 wasn't happening. That sluggish, tired feeling was present even with the adrenaline rush of the marathon start. I was totally ok with that and settled into a 9 or so minute pace, with John setting the pace. John felt great from the start. I could just tell. His breathing was easy, he was chatty and he looked as relaxed as could be. By mile 6, my body had warmed up and I felt much better. "Ahhh...", I thought, "I really DO get better with distance." This is where I began to enjoy just running alongside my husband, talking and noticing the surroundings. We were having a great run, racing each other to the timing mats to see who could get the better split (for the record, our splits were exact until the finish, where he crossed one second ahead... whatever!). I took out my phone to take some pictures of some of the incredible things I'd witnessed along the way. I smiled at the sweet, encouraging texts from Sarah, who was tracking us. At the 15k split, I remembered Air Force. This was when I knew I was in trouble. No such trouble lingered today. My legs were not heavy and I felt well fueled. Although I felt confident a sub 4 hour race was a given today, I approached that thought with caution. John commented on the number of runners passing us. I replied, "Just wait until the last few miles. We will see many of them again."
At around mile 15, the race began to change. John made a comment that made me think "Boy, it's early for this..." He was hurting. I got very worried with still 11 miles to go and his training history. "It's ok. Just stay steady. We are ok.", I said. And then the wind started. We looked at each other and said "Well, here it is!" in reference to the nasty winds predicted for the race. We both got quiet and settled into the task at hand. One foot in front other. With the wind picking up, our pace began to slow a bit. I didn't want to fight it because I knew what would happen... we'd be done by mile 20. So we didn't fight, but just readjusted and chugged along.
My race changed dramatically at mile 21. While John seemed to come out of his struggling spell, I was slipping into mine. We were on pace for just under 4 hours and I knew I was the decisive factor. "You have just 5 miles to do this for him. Just 5. That's nothing. That's a Marvin loop. Ok, Marvin sucks, don't think of that. Ok, how about 2.5 out and back on the outer. Yeah, much better!" Then what I like to call the "real stuff" had to be pulled out. It was time to run in prayer. It was time to suck it up and stay steady. Why was I here? I was here because my cousin, Brian, asked me to be. Brian has an autistic son, Brian, and we were running in support of the school he attends. I was thinking of what it would be like to deal with not only that diagnosis, but day to day life, with an autistic child. A hell of a lot more challenging than anything I have ever dealt with. I wore a reminder on my head of the "puzzle" of autism spectrum disorder. Sarah bought me the head band a couple of weeks ago to wear in the race. I thought of what she was doing... watching the splits, crossing her fingers and hoping we were going to hit that sub 4 time. I thought of how lucky I am to have such an awesome and dedicated friend. I continued to pray, certain a gazillion people were entering Heaven as I ran. I prayed for my goddaughter, Mariana, and the challenges her sweet life will bring for her. I prayed for sweet Nora, Aleisa and William. Each thought carried me forward. But the miles were getting super hard. At one point we had a small, but insurmountable hill. I remembering asking Jesus that if He could kindly push me up, I would appreciate it. My Garmin battery had died around mile 19 and I could no longer see what pace I was running. John was calling out our splits with each mile and I was certain we had a shot. By mile 23, John seemed to be a bit ahead. I looked at him.. perfect form, no shuffle and strong. "Buddy, go. Go get that sub 4. You can get it." "Nope, I don't care. We are running together." "Please, John... YOU CAN DO THIS!" I thought of my friends who had run Columbus the week before and qualified for Boston. I remember the pain on their faces when I saw them. "Come ON, Kate... get it together. 2.5 miles to go. Those girls gutted it out and so can you. DO NOT lose this for John." Hard as I tried, my exhausted body wasn't having it. I believe the months and weeks preceding this race had come to a head. There wasn't anything to give and nothing to do but survive the duration. It wasn't a fuel issue. I wasn't shuffling, I was running. It was an exhaustion issue. At mile 26 there was a hill to the finish. Knowing we were already over 4 hours, I pleaded with my husband "Don't leave me." I could not believe those words came from my mouth. But somehow I didn't think I could get up that hill. That finish was so close, yet a lifetime away. Anyone who scoffs at the last .2 miles of a marathon has clearly never run one. That point 2 is brutal and deserves credit. As we neared the mat, I grabbed John's hand. We crossed hand in hand.
Immediately the 3 am bathroom episode came to mind and I smiled. I was disappointed that we didn't get sub 4, but so happy I was able to complete it in the time we did. There wasn't a hint of disappointment on John's face. He was ecstatic!
We made our way through the finishers chute and a line of Marines greeted us and shook our hands and thanked us for running. "No, THANK YOU!", I said over and over to nearly every single one.
It is hard to run a race like the Marine Corp Marathon and come away unaffected by the things you see on that course. I hope if you are a marathoner, you will put this one on your list of ones to do. It is worth the cost of the entry fee and of getting there. God Bless the USA.
Semper Fi
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