tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60539744221105878922024-02-19T00:04:09.415-08:00Write This Sh!t DownI often call my mom with funny stories about my life as a stay-at-home mom and she always says to me "You need to write this sh!t down." So, I am.Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-90706446627060798182016-05-03T19:54:00.004-07:002016-05-04T21:29:50.884-07:00Mimi Strong<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
In
an effort to solidify my seat on the crazy train, I ran the Boston Marathon
this past April.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
had qualified for it back in October of 2014, but based on the registration
requirements and deadlines, I had to wait a year before I could even register
and then another 7 months to actually participate in the event. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This
was something I had in my sights from when I first starting running marathons
in my early 20’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep in mind, I ran my
first marathon just over a year after I ran my first 5k.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had never really been a runner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My workouts in the past involved power
walking, light jogging and the StairMaster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was not competitive, rather sough to fit in my prom dress or avoid the
ridicule of my older brothers who would point out when my ass was getting big.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My
first marathon was the Chicago Marathon in 2001 and my goal was just to finish
and didn’t really care about my time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
followed the Hal Higdon training schedule to the tee and I was actually quite
pleased with how I finished. I even managed to beat my big brother who was also
running it -- not that it was a competition or anything and not that it gave me
any sort of satisfaction based on those aforementioned fat-ass comments.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
decided to run the Marine Corps Marathon the next year and found myself
training a little harder, a little smarter, with the intent of shaving some
time off my time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ended up finishing
10 minutes faster than I had the year before and the course was tougher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I was still nowhere near good
enough to qualify for Boston, especially based on my age.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The
qualifying times are different for men and women and are based on age groups,
still the idea of working harder and getting better to some day qualify was my
ultimate goal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, in the midst
of all this, I got engaged and realized that the Boston Marathon I was trying
to qualify for landed on the Monday after our wedding day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to table my efforts for a while
since honeymooning whilst losing toenails didn’t sound all that appealing to
me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
had also found that m<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had this image in my mind of what would
happen to my body as I started running more, and despite logging over 40 miles
a week, I still didn’t have that lean runners physique I had envisioned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I actually gained weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still liken training to being pregnant or
nursing where your body hangs on to weight to help sustain you through adverse
conditions, like sustaining another life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since running was my life during training, it kind of made sense.<o:p></o:p></div>
Marathon training was extremely time-consuming and left me
with little time to do any other types of workouts that I loved.<br />
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Eventually,
marriage gave way to babies and babies gave way to toddlers and well, if you’ve
been reading my column for any period of time or you yourself are a parent, you
know what comes next.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Its
not to say I stopped running, I just kept it to shorter distances and on a
schedule that I could fit in between the demands of having a family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is until I got the brilliant idea to
re-enter the world of marathon running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
kids had gotten older and were in school for a good portion of the day, which
left me more time to do long runs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
happened to be covering a marathon in Libertyville for a writing assignment I
had taken on and low-and-behold; it was a Boston qualifier.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibKNPNMD25Wk_QnrTlhEDT9B1ClOYukDaHPr-oHftzL2LTmQ7oL6g5vfk1kkyL2UXBv5eJssg3RgUAQCzzVbhJ3NY-x4D_zblIMxqtXjhLWFegmUQTZh0vfQ0qbIlNdiOWnPk0T8GLW7lm/s1600/IMG_6325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibKNPNMD25Wk_QnrTlhEDT9B1ClOYukDaHPr-oHftzL2LTmQ7oL6g5vfk1kkyL2UXBv5eJssg3RgUAQCzzVbhJ3NY-x4D_zblIMxqtXjhLWFegmUQTZh0vfQ0qbIlNdiOWnPk0T8GLW7lm/s320/IMG_6325.JPG" width="240" /></a>Although
it had been 12 years since the last time I ran a marathon, I knew I was in way
better shape than I had been in my early 20’s and I knew my running had
improved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was itching to see what this
mama could do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I signed up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My
training was rough and every time I did a long run I said I wasn’t going to
give up this crazy notion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had stomach
issues and some minor injuries, but with urging and motivation of some of my
fellow running friends, I decided to keep training and go through with it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
found out a few weeks before the marathon that my daughter had a soccer game
that morning so my husband and kids wouldn’t be able to come cheer me on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also knew that there wouldn’t be as many
spectators as the previous marathons I had run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s when I solicited the help of my social media friends for a
“virtual cheering section.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
didn’t need people to be impressed that I was doing a marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t trying to brag about how fast I
run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Part of it was to hold myself
accountable for my efforts and reaching my goal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s nothing worse than sharing with
people you are working towards something and then have them ask you a few weeks
or months later how it turned out only to tell them you gave up or failed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I envisioned running into the people I told
about it and pleasantly reporting that I followed through and succeeded in my
goal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDDqfXcVCJTS5N63M_rSHc-k-BKUoxZ46AiyEn3N6k9lODautz9R6LIlft79DlPSMbD2VT8aenDvcJizUP15vOeZUzlJKXebY7Sy8lllxV8TD7R7fPRKT5rD9QVLBHvxTWtzMQTRiz-SV/s1600/IMG_6319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDDqfXcVCJTS5N63M_rSHc-k-BKUoxZ46AiyEn3N6k9lODautz9R6LIlft79DlPSMbD2VT8aenDvcJizUP15vOeZUzlJKXebY7Sy8lllxV8TD7R7fPRKT5rD9QVLBHvxTWtzMQTRiz-SV/s320/IMG_6319.JPG" width="320" /></a>The
event came and my mom was able to come out and support me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t see her until the last mile, but I
needed her at that moment so badly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My body
was really starting to break down to the point I was literally crying
“MOMMY!!!” and there she was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew I
was so close to not only finishing, but also finishing under my qualifying
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing her gave me the boost I
needed to push that last mile with everything I had left in me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crossed the finish line in 3 hours and 34
minutes even after running an extra quarter-mile due to a poorly marked
turn-around at mile nine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was overcome
with emotion and sheer exhaustion. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I
didn’t even realize when I qualified that I would have to wait until the
following year to run it, but it really didn’t matter at that point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had done it and fulfilled a dream that I
thought I had tucked so far back in my brain it had dissipated into oblivion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Before
I knew it, it was time to really start preparing for Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to be careful not to over-train,
since I teach so many group fitness classes, but I also wanted to be
prepared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran shorter distances twice
a week in between my classes. Then I did a hilly half-marathon that I was told
would be great training for the Boston course and did another 10k that had some
considerable hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I threw in a 20-mile
run and felt really good, strong and prepared for the main event.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What
I did not take into consideration and what you cannot train for, is traveling
to another city with your family to participate in an event. I left first thing
in the morning the day prior to the marathon because I had to get my packet
before the Expo closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tom and the kids
came on a later flight that same day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite
the fact I had been up since 3:30 a.m., I arrived in Boston and was anxious to
get to the Expo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dropped my luggage
off at my hotel and walked a mile the Expo and back again. The Expo was insane
and couldn’t handle the crowds and didn’t want to wait in line for
anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was getting really emotional
too and kept tearing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I
found the wall that had all the participants’ names etched in and located my
name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I was waiting to take a
picture of it, there was a middle-aged man taking a picture of his daughter in
front of the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched him beaming
with pride as he snapped her picture and asked if they wanted me to take a
picture of them together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They declined,
but I told them I wished I could take a picture of the dad to capture his pride
at that moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then proceeded to cry
and they promptly walked away.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to grab lunch at the pub across the
street and ordered myself a beer, despite the fact I don’t usually drink
beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed like a good way to
counter-act all the coffee I had that morning to get me through a 6 a.m. flight
and thought it might calm my nerves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
sat there trying to assess how I was feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t “a real runner.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept seeing all these other participants
walking around in their official Boston Marathon “Celebration Jackets,” both
from this year and years’ past. They all looked like the real-deal while I just
felt like a soccer mom wearing Chuck Taylor’s, a cardigan sweater because it
was chilly and who needed her glasses to navigate around a strange city.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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I
tried to take a nap back at the hotel before my family arrived, but I was
pretty restless. After an hour nap, I decided to go back to the Expo despite
receiving advice to stay off my feet the day before the marathon.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My
family arrived and we headed to dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Throughout the day I tried to soak up the entire atmosphere around me
and post pictures to Facebook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
getting so much love and support; the notifications were sucking the battery
life out of my phone at warp-speed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
had dinner and headed back to the hotel to try and get to bed early.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
had to be up at 4:45 a.m. on marathon day to make sure I had breakfast and be
ready to catch a bus out to the start at 6 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of my major priorities was making sure that I went to the bathroom
before I left the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here comes the
down and dirty truth about running, but in the interest of self-disclosure and
giving you a real snap-shot into the life of a marathon runner, I need to tell
you pooping is very important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You hear
stories of runners getting “the trots” or people running with crap down their
legs. Part of that is due to dehydration, but the bottom line is there is
nothing worse than running with a full bowel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All sorts of bad things can come from that and that’s where I will leave
this part of the conversation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When
people asked if I was ready for Boston the weeks leading up to leaving, that
was really all I could think about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thankfully that fact that I am extremely regular along with cup of
oatmeal, a banana and cup of coffee, I was able to cross one major hurdle
before I hopped on the bus to Hopkinton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Getting
to the start of the race was another part of the whole experience that was
impossible to prepare for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You start the
marathon in a little town called Hopkinton that is 26.2 miles from the finish
line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I booked my hotel through a travel
group that not only offered a reasonable room-rate right in the city, but
offered a charter bus to the start that you could stay on if you needed to
rather than sit out in the elements, whatever they might be, in Athletes
Village near the start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This also meant
getting out there early and doing nothing but waiting to go to the start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew a handful of people who were also
running and they acted as my guides since they had run Boston before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, we didn’t start until almost 11
a.m. and that meant we walked to Athlete’s Village two times before making our
way to the starting corrals adding approximately 3 miles of walking to the
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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weather was also unseasonably warm and was already over 70 degrees before we
started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew it would be warmer than
what I had trained in and had adjusted my clothing options, but I was already
sweating before I even started running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Also something I didn’t account for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had my electrolyte drink in one of the bottles I carried on my waist
and the other had water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also tried to
hydrate, not only that morning, but also the days leading up to as well with
other thing besides beer, of course!<o:p></o:p></div>
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So,
there I was at the starting line of the Boston Marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw a man that was a total doppelgänger of
my grandpa, so I knew he was with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
even took a picture of this man, making him the second stranger in two days to
look at me like I was nuts and promptly walk away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept hearing songs that reminded me of
things like my Girls on the Run team at my daughter’s school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The announcer said “You done good!” referring
to qualifying to even be there which is something my mom always says to
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even got random phone call from
Bob Blazier, who is the namesake for the 5k race I help coordinate, literally
as I was walking to the starting line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He didn’t even know I was in Boston, but was calling regarding our next
meeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is someone who is a major
role model to me and regardless of whether he knew it or not, it was yet
another sign that the universe put out there for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
began running and immediately had weird cramp in my stomach that I was able to
eliminate by the end of the first mile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The whole first few miles of the course is downhill and I had heard from
several people that this would make it hard to pace, but would also be hard on
your body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did my best to manage it
and felt good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was thirsty very early
on, so I kept trying to hydrate as best I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, drinking while running
sometimes upsets my stomach, so there was also a lot of belching going on --
just another glamorous aspect of distance running.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
The
miles were actually going by fairly quickly and before I knew it, I was at the
half-marathon point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept pushing
forward knowing the infamous hills were ahead of me and noticed my
minutes-per-mile were slowing a bit, but I was okay with that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was still hovering right around 8-minute
miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the back of my mind, I wanted
to re-qualify for next year, but also knew that the course was a lot different
than what I had originally qualified with.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
As I
headed into mile 18, I started to feel my toes cramping and knew I was
dehydrating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to drink more water
and my electrolyte drink and the Gatorade on the course, but it wasn’t
enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a salt tab in my belt, but
couldn’t find it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finally stopped at
medic tent to get some from them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
two women argued over how I should take them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One said to swallow them like an aspirin and the other said to let them
dissolve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ended up swallowing them,
barely, and I have a feeling they were the kind you are supposed to let
dissolve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They helped a little, but
ultimately my legs started cramping as well and I had to start to alternate
between walking and running to make it through the next few miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
My
stomach was also getting worse and no matter what I tried to take in whether it
was gel, water, Gatorade, my energy chews, they all made me feel nauseous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also felt like I might become “that runner”
who craps herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stopped at a
port-o-john twice, once to check my pants and another to try and puke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep in mind, this was my fourth marathon and
I have never had to walk or needed to stop in a port-o-john.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
finally got to mile 23 and knew that I was in trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was hallucinating, breathing heavily even
though I was walking and was pretty sure that I was about to faint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made my way to the medic tent and tried to
puke, but all I could do was dry-heave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They sat me down and I immediately began cramping from my toes all the
way up to my ribcage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had a man who
massaged my cramps one at a time and each time one went away, another one would
crop up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had three people staring at
me and they looked concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked
them why they were looking at me like that and they assured me I was going to
be fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was one woman, who we
will call “Zsa Zsa,” who appeared to have had a lot of plastic surgery; so
reading her expression was extremely difficult for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once minute her expression made me think I
was going to die, the next I thought she was mocking me, and the next consoling
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, I was very
confused.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
One
young girl, who we’ll call “Tootie,” sat with me and was trying to console me
saying that the fact I made it to mile 23 was a great achievement and I should
be very proud of myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I firmly told
her that 23 miles is not a marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
also knew how many people at home were tracking my progress and I started to
get angry that everyone who had been cheering me on would know how much I
sucked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
started shivering and they covered me in foil capes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the cramps traveled up my body, they
decided to lay me down on a cot and wrap me in more foil and eventually a white
sheet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told them that as long as they
didn’t pull that white sheet over my head, I would be fine and could
finish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their response was, “Oh, honey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We aren’t going to pull it over your
head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re just going to cover you so
you are warm.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
That’s
when my favorite character in the little mini-sitcom going on in the medic tent
entered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was about my age and seemed
to have a very straightforward attitude and a dry sense of humor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are familiar Joe Santagato who does
“Idiots of the Internet” on YouTube, this was his brother from another
mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe it was him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe I was hallucinating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either way, he was the only one who “got me”
and told the other idiots, “She means if you pull the white sheet over her
head, she’s dead!” in his lovely Boston accent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then he assured me I was going to finish and charged my phone for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may or may not have asked him to
marry me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t be sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
had to have stopped courting this guy because I told them I needed to call
Tom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew he had been tracking me and
despite the fact I texted him that I was bonking, I needed him to know I had
stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He, the kids and my neighbor,
Nicole, who had arrived late the night before to cheer me on, were in an Uber
on their way to the medic tent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finally
sat up and felt well enough to drink some bouillon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where my second favorite character, who
may or may not have been an angel, helped me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was older gentleman who had been behind me
massaging my shoulders and had the warmest hands. He had offered me some warm
bouillon when I first entered the tent, but there was no way I could keep it
down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finally felt well enough to
stomach it and when I told him I was ready for it, he got it to me S.T.A.T.
Unfortunately, the bouillon wasn’t as warm as his hands, but it would do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Meanwhile,
they introduced me to the concierge drivers who they told me would drive me in
a van to the finish line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had
salmon colored jackets on and I dismissed them telling them I didn’t care if I
had to crawl across the finish line, I was not getting on their van, especially
if was the same color as their ill-fitting windbreakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am hoping I kept that thought to myself,
but seeing as how I lacked any kind of control of my body at point, I can’t be
sure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
decided to call Tom back and tell him to meet me at the finish line
instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think the bullion had magic
powers because I suddenly felt like a million bucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, more like a crumpled up five-dollar
bill, but it was like that finding that crumpled up five-dollar bill in a
jacket pocket that has been hanging in your closet all summer and fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was all I needed to get up and finish the
last 3 miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could have also used the
winter coat from my metaphor, because it was 20 degrees cooler than it had been
at the start of the race and there was a headwind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought it was just because my body was so
screwed up from being dehydrated, but regardless, I decided that if I ran, not
only would I be warmer and this whole thing would be over that much
sooner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I ran
the last three miles and finished in just under five hours.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
tried to cry when I crossed the finish line, but I had no tears in my body to
shed. I was pissed at my time, but happy I finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that point, all I wanted was my family.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called Tom to try and find him and was
ultimately reunited with my family and my neighbor, Nicole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being the incredibly wonderful and generous
person that she is, she bought me the fancy “Celebration Jacket” and had it
waiting for me when I finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
walked back toward the hotel and I felt okay, but still nauseous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we got to the hotel they were leading
people up the regular elevators and freight elevators and we went up the
freight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were several people on
the elevator and it was about 100 degrees in there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As luck would have it, we were on the top
floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hotel employee operating the
elevator kept getting off and leading people to the doors out of the freight
hallway and into the regular hallways to their rooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked me to hold the door open button
since I was closest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like I hadn’t done
enough that day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
was starting to feel really sick when it we finally arrived at our floor. I
exited the elevator to try and find the nearest garbage can only to find a
janitorial bathroom in the freight hallway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I splayed my body on the nasty floor and hung on for dear life to the
shit-stained toilet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked up at my
husband in disbelief that I was on this disgusting floor like college girl
celebrating her 21<sup>st</sup> birthday in a dive bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My kids were worried sick about me,
especially Maddie, who had picked up Tom’s concern on the course when I started
to slow down and ultimately stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
told me I’m never allowed to do Boston again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfVLA4nsw6O0UYWsSqbjDXZxKWeOrlYdDM-YKCQxgXrkDfYtEHatabvSSdFRnIasUmnkkcaQEOs9IbBOkJNxCgEMgUo4CzVjvLk6GnJ_td90OiNSddij7AR1fCDzxxs63i3eoQKL3hc8Kn/s1600/IMG_6326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfVLA4nsw6O0UYWsSqbjDXZxKWeOrlYdDM-YKCQxgXrkDfYtEHatabvSSdFRnIasUmnkkcaQEOs9IbBOkJNxCgEMgUo4CzVjvLk6GnJ_td90OiNSddij7AR1fCDzxxs63i3eoQKL3hc8Kn/s320/IMG_6326.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
managed to get up and get to the room where Nicole got me a turkey sandwich and
some Gatorade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a new woman.
Eventually I was able to shower and within the hour we were on our way to
dinner.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
We
went to Harvard Yard that night and I even mustered up enough energy to have
some drinks back at the hotel with Nicole while Tom and the kids went up to the
room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I talked to several people
throughout the day and evening who said it was tough day out there for a lot of
people and congratulated me on finishing when I shared my woes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Tom
had yelled at me for being so down on myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While I was proud of myself for pulling myself up and refusing to give
up and ultimately finish, I was mad at myself for getting to the point where I
had to walk and ultimately stop. I was upset that I struggled so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All that hard work and people telling me I
was going to “rock it” and I fell flat on my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew full well that people would still be
proud of me that I even got there and that I finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, being the psycho that I am, I knew I
could do better. I should have been smarter, stopped sooner for salt tabs,
hydrated better, trained harder and all the self-doubt that goes along with
disappointment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I’m
not the fastest runner, but it comes relatively easy to me as long as I put in
the miles. I do well at local races, but I don’t follow any crazy training
programs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I eat healthy, but don’t count
how many grams of protein and carbs I take in leading up to events.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t use fancy equipment, shoes, compression
socks and such.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just lace up my shoes,
make sure I’ve pooped and run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIG19T8slkntdEdv3bLj70d3WonMPuKfC2F4F_w2R08EsOlz4lY7gxHwos3lhUqaGJFJz0-Gw6vSmwrDmNJ7iK-6e79kbktHXfGv96T09eLBowSTci11ogXf5qgexpPQsdDlINK5GxDAha/s1600/IMG_6328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIG19T8slkntdEdv3bLj70d3WonMPuKfC2F4F_w2R08EsOlz4lY7gxHwos3lhUqaGJFJz0-Gw6vSmwrDmNJ7iK-6e79kbktHXfGv96T09eLBowSTci11ogXf5qgexpPQsdDlINK5GxDAha/s320/IMG_6328.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
This
was one of the first times I struggled and where my finish left me disappointed
in myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, somehow I knew that this
all happened for a reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell the
people I teach in my classes about perseverance and tell them to keep going,
taking for granted how easy exercise comes to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell my children never to give up and that
they need to work hard at school and their activities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was time for me to lead by example on not
just how to win, but <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>how to fall down
and get back up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently I needed a
gut check. I needed to be humbled and knocked down so I could have another
chapter to my story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, two
chapters; one about falling down and fighting tooth and nail to finish and
another about what I decided to do next.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Going
into all of this I said I would never run another marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said I would check this off my bucket list
and move on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called this my “vasectomy
marathon.” However, once the nausea wore off, the chaffing had healed and I
could walk down a set of stairs without looking like I had a potato chip up my
ass, I realized I wasn’t done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like
giving birth, all that pain and agony was soon erased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also had a few fellow runners get inside my
head and tell me I needed to come back next year and do it again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
chuckled at this notion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if I
wanted to re-qualify it would have to be for the 2018 Boston Marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew the fire in my belly would fizzle if I
lost momentum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I realized I could
re-qualify for next year if I squeezed a marathon in before September 11th of
this year. Needless to say, I was looking up Boston Qualifying marathons before
we checked out of our hotel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
So,
not only do I have a seat on the crazy train, I am officially driving it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pulled
the trigger and am set to do the Schaumburg Marathon on Sunday, May 15, in an
effort to re-qualify and get back to Boston next year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crazy? Yes, without a shadow-of-a-doubt, but
I’m trained and ready and would rather do it now than in September when it is
more likely to be hot and humid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I’m
not sure what possesses me to do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t know when I will ever stop striving for more or when I will ever be
content.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The truth is, I don’t know that
I ever will be and quite honestly I don’t know that I ever want to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
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Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-26794936728477954782015-06-15T06:18:00.005-07:002015-06-15T06:21:47.251-07:00Coping<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px; text-align: justify;">
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I’ve been struggling with the need to go back to see a therapist after the one I had started seeing awhile back retired. I hate to think I have to start all over again telling “my story.” It’s such a daunting process and I’ve come to the conclusion that I am very "good" at therapy. I have analyzed, negotiated, rationalized and thought through all my emotions. I know how to communicate them and express how I feel in a very logical, well-thought out way. The good news is, you all know most of my background. So, if its okay with you all, I’m going to use you as my therapist so I don’t have to start over again. What’s more, I don’t have to worry about insurance covering it and there’s no co-pay! Thanks in advance.</div>
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We will call this “coping.” Through all my years of therapy sessions, self-help books and medication, the bottom line always remains; How am I going to cope? Through the highest highs and the lowest lows, the question always remains; How am I going to get through each day?</div>
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Don’t get me wrong, I have had plenty of ups to go with the downs. I’ve had great successes, great joys and great accomplishments. Some have been out of luck, the rest hard work and determination. I try not to let these things to go to my head. I try to remain humble and remind myself that I’m not so special. Lots of people accomplish great things, far greater than my accomplishments. Lots of people get to do things, go places and enjoy a “good life.” The whole time I have to remember to be thankful for what I to have. Not to take anything for granted. Celebrate my accomplishments, but not brag. I am special, but not that special.</div>
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And on the low days when I question why this has to be my life? Why I was dealt this hand? How I am going to play this hand? I have to remember it could be worse. I have to recognize my sadness. My loss. The amount of work it takes to pick myself up and overcome the obstacles in my way can be overwhelming. Some days I want to just curl up in a ball. Some days I just have to cry and lean on others for support. Despite my independent nature, I need validation, love and coddling. Some days I do allow myself to wallow in my sadness and self-pity. Some days I succumb to the paralyzing depression and take to my bed and hope that when I wake up, things will be better.</div>
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Each and every day I strive to find a middle-ground. I look to find that place that allows me to take the good with the bad. Never spend too much time on self-congratulations or feeling sorry for myself. Engaging in a balancing act that leaves me teetering ever so slightly on the edge of happiness and sadness…pleasure and pain. I try to be kind and accepting of everyone, but not take shit from anyone. I aim to always remember that I am here for a purpose, and that is to love and be loved. Because in the end, that is what helps keep everything in perspective. It sounds so simple and even cliche, but when the world seems to be crashing down around me, I know that I can come home to a place where there are people whom I love and who love me right back…unconditionally. They are what keep me going and without that love I don’t think I would be here right now. They are the one’s who remind me that even when I don’t love myself, they are there to love me. The love it was trumps everything else. It reminds me that material things don’t matter. It keeps me from letting unimportant things cloud my happiness or wallow in sadness. My family and their love keeps me balanced.</div>
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A few weeks ago I attempted to pick up my dad’s belongings at the nursing home he was in before he was hospitalized. It never did visit my dad in this particular home. My uncle switched him there a few years back. It was the place that would “allow” him to stay after we determined he was on an offenders list for something he did in his past that made it more difficult to be accepted into many institutions.</div>
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My intention was to go the week after he passed away, but life got in the way. Life, and my selfish desire to return to a place in my life where my dad was no longer a daily concern. Of course, in my defense, the place was geographically undesirable and would require at least 3 hours out of my day and I couldn’t bring the kids. Based on my schedule, that was not exactly easy to come by. I finally carved a day out to venture out to the nursing home and as it turns out, not only is it geographically undesirable, it is just plain undesirable. </div>
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I had visited my dad in a few of the homes he had been placed in over the years, and none of them were comfortable or anywhere I would choose to frequent unless absolutely necessary. Most were dirty, smelled bad and had unsavory people lining the halls or smoking at the entrance of the building. It is one of the reasons my children never met their maternal grandfather. His last home was no exception, but was on a whole new level. I immediately saw the gaggle of residents clambering around the front of the building having a smoke break. They all had a similar look to them, whether they were male or female, black or white. They all looked like they could be homeless. Some were talking to themselves. All looked disheveled and “off.” Some had canes or walkers while some were in wheelchairs. Some were even missing limbs. </div>
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I entered the office that was a 10X10 room with two desks. I could barely see the second desk amidst all the stacked boxes, piles of paper, wires and general chaos. The floor was filthy and the lighting poor. The receptionist was put-off that I was there since I had called earlier and she told me the person I needed to talk to wasn’t available. I had said I would call back, but decided just to go there instead. I knew if I didn’t just go on the day I had determined to go, I’d put it off again. I figured they had just put his things aside and it shouldn’t be too much trouble. After all, he didn't have much.</div>
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They called for the social worker, despite the receptionist’s warning that she was too busy to accommodate my request to pick up my dad’s few belongings. All I really wanted was a blanket from Notre Dame High School that my uncle wanted. My uncle requested that my dad be added to the Veteran’s Memorial at his alma mater. The alumni director at the high school had made it possible for my dad to attend the ceremony and was awarded the blanket in recognition for his service in Viet Nam. </div>
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I waited patiently in the front entry way for someone to bring my dad’s belongings and tried to remain invisible. Despite the fact I was wearing all black, I stuck out like a sore thumb and might as well have had on neon colors with flashing lights sprouting out of my head. The characters wandering the halls were a cross between “One Flew Over the Cukoo’s Nest,” “Seven Monkees,” and “Girl Interrupted” all rolled into one. </div>
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It was evident several were veterans and I even engaged in a “conversation” where a man mumbled something about Israel…bombs…where he was stationed… how many degrees Celsius it was…Muslim. The rest was incoherent. I tried to smile, nod and feign interest in what he was saying despite the fact the look in his eyes scared the crap out of me.</div>
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I’m pretty sure one woman had vodka on the rocks in her tumbler. Another man in a wheelchair was making his way to the door with two cigarettes in his hand and literally shuffled only a few inches at a time before exhausting himself, taking a break and then starting up again only to make it another few inches. I was exhausted just looking at him. The next few people roamed sans-teeth. The nurses seemed immune to the antics going on around them and I could hear on particularly unruly resident coming down the hall telling everyone they were “stupid idiots.” Lucky for me, he made his way to the chair next to me in the hall.</div>
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I fought back tears and simply could not believe this was my life. More importantly, this was my dad’s life. The feelings of guilt crept in that I let my father live in a place like this. Then I had to remember he landed himself in this place. There were other homes, he didn’t qualify for them based on his record. I had to remember, I didn’t do this to him. </div>
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The administrator of the facility saved me and welcomed me into his office. He apologized for the residence. Little did he know I had seen the likes of these people before, hell I was related to one. He explained that the facility was being reviewed (God help them), so they were very busy. On a side note, please remind me that when they make the movie of my life story, the role of the administrator of this particular facility should be played by Jeremy Piven and he should channel his 30-year old self, bring back the sideways haircut he sported before he had the good sense to crop his hair short. His office was a welcome escape from the freak show going on in the front hall, but it looked like an episode of “Horders.” Jeremy Piven’s long-lost-brother explained that they could not locate the few belongings my dad left behind, but took down my name and number and promised they would locate them and call me. </div>
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As much as I wanted to wait for them to find the blanket, I just wanted to leave that godforsaken place. I resigned to leaving without what I went there for, and hoped they could just ship the blanket to me so I didn’t have to return there ever again.</div>
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I returned to my car and immediately burst into tears. I couldn’t put my finger on what was so upsetting. Was it that place? Was it my dad’s death and its emotional repercussions creeping up on me after I had suppressed them the last couple of months? Was it guilt for allowing my own father to live in such a place despite the fact he did this to himself? Was it the fact that I failed on my heroic mission to get the damn blanket for my uncle before the memorial service next month? Was it guilt for not going sooner to get his things? Was it fear that I might end up in a place like this some day?</div>
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I drove in a daze and almost got killed by an angry semi-truck driver annoyed with my inability to maneuver around a car making a left-turn at an intersection. I tried to call Tom to tell him about it, but couldn’t get the words out to express how I was feeling. It was all too much. I felt like I was in an alternate universe. I decided to stop for lunch and I was wishing I would run into someone I knew simply for some familiarity or even a hug. Of course, the chances of that were slim-to-none since I was nowhere near my home. It seemed inappropriate to ask the checkout person at the Mariano’s salad bar for a comforting embrace.</div>
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I choked down my salad and made my way home. Once I made it there, I took to my bed, curled up in the familiar warmth and scent of my sheets and let the emotionally exhausting events of the day take me away into an afternoon nap. What felt like moments later, my alarm was going off to ensure I was awake to get the kids off the bus.</div>
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I made myself a cup of tea and waited for my babies to return home from school. I put on a smile and greeted them at the door. I relished in their hugs, listened to how their days went and savored every moment of normalcy I could. When Tom got home from work, I finally broke down for him. I hashed out the details and he asked me just the right question…what exactly got so upset? Even though I couldn’t give him an answer, he was able to recognize the familiar uncertainty I continue to have as it relates to dealing with my father’s death.</div>
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I pulled myself back up, just like I always do. I taught my group fitness class with all the zest and gusto I could and came home and put my kids to bed. I made sure I gave lots of extra hugs and kisses said extra prayers of thanks for the fact that despite everything else, I am so blessed.</div>
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I had given my information to the director at the nursing home so he could call me when they located my dad’s belongings. Of course two weeks went by and I heard nothing. I decided to call and follow-up and they said they had found the blanket. The same day my uncle emailed me that the nursing home director contacted him for my phone number because he had misplaced it. Shocking, I know. I scheduled a time to head back to the city to get the blanket. I thought about requesting they just ship it, but I wasn’t sure if I gave them my address they would be able to keep the piece of paper long enough to put it on a shipping envelope and keep the blanket in their sites long enough to actually have it shipped. </div>
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I found a day I had at least 4 hours to dedicate to my journey and set out for the nursing home once again. I saw the same familiar crowd outside the home smoking and babbling. I had a few men make inappropriate noises at me and I think one wanted to give me candy. I was thankful they had cleaned up the office a little bit since I was there a few weeks prior and that the social worker delivered my dad’s blanket within a few minutes so I didn’t have to stick around for too long. I departed the building as quickly as possible and tried to ignore the calls from the peanut gallery as I walked by and held my breath to avoid a contact high from the guy smoking a joint. Then again, I probably could have used a little buzz at that point.</div>
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I got to my car and felt like I needed a stiff drink. Of course, it occurred to me I was in a dicey neighborhood and nothing good could come from me sitting in a bar by myself day-drinking. I still had to drive home in time to get the kids off the bus. No “Mother Of The Year” awards are doled out for moms with DUI’s or who stumble to the bus stop because they felt the need to cry their beer. I opted for a Diet Coke and package of beef jerky for the drive home. Overall, I was relieved. Mission accomplished. </div>
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The next step would be the actual memorial. We had to travel down to central Illinois to a small town where my grandmother was from. You know those little cemeteries you see in the middle of a cornfield and wonder who’s buried there? That’s they type of cemetery my dad and his family find their resting place. </div>
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My anxiety started to set in over who would be there. There would likely be family members I hadn’t seen in years or one’s I’ve never met. My Uncle Don would be there, and I continued to feel guilty that I could’t rekindle my relationship in the way he envisioned and hoped for his only surviving brother. I knew there would be condolences for my dad’s death, which always make me uncomfortable. When people say, “I’m sorry,” I’m never quite sure what they are apologizing for…his death or his life.</div>
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We were originally going to stay overnight in Peoria the night of the memorial, but decided just to make it a there-and-back in one day trip. No need to drag out the event longer than necessary.</div>
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Originally my mom was going to join us, but with the premature birth of my nephew, she felt it was better to stay behind based on his condition and ongoing tests and procedures. Tom and the kids accompanied me and I figured as long as I had my babies to hug me, I’d be fine. We grabbed bite to eat before leaving town only to have Maddie get an upset stomach after she ate and tried puking in the bathroom for fifteen minutes before we left the restaurant. I contemplated just leaving Tom and the kids behind and setting out on my own. I could just imagine Maddie puking in the car and driving 2 hours with vomit everywhere. Then, she forgot her tablet at the restaurant and we had to turn around and go back and get it. I thought maybe going down to the service was not meant to be and I should just go home. </div>
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We powered on and no one puked. We arrived in Camp Grove twenty minutes before the service and I needed to call my mom to help get us to the cemetery in the middle of nowhere. The small town of Camp Grove still looked the same as I remembered it with the exception of a few buildings that had been torn down, including the church where my uncle’s funerals had been. I’m not sure how we ever found it all those years ago without GPS. Even with our trusty Google Maps app, it took a phone call to my mom from the road to navigate our way there.</div>
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We arrived at the cemetery and there were a few women already there. One was a woman named Patsy who was my late Uncle Jerry’s first wife and someone my dad had befriended during his years of nomadic and homeless living. From what I understand, she herself had a checkered past and was instrumental in my dad’s drug abuse. She walked up and introduced herself and her friend and thanked me for coming, almost as if she was his wife. For all I know they might have had a relationship---nothing shocks me anymore. Next to arrive was my Uncle Jerry’s third wife who had driven an old RV from Colorado. Things were already getting interesting and we had only been there thirty seconds.</div>
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Soon, one of my cousin’s, who I haven’t seen in several years, arrived along with his daughter and his mother, my late Uncle Dick’s wife. He had been one of my favorite uncle’s and died when I was pretty young. I felt a great deal of comfort seeing them there.</div>
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As people arrived, I went to my Grandma Irene’s grave. My dad would be buried right next to her. I never met her, but was named after her. My mom loved her dearly and from what I understand, was a wonderful woman. I was already very emotional at this point being in a place that not only reminded me of my childhood, but also of a childhood lost. I been here when other family members were buried here. As kids, we would go to Peoria to visit family fairly often and usually made a trip to Camp Grove to see my dad’s family and swim at my Uncle John’s house. Of course, as familiar as this place was, it seemed like I didn’t belong there. </div>
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My Uncle Don and Aunt Linda arrived and that’s when I really started to fall apart. They are my godparents and have always lived in a different state. While we aren’t very close anymore, we used to vacation with them when we were younger, even after my parent’s divorce. Several years ago, before I began visiting my dad in the nursing home’s he was confined to, I visited with my uncle in Omaha because I was there on business. I tried to talk to him about seeing my dad after not having him in my life for several years and I felt like he kind brushed off my concerns about opening that door again. He seemed to think that since he was my dad, I should sweep everything under the carpet without a second thought.</div>
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My uncle began the memorial with a prayer and then said a few words about my dad. They had been very close as children since the other brothers were considerably older and my dad and uncle were only two years apart. My uncles made several attempts to get my dad help for his mental illness, only to have him check out of the facilities just like he did when my mom made efforts to get him treatment. My Uncle Don promised my other uncles he would look after my dad and make sure he was okay. My uncle dealt with a lot from my dad and even suffered some of the same identity theft, harassment and heartache my brothers and I did. While my dad was in the various nursing homes, he was my dad’s medical power of attorney and was called for every single thing that went on with my dad over the years.</div>
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He began talking about fond memories of my dad, his time in service in Viet Nam and how happy he was that my dad got to go to the Veterans ceremony at Nortre Dame High School where he was given the beloved blanket and had his name added to the memorial. He shared funny stories about their childhood. He didn’t leave out my dad’s struggles, or how challenging looking after him was. He talked about my dad’s faith and how much he loved his family.</div>
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Patsy chimed in with her memories of my dad and that’s when I started to feel anger rise up in me. She was pining away for him like a widow and lamenting on how wonderful and funny he was. How much a part of his life she was and how much she would miss him. I cried through most of the ceremony, but with each tearful word that cam out of her mouth, I began clinching my teeth harder and harder. If I’m being honest, I wanted to punch her in the face. I don’t even recall much of what she said, but at a certain point, I couldn’t take it anymore and turned to run for the car. I stopped short, knowing I couldn’t leave and make a scene. I walked to a nearby tree and turned my back so the rest of the group couldn’t see my emotions, but I’m pretty sure I did a terrible job of muffling my sobs. Tom had taken Colin to the car for something, which I later found out was to take a leak on the side of road. Maddie ran to me and held me. I was shaking uncontrollably. I sobbed deeply, my chest was heavy and I had never felt so much pain, rage and sadness all at one time. I could hear some others sharing their fond memories of my dad in the distance as one of my distant cousins came to rub my back and comfort me. Tom and Colin walked up and joined me. </div>
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I wanted to turn around and say, “FUCK YOU!!!” They had no idea the pain he caused. The mess he left behind. The crazy he carried with him until the final moments of his life. I felt so alone, like a stranger at my own dad’s burial. I was angry and wished my mom and brothers had been there with me so I wasn’t the only one who felt this way about him. For as much peace as I had thought I found visiting him before his death, it became abundantly clear there was still a great deal of hurt in my heart.</div>
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Perhaps it is my own self-doubt, but I still feel like my uncle in particular felt I should still let bygones be bygones and be there for my dad. It frustrated me that no one could understand what we had been through as children and how difficult it was to just let all that go. Many times I tried to imagine what it would have been like if I did come to my dad’s rescue. I think about my brother, Mark, trying to help him while he was in college and my dad would show up at his apartment, unannounced and ask for money, booze or a ride. The distraction eventually led to my brother dropping out of college.</div>
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I could have been at his side through all those days living in a home. I thought about how emotional I had been picking up my dad's belongings and how the times I did visit him were challenging to say the least. Again, it did’t seem possible to have that relationship so easily. What really bothers me is, I am the type of person who helps people. Those who really know me, know I will go to the ends of the earth to lend a hand. I will give my time and energy to many charities and causes. It is at the root of who I am. But the one person who I couldn't bring myself to help was my own father. The loss is not only my dad’s lack of presence in my life, but the lack of my presence in his. I wish I could make the people standing around my dad's grave understand how much pain in my life it took to go against my grain like that.</div>
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As I stood under the tree with my back to the services going on behind me, I stopped, repeated to myself, “You are not special. There are worse situations than this. There are people in more pain. There are people feeling deeper loss. This is not about you, Michelle. You are blessed with your husband and children and while your brothers and mom are not here in the physical sense, they are here in spirit. You are loved. You need to pull you shit together. You need to cope.” Instead of running away, I pulled myself together. Turned around and returned to the group for the conclusion of the service.</div>
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They had their memories. I had mine. All of those things, good and bad are in the past. Death is about the people left behind and how the dead fit into their life. We each had our own experience with my dad and if that is what they want to take away from how he touched their lives, that is their prerogative, not mine. They are grieving too, and while their grief is far different than mine, it is still “their grief.” We all have a right to it. Furthermore, everyone deserves to be seen in their best light when they die. I certainly wouldn’t want anyone airing my dirty laundry in my eulogy. No matter what my dad’s faults, he was a human being. It was time to let it all go.</div>
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I said a final goodbye to my dad’s remains. We would all walk away with our own feelings, and despite how powerful and hurtful my feelings were about my dad, I couldn’t put that on everyone else. It wouldn’t be fair and it would be selfish of me. As much anger as I felt toward Patsy, perhaps her purpose in being there was to take me to a even deeper level of my grief and anger and expose it so I could get it out.</div>
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My dad is at peace. I know that. As for my peace, I know that will come at some point. It's something I strive for every single day and I don’t think that effort will ever go away. My grief is about a lifetime of loss.<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Despite that, I feel I hit a defining moment in my life that has shaped me even further in this journey.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I’ve had to gather a great deal of strength that only I could conjure up because at the end of the day, it’s my story.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Every thought, feeling, emotion, setback, achievement, victory and triumph is because of me, my experiences and who I am at the core.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Only I can sort through the pain of what I know and the pain I’ve endured.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">That is no one else's job by my own.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></div>
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I’ve learned that there is only so much other people can do to give me strength, that ultimately it is up to me to deal with this life, the cards I’ve been dealt, and how I will play those cards. I can draw from the love and support of my family, but I also have an obligation to my family to get through this and be the best person, mom, wife, daughter and sister I can be. </div>
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Like I said, our life on this earth can be boiled down to the ability to love and be loved. My uncle reminded me that I was the last family member to see my dad, and thanked me for that. It was an important time for my dad and I to say “I love you” to each other one last time. I know in my heart my dad loved and was loved. That simple statement brings me great peace for not only him, but for myself knowing that I have that gift in my life as well.</div>
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Some of my dad’s cousin’s were gracious enough to invite us to their home for a dinner after the service. Many of their family was already gathering for my Great Aunt Helen’s 99th Birthday. I had seen some of the four years ago when my family and my mom went to her 95th Birthday celebration and have kept in touch over Facebook. I caught up with a few family members and right before we were getting ready to head home, my uncle pulled out a photo album he had put together of some of my dad’s pictures. There were several of him as a boy, some from his time in the service and when he and my mom were first dating/married. There were a few from the ceremony where he was honored at Notre Dame Hight School for the Veteran’s Memorial. </div>
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A few of the photos caught my eye and made me smile. Others made me cry. There was one of my mom and dad from some time when they were in their early 20’s struck a chord with me. I was initially astonished at how much I look like my mom. I also saw much of myself in my dad’s expression. They looked so normal. So happy. They looked like they type of people who would raise a family and live a long happy life together. They looked like two characters in a fairytale. <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">They looked like the fantasy of what I always wished for, but never had.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">While that life is a fictional for me, there was something so peaceful and comforting about those two faces.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">They represented where I came from; my origins.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Whatever the outcome, I was built from love.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></div>
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No one’s life is a fairy tale. We all have our story. We are all just trying to cope and find balance through our storyline. Each story is different, but the common thread is that we all have twists and turns in our plots, our crosses to bear, our hands to play. It is that struggle that binds us together as humans. I hope whatever your story is, you embrace it. I hope you let it shape who you are and know that you are not alone.</div>
Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-21028107175190968282015-03-17T07:17:00.002-07:002015-03-17T07:24:13.688-07:00Mischief and Malarkey<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5L7Qtacfs8uH_H8p5aR8RLBHqcgUX8swQclVNXdKyoD3ToFamzzEHfA8rJM2HFvrS67bAKgiRB_BOIJqN0f8hlLhImkiIzL0Ut534l6xqCirfCm-AV89mT9vBaOexSp7jMEsF1KPzuM4_/s1600/IMG_3905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5L7Qtacfs8uH_H8p5aR8RLBHqcgUX8swQclVNXdKyoD3ToFamzzEHfA8rJM2HFvrS67bAKgiRB_BOIJqN0f8hlLhImkiIzL0Ut534l6xqCirfCm-AV89mT9vBaOexSp7jMEsF1KPzuM4_/s1600/IMG_3905.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a>The most authentic Irish tradition my kids got this year was my temper.</div>
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It started the other day when Maddie came home and started telling me about this mischievous Leprechaun in her classroom that was supposed to play tricks and leave coins. </div>
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The next thing I know the kids are asking for shoe boxes, sticks, cords and anything available to fashion a trap suitable for capturing a spry guy. </div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The dog set the trap off and I supposed we are lucky she is a larger dog, otherwise our not-so-smart dog would have fallen prey to the simple animal trap.</span></div>
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Maddie mentioned the leprechaun leaving stuff behind again and I felt compelled to run to Target to get some gold coins to leave behind. Alas, there was not a singe St. Patrick’s Day item amid the Easter candy and decor that seemed suitable. Not even some Hanukkah gelt on clearance to use as gold.</div>
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I settled for a set of playing cards, Lego mini figure and some M&M’s to put in the traps. </div>
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Then I got home and made shamrocks out of construction paper and placed them throughout the house. I even made a little leprechaun hats and bowties for some framed pictures of the kids. </div>
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As I was driving home from Target, I started getting angry. This reminds me of that damn Elf on a Shelf. You can see my feelings on this little guy in a previous blog I wrote “Women Who Talks to Elves.” <a href="http://writethishitdown.blogspot.com/2010/12/women-who-talk-to-elves.html">http://writethishitdown.blogspot.com/2010/12/women-who-talk-to-elves.html</a></div>
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Seriously. Who started this Malarkey? </div>
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I’m Irish. We’ve always celebrated St. Patrick’s Day with a party at church and my mom’s corn beef and cabbage and Irish Soda bread. Of course, my grandmother always reminded us that her parents, straight off the boat from County Tipperary, never ate corn beef and cabbage nor did they celebrate St. Paddy’s Day. It was a saints day and that was it.</div>
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So, I’m wondering how all these saints days have turned into frantic trips to Target or the ultimate farce, Santa. St. Nicholas Day means putting your shoes out for a treat. St. Valentines Day is a day to make those who are without a significant other feel insignificant, alone and worthless while those in relationships scramble to buy the best, most expensive or creative gift to prove their love. The kids have to bring the most popular character on their Valentines and if it doesn't have at least a tattoo, you are blackballed. </div>
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And of course, Santa a derivative of St. Nicholas, has its archangel the Elf on the Shelf with a constant watchful eye that has us not only waking up out of a dead sleep at 2 a.m. when we forget to hide him or her, but also competing for the most creative destination each morning complete with some sort of scene.</div>
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We have an Elf, but have not gone full-out out on the mischief. In my mind it is just one more mess I have to clean up or gallon of strawberry flavored milk that no one will ever drink. I do however, see great value in using it to threaten my kids that if they don’t behave, they won’t get Christmas presents.</div>
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I started thinking maybe I should make up a Leprechaun that I could market much like the Elf on the Shelf. His name would would be Mac O’Malley the Mischief Making Leprechaun. Here’s the problem. While he could be used in the weeks leading up to St. Patrick’s Day to amuse the kids and torment the parents, he really doesn’t serve any purpose when it comest to threatening the kids. In fact he promotes bad behavior. The only way I could use him to elicit good behavior would be if there were gifts as the end result like Christmas or even the evil cousin of the Elf on the Shelf, the Birthday Elf on the Shelf. So, it would only perpetuate the ridiculous notion that we should give gifts on holidays that normally wouldn’t and shouldn’t involve gifts. </div>
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Of course, I see a huge marketing juggernaut that could spur a whole line of paraphernalia that could launch me into billionaire status. So, there’s that.</div>
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The reality is that it would also require us all to go on Pinterest to look for creative ways to wreak havoc on my home…on purpose…to keep up with all the other Leprechauns in the neighborhood. I don’t think I could live with myself if I were responsible for such nonsense.</div>
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Yes, I know I am a total kill-joy. I should embrace the fun. Stick with the mischief-making, but I’m a realist and have two children who, as I have mentioned, are spoiled rotten and never happy. </div>
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Here’s what happened this morning as a result of my efforts…</div>
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I opted out of T.P.ing the house, because then I would have to clean it up. I opted out of putting green food coloring in the milk, because as with strawberry milk, it would go to waste. As for green toilet water? The good news is we have blue tabs in our toilet so, when peed in, it turns green anyway. I couldn’t bare spreading laundry around because I.just.folded.three.loads.last.night. ‘Nuf said. I did buy them small gifts, but they could have cared less about them. Colin cried because he wanted a viking mini figure and got a joker. They ripped the shamrocks with their names on them that I placed on their chairs and disregarded them. Maddie thought the shamrocks I left on the stairs were dryer sheets, but I guess that's what happens when she is half asleep coming down the stairs at 5 a.m. to wake me up. Maddie couldn’t figure out why the leprechaun didn’t take the pennies she left, while Colin was pissed that the guy took the paper coin he left. Tom yelled at me for taping a shamrock to the television in the kitchen because it was an LCD.</div>
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I finally lost my aforementioned Irish temper and said, “Quit crying! No on in the world gets gifts for St. Patrick’s Day! I bought them!” Luckily I didn’t completely deplete their faith in a naughty leprechaun as Maddie continued to hunt for more tricks that he played and wondered if there were any coins left behind somewhere. Sigh. I can’t win.</div>
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Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-47811926513006583512015-02-08T19:15:00.001-08:002015-02-10T06:31:02.210-08:00Rest In Peace, Dad<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLQTQva1fuof4AtTAG1VqjUKGB7-8_OjZkU2HkXS_G7xXKZ0sxrOfCwUrfnH8X60aq5AUnK90-tx62_VBjuHmTuadmZfYXFrNItOQ3EJw6JCd8quEIz4A-iPc6GP3_NAIUR2KMc-yur9k/s1600/IMG_3792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLQTQva1fuof4AtTAG1VqjUKGB7-8_OjZkU2HkXS_G7xXKZ0sxrOfCwUrfnH8X60aq5AUnK90-tx62_VBjuHmTuadmZfYXFrNItOQ3EJw6JCd8quEIz4A-iPc6GP3_NAIUR2KMc-yur9k/s1600/IMG_3792.jpg" height="320" width="201" /></a>I don’t know how to even start this entry and I contemplated
not writing it, but if I know anything about myself it is that writing is what
I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is how I express myself,
process things and communicate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has
proven to be cathartic in many situations whether I am taking frustrating life
situations and laughing about them, or during times of sadness and loss in an
effort to cope.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This situation would be no exception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I got a call this afternoon that my father passed away early
this morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I am left with the
task of dealing with it, processing it and making sense of how to make this my
new reality.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Before I begin, let me explain that my father and I did not
have much of a relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For many of
you that know me, you have an idea of how I grew up and how my father fit into
that picture…or didn’t as it may be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rather than re-hash my childhood, I will reference something
I wrote a few years back after the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://writethishitdown.blogspot.com/2012/12/safe-and-sound.html">http://writethishitdown.blogspot.com/2012/12/safe-and-sound.html</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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In a nutshell, my dad has been in a nursing home for the
mentally ill for the last twelve years or so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The only reason he actually ended up in one permanently was because his
physical condition made it impossible to take care of himself and he eventually
lost the mobility in his legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prior to
that happening, I hadn’t seen or spoken to him (purposely anyway) since I was
10-years old and shortly after my grandfather kicked him out of his house where
we lived for ongoing erratic, abusive and inappropriate behavior.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Once I knew my dad was in a place where he was less of a
threat, I took the opportunity to see him on a limited basis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still never gave him my phone number or
address for fear he would go back to his old ways of harassing my family and
me, but I tried to create some sort of space in my life for the man who is
partially responsible for bringing me into this world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I struggled with the visits because I never knew what I was
going to get. Sometimes I felt better after I saw him, sometimes I felt
worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made an effort to visit him
around Father’s Day and then again around his birthday which was right before
Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I had my daughter and my
mom got sick, my priorities shifted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
also needed to protect my own mental health for the sake of my own family.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I struggled with the guilt associated with not being there
for him, but I also knew I could only give so much of myself to someone who
never gave much to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I struggled with
how to justify what was his mental illness and what was his “personality.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Eventually, his health declined and my uncle called my
brother and I to discuss his future based on the inevitable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked that we act as backup for medical
power of attorney and we both agreed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was also asked to look at other facilities for my dad and I struggled with
putting forth the effort to find a “quality” facility since the places that
were on the list were located at least an hour or more from where I lived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also still had two small children at home
with me and it was hard get away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
certainly could not bring them with me to tour mental institutions, especially
since I had found out that his criminal record landed him on a list of
offenders that meant he was ineligible for care in certain facilities. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was yet another chink in his already
dented armor and left me with even less patience. Still, I felt conflicted and
guilty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to see my priest at
church for guidance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I was half expecting him to tell me to “forgive and forget.”
I was relieved when he told me that there is a difference between forgiveness
and reconciliation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had already
forgiven him in my heart, but the reconciliation part where I make him a part
of my life was not something I felt comfortable with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never did find out where he ended up, but
also never really made a major effort to find out besides a few phone calls
here and there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Fast-forward three years to a phone call I received about 2
weeks ago that my dad was in ICU in Evanston for pneumonia and possible heart
attack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He needed to be put on a
ventilator, had fluid in the lungs and could not tolerate even soft foods,
which led to a feeding tube.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had
discovered when I agreed to be one of the medical powers of attorney, that he had
chosen the directive to prolong his life to the “greatest extent
possible.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This meant a vicious cycle of
life sustaining measures with no means to an end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this point, there was no quality of life
and he was not of sound mind to grasp what his reality was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite his original wishes, my uncle,
brother and I agreed that it was time to override his wishes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I was able to visit with my dad twice before he passed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time he wasn’t conscious and the
second time he was a bit more lucid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was difficult to find things to talk about given his condition, mental state
and the fact that he felt like a stranger to me despite the fact that he’s was
my father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many emotions ran through
me as I looked in his eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pity.
Regret. Guilt. Anger. Sadness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The hospital workers offered me comfort based on his condition
and knew I would soon have to face the loss of my father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like a fraud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one nurse hugged me and said “no matter
what, you can never replace a parent.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Little did they know I had been replacing him my whole life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
To me, I lost my dad years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even before my parents divorced, he was never
an orthodox father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he wasn’t part
of my daily life anymore rather than feel loss, I felt relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, he was never really “out of my
life.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He always lingered in some way
whether it was in the parking lot of my school, on the other end of the phone
or on my credit report when I went to buy my first car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People often asked me about my father and
while I was relatively forthright with my story, it was easier just to say “its
complicated” or “he’s crazy.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even my
own children asked about their grandpa and I struggled with answers for
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was as honest as possible
without getting too in-depth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They knew
what a grandpa should be based on their relationship with Tom’s dad and
wondered why their relationship with my dad should be any different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
And I suppose that’s where my loss lies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not in the memory of my dad, but in what a
dad should be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that nobody is
perfect and that even seemingly strong relationships have their holes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I have seen what real fathers look
like in my grandfather, in my brothers and in my husband, just to name a few. I’ll
admit I’m downright jealous of what I missed out on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that no matter how hard I tried to
have a relationship with my dad, he could never be that person to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have seen some of my friends lose their
parents and I know how much pain they have experienced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost wish I had that kind organic
loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One where I could feel real
emotions with warranted sadness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate
saying that, but in some ways I think it would make the loss of my dad easier
to process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I had several “replacements” and I would never discredit all
the people in my life that helped pick up the pieces where my dad dropped off,
but that nurse was right, you can never replace a parent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would be devaluing my own kids’
relationship with their own dad and I know how priceless his role in their life
truly is.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As I sit here trying to rationalize how to feel I keep going
back to how I felt at 10-years old. I remember the feeling so vividly. It was
the evening my dad left for good after trying to run my brother over with a
car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t the first time I was
shocked by my dad’s behavior, but it was the worst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the straw that broke the camel's
back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lay on my basement couch crying
uncontrollably while my family consoled me. I was confused, sad, angry and
relieved all at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t
know how to respond to this change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
would it impact my life? How would I explain it to people? I already had lived
without the support of a “dad,” but now it was official.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Kind of like right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve been living without him in my daily life, but now its official. Its
almost like Loss:Part II.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For so long my
response to my relationship with my dad could be categorized as “complicated.”
At least now I have a new category to place my relationship with him if anyone
asks and that is, “He passed away.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
still feel like a fraud because I am sure by putting myself out there with this
proclamation I will get condolences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
not doing this for pity or for people to feel sorry for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still feel like a fraud for even having any
remorse and callous for not having more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To say I am conflicted would be an understatement.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
To say my dad had no redeeming qualities would be
inconsiderate of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was
brilliant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loved God and his
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t know how to express
and carry out that love effectively, but I feel he had love for us deep his
heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose he and I are even since
I didn’t always express or carry out my love for him effectively, but deep down
in my heart I did love him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCQFzGkvI_LVtkRIyaBoBTeiG1olL5fNVDvnXC6c4T64hzvJPZfn9D7uIMG6HVOwxps1o_sTTYIamw5ANnXJ2Cpp8QAGIc4FDWOJpRr9QiNZ2GDbK3qZonWz6pa970KWZS8rLWmdZj4-V/s1600/IMG_3793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCQFzGkvI_LVtkRIyaBoBTeiG1olL5fNVDvnXC6c4T64hzvJPZfn9D7uIMG6HVOwxps1o_sTTYIamw5ANnXJ2Cpp8QAGIc4FDWOJpRr9QiNZ2GDbK3qZonWz6pa970KWZS8rLWmdZj4-V/s1600/IMG_3793.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>I was fortunate to get to tell him that before he died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For that I am eternally grateful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my effort to make small talk with him I
found out he likes latte’s, something we have in common.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I asked him if I could get him anything
he said, “a Coca-Cola.” Perhaps that’s where I inherited my dirty little Diet
Coke habit. Whatever the case may be, I can be at peace with how we left
things. I'm also thankful that my uncle never actually had to change my dad's living will to "Do Not Resuscitate" before he died. He went into cardiac arrest and they went to the greatest extent possible to prolong his life the way he wanted it, but to no avail. A memorial for him will be held this spring or summer and his remains will be buried next to his mother at a cemetery in central Illinois. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
My emotions at this point <span style="text-align: center;">change by the minute
and I’m sure that will continue to be the case for some time. </span>I do hope he is in a better place now. I hope his heart, soul and mind live in a
place of peace and rest that he was not able to enjoy on this earth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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Rest in peace, dad.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This past weekend Maddie had her first date.</div>
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I know, I know, she's far too young to date, but I really trust this guy. After all, he's her dad.</div>
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For years I have seen various pictures on Facebook of fathers and their daughters at Daddy Daughter Dances and I knew at some point the day would come when Maddie would have the chance to go to one herself. They hold one at the gym we belong to every year, but Tom wasn't a member until this year. When Maddie caught wind of the dance this year, her eyes immediately lit up and asked if she could go. I told her she had to ask her father and before we could even get in the door and take our coats off, she was running toTom to ask him out on this very important date.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPKbPlAf15jGpfxgR6EDbKYkUjHL3QY3BO0KdIYP8NuFUyWQW0JHmVk2a4Q9YEEFbYMfj5ZoM4MBnjmv5mY2h-nqy45QZXeiJIwOBvOlUkzitJbkrA6UeuXSssnvE6nJTxFdRZ0VQjMamc/s1600/IMG_1976.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPKbPlAf15jGpfxgR6EDbKYkUjHL3QY3BO0KdIYP8NuFUyWQW0JHmVk2a4Q9YEEFbYMfj5ZoM4MBnjmv5mY2h-nqy45QZXeiJIwOBvOlUkzitJbkrA6UeuXSssnvE6nJTxFdRZ0VQjMamc/s1600/IMG_1976.jpg" height="320" width="228" /></a></div>
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I knew he would be a little apprehensive about going since he wouldn't know anyone there, but I also have seen this man don a princess crown, boa and drink tea out of pink teacups with his pinky raised in the name of his daughter. As he put it, how could he say "no."</div>
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He said yes to the very important invitation only a day before the event and he had to get the tickets the next day while he was at they gym working out. He kind of made me laugh at how nervous he was. He asked how he would know where to purchase the tickets and I told him just to go to the Activity Center desk. He looked puzzled and asked how he would ever find it? I informed him that not only is it not located in a secret underground tunnel at they gym, there is also a giant sign over the desk that he passes every day on his way to the locker room.</div>
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He was also concerned about the fact that he had to buy a corsage for our little princess and absolutely would not let me do it for him. I was so impressed with how seriously he was taking his responsibility as our daughter's first date. See, I knew he was a catch.</div>
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He was pleasantly surprised when he found out that you could purchase a corsage through the gym when you paid for registration and saved him the stress of having to go seek out someone at the grocery store to help him out.</div>
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We got the two of them dressed, Maddie's hair curled and she put on her favorite necklace and bracelet. Before I knew it they were on their way and I didn't even have a chance to snap a single picture. I stood there at the door as Tom's truck pulled away and was overcome with emotions.</div>
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My first thought was how fast she is growing up. Before I know it, she will be going on dates with boys whom I absolutely do not know or trust, and I will be terrified. I think back to the times my mom put me through a rigorous line of questioning regarding who I was going out with and will never forget her dismay at one who wouldn't even come to the door when he picked me up. Boy, was she right about that guy.</div>
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Then I began to think of the Daddy Daughter dances I attended as a little girl and was mixed with joy and sadness. I was joyful that my daughter had the opportunity to do things like this with her daddy and that he embraced it with absolute care and tenderness. I never went to a Daddy Daughter dance with my own father because when he was a part of my life I'm pretty sure he either wasn't around, wasn't interested or I would have been too embarrassed to even bring him to such an event. Eventually, I did go to a few Daddy Daughter dances with my oldest brother John.</div>
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He was a GREAT date if I had to have a "fill-in dad." I remember so vividly my grandparents teaching us some of the "old-time dances," like the jitter-bug, to prepare us for the sock-hop. It was an "oldies" theme dance so we couldn't just get away with the standard step-touch clap to get by. We were versed on the twist, Fox Trot and my grandpa even showed us his soft-shoe routine. Luckily, my brother could definitely hold his own in the dancing department and not only broke out what we had learned in our crash-course, but even did his own air guitar routine a la Eddie Van Halen. I went from feeling like the only girl there without a "real dad" to the luckiest girl there.</div>
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I am forever grateful for all the stand-in dads I had over the years because they went above and beyond to make up for where my dad fell short. However, it brings me absolute joy in my heart that I have chosen a man who can give my lovely daughter all the things I never had in a father.</div>
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I think that is what being a parent is all about. We want what is best for our children and sometimes that means emulating all the important things our parents taught us, and other times it means taking the parts that might not have been so great and use it as motivation to be better. </div>
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Once I shed a few tears, I went and spent some time with my son. I asked what he wanted to do while they were gone and he said, "Play Xbox." We compromised and wrote in his "Dude Diary," which was an absolute riot. It asks all these silly questions and in the end his answers all centered around banana, gorillas, bacon and eliminating all girls, especially his sister. Within a few hours Tom and Maddie were back home with stories to tell and smiles on their faces. Luckily they did get their picture taken so I could cherish the night, but more importantly so Maddie could.</div>
Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-50142333549300334532014-02-04T15:20:00.003-08:002014-02-04T17:37:33.876-08:00Dear Past Self, Everything Turns Out Alright<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Sometimes I think about what it would be like to go back in
time and do things over knowing what I know now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7R6zO864Cv4Y-cfU01z5nI5UYzj0A7Vs73jk9ghWqpTKO-FwnHNqmnkdv-JLeN7i12-Gm_ZJSvDTHOn0QX8wPvyiGgoynxSf4uK8hFmvnRfOx2AWPeS0ONRIm7XEu-jNFc-2B0iWhTcZ/s1600/past+self.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7R6zO864Cv4Y-cfU01z5nI5UYzj0A7Vs73jk9ghWqpTKO-FwnHNqmnkdv-JLeN7i12-Gm_ZJSvDTHOn0QX8wPvyiGgoynxSf4uK8hFmvnRfOx2AWPeS0ONRIm7XEu-jNFc-2B0iWhTcZ/s1600/past+self.jpg" height="320" width="224" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Courtesy of Nicole Hendricks<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like so many movies when adults go back to their adolescences or teen years and relive all the events that shaped their lives, I take this proverbial “Peggy Sue Got Married” approach to looking back on my own life and wonder what if….<br />
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Last night I had a hard time falling asleep and my mind went
to that dark place called memories of high school, and I began listing off all
the things I did that I may or may not have done the same if who I am today
were in the same position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After several embarrassing and painful memories popped into my head, I finally fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then today I was driving in my minivan on my way to have my
third of four varicose vein procedures, very much my current self as opposed to
my sixteen-year old self, and the song “Black” by Pearl Jam came on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it was the classic rock station, but
that’s beside the point. There is one line of the song that I have always
loved, <o:p></o:p></div>
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“<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">I know someday you'll have a beautiful life,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">I know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">But why, why, why can't it be, can't it be
mine?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I remember listening to this song long ago and hoped and
dreamed that I would be the star in someone’s sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know, typical melancholy teenager, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you just see me in my room listening to my boom box hoping for whatever boy I had a crush on at that time was listening
to the very same song thinking of me? Sad, but true.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I suddenly started thinking about the past again and rather
than think of all the things I would change, I thought about what I would tell
my past self that might be helpful.<o:p></o:p><br />
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When I was done, I had the most amazing moment of clarity realizing I am exactly where I'd hoped I'd be. Based on the rut I've been in over the last several months, it was a welcome revelation of just how wonderful life is and how much I have to be thankful for.</div>
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First and foremost, I would tell her not to eat the meat in
the cafeteria.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just sayin’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I would tell my past self all sorts
of things about what not to eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine
her dismay when I tell her about the fat free or gluten free movement!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d spare her from all those Snackwell’s that
she thought were good for her because they were low fat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Then I’d tell her that despite the fact she’s pigeon holed
as a theater person, she’s a fabulous runner and teach her some Pilates too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sounds stupid, but if you knew how much
worrying I did about my body back then, you would understand why I’d love to
teach her two things that I discovered later in life that changed my body and
made me feel better about myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, maybe
I’d even end up with a scholarship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, that would also probably drastically alter the universe and how
my life played out. Haven’t you seen “Back To Future?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’d tell her which boys to stay away from like the plague, which ones ended
up being a waste of her time and energy and which one’s would break her heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d be careful not to discourage
her too much, after all, some of those boys were worth kissing since we all need
a little heartache to make us stronger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d
tell her boys are really all out for one thing and one thing only, so be
careful.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’d tell her to let things roll of her back and not be so
sensitive, but warn her not to take anyone’s shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d tell her to be more confident in herself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I would tell her to surround herself with people who make
her feel good and do the same for the people she surrounds.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’d tell her which friends will last the test of time, which
one’s end up stabbing her in the back and which ones she will end up being
friends with on Facebook that she barely even talks to now, hoping she will
give them a chance because they are actually wonderful people.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’d tell her to avoid stonewash jeans at all costs and not
to go through that whole wearing boys’ clothes stage.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I would tell her that her future husband is actually walking
the halls of high school right there with her and try to avoid running up to
him to see if he has any dry cleaning that needs to be taken in or if he can
stay home with the kid while I go out with my friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would surely freak him out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I would tell her to go home and hug her grandparents and
thank them for letting her live with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I would tell her to have a cup of tea with her grandma and crack a joke
with her grandpa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I would tell her to hug her mom and listen to her; she’s
smarter than she thinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would tell
her she might be a pain in her ass about curfew and whom she hangs out with
because she loves her and worries every single second she is away from the
house. I would tell her to spend time with her mom instead of running off with
her friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would tell her to say
“thank you” to her mom for constantly correcting her grammar instead of rolling
her eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All that information will be
useful some day when she becomes a writer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I would tell her to work just a little bit harder at school
and pay attention in math class because, despite the fact that most of it
doesn’t make any sense, she WILL use math some day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I would tell her not to try so hard to make people like
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd tell her just to be true to herself.<br />
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: justify;">I would tell her to save her money and never to open that
credit card in college.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I would tell her that all those times her grandpa told her
to mind her P’s and Q’s, he was talking about Pints and Quarts…like as in
beer…which is actually really good advice as to not make a fool out of yourself
when you’ve had too much to drink.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I would tell her that she really doesn’t know everything
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to learn.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I would tell her to have more fun and stop worrying so much;
youth is fleeting. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I would tell her that despite the fact that she is lost and
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<br /></div>
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I would tell her that even though she feels empty, one day
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<br /></div>
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I would tell her that even though she feels lonely, one day
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<br /></div>
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I would tell her not to be so angry, life is better than you
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<br /></div>
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I would tell her not to worry about finding “the one,”
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way.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I would tell her some day you won’t feel like “the poor
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<br /></div>
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I would tell her all the things she hopes for; a family, a
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would tell her she’s beautiful and special and that all
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strong, confident, capable woman.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I would tell her not to worry so much about the future and
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<br /></div>
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Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-69544867038991114612014-01-17T08:22:00.002-08:002014-01-17T08:22:18.433-08:00Bubba Lion:The Prodigal Stuffed Animal<div style="text-align: justify;">
If any of you know Colin at all, you know Bubba Lion.</div>
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Bubba Lion is Colin's most favorite stuffed animal, although calling him "stuffed" is kind of an oxymoron. He has been loved and cuddled since before Colin was born. Over the last few weeks, Bubba Lion went missing and we thought that life would never be the same without him.</div>
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Bubba Lion came into our life just weeks before Colin was born. Maddie and I were shopping at Carter's in order to prepare for his arrival and I let Maddie, who was just shy of 23 months old at the time, pick out a gift for her new baby brother. She chose Bubba Lion. </div>
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As Colin go older, he took to the lion and preferred it over all his other stuffed animals. He used to turn him upside down and rub the silky tag on the lion's butt as he sucked his thumb. As with most favorite stuffed animals, he has suffered a lot of wear and tear over time. After awhile, no matter how many times I washed him, he stilled looked dingy.</div>
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Bubba Lion was not always known as "Bubba Lion." Colin initially called him "Baby," but Tom was somewhat insecure about the level of manliness this name conveyed despite the fact Colin was barely a year old. We changed "Baby" to "Bubba" and eventually that also became Colin's nickname. In the shadows was also another favorite stuffed animal named "Bubba Blue," who is a blue teddy bear. Usually the two stuffed animals were a package deal, but over time Bubba Lion was the favorite. Most of the time he had to have him in his possession if we left the house and I can't tell you how many times I have had to run back in the house and hunt him down even though we were already running late.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The early days of Bubba Lion. Still in pretty good shape.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Bubba Lion is a real ladies' man. The bear on the left is Maddie's comfort animal, "Chloe."</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>At "Touch A Truck" when Colin was 2 years old. Can't leave home without Bubba Lion!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Snuggling with Kira (our late Husky), Finn McMissle and of course, Bubba Lion.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The ultimate comfort. Grandpa, his thumb and Bubba Lion's silky tag on his butt.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy6hUkNbp3Jmn5C2sneRTanov4XXEp4izgZNogAeIhQ1yhkEimPALjq3M-SKKlctGRJ6Wu8S_Yoc57xak2LwsTZq_Nnz6cgB0fG1zhwzD6Njq-83ME0RU8hYxsr_4gYz5aTVlb_jJikK7-/s1600/DSC_0237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy6hUkNbp3Jmn5C2sneRTanov4XXEp4izgZNogAeIhQ1yhkEimPALjq3M-SKKlctGRJ6Wu8S_Yoc57xak2LwsTZq_Nnz6cgB0fG1zhwzD6Njq-83ME0RU8hYxsr_4gYz5aTVlb_jJikK7-/s1600/DSC_0237.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Times may have changed, but that is Bubba Lion tucked in between Colin's <br />arms while he plays games on Tom's iPhone.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIL5YscHbW5hRcFpSsUCduPfIm96ZMCmdYT-DHjXnWpNcO1VF_oFvREaA10Ue-9vPq-pCIVn9i5KDK-HUvkxPZjCQtsCrIVA9Oz7eaAyTZICj22n6ntMC0kGmKOCaSmyZQq4c2Zhqhn_wb/s1600/IMG_1928.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIL5YscHbW5hRcFpSsUCduPfIm96ZMCmdYT-DHjXnWpNcO1VF_oFvREaA10Ue-9vPq-pCIVn9i5KDK-HUvkxPZjCQtsCrIVA9Oz7eaAyTZICj22n6ntMC0kGmKOCaSmyZQq4c2Zhqhn_wb/s1600/IMG_1928.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>This is Colin today with his buddy. So happy that he was found.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Over the last several years Bubba Lion has gone missing several times. There have been plenty of occasions I have had to drive back to various restaurants, grocery stores, clothing stores, friends' houses or the childcare center at the gym because Colin had left him behind. I dug through more lost-and-found bins for the love of this particular stuffed animal than I care to admit. No matter what, he was always salvaged. There were play dates where I would get a phone call or text that Bubba Lion was found hiding out. We also had a few incidents where bedtime would roll around and Bubba Lion was nowhere to be found and I would have to re-trace our steps and make embarrassing phone calls to friends or family asking if they could turn their house upside-down looking for the damn lion.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know full-well that if I really followed the rules of "Love and Logic," I would have to subscribe to the "too bad, so sad" school of thinking that would leave Colin Bubba-less until we could get him back. But no, I would send Tom back to the gym, a friend would spin by the house after a bar-b-que to deliver Bubba Lion home safely before bedtime and I often turned the car around on our driveway to head back and search under clothes racks at Children's Place to see if Colin had thrown him overboard from the stroller while I was shopping for pajamas. </div>
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Then there are the times he goes missing in the house. I have found him tucked in the bag that I keep my yoga mat in. I have found him shoved in trucks, drawers, cabinets, between beds, under cushions and under the couch. I usually find myself standing in various rooms thinking to myself, "What would Colin do?" Then, I think of the most ridiculous place I can think of, and it is there that I will find him.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Two years ago, Bubba Lion went missing until I happened to go out in the backyard and saw something strange tucked under one of the two-by-four's holding up the walls of our ice-skating rink. Yes, we had an ice-skating rink in our backyard for two Winters. (see entry entitled "Ice Capades"). It turns out our dog, who has a penchant for stuffed animals, had brought it outside and buried it like it was one of her kills. After we defrosted poor Bubba Lion, he was good as new...or should I say good and "loved."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am pretty sure that my emotional attachment to our friend is more intense than Colin's. Don't get me wrong, Colin has thrown plenty of temper tantrums and meltdowns when wee can't find Bubba Lion. However, but at this point in the game, the only one losing sleep over our missing friend is me. I can blame my children's attachment to their security items on my own issues.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As a child, I had a blanket that I slept with every night. I didn't necessarily bring it with me where ever I went, but wherever relaxation or sleep was involved, blankie was there with me. I also used it to play dress up. It was a veil when I pretended to be a bride. It was my dress when I pretended to be a super model. I wrapped my baby dolls in it when I pretended to be a mommy and even tucked it under my shirt when I pretended to be pregnant. </div>
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It was a yellow thermal blanket, that at one point, had a satin ribbon trim. As time went on, the ribbon came off, the color turned from yellow to a beigish-gray and there was a dried up crusted piece of Hubba Bubba on the corner. There were only a few holes in it and if I had to compare it to other wubbies I've come across, I'd say it was downright pristine. It had my scent, which I am pretty sure was a combination of what all good security items are made of--spit, sweat and snot. As much as I loved when it was freshly washed, it took awhile to get that comforting smell back that I could press against my nose and take deep soothing breaths as I fell asleep at night.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
I continued to sleep with my blankie straight into high school, college and even post-college. I was living on my own in the city, working a full-time job, traveling all over the United States and still slept with my blankie. I only occasionally brought it with me on business trips and would often be confidently walking through the airport in a black pants-suit, pulling my wheelie suitcase ready to take on the world...with a security blanket tucked gently in my Samsonite.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My mother told me when I was younger that she would never try to take my blanket away from me. She knew that I was a mature young lady who grew up faster than I probably should have or needed to. She told me that if that blanket was my one streak of immaturity, she would give it to me. I kept that blankie with me until the ripe old age of twenty-four and the only reason I don't have it today is because I left it in a hotel room on one of my business trips. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At that point, I almost never traveled with it, but I was feeling down about having a long stint of business trips. I had just done a load of laundry when I was packing for a trip to Denver, CO, and decided that bringing my freshly washed blankie would help ease my melancholy attitude about the trip. Of course, because I wasn't used to having it with me, I forgot to get it out of the tangled sheets in the hotel room before I checked out. I realized my error while I was on the plane on my way home. I got that sick, sinking feeling you get when you come to the realization that something terrible has happened and you feel helpless.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I got off the plane and immediately called the Doubletree Hotel I had stayed at to see if housekeeping had found it. I got forwarded to their voicemail and left a message with all my information. Unfortunately, my blanket never arrived. I grieved the loss of my buddy and over ten years later, I still get sick to my stomach thinking about it. There is a happy ending to this tragic story, however. When I was in fifth grade, my school made a time capsule where we had to write a letter to our future self and include something small that was important to us. I cut a corner off my blankie. When I returned to my school a few years back for my 20 year grade school reunion, they were also celebrating the church's 50th anniversary. They dug up the time capsule and I was able to retrieve my letter and the small piece of my blankie that I placed in a sandwich bag inside the letter I wrote. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My mom and husband were with me at the anniversary celebration and watched as I cried like a baby with my precious little triangle of a blankie that I held up to my nose. My mom rolled her eyes and my husband just laughed. My classmates just looked at me like I was nuts. They all wrote about who they had a crush on and who their best friends were and there I was carrying on like I never left the first grade, let alone made it to fifth.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, when my own kids' precious stuffed animals, that are the equivalent to my blankie go missing, I go into full search-party mode. Our latest case of the missing Bubba Lion was no exception. I was part CSI, part bloodhound, part Sherlock Holmes. I originally thought that Bubba Lion had to be in the house somewhere since he was last seen around Christmas and since Colin a case of Hand, Foot and Mouth, he didn't leave the house much for the week between Christmas and New Years. When he didn't show up 2 1/2 weeks later, I began to worry. I spent several nights trying to fall asleep as I recalled where we went during that period of time. I finally recalled the Friday after New Years when we spent the day running errands and ended up painting pottery at the local <i>Color Me Mine.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I decided that the next day I would begin retracing our steps from that particular day starting with the pottery place. We still hadn't picked up what we painted, so it was the perfect opportunity to see if they had it in their lost-and-found. From there, we hit the Starbucks around the corner, since the cupcake shop we had stopped in that day was already closed. Neither the pottery place nor Starbucks had Bubba Lion.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We needed to eat dinner before I had to be at the gym to teach a class, so we stopped at Portillos where we had lunch the day I thought Bubba Lion went missing. I asked them to look in their lost and found for him and the gentleman informed me that he didn't find anything. He also told me they only keep the items in their lost and found for about three weeks. I had that sinking feeling I had experienced on the plane when I was 24-years old when I realized I left my blankie behind. I envisioned Bubba Lion getting dumped in the garbage along with leftover beef sandwiches, styrofoam hamburger boxes and ketchup soaked french fries.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We returned home and I said my fifth or sixth prayer to St. Anthony. This time I dug deep and really pleaded with him to help us find Bubba Lion since Colin had started to show signs that the reality of Bubba Lion being lost and gone forever was setting in. I pulled his bed out again. I looked in every cubby, every cabinet, dresser, couch cushion and finally went through a bin of cars, trucks and Star Wars ships. Bam! There he was hiding under the X-Wing Fighter. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I pulled him out and held him up triumphantly and shouted, "I found BUBBA LION!!" Colin, who was sitting in his bed waiting for me to tuck him in while I was dismantling his room, looked up with quite possibly the best expression I have ever seen come across his face. It was a mixture of surprise, excitement, sheer joy and relief. I know this because those were all the emotions I was feeling as well. I put Bubba Lion up to my nose to smell that smell that was not only comforting to Colin, but to me because it smelled like my baby.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As my kids get older, many of the things from when they were babies are a distant memory. All the bouncy seats are gone, the clothes have been donated and the Exersaucer is taking up half of someone else's family room as we speak. But for both my children, they each have a stuffed animal that they have had since before they were born. While both Bubba Lion and Madelyn's bear, Chloe, have seen better days, they are the one constant in their ever-changing lives.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Perhaps that is why my mom let me keep my blankie with no argument. After all, she had bribed my older brother with dollar bills countless times to get rid of his blankie. Maybe she just wanted to keep a little piece of her "baby" a baby for as long as possible. I really wouldn't be surprised seeing as how she still introduces me to people as "her baby" despite the fact I am pushing thirty-seven years old. I have a feeling that deep down my mom was almost as excited and emotional as I was the day I retrieved my little piece of blankie from the time capsule, much as I shared in Colin's excitement when we found Bubba Lion. </div>
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Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-18544397990337633542013-12-09T20:35:00.000-08:002013-12-09T20:35:00.034-08:00Gravity<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I don’t want to come off as a complainer or anything, but
sometimes I just feel like gravity pulls a little harder on the Stien Family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
We are so very blessed to have a wonderful family, our
health (for the most-part), great friends, and a lovely home that is filled
with laughter on a daily basis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet,
somehow we always end up in these sit-com scenarios that leave me wondering if
anyone else has this many calamities on a regular basis?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Last week was one of those weeks where everything seemed to
go wrong and as I sit her Monday morning, the hits just keep on coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last Monday I had just come off of a busy
weekend helping plan a Santa 5k that was a huge success, but consumed my life
leading up to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went through my
usual routine getting the kids off to school, writing my column for the
magazines I write for, running errands and preparing for my cycle class that
evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids also had karate, so I
picked Maddie up from school, threw a snack in the backseat and she changed her
clothes in the back of the minivan in the parking lot of the karate school.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
When we got settled, I went to the desk to sign the kids up
for the next session.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had been doing
a 2-week trial at a discounted price and I wanted them to continue on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Colin has been going twice a week and Maddie
once since she also has Religious Education and Figure Skating to fit in her
busy schedule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyes almost popped
out of my head when they told me the grand total for a month’s worth of karate
was $300!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a car payment,
people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also told me that the
entire family could participate at that price.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since Tom doesn’t get home from work until after 6 p.m. and I have the
whole physical fitness thing covered with all my teaching, I told them that Tom
nor I would be interested in participating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I decided that perhaps just Colin should take lessons since
Maddie already has her skating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of
course, explaining that to Maddie was no small feat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, she had a bit of a breakdown
right there at the karate school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
tried to talk her off the ledge, but we both left feeling sad and my pocketbook
a little thinner since even Colin’s lessons were going to run me $100 a month
plus $70 for the uniform and necessary equipment, which they talked me into
signing at least him up before I left that day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I had that icky feeling tugging at me that the whole
situation was not right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone was
unhappy, even Colin because he doesn’t even want to go in the first place even
though he needs it the most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to
the gym to teach and had to shift gears to be “on” for my class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually felt much better after taking my
aggressions out on my Spin bike until one of the girls from the childcare
center entered my class just as I was finishing up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Apparently, Colin had to go poop and didn’t quite make it to
the bathroom in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ended up peeing
his pants and “touching cotton” leaving his underwear smeared with poop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I raced into the childcare center where they
had him quarantined in the boy’s bathroom and I tried to clean him up to the
best of my ability. He was pretty upset and had already used half a roll of
toilet paper to try and dry his pants and wipe his underwear and had left it in
a pile in front of the toilet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As least
he didn’t put it in the toilet like he did the last time this happened and
ended up almost clogging it up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got
Maddie to sit with him while I went in the hall to call Tom to have him bring a
change of clothes for Colin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I
returned he had taken all that toilet paper and put it in the toilet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily I got there in time to retrieve it
before he flushed it, which entailed grabbing wads of it with my hand and
gradually flushing it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
After thoroughly scrubbing my hands since I had just been
fishing my son’s poopy toilet paper out of the toilet, I ran out to see if Tom
had arrived with Colin’s clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
Tom showed up with a pair of swishy pants instead of Colin’s preferred “soft
pants,” I knew I would get push back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tom
was able to handle this situation for me and we were finally on our way home to
finally eat dinner at 8 p.m.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Meanwhile, I made the decision that if Maddie couldn’t also
take karate, that it wasn’t fair for Colin to do it, especially since Colin’s
was still going to cost me a pretty penny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I did some research on the programs available at the other school Colin
had taken his Little Ninja’s class at last year and I could have both kids take
lessons once a week for $135 per month and their lessons would be on the same
day at the same time. Not only did this alleviate a great deal of logistical issues,
it also would prevent Wendy’s drive-thru for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fast food dinners seem a bit counter
productive when you are trying to instill a healthy lifestyle by participating
in physical activities.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I called the other karate school to cancel and told them
that we thought it would be best to wait until to the New Year and revisit our
budget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be honest, I didn’t really
think the price tag would be any less of a burden, but was trying to avoid
saying, “We Quit.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know they were
likely shaking their head thinking that is why Colin is the way he is and his
behavior will never get better with a mom like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The owner offered to let Maddie stay and
extra month free of charge, but that would land us one month further in to the
whole experience and make it that much harder to say no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been in sales; I know how these things
work.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I took the cowardly way out and emailed that we would not be
returning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did however come clean that
we would be attending a different school that was more reasonably priced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now all I had to do was go in and face them
in order to get my credit card swiped to get my money back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got in and out of there as quickly as
possible before the owner’s wife karate chopped me, especially since Colin was
running around on the karate mats with his shoes on and didn’t even bow in and
out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I was relieved to have that behind me when Thursday rolled
around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to teach cycle that
evening and after I did homework with Maddie, we headed out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tom was downtown for a work dinner and I had
planned on grabbing dinner after my class at the café at the gym.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This kids cooperated leaving the house for
once and we were actually on time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
hadn’t forgotten anything where I had to turn around and go back home for
something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t frantically looking
through my purse for something while I drove, wasn’t texting or even talking on
my phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had just turned the volume
on the radio up slightly so the kids could hear the Christmas music I was
playing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was only a block from the gym
when I suddenly saw a car coming at me on the passenger side of the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t slow down or speed up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything went slow motion and finally the
car ran into us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I immediately looked in
the back seat to make sure the kids were O.K.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everyone was fine, thank God.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I jumped out of the car and the woman immediately began
making excuses until she realized she quite simply just ran right into us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another witness ran up to make sure we were
O.K. and gave us her contact info saying she saw the whole thing and knew for
sure it was the other woman’s fault.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
called 911 and waited for the police to show up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the mean time I began making phone calls
to Tom, my insurance agent, my boss, etc.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Ten minutes later, the cops still hadn’t shown up. Colin
suggested that perhaps they were too busy eating donuts at the donut shop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still can’t figure out where he learned
about that particular stereotype.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
called the police back and they said that they weren’t even on their way and
that we should just exchange information and come into the police station to
fill out a report.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was relieved and
figured I could even make it to my class on time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
After the woman backed away from my car, I tried to pull
away only to find that my front tire felt funny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My front tire was pushed in and I had to pull
off to the side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I eventually made my
way to the gym figuring either I turn in at a restaurant/ice cream parlor
parking lot or go a bit further up to the gym and have people at work to help
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drove very slowly and eventually
got there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I taught my class, for which
I was 20 minutes late, only to have one of the girls from the childcare center
come get me at the end of class to tell me Colin was acting up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently he didn’t handle the stress of the
accident very well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got him out of
there and then began the process of sorting out the details of having the car
towed, talking to police and getting home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I was talking to the police on the phone, because thankfully
the woman had gone straight to the police department to fill out the report,
and trying to give my side of the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Colin kept yelling at me that his name was “Max” not Colin when I gave
the officer the names of the passengers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That is what Colin has changed his name to this week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last week it was Alexander.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The week before it was Carlos.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The police came to look at the car, the tow truck came and
my friend came to pick us up and take us home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now, all I had to do was get a rental car the next morning so I could
get to my 9 a.m. cycle class I was teaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I called Enterprise at 7:30 a.m., right when they opened, and they were
able to come pick me up at 8:15 a.m. immediately after I got Maddie on the
bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gave me just enough time to rent
the car and get to my class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course,
when I went to close my garage door, it wouldn’t go down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took five tries and on the last try I
said, “Please God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let my garage
close.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it did.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The Enterprise rental car guy was pretty impressed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The rest of the weekend went on pretty smoothly despite the
extra ten minutes it took me to get the kids in and out of the Ford Focus I was
sporting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s just say I love and miss
my minivan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sunday we all went to church
followed by a pancake breakfast with St. Nicholas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there we went to Michaels so I could get
some more ribbon to finish decorating our Christmas tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mind you, I’ve bee decorating Christmas trees
for three weeks now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time I turn
around, Tom decides we need another one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Tom dropped me off in front of the store and he and the kids
decided to stay in the car and pull around when I came out since it was snowing
and we didn’t want to drag everyone in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was just finishing up at the checkout counter when I saw the kids and
Tom walk in the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tom informed me
that the screw that had been stuck in his truck tire finally came out and now
he had a flat tire. Then my daughter revealed it happened while dad was “doing
circles in the parking lot.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Busted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out he was doing
donuts the parking lot…with the kids in the car…with snow falling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His response was, “It wasn’t donuts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were just driving in circles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The back end didn’t even spin out.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was gone for ten minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
wonders why I didn’t want any more kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Three is enough.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I called AAA to get a tow truck while he called tire repair
shops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His spare tire was stolen off his
truck years ago and we never replaced it because it cost $700.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bad decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tom’s parents came and picked up the kids and I, and Tom spent the next
five hours waiting for the tow truck and for his tire to get fixed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I went home turned on some Christmas music, made hot
chocolate for the kids, coffee for myself and finished the tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time Tom got home I had also worked
out in the basement and made dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tom
wasn’t happy with how his day had turned out, but knew he had no one to blame
but himself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Monday morning rolled around and when Maddie woke up she
sent she wasn’t feeling well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she
looked up at me and I realized she had pink eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had some leftover drops from the last time
they had pink eye and called her out of school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She and I did some grocery shopping and then went to pick Colin up from
school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got home and planned on
having a relaxing afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to
work later in the evening and had arranged for my father-in-law to watch the
kids since I couldn’t bring Maddie to the gym’s childcare center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was doing some work on my computer when
Maddie came to report that there was a major problem upstairs. Colin had waited
too long to get to the bathroom once again and got poop all over the
bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I found him doe-eyed with shitty shorts in the
bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The odor was intense and could
only be a result of him getting it on the floor, the walls, the entire roll of
toilet paper, his pants, and down his legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He also managed to get it on every layer of the toilet seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I scrubbed the toilets, the floors, and the
walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tossed the roll of toilet
paper, emptied the garbage can, gave Colin a bath and threw a load of laundry
in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
All these things that happened over the last week are just
the icing on the cake of our chaotic life and general running in circles like
dogs chasing their tails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I often
wonder why I always feel like I’m moving against the grain. I try to find ways
I can change how I am in order to make it through the day without major
calamity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like I am walking
through quick sand half the time, despite the fact I am always running at a
frantic pace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that there are
probably a million things I could do to be more efficient, better organized and
less frazzled. Despite the fact that I sometimes just want to press pause or
just want to crawl into bed into a little ball to avoid all of it, I can’t help
but be grateful that these are our biggest issues.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I’m grateful no one was hurt in the accident, and that my
marriage is still intact despite Tom’s parking lot antics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the fact crawling in the backseat of
a car not made for car seats takes major flexibility and core strength, the
worst part of my rental car is that I don’t have seat warmers and XM
Radio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you say spoiled rotten?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am grateful pink eye, which is 100%
curable, is what I am calling the doctor about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I could seriously do without the poop cleanup, but at least he’s going
and not holding it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lived a charmed
life and perhaps all of these “issues” are just life’s way of reminding how
good I’ve got it?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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Of course, without all of these wonderful “hiccups,” what in
Gods name would I write about?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that,
my friends, is the silver lining in all of this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-85342713986558863262013-10-28T13:12:00.003-07:002013-10-28T13:43:40.527-07:00Zen and the Art of Being ColinIn a constant effort to channel and redirect Colin's energy, I think we've found it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjhvWx0N5E1oUUjvxezhlM5-5op3ka5cB1mZMYtsWPDzoHfPR1isvdFcg7BgADwSRrFHWYYBmJZPL8gRdsgOIb7oFvWSEhAviwONnsT1xcIC1wI47RoSZLwJQtaD8_vKxEIojx1OaI-EEs/s1600/194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjhvWx0N5E1oUUjvxezhlM5-5op3ka5cB1mZMYtsWPDzoHfPR1isvdFcg7BgADwSRrFHWYYBmJZPL8gRdsgOIb7oFvWSEhAviwONnsT1xcIC1wI47RoSZLwJQtaD8_vKxEIojx1OaI-EEs/s320/194.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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It has definitely been a process, but I think if we stick with our new regime, the results will have been worth the wait. We've tried time-outs. We've taken away privileges, toys and electronic any screen he could possibly stare at to no avail. When we moved several months ago, my in-laws had their treadmill in our basement until they moved. During that time, the kids actually enjoyed going in our workout room and using the elliptical, spin bike, treadmill and even lifted some light weights. Colin especially liked the treadmill and would get my heart rate elevated just standing there watching him. He would crank up the speed and I would swear he was going to fly off the back of that thing, yet he just kept running.</div>
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At one of the gyms I work at, they have an indoor track that is open to the public and when the kids come with me, they always ask to take a few laps. I usually tell them one lap, but Colin will always take extra. He finishes breathless, but with a smile and a sense of accomplishment on his face. Guess the running shoes don't fall far from shoe rack? Because if they did, then that would make him more like his father.</div>
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A few weeks ago, Colin was having a particularly hard time behaving. Tom had been on a month-long stint of constant business trips and I was at my wits end with the amount of button pushing, limit testing and downright rude behavior Colin was dishing out. I looked at him one morning after he had talked back to me for the fifth time since he opened his eyes only a half hour prior, and in an act of desperation, told him to drop and give me ten push-ups. I figured, I teach all these classes and yell at people, push them to their limits and they all do exactly what I ask them to. There are even times when I scratch my head and some people will scratch their's because they do exactly what I do.</div>
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At first Colin looked at me quite puzzled. I told him I was serious and since he had talked back, he had to give me ten push-ups. He got down and gave me ten piss-poor push-ups. Guess we will have to work on that. Awhile later he talked back again and I made him give me ten more. Once he caught on that I was serious, the day went more smoothly. Later that week, Colin got in more trouble, as Colin is always capable of more trouble. This time Tom was home and he led the calistenics. He was a little more rough on him. He had him doing sit-ups, push-ups and sprints up and down the stairs. Despite the fact Colin usually enjoys physical activity, he was worn out by the end and not pleased with this form of punishment. Of course, the rest of the day any time he stepped out of line, all we had to do was threaten him with any one of the exercises and he fell into line.</div>
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A few weeks ago, my mom was watching the kids and my she texted me that Colin had just informed her he does two hours of meditation each morning. I had to laugh just imagining Colin, the newly crowned King of B.S., telling my mom this with complete sincerity. While Colin doesn't typically do two hours of mediation, he had been known to sit cross legged with his hands on his knees, eyes closed and chanting "Om." I know he got this notion from the "Buddies" movies where one of the dogs named "Buddha" practices yoga and meditation. Still, the fact that he picked up on this particular dog's actions instead of the one who plays sports, is interesting to me. Of course, there is another dog, "Butterball" who eats a lot that Colin likens himself to when he asks for bacon and bacon for breakfast.</div>
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Last week I found Colin doing push-ups in the family room, without punishment. I asked him what he was doing and he said he was going to start with the push-ups, then do his sit-ups. Then, he was going to do his meditation, followed by yoga and finally practice his karate chops. His meditation lasted about five minutes, versus two hours, but the fact that he sat still and focused for that amount of time takes true discipline for a four-year old any way you slice it. He asked me to do some yoga with him and I obliged despite the fact it has been awhile since I've done any. I walked him through a basic flow that lasted about ten minutes and then he wanted to move on to karate chops. He was using the furniture for his practice and I thought it might be a better idea if he used my arms instead of the arms of the chairs we just dropped a small fortune on.</div>
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He completed his practice and seemed quite please with himself in the end. I also notice that his behavior for the remainder of the day was better than most. It reminded me of his biting and overly aggressive phase. The pediatrician had recommended playing rough with him, doing exercises where I pushed on his joints and having him do jumping exercises. It is typically used for kids with sensory issues, but they offered it up and a suggestion before we left the house so he could better handle social settings. The bottom line, this boy needs discipline, focus and to be worn out.</div>
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We recently had Colin in hockey and the coach was a real ball-buster. Colin actually responded well to him, and I honestly wished this guy babysat in his spare time. However, Colin was not to fond of the game "Shoot the Ducks" where the coach shot cones at the kids while they skated. After he completed his last session, he left the ice and proclaimed he was, "never coming back to this hockey class ever again." I supposed getting knocked on his ass half a dozen times sealed the deal. He told me he'd rather play soccer where he can score goals without the whole skating thing.</div>
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Our other plan is to put Colin back in karate. Based on his most recent "zen approach," I think karate would offer the right combination of discipline, focus and the ability to learn when hurting people is okay and when it is not. So far he is focused on kicking people down, hitting people and breaking things in two. It would appear some clarity and direction is in order.</div>
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I find watching Colin's multi-faceted personality unfold completely amazing, entertaining and puzzling. It is clear he is smart---probably too smart for his own good. He it constantly asking questions, expressing his opinion and offering up his own philosophy in his own little world. Now, I just have to figure out how to convince him to believe in God even though he can't see him, and figure out how he developed a penchant for heavy metal music. But that's another subject for another blog.</div>
Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-45665390463503475932013-09-03T11:30:00.002-07:002013-09-03T11:30:09.906-07:00You Can't Make This Shit Up<div style="text-align: justify;">
I think I might have to change the name of my blog to "You Can't Make This Shit Up."</div>
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I sometimes wonder if people think I am making up some of the stories I tell about my life and my children. If I didn't live through it, I wouldn't believe it myself. This morning was no exception.</div>
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It is pretty common for Tom to wake me up at 5:00 a.m. to ask wardrobe questions. Despite 10 years of dressing him and explaining time and time again that you absolutely may not wear black shoes with navy blue pants, he still has the nerve to ask. Other days it is the eternal argument of whether his pants are grey, brown or green. I'm pretty sure he's color blind but won't admit it. Therefore, we have an impossible conversation where I have to convince him that his eyes are playing tricks on him and to trust me. Other times he asks for my opinion and then complains about what I end up picking for him. If he asks me more than three questions, it is pretty much a given that I will not be able to fall back asleep. He is able to pay money at work towards a charity in order to wear jeans for certain months at a time and it is worth every penny.</div>
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When Tom woke me this morning, I figured it was a question about whether or not he had clean boxers, but instead he asked if I had seen his phone. I was puzzled because he usually has his phone attached to him, but he said he plugged it into the charger before he went to bed and it wasn't there. We looked everywhere and were still left scratching our heads. It appeared someone had broken into our house and only stolen Tom's phone. Seemed unreasonable since we have an alarm system and most seasoned crooks would likely opt for more quality and quantity, and not just an iPhone 4 with a cracked case. I joked that perhaps the Tooth Fairy stole it since she visited Maddie last night. I finally suggested Colin as the culprit, and Tom found it hard to believe our little sound-sleeper would wake up in the middle of the night, unplug the phone and bring it up to his room. I decided to check anyway since we had exhausted all our efforts, and the only thing more ridiculous was the Tooth Fairy theory to fall back on.</div>
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<i> </i>I entered Colin's room to find him under the covers, with Tom's phone and a flashlight, watching Netflix. I snatched it from him and brought it down to Tom so he could get to work. Tom heard Colin crying and ran upstairs to console him. Surprisingly, Tom was very calm and understanding. I think he was actually more impressed than anything.</div>
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I told Colin he could come sleep in my bed for the rest of the morning, but still couldn't figure out why he was up in the middle of the night. I asked him if he was trying to catch a glimpse of the Tooth Fairy. He crawled into bed with me and a few minutes later proclaimed he wanted to go back to his own room. I told him he had to go back to bed and not stay up an play. Within a few minutes he was back again, curled up and fell asleep. Luckily, after all my super sleuthing, I was able to fall back to sleep as well. </div>
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When I woke up about an hour later, Maddie came downstairs and reported that the Tooth Fairy had not come. I went up to help her look for the money, I myself planted the night before, and it was nowhere to be found. It only took me a few moments to realize where the next place to look was. I marched into Colin's room and found the money under his pillow. In short, my four-year old had lifted electronics and cash in the middle of the night. This does not bode well for his future.</div>
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I still maintain that all the money we are saving for Colin to go to college will end up going towards bail money some day. Looks like we'll have to save his Tooth Fairy money too, just in case. </div>
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<br />Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-3374150363046366472013-08-21T06:45:00.003-07:002013-08-21T06:45:37.187-07:00Batshit Crazy Defined<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you look up "Batshit Crazy" in the dictionary, I'm pretty sure you'd find my photo.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let's face it. We've all been there. We have had those moments, or even days, when we lose it. Our heads spin, our eyes bulge out of our head and we scream like banshees. We say things that we regret and hope to God no one heard us. Then we feel guilty and bad about ourselves. At least I hope we've all been there? I'd hate to think I am the only mom who stops everyone in their tracks at Target screaming at her kid.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It seems like with all the changes in our life lately, everyone is on edge and everyone's behavior is a little off, including mine. My fuse is typically pretty short, but my fuse has completely disappeared at this point. Colin has been more of a pain in my ass throughout the last several months. It is either the cause of my shortened fuse or he is being affected by it. I can't decide, but one thing is for sure, shit is about to explode around here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let's just discuss the general state of affairs in my current life. We moved three weeks ago and not only had to pack and move our house into Tom's parents house that we bought from them, we then had to help pack and move all of their stuff to their new house. We lived in relative squalor for a good two weeks, and let's just say they have accumulated a great deal of "stuff" over the years. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once we moved their stuff out, were all ready for our new furniture to arrive only to find out that it won't be delivered until the end of September. The good news is our painter doesn't have much furniture to work around. The bad news is at the end of the day that includes battling to keep the kids entertained in between teaching classes, unpacking, back-to-school shopping and keeping Home Depot in business thanks to daily visits, I have nowhere to park my ass at night. We also had to live three days without cable or Internet, which meant even if I wanted to retreat to the basement, where we actually have furniture, I'd have to stare at a blank wall. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the midst of all this, we had to get an Invisible Fence for our dog since the new house doesn't have a fenced in yard. She kept breaking free from the lead in the yard and/or wrapping herself around trees, bushes and Malibu lights every time she went outside. I had to chase her through the neighborhood in my pj's numerous times. Just to make things a little more exciting, she would go outside and be so distracted, she wouldn't do what she was supposed to do. Instead she chose to do it in the house. The other day the Invisible Fence trainer came just as it had started raining, and I got to train her in the pouring rain. As luck would have it, the once piece of furniture that was ready to be delivered came at the exact same moment. I think the Invisible Fence trainer was about to save me like a stray dog from the shelter. I was soaking wet, cold and looked miserable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let's see, in addition to moving not once, but twice, I had to get Maddie get registered at her new school and get her ready to start this week. The other day we tried to go back-to-school shopping at Target. I figured it was a good excuse to get out of the house since that was day the painters started. The fumes were starting to get to me so I gathered my list, my coupons and the kids in hopes we could just knock it out and get gifts for three of the birthday parties we had over the weekend. Immediately, Colin started whining that he wanted a toy. I could barely get to the school supply section, when he ran off toward the toy aisle. I told him to pick out a toy for his friend's birthday party and he kept picking things out for himself. I continued to say "no" and he continued to throw temper tantrums. I finally got him away from the toy section only to have him run back there five minutes later. When I grabbed him and led him back to the cart in the clothing section, he told me I was "stupid." I grabbed his little red, snotty, sobbing face and gave him my best teeth gritting mom voice. I reaffirmed that I was not buying him a toy and he had better knock it off or he was not going to be allowed to go to his friend's party.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We exited the boys section and I was trying to find Maddie some clothes when he got completely out of control and kept screaming, "I WANT A TOY!!!!" At that moment I decided to ditch the cart and the kid and told him we were leaving. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> I figured I could just come back at 10 p.m. when the kids were in bed. The way the day was going, by that time, instead of grabbing a Starbucks, I would have to bring a flask. Better yet, perhaps heading to the wine aisle and popping open a bottle for this particular trip would be better? I figured that would just make matters worse since I was pretty sure DCFS was already on their way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He followed behind screaming and crying, "I WANT TO GO TO THE PARTY!! I went into what I call "hushed batshit crazy." Which means, I didn't scream nearly as loud as I am capable of, but enough where at least 15 people stopped in their tracks to stare at me. Let's call it screaming like a banshee in an "inside voice." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He seemed to get the point and once again we were off towards the school supply section only to have him continued on with his temper tantrum. Every 30 seconds he would whimper, "I want a toy." Do you know how hard it is to concentrate on the proper size glue stick, the difference between single-pocket folders versus plastic, 2-pocket only folders, College rule notebooks versus wide ruled all while making sure they have a peace sign or Hello Kitty on them with that kind of distraction?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In my estimation, Back-To-School Shopping alone is grounds for us moms to completely lose our shit. This would explain the spontaneous support group that was formed in the school supply section of both Meijer and Target. Throw in a crabby, constipated four-year old, and I just have to give into the fact that some things are just insurmountable.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I finally got at least three more things on the supply list and we headed to the checkout line. He had been in tears for at least 74% of the shopping trip and as I was frantically loading the conveyor belt with no less than $100 worth of Target merchandise (because let's face it, it is NEVER less than $100), and suddenly Colin walked up with a smile through his tears. It was a smile that said, "I just pulled a major dick-move on you, mom." I figured he had snagged some stupid toy from the checkout line and smuggled on the belt. The checkout lady said no, but there is no proof that Colin didn't slip her a $20 to keep his secret safe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As soon as I swiped my Target Debit card and my 5% savings was deducted, Colin asked if he could have his gun. Now, being that Colin is the spawn of Satan, I could have just brushed this comment off as something that Colin says on a regular basis. Then he pointed to the bags and said, "the one with the bullets." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I dug through the bags and found a mini Nerf gun. I promptly marched him to the Customer Service Desk and returned it. When I got my $5.13 back, I handed it to Madelyn who had behaved for exactly 100% of the shopping trip. We high-tailed it out of there and Colin went straight to his room when we got home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The weekend rolled around and I was able to hand him off to Tom, who he is actually afraid of. His behavior improved and I was relieved Tom took Monday off for one extra day of help. However, come Monday we were right back where we left off on Friday at Target. We tried to have a fun day with our old neighbors at a local park/petting zoo. Within 15 minutes of arriving, I was ready to call Tom to pick him up. He refused to eat his lunch, and headed for the playground. It wasn't long before I noticed him doing a potty dance. Since it had been three days since he had pooped and he had a dose of Miralax that morning, I knew it was pretty likely had had to drop a deuce. Besides, playgrounds and libraries usually do the trick when a stubborn bowel movement is in question.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He refused to go potty and even made me chase him up the jungle gym. I saw red, my temper flared as he merely laughed at me as I not-so-gracefully made my way up the ladder. And in a blink of an eye, out came the good old "Batshit Crazy." This time, I let it all out. We were outside, after all. I finally scared him along with every other kid on the playground enough to march him up to the bathroom. He still didn't poop, but he peed and then I had to apologize to not only my friends who we were having our play date with, but some poor woman who had removed her children from the playground and was hiding a few feet away. She looked a little scared of me, but said, "I've totally been there! I completely understand!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I think that seems to be the general reaction I get. Sure, I occasionally get the dirty look like, "What is wrong with your heathen of a child?" or "Why can't you get your shit together, lady?" But for the most part, I get looks of pity followed by an unspoken knowledge that all of us lose it at some point in time or another and SOMETIMES it just so happens it is in the middle of Target and not in the privacy of our own homes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've tried methods like "1-2-3 Magic" and "Love and Logic," and have had some success. However, when your kid basically gives a look that is the equivalent of the middle finger when you reach "3" and escapes even the time outs that include a locked door, there is no logic and certainly no love. I try so hard to keep it together, remain calm and controlled. I know that I am the parent and I need to be mature and not throw my own temper tantrum, but they wear me down along with my wick and then BOOM!!! Batshit Crazy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I did look up "Batshit Crazy" in the Urban Dictionary. Here's what it said: <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">A person who is batshit crazy is certifiably nuts. The phrase has origins in the old fashioned term "bats in the belfry." Old churches had a structure at the top called a belfry, which housed the bells. Bats are extremely sensitive to sound and would never inhabit a belfry of an active church where the bell was rung frequently. Occasionally, when a church was abandoned and many years passed without the bell being rung, bats would eventually come and inhabit the belfry. So, when somebody said that an individual had "bats in the belfry" it meant that there was "nothing going on upstairs" (as in that person's brain). To be BATSHIT CRAZY is to take this even a step further. A person who is batshit crazy is so nuts that not only is their belfry full of bats, but so many bats have been there for so long that the belfry is coated in batshit. Hence, the craziest of crazy people are BATSHIT CRAZY.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here's the kicker, after a miserable trip to the park and petting zoo, I dropped Colin off at home, and Maddie and I headed out to run some errands while our cable and internet were installed. He called to tell me that the cable guy found a bat in our attic. Tom was concerned about how long it had been there and even mentioned all the shit that might be up there. Hmm. Perhaps I've been absorbing batshit crazy through osmosis? Yeah, let's blame it on the bats. </span></span></div>
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Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-11886242955651105872013-07-17T21:28:00.001-07:002013-07-18T04:34:11.216-07:00B.O.B. Days Are Over<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpc9JdYq5vYyNmk9XFCLVxF2WOemBDyHGUPKB0zkXPo02rjabk0H-Vw475IYmTS-wGpu6haOX9ToI1zQqWlitRH0Zx8drYz8c_Yw1aSnyQpvkZxsLcOkRS6xZLV__3X19qi-vlZjP690g/s1600/stroller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpc9JdYq5vYyNmk9XFCLVxF2WOemBDyHGUPKB0zkXPo02rjabk0H-Vw475IYmTS-wGpu6haOX9ToI1zQqWlitRH0Zx8drYz8c_Yw1aSnyQpvkZxsLcOkRS6xZLV__3X19qi-vlZjP690g/s320/stroller.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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As if my life is not in enough turmoil right now, I had to say goodbye to the love of my life...B.O.B.</div>
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Now before you go thinking that the reason for my move was due to a torrid affair with a dude named Bob, let me clarify. "Bob" is my B.O.B. double jogging stroller. In an effort to purge more unnecessary items in our house, I finally caved and put the stroller on Craigslist.</div>
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As an avid runner, getting out for a run is my therapy. It is my time to clear my mind, feel good about myself and in those post-baby months, a way to shed the lbs. I was worried that I would never run again once I had kids. With Maddie, I packed her in the Graco Travel System and walked until she was old enough for the single jogging stroller. I was addicted to that time I got to do something for myself when everything else I did was for someone else. When I couldn't run, I was able to sneak away to the gym during my lunch hour at work. When she was big enough for single jogging stroller, I would run with the empty stroller to the daycare that was was about 2 miles away, pick her up, and then run home. There were plenty of times people looked at me like I was nuts running with a stroller sans-baby, but it allowed me to multi-task by picking up Maddie at daycare while I worked out and snuck in some quality time with my baby.</div>
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Once I had Colin, I thought as long as I got a double jogging stroller, I would be fine. Some women get diamond necklaces, earrings or bracelets as "push presents." This girl got a $500 double jogging stroller. I had it ordered even before Colin entered this world. I told Tom this was the only way I could remain sane staying home with two kids. As soon as I could get out, I walked with the kids. Just prior to my 6-week appointment when I got my "clearance" from the doctor to workout again, I was trying to do light runs. Of course, I learned early what "pushing it" with my push present meant--lack of bladder control and returning home from a run having peed my pants. Sad, but true.</div>
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I conditioned my kids at an early age to withstand at least a half-hour ride in the jogging stroller. When I faced resistance I bribed them with DumDum suckers, Goldfish crackers and fruit snacks. I know, kind of counter-intuitive to strive for physical fitness and a healthy lifestyle while I pump my kids full of snacks while they sit in a stroller, but if I've said it once, I've said it a million times--Happy Mom=Happy Kids. Plus, it taught them to get along in a confined space, got them a daily dose of vitamin D and set a good example of physical fitness.</div>
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Along the way, we had lots of fun in our jogging stroller. We did mini-safari's looking for "wild animals" in suburbia. While squirrels, bunnies and birds are pretty lame compared to lions and tigers, we did encounter a deer on one of our runs. We also played games like "I Spy" and Alphabet game where they would have to go through the alphabet and find something with that started with each letter of the ABC's.</div>
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I often let the kids pick our course. We had a few standard courses that we would follow and they got to the point where they knew which ones were not only the most interesting, but the ones that ended at a park. So many times our runs would end up being a tit-for-tat scenario where I would swear that if they could just let me get my run in, we would go to the park on our way home. I even went so far as to video tape one of our runs, put it to music and put it on Youtube. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santa Run for the Kids 5k with my reindeer.</td></tr>
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I ran two 5k races pushing the jogging stroller and still placed in my age group in one of them. There was a huge sense of pride I felt running with my two kids in that stroller. The 5k I ran that had built-in fans cheering me on, but even on my daily runs I often got honks, waves and even a "You Go Girl!" from strangers driving by me while I hoofed it up and down the streets of my neighborhood on any given day. It empowered me, motivated me and made me one bad-ass mama from all that extra resistance! It also prevented me from having three kids because I knew that a Triple-Jogging Stroller just does not exist.</div>
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Many times I would have friends from my neighborhood mention that they saw me running with my bright yellow stroller and would marvel in my determination and tenacity. Most people said they couldn't imagine running at all, let alone pushing two kids in a stroller. Not gonna lie, that made me feel good. </div>
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Eventually, the kids got older and the bribes had to get bigger. Finally, I couldn't afford the bribes any longer, but more importantly their combined weight made it physically impossible for me to continue to run with both of them. Tom mentioned selling my jogging stroller and I refused. With the move, extra expenses adding up and our lack of desire to move any more than absolutely necessary, I finally agreed.</div>
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Within two days, I had a bite and sold the stroller. I literally had to fight back the tears as my baby rolled away. And no, neither of my kids jumped in the stroller unexpectedly on its departure. Why so sad? That stroller represented a major part of my identity for 5 years of my life. I was the "crazy lady jogging on Miller Rd." in the neighborhood. I was the mom who refused to throw in the towel on her running habit just because she had two kids. I was the mom who got her kids up and out each morning instead of sitting in front of the television. I was the mom who sang songs to her kids while she ran. It turns out, it wasn't just "my time." It was "our time."</div>
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I'll leave you with this link to the video I made three years ago. I hope you get the idea of why I shed a tear for our friend B.O.B. So many miles. So many memories. </div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvFdIY1IGZ4">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvFdIY1IGZ4</a></div>
Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-62027528443607707012013-07-15T09:49:00.000-07:002013-07-15T09:51:36.584-07:00Movin' On Out<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tCl2Ytod5sUHEJBrEadhkUdBuZeKRJDBbZoVFE27tmiDmgaG1gLKNp95KHa7gfg8XMoMVwcu_OPM_YWhBo7tpJQDUjDnbIuR53Ny8rQBqWjJUI5DXTQxOdjQR8hwgf_jNanjtw-tiFwL/s1600/1180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tCl2Ytod5sUHEJBrEadhkUdBuZeKRJDBbZoVFE27tmiDmgaG1gLKNp95KHa7gfg8XMoMVwcu_OPM_YWhBo7tpJQDUjDnbIuR53Ny8rQBqWjJUI5DXTQxOdjQR8hwgf_jNanjtw-tiFwL/s320/1180.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Six years after growing out of our house, we are finally moving.</div>
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We bought this house ten years ago when Tom and I weren't even married. We were engaged and neither of us had a home or apartment of our own. He had lived in D.C. for two years and then moved back in with his parents when he came home. I was staying with my brother and sister-in-law after living in the city and decided it just wasn't for me. </div>
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We were anxious to start our life together and needed a place for all of our wedding shower gifts! It seemed at that time, that most of the people our age who were buying homes were heading further and further out in the suburbs because you could get so much home for your money. We followed their lead and realized that if we wanted something we could afford, we would either have to live in a shoebox, buy a fixer-upper or move to the sticks. We chose the sticks.</div>
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As luck would have it, my other brother and his wife and family were looking to sell their house to move to Arizona. We had some friends in Lake In The Hills, where my brother lived and they sold us on all the benefits of living here. We were able to work out the details with my brother and sister-in-law and before we knew it, we were homeowners.</div>
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The housing market at that time was on fire. It was the time where people actually made a living flipping houses. We took out a 5-1 Arm Loan and figured we wouldn't have to worry about refinancing because we would only live in the house 4-5 years. Then, the market went to hell-in-a-hand basket. By the time we were ready to sell, all the reality shows about house flipping were cancelled and it was just about the time all the baby toys, contraptions and stuffed animals from our first-born were starting to close in on us.</div>
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Our biggest problem was a lack of a basement. The more toys that appeared, the more our living room looked like Romper Room. We started to put our exit strategy together, but the outlook was bleak. Houses were just not moving and despite the fact we were both working at the time, any offer we got just didn't give us enough equity to purchase another home.</div>
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In the meantime, I quit my job and got knocked up again. We knew once we had two kids that it would make more sense for me to stay home instead of paying an arm-and-a-leg for childcare. Tom had just got a promotion and while that conceivably meant he would make more, it still left a great deal of uncertainty where income was concerned.</div>
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We finally decided to take the house off the market, turn third bedroom from an office into a baby's room and stick it out for awhile longer. After all, we loved our house despite the lack of space, and most importantly, we loved our neighbors.</div>
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You really could not ask for a better living situation, well except for the asshole teenagers across the street. We all hung out together on weekends, the kids played together and we helped each other out way beyond a cup of sugar here and there. We had somewhat of a commune living situation where we all knew each other's garage codes, let each other's dogs out, babysat each other's kids and celebrated birthdays, anniversaries and Baptisms together. We were more than neighbors. We were more than friends. We were family.</div>
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We also knew that we were in a great school district and in the end, our house was manageable, affordable and kept us safe. So for the next five years we hung in there, but knew that at some point we would revisit our desire to move.</div>
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In the meantime, Tom's parents who had moved out to this area around the same time we did and bought a larger house as "an investment" were ready to downsize. They had retired, bought an RV and spent half the year traveling. They wanted to sell their house and move to a low maintenance retirement community nearby. Since we are in the business of buying our family members' homes, they asked us if we were interested in their house. Their house had already lost some value and rather than give it away at a lower price to a stranger, they figured they would rather sell it to us.</div>
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My stipulation was that we get this transaction completed before Madelyn started first grade. As it stood, we would have to change her even after she got situated in a school for Kindergarten, and I didn't want to wait any longer to switch schools if we could help it. We sat down and hashed out the details, put our house on the market and away we went.</div>
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Now, if you have ever sold your house, you know the stress of keeping your home "staged" for showings. If you have ever done this with children, you know it is like brushing your teeth like eating Oreos. (I stole that from something I saw on Facebook) Before we could do anything else, we had to move half of the stuff out of the house. Prior to putting the house up we had to move out all of the train sets, car tracks, large trucks, three bags of stuffed animals and copious amounts of Legos. I purged the closets, packed up Winter clothes and repainted some of the walls that had been nicked, scratched and colored on. </div>
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I power washed the outside of the house, painted trim and railings on the front porch and put new house numbers up over the garage. We had all of our landscaping freshened up, trees trimmed and new mulch put down. Despite a minor meltdown while the landscapers turned my "privacy bushes" into Bonzai trees, the house was finally ready to stick a sign in the front and start showing.</div>
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Our traffic was relatively slow. The first weekend we put the house on the market was Father's Day weekend, so we only had a couple showings. One of which, they called a half-hour before they wanted to come see the house and ended up coming ten minutes later. Let's put it this way, we fled the house and headed to Yumz for frozen yogurt with Colin in his jammies and me without a bra.</div>
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In our haste to leave the house, I also realized later that day that someone had forgotten to flush the toilet. And by that, I mean, Madelyn took a man-sized poo and left it to simmer. I asked her specifically when she had done this and she informed me it was before the showing. I almost lost it and all Madelyn could do is stare at me in wonder and amazement. They had already seen me go ape-shit on the landscapers pulling a Mr. Miagi on my shrubs and now this? Our normally "lived in" home was no longer. I am not a neat freak and there are plenty of times I don't bother cleaning up Legos because I know they will just get dragged out again. There is usually a syrup stain somewhere on my kitchen table and try as I may, there are always dishes in the sink and laundry to be folded or put away. So, imagine my kids' dismay when their mommy turned into some sort of OCD freak running a vacuum at their heals each time they dropped a crumb.</div>
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Alas, after only a week on the market we got a call that we had an offer. The odd thing was the people who placed the offer hadn't even seen the house yet! They made an appointment to see the house the following day, but were so impressed with the photos online, they wanted to put an offer in to make sure they didn't lose it. Even more shocking was that they offered us our asking price. Now all we had to do was wait for the inspection, appraisal and for their financing to hold up. No big deal, right?</div>
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WRONG! The inspection revealed we had mold in our attic that needed to be remediated along with the half a dozen windows that we already had marked for completion. That meant pouring another $2,000 into the house. Then the appraisal came back way lower than our asking price and the buyers refused to come up any higher than the appraisal price. Long story short, while the market is picking up it isn't picking up fast enough. We knew going into this whole process that our neighborhood, littered with foreclosures and short-sales, meant our value had a lot of ground to make up. Unfortunately, we were led to believe we would still get more than what the home ended up getting appraised for.</div>
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In the end, either we accepted the offer or we ran the risk that they buyer could walk away. Of course, that would put us right back where we started--showing the house and waiting for another offer. With the knowledge that the house could still appraise for the same amount with the next round, we really had to come to the realization that the market is just not on our side no matter what someone offers for our home. My other concern was getting Madelyn registered for school which starts in a just over a month. </div>
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The process has been nothing short of stressful and Tom and I have "challenged each other" through several of the steps. Most of the time, outside circumstances cause these bumps in the road. We finally determined that we were taking things out on each other that were out of our control. We needed to just ride the storm out together. It reminded me of why I married Tom in the first place. Good or bad, there is no one I'd rather get through things with than him.</div>
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At this stage in the game we are just over a week from closing. We have already moved a good portion of our belongings to Tom's parents house/our new home. I have no idea where anything is. I am having a hard time finding things for the kids to wear between what has been packed and what is in the laundry. Once we close, there will be a two week window where we will living with Tom's parents until they close on their new home a few miles away. In the meantime, the new house looks a bit like an episode of "Hoarders" and I pray that neither of the two cats involved in this move perish along the way.</div>
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Soon, we will be pulling away from our home for the last time. I get kind of nauseous at the thought, but I know it is time to start a new chapter in our life. Soon we will all be settled in our respective homes. We will make each our own with some new paint, furniture and décor. It will be hard when we come over to our current neighbors' houses for parties or play dates and won't be able to just run in the house for whatever we need or meander home after an evening of cocktails. I am sure at some point I will go to drive "home" and find myself in the wrong place unable to recognize the car on the driveway. </div>
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So many wonderful memories were made in this house. So many "firsts" happened here. All the milestones met, all the tender moments shared. Home is where the heart is and we will surely leave part of ours' here. </div>
Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-57700290262830830972013-06-04T07:23:00.002-07:002013-06-05T05:09:29.184-07:00Mystery Diagnosis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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Just when I thought my life couldn't get any more interesting,
chaotic or comical, it seems a new saga begins.<o:p></o:p><br />
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It all started Wednesday evening. I was teaching my evening class at one of the
gyms I work at and while doing bicycle crunches at the very end, happened to
notice the lymph node behind my left ear was swollen and tender. As a person who is usually running at a
standard pace of ragged, I am no stranger to this occurrence. Ever since I was a child, whenever I was run
down, tired and my immune system was on the brink of disaster, this would
happen.</div>
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Seeing as how I had just had strep throat 3 weeks prior, my
son had a fever on Saturday, my daughter was diagnosed with an ear infection on
Sunday and my husband tested positive for strep on Monday, it was no surprise I
was fighting something off.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I felt fine and not even a sore throat or stuffy nose to
speak of. Still, the next morning my
lymph node on the other side was swollen and both were pretty tender and
sore. I decided to call the doctor to
make an appointment in order to be proactive.
After all, I had a jam packed weekend with the kid’s combined birthday
party at Chuck E. Cheese, teaching classes, a 10k and a meeting at work. Tom and I were even going to try and squeeze
in a date night. I was hoping to nip
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As the day went on I started to feel worse, and despite my
efforts to lay down and rest before my doctor’s appointment, my children had
other plans for me. I started to feel
like I might be running a fever so I checked my temperature. 99.1 degrees.
I was slightly alarmed since I had already taken Advil 2 times that day
to help with the pain the swollen lymph nodes were causing. After letting the kids play outside with the
neighbor, we got ready to head to the doctor’s office. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As luck would have it, it started to rain on our way to the
doctor and we got relatively soaked on our way in. Even more luck, they had the air cranked in
the doctor’s office and I sat there shivering in the waiting room. My true luck was that I still hadn't dropped
off the Good Will bags from cleaning out my closet earlier in the week and I
had an old sweatshirt in the car. We sat
there for over an hour because the doctor had an emergency and it gave me a
chance to think. It occurred to me that
this was a bad case of Karma. I had made
fun of Tom earlier in the week when he first came down with strep throat. He was being a typical man when he was sick
and got to sleep for an entire day-and-a-half and when he was awake he did a
lot of moaning and groaning. He also
woke up one night with the chills and was literally rattling in our bed,
complete with teeth chattering. I
informed him the next day he was annoying.
Then he was annoyed with me.</div>
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So, there I was suffering my payback with teeth chattering,
body rattling, annoying everyone around me. Meanwhile, my kids were climbing all over me
and Colin was giving his stuffed animal a ride on the wheel chair in the waiting
room, then hopped in and was wheeling around in it himself. Despite how miserable I was, I was pretty
impressed with his upper body strength.
I finally gave him my iPhone to play a game and he used a drawing App to
make me a get well card. He said it was
a magic dinosaur that would make it so we didn’t have to wait so long. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When the doctor finally saw me, she must have asked me 10
times how long I had my sore throat and each time I had to explain my throat
was not sore. She finally gave me at
throat culture to see if I was getting strep again, gave me two Tylenol and a prescription
for an antibiotic for whatever infection I was battling. I stopped at Little Caesar’s on the way home
to get the kids some dinner, threw it on the table for them to have at it and
climbed into bed where I proceeded to sweat profusely while I broke my fever.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That evening, Tom picked up my prescription and I could
barely get it in me because I was so nauseous and hadn't been able to eat
much. On the second try I finally got it
to stay down. The next morning I felt
about the same. My head and neck were sore, I could barely eat and I somehow
had to get Maddie fed, dressed and ready for school. I finally got her out the door to walk to the
bus stop with the neighbor. Colin and I snuggled up for some movie time while I
napped and continued to sweat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Maddie got home from school at 11:30 and I had just enough
energy to make lunch and then made my way back to the couch. Maddie had been pouring on the drama queen
routine from the minute she got off the bus making me feel guilty that she had
nothing to do all day. You would think
that any other day I dress up as a clown and make balloon animals and have pony
rides in the backyard to entertain them.
I finally got the chance to sleep and sweat some more in the afternoon
and felt a little bit more human. Human
enough, that is to do dishes, a few loads of laundry and make dinner.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I promised the kids that if I felt better after dinner we
could go to Party City to get their party favors. That seemed to perk them up. As soon as they saw me doing laundry, they
knew things must be somewhat back to normal.
Tom came home and after dinner we all ventured to buy bubble wands for
30 kids.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That pretty much tapped all my energy for the evening and I
found myself right back on the couch. I mustered
up some additional energy to get the kids ready for bed and shortly after, went
up to get ready myself. While washing my
face I looked in the mirror and noticed that my forehead was slightly
swollen. It was right at the spot where
I had a minor breakout a few days earlier.
Tom suggested I was growing a unicorn horn. Then offered up, “Well, it is the summer of
the cicadas.” Great, now I can look forward
to becoming the urban legend of the woman who hatched cicadas out of her
head. Then I had a flashback to the
summer of the cicadas when I was in junior high. My family and I went to a family reunion at a
forest preserve that was teaming with cicadas.
My darling older brothers told me that the cicadas would crawl into my French
braid and lay eggs and then hatch in seven years. It’s been longer than seven years, but you
never know. On the bright side, if I give
birth to cicadas, I only have to take care of them every seven years, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I started to get concerned and tried to figure out what was
going on. I began to think of all the
things that this could be based on my experience. My first thought was I contracted something
from the Tough Mudder race I did a few weeks prior. Was it a staph infection?
MRSA? Was that where my one-night-stand with a cicada took place? It also
occurred to me that this could be the result of hairspray. A few years ago I ran a race with a hat on
and developed a sore on my scalp from the combination of hairspray and
sweat. As a result, my lymph node
swelled up and eventually went away on its own without any antibiotics.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I rarely use hairspray, but happened to use that hairspray
on a whim last week. A day or two after
I used it I noticed a small breakout on my forehead, but nothing to speak of on
my scalp. I am generally sensitive to a lot of hair and skin products, so it
would be no surprise that something as simple as hairspray could irritate my
skin. That, combined with the fact that
I am a massive head-sweater could only make matters worse.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And worse matters got.
I woke up Saturday morning still not feeling great, but better than I
had on Thursday and Friday. My whole head was aching, especially my scalp. I had found
substitutes for my cycle classes and tried to rest up until it was time to pick
up the cakes for the party and get the kids ready to go. I was feeling self-conscious about my forehead,
and was worried the moms of the kids coming to the party would think I had a
bad Botox injection. I made it through
the two hours of Chuck E. Cheese extravaganza and was beat by the time we got
home. Tom went to a bar to watch the
Blackhawks game with our neighbors and I sat with the kids while they opened
all their presents. I was hoping to lay down for a bit, but by the time I
picked up all the wrapping paper, got the toys out of their Ft. Knox boxes they
came in and put AA and AAA batteries in everything from a My Little Pony car to
a bug vacuum, the kids were hungry for dinner.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2sP9F3f0xVYPKBjXne10CLyYu47JPPD8fDCDkp3s7bkL4eYXjtF0UwMIs-_mVGz1sb-GgYKSX_p9iO6YLNYlHuW0aA7zZ98nf3c9W5E91-URdMUZ9TF7oJw2tn1Kk0VAvwhKGg_HJNPq/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2sP9F3f0xVYPKBjXne10CLyYu47JPPD8fDCDkp3s7bkL4eYXjtF0UwMIs-_mVGz1sb-GgYKSX_p9iO6YLNYlHuW0aA7zZ98nf3c9W5E91-URdMUZ9TF7oJw2tn1Kk0VAvwhKGg_HJNPq/s320/photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Saturday evening at Immediate Care. Fever of 101 and protruding forehead and slowly<br />
making its way down to the left side of eye. I'll call this look <b>"Bad Botox"</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I happened to go into the bathroom and noticed that my
forehead was worse. It was now more
swollen and appeared to have traveled down my face and was now just above my
eyebrows. Not to be disrespectful, but I
looked a bit like Rocky Dennis from the movie “Mask,” at least in my mind. I had already Googled a million different illnesses regarding “forehead
swelling” and “swollen lymph nodes” and finally thought perhaps I was having a
reaction to my antibiotics. Turns out
one of them was swelling of the face, tongue and lips. I texted Tom that I was heading to Immediate
Care and he said he was coming home to watch the kids. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I got there, I sat in the waiting room. Despite the freak show going on with the
other people waiting, it seemed even the strangest of the strange were staring
at me. Thankfully I didn't have to wait
long and they brought me back to see the nurse practitioner. He asked me a series of questions and finally
told me he was stumped and sent me to see the regular doctor. The led me back to another examining room and
the doctor came in a few minutes later.
She took one look at me and gasped.
She proceeded to ask me several questions and finally informed me that
she has never seen anything like this and that my presentation was “very
unusual.” I felt like I was on an episode of “Mystery Diagnosis.” She also told
me I was running a 101 fever, which I was not aware of. She told me my next step was to go to the ER
where they could run more tests. I heard
her on the phone with the hospital from my examining room as she very
dramatically described my condition to the ER doctor. I started to get scared and felt very
alone. I began to cry just as a nurse
came in to give me some Tylenol for my fever.
She tried to comfort me and said it didn't look that bad and just like I
had some bad Botox. What a bedside
manner.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I called Tom to inform him that I was on my way to the ER
and he said he would get the kids settled in bed and then call me back. When I arrived at the ER at the hospital down
the road, there were even more sideshow freaks, and I was their ring
leader. I thought I would have to wait
there in agony with barely any battery left on my iPhone, but as luck would
have it, they took me almost immediately.
They drew blood and the doctor didn’t seem overly concerned, but wanted
to see the results of the blood work to rule out any major infections or
viruses. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Luckily, everything came back negative and I waited longer
for him to contact my primary care physician than anything else. He thought that I had suffered dermatitis from
the hairspray but was not related to my swollen lymph nodes. He also used the word "irregardless," so I didn't take what he said too seriously being as irregardless is not even a word. His explanation didn't seem very logical or conclusive, but
at least my blood work was good.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
They sent me on my way and finally arrived home at 10:30 p.m.</div>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6A9rE2oZrkw9zsCaIUYMJcRDJLLjCFjqUHL9YTqcy3_MEDudp_Dd3jf6zWYvIT7lZhtyBLsksww8JJVIhLxamzH96HVh3gymD0Z7QSGDrFr9zQlL-uM_VlB66AxEE8sbEE3hMaakP44d/s1600/image+(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6A9rE2oZrkw9zsCaIUYMJcRDJLLjCFjqUHL9YTqcy3_MEDudp_Dd3jf6zWYvIT7lZhtyBLsksww8JJVIhLxamzH96HVh3gymD0Z7QSGDrFr9zQlL-uM_VlB66AxEE8sbEE3hMaakP44d/s320/image+(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6tiguL2YBkw6_j0AA97Ef0c-wTQZLJGSExS-ydX2-m4CMsWQWkPua2_buCUdp4_FgK2vTDYqX_WTqhDl2psCIbm2AbsQr9URkZoc41XoaGfvUOXhSCAcbk55he6Af48QjCZRnuNH44Qmu/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6tiguL2YBkw6_j0AA97Ef0c-wTQZLJGSExS-ydX2-m4CMsWQWkPua2_buCUdp4_FgK2vTDYqX_WTqhDl2psCIbm2AbsQr9URkZoc41XoaGfvUOXhSCAcbk55he6Af48QjCZRnuNH44Qmu/s320/image.jpeg" width="240" /></a><br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><u>Sunday: Avatar Day</u></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8V4X9mHl08YSkGw8bs6dpjU2ALJFweGPNlvl8S3qVm23obGTIDz-bebktRgwxscjDS91Sah_dzR1Q1vMKrvpRhwMZfhViahyHI2Cjf2IuJhMIOl7EwY0xrvaRwYv7aVJ3TkWG2dh4TCHV/s1600/image+(2).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8V4X9mHl08YSkGw8bs6dpjU2ALJFweGPNlvl8S3qVm23obGTIDz-bebktRgwxscjDS91Sah_dzR1Q1vMKrvpRhwMZfhViahyHI2Cjf2IuJhMIOl7EwY0xrvaRwYv7aVJ3TkWG2dh4TCHV/s320/image+(2).jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The next morning I woke up and found that the swelling had
slipped further down my face. Now I went
from looking like Rocky Dennis from the movie “Mask,” to one of the blue
creatures from “Avatar.” I skipped my
10k run, but had agreed to sub a class at a local gym. Despite my looks, I felt fine and needed to
get out of the house. I also felt the
need for a disclaimer sign around my neck saying, “I don’t usually look like an
Avatar.” I went to teach the class and
since I had never met any of the people at the gym that I was teaching at, I
felt obligated to explain the way I looked.
The whole time, the song “You’re So Vain” kept running through my
head. I taught the class and felt better
afterwards, but still had to go on with my day which involved taking care of
the kids, picking up and cleaning the house in order for our real estate agent
to come over for a meeting. Much of my
usual duties had fallen at the wayside due to my illness and the kids had all
their new birthday gifts strewn about the house. Needless to say, crawling into bed was not an
option.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We got everything done, had our meeting and then it was time
for me to make dinner and then head to an all-staff meeting at one of the other
gyms I work at. By the time I got home I
was ready to just go to bed. I was able
to enjoy a brief moment of rest and relaxation after the kids went to bed, but
soon found myself hitting the hay wondering what my face would look like in the
morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQmjk5MNThTyg8lAbpgSYgQu4yZRm94sUWek6wtBa4Bckhdhu_YE8R9x4P1yiaGGrn9yBEi0zi6XqlOJVa2m6ePAU9ABMfz7fBWUUoo-5_N1TUlafaBYC1oAgLEJVy5BzNDhNIEckcQM2/s1600/image+(5).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQmjk5MNThTyg8lAbpgSYgQu4yZRm94sUWek6wtBa4Bckhdhu_YE8R9x4P1yiaGGrn9yBEi0zi6XqlOJVa2m6ePAU9ABMfz7fBWUUoo-5_N1TUlafaBYC1oAgLEJVy5BzNDhNIEckcQM2/s320/image+(5).jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSRvjHqb2HdAxNJA_xsdxOfM1NqMTfXrsYkr2mnRWN406WQHNB8nsEfC61q2CoQ_0ibJvB4I9LtLXcHJfTI5VTbQwm8GnTQUGTmX3MrdKxjqjY5YTrmexhe0zHpf_hNGcZ6gtkLWrmShV8/s1600/image+%25284%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSRvjHqb2HdAxNJA_xsdxOfM1NqMTfXrsYkr2mnRWN406WQHNB8nsEfC61q2CoQ_0ibJvB4I9LtLXcHJfTI5VTbQwm8GnTQUGTmX3MrdKxjqjY5YTrmexhe0zHpf_hNGcZ6gtkLWrmShV8/s320/image+%25284%2529.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>Monday: Battered Wife Day</u></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: justify;">On Monday morning I awoke to find my swelling had moved
slightly further down my face and was now around and below my eyes. I looked like a battered wife. I’d have to change my disclaimer sign around
my neck to, “No, my husband does not beat me.”</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had a guy coming to give an estimate on our windows and
then took Maddie to the bus stop. Once
she was off, I had to get Colin to the neighbor’s house so I could go teach a
class. In the midst of all this other
nonsense, I developed yet another infection that is common for women on
antibiotics and we’ll leave it at that.
I got the proper medication for that phenomenon and returned home to get
Colin from the neighbor’s house, get Maddie off the bus and make lunch for the
kids.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My regular doctor who I had seen on Thursday called me to
follow up and requested I come in later in the afternoon for an
appointment. Once again, I had to drag
the kids to the doctor, but at least this time our visit was limited to about a
half-hour. She offered absolutely no
answers and asked me what if I thought I should stay on the antibiotic and if I
wanted to see an allergist. Last time I
checked, she’s the one with the doctorate, right? I told her I’d prefer to stay on the
antibiotic and I didn't think seeing an allergist was necessary at this
point. Mainly because my children were,
at that point, scaling the walls and I had no desire to see drag my kids with
me to see another doctor. She prescribed
a steroid and sent me on my way. I decided that frozen yogurt would be a good
post-doctor activity since I clearly needed some active cultures in my diet. Good
thing I’m not a doctor because that would be what I would prescribe all my
patients! In the meantime, I got a call
from another window place I had called and was ready to come out to give me my
estimate. We arrived home in time for
the kids to play outside with the neighbors and for the window guy to measure my
windows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I fed the kids dinner and we were off to the gym where I had
to teach my Monday evening cycle class.
I had to open class by explaining why I looked like I had been hit by a
shovel and took solace in the fact that the cycle studio is dark. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Once I put the kids to bed, I finally decided that after five days of having at least 5 swollen lymph nodes, 3 days of fever, 2 trips to the doctor's office, 1 to the Immediate Care, 1 to the ER, 3 different medications and a deformed face that has had me looking like everything from Rocky Dennis from the movie "Mask," to an Avatar, to a battered wife and do diagnosis, I would pour myself a glass of wine. Seemed like the best medicine to me. Yet another reason it is a good thing I'm not a doctor.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-N3hB-P0CeIm_83k4ZGVyWmCCnDP55eQ0u8CN61hpmV6UHoYwegG21jY5LCDODr79_tHlDx6rKEhJvTRjuflBUH6_DlQFXt6euynzNKAgS-_WzPVrwgTfPnbybPu-yLh7I1am2KYqBPaU/s1600/image+(6).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-N3hB-P0CeIm_83k4ZGVyWmCCnDP55eQ0u8CN61hpmV6UHoYwegG21jY5LCDODr79_tHlDx6rKEhJvTRjuflBUH6_DlQFXt6euynzNKAgS-_WzPVrwgTfPnbybPu-yLh7I1am2KYqBPaU/s320/image+(6).jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: medium;">Tuesday: On the mend. Must be the wine.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>.</b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-22033296571596766072013-05-19T18:11:00.004-07:002013-05-19T20:33:01.130-07:00One Tough Mudder<strong></strong><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMS2_kYeax1mSEY63PPgy7AFHcCW0uN5zjBFTFonKjWvRux-CuU_Q5cvcCGe7TPybFe3S9hrIUR8PS94KxBaIwIp2uRITiyF_A6TppxdAIBNFhTBAlx7uu8-XvXEvYoiMwu6E4x3irCu-/s1600/smilingplank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMS2_kYeax1mSEY63PPgy7AFHcCW0uN5zjBFTFonKjWvRux-CuU_Q5cvcCGe7TPybFe3S9hrIUR8PS94KxBaIwIp2uRITiyF_A6TppxdAIBNFhTBAlx7uu8-XvXEvYoiMwu6E4x3irCu-/s320/smilingplank.jpg" width="320" /></a>Apparently raising my two children isn't enough of an adventure for me. It as led me to take on insane challenges such as getting up at 6 a.m. on a Sunday mornings to run races, ride my bike for 100 miles and now has come to driving 2 hours to a farm outside Joliet to run 12 miles through mud and obstacle courses that include electrocution and ice baths.</div>
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It all started last year when a friend of mine competed in his first Tough Mudder. He enjoyed it so much, he thought enough to call me and tell me that I need to run the next one with him. Not sure what kind of "friend" that really makes him, but I was flattered. He ran it with some friends who were a mixed bag of runners and determined that next time he ran it he wanted to run with someone who ran at the same pace.</div>
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Now, my dear friend Chris and I met about 8 years ago through a networking group we belonged to while I was still working. We became fast friends as one of the first things I said to him was "Shut up!" as I gave him a smack upside the head when not only would he not stop talking, but everything that came out of his mouth was nonsense. </div>
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Soon we learned we both had a love of running and found ourselves on the same 5k committee for the Raue Center for the Arts. When we learned we both ran at approximately the same pace, we developed a friendly rivalry. I am convinced has helped make me a faster runner knowing he is always behind me. And I do mean ALWAYS. Well, except one time I was a pace behind him and he actually spit on me. It was as good a reason as any never to be behind him again. I think it killed him that he could be beat by a girl. </div>
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Over the years I have gotten to know his family and his wife uses me as a tool to diffuse his gigantic ego. It seems it is so enlarged, it takes two women to take it on. Being the ball-buster I am, I gladly agreed to help her out on this task. <br />
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Despite our rivalry to keep us on our toes, it seemed 5k and 10k's were getting mundane and even marathons were really just putting one foot in front of the other. After he asked me to join him on this adventure, I came up with several excuses not to. Among them were washing my hair, getting a root canal and even thought about getting pregnant exactly 9 months prior to the event to get out of it. Since I don't have any cavities, a root canal was out of the question. There is the small issue in that I had my husband fixed that prevented me from getting knocked up. </div>
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In the meantime, I did a race called the Muddy Buddy with my girlfriend from high school, another Chris. We decided to forego mani/pedis, shopping and lunch to do this adventurous course with some dirt, some mud and obstacles. I think it was 5 miles and the real dirty part came at the end when we had to army crawl through mud. She and I cracked jokes the whole way through and realized the best training for that race was playing more at the playground with our kids. We did end up filthy at the end, but once we hosed each other off we sat and relaxed in the farm field and had a few beers. It gave me an inkling that perhaps I could take on this challenge.</div>
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Unfortunately, Tough Mudder makes Muddy Buddy literally look like a day at the park with the kids. It is 12 miles and has 22 obstacles. The mud is much more prevalent, the walls are higher without pegs or ropes to help you out. There's electricity, fire and a great deal of manhandling.</div>
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Somehow I eventually caved and agreed to take on this challenge. Mainly because I caught wind of some guys from high school doing it, and being the competitive chick I am, signed up.</div>
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I checked out the course online the night before and both my husband and daughter feared for my life. I ended up Googling, "What does 10,000 volts of electricity feel like?" It varied from "you will die" to "it feels like a bee sting." The good news is my friend happens to be an insurance agent, the bad news is we didn't finalize my life insurance policy before the event.</div>
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So after all my worrying, excuses on why not to do it and general fear of the unknown, we set out to do the race. We showed up to the event and the first thing we saw was the finish line that included large patch of mud and water with live wires hanging down that you had to run through. You could literally hear people getting zapped and them yelling with each charge. Despite this, we headed for the start line. Let me break it down for you by obstacle.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhvus3Kt1sW_ZAn2k65Izt0mF9CRX-rz3Q3FmI_mGhygxuDAuZ0Fe6z3Dj7s5UbxMcuGKU9EfF_0ZrZLmMTP7Qo6GJnwNabjCFOKztMSSs1l7TxXLEmyPrMiR6W4AqXww54zeaaeQ0zyV/s1600/start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhvus3Kt1sW_ZAn2k65Izt0mF9CRX-rz3Q3FmI_mGhygxuDAuZ0Fe6z3Dj7s5UbxMcuGKU9EfF_0ZrZLmMTP7Qo6GJnwNabjCFOKztMSSs1l7TxXLEmyPrMiR6W4AqXww54zeaaeQ0zyV/s320/start.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong>Obstacle 1: Artic Enema</strong></div>
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A large dumpster filled with ice water that you have to jump in. Then go under water. It was one of the obstacles I was most fearful of since I learned that a 27-year old died a few weeks ago after jumping in. Granted, he had a heart-condition, but still. It actually wasn't that bad until the dude in front of me took what seemed like 10 years to get out. I finally got myself up and out and gained some confidence since that one was out of the way.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 2: Kiss of Mud</strong></div>
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Now that we were cold and soaking wet, we had to army crawl through mud. At least we didn't have to crawl under live wires on this one. </div>
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<strong>Obstacle 3: Electric Eel</strong></div>
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Oh, wait. Here came the one where not only is there about a foot of water/mud, but this time you had to army crawl under dangling live wires. Luckily I only got shocked twice and I barely felt it. My confidence level was boosted another notch.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 4: Glory Blades</strong></div>
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Two walls slanted \ this way making it harder to climb. I'll admit I kind of cheated on this one and used the two by fours supporting it to climb up and go over the edge/side of the board. </div>
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<strong>Obstacle 5: Trench Warfare</strong></div>
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Simply put, if you are claustrophobic, this one will be rough. I am slightly claustrophobic, but usually when it involves lots of people crowding around me and stealing my oxygen. Luckily, I was able to squeak through this one fairly quickly given my size. I actually did squeak like a mouse just for effect.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 6: Walk the Plank</strong></div>
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We stood in line for 20 minutes like they were giving away $1,000 to each participant. Rather, we waited for 20 minutes to climb 15+ feet then jump off into cold, muddy water. As luck would have it, I saw one of my friends from the gym and her husband ahead of me. This one I definitely hesitated on and the only way I finally jumped is because my friend threatened to push me. I finally did it and felt incredible afterwards.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVop0VE_hHy4v6fkI-mQmhpb1TsgINdR_QN4BYwtoPul-uNfhdU9OOkHe0a3Pm1DCk3cAavzDKrg3aGRrfIrlt8YJ4QdH-Au6rZRmaTVOsPZX6oDgWU3PZfURj1IZ1m_qAxPJcjndLFVv/s1600/giant+drop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVop0VE_hHy4v6fkI-mQmhpb1TsgINdR_QN4BYwtoPul-uNfhdU9OOkHe0a3Pm1DCk3cAavzDKrg3aGRrfIrlt8YJ4QdH-Au6rZRmaTVOsPZX6oDgWU3PZfURj1IZ1m_qAxPJcjndLFVv/s320/giant+drop.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right after I overcame my fear of heights and water. Victory!</td></tr>
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<strong>Obstacle 7: Log Jammin'</strong></div>
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This one reminded me of that episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse where Goofy trains for an obstacle course and his friends help out. They coach him to "go under, then over, then through." Except Goofy didn't have to worry about barbed wire. If you didn't pay attention to the arrows and tried to climb over a log that they wanted you to go under, you might find yourself in some pain. Overall, this one was fairly easy.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 8: Wounded Warrior Carry</strong></div>
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You and your teammate(s) are supposed to carry each other across a field. Technically, you are supposed to switch carrier/carried half way through, but I am not quite strong enough to carry a 175 lb. man, so he carried me. A little uncomfortable seeing as he's not my husband, but we made it through.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Sy3kspxMLFp9nfkezNjwT2vw8sYJPZLkbKiRyb3P1PkxGRCdlqK_U1TXH2pW8ncgSAvpYXd0qP75Mgs-3ySpd8HAV1LorWqOZtpdEeZTqJi0VVd1G4yslCS0UkNB96ceS0s9CNuuQ9Cy/s1600/chris+log.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Sy3kspxMLFp9nfkezNjwT2vw8sYJPZLkbKiRyb3P1PkxGRCdlqK_U1TXH2pW8ncgSAvpYXd0qP75Mgs-3ySpd8HAV1LorWqOZtpdEeZTqJi0VVd1G4yslCS0UkNB96ceS0s9CNuuQ9Cy/s320/chris+log.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Please note the photo of him carrying it by himself was merely for effect. <br />
We carried it together up until this fabricated photo op.</td></tr>
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<strong>Obstacle 9: Hold Your Wood</strong><br />
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Speaking of uncomfortable sexual innuendos among a bunch of men, none of which are your husband...we had to carry a log on our shoulders about a quarter of a mile. Good times.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 10: Ladder to Hell</strong></div>
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Ladder to Hell seeing as Hell for me is anywhere above 6 feet off the ground. Overall, not too bad except when I had to swing my leg over the top and since I have short legs it was a bit terrifying reaching my toes down to that first rung that was about 3 inches lower than I would have liked.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 11: Hangin' Tough</strong></div>
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This ain't no New Kids on the Block song. Rather rings hanging over 6 feet of water that you have to swing across...or in my case drop down after only making to the second ring and swimming the rest of the way. Now, I'm a nose-holder and didn't think to grab my nose when I dropped into the water and that was where I gulped in some of the yummy dirty water and struggled a bit with my lackluster swimming skills. I still made it out alive and kept running.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5tiAtc9K8TrWGan7n0QtoaB1MduQPFLAX0pvdxv5HnkY5mLvfkprH9COuIBQg1fEQmnrDQKQ9klqw41-wroFVYdnq7wptDQyVJWvVMda7oemBD20HWFFTDkBFVHcLqPxH_ktqk0b17kQe/s1600/dong+smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5tiAtc9K8TrWGan7n0QtoaB1MduQPFLAX0pvdxv5HnkY5mLvfkprH9COuIBQg1fEQmnrDQKQ9klqw41-wroFVYdnq7wptDQyVJWvVMda7oemBD20HWFFTDkBFVHcLqPxH_ktqk0b17kQe/s320/dong+smile.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong>Obstacle 12: Fire Walker</strong></div>
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I had several issues with this. The first was that I realized I had to jump over a row of flames and into muddy water. Then the smoke hit me. I found a spot on the end with relatively little flame and just leapt into the water and up the muddy hill to get out.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 13: Dong Dangler</strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBEolhyxnIysvUQNeilOVSgW8a6JsKA161lFuRdo1YRybShsIE-b1BNTmDzKSx7n-A1Otf1oYofS1_0aCa5a8cxhyPB2BtlpDTcK4C-Npo5VYVAS2-x_mxtAFOO8RNwkIjSOmSXv1Adnm3/s1600/smiling+dong.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBEolhyxnIysvUQNeilOVSgW8a6JsKA161lFuRdo1YRybShsIE-b1BNTmDzKSx7n-A1Otf1oYofS1_0aCa5a8cxhyPB2BtlpDTcK4C-Npo5VYVAS2-x_mxtAFOO8RNwkIjSOmSXv1Adnm3/s320/smiling+dong.jpg" width="320" /></a>I didn't know that was what this was called until I just looked it up on the event website. I'm not gonna lie, it made me blush. We had to hang off a hose that stretched the length of a pond and slide backwards across the water. I was doing fine until Chris got on and my legs came off the hose. I got my bearings and actually found that if I put my legs down and just used my upper body it was easier. Now that I think about it, that was probably cheating, but at this point in the game...who cares.</div>
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After some of the obstacles there were long stretches of super mucky mud to run through, but this one was the worst. I was feeling as if a torn ACL or Meniscus or Achilles tendon or something debilitating would result. It was like the scene for "Never Ending Story" where the boy, Atreyu, gets stuck in the quick sand along with his horse, Artex. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y688upqmRXo">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y688upqmRXo</a> I found it necessary to yell, "Atreyu" at least three times for comedic value. Luckily at least 3 people got the joke. Of course it smelled like the horse Artex did his business in much of the mud we came across along with that large flying dog-like lucky dragon, Falcor and a bevvy of other farm animals.<br />
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<strong>Obstacle 14: Berlin Walls</strong></div>
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Oh goody! Next obstacle we had to climb up wall that is at least 12 feet, with no rope or rungs to grab onto. The silver lining--at least 6 strange men grabbed my ass between the two walls to boost me up and then catch me. Just a regular Saturday afternoon for Michelle Stien.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 15: Mud Mile</strong></div>
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See, we thought the mile we ran in the mud after the Dong Dangler was the "Mud Mile," but as luck would have it, that was not the case. This was hills and trenches of mud and water that we had to make our way up and down. I excelled at this one and was probably one of my favorites.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 16: Dirty Ballerina</strong></div>
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No, not my nickname in high school. Rather an obstacle where we had to leap across a series of trenches of mud and water to the next patch of grass. I had a little fear kick in on this one because I knew if I missed I would slip and truly feared injury. Luckily, grace kicked in and I was able to leap over each trench to the other side.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 17: Underwater Tunnels</strong></div>
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The sign said, "Strong Swimmers Only." In the words of Martin Short "I'm not a strong swimmer." <a href="http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=martin+short+synchronized+swimming&view=detail&mid=4454A55D244B2AB319674454A55D244B2AB31967&first=0&FORM=NVPFVR">http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=martin+short+synchronized+swimming&view=detail&mid=4454A55D244B2AB319674454A55D244B2AB31967&first=0&FORM=NVPFVR</a></div>
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While I can't swim a long distance, dive or jump into water without holding my nose, I can hold my breath and go under water and swim for a good stretch. I had to swim under 4 barrels. I scared Chris on one set when I waited a minute to get some water out of my nose and he was waiting for me on the other side. When he saw someone come under he thought it was me, but instead it was a guy, he got a little frantic. Luckily I appeared a few seconds later.</div>
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Time to keep running.</div>
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We were keeping a pretty good pace on the running part and then passed a guy Chris ran with last year who said he started at 9:40 a.m. We gave ourselves a pat on the back since we started at 10:40 a.m. </div>
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No time to brag. Time to hit</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 18: Twinkle Toes</strong><br />
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Basically, this was a balance beam except if you fall off you end up in water. I was sure that I would fall off, but the night before Tom gave me a vote of confidence and told me that it should be easy for me with all my Pilates and Core strength. I repeated, "Core Strength, Core Strength, Core Strength" to myself the whole time and made it across!!! </div>
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<strong>Obstacle 19: Boa Constrictor</strong></div>
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This one we had to crawl into a tube that slanted downward into a puddle of mud and water and then climb through another tube upwards. Luckily, I am small enough that I could crawl through rather than drag my self on my forearms and spared some energy.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 20: Funky Monkey</strong></div>
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Monkey Bars have never been my strong suit and these were no exception. I took a clue from the prior obstacle with the rings and simply made the choice to jump in and swim across that water on that one.</div>
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<strong>Obstacle 21: Everest</strong></div>
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We had to take a running start toward a slippery half-pike and run all the way up it where several men were waiting to grab my arms. It took me a few tries, but on the fourth try (one of which my partner failed to grab my arm) ran with all my might, got to the top, the guys caught me and the only thing that suffered was my left boob. Good thing there isn't much there to lose, because I think I left some of it on the edge of the half-pike.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJJhG6-Q59kSiolKvqoRqSSykJQbNBtttkYYqallFP2pJLRe78aQrcac8sHoT_Wmu2Avg3sGl7QopHGoOWNEYWnBciF3k9FV3Wmm4Sl_F0mFa2V9_GcjJHLiiZH9KfvPrj5U0YZ3RU37a/s1600/finger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJJhG6-Q59kSiolKvqoRqSSykJQbNBtttkYYqallFP2pJLRe78aQrcac8sHoT_Wmu2Avg3sGl7QopHGoOWNEYWnBciF3k9FV3Wmm4Sl_F0mFa2V9_GcjJHLiiZH9KfvPrj5U0YZ3RU37a/s320/finger.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I felt at the beginning of the race at the prospect of getting electrocuted.</td></tr>
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<strong>Final Obstacle!!! 22: Electroshock Therapy</strong><br />
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This was the obstacle we saw when we first got there, and now it was time for us to take it on. We waited our turn to ensure we didn't get jammed up and stuck in the middle of a bunch of live wires. Finally, it was time to just do it. I had contemplated just skipping this one, but after the first obstacle with live wires, I wasn't as scared. This final one packed a bigger punch and they were not pleasant, but way easier than giving birth. Before I knew it I was finished and had a beer in my hand.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzbwZLQoQLaSPGuCUt-RLbL6VzvGL70APbaEFoTbSBByv9V-s06aYsuoBOVNIyhu9gQ1qm1fo76uufZP_BWJj6PO6ONS-Mtht1i1xEmoe_FED_Z3XQpOJzw8dVyPSBXJQodpUoxUkWz3o/s1600/chrisfinish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzbwZLQoQLaSPGuCUt-RLbL6VzvGL70APbaEFoTbSBByv9V-s06aYsuoBOVNIyhu9gQ1qm1fo76uufZP_BWJj6PO6ONS-Mtht1i1xEmoe_FED_Z3XQpOJzw8dVyPSBXJQodpUoxUkWz3o/s320/chrisfinish.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I felt an incredible sense of accomplishment as well as dirt and mud in places there should not be dirt and mud. Growing up with two older brothers, I always wanted to "one of the boys." Of course, I'm not exactly your quintessential Tomboy and have a great deal of fear for the unknown. I could barely do the slip 'n slide in the backyard, never jumped off the high dive, never climbed trees or made mud pies. Hell, I did speech and theatre in high school and didn't realize my athletic potential until my late 20s. Instead, I developed a big mouth and I've been known to talk a lot of trash. However, doing Tough Mudder allowed me to not only talk the talk (seeing as how I dropped more F-bombs during this event than I have in my entire life), but to walk the walk. I felt extremely strong and empowered, not only because I endured the physical aspect, but I overcame the mental challenge of the course. I learned that the only thing that held me back on any of the obstacles was my own fear, not physical ability. </div>
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I also learned something about my friendship with Chris. In my life, I've always had my brothers pushing me to do more, be better and overcome obstacles. Sometimes their "encouragement" came in the form of sitting in the stands of my little league softball games making the buzzing sound of hair clippers because they threatened that if I didn't get a hit, they'd shave my head. Seems Chris now fills this role in my life especially when he threatened to push me off the 15 foot drop. But most importantly, like my brothers, he was also there to cheer me on, give me encouragement and give me a high five when I completed a task despite my hesitation.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfBP1WytsLZ0fRaTRxbzeEsbS1IK7RiAJwRns8YfIOxxSPwrm_Gy3z828E7Ac5fTavp5OzjhOzfF0M5OlRhts6gM_khTapXNCDq8BTOWNfrzFq1ywgZoAQLjGNytpMwyCW8zkLNynMNRW/s1600/finished.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfBP1WytsLZ0fRaTRxbzeEsbS1IK7RiAJwRns8YfIOxxSPwrm_Gy3z828E7Ac5fTavp5OzjhOzfF0M5OlRhts6gM_khTapXNCDq8BTOWNfrzFq1ywgZoAQLjGNytpMwyCW8zkLNynMNRW/s320/finished.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mission accomplished.</td></tr>
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Last night a dreamt of being electrocuted and climbing piles of dirt and mud. Today I'm a little sore and I'm still cleaning dirt out from under my nails and toe nails. In fact, Maddie just informed me I still have dirt in my ear despite taking 2 showers. I'm slightly bruised, a little scratched, but overall I'm glad I got talked into doing it. I am a little concerned about a staph infection or a mean case of dysentery will set in, but now the question remains, will I do it again? I have a feeling this will be a bit like childbirth, I will conveniently forget all the pain and suffering soon enough and end up doing it again.</div>
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<br />Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-48883375146537226202013-05-14T07:38:00.001-07:002013-05-14T07:38:16.164-07:00Mother of the Year<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well, here we are. I feel like I found an old friend who has been missing in my life for awhile. A friend that keeps me on task. One who lets me pour out my feelings when I need to vent. A friend who has all the answers and gives me varying opinions on different issues. After almost a year without, I have a new laptop.</div>
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I was feeling down in the dumps. I felt like I was missing an appendage; Like I had my leg or arm amputated. The kids would do something funny or I would come up with some profound thought on parenting, and by the time I would make my way upstairs to write it down, I would end up forgetting it or get pulled in a different direction. I would find a load of laundry to do or realize that the dog had gone through the garbage in the bathroom and I'd have to pick up the mess. When I did make it to the computer, within three second of sitting down both kids would be jumping on my bed or wrestling each other or harassing the cat.</div>
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I had made a proclamation last year on my birthday that I would publish a book which meant taking all my blogs and compiling them, editing them and either self publishing or sending it to publishers and/or agents. Never happened. I also proclaimed that I would start writing another book and I got about two chapters completed before I was off on another tangent somewhere else.</div>
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I felt like I failed at being 35. </div>
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My 36th birthday rolled around and felt like I had to offer up a mea culpa for not following through on my goals. Instead I just chalked it up to lack of technological convenience with a dose of life that got in my way. </div>
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So, here I am. Back at my kitchen table without any beverages around to fry my motherboard, and I feel like I'm home again. My friend has returned and Colin has only tried to hit my spacebar three times since I sat down to write this.</div>
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I would be remiss if I didn't offer up some good stories to get me back in the swing of things. As luck would have it, Colin was on fire yesterday providing me with a variety of blog fodder. </div>
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He started the day screaming and crying before he even opened his eyes that he wanted the Lightning McQueen and Mater spaceships. I could only figure he was dreaming about buyers remorse since he got Lightning McQueen and Mater airplanes a few days ago. It took from 6:15 a.m.-7:00 a.m. to talk him off the ledge and calm him down.</div>
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We got Maddie off to school and as I was getting some stuff done around the house he informed me that he was going to get his ears pierced. Not sure where that came from, but I assured him that he would not be getting his ears pierced at the age of 4. We left the house to run some errands and I looked in the rearview mirror to see him trying to stick his head out the window. He explained that he was a dog and wanted to feel the breeze on his face.</div>
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We returned home in time for Maddie to get off the bus and then played outside with some of the neighbors. I realized quickly that this is going to be a long summer trying to get anything accomplished because I will spend half my time arguing with the kids to come inside.</div>
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We are putting our house on the market and as a result I have a lot of cleaning, painting and packing to do. I tried to clean out Colin's closet yesterday and within 5 minutes, both kids were in the 8x10 room "helping me." I told them not to touch anything, so they started beating the crap out of each other. I had to clarify what I meant by "anything," which meant each other as well.</div>
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I promised if they would just give me a few more minutes I would take them back outside. Colin got sick of waiting for me and went outside on his own. I made sure he was just in the backyard, which luckily is fenced in, and then finished what I was doing. I came downstairs a few minutes later to start dinner before we went outside and was able to watch him through the kitchen window while he played with some trucks. I was a little worried about him being out there by himself, but figured the dog was with him so he would be fine. It wouldn't be the first time I used our dog as a babysitter. Just kidding. No, seriously don't call DCFS on me. Only in Peter Pan could the family use Nana the sheepdog as their primary caregiver. </div>
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Apparently between Daisy and I we didn't do that great of a job watching Colin because before I knew it, he was at the back door knocking. I opened the door to find him standing there with his pants down around his ankles. I asked if he had peed in the yard and he said, "yes." Then I thought enough to clarify and ask if he peed in the grass or his pants while in the backyard. Unfortunately, the answer was his pants. By the way, I can't imagine where he learned that he could relieve himself in the yard ; ) </div>
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Did I mention that not only was he standing there showing off his family jewels, but he was also wearing his pajamas? He likes to jammie up in the afternoon and didn't bother changing before he went in the yard. At least he had shoes and socks on. It occurred to me that our lawn service was due to come mow our grass, and could only imagine if they walked into our backyard to witness our real life hillbilly haven.</div>
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Once I got dinner on, I took the kids outside to play with the neighbors before Colin had to go to karate. A half hour later, I was so busy arguing with the kids to get in the car, I didn't realize Colin had brought out two trucks and that our back gate was open. Tom mentioned that when he got home he found Colin's trucks on the front stoop (thanks to our neighbors) and the gate wide open. I admitted that it could be due to the fact that I let Colin outside on is own without supervision and that the worst of it was him dropping trow not leaving toys out or the gate open. He chose to just walk away from the conversation. I'm hoping it was because he realized that the only way I could get anything done to prepare the house to sell, for a warm meal to be waiting for him when he got home from work and to ensure our kids were playing outside was to let some things slide.</div>
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Needless to say, I continue my solid campaign for Mother of the Year, but at least now I can write all this shit down.</div>
<br />Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-68397012931159970612013-04-16T19:41:00.004-07:002013-04-16T19:41:45.626-07:00The Finish Line
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I
can’t tell you how many times I have crossed a finish line at a running race,
but I can tell you I will never cross another one the same again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiErnMUuRCvzDShj7uKwRUV8HbXONX7-S6aDHVTEMYDV8FRS0GlMClV19QWOnK7U5XcAm_sw_0uJkTdrSDwKZdFlFOfad9k6nV9xuQGpgLw0nhPwh5sQV6gorvDeQfUu-DbJ3c7ZZeh6nnv/s1600/DSC_0141_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiErnMUuRCvzDShj7uKwRUV8HbXONX7-S6aDHVTEMYDV8FRS0GlMClV19QWOnK7U5XcAm_sw_0uJkTdrSDwKZdFlFOfad9k6nV9xuQGpgLw0nhPwh5sQV6gorvDeQfUu-DbJ3c7ZZeh6nnv/s320/DSC_0141_2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I
heard the news about tragedy at the Boston Marathon yesterday and was in utter
disbelief that something like this could happen. While most of the races I have run in the
past have been without fear, I did run the Chicago Marathon one month after
9/11. The next year I ran the Marine Corps
Marathon just days after the Beltway Snipers were caught after a several weeks
of shootings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
At
that time, I was working in the city across the street from the Sears Tower and
had settled into the post 9/11 mindset where nothing was safe and everyone was
always looking over their shoulder. Neither of those instances prevented me from running either race, or from
people coming out in grand gestures of humanity to cheer on the runners.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Of
course, there was still that feeling of fear in the back of my mind and heart
that took away from those experiences.
Just as those memories faded, I’m reminded
once again that anything could happen at any time that could put our safety and
our families’ safety in jeopardy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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There
truly is something special about the finish line of a race whether it is a 1
mile race, a 5k a 26.2 marathon or a 100 mile bike race. I remember my first 5k so vividly where I
could barely make it the last stretch, but somehow that 6- letter word, F-I-N-I-S-H, got me through until the end despite my desire to stop. As I became a more accomplished runner, the
finish line drew my attention to the clock and my desire to beat my personal
record. It was a time where I dug deep,
and it became just as much a test of my psychological ability as my physical
ability. I can honestly say that in
spite of it all, I almost always crossed the finish line with a smile.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
As you are approaching the finish line, you think about all these people out there who have
put weeks and months into their training.
You think about all the people who have sacrificed their time and energy
to condition their body to accomplish this goal. You think about people who set out to do this
race who have never run a race before.
You think about people who are in their 60s and 70s who have been
running their whole life before running races became popular. You think of all the money that was raised in
the name of the organization associated with the race. You get a rush of
adrenaline from the spectators and you look forward to the congratulations you
receive at the end, not to mention snacks.
If you’re lucky, you get a medal, but that’s really just the icing on
the cake after all that you’ve achieved.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
When
I continued to run races after I had a family, I could almost always count on
my husband and kids to be there cheering me on at the end. Forget the finish line or the clock; I had
smiling faces clapping and excitedly jumping up and down to get me to the end. I didn’t care if I had to sacrifice 10
seconds off my time to slow down and blow kisses and wave at my kids. My husband asked me once if it bothered me
that he didn’t run races and I told him his biggest contribution to my running
is being there with the kids there to cheer me on.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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When
my husband did decide to participate in one of the races I not only ran in, but
helped organize, I pushed the kids in the jogging stroller and felt a new sense
of accomplishment pushing them over the finish line with a very respectable
time despite the 90-plus pounds of added resistance. I was proud of the runner, mother, athlete
that I have developed into over the years.
Running races has become a family affair and now I have to think about
the risk running these races involves not just for my own life, but for my own
family. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
In
just a few minutes I will leave the house to attend a meeting for another 5k
race that I help organize, and I am sure our focus will shift beyond bibs and
t-shirts to safety and security. A moment of silence for the victims and their families' will likely be added. A somber addition to a normally joyous event.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
could barely watch the reports on the news and the graphic details of all the
tragedy and carnage in Boston. However,
right before I was about to change the channel, they interviewed a few runners
from Chicago who survived and were not injured.
Their sentiments were all the same; this event would absolutely not
deter them from running the Boston Marathon again, or any other race for that matter. It made me proud to be part of
this incredible running community. My perspective has shifted, but I will
continue to run races despite my fears.
As with most runners, there will be a new thought crossing their minds’
as they cross the finish line because it goes without saying, we will never
forget.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<!--EndFragment-->Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-36624419799563437432013-03-15T11:19:00.003-07:002013-03-15T22:28:12.346-07:00Math Sucks<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I knew "Math
Night" sponsored by Maddie's school was going to be interesting from the
get-go. Clearly, the teachers talked up this event to the kids to the
point where my daughter actually uttered the words, "This is going to be
the best night ever!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I personally have
never used the words "best night ever" and "math" in the
same sentence. Just ask anyone who has witnessed me doing math homework.
Throw in my other arch nemesis, grocery shopping, and I knew someone
would be in tears by the end of the night. My bet was that it was going to be
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">The day started
like most where I had to pick my battles especially where Colin was
concerned. I was calm when he refused to
wear his gym shoes and insisted in wearing rain boots. I was calm when I had to
coax a truck out of his hand on his way into preschool. I remained calm when he
screamed at me when he wanted Skittles and we didn't have any. Then he whined
for more juice when he'd already had one Capri Sun. Later in the day, he banged
on the keys to Maddie's keyboard and despite me telling him at least ten times
to stop, I finally got to the point where I hit my breaking point and had to
yell at him. The only reason I got that far in the day before losing my
cool was because I forked over an extra $20 to have him stay at school for
Playhouse that bought me an extra 3 hours of sanity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I had to rattle
his cage to get him to go potty, put his shoes and coat on and get out if the
house in order to get to Math Night at the local Dominick's. Maddie was anxious to leave for the event
and if it were up to her, we would have skipped dinner and just opened a bag of
chips from the aisles to snack on instead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">When we walked in
the door, Colin seemed into it until he saw the boy next door and began
throwing a temper tantrum because he wanted to be with him. My neighbor
agreed to take him with them, but then he cried because he wanted to be with me
too. They calmly walked away from us and were done with Math Night before
we even finished our first problem. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I coaxed him with
a snack that I would have gladly ripped open from the shelves. I offered Fruit
Ninja on my phone. Instead he laid down on the floor in middle of the aisle.
Then he started asking for the cart that has a car where you can sit and watch
cartoons. I tried to hold him off as long as possible until he bolted towards
the coral of carts. I got Maddie and our current "boring gray
cart" (his words) and was willing to succumb to his request just to getthrough the rest of our excursion when I realized they were turned off/out of
order. I tried to explain that they didn't work to Colin, but all he saw was
red as he tried with all his might to pull out the cartoon cart against the
iron clad brake locking it in place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Maddie jumped in
and tried to get him to "step away from the carts," to no avail. I
finally told her to ignore him and walk away. Her face was about as
flushed as mine from the spike in blood pressure. She and I clenched our
jaws simultaneously. Soon Colin begrudgingly followed us back to the aisles to
finish our math problems, but continued to scream and cry at the top of his
lungs. Maddie told me this was not how
she thought Math Night would turn out and that Colin was completely
embarrassing her. Poor kid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I promptly texted
Tom to find out what his ETA was at math night was because Colin was shattering
Maddie's math night dreams and aspirations. Mind you, it was Tom who was
adamant about Maddie attending Math Night.
I’m not sure who was more excited, Tom or Maddie. Not that he is a math wiz by any means, but
because he not one and really wants to make sure our kids excel in math since
neither of us do. He uses it every day
and wishes he was better at it. He told
me the other night that “Maddie has a long way to go” as far as math is
concerned. My response, “Of course she
does…she’s in kindergarten. She has
twelve years to go, actually.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Tom was
disappointed because he had a meeting that ran late and wasn’t able to get
there until the tail end of the event. Of
course he walked with a cool head and took over. I don't know what he bribed
Colin with, but Colin accepted his phone within 1 minutes and didn’t mentioned
the damn cartoon cart until we made it to the car out of earshot of Tom where
he yelled at me once again for not getting the cart for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">After my experience
at Math Night, I’ve come up with some grocery stores based math problem for
you...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Problem 1:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Annoyed,
frustrated and bewildered mommy is moving at a rate of 80 steps a minute. The
liquor aisle is 400 feet away. If we know that there are 100 steps between each
aisle, how long does it take for said mommy to get to the liquor aisle?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Problem 2:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">How many glasses
of wine does it take for mommy from problem 1 to decompress after a school
organized event surrounding math, grocery shopping, a kindergartner and a
crabby 3 year old?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Problem 3:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">How many minutes
does it take for DCFS to arrive after a child has been beat?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-7573478297573715282013-03-08T12:15:00.004-08:002013-03-08T12:27:26.582-08:00Target-ed For Disaster<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6053974422110587892" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SOwoPGCDYLY61qMElVRn0pEaXVVnEj_dPWDsEsMFTXEH5uq9zSwB6x09HD1sXzx8pmUJPcr9z8CKfSCoHv4jpr-tJtKUwpc55gN5Qt1rjutxi3WiVSCvNH08z-nkojC3HnYZrJAXBRHb/s1600/targetshopping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SOwoPGCDYLY61qMElVRn0pEaXVVnEj_dPWDsEsMFTXEH5uq9zSwB6x09HD1sXzx8pmUJPcr9z8CKfSCoHv4jpr-tJtKUwpc55gN5Qt1rjutxi3WiVSCvNH08z-nkojC3HnYZrJAXBRHb/s320/targetshopping.jpg" width="163" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This sums it up pretty well.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Sick
as it sounds, I sometimes use trips to Target purely to get out of the
house…even with the kids.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Since
Target is essentially my second home, there is some sense of comfort and
entertainment I get from going there.
When I go without the kids it might as well be a beach vacation to
Tahiti for the amount of peace and tranquility it gives me. If I bring the kids, it isn’t quite so Zen,
but I can usually bribe them with a treasure from the dollar bins and maybe even
some Pizza Hut pizza in order to get through the trip. My friend and I have even used lunch and a
shopping trip at Target as a play date.
We realized quickly how bad our judgment was on that call when our
three- year old sons started racing each other up and down the aisles
pretending they were dragons. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Yesterday
was one of those days where I felt like between waiting for Colin to poop
(which he finally did) and sitting around watching cartoons, we needed to get
out of the house for a bit. Besides, I
needed ground beef, bananas and waffles.
So, off to Target we went.
Mistake number one: I let the kids hit the dollar bin first. Normally I purposely park at the opposite
door from the treasure trough of crap so I can hang it over their heads’ the
whole shopping trip. Maddie got some
Easter egg decorating kit and window clings for her room and Colin got a rubber
football and this obnoxious claw-like thing that looked like what my 4’10
grandma used to get things from shelves higher then five feet.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
From
there I wanted to head to the children’s clothing section to do one of my most
favorite things to do at Target…hunt through sale racks. I get a warm fuzzy feeling from those bright
orange tags on their merchandise and my excitement only grows when I move from
the 30% off rack to the 50% off rack all the way to the 70% off rack!!! My sale-rack-buzz was immediately killed when
Colin ran off into the racks of clothes and gave me flashbacks to the
kidnapping of Adam Walsh in the early 80s. (son of John Walsh from America’s
Most Wanted). He is the namesake of
“Code Adam” and was kidnapped from a Sears store in Florida. He was only a few
years older than me as his case left an indelible impression on me for the rest
of my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We
scored some deals for Maddie and even some Wonder Woman/Super Girl/Bat Girl
underwear before moving on to the boy’s section. Colin desperately needed pants pj’s that
didn’t make him look like he belonged to the Hillbilly Pit Crew from Cars since
most of his pj’s were Cars themed and two inches too short. We thought we hit the jackpot with a Power
Rangers Samurai shirt on the sale rack until we discovered it was the wrong
size. Colin was soon disengaged from the
hunt for deals that also had his favorite characters and ran off into the toy
section conveniently located right across from the boy’s section, but just out
of my line of site. I decided to give up
my hunt for discounted clothes for him and just grab whatever shirts and pants
I could find in his size. In the midst
of my screaming and yelling at Colin and one full-blown temper tantrum, I found
a Sonic the Hedgehog shirt for him. That
was a major accomplishment until I had to wrestle a $30 set of Cars from him
which ended in temper tantrum number two of our shopping trip. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
He was screaming and crying walking behind me
as I made my way to the grocery section of the store. He then fell into lethargy mode where he
claimed he was hungry, thirsty and tired.
I remembered I had a Capri Sun in my purse and despite the fact he had
two glasses of orange juice mixed with Miralax earlier to stimulate bowel
movement, I gave in and threw him in the cart and shoved the straw in his
mouth. It kept him occupied for a whole
1.5 minutes until he picked up that claw thing and began clicking it
incessantly. Maddie tried to help out by
taking it away from him, which sent Colin into a tizzy and then she started
clicking it. I gave it back to Colin
just as we entered the frozen food section and he grabbed each handle of the
freezer doors as we went by. I lost my
temper and grabbed the damn toy away from him and tossed it below the
cart. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I headed for the yogurt section
and could barely focus on the brand I usually get when I heard someone call my
name. Oh crap. It never fails when I am screaming like a
banshee at my kids, I run into someone I know who probably knew I was in the
store 20 minutes before she saw me by the antics going on in the kids’ clothing
section. Luckily it was a friend from
high school who has three kids of her own.
She told me that they had just gotten off a run of illnesses that
wreaked havoc on their entire house and that was the first day they had gotten
out. I’m hoping they were just so happy
to be out of the house they didn’t notice how idiotic we looked and sounded. I’m
also hoping the fact that they seemed to peaceful and serene compared to the
flames shooting out of my kids ears was because they just didn’t have their
energy back. Initially I was a little worried about getting too close to them
for fear we’d get sick until I remembered I had just used Colin’s stuffed
animal to wipe his nose when he sneezed and he had licked the counter at the
gym earlier that day. I think we were
well on our way to our own plague.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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I
grabbed the last few things from the aisles before I went to the produce
section. The kids insisted on looking at
the catalog of birthday cakes at the bakery section. I let Colin out of the cart and they
proceeded to rifle through the binders all while managing to unhinge the pages
leaving them all mangled. I tried to put
the pages back in their rightful place in the first book and was working on the
second when Maddie opened the binder rings back up and the pages I had just put
back and then-some came falling out again.
I got her away from the display before any more damage could be done and
made sure Colin didn’t jump over the counter and start putting his finger in
any cake frosting.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I
got the remainder of my produce and headed toward the checkout line. At that point, Colin had opened the little
mesh bag his football came in and ripped the tag off his grabber claw thing
leaving the checkout guy instantly annoyed with me. Meanwhile, Colin was in the empty checkout
line next to us launching a car off the conveyor belt. I warned him three times to knock it off
before his car (the kind you pull back and then it goes forward at Mach 3)
crashed into the bagging area. I finally
grabbed it from him just as the checkout guy held up the stuffed animal Colin
brought with him that he had also put on the conveyor belt. This twentysomething might have gone to get
an emergency vasectomy after he encountered us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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As I
left the store an hour-and-a-half after entering it, $187 poorer, set off the
security alarm and without the syrup on my list. I patted Colin down to make sure he didn’t
lift a Matchbox car and we were on our way.
At that point, I felt it necessary to vent to my Facebook friends. “Longest. Trip. To. Target. Ever.” My mother-in-law saw one of my follow-up
comments that this “fun trip” cost me $187, and she immediately called me to
see if Colin shoplifted, broke something or we were fined in some way. Apparently she doesn’t spend that much on her
typical trip to Target like we do.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I
guess the only thing that could have made this trip worse, besides my
three-year old getting arrested for shoplifting, was if Colin’s Miralax hadn’t
kicked in earlier that day and he would have had to sit in the bathroom for an
extra 45 minutes trying to poop. It’s
all about the silver linings.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-44738522485026654812013-02-11T11:22:00.001-08:002013-02-11T11:22:21.235-08:00Shit Happens...
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I’ve
been on a bit of a hiatus from writing lately, but there is nothing like a good
poop story to drag me out of my writing lull.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Let
me start by explaining why my writing has been hibernating this winter. I have found since the untimely death of my
laptop, that finding time to come up to my computer that is now safely situated
in my bedroom away from the dangers of the kitchen table is extremely
difficult. We opted for a desktop
computer versus a laptop to ensure we didn’t face any water-spilling
mishaps. I thought I had found a
solution to this dilemma when I bought a new case for my iPad that had a
Bluetooth keyboard, which meant I could use it to write as long as I downloaded
the application Ever Note. It is much
easier to work on my writing downstairs where the kids are playing otherwise
they follow me upstairs and act like assholes jumping on my bed or stare at me
and ask a million times to print something out, play DisneyJunior.com or
SprountOnline.com while I trying to concentrate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Then,
on New Years Eve I found myself closing out 2012 with one last Apple product
mishap. I taught cycle that morning and
afterward the kids and I grabbed a snack in the café at the gym. Once we finished there, we were headed to go
grocery shopping, so I had the kids go potty before we left. We headed into the family locker room and I
purposely brought my purse and iPad into the bathroom with me so I would not
leave it laying out for someone to take.
Colin went first and then I did and while I was going to the bathroom,
Colin opened the door and ran out. I
hurried up and finished before some dad who had just taken his kids swimming
saw me peeing, jumped up washed my hands and in my rush to run after Coin,
grabbed my purse, but left the iPad sitting on the counter next to the
sink. It wasn’t until I returned home
two hours later that realized I had forgotten it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
ran back to the gym immediately and not only was it no longer sitting on the
counter, but whoever picked it up had a case of “finder’s keepers, loser’s
weepers” and took it as their own. I
tried to track it with the “Find My iPhone” application to no avail. It seems that the culprit had already changed
the Apple ID to their own, so I couldn’t track it. Bottom line, it’s a goner. I filed a police report so I could claim it
on my homeowners insurance, but as luck would have it we have a $1,000
deductible, and that is more than the value of the iPad and case.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
No,
I haven’t been sitting around with--pardon the expression--my thumb up my
ass. Instead, I’ve had it up
Colin’s. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
It
seems just when I thought having poop cleanup be number one on my list of
responsibilities was coming to an end, it only got worse. Colin has been potty trained since the
summer, but was still having issues with going poop. He was suffering from a very common ailment
that many boys his age go through called “anal retention.” And I don’t mean his need to keep his socks
and underwear in perfect alignment in his drawers. This Freudian term is defined as children who experience conflicts during the anal stage
and may develop "anal" personality traits, namely those associated
with a child's efforts at excretory control: orderliness, stubbornness, a
compulsion for control. If you know
Colin at all, it is his stubbornness that is to blame for this compulsion. In simple terms, he was holding his poop.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
He
could and would go for days without going despite several moments where he
would stop dead in his tracks, his face would get red, his eyes would tear and
I was sure he was going to crap himself.
On several occasions I would run him to the bathroom only to have him
sit there for long periods of time and not do anything. Unfortunately, this usually happened at the
most inopportune times like in the middle of DSW show store, at the grocery
store or right before we had to leave the house. I would sit in the bathroom with him, read to
him, set up my iPhone on the counter so he could watch a Netflix movie or even
let him hold on to me much like a woman in labor would do while giving birth
without pain medication. If you saw what
eventually came out of him, you might think he did actually give birth. That’s what happens when you hold poop in you
for days. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
There
were several occasions when we sat there for so long, we would end up being
late for things, like school, a meeting with my boss at the gym or I’d have to
miss things all together like meetings for the 5k committee I’m on. Thankfully they were all things that could be
missed and/or with people who I know well enough to say, “Sorry I was
late/missed that. My son was trying to
take a massive poop.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
knew full well that it was a vicious cycle.
He would be afraid or too stubborn to go for whatever reason and then
the longer he waited, the more poop built up and he knew how much it would hurt
(as it would anyone with 4 days worth in them), and that would make him even
more fearful to go. I would try to wipe
him to try and stimulate that area as well as to wipe away and residual poop
that was ready to escape at any given moment.
I even tried using the wipe to press on his butthole or went so far as
to put the rectal thermometer up his but with some Vaseline on it to get things
moving. Never in my life did I ever
expect to spend so much time with my finger or other objects up a boy’s
butt. Ever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Tom
would yell at me that he would go when he had to go. He didn’t understand why I was so stressed,
but he also never experience a trip like the one to the dollar store where
Colin stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed his butt. He didn’t have to drag Colin into the
bathroom along with Maddie and peel off all the layers of winter clothes to get
him on the pot. Then worry that all of
our belongings were lying on the filthy bathroom floor of Dollar General. You would think with all those reasonably
priced cleaning products they would use some of them on their own bathroom, but
I digress.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Meanwhile,
Maddie is having a panic attack because she has developed a fear of being in a
small, enclosed bathroom that is about a thousand degrees while we wait 45
minutes for Colin to poop. Meanwhile,
Colin has a large skid mark on his underwear where said poop has touched cotton
and each time I wipe him, the toilet paper is not clean. That’s how I know he has to poop. Did I mention it had been 4 days since he
pooped?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
These
marathon sessions would occur several times over a day or two until he would
finally give birth, I’d plunge the toilet to rid it of the man-sized turd and
we could go about our day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
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The
other fun aspect of this phase is that as he would have the sensation to poop,
he would also feel like he had to pee and in most cases could only control one
bodily function at a time and end up peeing his pants or if he did happen to be
sitting on the pot, he’d push so hard he forget about his wiener and he’d pee
on the floor, the wall across from him and if I didn’t get out of the line of
fire, me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I
finally broke down and bought some Miralax to give him hoping it would
encourage healthy bowel movement so a) he’d HAVE to go and b) when he’d go it
wouldn’t be so hard. It started to work until he ended up with an ear infection
and I was worried that the combination of antibiotics and Miralax would do a
number on him. Within a few days, the
magic of antibiotics had him pooping like a champ and he’d even go on his own
without me sitting there and being his birthing coach. Unfortunately, he wasn’t so good at asking
for help wiping, so he would end up with residual poop on his leg that we
wouldn’t realize was there until later in the day when it was bath time. Oops.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Overall
the situation has improved, and Colin has overcome his fear of “dropping the
kids off at the pool.” He did have a rather large man-poop the other day that
had me not only plunging the toilet, but using a hanger to break up the poop
and then fishing it out of the toilet. Meanwhile, I ended up dipping the end of
the scarf I was wearing into the toilet water that was dangerously close to
overflowing over the top of the toilet seat. I swear some times my life is just
one long episode of “Dirty Jobs.” Of course, when I’m not dealing with my own
children’s feces, my darling dog enters the picture….but that’s a story for
another time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-45008531275730310712012-12-18T07:26:00.004-08:002012-12-18T07:26:47.789-08:00Safe and Sound
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<br />
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Today, I
put my daughter on the school bus just like I have done every day since her
first day of school in August. But today
was different. Today, I felt a tug at my
heart and a pang of fear, lack of trust and paranoia come over me. I realized that I will likely never put her
on the bus the same way I did before Friday, December 14, 2012.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
The
school shooting in Connecticut is not the first where I have found myself
watching the news reports with tears in my eyes and jaw dropped open at such an
atrocity. But this time it hit a little
closer to home since this is the first school shooting that has occurred since
one of my own children is in school. Not
only that, but the children that were killed were only a year older than my
daughter. When the shooting occurred, I
happened to be volunteering in Maddie's classroom. I spent time with each of the students
playing word games with them in the library, three students at a time. I love working with the kids because I get to
see all their personalities, get hugs from them because they know that even
though I'm not their mommy, I'm still a little piece of their own mommy with
them at school. I love to hear their
stories about "this one time...my mom took me the store and I wanted a toy
and she said no..." or "this one time...my dog took a giant poop in
the backyard and I stepped in it and..."
or whatever the story may be, I am a captive audience and their little
voices, little expressions and even little runny noses make me smile.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
I think
about my time in the classroom and how the same kinds of things were likely
going on at the same time when tragedy struck.
Smiling faces, young minds at work and giggles all interrupted and
violently brought to a screeching halt.
I cannot even wrap my mind around it, yet I can because I can vividly
imagine what would happen if a gunman entered my daughter's school. It gives me nightmares. My heart breaks for
those families and those left behind with the painful memories and loss. There are so many questions, opinions and a
new awakening of fear that may have been put at the wayside between now and the
last school shooting we had to hear about.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
Then I am
shifted to a different time in my own life when going to school meant a
constant underlying fear and paranoia.
When I was ten years old, my parents split up due to my father's overall
inability to provide a stable, healthy environment to my mom, brothers and
I. Prior to his departure from our
day-to-day lives, he exhibited erratic behavior that prompted not only my mom,
but my dad's brothers to step in and try to get my dad into some sort of
psychiatric program. Unfortunately,
despite his history of violence against my mom and brothers, emotional abuse to
all of us, inability to hold a steady job, substance abuse and a long list of
manic behavior, the best he ever got was a short stay in a psych ward. See, because family members cannot force
their loved ones into treatment. My dad
would agree to go in, check out the wallpaper and then check himself out. That's the way the mental health system
works.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
He was
even free to roam the streets freely after the event that lead to my dad to
ultimately get kicked out of my grandparent's house where we lived, which
involved trying to run my brother over with a car in front of our house. I remember feeling a sense of relief that the
day-to-day drama was over, but that just gave way to the kind of trouble my dad
caused once he was out of the house. It
started with him trying to break into our house, vandalizing my mom's car,
stealing my mom's car, sitting out in front of our house and calling the house
constantly like a bill collector. We
would call the police and they would come to the house to question my dad who
likely would be parked out front. He
would show them his driver's license with our address on it and they would be
on their way. We ultimately changed our
phone number and my mom sent my one brother and I away to my aunt's in
Pennsylvania for the summer hoping the worst of it would be over by the time we
returned. That just made him more angry
and fueled his erratic behavior. It
meant more mean phone calls to my mom at work, threats, keying the word
"whore" into her car and more stalking in general.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
Once
again, the police were no help because until my dad actually hurt one of us, he
was not seen as a threat. Once my
brother and I returned from Pennsylvania to start the school year, my dad
started showing up at our schools. We
were never sure what his motive was, our biggest fear was that he would kidnap
or hurt us in some way. His mental state
left a lot of questions of what he was capable of. We certainly knew violence was part of his
M.O., we just didn't know how far he was capable of taking it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
I was
supposed to move from the Catholic school to public school in sixth grade, but
it was clear that staying at a smaller school where everyone knew our situation
was the safest bet. Around the same
timeframe, Laurie Dann, a mentally unstable woman, entered a school in
Winnetka, IL, and shot several students, killing one and injuring several
others. Winnetka wasn't that far from
where we lived and it sent up red flags to many schools to increase safety and
security. As luck would have it, it
prompted my school to lock the doors and install a doorbell so guests had to check
in at the office. This meant that if my
dad showed up, the women in the office who knew him could immediately take
action. Of course, in retrospect, I'm
not sure what they could have really done if my dad really wanted to enter the
school and cause harm. Much like the
school in Connecticut, the doors were locked and when the man broke the glass
and entered the school, the people in the office tried to stop him to no avail.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
Even when
I entered high school, he would show up occasionally and it was more difficult
to explain to my counselor as well as the police counselor why I felt so
threatened by my own father. I also
worked at the church rectory when I was in high school and he would call me
there and sometimes he would just want to talk to me, while other times the
calls were threatening. He even showed
up at the rectory a few times, but once again because most of the parishioners
and priests knew him and our situation, they were able to get me out of there
safely.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
He showed
up at my high school graduation uninvited, and I saw him as I turned the corner
inside the school where I was lining up with the rest of my class. I had to dodge him by going through another
part of the school to avoid him. I think
of all those instances and what his intentions were, but more importantly how
much damage he could have done. I want
to think that he was just trying to see me, but there are a lot of things
"you would think" a father would want for his children and he
certainly never did those things, so who knows where his mind was at.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
Luckily,
he got his hands on an article from the local newspaper that stated I was
attending Northern Illinois University even though I had ultimately decided to
attend Illinois State. We continued to
tell my dad I was going to Northern knowing full well if he knew I was at ISU,
he would be on my doorstep much like he did to my brother while he went there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
I lived
in college feeling relatively safe until my junior year when I received a phone
call from my brother who told me not to leave my apartment. My dad spent a lot of his time in Central
Illinois even after my brother left ISU due to some family members from that
area. My brother found out that my dad
was at the student center at ISU and was worried that our paths might cross. Of course, it had been several years since my
dad and I had seen each other face-to-face, but since I lived only blocks away
from the student center and walked the path right past it several times a day,
there was a good chance we'd end up finding out exactly what would happen if he
did recognized me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
I hid out
in my apartment for several hours while my brother drove to ISU to pick my dad
up and took him to another city where he was ultimately trying to get to. That same year my dad showed up at my brother's
wedding uninvited and had to be escorted out by my uncle. Again, another seemingly innocent appearance
caused most of us to pause while our hearts skipped several beats unsure of
what would happen next. It is a scary
place to be and not something I wish on anyone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
Ultimately,
my dad continued to live on the streets of several different cities abusing the
system and prescription drugs in the process.
He was finally arrested in Florida for laying down in the middle of
traffic on a busy road and was committed to a mental institution. After years of sampling mental healthy
facilities, he was finally forced to stay, evaluated and diagnosed with
schizophrenia. Of course, this wasn't
the end of his trip. He was eventually
released from that facility and to be honest, I'm not real clear on what his
exact path was from there. I just know
it involved a trial and error process of medications, programs, facilities and
jail. He sent a slew of incredibly
strange letters with over-the-top religious rants, newspaper clippings with
rambling notes written in the margins and random phone calls to whomever he
could reach.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
As the
year's passed, his lifestyle and physical health led to his inability to
walk. It was at this time, he was put
into a nursing home for both his physical and mental ailments. It wasn't until he was in one of these homes
completely unable to get out, that I finally went to see him and was able to
forgive him. I wasn't sure to what
extent I could have him in my life after all of the horrible childhood memories
and fear I lived through, but I needed to come to terms with my relationship
with him. I knew that I had to be
careful, because I knew full well that when it came to my dad, if you open the door
a crack to help him or let him in, he would swing it wide open and take
advantage. I kept distance, but forgave
him in my heart.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
Over the
years I have continued to struggle with my relationship with him. It will never be a "normal"
father-daughter relationship. His health
continues to deteriorate and he has moved from one facility to another. Luckily, after years of tinkering with his
psychiatric medication, he seems to be relatively "even-keeled." However, this past year I also found out that
based on one of his antics and run-ins with the law in the past, he was placed
on the "Registered Offenders List" making it even more difficult for
him to find a quality facility to take care of him. On one hand, I try to justify his behavior
based on his mental health, but can't ignore the deviant, unpredictable and
downright evil things he has said and done, even to members of his own
family. The biggest lesson I have
learned is that there is difference between forgiveness and reconciliation. I can forgive, but will likely never
reconcile.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
I wonder
if "The System" was different, how things my have turned out
differently? Would we have been able to
get him into a program that truly treated his mental illness earlier so that he
could have been put on proper medication from the get-go? Could he have been a functioning member of
society and our family as a result?
"The System" certainly didn't make it easy for any of this to
happen. I try not to get political, but
I can tell you "The System" is broken. The policies in place don't work to treat
patients with such mental illnesses properly and certainly don't protect their
families. The current state of affairs
leaves the decision up to the patients themselves, which seems
counter-productive since, in most cases, they aren't in their right mind to
make a proper decision to begin with. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
And
stalking laws have improved slightly since my dad was sitting outside our house
and schools, but it still takes a whole heck of a lot to prove that there is a
valid threat until it is likely too late.
I'm not sure how to fix it. I'm
not sure how to help the people who need help or to assist their families to
either work and live with mental health issues, or protect them from those with
mental health issues. What I do know is
that the world is full of sick people who do horrible things and it is clear
that there is something seriously amiss with their mental state. On one hand,
every where you turn people are taking anti-psychotics, but as someone who
takes anti-psychotics myself, it doesn't take much to have them
prescribed. I had several doctors offer
them to me without even knowing any detailed information about my personality,
issues with depression/anxiety or family history. All I had to say was that I
"struggled" a bit and they were ready to put me on whatever drug
their pharmaceutical rep brought in that day along with a tray of sandwiches
for the whole staff. I was fortunate
enough to eventually find doctor who knew not only my health history, but asked
the right questions to ensure she prescribed me with a drug that was the best
fit for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
Of
course, my case is far more mild than what we are dealing with when it comes to
my dad or Adam Lanza, but my point is that there is a clear disconnect and lack
of true understanding of how serious mental health issues can be. I can only imagine what Nancy Lanza went through raising her child. Reports indicate that he was always shy,
awkward and had a hard time fitting in and that he had a Aspergers, a form of
Autism. He was removed from mainstream
school and partially home schooled. His
dad gave more money than his attorneys suggested in order to provide adequate
services for his treatment. Clearly,
these parents went above and beyond to help support their son and his disorder
which is not technically considered a mental illness anyway. Aspergers Syndrome alone does not explain his
violent act, however what more could have been done to help this boy in order
to prevent this from happening and how can we help other troubled individuals
whatever their issues may be in order to prevent this from happening in the
future? I don't know the answer to this
and I wish I did. I don't know what more
my mom and my dad's brothers could have done to get him the treatment he
needed. I don't know what any family
members of any of the other people who have been charged in previous school
shootings could have done. Chances are
they were left scratching their heads, frustrated that there were no real
answers, no real help or treatment to help with their troubled children much
like the lack of resources available when we were dealing with my dad.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
Either
way you look at it, we are once again looking over our shoulders. Whether it be 911, Columbine, the movie theatre in Colorado, Northern
Illinois University or any of the other random acts of violence our nation has
endured, we've become a society riddled with fear. All I can do do is hold my babies close and
hold my breath each day until they arrive safely home from school. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
I'm
thankful that I made it out of my childhood alive and as much as I hate to say
this, I am thankful that my dad's physical ailments made it possible for him to
be in a nursing home where he can never leave.
It is one less thing to worry about these days. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-54550951654361302182012-12-11T15:27:00.001-08:002012-12-18T07:11:35.136-08:00Happy Hanukah!<br />
<div class="aboveUnitContent" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px; text-align: left;">
<div class="userContentWrapper">
<div class="_wk" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<span class="userContent">Today's trip to the grocery store went something like this:<br />Colin: Mom, I want one of those birthday candle things for Hanukah.<br />Me: they are called menorahs and I'm not buying one because we aren't Jewish and we don't celebrate Hanukah.<br />Col</span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">
<span class="userContent">in: Yes, we are Jewish!!!</span><br />
<span class="userContent">Me: no, we believe that Jesus is the son of God and Jewish people don't.</span><br />
<span class="userContent">Colin: (screaming) I don't believe in Jesus! I'm Jewish and I want that menorah!!</span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">Hence, our latest purchase along with some gelt. Happy Hanukah to you and yours'.</span></div>
<span class="userContent">
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="photoUnit clearfix" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; margin: 0px -15px; overflow: hidden; position: relative; text-align: left; zoom: 1;">
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<a ajaxify="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10200133629330660&set=a.2970843357310.151939.1448522007&type=1&relevant_count=1&src=https%3A%2F%2Fsphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net%2Fhphotos-ash3%2F55851_10200133629330660_523426069_o.jpg&smallsrc=https%3A%2F%2Fsphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net%2Fhphotos-ash3%2F60975_10200133629330660_523426069_n.jpg&size=2048%2C1536&theater" class="_6i9" href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10200133629330660&set=a.2970843357310.151939.1448522007&type=1&relevant_count=1" rel="theater" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer;"></a><br />
<div class="uiScaledImageContainer photoWrap" style="height: 403px; margin-left: 3px; overflow: hidden; position: relative; width: 403px;">
<a ajaxify="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10200133629330660&set=a.2970843357310.151939.1448522007&type=1&relevant_count=1&src=https%3A%2F%2Fsphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net%2Fhphotos-ash3%2F55851_10200133629330660_523426069_o.jpg&smallsrc=https%3A%2F%2Fsphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net%2Fhphotos-ash3%2F60975_10200133629330660_523426069_n.jpg&size=2048%2C1536&theater" class="_6i9" href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10200133629330660&set=a.2970843357310.151939.1448522007&type=1&relevant_count=1" rel="theater" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer;"><img alt="Photo: Today's trip to the grocery store went something like this:
Colin: Mom, I want one of those birthday candle things for Hanukah.
Me: they are called menorahs and I'm not buying one because we aren't Jewish and we don't celebrate Hanukah.
Colin: Yes, we are Jewish!!!
Me: no, we believe that Jesus is the son of God and Jewish people don't.
Colin: (screaming) I don't believe in Jesus! I'm Jewish and I want that menorah!!
Hence, our latest purchase along with some gelt. Happy Hanukah to you and yours'." class="scaledImageFitWidth img" height="403" src="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/c67.0.403.403/p403x403/60975_10200133629330660_523426069_n.jpg" style="border: 0px; height: auto; min-height: 100%; position: relative; width: 403px;" width="403" /></a></div>
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</a></div>
</div>
Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-85963951811708654672012-12-05T12:49:00.002-08:002012-12-05T12:52:23.882-08:00 It’s The End Of The World As We Know It and I Feel Fine<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">We
make a conscious effort to take the kids to church as much as possible despite
that fact the experience is far from reverent.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
The
act of actually getting out of the house with everyone looking presentable is
no small feat in and of itself. Then we
have to make sure we have accouterments like Goldfish, fruit snacks and
water. Once the food runs out, there
needs to entertainment and I still have yet to allow my kids to play with my
iPhone during mass. I guess I am a
little old fashioned that way, but I find myself pulling out the quintessential
parenting line, “We never had fancy things like that to play with in church
when I was your age. We were expected to
sit quietly and pay attention to what the priest was saying.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I’ll
admit for a while, we just didn’t even bother bringing Colin because he was
such a nuisance. They have childcare at
the church, but I was always worried he would bite someone and there would be
no way for them to locate me in the church.
I could just imagine the priest stopping his homily to announce that my
son had bit someone and that he was going to Hell. I’m hoping we all make it to heaven together
with no man, or 3-year old boy, left behind. Now that he goes, he spends most of the time asking questions like, "Who's that dead guy on the cross and why is he bleeding." Or, "Why is the priest wearing a dress?" When he's not asking questions, he's usually saying the word, "EVIL" really loud at the end of the "Our Father."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Now
Madelyn, on the other hand, has become quite the mini-Church Lady and lives for
going to “Church School,” which is the children’s liturgy where kids ages 4 and
up can leave right before the first reading and have their own lesson
downstairs. She always comes back
beaming and has made at least 3-4 new girlfriends in the process. I often wonder how much she gets out of it,
but she usually can reiterate what she learned each week, so I know she isn’t
socializing the whole time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Another
clue she is paying attention is her recent inquiry about the end of the
world. I was standing in the kitchen a
few weeks ago and Maddie approached me and asked if the world was really going
to end four days before Christmas. My
eyes bugged out of my head and I almost choked on my coffee. “Where did you hear that?” I asked. I wondered if she heard it on the news or
something when I wasn’t paying attention.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
“I
heard it at Church School,” she said with a worried look on her face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
“From
one of the other kids?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
“No,
from the teacher,” she said nonchalantly.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Steam
immediately came from my ears, I was sure of it. What kind of grown person with half a brain
tells a bunch of kids that the world might end four days before Christmas? While I know that as Catholics, we are taught
that Jesus will come again in glory, but I’m not sure how mentioning the end of
the world to a bunch of kids is a good way to get this message across. Let’s face it, all those kids heard was,
“You’re all gonna die and there will be no Christmas.” They might as well have thrown in that there
is no Santa Claus while they were at it.
I even considered writing a strongly worded letter to the Pastor, but
decided just to let it go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
tried to explain the Mayan Calendar and their prophesy to Maddie. I told her how there have been several other
predictions that the world was going to end, and it never happened. She looked confused and finally simply asked,
“Is the world going to end at some time?”
Man, I miss the easy questions like, “Why is the sky blue?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
Of
course, none of us knows that, but if she keeps hearing about this “Second
Coming of Christ” throughout her life, I need to provide some answers. I finally explained that IF the world ends,
then Jesus will come back and we will all go to heaven together and get to see
all our family and friends in heaven, including Taz and Kira (the dogs we’ve
had to put down in the last 2 years.) Of
course, this doesn’t take away the impending lack of Christmas, so I told her
to just not worry about it and enjoy life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
In
the midst of all this “End of the World” talk, I had some unusual occurrences
involving my Grandfather. Since his
passing 16 years ago, I have always had several moments where I feel his
presence or I see someone who looks like him.
Most of the time, once I really look at the man who has a similar walk,
is wearing the same hat he used to wear, or haircut, I realize they don’t look
that much him at all. However, last
Thursday when I was going to pick Colin up from school I looked over at the car
next to me at the stoplight and there was a man who looked EXACTLY like my
grandfather, right down to the glasses and hat. I had to do a double take and when I was
finished picking my jaw up off the steering wheel I managed to grab my phone to
take a picture. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
was a little concerned that this man would think I was a completely lunatic
taking a picture of him, but I was also kind of hoping that, given his age, he
would have no clue that “phones these days” could take pictures. I managed to get a good shot of him before
the light turned green and without him noticing me. I promptly texted it to my
mom to get a second opinion. I have to
admit, I was a little worried that when I looked at the picture I had taken,
that no one would appear. However, there
he was clear as can be and my even my mom agreed and told me to send it to my
brothers. Of course, once this
gentleman’s car was in the lane behind me, I noticed it was a Toyota and my
grandpa would never be caught dead driving a foreign car. Oh, wait, he is dead?! Perhaps it was manufactured in the United
States? That was the only reason my
husband (who is incredibly similar to my grandfather) would let me buy my Honda
Odyssey.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfCotjuFteT9nx7vZMpX1XVsZX0HjmRBM3DZSMqgBNVFyYRaGpTU__eESx4aKKDrBCwu_Tru5Pa6N1yte-l472zzLyDFfw86jYLi6x01COsUbvKflH5Il0T59NwUnz2KiOXEGrwnxGNC3/s1600/IMG_0787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfCotjuFteT9nx7vZMpX1XVsZX0HjmRBM3DZSMqgBNVFyYRaGpTU__eESx4aKKDrBCwu_Tru5Pa6N1yte-l472zzLyDFfw86jYLi6x01COsUbvKflH5Il0T59NwUnz2KiOXEGrwnxGNC3/s320/IMG_0787.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
What
made it even more unusual was that his 93<sup>rd</sup> birthday would have been
on Sunday and I had been praying to him for good weather because I was helping
plan a 5k race that day. I assured my
committee that based on my grandpa’s track record helping out with weather from
heaven over the last few years, we’d be in good shape. As luck would have it, it was 60 degrees the
day of the race.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
But
the oddities didn’t stop there. On
Friday morning, I got to the bus stop and my neighbors pointed out the unusual
rainbow up above. I looked up into the
blue sky, where there was barely a cloud, and there was an upside down
rainbow. I had never seen or even heard
of such a thing! I immediately snapped a
picture and sent it my mom, aunt, brothers and cousins who I had shared the
picture of my “grandpa” with from the day before. We came to the general consensus that Pa was smiling
down on us. Of course, with Maddie
continuing to ask about the end of the world, I was hoping all this wasn’t a
sign that Pa was sending that we’d see him soon…like on December 21<sup>st</sup>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpcukvJUIzIDEtOp1DVh6NRCzAR-ei0vvqSc3cnrib2yHfYbomZtUiCtJWCi0eP2plTyWHNg4mcJAg2849Id3XxrxHZyjZaAvuG_fuwTAW6GE0r0uCNOUwTd68Kpp0Z1ftxs-J6c19zNmI/s1600/IMG_0790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpcukvJUIzIDEtOp1DVh6NRCzAR-ei0vvqSc3cnrib2yHfYbomZtUiCtJWCi0eP2plTyWHNg4mcJAg2849Id3XxrxHZyjZaAvuG_fuwTAW6GE0r0uCNOUwTd68Kpp0Z1ftxs-J6c19zNmI/s320/IMG_0790.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
I
entered into the weekend extremely stressed out not only because I was knee
deep in 5k planning and coordinating last minute details, but I also had to
teach two Cycle classes Saturday morning, head home to get ready and pick up
Maddie to go to my cousin’s baby shower, then get home so Tom could run to the
gym and I could secure more fruit for the next morning because we had a surge
of registrations for the 5k that day at packet pickup. Of course, that also meant a database had to
be created since the team working packet pickup was deluged and couldn’t build
it for me. I ended up typing it up all
while Tom cleaned the house and made dinner because just in case I didn’t have
enough going on, I agreed to host a jewelry party at my house immediately
following the race. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
By
the grace of God, a wonderful husband and likely a little help from Pa, everything got done and I
more than survived the weekend…the race was a huge success and I got to have a
wonderful time with some good food, good friends and family. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
After
all is said and done, I don’t really care if the world ends in a few
weeks. I am comfortable with my place in
this world and that those I hold most dear to me, living and dead, will be with
me in the end. In the mean time, I am
going to count my blessings, value the time I do have on this earth and take
comfort in the fact that no matter what, I’ve got someone up there looking out
for me. Even though several years have passed and I still miss him every single
day, I know he’s never very far away.
And just in case ever do forget, he’ll be sure to send me a friendly
reminder.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><!--EndFragment-->Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-31643156786003131382012-11-05T11:50:00.006-08:002012-12-05T20:46:22.267-08:00This is FUN, DAMMIT!!!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I’m pretty sure as I write this entry, my daughter is
writing her own memoir, “My Life As A Kill-Joy: I’m 5, Therefore I Pout.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It never ceases to amaze me that no matter what we do for
our kids, they are so often ungrateful. I
don’t mean to sound like a martyr here, but I seriously can’t grasp how
children can complain while they are at Disney World, having gifts, toys and princess
shoes thrown at them. I know what you
are thinking, it is because they are spoiled rotten little brats. I will take responsibility for the fact that
we are generous to our kids, but I don’t think we necessarily go
overboard. And I can tell you that I was
not the only parent dealing with cranky kids at the Magic Kingdom. Everywhere we went, we kept hearing the same
statements over and over again, “This is supposed to be fun!” or “You need to
give me another 30 minutes without whining and complaining or we will not come
back later…or I’m taking that toy away…or you won’t get that pirate sword…or
cotton candy…or balloon…or…” whatever threat or promise necessary for any given
parent to survive just 30 more minutes of misery.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Our very own resident diva, Maddie, came out in rare form
during our trip. The last time we went,
she was only 3 ½ and she seemed very overwhelmed by the whole experience,
especially when we allowed her to cash in on several shopping trips for
souvenirs. Rather than jumping for joy
at the new sparkly Sleeping Beauty shoes, she pouted that she also wanted the
$60 dress to go with it. Rather than be
happy about the Snow White sequin purse with white gloves, the Minnie Mouse
Princess hat and her new Mickey t-shirt, she pouted because she didn’t get
suckers. Well, I’ll give you one guess
who the real sucker was? Me. Because before we could leave Orlando, we
hunted down those Goddamn Mickey suckers and what’s even better, two years
later they are still at the back of my pantry.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4eZ4yoVNBH6YdGBIUXteb1IXlzUgBwVwu7KXXxeTw1tnqm4QrDRpxo1b8QHPaVvVsAWfIP56EuD8tXZDlSlZzP9xS89hYLNGPxinj_UPaPSZVW8I9Sh_Ow5kyGsqPtwir-_qyKTQsaRKX/s1600/DSC_0593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4eZ4yoVNBH6YdGBIUXteb1IXlzUgBwVwu7KXXxeTw1tnqm4QrDRpxo1b8QHPaVvVsAWfIP56EuD8tXZDlSlZzP9xS89hYLNGPxinj_UPaPSZVW8I9Sh_Ow5kyGsqPtwir-_qyKTQsaRKX/s320/DSC_0593.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me getting choked up over the whole experience...prior to meltdowns.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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This time, we decided that we would set limits on their
spending since they are a little bit older and could grasp some simple
budgeting concepts. We emptied their
piggy banks and told them that money was their spending money and mommy and
daddy would throw some in on top of that.
For the most part, we did pretty good not going overboard and the
whining and complaining was minimal.
That was until the morning of Maddie’s Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique.
For those of you unfamiliar with this, it is where you drop some serious
coin on the chance for your daughter to be transformed into a princess by her
very own airy godmother. Maddie
requested the full hilt, complete with a brand new Cinderella gown and hair
extensions…yes, hair extensions.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She kept counting down the days until her VIP treatment, and
when the morning came we schlepped off to Downtown Disney first thing in the
morning. The idea was to have this done the day we were scheduled to have lunch
with the Princesses at Epcot. While we
were waiting for her name to be called, I got a little choked up thinking of
how happy it made me that we could do this for her. What a special memory this would be for
her. Finally it was her turn and we went
back to the dressing room where they handed her a beautiful Cinderella gown to
change in to. Once we got into the
dressing room, I felt like I was dealing with one of the wicked stepsisters
instead. The dress was itchy. I had to take the whole thing off and put her
clothes back on underneath the dress.
She still seemed annoyed and when we finally emerged, they informed us
that she was lucky enough to have been chosen to have her transformation done
in the special seat at the front of the store.
They led her to a special makeover station that was situated right in
the front window for everyone who walked in or by the store to see. She seemed unimpressed. She chose her hairstyle, color of her bobby
pins and makeup and within a half-hour, she was Cinderella. She looked quite pleased with the outcome
until it was time to pick out shoes.
Unfortunately she is between sizes and the glass slipper/jelly shoe
meant to go with her dress was ill fitting.
Bring on pout number 54 of the day at it wasn’t even 10 a.m.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We finally settled on a pair of sparkly flip flops and all
was good in the world of Maddie until she had to go and get her picture
taken. The package we opted for included
professional photos. We set her up with
the photographer and Tom was watching her while a perused the gift shop
attached to where the photographer was.
When I got back a few minutes later, she was finished and they uploaded
the pictures right away. As luck would
have it, she didn’t smile in a single picture.
Any other time, she is Ms. Insta-pose, but dress her up in $200 worth of
Disney’s finest threads and she looks like she just ate a shit-sandwich. Luckily the kind woman at the photo shop
agreed to let us have a redo and we got some cute shots.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
We survived our trip to Disney and despite our best efforts
to take it easy on the souvenirs, we still had a hard time fitting all our
purchases into our suitcases. Good thing
grandma and grandpa were driving the RV back home! Luckily Colin has cheap taste and most of his
prized possessions were under $10 otherwise we’d have to take a second mortgage
out on the house!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxug32uSnAlNNbmNeXOkTieHOgmsrQVdPLm3UexPHRyPiDpnZYDGrzekVBzStHpACVu2u8b-ZNd74ACmafmm56NeBcTwjz6xDJyrYS5kU1WWKEVC7_slm85c9LBXXI-2aI40X_7_iPojCT/s1600/DSC_0682.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxug32uSnAlNNbmNeXOkTieHOgmsrQVdPLm3UexPHRyPiDpnZYDGrzekVBzStHpACVu2u8b-ZNd74ACmafmm56NeBcTwjz6xDJyrYS5kU1WWKEVC7_slm85c9LBXXI-2aI40X_7_iPojCT/s320/DSC_0682.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miserable Princess scratching her crotch. How lady-like.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
We’ve been back from Disney for over a month and just got
through Halloween. I should have known
that this Holiday would be no different than any other with the kids. It started weeks ago with the hunt for
costumes. I don’t know how to express to
you how difficult it is to shop for Halloween costumes when you children are
scared shitless of all things Halloween, but picture Colin screaming at the top
of his lungs with his fingers in his ears while cowering in a corner of Spirit
Halloween costume shop. They even walked
around like they belonged in straight jackets when we went into Party City to
buy Halloween plates last week and they were merely playing a Halloween CD!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I took them to a Halloween party at the gym the other day
and it was a slice of pure hell just getting out of the house. Turns out Princess Itchy Dress was making her
return, but this time it was her Dorothy costume. She whined and complained the whole time and
by the time we got ready after skating practice, lunch and the usual pouting routine,
we only made it for the last half-hour of the party. Of course, the kids were pissed because they
didn’t give out candy, just little toys and prizes for the games. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking
about what they would be next year for Halloween. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I got to thinking about how I have a hard time “living in
the now.” I’ve always been the type of
person who looks past what is happening at this moment waiting for the next
thing to come along or I set high expectations for how things will go and end
up disappointed when they don’t meet those expectations. I’ll admit that I’ve
gotten better especially after having children because I see my daughter doing
the same thing and I realize how annoying it is. I have to constantly remind her (along with
myself) to “Go with the flow.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Then there is Tom who will hem and haw over what to order at
the ice cream shop and when all is said and done, he has buyer’s remorse and
wishes he would have ordered the other thing he was contemplating. Rather than enjoying his delicious milkshake,
he complains how good the other thing would have been. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItF-jKv-s3kI9j4el9bjXQ0oqcsXIB1qBniRD_X1xZzckhSESwq0QFwSwzInre5VvGBSuhXbMfoSFkwBdO9bib22bUCaq-wbyajJTBgfLktJInBnBIbUY0cIxvwOzBycK-EwuRulMZ__S/s1600/powerranger.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItF-jKv-s3kI9j4el9bjXQ0oqcsXIB1qBniRD_X1xZzckhSESwq0QFwSwzInre5VvGBSuhXbMfoSFkwBdO9bib22bUCaq-wbyajJTBgfLktJInBnBIbUY0cIxvwOzBycK-EwuRulMZ__S/s200/powerranger.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMkjo1lYKSurz5PG3hEzb-Gdy31xl5O92hyphenhypheneMGeZlPS2XlPPSHmPoJslZjzKTb5mKL1n9sjxsBjALcXHZ6wjE2gEi66zxHfmIsaO4VmAsBROGivPN2CfFJ564rqz-YXsPzZCIQe-oOWx1/s1600/dorothy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMkjo1lYKSurz5PG3hEzb-Gdy31xl5O92hyphenhypheneMGeZlPS2XlPPSHmPoJslZjzKTb5mKL1n9sjxsBjALcXHZ6wjE2gEi66zxHfmIsaO4VmAsBROGivPN2CfFJ564rqz-YXsPzZCIQe-oOWx1/s200/dorothy.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The icing on the Halloween cake was carving pumpkins. In years past, we never bothered because the
kids were too young and I personally am not a big fan of carving pumpkins
(guess the rotten apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?) This year we decided to indulge them and even
got a fancy little kit complete with a special light to put in the
pumpkin. Of course, prior to cutting
into the pumpkins, we had to threaten Colin to eat his dinner otherwise he
wouldn’t be allowed to help. He ended up
falling asleep at the dinner table and we woke him up when it was time to
carve. He immediately asked for a snack
and we told him he had to finish his dinner first. He was crabby and tired, but started to eat
his raw broccoli just the same. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Meanwhile, Tom’s parents had come over to help and grandpa
took over cutting open the pumpkins with Maddie. Once he opened it up and told her to reach
inside to pull the guts out she started screaming and crying. She had no desire to have anything to do with
the slime that lurked inside. Grandma
and Tom worked on gutting the pumpkin while Grandma and I started pulling the
seeds out so I could bake them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Colin was trying to choke down his broccoli and came over to
where I was at the sink and proceeded to gag and ultimately throw up all over
the floor and my purse, which Tom has just brought to me to get something out
of it for him. Go figure. And there I was again, one kid was curled up
in a ball in the corner over her irrational fear of pumpkin slime and another
was shooting broccoli out his nose. All
I could think was, “This is supposed to be FUN, DAMMIT!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053974422110587892.post-17364159818123890492012-10-08T11:48:00.002-07:002012-10-08T12:32:18.942-07:00Maddie Saves The Day…And Her Dad’s Life <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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This past weekend, my daughter impressed me more than I
could have ever imagined when she saved Tom’s life. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I left on Saturday for a girl’s weekend with my roommates
from college. We all met up at Illinois
State for Homecoming and set out for a night of bar hopping and pretending we could still
drink like fish, despite the fact we are mommies in their mid-30s. We started
at the bar we spent most of our time at in college and indulged in some 32-ounce
beers in Homecoming souvenir cups and fried cheeseballs. I’m pretty sure that 15 years ago I would not
have been so jazzed about the souvenir cup part, but I suppose that just shows
how much I’ve matured over the years. We topped off the night at LaBamba for
some burritos as big as our heads to soak up the liquor the cheeseballs didn’t
take care of.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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In the morning, despite the fact I had gone to bed at 3
a.m., I was wide-awake at 6:30 a.m. Go
figure, even when I had the chance to sleep without a little munchkin jumping
in my bed, my body had other plans. Of
course, within a half-hour, all the other girls’ internal clocks kicked in and
we were all up. We spent the morning
lounging in our beds and chitchatting about our kids, our husbands and life in
general. I had just gotten done telling
them about Tom and his diabetes and my concerns about his sugars going low,
especially when he was home alone with the kids. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I waited a while to call home and at 8:30 decided it was
time to check in and make sure everything was okay. Tom answered his cell phone just before it
went to voicemail and his voice sounded muffled. I thought he said he was wrestling Colin, but
he continued to slur his words and wouldn’t stop babbling. I realized his sugars were low and I started
screaming into the phone. My girlfriends
realized something was wrong and their conversation ceased. I kept yelling to have him put Maddie on the
phone or hoped that Maddie would hear me and grab the phone from Tom. Finally I heard her voice on the other line
and she was crying. She said, “Daddy won’t wake up! I can’t get him to wake up!” We have taught her about Tom’s diabetes and
how to tell if he is low and that when he is, she needs to get him juice. Most times there is juice right next to our
bed. She said she tried to give him
juice and he wouldn’t take it. My first
thought was the image of my poor baby trying to force juice on him. I’ve been in that position myself and it is
the most helpless feeling when he is so low he refuses to drink it. I also knew that he must be really low at
that point and I had to act fast otherwise he would die.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I hung up with Maddie and my first thought was to call my
neighbors to get there to help her out.
I knew they could get there faster than the paramedics or Tom’s parents
not only for Tom’s sake, but for the kids.
Lord knows how long they had been up with Tom in that condition. Thank God we are close with our neighbors and
they know our garage code and about Tom’s diabetes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I was shaking uncontrollably and couldn’t remember how to dial
my phone or my neighbor’s name. My
friends were asking me a ton of questions hoping to help me somehow, but once I
was able to access my contacts and call my neighbor I knew it would only be a
matter of minutes that help would arrive.
I made sure Lisa brought her husband because Tom is hard to handle when
he is low. He can also get aggressive
and I have had to literally wrestle him to get sugar in him several times.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I immediately called Tom’s cell phone back and Maddie
answered. I explained that Richie and
Lisa would be coming in the house to help her and not to be afraid. I was amazed at how calm she was on the other
line and within seconds I heard my neighbors voices and I felt at least a less
helpless and worried. I could hear
Richie, but he didn’t know I was on the phone so I started shouting, “Someone
pick up the phone!!!” He heard me and
then saw it on the nightstand and grabbed it.
I started giving him specific instructions on what he needed to do. I knew pouring a bottle of Gatorade down his
throat while he’s laying in bed incapacitated was next to impossible. I instructed him to go downstairs into the pantry and get the applesauce
that comes in a pouch making it easy to squeeze into his mouth. I told him to tell Maddie he needed
“Applesauce Juicies” and she would know what he meant. My neighbors told me after the fact that the
whole time they were trying to find what they needed and figure out what to do
beyond my instructions over the phone, Maddie was a rock and remained very
clear, focused and helpful. The only time she lost it and cried was when I got off the phone with her to call the neighbors. She thought I had hung up on her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I remained on the other line waiting for Richie to get a
combination of applesauce jucies and Capri Sun into Tom, unsure of whether or
not any of it was getting into his mouth.
Richie mentioned it was getting all over our sheets and I told him not
to worry, just save his life. It felt
like forever listening for some sign that Tom was coming to. Normally once he gets at least a little sugar
in him, he starts to come around enough to sit up and drink the juice and aid
in the process. Even after twenty minutes,
I heard no sign that he was improving. I
wasn’t sure if I should call 911, but I knew that as long as they kept putting
sugar in him, he would come around at some point. Then I started questioning whether or not
there was something else happening to him.
His voice was so garbled, slurred and muffled when I had first called, I wondered
if perhaps he was having a stroke or heart attack or something? I felt so helpless knowing I was 2 ½ hours
away and couldn’t do anything to get to my family. At one point I was standing there in my
pajamas putting my shoes on thinking I should just leave, but realized that was
pointless.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Meanwhile, Lisa was tending to the kids and trying to
distract them. She thought Colin might
still be sleeping, until he emerged from my bedroom waving his Star Wars Light
Saber. He proceeded to sit on Lisa’s lap downstairs
where he farted on her several times. Clearly, he was there purely there for
moral support and comic relief.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It wasn’t for at least another ten minutes that I heard
Tom’s “real voice” in the background and could finally take a sigh of
relief. I spoke to him just long enough
to hear him say, “I’m okay,” and heard him call Maddie over so he could comfort
her. At that point, I could finally
shift out of damage control mode and let out the emotions I had been holding
in. All I could do was cry and tell him
how much I love him. He got off the phone relatively quickly, but I knew that he
needed to gather himself and finish coming out of his low. He called me back within a half hour and we were
both emotional after the whole experience.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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This has happened several times in the past and in a handful
of times, I’ve had to call 911. We used
to have a Glucagon shot, but Tom had instructed me not to use it on him because
he swings when he’s low. He was worried he could hurt me or the needle
could break off in his leg or if he hit me while I had it in my hand it could
end up my eye or any other host of issues.
Even when I called 911 a few years back, the first thing they asked me
before they gave him the shot was whether or not he was known to get violent
when he’s low. Tom’s friend used to pick
him up on Friday morning and they would carpool to work together. He had just pulled up in the midst of the
chaos and the paramedics used him to help hold him down while they gave him the
shot. They figured it would be better
for Tom to see someone he knew when he came to rather than three strange men in
his bedroom. </div>
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<br /></div>
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We've taught Maddie to call 911 in an emergency and she told us that she was
about to call 911, but couldn’t find a cordless phone upstairs and couldn’t
reach the one in the kitchen. I think it is safe to say our guardian angels were working overtime. By the
grace of God, I decided to call at that time and with the help of my superhero
daughter and really awesome neighbors they took care of my
children and saved my husband’s life. I
think it is important to note this is the same neighbor who helped me break
into my house last week.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Needless to say, when I got home I squeezed my husband and
kids tight and we took Maddie to Toys R Us to pick out a toy. Of course, Colin scored a toy too since he
kept his cool through the situation despite the fact he was lighting it
up on poor Lisa’s lap. I don't think I will be leaving on any overnight trips any time soon, we have located all the stray cordless phones and put them on the chargers and reviewed how to call 911 on both the home phone and our iPhones. In addition, we don't ever plan on ever moving out of our commune/neighborhood because the relationship with our neighbors isn't very easy to come by. I was even able to get over the fact that they had to kick dirty laundry on my bedroom floor out of the way in the process.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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In the end, I am just so grateful that my daughter inherited
my grace under pressure and that the real “Homecoming” was when I arrived home
and everyone was alive and well. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Michelle Stienhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04242840390870209632noreply@blogger.com0