I love movies that thrill you and take you on a ride. Not scary, gore-soaked flicks, but stories where a disaster looms and someone has two hours to save the world. It can be science fiction, like an alien invasion, or a spy story like Mission: Impossible.
The typical thriller has one character who predicts the disaster. He or she is thought to be overreacting as they try to spread their message of impending doom to anyone who will listen.
This is the character who usually ends up in a fatal car accident under suspicious circumstances or locked away in a mental institution. At the end of the movie the lone voice of reason is deemed a hero, but it's usually too late for the poor soul.
It's probably not the best character to identify with.
I'm not saying I always feel like this, but each time we get to another crisis with our daughter, Lizzy, I feel like the crazy person in the movie who knows the aliens are taking over the world and is trying to warn the others.
Ever since Lizzy was six weeks old, I knew something was wrong.
I was holding her in my arms one morning, cooing and singing to her when I realized she wasn't looking at me.
My heart sank, and a feeling of pure panic took hold of me. My legs felt weak, my chest ached, and my body knew this was serious.
I'll always be grateful to my husband for trusting me completely and never once doubting my instinct. I most likely would have ended up howling at the moon had it not been for Joe.
I drove many people crazy as I would discuss my fears that something was wrong with our daughter. I was often told to relax and enjoy my children. And I really wanted to, but something just felt wrong.
We started to look for answers quickly. There were times when it looked like we might be headed in the right direction, but then Lizzy's progress would stall, or a new symptom would emerge, and we would be right back where we started.
It didn't help that Lizzy dumbfounded every specialist, therapist, and teacher we met.
Almost all the visits started the same way. Lizzy would smile and be her adorable self and charm the professional we were seeing. I would start to relax and think maybe I was just blowing things out of proportion.
The therapists and teachers would declare that she only needed a little push to speak. The doctors would look at me as if I was just another over-protective mother.
Then, in the case of almost every specialist we took Lizzy to, there would come a point in the exam when we would see the doctor's face change.
Something did not make sense. Further tests would be required just to rule things out. I would leave the office nervous, but the doctor would usually reassure me that she was probably just fine.
Then would come the calls. Scary diagnoses would be mentioned. More tests. I would be a wreck. My worst fears were being realized.
Then the tests would come back negative, and we would start the ride all over again.
My friends, family, and Lizzy's teachers and therapists would tell me I was doing everything humanly possible.
But something was wrong with my child, and I wouldn't rest until I could get an answer. I could keep myself up trying to think of possible causes.
I was also losing sleep because Lizzy rarely fell asleep before 11:00 p.m. or midnight and then would wake up two or three hours later screaming so loudly you would swear someone was torturing her. She was never quite awake, and then in mid glass-shattering scream, she would just fall back into a deep sleep.
When the "behavior seizures" started to happen during the day, I really thought we were going to need adjoining rooms in an asylum. Of course, people started to see what I meant and I didn't look so crazy after all.
This was of little consolation.
For the last two years things have been pretty quiet for Lizzy.We found a wonderful doctor who has been treating her for a bi-polar disorder that seems to match some of her more difficult behavioral symptoms.
The medicines Lizzy takes allows her and us as a family to have a more normal existence. We've been able to go out for dinner or other outings without fear of a Lizzy explosion.
But then about six weeks ago, she started with this awful cough. The doctors weren't able to confirm it as a case of Whooping Cough, in part because of the difficulty and unreliability of the test. But all her symptoms pointed to this diagnosis.
Her cough was so horrible that it would cause my little girl to throw up to the point where her face had little bruises.
Almost as bad, old behaviors that had been dormant for most of the past two years have returned. Her wild manic behavior is made worse because Lizzy is older and stronger.
I got a note the other day from her teacher that Lizzy insisted that she was Disney's Little Mermaid, Ariel, and would not answer to her own name.
It's at least a small win whenever Lizzy is able to voice what she feels. I have to admit I laughed at that one. But I'm not ready for the notes to come home again. I've enjoyed and gotten used to the "Lizzy had a great day" notes in her communication notebook.
New physical symptoms have come along with the cough and vomiting as well. Lizzy had has started to break out in an odd rash sometimes. It comes and goes very quickly, but it just doesn't seem right to me.
Because Lizzy's overall syndrome lacks a firm diagnosis, we have no template to follow.
We have five MRIs that show significant brain damage, and bones and organs that are growing faster than her age. Yet her hormones and other vitals are normal, and none of the specialists we've seen can say with any certainty what to do.
How do I help my beautiful enigma when some of the best doctors in the country don't know how? I'm just a mom.
I have to confess that in the past when we have found ourselves in this situation, I've been out of control. I've alienated friends and family. I've eaten my weight in chocolate. And we always end up right where we started. No diagnosis.
I'd rather not take another ride on the same roller coaster.
I have a choice. I can handle this crisis like I have the others only to get a similar result or I can change the pattern. I could learn to live in the mess, the uncertainty, even the fear.
Perhaps if I stop fighting the chaos, some normalcy will take hold. Acceptance has always brought me peace, but I have refused to accept that this is the hand that has been dealt my daughter and family. I have struggled and searched for a magic cure or answer when the truth is, none may exist.
It's a bitter pill to swallow, but neither Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) nor Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) will burst into my house and save my daughter. But the truth is, I can. Not with a heroic Hollywood happy ending, but in the day-to-day wins of tending to and nurturing a special little girl with some very special needs.
I'm going to have to take this road truly one day at a time and enjoy the road, the ride. In the end it is all I really have. That, and my beautiful enigma named Lizzy.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Giving Santa a Second Chance
Halloween hasn't come and gone, but I'm already thinking that I should send my letter to Santa Claus in a little early this year.
I'm counting on your discretion, because truth be told, I sent the same list last year and didn't get any of these presents under my tree. The eternal optimist in me is thinking Santa just didn't get my list in time to deliver the real goods.
That's why I'm giving the old man one more chance.
I got the idea for my own letter to Santa last year when my kids were working on their lists. Now it's been more than a few decades since I wrote a letter to Santa. But, since I was a young girl in the 70's, the technology Santa had to choose from was pretty antiquated.
Back in the dark ages of 1972, it was a big deal that my doll house had battery-powered lights, or that all I had to do was pull a string to get Barbie to say how pretty she was.
When you think of the technology that's at our fingertips today, Santa could really come through with a few items that would not only be helpful to me, but to mothers everywhere.
Plus there is always the chance that he would like to make amends for that Chatty Kathy doll I never got.
So without further ado, here is my letter to Santa (only slightly amended from last year).
Dear Santa:
I've been a very good mommy this year. Besides the usual cooking and cleaning that I do everyday (Please don't laugh Santa, I do all those things, I just don’t do them very well), I have taken the kids to the orthodontist, the doctor, driven to music lessons, dance lessons, birthday parties, chorus practice, various clubs, and dances.
I also went to two birthday parties at Chuck E Cheese this year, this in itself should put me on the top of the "Nice" list.
I know you are very busy, and I’m not expecting miracles, but if you get a chance and can send me a few of these items I would really appreciate it:
I would like a GPS to find the body I had before I had my three children. I have looked for it at various weight-loss programs, gyms and a host of workout DVDs, but I can’t find it anywhere. I'm getting desperate. HELP!
I would like an App that allows my children to remember what I told them five minutes ago. I realize my mother asked for something similar when I was a kid, but technology has come so far since then that I'm thinking this really should be do-able in 2011.
Extra memory would be a great gift and so helpful for my parenting. My own memory card is so used and old that I can no longer remember my own kids’ names. I call them by various terms of endearment and, of course, their siblings’ names. Now that my youngest is insisting that I only call him by his full name, I'm running out of options.
I could really use an upgrade on my patience. I have a 12-year-old who will soon be 13… need I say more.
A "pause" button would be fantastic! My children are growing up so fast. Yesterday, my daughter put on three coats, four hats, a tiger mask, and a princess crown then said to me, "Don’t I look beautiful?" And, as I type this I can hear our 6-year-old asking his teddy bear if he needs a time-out. There are so many moments I would just like to freeze.
I would like a power cord that allows me to plug it in whenever my battery is low. Having three kids and very little sleep is starting to wear down my original power supply.
Finally, could you slip some gratitude into my stocking? I know I could use it. I have so much to be thankful for. Too often I let the day to day grind keep me from remembering.
Thank you! Please forgive the messy house. I hope you have a wonderful Holiday!
Kathy
I will let you all know if I had better luck this year!
(Author's Note: I posted my first "Letter to Santa" in December of 2010 on Momster.com where I wrote under the name "Blessed Mom Of Three." This is an updated version.)
I'm counting on your discretion, because truth be told, I sent the same list last year and didn't get any of these presents under my tree. The eternal optimist in me is thinking Santa just didn't get my list in time to deliver the real goods.
That's why I'm giving the old man one more chance.
I got the idea for my own letter to Santa last year when my kids were working on their lists. Now it's been more than a few decades since I wrote a letter to Santa. But, since I was a young girl in the 70's, the technology Santa had to choose from was pretty antiquated.
Back in the dark ages of 1972, it was a big deal that my doll house had battery-powered lights, or that all I had to do was pull a string to get Barbie to say how pretty she was.
When you think of the technology that's at our fingertips today, Santa could really come through with a few items that would not only be helpful to me, but to mothers everywhere.
Plus there is always the chance that he would like to make amends for that Chatty Kathy doll I never got.
So without further ado, here is my letter to Santa (only slightly amended from last year).
Dear Santa:
I've been a very good mommy this year. Besides the usual cooking and cleaning that I do everyday (Please don't laugh Santa, I do all those things, I just don’t do them very well), I have taken the kids to the orthodontist, the doctor, driven to music lessons, dance lessons, birthday parties, chorus practice, various clubs, and dances.
I also went to two birthday parties at Chuck E Cheese this year, this in itself should put me on the top of the "Nice" list.
I know you are very busy, and I’m not expecting miracles, but if you get a chance and can send me a few of these items I would really appreciate it:
I would like a GPS to find the body I had before I had my three children. I have looked for it at various weight-loss programs, gyms and a host of workout DVDs, but I can’t find it anywhere. I'm getting desperate. HELP!
I would like an App that allows my children to remember what I told them five minutes ago. I realize my mother asked for something similar when I was a kid, but technology has come so far since then that I'm thinking this really should be do-able in 2011.
Extra memory would be a great gift and so helpful for my parenting. My own memory card is so used and old that I can no longer remember my own kids’ names. I call them by various terms of endearment and, of course, their siblings’ names. Now that my youngest is insisting that I only call him by his full name, I'm running out of options.
I could really use an upgrade on my patience. I have a 12-year-old who will soon be 13… need I say more.
A "pause" button would be fantastic! My children are growing up so fast. Yesterday, my daughter put on three coats, four hats, a tiger mask, and a princess crown then said to me, "Don’t I look beautiful?" And, as I type this I can hear our 6-year-old asking his teddy bear if he needs a time-out. There are so many moments I would just like to freeze.
I would like a power cord that allows me to plug it in whenever my battery is low. Having three kids and very little sleep is starting to wear down my original power supply.
Finally, could you slip some gratitude into my stocking? I know I could use it. I have so much to be thankful for. Too often I let the day to day grind keep me from remembering.
Thank you! Please forgive the messy house. I hope you have a wonderful Holiday!
Kathy
I will let you all know if I had better luck this year!
(Author's Note: I posted my first "Letter to Santa" in December of 2010 on Momster.com where I wrote under the name "Blessed Mom Of Three." This is an updated version.)
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Growing up all over again
At the end of October, my parents will be celebrating their 48th wedding anniversary. My birthday is the day after. As a little girl I could not understand why people would look at me strangely when I would proudly declare that I was born the day after my parents got married. Or, why my mother was always quick to point out that it was two years after their wedding.
Yes, that means in a few short weeks I will be 46. When I look at the number 46 in relation to me, I just can't quite seem to grasp that I'm "that" old.
There's no way to pretty it up. I may have a kid in first grade and watch the PBS Kids channel, but I'm middle aged.
When you consider that 46 x 2 is 92, I might be even a bit beyond.
"Mom, I just thought of something," announced our 12-year-old,
Tom, a few weeks ago when I was driving him to school.
"What dear?"
"In a few weeks you are going to be 4 years from 50. Isn't that hysterical?"
"Oh, yea, really hysterical. I can't stop laughing!"
Where the heck did the time go? Has it really been 30 years since my Sweet 16 surprise party? It feels like it was just yesterday.
I can still envision the pink rose corsage with the sugar cubes my parents bought me. Or remember how I felt when I went to school and saw the 'Happy Birthday' sign my friends made me.
I was a very innocent 16-year-old. I didn't have my first kiss until the spring of that year. Yet, I do remember it was at 16 when I realized it was official, I was on my way to adulthood. There was no turning back. Some people may have been excited at this prospect, I was terrified.
My dream was to become a singer and actress on Broadway. I wanted to live in Manhattan and had from the time I was a little girl. I saw the skyline all lit up on the few occasions my family would drive through the city to cross a bridge and I was enthralled. I knew in my heart that was where I belonged.
Since I also knew I wanted children one day, I figured at some point I might move back to the suburbs. But, I was adamant... I was not going to ever live on Long Island again.
My plan was that I would marry around age 25 and surely have my first child before I hit the extremely old age of 30. I would effortesly manage a busy thriving acting career with a very happy home life. Piece of cake.
Ten years later, my 26th birthday found me working in an office job I truly liked and living in the city I loved. My roommate and I had moved into a high rise apartment almost a year before.
I was very excited because it was the first of the five apartments I had lived in that had a dishwasher. I also loved that since we lived on the 26th floor, every night I could look out our window and see the lights of the city.
I had exchanged the dream of an acting career for the reality and joy of paying my bills and eating.
Even though I was four years shy of my 30th birthday, I felt as if my life was starting to take shape. Joe and I had been dating for more than a year, and I was sure that this would be the person I would marry. He had planned a great birthday weekend for me complete with a Broadway show.
Even though I was content to watch others preform, I still felt my creative soul longing to get out. Something felt missing.
I thought of going back to school, and was volunteering at my church's help line calling senior citizens who were shut in. I was content with the decission to stop pursuing an acting career. But at 26, I still had no idea what I wanted to be when I "grew" up.
Fast forward 10 years to when I was six months pregnant with our second child. We had recently moved six blocks from where I grew up, and I was a full-time mommy.
Let me repeat that, I was now living on Long Island only blocks from where I grew up. This was the last thing in the world my 16-year-old self thought would become of me. Yet, I was very happy.
My favorite birthday present was a then two-year-old Tom singing Happy Birthday to me with Joe. I remember that we went out to lunch at Wendy's because that's where Tom wanted to take me, and I was thrilled since I was constantly craving their vanilla Frosties. This craving had nothing to do with me, mind you, and everything to do with the little girl I was pregnant with.
My creative energy was being used raising my son and helping him through his speech delays and suspected learning issues. I was thirty-six, married, a homeowner and a soon to be mom of two. In a few months, I would have the "ideal" family of a boy and a girl. What more could I want?
Occasionaly I had thoughts of doing something more, but I was too busy with my life to pay them much mind.
Now weeks away from my 46th birthday, I feel closer to the creative part of myself than I ever have before. Discovering my love of writing a year ago has brought a sense of joy and peace I don't remember having since I was a teenager preforming on stage.
I sit at my computer and let my thoughts take over and form words on the screen. I get excited when the perfect sentence comes to me. It may sound silly or even trite, but I feel alive.
My family is now complete with two boys and a girl. Being the mother to three children, one with very serious issues, takes up most of my energy and time.
But last year when Peter started full-day kindergarten, I found the time to listen to the stirrings my soul. It's a little scary, but also very exciting.
Is it possible to finally find out what you want to be when you grow up at age 46?
Just what will the next 10 years bring? I can't wait to find out.
Yes, that means in a few short weeks I will be 46. When I look at the number 46 in relation to me, I just can't quite seem to grasp that I'm "that" old.
There's no way to pretty it up. I may have a kid in first grade and watch the PBS Kids channel, but I'm middle aged.
When you consider that 46 x 2 is 92, I might be even a bit beyond.
"Mom, I just thought of something," announced our 12-year-old,
Tom, a few weeks ago when I was driving him to school.
"What dear?"
"In a few weeks you are going to be 4 years from 50. Isn't that hysterical?"
"Oh, yea, really hysterical. I can't stop laughing!"
Where the heck did the time go? Has it really been 30 years since my Sweet 16 surprise party? It feels like it was just yesterday.
I can still envision the pink rose corsage with the sugar cubes my parents bought me. Or remember how I felt when I went to school and saw the 'Happy Birthday' sign my friends made me.
I was a very innocent 16-year-old. I didn't have my first kiss until the spring of that year. Yet, I do remember it was at 16 when I realized it was official, I was on my way to adulthood. There was no turning back. Some people may have been excited at this prospect, I was terrified.
My dream was to become a singer and actress on Broadway. I wanted to live in Manhattan and had from the time I was a little girl. I saw the skyline all lit up on the few occasions my family would drive through the city to cross a bridge and I was enthralled. I knew in my heart that was where I belonged.
Since I also knew I wanted children one day, I figured at some point I might move back to the suburbs. But, I was adamant... I was not going to ever live on Long Island again.
My plan was that I would marry around age 25 and surely have my first child before I hit the extremely old age of 30. I would effortesly manage a busy thriving acting career with a very happy home life. Piece of cake.
Ten years later, my 26th birthday found me working in an office job I truly liked and living in the city I loved. My roommate and I had moved into a high rise apartment almost a year before.
I was very excited because it was the first of the five apartments I had lived in that had a dishwasher. I also loved that since we lived on the 26th floor, every night I could look out our window and see the lights of the city.
I had exchanged the dream of an acting career for the reality and joy of paying my bills and eating.
Even though I was four years shy of my 30th birthday, I felt as if my life was starting to take shape. Joe and I had been dating for more than a year, and I was sure that this would be the person I would marry. He had planned a great birthday weekend for me complete with a Broadway show.
Even though I was content to watch others preform, I still felt my creative soul longing to get out. Something felt missing.
I thought of going back to school, and was volunteering at my church's help line calling senior citizens who were shut in. I was content with the decission to stop pursuing an acting career. But at 26, I still had no idea what I wanted to be when I "grew" up.
Fast forward 10 years to when I was six months pregnant with our second child. We had recently moved six blocks from where I grew up, and I was a full-time mommy.
Let me repeat that, I was now living on Long Island only blocks from where I grew up. This was the last thing in the world my 16-year-old self thought would become of me. Yet, I was very happy.
My favorite birthday present was a then two-year-old Tom singing Happy Birthday to me with Joe. I remember that we went out to lunch at Wendy's because that's where Tom wanted to take me, and I was thrilled since I was constantly craving their vanilla Frosties. This craving had nothing to do with me, mind you, and everything to do with the little girl I was pregnant with.
My creative energy was being used raising my son and helping him through his speech delays and suspected learning issues. I was thirty-six, married, a homeowner and a soon to be mom of two. In a few months, I would have the "ideal" family of a boy and a girl. What more could I want?
Occasionaly I had thoughts of doing something more, but I was too busy with my life to pay them much mind.
Now weeks away from my 46th birthday, I feel closer to the creative part of myself than I ever have before. Discovering my love of writing a year ago has brought a sense of joy and peace I don't remember having since I was a teenager preforming on stage.
I sit at my computer and let my thoughts take over and form words on the screen. I get excited when the perfect sentence comes to me. It may sound silly or even trite, but I feel alive.
My family is now complete with two boys and a girl. Being the mother to three children, one with very serious issues, takes up most of my energy and time.
But last year when Peter started full-day kindergarten, I found the time to listen to the stirrings my soul. It's a little scary, but also very exciting.
Is it possible to finally find out what you want to be when you grow up at age 46?
Just what will the next 10 years bring? I can't wait to find out.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
My Kids + My Blog = Jealousy
When a new member joins the family, there are bound to be growing pains. The kids may think it's fun at first to have someone new in the daily mix, but eventually the novelty wears thin as the day-to-day care of the new addition becomes a reality.
Being a mom to three kids, I've lived through the excitement and adjustment that comes when your family expands. I totally expected it, too. What I didn't expect was that the same period of adjustment would happen when I started my blog last November. To my surprise, my kids were jealous.
Sure, at first they were very excited for me. They were even impressed that this old dog could learn a few new tricks.
Until this point it never occurred to them that I could even type, let alone use a computer.
Heck, I barely had time to brush my teeth raising three children with a variety of special needs and issues that needed daily attention. Never mind spending my time web surfing. Personal enrichment and satisfaction were not high on my to-do list.
My kids knew I had worked in an office before becoming a mom, but I think they thought of that as more of a suburban legend in the once-upon-a-time-the-old-gal-had-a-life vein.
Very quickly the awe and even pride my kids felt at watching me do something new was replaced with cries of, "when are you getting off our computer?"
The cries came the loudest from our daughter Lizzy, whose special needs have always included an extremely hard time with speech and language. Phrases such as "mommy, you sure like that computer," started to grow into "mommy get off my computer now."
Always thrilled whenever Lizzy can find her words, I would smile and tell her that it was great she was using her words so well, but we do not speak to people that way. Then I would go back to my blog.
Our oldest son, Tom knew something had really started to change a few weeks later. We were on our fifth attempt at taking the yearly Christmas picture when I uncharacteristically, threw in the towel.
"That's it guys. It's just going to be the year without a Christmas picture. It's really no big deal."
Then I started to sing that phrase to the tune of an old Christmas special I remembered as a kid.
Tom, newly 12 at the time, was not amused.
"But Mom, you always make the Christmas picture such a big deal."
"I know honey, but why don't we give ourselves a year off, it will be fine."
Then I launched into another round of, "It was the year without a Christmas picture."
His next statement took me completely by surprise.
"This is not like you... You are only doing this because of that blog... You want something to write about for next week."
Honestly. At the time, I hadn't thought about it, but he had a point. It would make a great story. I always knew that boy was brilliant.
Of course, the most heartbreaking reaction came from our youngest, Peter, who was five at the time my blog came into our lives. Since he was used to sharing me with Tom and Lizzy I didn't think my new passion would really affect him. I was wrong.
“Mommy, I hurt my toe! I need a band-aid.”
I looked up from the computer and gave him my sweet mommy smile. I looked at his toe, which showed no signs of trauma and comforted him with a big, long, hug. Then I went back to the computer.
He asked for another band-aid.
I’m used to Peter's need for band-aids, but I was in the middle of a great thought plus I had dinner to check. Surely, an unnecessary band-aid could wait a minute.
After several failed attempts to elicit my sympathy and attention, Peter had had enough.
“Mommy, I will see you later. I am going to the nurse!”
Yes, it's been an adjustment this last year.
Things have changed. Or more accurately, I have changed.
I no longer use the family computer. I have my own. And, I have my own office too. Well, "office" may be stretching it a bit. It really is just a corner in our bedroom, but it's all mine.
At first it was hard for everyone to realize that mom meant business about her "office" being off-limits. I've never made it a priority to have my own space. I was so happy being a mom, the space didn't seem that important.
But this was different. Funny thing is, once I stood up for my right to have my own corner of the world, the kids, and even my husband, complied.
The one exception to the no one touches mommy's computer is each Sunday when Joe edits my blog. Little did I know that when I married an editor 18 years ago his skills would become so handy.
The kids really didn't know what to make of Joe and I working together and spending time on something other than them. All of sudden three people who were perfectly happy playing and not wanting anything to do with dear old mom and dad desperately needed us the minute Joe would start to work on my site.
Now they accept the few minutes Sunday evening when daddy edits mommy's blog and no one can talk to us. They are also used to the silly exchanges that happen between Joe and I while he gently and ever so tactfully reviews my copy.
Last week was a perfect example.
"Kathy, do you really want to say you secretly read romance novels? It's not really a secret."
"Yes it is. I don't like to publicly buy them. I won't even take them out of the library. That's secret."
"Hmm, I don't think that's accurate. You should just say that you read romance novels."
"No, no, don't say that. I don't want anyone to know I'm OK with it. Why can't I just say I read them in secret? Is it really going to harm your journalistic integrity?"
"Yes, yes it is."
With that I hear Tom laughing in the hallway.
"What if I say I guiltily read romance novels, can you live with that?"
"Yes, that will work."
"You two are so cute when you do this" says a soon-to-be 13 year old Tom.
"Shouldn't you be in bed now?" I say with a smile.
Writing my blog and finding my joy in writing has changed me in ways I never expected.Without even knowing I did it, I had misplaced a part of myself. I was so attuned to my children's needs that I really let my own slide.
The truth is the real addition to our lives hasn't been my blog at all.
The new addition to the family has been me. And that is probably one of the best gifts I could give not only myself, but my family too.
Author's note: I published a blog post on Momster.com last December titled, "My kids are jealous of my blog." This piece is another look at the same topic and includes some excerpts from last year's post.
Being a mom to three kids, I've lived through the excitement and adjustment that comes when your family expands. I totally expected it, too. What I didn't expect was that the same period of adjustment would happen when I started my blog last November. To my surprise, my kids were jealous.
Sure, at first they were very excited for me. They were even impressed that this old dog could learn a few new tricks.
Until this point it never occurred to them that I could even type, let alone use a computer.
Heck, I barely had time to brush my teeth raising three children with a variety of special needs and issues that needed daily attention. Never mind spending my time web surfing. Personal enrichment and satisfaction were not high on my to-do list.
My kids knew I had worked in an office before becoming a mom, but I think they thought of that as more of a suburban legend in the once-upon-a-time-the-old-gal-had-a-life vein.
Very quickly the awe and even pride my kids felt at watching me do something new was replaced with cries of, "when are you getting off our computer?"
The cries came the loudest from our daughter Lizzy, whose special needs have always included an extremely hard time with speech and language. Phrases such as "mommy, you sure like that computer," started to grow into "mommy get off my computer now."
Always thrilled whenever Lizzy can find her words, I would smile and tell her that it was great she was using her words so well, but we do not speak to people that way. Then I would go back to my blog.
Our oldest son, Tom knew something had really started to change a few weeks later. We were on our fifth attempt at taking the yearly Christmas picture when I uncharacteristically, threw in the towel.
"That's it guys. It's just going to be the year without a Christmas picture. It's really no big deal."
Then I started to sing that phrase to the tune of an old Christmas special I remembered as a kid.
Tom, newly 12 at the time, was not amused.
"But Mom, you always make the Christmas picture such a big deal."
"I know honey, but why don't we give ourselves a year off, it will be fine."
Then I launched into another round of, "It was the year without a Christmas picture."
His next statement took me completely by surprise.
"This is not like you... You are only doing this because of that blog... You want something to write about for next week."
Honestly. At the time, I hadn't thought about it, but he had a point. It would make a great story. I always knew that boy was brilliant.
Of course, the most heartbreaking reaction came from our youngest, Peter, who was five at the time my blog came into our lives. Since he was used to sharing me with Tom and Lizzy I didn't think my new passion would really affect him. I was wrong.
“Mommy, I hurt my toe! I need a band-aid.”
I looked up from the computer and gave him my sweet mommy smile. I looked at his toe, which showed no signs of trauma and comforted him with a big, long, hug. Then I went back to the computer.
He asked for another band-aid.
I’m used to Peter's need for band-aids, but I was in the middle of a great thought plus I had dinner to check. Surely, an unnecessary band-aid could wait a minute.
After several failed attempts to elicit my sympathy and attention, Peter had had enough.
“Mommy, I will see you later. I am going to the nurse!”
Yes, it's been an adjustment this last year.
Things have changed. Or more accurately, I have changed.
I no longer use the family computer. I have my own. And, I have my own office too. Well, "office" may be stretching it a bit. It really is just a corner in our bedroom, but it's all mine.
At first it was hard for everyone to realize that mom meant business about her "office" being off-limits. I've never made it a priority to have my own space. I was so happy being a mom, the space didn't seem that important.
But this was different. Funny thing is, once I stood up for my right to have my own corner of the world, the kids, and even my husband, complied.
The one exception to the no one touches mommy's computer is each Sunday when Joe edits my blog. Little did I know that when I married an editor 18 years ago his skills would become so handy.
The kids really didn't know what to make of Joe and I working together and spending time on something other than them. All of sudden three people who were perfectly happy playing and not wanting anything to do with dear old mom and dad desperately needed us the minute Joe would start to work on my site.
Now they accept the few minutes Sunday evening when daddy edits mommy's blog and no one can talk to us. They are also used to the silly exchanges that happen between Joe and I while he gently and ever so tactfully reviews my copy.
Last week was a perfect example.
"Kathy, do you really want to say you secretly read romance novels? It's not really a secret."
"Yes it is. I don't like to publicly buy them. I won't even take them out of the library. That's secret."
"Hmm, I don't think that's accurate. You should just say that you read romance novels."
"No, no, don't say that. I don't want anyone to know I'm OK with it. Why can't I just say I read them in secret? Is it really going to harm your journalistic integrity?"
"Yes, yes it is."
With that I hear Tom laughing in the hallway.
"What if I say I guiltily read romance novels, can you live with that?"
"Yes, that will work."
"You two are so cute when you do this" says a soon-to-be 13 year old Tom.
"Shouldn't you be in bed now?" I say with a smile.
Writing my blog and finding my joy in writing has changed me in ways I never expected.Without even knowing I did it, I had misplaced a part of myself. I was so attuned to my children's needs that I really let my own slide.
The truth is the real addition to our lives hasn't been my blog at all.
The new addition to the family has been me. And that is probably one of the best gifts I could give not only myself, but my family too.
Author's note: I published a blog post on Momster.com last December titled, "My kids are jealous of my blog." This piece is another look at the same topic and includes some excerpts from last year's post.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
A Novel Life
This week I feel every one of my 45, soon-to-be 46 years. My nerves are shot. I'm tired and more than a little cranky. I'm in need of a makeover, or more appropriately, a rewrite.
After years of guiltily reading romance novels, I've decided to take a page from one of them and reframe my life in the fashion of a novel. I may even put a picture of my dishwasher dressed in a flowing gown on the cover.
The working title: A Woman Possessed by Love, Family and Her Dishwasher.
Now under the haze of romance writing, I can give myself a makeover that I just don't have time for in real life.
First things first, I've never been happy with my height. I think I have way to big of a frame to be only 5'3", so in my novel I am transformed from a short brunette into a petite brunette:
Although lacking in the height her frame would seem to call for, Kathy's lack of height gives her a gentle, almost doll like appearance.
Now what do I do with my out-of-shape, almost 46-year-old body that has had three children, with the last one coming at the age of 39?
Kathy's voluptuous figure, more curvy and full than ever before, fits a woman who has lived life fully. Her round hips are her badge of honor from three hard-won and difficult pregnancies. It was hard not to be grateful to the body that carried her children from the man that is her husband and soul mate.
A few lines and wrinkles? Who needs Botox or plastic surgery? I have a computer and a memory full of romance novels.
Kathy may no longer have the glow of youth, but the sands of time have been gently carved on her still porcelain skin. This has only added character to her unique beauty. Much like a fine wine that gets better with age, Kathy's beauty reflects a life full of experience. She is a classic beauty that never goes out of style.
I may have gone a little overboard, but hey, it's my book.
What I love the most about romance novels is that all the problems and trials that the heroine endures are wrapped up in less than a thousand pages.
I would love it if some of the more difficult times in my life could be summed up so neatly.
Of course, the chapters I would love to be able to jump over the most are the ones that deal with our beautiful daughter, Lizzy.
Lizzy has been an enigma to me and the medical community since she was six weeks old and I realized she was not looking at me like she should have. We have gone to so many doctors, specialists, and therapists that I feel I have earned my own degree in all syndromes related to Lizzy.
How can one little girl have so many issues and delays yet so many gifts at the same time? Watching our beautiful daughter struggle with things people take for granted, such as the ability to express herself when she wants to, is a pain I will never be able to express.
Her special needs are at their most apparent when she is sick. Lizzy can't always feel and express the pain she feels, and we don't know she's sick until the symptoms are at their worst. I also fear that every sneeze, cough, or infection Lizzy gets is somehow related to her undiagnosed brain disorder.
This week, watching Lizzy cough so hard that she turns red and throws up has been hard. Knowing she is in pain and so uncomfortable, yet not able to really tell me what is going on makes it even worse.
Even more heartbreaking is Lizzy's incredible spirit. She will be all red in the face with vomit all over her and yet when one of us asks her how she is she replies with a smile, "I'm good."
After three trips to the doctor in less than a week it looks like it's possible that she has whooping cough. Of course, it's my sweet Lizzy who ends up with this, even though she has had every vaccination a child should have.
It's times like this when she seems so fragile that I fear that one day I will lose her. I would be lying if I didn't say at times that fear keeps me up at nights.
This is when I would love to put the book of my life down and pick it up at a later chapter. A time when everything is settled, and my children are all grown, safe, and happy.
I can see the last chapter I would love to read:
Kathy watches her beautiful daughter, the child that no doctor could diagnosis or explain. The child she was told would never live on her own, and she could feel nothing but pure joy. There Lizzy stood, all grown up. Her beautiful dark hair spilling onto her shoulders, smiling and full of pride as she stood by her paintings. Kathy could see the buzz around her daughter as the critics were touting Lizzy as the next "hot" artist. All of a sudden the years of pain, and fear were gone. Lizzy was a happy, independent woman.
Of course, the hardest thing for me to accept is that I'm not the author of any of my children's stories. Lizzy, as well as my two beautiful sons, will have to write their own "books" and their own happy endings.
I can only concentrate on my own.
Looking over her life, Kathy, still stunningly beautiful at the age of 85, smiled as she marveled at the happy endings each of her children were able to write for themselves. Though not the endings she may have chosen for them, she was grateful that all three had grown into happy, kind adults.
This is a life and a book worth reading to the end.
After years of guiltily reading romance novels, I've decided to take a page from one of them and reframe my life in the fashion of a novel. I may even put a picture of my dishwasher dressed in a flowing gown on the cover.
The working title: A Woman Possessed by Love, Family and Her Dishwasher.
Now under the haze of romance writing, I can give myself a makeover that I just don't have time for in real life.
First things first, I've never been happy with my height. I think I have way to big of a frame to be only 5'3", so in my novel I am transformed from a short brunette into a petite brunette:
Although lacking in the height her frame would seem to call for, Kathy's lack of height gives her a gentle, almost doll like appearance.
Now what do I do with my out-of-shape, almost 46-year-old body that has had three children, with the last one coming at the age of 39?
Kathy's voluptuous figure, more curvy and full than ever before, fits a woman who has lived life fully. Her round hips are her badge of honor from three hard-won and difficult pregnancies. It was hard not to be grateful to the body that carried her children from the man that is her husband and soul mate.
A few lines and wrinkles? Who needs Botox or plastic surgery? I have a computer and a memory full of romance novels.
Kathy may no longer have the glow of youth, but the sands of time have been gently carved on her still porcelain skin. This has only added character to her unique beauty. Much like a fine wine that gets better with age, Kathy's beauty reflects a life full of experience. She is a classic beauty that never goes out of style.
I may have gone a little overboard, but hey, it's my book.
What I love the most about romance novels is that all the problems and trials that the heroine endures are wrapped up in less than a thousand pages.
I would love it if some of the more difficult times in my life could be summed up so neatly.
Of course, the chapters I would love to be able to jump over the most are the ones that deal with our beautiful daughter, Lizzy.
Lizzy has been an enigma to me and the medical community since she was six weeks old and I realized she was not looking at me like she should have. We have gone to so many doctors, specialists, and therapists that I feel I have earned my own degree in all syndromes related to Lizzy.
How can one little girl have so many issues and delays yet so many gifts at the same time? Watching our beautiful daughter struggle with things people take for granted, such as the ability to express herself when she wants to, is a pain I will never be able to express.
Her special needs are at their most apparent when she is sick. Lizzy can't always feel and express the pain she feels, and we don't know she's sick until the symptoms are at their worst. I also fear that every sneeze, cough, or infection Lizzy gets is somehow related to her undiagnosed brain disorder.
This week, watching Lizzy cough so hard that she turns red and throws up has been hard. Knowing she is in pain and so uncomfortable, yet not able to really tell me what is going on makes it even worse.
Even more heartbreaking is Lizzy's incredible spirit. She will be all red in the face with vomit all over her and yet when one of us asks her how she is she replies with a smile, "I'm good."
After three trips to the doctor in less than a week it looks like it's possible that she has whooping cough. Of course, it's my sweet Lizzy who ends up with this, even though she has had every vaccination a child should have.
It's times like this when she seems so fragile that I fear that one day I will lose her. I would be lying if I didn't say at times that fear keeps me up at nights.
This is when I would love to put the book of my life down and pick it up at a later chapter. A time when everything is settled, and my children are all grown, safe, and happy.
I can see the last chapter I would love to read:
Kathy watches her beautiful daughter, the child that no doctor could diagnosis or explain. The child she was told would never live on her own, and she could feel nothing but pure joy. There Lizzy stood, all grown up. Her beautiful dark hair spilling onto her shoulders, smiling and full of pride as she stood by her paintings. Kathy could see the buzz around her daughter as the critics were touting Lizzy as the next "hot" artist. All of a sudden the years of pain, and fear were gone. Lizzy was a happy, independent woman.
Of course, the hardest thing for me to accept is that I'm not the author of any of my children's stories. Lizzy, as well as my two beautiful sons, will have to write their own "books" and their own happy endings.
I can only concentrate on my own.
Looking over her life, Kathy, still stunningly beautiful at the age of 85, smiled as she marveled at the happy endings each of her children were able to write for themselves. Though not the endings she may have chosen for them, she was grateful that all three had grown into happy, kind adults.
This is a life and a book worth reading to the end.
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