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Someday life will be more than laundry and dishes and grocery pick-ups and practices. Someday life will be lazy mornings reading and lonely afternoons of reflection. Someday I will be as happy with my body as I was when I was four years old, running, jumping, splashing, smiling, and living life uninhibited. Someday my heart will break again. More than it has ever broken. And it will heal. Slowly and unintentionally. On its own schedule. Resuming a new shape and capacity. Without my direction. No need to brace for it - what does bracing do anyway? Someday I will have little versions of myself climbing onto my lap again. But they will also be the little versions of my original little versions. And I won't know what to do with all the love that trickles down from me, to my boys, to their tiny little replicates full of life and wonder. I will supervise less and sympathize more. I will be less rigid and more engaged. I won't do this on purpose. It will just happen. Someday my identity won't be wrapped in a stethoscope or initials behind my name. My healing touch will never leave, but my paycheck will. I will be sad. I will feel funny. And eventually I will wonder how I ever let such bureaucracy define me. Someday I will look at my partner across the table and wonder how we got through all the muck. I will forget most of the junk and remember the highlights. I will be proud of us and happy for us. And I will sit at the table with the family we built. Someday I will sit on a porch, hopefully on a lake. I will feel a cool breeze and hear the birds and the squirrels. I will think of Mary and Martha, both my grandmothers, and I will explode with nostalgia. The men we loved. The families we created. The mess we endured. I will thank Martha for my fire and Mary for my loyalty. I will dance with both of them in my kitchen, windows up, music on high, supper in the oven, conviction in my heart. Please support my fellow hope*writers by reading their work surrounding the prompt "someday": Your Someday Will Come by Lisa Crowder https://lisacrowder.substack.com/p/your-someday-will-come Make Someday Happen by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/make-someday-happen/ Are You Waiting on Someday? by Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/are-you-waiting-on-someday/ Simple Is Better – The “Some Day” that Doesn’t Ever Quite Happen by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2023/07/01/simple-is-better-the-some-day-that-doesnt-ever-quite-happen/
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On a recent poll with my readers, the results were not surprising:
The poll was not anonymous, and I know many of my readers. Several of the "way too much" respondents are married, have children, have jobs, are surrounded by people all the time, and YET... they feel alone. I can relate. Loneliness is harmful to your health. But how do we fix it? We've never been more "connected" in our lives? Or have we? I have found 10 ways to feel more connected in a digital world. These are not from some article or YouTube video. These are just what has worked for ME. I hope they work for you too:
I love interacting with my readers. For more of an inside look into my days, you can follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook. Please support my other hope*writers by reading their works based on the prompt word LONELY: Is God Lonely for You? By Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/is-god-lonely-for-you/ Loved vs. Lonely by Lisa Crowder https://lisacrowder.substack.com/p/5c456855-76dc-499f-90cd-6ffef071a3d3 Simple Is Better Lent - When Lonely is OK by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2023/03/01/simple-is-better-lent-when-lonely-is-ok/ Open Letter to the Lonely Mom by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/lonely-mom/ Breaking the Stigma: Understanding and Talking About Loneliness by MelAnn https://lifesouvenirs.net/p/breaking-the-stigma We sold our van. A van I never wanted. A van I swore I would never drive (pre-kids that is). In preparation to complete the sale with its new owner, I searched every file, binder, drawer, and cabinet looking for the title. When did we buy this van? Oh yeah, 2012 when my middle son was 1 and his baby brother was 6 weeks from his debut. When did we pay it off? Oh yeah, late 2016 when I was diagnosed with an incurable autoimmune disease out of the blue. Where did I put this title??? I marched around the house the bulk of the day scouring every nook and cranny of file-space I have ever used. Since we once owned 3 houses, a fully operational lawn business, and we have 3 kids... there's a LOT of filing that goes on around here. Especially for 2 Gen-X parents who are a little more analog than digital. A few stressful hours later, the tag office informs us that Honda never even sent us the title. I'm not sure about all the details, but we should receive our updated title next week so that we can complete the sale. I'm sure we must have missed something on our end, but again: 3 kids, 3 houses, me being sick with a rare disease, and husband returning to the airline industry after selling his lawn business... we had a few things going on at that time in our lives. Back to the van, though. I noticed my body and my breathing as I was searching for that title. I was frustrated and self-loathing for a while figuring I must have misplaced this golden ticket we needed today (buyer was on his way to our house), but I was also something else. I was sad. A tiny little part of me didn't want to find the title. I was about to hand over the keys to a vehicle I never wanted that carried the life I always dreamed of... That van survived infant carriers and booster seats. My oldest son's middle school football era and me coaching my middle son in my beloved soccer. It got us home from the beach and the lake too many times to count. It started this crazy baseball journey that now rules our weekends. It took me to see loved ones that are no longer here. Today, in my search for that precious piece of paper, I found the boys' old school pictures, artwork, and growth charts. I found old debts we had long forgotten and remembered old arguments we have now outgrown. I thought of all the DVD's I rented from the Dollar General Redbox that literally saved my life (I owe a post to my "rides to the Redbox" for sure). I remembered each time one of the boys got carsick (sorry New Owners) and each time I filled that trunk with groceries. I remember being 30 and divorced and wanting to be a mother more than anything in this world. I remember spending holidays alone and thinking my ship had sailed. So I sit here typing these words to you, my friends. Let us not overlook what has brought us where we are today. The stops we have made. The wrong turns and the right ones. I am handing over the keys to an era of my life I could have never imagined. A life so full I could not hold it some days. Here's to velcro sneakers and sippy cups. Frozen on the DVD player and 3 boys in my backseat. Godspeed. Have you ever put yourself into timeout as an adult? Either your behavior was less than stellar or your attitude needed an adjustment? You were snapping at the kids for no reason, huffy with your spouse, or just spewing frustration with each breath? If you were your parent, you would have probably sent you to your room to cool off. I have learned to do that for myself. I even announce it. "Guys, mommy needs a time out. I will be back in 5 minutes. Please allow me those 5 minutes to myself." I hope this is modeling to my boys that even adults have meltdowns and need a moment. Let's talk about how to take an adult time-out and what to do during your adult time-out. How to take an adult time-out:
What an adult time-out may look like:
I was talking to a close friend the other day about the parenting we received as GenX kids. I was comparing it to the parenting I try to dole out and joked "man, I hope I'm not messing my kids up." We proceeded to have a lengthy conversation in which we semi-concluded that our generation is all in therapy because emotions were not allowed or acknowledged. We had to figure it out on our own while our kids' generation seems to start going to therapy in middle school. All or nothing? Where is the balance? This isn't funny and it isn't lost on me. At some point, I do just want my kids to be kids. On the other hand, I want them to learn how to process their emotions instead of shoving their feelings inside. If anyone knows the answer to this, let me know!!! 😜 In the end, I think we are all doing the best we can with the time, energy, and knowledge we have. Just remember... adults can take a time-out too. I highly encourage it. Godspeed. I love interacting with my readers. If you try taking a time-out, I would love to hear the results! For more of an inside look into my days, you can follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook. Please support my other hope*writers by reading their works using the prompt word PAUSE: Pause in His Presence by Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/pause-in-his-presence/ Power of the Pause by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/power-of-the-pause/ Don’t Stress, Pause and Refresh Regina Marcazzo-Skarka https://wordpress.com/post/reginamarcazzoskarka.com/147 When Hitting Pause is What We Need by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2023/02/01/letting-your-doing-and-being-collide/ The Pause that Creates by MelAnn https://lifesouvenirs.net/p/the-pause-that-creates Ancestry.com has become very popular in the past 10-15 years. I decided to join Ancestry.com in 2019. My husband and I took our tests initially and then I bought my parents the tests a few months later. Ancestry can be as public or as private as you like. You also have the option to delete your DNA results at any time. If you have been thinking about joining Ancestry.com but are on the fence, check out a few of the features listed below. I pay a little extra to see the detailed documents because those interest me, but the basic plan also gives you tons of information into your family history. One of the new features of ancestry.com breaks down which parts of your ethnicity you obtained from which parent. The technology allows for this even without your parents' DNA - which as a scientist by trade - amazes me! I love that I have access to so many historical documents through Ancestry.com. I have seen marriage records, birth and death certificates, census records, military paperwork, and immigration records. I recently polled my readers and IG followers as to what they were planning to do the first weekend after New Year's. 90% responded with "declutter and organize." Research has shown that there are 3 times of year when we naturally hum with purging and sorting energy. Those times are at the beginning of a new calendar year, when spring arrives, and when school starts. Even if we are not students or teachers, we buzz off the energy of those who are and we naturally want to purge and sort in August or September. While I know most of us have the "want to" to declutter, the question then becomes "but how?" - how do we transfer that energy and desire into action?
I have a few other tips for harnessing your purging and sorting energy:
I hope this motivates you to start purging at least one corner of your home. One closet. One drawer. One pile. It feels SO GOOD to have less "stuff" to manage and maintain. The older I get, the less I want to corral! Be sure to follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook! I love interacting with my readers! Legos and Laundry. These have been in my living room and dining room for over 10 years now. Should legos be in the rooms where we eat or relax? Should laundry? I say - YES. I have wanted to be a mother since I can remember. I babysat most of the kids in my neighborhood. Back when 12-year-olds could safely keep a few toddlers without any cell phones to reach any adults. Back when toddlers were thrilled to have said 12-year-old-neighbor-girl to make them pretend-school-worksheets and teach them how to hopscotch. Those were the days. Back to the legos and the laundry, there are many days where "I can't wait until this house is in order and everything is in its place and nobody's dirty socks or underwear will be on the floor!". But now that I've had one successfully leave the nest, I don't catch myself wincing over the legos or the laundry as much. See I know those cleats will be gone one day. I know that clarinet practice I hear from upstairs will be a distant memory. I know the messy rooms and the slammed doors and the "WHATTTTT?" of a teenager (with the required eye roll) will soon be in my rearview. And sometimes it catches my breath. Because I know. I know I will go from discussions around algebra to conversations about mortgages. From little league to stadiums. From junior Broadway productions to a college stage, perhaps. It's the perhaps that gets me too. See they were little, hard to believe but true. No bigger than my short arms could nuzzle. And I rocked them every night. And I picked out their nursery furniture and their first backpack and their first set of beliefs in many ways. But they're growing up. And they're SO smart. They can think for themselves and they challenge me, too. Make my brain stretch. Make my heart explode. I didn't know it could feel so good and so awful at the same time. Good that they're becoming themselves and that they're happy. Awful that I can't protect them and keep them from getting bumped and bruised like we all did. Now when I hang up that uniform or listen to the show soundtrack for the 100th time, I just smile. I let the legos pile up. I keep the clean clothes folded in the basket on the dining room table. And I hold my breath just a few more years and soak in every minute that I can get with them. How many more loads of laundry will I get? I think any mother would agree there is never enough. Written by one sappy mom to anyone else who feels this. Written when my boys are 10, 12, and 20. Written when I'm sandwiched between launching children and caring for aging parents. Written when the world seems automated and conversations seem rare. Written with my own youth creeping toward my rearview, with a coffee mug in my hand, and a knowing heart swollen in my chest. Godspeed. I love planning. Lots and lots of planning. I wish I could say I have time to do all the planning I want to do, but let's be honest, I waste time with Netflix and TikTok instead. That's okay, though. Sometimes that "wasting time" is our mind, body, and spirit recovering from all the daily input and stressors. But every year around this time, I go full-speed PLANNING MODE to prep for a new year. I have found it both helpful and invigorating to plan for a new year with new opportunities. Fresh starts are endless, necessary, and exciting. Please enjoy my top 10 planning hacks:
To further understand what each one of these hacks entails, let's dig a little deeper:
I hope this content gives you ideas and energy towards the art of planning as it affects your life. Some of my best days were planned. Some were not. And that's okay. Listen to your body and follow its lead. Your body knows what plans feel good for you. Godspeed. ☀️ Please support my fellow hope*writers by reading their work based on the prompt word PLAN: A New Plan, Again by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/a-new-plan-again/ A New Year Plan by Regina Marcazzo-Skarka https://reginamarcazzoskarka.com/2023/01/01/january-1-2023-a-new-year-plan/ Mom. Mama. Pinky. Jan. Janice. Dear. Sis. She will answer to any of these, but I believe "Pinky" is her favorite beckon. That's what her 3 grandsons call her. She didn't become a grandmother until she was 58 after believing it may not ever happen for her. Accounting. Bookkeeping. Payroll. Spreadsheets. Analysis. She has done that for work and now as a retired wife and home finance piddler, trying to spread retirement funds in all the right directions. She didn't finish her bachelor's degree until she was 48. That's perseverance and determination. And sacrifice. Don't think I didn't see you, Mom. Cook. Grocery shopper. Queen of the kitchen. Not only did she work, she cooked. She had homemade meals on the table for us every night (that we were home with all of our extracurriculars). And we ate together. At the table. With the TV off. You taught me to cook, Mom. No set lessons. Just daily presence. Daily consistency. I cook because of you, your mother, and your aunts. It dripped down into me, and I thank you. Culture. Music. Theatre. Movies. Travel. Books. I credit both Mom and Dad for this, but I think mom's love for the arts fueled my own. Mom wasn't a musician or an artist. She didn't write for fun like I do today. Children weren't always encouraged to pursue creativity in the 1950's and 1960's, so she made sure that we could do so. She is now sprinkling this love into my firstborn, and he knows it. They are magnets for one another, and I love to see their attraction. Thank you, Mom. Everybody deserves at least one magnet. Physical touch. Back scratches. Hands held. Hugs. Cuddles. Loving tenderness. I am a nurse because of you. I am realizing this more and more every day as I straddle launching children and aging parents. I learned to touch and care from you. One of my boys recently asked me "how did you know how to do that mom?" when he saw me soothing a baby and keeping her entertained. I learned it from you. I watched you and I received love from you. Thank you for giving me softness. I'm hard and sharp in so many ways. I need that cushion you have given me. Peace. Restraint. Calm. I've seen you mad, but only when necessary. Mostly I see restraint and thought. Intentional words and actions. Maturity. The tornado inside of me is calmed by your grounding, and for that I am forever grateful. I got my feistiness from your mother, and I see your sensibility in my youngest. Thank you for giving me a mirror of you in him. He will always remind me of you in his tenderness. Your childhood was very different from mine. But God knew I would need someone to talk to about families that may look different. My adulthood has been very different from yours. But God knew you might be able to heal some from witnessing adults making decisions that are really hard and living through plans that don't always work out. That's what I want to believe, Mom. That we have taught each other. Helped each other grow. You're my best friend, Mom. And I see you. I don't believe in perfect. I see YOU. And you see ME. All the cracks. And we still choose each other. Thank you for loving me through all of it. We are not done yet. And I can't wait for the rest. I don't know what your relationship is like with your mother. I don't know if your mom is alive or if she is already gone. I can't fix whatever may have happened with you and your mother. I can only share my truth and in this truth, I know that I am extremely lucky and blessed to have the mom I have and the relationship we have. Godspeed. The whir of the wall heater lulls me to sleep. I’m in seventh grade again, at my friend’s house, dreaming of my life as an adult. We just watched Dirty Dancing and inhaled a bag of Doritos with a 2L of Dr Pepper and no one considered the carbohydrates involved. In reality, I am an adult. With children. And two husbands by now. And a whole lot of disappointments and triumphs along the way. I still feel like that awkward seventh grader when, I’m actually the mother of a seventh grader. How did this happen? I’m typing this in a cottage in the woods. A writer’s weekend, that’s what I claimed it to be. And in late 2022, I am stuck trying to decide how much of my life to share on social media and how many posts are “enough” to promote my writing. The internet connection is poor here and it’s a blessing and a curse. When did we become so tied to people we’ve never met and numbers oft generated by bots? Do I measure the importance of my work by likes, shares, and follows or by actual lives impacted? And let’s be honest, we rarely know when we impact a life because the Enneagram and Myers-Briggs tells us that a certain % of folks are introverts and would never tell us if we helped them, to no fault of our own. And the trauma we have all endured. I am not joking. The real actual trauma and pain I have seen my fellow GenXers and patients and friends endure. We all go to therapy and spend countless hours trying to right some of the wrongs between scrolling and TikToking, working our regular jobs, raising tiny to full-sized humans, and trying to eat whole foods. In this world of 2-4 second attention spans, I feel lost. I feel lonely. I feel drained. Am I the only one? And so I sit. In Midlife. In the Southeast. In middle school bleachers and while planning a wedding for the oldest. I sit at baseball tournaments and in my car traveling to see my patients. I sit at kitchen tables discussing hospice the same morning I sit with my fifth grader studying vocabulary. I know I’m not alone. The Middle is weird. It’s not the beginning, like I am reminded of with my oldest and his fiancé. The furniture shopping and the bedspread and dishes selections. It’s not the end either. The disbursement of family heirlooms and quiet days sparsely populated by visiting friends or family. It’s not the days of toddler-parent-survival where bath time and nap time ruled the schedule. But it’s not the days where everyone can drive yet either. And oh yeah a pandemic happened. School shootings. A nation so divided I can’t even recognize it. But just keep on going folks. Keep on posting and hashtagging and hustling. Meh. I will take this Middle. I will take the Menopause and the investment planning and the figuring out how to parent adult children. I will take it and try to learn from it and admit that it’s uncomfortable. See, we are too old to fake stuff in this Middle. We have seen too much. I think my writing will continue to be what it is. Real. Raw. With a flimsy filter and a side of sarcasm. It will grow as I do. I hope you join me. If anything in this little diary entry stirred your insides, then know that we are in this together. Let’s go. Awkward but not alone. I love a good puzzle! I don't want 1000 pieces, 500 is plenty for me. I don't want it all to be the same color either. I want lots of colors and a scene or image that brings me joy or peace. Give me a cheesy movie, some warm pajamas, a cup of coffee or hot tea, and a day off work, and I can sit at a puzzle table for hours. I love it even more when I'm sitting next to friends or family or if we each peck at the puzzle over a few days. Collaboration at its best! I love the fact that we can all be looking at the exact same pieces and patterns, but one person can "figure it out" when it has been right there in front of us the entire time. I also love that there are no electronics involved! Much like life, a puzzle teaches us that there are many ways to look at things. Patience is key. And teamwork makes the dream work. All the cliches really "fit" into working a jigsaw puzzle. ☀️
This particular puzzle was SO hard to finish! All those Star Wars uniforms tended to blend together. The kids started it with us but towards the end, my dad and I were the only ones pushing through to the finish line. Working puzzles with my dad hasbecome a favorite pastime for both of us. We can chat, or work in silence. That time with him has been a gift. Do you enjoy working puzzles? What does it do for you? I can't wait to hear all about your puzzle motivations in the comments below. I love interacting with my readers. For more of an inside look into my days, you can follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook. photo credit: Anh Nguyen I have included a list of questions your healthcare provider may ask you during your headache evaluation:
There are several types or categories of headaches:
If you are not quite ready to seek a medical workup, you can try the following safe therapies at home:
Headaches can interrupt our daily lives and become quite cumbersome. Please do not ignore your headaches. Listen to your body. Author's note: this article should not be used to diagnose or treat any conditions. Please seek an appointment with your primary care provider for proper headache evaluation. A neurology consult may also be warranted.
She’s walked through the fire and the storms while dancing in the rain … Her life has been difficult and filled with excruciating pain … She’s suffered many losses in such a short time yet she continues to believe that in the end… it will all be fine … With such strength and undeniable belief she tells me her healing will come in God’s time … It may not be here on earth but perhaps in heaven she will be pain free… Her words are heavy on my heart and somewhat difficult to grasp, for me… She’s my daughter, Keyera, and she suffers from sickle cell It’s a genetic disorder that we know all too well: Her story is a bit different than usual. She wasn’t properly diagnosed until the age of five. My husband and I worked different shifts so that one of us was always home with the kids. At 5, she started kindergarten and became ill after the weakened live intranasal flu vaccine was given. Initially, her pediatrician thought she had the flu in spite of the vaccination. She ran fever, she was fatigued, she had to be carried or she’d just sit in one spot. After 3 rounds of Rocephin (a strong antibiotic) injections and no improvement, her pediatrician, Dr. Allardice, admitted her to the hospital. She ran various tests. She asked about sickle cell, I told her that her cousin had it and my other daughter had the trait but as far as I knew, Keyera didn’t have the trait OR the disease. I was never notified by the health department or pediatrician’s office that I saw prior to Dr. Allardice. My daughter’s health was rapidly declining. In my heart, I felt her slowly drifting away. It seemed as though she had developed pneumonia. Treatment was started and I begged and cried for God not to take my baby away. When her test results came back, I was shocked and in disbelief. I had made sure Keyera had all of her immunizations and that she went to all of her well child visits. She had sickle cell anemia SS and it wasn’t pneumonia. She had acute chest syndrome. Sickle cells are shaped like a sickle so they don’t pass the veins and arteries like they should. Acute chest occurs when there is sickling in the pulmonary arteries and it can mimic pneumonia. Many patients with sickle cell have passed away due to acute chest, heart attack, or stroke. We were fortunate that she was admitted and diagnosed. Her situation was dire. She is now 22 years old. She’s had both hips replaced due to AVN (avascular necrosis - lack of blood supply to the bone) caused by sickle cell. She suffers from medical PTSD due to being in the hospital so often at an early age. She’s lost friends and in 2020, her cousin, Makayla, with sickle cell passed away. Her journey has been challenging and she’s often called resilient but truthfully, she is vulnerable and fragile at times. She just wasn’t given an easier course to take. She often gets upset when people tell her to be robust during a crisis. The thing about pain is that it demands to be felt, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. It makes its presence known. Unfortunately, there is not a universal cure for sickle cell anemia at this time. Not everyone can find a match or are a good candidate for bone marrow transplants. Due to my daughter’s health issues, it’s not an option. She has less than a 50% chance of surviving a transplant. My daughter depends on blood donors to have a decent quality of life. It requires 7-10 units of blood each month. If you want to be a hero and save lives, please donate blood. Before the monthly exchanges, she was in the hospital at least twice a month. She was miserable and asked God on several occasions to let her fall asleep and not wake up. She still has challenges but she is enjoying life and spreading awareness. When her cousin passed away and she got to say her farewell, she promised her with weeping eyes that she’d continue to fight and educate others. I encourage you to research sickle cell anemia. If you know or love someone with it, check in on them but remember though they may be resilient. They do get tired, though they seem strong, listen and support them when they say they’re exhausted or weak. When they say they hurt, believe them. Never tell them they don’t look sick, your intentions may be well meaning but not every illness is visible. My heart cries as my soul weeps for all the sickle cell warriors that continue to suffer or have lost the fight … Each day they try or tried to live the best life possible with all of their might … Simple things that we take for granted can be such a heavy burden or test … Their bodies tire easily and they must often take a break to simply rest …
My daughter has kept her promise to her cousin. She has done several informative interviews regarding sickle cell and continue to spread awareness. Giving blood is such a simple task but it has such a great impact on the quality of life for those that need it. It cannot be manufactured, please donate blood and help save lives. Blog host's note: I know La Keisha because she is a nurse. She does not mention being a nurse in this piece, but I feel I must. As a nurse, we take care of other mothers' children when our own children are sick at home. We minister to other daughters' aging parents when our own aging parents need us. We comfort other wives' husbands when our own husbands miss us and wish they had more time with us. So just imagine the toll this has taken on my friend, my sister, my fellow nurse. She wouldn't trade it. We nurses wouldn't trade it, our calling. But being a nurse and a mother to a sick child deserves space in this world. Godspeed.
Other ideas for rainy days with kids include:
Please check out the work of my fellow hope*writers: 10 Things I Learned While Waiting On God by Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/10-things-i-learned-while-waiting-on-god/ The Ten Lepers - A Lesson in Thankfulness by Lisa Granger https://lisamarcelina.net/the-ten-lepers---a-lesson-in-thankfulness/ Never Travel Without These Ten Things by Jessica Weaver www.rootedunrooted.com/blog/never-travel-without-these-ten-things 10 Ways to Turn Things Around by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/how-to-turn-things-around/ When Emotional or Mental Pain Is a 10 by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2022/09/01/when-emotional-or-mental-pain-is-a-10/ It's 3 o'clock on a Sunday with laundry caught up and dishes done There's a wedding now to plan and a full household to run There are 2 in a hormone surge well 3 counting me We have been rushing for so long that we don't know what "still" means There are reels and shorts that lazily pass the time and make the tweens laugh while the husband and I just sigh See we are in The Middle Not the Beginning or the End We have pill organizers and good socks but we still eye the newest trends And we don't have grandbabies to rock Not yet, hopefully one day we will There are 2 still in the nest here So we can't yet seek every thrill We have jobs that we enjoy and hobbies we hope to do one day But on this Sunday away from the ballpark we aren't sure what keeps the itching at bay It's an itch we can't scratch It's a question about life and loss We are thankful for every moment we have but those uncertainties still come across So to all my friends who are also in the middle Let us lean on one another We are husbands, wives, friends, and family We are more than just father and mother One day at a time. One milestone, one crisis, one joy at a time. Let us hold tightly to each other in This Middle. The End will come no matter how we spend our days. Godspeed. Please consider supporting my fellow Hope*Writers by reading their work: The Resurrection and What it Means for Believers by Lisa Granger https://lisamarcelina.net/the-resurrection-and-what-it-means-for-believers/ Finding Meaning in Life … and Death by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2021/05/14/my-most-important-3-ring-binder/ The New Stage of Grief: Finding Meaning in Hardship by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/the-new-stage-of-grief/ I have been packing for the beach for over 20 years now. I certainly was not as pack-savvy my first 5-10 trips as I am now. These are my BEST TIPS for beach packing if you are driving to the beach.
see list of supplies I keep year-round in my cabin / beach box ⬆️⬆️⬆️ Beach Food / Condo List:
Beach clothes / other necessities list:
What goes in our cooler(s) for the ride to the beach:
What we buy once we are there:
I'm typing this from Orange Beach.
I hope you found these lists inclusive and helpful. May all your beach trips be smooth sailing. 🏖 Godspeed. It's summer. In Georgia. So it's HOT. And one thing I'm learning about these long, hot days is that being inside in the cool AC with a fan whirring in the background and nature showing off outside my window gives me both energy and rest simultaneously. Yes, the kids are out of school. Yes, there are lots of "mom, I'm bored" whines followed almost immediately by "mom, I'm hungry." But there is something about summer that makes us all kids again, isn't there? We stay up later than we should. We eat popcorn for dinner if we want to eat popcorn for dinner. We "don't have any homework" and most of us "don't have practice" and a messy house is expected with kids out of school. Pools call our names and floating counts as exercise. Ice cream outings beckon us to sidewalks in small towns. A live band on a starlit night with a warm breeze gives me enough wattage to survive this Georgia heat and sink into my sheets at night both tired and invigorated. We talk to our neighbors more. The same ones we see all year walking their dogs. But it's summer. And summer gives us permission to interact even in this lonely digital world. Movies are cast on campers and garage doors. Glow sticks compete with fireflies and fireworks happen a few times each summer- all over the world. Smores become dessert and even church seems more fun in the summer. God must be showing off a little more with these summer rules and nature's beauty on display. Books are suddenly important to moms and sometimes even dads. And not books for the kids, books for US. We suddenly want to read... by the pool, at the lake, on the beach. Clothing is thinner and shorter so even laundry is less cruel and mundane. Work is necessary for most of us, but even WORK in the summer is better. Frankly we are all in a better mood. So I ask you to sit for a minute or two and consider all the things you LOVE about summer. There is so much going on in the world this June of 2022, that I chose to focus on any summer, all summers, just summer for my reflection post. Life has been heavy, but I need light. We head to the beach in a few weeks and my children's' excitement is like a drug. They giggle and ramble on about all the things we will do and how fun it will be. And I join in! Because I was 10 years old one time, without a bank account or work deadline or relationship issue to worry about. I was 10 years old. Out of school. Staying up late. And catching fireflies after I rode my bike and jumped in the pool with my friends. Allow yourself to be 10 years old today. The world needs that right now. Godspeed. Friends, Family, and Coworkers can all form extremely close bonds. Statistics show that we spend more hours at work with coworkers than with our own family members. If we are lucky, we find certain individuals that vibe with us. We may share common interests or common talents. We may have a similar sense of humor or taste in music. It's kismet and it's beautiful when that happens. But years pass. Life marches on and with that comes love, loss, and change. Some of us grow and some of us remain stagnant. Some minds open and some minds close. I'm sure you have felt it. You're having lunch with someone from one of those 3 groups (family, friend, or coworker), and you run out of things to say. Your common interests and similar values seem further apart. In the worst cases, this person sitting across from you is your spouse or partner. Perhaps you are the one who is growing or perhaps you are the one stuck in your ways. Invariably, one of you is going to be growing in a different direction than the other person. Just because you grow in different directions doesn't mean you have to grow apart. It can mean that, however, if you are not careful. Having worked in healthcare for decades, I have learned how important it is to meet people where they are. If you love someone, you can meet them where they are without expecting or pushing them to change. My oldest, bestest friend once commented "it takes all kinds." It wasn't a grand statement or momentous event when those words tumbled out of her mouth. I must have said something judgy, and she course-corrected me. How lovely would it be if we embraced each day and each relationship with that same framework? I cannot recall the moment in which she said those words, but I have never forgotten them. IT TAKES ALL KINDS. How boring and monotonous would life be if we were all the same? As polarized as our country has been of late, imagine us all agreeing on everything? Where would the passion lie? What would spark change? What would we learn? So today, as I begin another day of onboarding for my new day job,
I sit with a smile on my face and love in my heart. I have learned the most from those that challenged me. I have grown the most being surrounded by those that questioned me. I have loved the most by offering compassion and empathy to those that may not even like me. The next time you catch yourself thinking "we are just too different. I've changed (or she's / he's changed)." Pause. Take a deep breath. Silently name all the reasons you loved them initially and why you still care for them today. Who are you to say you are too different? What can you learn from them? What can they teach you about yourself? It takes all kinds. Godspeed. 💜💚💜 Just like a plant first emerges from the soil, I feel that burst of energy after my labor and my toil I have prepared this new beginning that was written in the stars. Will I miss my sweet darlings? Will they always be in my heart? Of course they will for that is who God made me to be. A person who loves and stays committed to thee. ❤️ But I am so very excited to plant new seeds. To bear new crop, to have more reach. Will I miss my old garden and all my farming friends? Of course, but this is just a new plot of land. Some bare acres await me and all my ideas. How exciting to lead, to lift others, to calm fears. The doubters might think "yeah she is in for a treat." But the treat is in the soil, the gardeners, and the seeds. 🌱 I am not the treat. I am simply the sun, ☀️ the rain, and one of the tools to help the garden run. I am not all of that of course. I am no fool to this game. But to be on the team and be invited to play! 🥳 Is the best feeling in the world to be appreciated, to feel heard. The anticipation explodes inside me. No longer a noun, I can be a verb! Some tears will be shed over the last garden I built. I will see you all again. This flower just had to leave before she wilt. 🌸 The following post is one mom's experience with autism. One family's experience. This author and I both understand that autism exists on a spectrum and this is just one example of the spectrum. What do I want you to know about autism? Since I am neuro-typical, I can only give you a mother’s perspective. So, last night, I asked my 15-year-old with autism what they want people to understand about autism. After a moment’s thought, they had two things to tell others. First, in their typical blunt manner, C said, “Autism is a spectrum, it doesn’t always look like a little 6-year-old boy who can’t control himself.” I thought this was a great point. Our autism story isn’t typical. My kid, born in a female body, wasn’t diagnosed until last year, when they were 14. (For the purposes of this post, I’m using gender neutral pronouns and the letter C for their name.) They’ve struggled with a number of things for years: reading was hard, paying attention in school was a disaster, building and maintaining relationships with “normal” peers was super challenging. The autism diagnosis was a sigh of relief for all of us. Finally, we had a name that encompassed a wide variety of things: social skills that were getting harder to manage in middle school, sensory issues that seemed to becoming more intense, and a hyper-fixation on a growing, rotating range of topics. Autism was not a negative diagnosis for us. It was an answer and in it, I found hope. It took years for me to start thinking about autism for my kid. To me, autism looked like one of two things: it was either the young boy whose autism made them unpredictable, a person with special needs, or it was the savant, again a boy, who could tell you everything you needed to know about his particular fascination. In fact, it was C who came to me and said, “Mom, I think I have autism.” In the next breath and typical fashion, “I’ve been doing some research.” My sweet kid, from the moment they were born, was never typical. They were happy and silly and the third born. They could be laughing one minute and asleep on your lap the next. C was cuddly and tender one moment, but at the next moment, trying some stunt that would make a mom’s heart stutter with nerves. They could listen to me read to them for long hours or play a silly made up game all afternoon, but could never concentrate long enough to finish math problems. We got an ADHD diagnosis when C was quite young. (That’s another thing C would want you to know: often Autism is misdiagnosed in females as ADHD because Autism presents differently in girls and practitioners don’t think females have autism.) And in that moment, an ADHD diagnosis was a tool—it gave our family a framework for understanding that our kid’s brain worked differently. We could accommodate their learning and home life to best suit their needs. C is smart, funny, talented, creative, and silly. Their diagnosis forced me, as a mom, to reframe the negative lens through which this is seen. I wasn’t going to let them think their ADHD was an affliction. Instead, ADHD was their superpower—they saw the world differently than I did. It’s just that the world isn’t really made for kids whose brains aren’t like everyone else’s. Everything fell apart in Middle School. Well, Middle school and a pandemic and online learning and adolescence. It was the perfect storm of horrible-ness. It has been a rocky couple of years for my kid (and me) as we’ve discovered the autism diagnosis and struggled mightily with mental health. (One more thing C would say, because they think of things at random times unrelated to anything else, is that because autism is diagnosed so late in girls, most girls with autism struggle with depression, anxiety and a sense of “who am I?” and “why can’t I be like everyone else?” An earlier diagnosis could help relieve some of that angst.) This is the first time I’ve ever put this story down in words. It feels rather momentous to do so. Yet, when I tell people in my orbit that C has autism, some are surprised, but for most, who know us, it just rolls off their back. “Huh,” they say and move on to something else. Because for them, as well as us, it’s just a way to define the way my kid is, the way they move and think and interact with the world. And someday, this culture will understand what a gift a brain like that is. I am convinced that someday C is going to change the world. Oh, and C wants everyone to know something else about autism: “Mom, make sure you say that moms who have kids with autism aren’t superheroes. They’re just moms. Like you.” C makes me laugh so hard I can’t breathe. They will share their saved memes with me for 30 minutes just to get some parental attention and then later lock themselves in their room and not want to talk to anyone. They challenge the way I think and expand my view of what success looks like in the world and teach me a gazillion things I never thought I would have to know. While I wish the world was an easier place for my sweet one, I would never, in a million years, change this part of who they are. And that is what I want you to know about autism. Sammy Beuker is a wife, mom, Youth Worker, friend, and writer who lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan. When she isn’t managing her complicated family life, she works with teenagers at her local church. You can find her and her newsletter at sammybeuker.com where you can follow along on her journey to publication or on IG @sammyanne_b where she posts about her life, writing, books, food, family, faith and her golden retriever, Monty. Thank you Sammy (and C!!!) for sharing your words with my readers. Thank you for having the courage to tell your story. This touched me! ❤️ -Amy at Taylored Intent If you are a mother, you know the feeling. You're at work instead of field day. You're at one child's band performance while the other child has an academic bowl meet. You missed that baseball practice out of sheer exhaustion and that's the one where he hit it over the fence. "Mom, can you pick me up car rider? Can you check me out early like all my friends? When are you going to be off work again? Mom, why are you on your laptop so much? Mom, are you listening?" Some of those innocent but real questions can cut me like a knife, leaving me gutted and riddled with GUILT. Mom Guilt. It's a thing. And I think we should talk about it. AND we certainly do not help ourselves as a gender or a community. Not only do our KIDS make us feel guilty, our fellow moms can inadvertently or purposefully trigger shame and guilt at any given moment. Pam made homemade Christmas cookies for the entire class while we can barely pack lunches each day. Trisha made Halloween goodie bags with a punny handmade tag using her Cricut. Allison sewed personalized pencil pouches for the entire third grade while we are struggling to sign each kid's agenda every night. Then there's social media. Be sure to only buy non-GMO Organic foods. Is your car seat in the top 3 for safety? How often is your child brushing their teeth? Gluten is the devil. ADHD is real - oh wait, no it's not - you're just a lazy parent. Discipline your kids. Don't discipline them, let them find their own way. All babies should cry it out. Babies who cry it out have attachment issues and end up in therapy before age 30. Limit that screen time. Make sure they play outside, but you must watch them outside AND still get all your paid-work done and maintain a spotless house with home-cooked meals. Cloth diapers. Breastfeeding. Well, if you work then store-bought baby food might be okay- but only if you work now. And don't forget to recycle. Make it stop. When my boys were 2, 4, and 12, I walked into my CEO's office and said "I quit. Other women are raising my children and I quit." I didn't have another job lined up. Fortunately, I had some savings, but that was mainly because I was working SO HARD and barely had my head above water that I never had time to shop or vacation (ie spend money). I was justifying myself to a man (my CEO) whose wife did not work and I "knew" he was coming home to beautifully home-cooked meals, a clean house, freshly washed and ironed clothes, and a wife who probably still had energy for sex instead of one who was collapsing into bed every night. OR SO I THOUGHT. He kindly and calmly asked me to take a deep breath, sit down, and reconsider. What about part time or PRN (the medical term for as needed)? Did I want to lose my 6-7 years of tenure with the company? Did I always want to stay home or did I just need a break? Did I still enjoy being a nurse practitioner? The truth was, I did not know the answers to his questions. I had ZERO plans, which goes against my basic core (search "plan" on this blog and you'll quickly see I plan everything). I had not asked myself if I enjoyed my work because I barely knew what day it was. I felt pulled in every direction by every person in my life and I was dreaming of ways to "get off the treadmill." My husband's lawn business was booming, and I was quickly running out of bandwidth to help him with that as well as my other demands at home and work. I felt like I was choking, but I wasn't sure WHAT was choking me the most. I just knew in my SOUL that I had to make a change. I prayed about it. I took a few days to write it all out - not my feelings - I had not found a therapist yet. 👀 Who had time for therapy? BUT, I did somehow remember some of my high school and college skills for decision making and scribbled down ALL the reasons that quitting my job would make me happier overnight. In the end, I heeded my younger-than-me CEO's advice and worked PRN the first year and part-time the second year before returning full-time when my youngest started pre-K. Since I am not independently wealthy, I did eventually have to bring home some more bacon. So, then what happened? Was my life immediately better once I was home more? Did the MOM GUILT end over night? Was I making beautifully home-cooked meals, providing freshly washed and ironed clothes, maintaining a perfectly clean house, and bursting with energy for sex every night since I no longer "worked" every day? Turns out, the joke was on me. Not really a joke though my friends. It's the truth. My 4 year old was in Pre-K, but my 2 year old was suddenly out of daycare. My 12 year old was in honors classes in middle school and I found myself juggling potty training, phonics, and puberty. 3 P's that should never go together. 😜 I was waking almost as early as I had been when I commuted to my demanding NP job. I was feeding kids, washing clothes, and picking up toys all day it seemed. I was helping with homework instead of paying my babysitter to do that. I was making brownies for the PTO instead of money for retirement. I was just as tired, but it was more of a physical tired than a mental exhaustion. I was able to go to the gym regularly, and THAT was amazing. Our gym had childcare, so I would tell the boys if they wanted a "nice mommy and not a mean mommy" then we would be going to the gym, thank you very much. I DID have more downtime. I laughed regularly. For the first time in YEARS. I WAS able to take and pickup my kids from school. I had never before and never since had that luxury. The pure joy of seeing my boys' faces when I picked them up each day was worth the frequent melt-downs when I had to wake the 2 year old to go pick up the 4 year old. (How do we do these things and no one discusses it?) I learned lyrics to Disney movies instead of new treatment guidelines for diabetes. I never took the kids to school in my pajamas, but I suddenly realized why so many women did. I dropped ALL judgment of other mothers, because I was IN THE TRENCHES. I missed adult conversation. I missed feeling important- there - I said it. I lost my temper, and I raised my voice on occasion. Sadly... and this really does make me sad... I simply had not been around my babies enough HOURS of the day to really, really lose my patience with them. Not until I was home. Cutting coupons. Cutting Play-doh with tiny plastic scissors. And realizing that THIS was the real work. THIS was the important work. And so I sit here tonight with tears in my eyes.
One launched and doing well. One in middle school with puberty and insecurity competing for his time. One who still lets me hug him in front of his friends. And I don't know much more than I did 8 years ago when I walked in my boss's office overwhelmed and undone. I'm still in awe of and in love with those 3 beautiful minds and faces that call me Mom. But guilt? Will I wallow in guilt when I reflect over my presence in their lives? Maybe on a bad day. Maybe for a minute or two when I have a "mom fail." BUT I BEG OF YOU. OF ALL OF US. TO MAKE IT STOP. WE ARE WARRIORS IN OUR OWN RIGHT. WE KISS THE BOO-BOOS AND SCARE AWAY THE MONSTERS. WE QUIZ THE SIGHT WORDS AND TIE THE LACES. WE FEED THEM SOMETHING SEVERAL TIMES A DAY, AND WE ENSURE THEY ARE CLOTHED. WE ARE DOING THE BEST WE CAN. WE ARE FLAWED BUT PHENOMENAL. WE ARE IMPERFECT BUT IRREPLACEABLE. WE ARE MOTHERS. LET US UNITE AND HOLD SPACE FOR ONE ANOTHER. Godspeed. In 2016, at the age of 40, I received a sarcoidosis diagnosis that rocked my entire world. My kids were 4, 6, and 14 at the time. I was at the pinnacle of my NP career, and I was coming off a 2 year "break" from full-time work. From 2014-2016 I was working 2 or 3 days a week and was able to spend more time with my family. I was also able to go to the gym regularly and prepare healthy meals. I felt like my health was also better than it had been in the past 7 years. My sarcoidosis symptoms started abruptly in September and were very noticeable. I would walk to my car that was parked on a hill after work and be extremely short of breath (think huffing and puffing as if I had just sprinted 100 yards). I would go to the gym and feel completely wiped out after 20 minutes of my workout when normally my full hour workout left me energized and not depleted. I would walk out of an exam room and forget the name of a medication or stop mid-sentence when trying to give my nurse a verbal order. I also felt very dizzy and lightheaded and was not sure what was causing all of my symptoms. I decided to go see my colleagues in cardiology once I realized my blood pressure was dropping. My blood pressure was dropping as low as 80s/50s. I was also having numbness and tingling in both arms and hands and my hands were turning blue. I thought there had to be some type of blockage or blood flow issue. Ultrasound evaluation of my carotid arteries and upper extremities were normal. EKG, basic labs, and chest x-ray were normal. My echocardiogram (heart ultrasound) was the first test that came back abnormal. It showed an elevated pressure reading between my heart and lungs (pulmonary hypertension). My providers were not really sure what would be causing that because I was "so healthy." I plugged along from early September to late September before seeking a second opinion. My symptoms were progressing and persistent, and I knew something was not right with my body. My fatigue was worsening to the point I would count down the hours until I could get into bed. My shortness of breath was limiting my daily activities and I was beginning to cough every time I ate or talked for more than a few minutes. I also had an episode while driving where the left side of my face went numb and my breathing became very shallow and irregular. That sent me straight to my second opinion! That second provider ordered a chest CT and a brain MRI which were performed on a Thursday morning. That following Monday in early October, I was at work for a 12-hour day. I received a phone call mid-morning from a nurse in my second opinion provider's office. The nurse said "you have brain lesions and you need to see a neurologist to rule out MS (multiple sclerosis). You also have enlarged lymph nodes throughout your chest and you need to see an oncologist to rule out lymphoma." As you can imagine, I was in shock and called my manager to tell her I needed to leave for the day and to go speak to my husband and my parents. Did I mention my youngest child was 4 years old? Fast forward to a bronchoscopy mid-October with lymph node and lung needle biopsy as well as a trip to a neurologist which resulted in EEG and extensive lab testing. My neurologist ordered more MRIs and tried to ease my fears of MS (though he could not totally rule MS out). My pulmonologist was unable to get a conclusive diagnosis from the bronchoscopy and recommended a mediastinoscopy which would involve drilling through my sternum (breastbone) to remove lymph node tissue for biopsy. I told him that I felt a large lymph node above my left clavicle and we opted to have that node excised for pathology instead of the mediastinoscopy. That left supraclavicular node excision was done the last week in November under general anesthesia at the hospital since it was so close to my carotid artery and jugular vein. That node biopsy was negative for lymphoma and positive for non-caseating granulomas (the definitive diagnosis for sarcoidosis). I was started on 60 mg of Prednisone per day that would be tapered over 6-12 months and referred to a rheumatologist.
After starting high dose Prednisone in December of 2016, I was placed on weekly Methotrexate injections which (who knew at the time?) would last another 4 years. The only reason I stopped Methotrexate is because I later developed psoriasis (for that story, click here). I was finally able to wean off prednisone late May 2017 though the side effects lingered at least another 6 months. I plan to write an entire post on surviving long-term prednisone, but I will leave it at that for now. 2017 seemed somewhat stable throughout the end of that year, but the next 3-4 years had their own hiccups. Over those next 3-4 years I found out that the sarcoidosis was affecting my esophagus. 3 EGDs in 6 months and tons of other GI testing led to the conclusion that my esophagus has no peristalsis ("squeeze'). The only thing helping my food reach my stomach is gravity. This makes eating challenging, especially talking while eating (cough, choke). I also found out I had sarcoidosis spleen lesions, ocular involvement, and another fun lung condition called bronchiectasis. For the esophageal involvement, I take 2 pills per day for life. For the bronchiectasis, I take one pill twice a day for life. See how I organize my meds here. I have also been tested and monitored for small fiber neuropathy. The MS surveillance continues. My neuropathy is currently of unknown etiology, but my neurologist does think sarcoid plays a role. I was also sent to endocrinology at one point to check for adrenal insufficiency after steroids since my blood sugar and blood pressure still bottom out at times. Another hiccup involved an overnight hospital stay and a kidney biopsy (ouch by the way) after I noticed my urine was foamy like dishwashing liquid (that is abnormal and a sign of protein in your urine- tell your provider if you ever see this). I'm on another daily pill to help protect my kidneys for that confirmed renal sarcoidosis. Every year I see a rheumatologist, general cardiologist, pulmonary hypertension cardiologist, pulmonologist, gastroenterologist, neurologist, ophthalmologist, dermatologist, nephrologist, and my PCP and Gyn. I now see a counselor regularly to help me process all that I juggle. I have mandatory quarterly labs, an annual heart ultrasound, CT's and MRI's every year, breathing tests every year, and whatever else comes up. Gone are the days of a routine wellness visit or not meeting my deductible. Gone are the days of only taking a multivitamin. I sleep with oxygen mainly for the pulmonary hypertension, and I'm okay with that. It was my little secret until now. Right now, my sarcoidosis seems fairly well-controlled with Humira. When I met my rheumatologist in 2016, he told me he hoped he could get me into remission within 2 years. That was 5 and a half years ago. I haven't given up hope and I will continue to fight this fight as long as I can.💜 Below, I have included two great visual aids to raise awareness for our family and friends. The mental health effects of sarcoidosis are widespread and often overlooked by our clinicians. Sometimes just "being there" is all we need from our loved ones. 💜
I hope this post has raised your awareness of sarcoidosis whether you are a patient, loved one, or healthcare professional. As I told a friend after she learned of my chronic illness, "My entire life changed after being diagnosed with sarcoidosis, but I didn't stop living." I hope this offers hope to anyone who is newly diagnosed or any sarcoidosis patient struggling right now. I see you. 💜 Monthly meal planning has taken me YEARS to develop. One thing to note is that there are 3 adults rotating the cooking in my family. My parents live 2 doors down from us and we decided many years ago that it was easier to feed 7 than 2 (for them) and that mom didn't mind cooking for 7 twice a week if it meant she and dad would be fed by us several nights per week. Some weeks that looks different. Since my husband and I both commute about an hour each way to our jobs, and he works night shift, my mom may have to cook 3 times some weeks. Kids' sports and school activities can also affect our cooking rotation. Let's look at monthly meal planning with a few good tips or rules to get you started:
Now let's look at each question in more detail:
Pro tip: track what you are currently eating for a week or two as you are mentally preparing yourself to begin this process. Just like "getting on a budget" - it is extremely helpful to see what you are currently eating as a family. If you are eating out 5 out of 7 nights, it is unfair to expect you will start cooking 5 out of 7 nights immediately. That is a recipe for disaster! Pun intended! Maybe try cooking 3 nights at first. START SMALL! Good luck and just remember: it doesn't have to be fancy, it just has to be planned. Photo Credit: Annie Spratt I was eager and he was young I was ready but he was numb I was happy and he was still I was hopeful but he was nil We had some laughs We had some smiles I read to him at night Does he remember those times? Then I had his brothers and he backed away or did I hedge him out? who could truly say? Come to me sweet boy not you, I mean him I mean all 3 of you silly I mean all of 3 of them It's different they all say he's not your blood Is it different? Aren't they all different? It's clouded. It's mud. I'm stuck and he's stuck. He looks and I look. We smile and they smile. I ache and he aches. We give and we take and sometimes it all breaks. His daddy can't get it. How could he? It's pointless. But I have to get it. And do it. And "go on, sis" Keep going. Keep numbing. I didn't know it. He didn't know it. We didn't know it but we did it and here we are and we are in it. So I look at him, a product as much of me as his dad. And I don't know what to do with it. I have these other 2 on my tab. The deductions, subtractions, additions?, conditions? It's all hard and whoever says that it isn't just ISN'T telling the truth dear. See I try to be real. He's "not mine" but I'm his and we're each other's and how does that feel? Would I change it? Some days I would. In a heartbeat. Not a second thought. But does he need me and do I need him and are we better because we came together when we were both broken and wounded and bleeding and cold Now we're mending and warmer and dare I say, a little old. Was it easy? It's been the hardest thing I've ever done. It can push 2 lovers apart quicker than any weapon, any gun, any bullet to the heart that's how some moments felt I have wept, I have wailed, I have screamed, I have knelt But one day his daddy may find out what it took to hold it ALL together and to remain unshook in the quake of dysfunction and abandonment and grief of a sweet little boy looking helplessly at me. She didn't stay, sweet baby, and I'm so sorry. I can't explain it. But I'm here and I'm not leaving, and I promise - I wouldn't change it. To every little boy or every little girl who had a mama or a daddy step up outside of the DNA lines. This is to you dear ones and to the strong adults who have rearranged their hearts and lives for you. We wouldn't change it. During the Summer of 2021, we took our rising 6th and 4th grader to Alabama Adventure Amusement Park in Birmingham, AL. We had watched a few YouTube reviews of the park and read what precautions they were taking for the pandemic. Since I am immunocompromised, we decided to rent a cabana for the entire day just for a little extra precaution. The price for the cabana was TOTALLY worth the money! We plan to go back and rent one again!
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