The Dawn Before the Morning

I think about the words "morning" and "mourning"....and for me "morning" is a new day; while "mourning" is "the dawn before the morning". It's aways been odd to me when I hear the word morning; I hear my Mother's voice on those rough mornings during my junior year of high school when I hated school every day. I have always been a morning person but in rough times you can always tell when I am struggling by how I wake up. My mother would come in on rough mornings, and as I can only imagine now, she was most surely dreading the coming task at hand. Teenagers are difficult. Girls are worse. She called me her self raising child- except for during a brief time when I was 14 and another when I was being bullied when I was as a junior in high school. She didn't need to tell me to do my homework, go to bed, respect adults, be on time, etc., I just did. God forbid I would ever upset anyone or fall from the "perfect expectations" I made for myself in my head. Punishment really isn't necessary for me- I guarantee I am already punishing myself in some form for my "imperfections". A look of disappointment- worse than any punishment for me. I still always forget that when I wake in the morning it will be a new day, and today is a gift from God. I'm in need of a reminder that on the other side of that sunrise is forgiveness and a new day, healing, peace, ease in suffering, and another chance.
Back when I was a junior in high school she would open the door and say these words every morning if she could tell I wasn't going to be getting myself up and ready on my own. What I remember most is the conviction of tone from Mom. She never let my attitude change her belief that what she would say was going to be the way she had lived and felt in her life ever since she had overcome her own personal wars. Her words were as follows: "This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it!" then as the pillow was flying at her she would say right on cue with cheer and a bit of silliness mixed with pure antagonism-"Besides- the sun is singing and the birds are shining!" She has always been like that. When I put the boys to bed I never say "Don't let the bed bugs bite" I say:"Don't bite the bugs!" No pillows at my head- just giggles. Lucky me- unlucky Mom- but I don't think she has ever seen it that way. You see, Mom has always made it very clear that the morning was new- the sunrise was beautiful and the sunsets- oh the sunsets- we loved the sunsets (we still watch them together when we can). She taught me to see symbolism in everything. If the sun is setting in the sky (pause and enjoy the beauty and do not grieve the loss of the day- know that it will come up tomorrow).
I couldn't quite write about the funeral after writing about the morning of the day that we attended Rev. Workman's funeral. This is why I left the last entry with a simple: to be continued... In order to write on I have to write this entry. Even though I feel a need to throw a pillow at Mom for some odd reason. I hear her words in my head and feel like getting out of bed "in the morning of our mourning". I have to write through it and not around it in order to heal. I believe I told Grant the afternoon we attended the funeral that we have to go through tough stuff in life -no matter how much we want to pretend it didn't happen. I told him that even when he moves to Africa (he says he plans on living in Africa because his animal encyclopedia shows that he can find all of the creatures he wants to see in Africa.....) he can't just ignore the sad stuff- he has to go through it- we can't just "walk around it". I asked him if I could help him with any questions he had after church when we came home and he was sitting on the couch just staring with such a sad look in his big beautiful eyes.
He said he wanted to go to the funeral. I called my sister in law and I think I also talked to my best friend about it that day as well but I can't remember. I know I talked to Dan. I asked Dan if he would go with me. I wanted him there with me for purely selfish reasons. I needed my family. I do believe I asked my sister-in-law, Kara, about my concerns with Grant going to the funeral. I wouldn't have felt so hesitant if he hadn't been showing so much terrible grief. I wasn't sure what to do. He is incredibly sensitive to emotion, but not just his own, more so to the emotions of those around him. I know he "wanted to see what Steve looked like now", so that made me think he needed closure, but felt that since the casket would be closed he wouldn't get the kind of closure he really wanted. He is old enough and in times of great need he knows when it is time to take things seriously- so I explained once again, there would be many people crying, the church would be completely filled, (more than we had ever seen it), and Mommy may also cry a whole lot. He may feel like there are too many people around him or he may feel happy that so many people cared about Steve. It may bother him that Steve will be in a casket and he will not know what it looks like to be "not alive". We talked about how Steve wasn't inside the casket and that it was just his body. We have had many conversations before about the body being just like a car- it takes us where we need to go, we have to take care of it and keep it filled up with gas (food and water), but what is really important is the stuff inside. The stuff inside our bodies are the most important, (just like the stuff that is important inside our vehicles), it is our love, our thoughts, our feelings, and the part that believes in God,.....the part that makes us cry when we are sad and the part that makes us laugh when something is funny,......the part that makes our hearts hurt when people we love or care about die;- it is called our "soul" and that is the "important stuff" our bodies carry around. When we die that is the part that goes to to heaven...(I didn't go into the complexities of who goes to heaven- I don't know if I will ever do that b/c I struggle with that anyway and I hope he someday will simply come to his own conclusion that brings him his own peace.)
I'm not sure if the universe simply wanted us to not take the boys to the funeral or if it was a random mistake on our part that we thought we had asked Ted's parents to watch Jake and maybe Grant so that we could go to the funeral. We called his parents house up to the very last minute and we were unable to reach them so we simply settled on the unpleasant idea that we might have a wild 3 year old to restrain and a bawling 6 year old. There was one....ONE place left in the church balcony so we took it. Grant climbed onto my lap which is something he hasn't done in public for quite some time. Ted finally became so frustrated with Jake's interrupting yet normal 3 year old behavior he took him outside. Honestly I am sure Jake knew what was going on in a small way. He knew it was about the minister and he knew it was sad- so he acted out. It makes perfect sense to me because Jake often draws the attention away from things that are important with certain antics. I believe it is a coping skill he has developed. During the funeral Grant's eyes continually rained tears down his sweet little face. Since I had never seen my little boy's heart hurt like this I began to cry as well. I just kept rocking him and catching his tears with my arm just as they fell off of his face. He clung to me and we held on to each other tightly as if we secretly were reminding each other that we never want to have to live without the other. I squeezed his leg three times and paused and waited for what I knew would follow, he reached over to my hand and squeezed it three times as well...this is how we say, "I love you" without words. When the funeral was over Grant wanted to know if he could touch the casket. I told him that we could go down to look at the flowers, his picture and robe and if he wanted to touch the casket I would stand right with him and hold his hand. So we worked our way back downstairs and admired the flowers. He pointed at a flower arrangement shaped like a heart and had a ribbon across it and he said to me, "Mommy- that's says Daddy on it!" I told him that those were the flowers that Natalie had picked out for her Daddy. You could see in Grant's eyes that at that very moment was the point it all clicked. If I was in his brain this is what I would have heard: "Natalie's Daddy had died. My Daddy didn't die. I can't imagine loosing my Daddy. I feel so bad for Natalie. Where's Daddy!" At that moment Grant had begun to feverishly look about himself to find his Dad. His Dad appeared to him and he calmed down. He kept walking along the side of the casket staring with wide eyes- yet did not touch it. He walked over to Steve's picture and when he looked at that picture he started to cry pretty hard. I got on my knees and hugged him. I asked him if there was anything I could do for him or if he had any questions. He asked if he could touch the casket and I said yes, he walked up to it, but he did not actually touch the casket. I told him that when he was ready we were going join everyone downstairs at the meal. He was ready so we joined them downstairs and I have never seem him so quiet and reserved for such a long period of time before in my entire life. When everyone else was talking, some laughing and sharing their own conversations it seemed as if his mind was still on Steve or Natalie or simply the enormity of death itself. Grant remained this way for a couple of days but every day he showed improvement. One night he asked me if I was going to die when he was little. I told him-"Oh honey- I do everything in my power to protect myself, Daddy, you and Jake from harm....Not if I have anything to say about it!!!" He didn't like my answer. I didn't like my answer. It is just that I used to make Grandpa promise me he would never die and he always told me "Honey I won't live forever and someday I will die and you will have to prepare yourself for that so don't make me make a promise that simply would be a lie." I hated hearing that truth, but I can't get myself to ever say those words to my kids- no matter how old they get. There is no easy way around it because in all honesty- no child should ever see their parent(s) die; and no parent should experience the pain of outliving their child. If it wasn't for the hope and faith I have in heaven I couldn't deal with death at all. But, I do honestly believe we will be seeing them again when it is our time. Until then I think they pop into and out of our dreams, and act as our guardian angels when we are at the lowest of all the valley's in life.

"HE ISN'T INSIDE MY HEART! WHERE IS HE!"

I opened the car door with absolutely no plan in mind for what I would teach this morning during Sunday School. There are those days when all other lessons just go out the door and you simply let the children guide you. After being through such a terrible loss the children didn't have the ability to grasp the enormity of what was going on around them today.
Like every Sunday I opened Jake's car door and unbuckled him and said to him, "wait for your brother Jake, you need to hold his hand in the parking lot." On the way to church this morning the boys were quite hyper as usual and I wanted them to respect those in the church who were mourning in their own ways. I know there is no real way to explain this to a 6 and 3 year old, but I tried my best: "Boys, you must understand that today you may see adults and other younger kids crying because they are sad. They may need to cry and church is a very safe place to talk about these feelings we have about missing Steve. (Rev. Workman). It is a safe place to ask questions about him or dying and heaven. Remember how Mommy always says- you don't get to choose your family- but you stick with them and you help them through everything they need?" Grant replied, "yes." I continued: " Well when you belong to a church you belong to another family. Did you know you had that many families?" Grant then asked right away- just as we were pulling into the parking lot- "how can we go in there if Steve isn't going to be there anymore?" I pulled into the parking spot as I said to both boys, "Rev. Steve will not be here anymore on earth- but we will see him in heaven again someday. He also left us with a minister to fill in until we found another one and just because he isn't where we can see him doesn't mean that he doesn't live in your heart." Jake said, "HE ISN'T INSIDE MY HEART! WHERE IS HE?!" As Jake got out of the car he squat down onto the ground and started to whimper and I gently said, "Honey, Steve has gone to live and sing and dance with the angels in heaven...." I didn't know what to say. He laid down on the cement and cried "I don't wanna go in there- he isn't with the angles- he doesn't get inside my heart!" I wanted to lay down with him and cry also. Then Grant, who has been taking this whole experience the worst (visually) says to us- (with a forced bright and cheerful smile on his face-) "but Jake, We get to see him again- just not for a really long time. It isn't forever, just until we go to heaven!" Since Jake is three and quite easily encouraged by Grant he stood right up, held Grant's hand and into the church they walked hand in hand, yet almost arm in arm. I caught a glimpse of Grant's face as he thought nobody was looking and a tear ran down his face. I think my sweetheart just wanted us to feel like we could do it. I followed behind and wanted to yell out really loud as if I needed a confession before entering this church today: ( I kept it inside for the boys). If I could have I would have screamed "God forgive me for the way I disagreed with the Workman's I had no idea the amount of pain and suffering they must have been enduring behind the scene. I said things I should have never said- Yet- I must deal with that myself. I reap what I sow." I know Rev. Workman was a kind hearted and loving man- but I always knew there was hurting inside of his heart and body. The thing about people is that they think that expressing their suffering will cause some sort of grief that is more intense than what they are already enduring. I have found that some of my grief has united me with many who have endured the same sufferings and grief. I recently discovered that someone I never could understand or tolerate has dealt with a debilitating disease ever since I have known this person. I can't for the life of me figure out why nobody ever simply says I am suffering from (fill in the blank), I know I have done (A,B &C) but please show me mercy and grace and understand that I never asked for such a horrible affliction. I am exceedingly forgiving to people with disease in which they need no other judgement for... Mental, Emotional, Physical....none of it matters, but how do you expect me to understand or to not expect you to live up to your responsibilities when I do not know otherwise? I love that song by John Meyer called "Say What You Need to Say". I feel I live most of my life trying to get people to say what they need to say. I do it by putting myself out there- exposing my flaws and human conditions that aren't always appealing.
I am personally blessed to know that I felt as if there was a healing that had taken place the Sunday after Superbowl Sunday at church. His sermon was one of those sermons that make you feel it inside the core of your soul. When that happens I am too moved to leave my thank you unsaid (no matter who said it!) So I simply waited until everyone else was done talking to him after church and I hugged him so hard for more than a "thank you for the sermon"- although that is basically what I told him. I told him his sermon moved me like no other had for a very long time and I could tell it came directly from his heart. I told him I was sorry for any pain I had caused him. He chuckled and said,"I'm excited to hear you have joined Jan Rockwell on the Education Committee and I just know good things are coming- I can feel it." I think that was the last conversation I ever got to have with him. My guilt overwhelmed me at one point so much after his death- I could barely breath. It occurred to me that my judgement of people, things and issues has gotten out of control. I never let myself admit that I just may very well be wrong about issues I have perceived and that well....I am not the ultimate judge, I never have been and I never will be.
On the morning of the funeral and after we had gotten Jake into the church, I started Sunday School by asking how the boys were feeling today. I asked if they knew what was different about this Sunday that wasn't like any other Sunday we had ever had.... They were quiet and Grant said "the minister died". I paused and we prayed for a moment and I said "I have lots of feelings and sometimes I just don't have the right words for them. Can you help me by telling me how you feel? Do you have words for how you feel? I know I want to cry"... (because I was welling up with tears- I just wanted to get them to understand that they could talk about it and they could be in a safe place). I was very clear that if they didn't want to talk about it they didn't have to, I remember asking if it were okay if we spent our time in Sunday School remembering Steve and they all shook their heads "okay". They all did so well I wish you could have heard their responses. I made sure to stick in my token "Is it okay to cry when we feel sad?" question. I waited for an answer but didn't need one- they all three sat there with tears welling up in their eyes. So I said, "Crying when someone you care about has died is normal, crying when you are sad is normal. Remember when we cry it helps us get all that sad and mad out. I asked them if they remembered the sir pops-a-lot and miss-hiss-a-bit children's sermon I had given. They remembered.
(For those of you who don't know what I am speaking of- it addressed the concept that holding our emotions inside and not taking our worries to God or any other safe place caused us to "POP" and I had a red balloon with a face on it that I blew air into every time the kids gave me any emotion. Sir Pops-A-Lot couldn't keep holding all of the emotions and he eventually popped echoing loudly inside of the church. Miss-Hiss-A-Bit was a yellow balloon with a face on it as well. She was also blown up when she put her emotions in. But when she got fuller than she would like she let out the air. Sometimes it made a funny noise (I pulled the balloon tight and let air out as it hissed/squealled the air(feelings) out, then I let more feelings in and had her make short bursts of air (WHOOFFS) when I let go of the opening for a split second at a time. Finally I showed a way we might also want to avoid- I filled her back up with the emotions but at one point I let her go and she flew wildly across and all over the congregation. She had lost control of her emotions. Even though she wasn't ruined like "Sir Pops-No-More", she was far from where she had started and stretched out/ worn out. So I taught them the importance of letting a little bit of that air out at a time even if it made a noise (crying)- By the way I actually came up with that idea when I was watching the boys blowing up balloons in the living room and I was so angry that day about a personal issue that I felt like popping when all of the sudden I heard the explosion of the balloon and the sadness from my son because that balloon was ruined forever. I wanted to change how much anger I held inside until I exploded. I was on my way to a "Sir-Pops-A-Lot" Moment, so I wrote that for my sons and it turned into a children's sermon.)
When they remembered the children's sermon Jake ran to the corner of the room and grabbed a balloon from my previous Sunday school lesson- (We made balloon hats)- and the other boys seemed to tear up again. So I let them know at that point we were going to have a safe room for crying, laughing, sharing, or any feelings they needed to share. We then cut some giant hearts out of red construction paper and I handed one to each of the boys. I told them I have lots of good memories of Steve or things I think he was very good at doing and things I remember he did for me. I shared three things and I told them to think about something like that for themselves. They were given decoration materials to decorate the hearts first while they thought of their words. When they were done decorating and writing their cards/ hearts I noticed they had all written Dear Rev. Steve or Dear Rev. Workman at the top of their hearts. They could have made them out to his wife or daughter, but they had something to say to him I guess. My personal favorites were "I loved your biggest smile! or "I will miss you!" After we were finished they went into the music room and the two oldest boys Griffin and Grant asked their music teacher if they could sing, "I've got peace like a river..." I was impressed and blown away. They still had tears in their eyes. Grant loves music and sometimes you can catch him singing around other people but most of the time he will only sing around me. He loves that song, I have been singing it to him since he was a baby.
Before our church service started their giant hearts were placed under his chair next to the pulpit where his robe hung off the back of the chair. During the children's sermon a book was read to the children called "The Fall of Freddie the Leaf: A Story of Life for All Ages" by Leo Buscalgia- and the woman who read it to the children did it better than I could have on my best day and her's was about loss to help the children. At one point during the children's sermon, Jake, who was sitting on Natalie's (the minister's daughter's lap) leaned back and said to her- loud enough I heard it in the balcony- "He isn't here anymore (while pointing to Steve's chair), he died." Natalie looked back at him and shook her head. To be Continued....

This day went on as the funeral was later that afternoon, but I have decided to turn it into a separate blog for the sake of the reader.

What a compliment!

Anonymous wrote that it had been almost two weeks since I had last written and it was time for another entry so I suppose I better think up an idea today and write when the kiddos get to bed tonight. BTW anonymous- you made my day!
Check back later :-)

Look Mom- No Floor

I think it is funny how I decide what I am going to write about for my blogs. I simply let my brain think of a funky sentence "title" and then I just start writing based on that phrase or sentence. I was going to talk about how moving church was the other day (it moved most of us to tears), how many subbing jobs I am getting and have scheduled and how much I love subbing, I was going to talk about how I am the most terrified to sub for kindergarten and guess what grade I am subbing tomorrow? I just get so nervous b/c they need more than one teacher/aid and a very strict routine. I'm taking my Shel Silverstien (sp.) book with me in case I have down time and I am also taking name tags, and my award certificates for great behavior, great leaders, and great teamwork....this age scares me (even though I have a child that age). I was going to talk about how much fun I had at Grant's Valentine's Party at school today when I helped out, or how psycho my boys got after eating so much candy- but I am running out of time and need to get to bed and the only thing I could think of was "Look Mom -No Floor!"- I am referring to how all of the Valentines and decorations are all spread across the floor and the laundry is piled and ready to be folded by the chair and how the blocks and Star Wars guys are scattered perfectly in just the right places all over the floor. I think we have covered every inch of the living room floor. I noticed my Mom has become a follow now! Cool! Welcome Mom! So my title somehow came out like that....sorry- wish I had more time! Happy Valentines Day- but really if you love someone you really shouldn't just celebrate it one time a year. Tell them everyday and every time you think of it....So family and friends- I love you!

How Did I End Up In The Belly Of The Green Eyed Monster? Jonah Got A Whale!

I have always wanted everything I didn't have and never appreciated the things I have as much as I should. Well- until they were gone. It's funny how sometimes those things you lose slowly turn to gold and all of the imperfections they had while you didn't appreciate them disappear when you lose them. It could be as simple as my old used Alero never having problems with paint chipping. My current car is ruined in my head because it was left outside during a hail storm and possible tornado and we never could tell if the chips that are now rusting were caused by that or the boys throwing their toys at it.... Now with every Alero I see~ I daydream about how perfect the car was....the acceleration and agility...the ease of parking that tiny thing...I can't think of anything wrong with it. Honestly, I see freedom when I think of the Alero. When we had Jake we had to have more room so we traded it in for the Matrix. I refused to drive a minivan- it was bad enough in my brain that I lost the freedom of my Alero (my last connection to my old life of pre-motherhood)- but to go from an Alero to a minivan.....? Ummmmm. NO! Now that we can't fit anything into the Matrix and I am getting clostrophobic I feel like kicking myself for refusing to get a minivan. I had to grow up. I just had a really tough time going from a free and independent person to a trapped stay at home Mom and I fought everything that came with it....for years. This is coming from someone who wanted so desperately to be a Mom and we tried to have children until we realized I had some medical problems that required I take fertility drugs to become pregnant. We lost a little boy with our first pregnancy and somehow I still had a hard time when I finally had a child with the idea that I could no longer go anywhere or do anything....SELFISH! So while I grieved for my independence and freedom - they turned to gold in my head. But as time went on I slowly came to acceptance of my role, and the gold started to rust and I realized it wasn't real gold anyway....the boys were.
I'm sure my Grandfather made some mistakes while I was growing up- but I sware to you- I can't remember one of them- not one. After he died and each year passed, he became more heroic and amazing in my mind. Right now he is looking down from heaven and telling me to spend my time doing something productive and not thinking about something so delusional. Whatever- so is my human condition. I don't understand why I do it- but I am aware that I do it. First steps.....
I read facebook and I honestly find myself so jealous of other people's lives I will spend the day depressed- maybe even a week based on one person's comment. As time goes on I wonder how much of what that person said was as perfect as they made it sound....I purposefully make comments on facebook about my life that are real and not always happy or pleasant- although sometimes oddly funny due to having young children. I do it because I just can't stand the possibility that someone else could be so hurt by me claiming things about my life that aren't so absolutely perfect. In all truth, I probably hurts people due to taking it too far the other way. I guess I just still feel like I'm in junior high after all these years. I know more, I am more competent and responsible but deep down I want the life she has, I want my kids to behave as well as her kids, I want the job I feel I deserve, I get angry when people get things they don't deserve and I feel left behind, I feel left out, and I feel like I don't belong. I hear my mother still in my head saying to me- "Don't worry honey- you just keep making the right choices, and following the right path and it will pay off...." But I guess I didn't think she meant that I would be 31 and still waiting. I tell my son the same thing and inside I cringe a little thinking about the pain he may also endure by taking the high road at times. The one that absolutely no one else is on....(you know the one- the one the county snow plow doesn't even go down during a blizzard , so if you live on it or are stranded on that road....good stinkin' luck...)
I had stayed away from my blog recently because I had visited other blogs and realized that I paled in comparison. They had blogger awards, tons of followers, comments, and I turned around to see I was about to be eaten by a green eyed monster. I looked at how many hits I had on my blog....4,000 ish and I thought to myself- either people are accidentally falling onto my page when they are looking for something on google or they read it and are too embarrassed to become a follower because they don't want to be associated with my ummmmm- how do I say it....odd and off-centered brutal honesty about my life. And how do you comment after I say what I say....? But- I realized why does it matter because I remembered that even though it stinks to be uninteresting to the rest of the world- this is for the boys. How do I always forget that? So while I was busy trying to get out of the belly of the green eyed monster I thought to myself- no fair how did I get in here? Jonah at least got a whale....
So here's the lesson boys: God wanted Jonah to be a messenger to warn the people of a city that they where making bad choices and Jonah didn't want to so he ran away. The story gets a bit metaphorical for awhile and when Jonah is on a ship at sea a storm hits and since he believes that God is mad at him he tells the sailors that if they throw him overboard the storm will stop- so they do and God saves Jonah by having a giant fish swallow him up. Jonah stays in the belly of the whale for three days- long enough to pray for forgiveness and decide he would do what God had asked him to do. Then God had the whale spit him back onto the shore and Jonah told the Ninevites that God was angry with them and that they needed to change their behavior or he would destroy their city. The king orders the people to listen and they begin to change their behavior- but Jonah is mad at God because he feels like the people should have still been punished for how terrible they were. He felt betrayed. Nineveh is spared and Jonah walks away from the situation mad at God. He builds himself a little shelter outside of town and pouts. He thinks that God should have destroyed the Ninevites rather than spare them. So angry is Jonah that he says he'd rather die than live!
What a tantrum. What Jonah is really angry about is that God has given the gift of salvation to a nation that Jonah finds undeserving. Jonah felt that it was wrong for Jews to be sharing their God with people they considered heathens. It may seem foolish to us that Jonah got mad at God for saving the Ninevites. Think about this, though. Are there people that you resent and would like to see fail? Are there those that have wronged you and you'd like to get revenge on them? This is just what Jonah wanted. He didn't want the Ninevites getting God's mercy he wanted them to suffer.
God's mercy and salvation is for everyone, not just those we think deserve Him. If only those that deserved His love got it, we'd all be headed for hell. Jonah never does grasp this. He continues to whine about his own condition but feels no pity or mercy for the Ninevites.
God tells Jonah, "11 But Nineveh has more than 120,000 people living in spiritual darkness, not to mention all the animals. Shouldn't I feel sorry for such a great city?" (Jonah 4:11 NLT) Thankfully, God does feel sorry for us and spares us in spite of ourselves. And, God can work through us in spite of ourselves. He was able to use Jonah to deliver a message despite Jonah's unwillingness and complete distaste for the message. But, Jonah suffers consequences for not doing things God's way. And, so do we.
So Jonah felt a bit jealous because the road he had taken and the days he spent in the belly of the whale and now these people were not even going to "get what they deserved".
There is a reason your mother has been waiting all her life for Grandma's words to ring true....God loves us all and if I stand around waiting for someone to hand me a golden certificate saying here's to you Joanna for all the lonely walks on the road less traveled- I would find it would never come. I am not better because I took a different path. I just took a different path. I only ask that you make good choices, be compassionate to others, be honest, keep faith in your life, and never, ever, ever keep the company of that no good manipulative green eyed monster.
Love, Mom

Fill me up

We all have that thing that "fills us up"...the one thing that keeps us wanting to get out of the bed on the mornings when all of our other loves seem to weigh on us like burdens. I haven't been "filled up" regularly since last summer. I am serious when I tell you I can connect the times in my life when I have been suffering with major depression and anxiety with the times I haven't had the chance to run with a regular routine. Running does something for me that nothing has ever been able to do. No amount of therapy, medications, love, hugs, gifts, (absolutely anything materialistic), or fleeting distractions can take away the grief and the loss I associate with the death of my running regularity. I am not a good runner- but I don't care if I run slower than the average person walks. It is simply the feeling that the running creates. The calm, the peace, the clarity, the rhythm.... and the lack of everything coming at me all at once....oh it is perfect. I'm just recently trying to get it back again.
I can't really explain how I lost it. The YMCA is really the only daily and constant location that can provide a babysitter and the chance for me to take the time I need to "fill up". When the boys reached an age where Jake could ride in the running stroller, but Grant wasn't steady or willing on his bike- I had no choice but to just let it go. Now I am at the point where neither can/(Jake won't) ride in a running stroller and Grant can't ride his bike on these roads safely-so what do I do with Jake?
Someone once told me that if I ever needed to go for a run that they would help with the kids. That same person told me on numerous occasions that any person who wanted to run like that "had to be insane". That hurt like someone telling you that your face is ugly. You can't help the way your face looks and you can't help what you fall in love with.... SO I found it hard to ever ask that person to watch the kids when I needed to run. I am also pretty sure the person didn't understand that when I wanted to go for a run that I would be gone for about and hour to an hour and a half. One time I returned feeling so great and refreshed (finally)....and I was greeted with: "I thought that you were just going for a quick run?!" So one route was ended and I used the YMCA as a running location again even though I love to run outside. I guess running around in a circle for an hour or more indoors can make you lose heart pretty quickly.... I fought through it until they resurfaced the track and closed it for a little while- DANG IT! I'm one of those people that will stick to a routine forever if it isn't broken for more than a week. Well, the track was down for awhile and then the YMCA closed for their yearly summer cleaning and repairs for a week and guess who hasn't gone back? I would love to blame the YMCA- The lack of babysitting- no help around here- living in someone else's home while our home is being built (I'm pretty sure that's what's happening ;-P Because if not, I think I will be admitted to a psych ward very soon! Don't worry people- it is happening and I finally have pictures to prove it!) ~Well I would love to blame it on Ted's work schedule, having none of my family around here, having my best friend living so far away (next to my family BTW)- I could love to blame it on the lack of sleep due to the crippling anxiety I have now- or simply the anxiety I have pretty much all of the time- I would love to blame it on how fast my heart races during a panic attack (I can rock a 178BPM!)- I would love to blame it on pretty much everything.......But the honest truth is that these are all excuses....All of them! In fact, I bet most, if not all of my perceived problems would vanish if only I would/could/should start running again. In fact I KNOW running regularly decreases my migraines, improves my mood, decreases most if not all of my anxiety, deepens my relationship with people other than the five people I see daily, gives me energy like I never have anymore, and makes me wonder why the heck I never chose to hire a Drill Sergeant to get me up at 5am every morning and chase me while yelling until I got out the door. So, Grant and Jake~ I don't know who I am talking to.... you two or to own self- but honestly Mom needs to look inward and fill herself up. Sometimes we can't look for other people to blame when we have the ability to walk through, under, above and around it all. Or run through it.....
Good luck boys. We can know the answer to thousands of problems, but sometimes knowing the answer won't get you there....passion, will-power, endurance, loyalty, dedication, using your feet and start walking or running-heck you may just need to crawl in the beginning...but those will get you there. (BTW- all those things I just listed sound just like your Dad- and if you listen to the very first words I spoke to both of you when you were born; you will be like Daddy! "Hello (Grant) (Jake) Mommy loves you! But please promise me you will be every bit of wonderful that your Daddy is and nothing like me!" (then we laughed)- but I really do mean it :-) Just emote more OK?

Grant Theodore Anderson December 19th 2004



Jake Richard Anderson September 27th 2007



Amber sent this to me this morning- I loved it and now I have to share it with you too:

Undercurrent of Adventure

By Kristin Armstrong 

Paige and I ran Sunday's half-marathon strong and steady–we finished in 1:40, but best of all our last mile was a 6:45. It was hot and humid, funny because a massive cold front is blowing in as I type, bending the trees ominously outside my office window. Tomorrow's highs may hover in the 20s so Paige, Katie, and I did our Wednesday workout early this morning.
Last mile - run with joy!
One of my kids had messed with my phone (as usual) last night, so the ringer volume was turned low. I sleep with earplugs due to snoring dogs and visiting children, so I never heard the alarm go off at 5 a.m. The dogs must have barked when my brother Jon stumbled in at 5:15, because that's what startled me out of bed. I threw on whatever clothes I could find (Accuweather Real Feel said 21) at close range, skipped coffee and associated morning deposits, and fled to my car with a bar in my hand. I lamented the fact that, in addition to being freezing, it was pouring rain and I was wearing a bulky fleece sweatshirt (Luke's – so my wrists were gangly and exposed) and knit cap, but there was no time to atone for wardrobe sins. I was miraculously on time for our seven-mile pace run, but my run was definitely affected by my soggy, heavy clothing, the rain in my eyes without a proper cap, and my lack of bathroom time. Ah well, we did it, and the newspaper this morning said this: "If you happen to be reading this before sunrise, go outside and enjoy the warmest temperatures of the week." Tomorrow we agreed to meet at hot yoga in lieu of any run.
My brother made fun of me when I returned, looking like a drenched rat, saying that his fiancee (Roxanne) was wondering what on earth was wrong with us to cause us to go outside on a morning like this one. He laughed, and explained to her that we were psychologically unstable endorphin junkies. I peeled off my frigid clothes, soaked to the bone, and put my Old Navy fleece snowman pj's back on, promising myself a hot bath and a coffee after the whirlwind of lunch packing, last minute homework checking, and school drop off. I sat in the bath far too long, alternating between draining and topping off with scalding water. I know it's bad for my skin, hush, I don't care. I sipped coffee and thought about Roxanne's question.
I don't really think I am an endorphin junkie, because I'm not sure that I ever truly reach a runner's high. I do have more energy, an overall improved mood and perspective post run, for sure. After a really long or hard run, I sometimes treat myself to a soy latte at Starbucks, so endorphins and high octane caffeine could easily be confused. But here's the thing: running reminds me of what's out there, both out in the world and outside myself. And I somehow need this.
I can do perfectly ordinary things (wonderfully ordinary) like getting groceries, packing lunches, working, making beds, helping with homework, and driving to basketball practice. And I can do these things over and over again, and then over again. And again. In the midst of regular life, running is the touchstone that breathes adventure into my soul. I can feel the trail under my feet, the press of the hill, the gallop of the track, the burn of my lungs, the stir of wonder and possibility. Running reminds me that there is more to me than what is readily apparent much of the time. I don't always need to see it, but oh how I need to know it's there. Like having an alter ego, or a super-cool super-hero identity. Yes, to the untrained eye I look like a regular, middle-aged mom at the grocery store, but little do you know that before you were even awake, I burned off enough calories that I don't have to eat salad for lunch unless I feel like it. And I can sit peacefully though this meeting or conference call without going stir crazy because I am already pleasantly tired. I can drive to the same places on a routine basis, be on time, and be happy about it because I already blazed a trail of my own. I can encourage everyone else to become their best self, because I am asking more out of myself. I can discipline my children with firmness and kindness because I am practicing discipline myself. I can breathe through difficult situations because I am learning not to panic when it's time to push. I can better appreciate rest when I can clearly contrast it with effort.

Although raising three children is the best adventure of all, this phase of my life is not marked by freedom–in terms of liberties and indulgences with time. These days I get to spend my time and my heart for Luke, Grace and Isabelle. But there is freedom in running. There is liberty and indulgence with time, even 30 precious minutes, if that's all the day affords. I am reminded–even if not one single thing on my calendar reflects it–that adventure is out there, always whispering to me, calling me forward.

Kristin Armstrong is a mother, a writer, and a runner. She has written six books, including her latest, Mile Markers: The 26.2 Most Important Reasons Why Women Run. Find it at Amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, Borders.com, and Indiebound.com.

http://mamaslife.blogspot.com/ - Check it out!

I know my blog is lacking much- but I just would love for you to see my friends blog. Please check this out:
http://mamaslife.blogspot.com/