Time of Our Lives

Lately I've noticed myself being selfish.  Selfish of my time and the way I spend it.  The older I get the more I've realized prioritizing my free time is well, a priority.  So often we spend our time on things we think we should be doing, or do out of feelings of guilt, if I don't go to this or that people are going to think I'm rude (or any variation of that, I think women are worse about this than men).  Honestly, time is by far the most precious resource we have, and the most limited.  I've gotten really good at saying no to the things I would be doing just to appease, just to not be judged, and feeling good about my decision.  When I say yes to something, it's something I know I'm going to grow from or something that will cause me joy instead of stress and anxiety.  I have to start working on doing things for myself and not feeling guilty about it. 

Please don't misunderstand me, there's a time and a place to say yes.  There was a point in my life I said no to everything out of fear.  If I hadn't of changed my mindset and started saying yes to new experiences I never would have met Ryan.  I never would have gone zip lining (where I realized I have a crippling fear of heights), I wouldn't have Ruby Sue, I wouldn't have a home, and on and on and on.  I was driven by fear which is why I always said no previously, I had shut down, turned in on myself.  I was lucky to have a tribe who challenged me, who knew that person wasn't me, and encouraged me to start saying yes to new experiences.  I believe you have to say yes, 100%, now I'm in a different space, a different moment in my life.

I've realized, mostly out of loss, how precious our time is, and how I want to fill that time with the people I love and the experiences that will broaden my life and bring me joy.   One of the best experiences I've had in the last year is going on a girl's trip with my two girlfriends from high school.  That is a trip I will remember forever, reconnecting with those girls, who have seen me at my worst and at my best, and have never judged me, was such an overwhelming feeling for me.  It is true, as women, the older we get, the more precious our relationships with our girlfriends become.  I feel that time and time again; I'm lucky to have strong friendships to lean on when times get tough.

I will continue to say yes to new experiences and things that will help me grow, but I refuse to feel any more guilt to saying no to things.  And not because I'm saying no out of fear anymore, but because the way I spend my time matters and it's a way I can put myself first, replenish myself in the day to day, so I can continue to live my best life.

Guess Who's Back?

I started this blog 9 years ago.  For a while, I was pretty consistent with posting, updating you on all the important and mundane moments in my life, and then I just stopped.  I don't remember why.  Maybe I ran out of things to say, which seems unlikely, I always have something to say, whether or not people want to hear it.  Maybe, my life became what I thought was too hectic, I lost my focus, or forgot how writing made me feel, even if I'm not working on Pulitzer Prize winning material.  Whatever the reason, in the last couple of weeks, I've found my mind wandering back to this blog, to the release writing allows me to feel.  I did some finger stretches and shook the cobwebs off the writing portion of my brain and am going to give it another go.

Since the last time I posted, almost three years ago, a lot has happened in my life.  Ryan and I moved in together.  We added a member to our family, Ruby Sue, I mean just look at that face! Bought a house; maneuvered many of life's ups and downs, questioned where we were in our lives, went on adventures near and far, celebrated accomplishments and grieved losses.

Baby Ruby Sue.  We had her about a week in this picture.

Our closing day!  December 2016

Taking a break from hiking, spring 2018 

The last few weeks have been difficult for many reasons, it's funny how you're trudging along in life, stuck in the predictability of the day to day, and then your world just explodes.  And not just once, but over and over and over.  That's the feeling I've been carrying around for the last few weeks.  In my work, every day I talk to someone about trauma.  The impacts of trauma, trauma behavior, trauma history, secondary trauma, on and on.  When I'm talking about it I know exactly what to do, exactly what to say, how to navigate someone through it.  When it's my trauma, I'm at a loss.  That's a difficult realization to make and even more difficult to acknowledge to others.  I try and be very strong all the time, for everyone around me, and when I don't feel strong, when I feel very vulnerable, I don't lean into it, I push it away.  I'm learning to lean in.  I'm allowing myself the option of sitting with my grief, with my disappointments, with my fears, of allowing the tears to come, even at inopportune times, but also allowing the joy and the laughter to come alongside.  

At almost 39 years old, I'm understanding the need to embrace all the experiences in my life, positive or negative, angry or joyful, sad or celebratory, and take them for what they are and the impact each one has on my life in that moment.  It's not going to be an easy journey, but one I'm willing to take on. Let's see where this ride takes me.

Expendable Organs

It's a very odd idea to realize some of your organs are expendable, and not an idea I ever thought I would have to consider.  Three days ago it became a reality when I had my gallbladder removed due to it being diseased and full of gallstones (I mean, how terrible a word is gallstone, yuck!).  

Several months ago I began having some health issues, that I just brushed off as really bad heartburn.  My boyfriend, who works in the medical field, kept telling me to make an appointment and get "scoped", I kept putting him off and popping Tums like Milk Duds.  A few weeks ago, I definitely knew it was more than heartburn when I ended up in the ER for the most excruciating pain I had ever experienced,  Once examined in the ER and labs upon labs upon labs were ran, it was there I was diagnosed with gallstones.  (Again, ew, such a gross word.  Along with gallstones I also had "sludge".  It is the actual medical term, I asked, multiple times what the "real"word was.  "It's sludge.").  Following the diagnosis, came more tests, more painful days, and finally a quick removal of my gallbladder.  I went in for a surgical consultation on a Monday, and had my gallbladder removed on a Thursday.  Apparently, the thing had to go, soon!  I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a mix of emotions.  I was happy to get the issue taken care of and start feeling better, but I was also terrified of a surgical procedure, no matter how "routine" I kept being told it was, on an organ that wasn't really "necessary".  Uh....why is it in our body if it's not essential to our well-being?  It's was a hard fact to wrap my mind around and one that caused me major anxiety up until and even a little post-operation.

I am now in the recovery phase, day three post-op.  There is some tenderness, some pain, bruising, tiredness, and still some anxiety on my part  about how my body really will function down an organ.  However, I am reminded through this process how comforting it is, at any age, to have your parents come and take care of you.  Nobody else in the world can take care of you like your parents,  My parents have been here every day but one since my surgery.  Even when I told them not to come, they came anyway, and just having them here, has helped tremendously.  

I continue to be leery of what food I am putting in my body for fear something will send me into a tailspin, but maybe this can be my new diet plan!  Need to lose a quick 10 to 15 pound?, Have an organ removed, just make sure it's an expendable one!

It's the Little Things

I love Sunday mornings.  It might be my favorite part of any day.  I especially like it when Ryan is home and not working, because we curl up on the couch under a blanket, sip coffee, eat breakfast, and he lets me read him things I find of interest while I peruse the Huffington Post.  Even if he doesn't find them as interesting or sometimes infuriating as I do, he pretends well.  This morning I found this gem.  As I read these out loud to Ryan, we both decided we do about three of those things in different variations than the article depicts, and then talked about a few other things we could think of if we made our own list.

We went about our day after that, going on a hike, I helped Ryan haul some firewood, normal household chores, but that article kept coming back to the forefront of my mind while we had this normal day together.  I began to think about how many articles I see on the regular about how couples irritate, annoy, anger, each other and how to fix it.  I am completely aware relationships are far from perfect for anyone, they take work, daily work, but I commonly see articles expressing the negatives and not really celebrating the positive, the day to day.  So, I have decided to make my own list.  Not a list of what Ryan and I do to annoy each other, but just a few of the many reasons I love him and how he's made me smile in the last 48 hours.

1.  When we decided to grab a very quick lunch in between all the other things we decided to do on Saturday, and we unwrapped our corn dogs and mine was burnt, he took it out of my hand and gave me his non-burnt corn dog.

2.  Instead of watching Sports Center on Sunday morning, he tells me I can watch "Say Yes to the Dress", because he knows it's what I do every Sunday morning when he's at work, even though he doesn't say that.

3.  When I complain for the 25th time the light in my bathroom isn't working, he fixes it for the 25th time.

4.  He paints the ceiling in my shower yellow, one of my favorite colors, even though it's his least favorite color in the world, as a surprise for me.

5.    He rubs my back almost every single night knowing it helps me relax and puts me to sleep.

He continues to do all these small daily thoughtful things, even after I have grabbed Twizzlers out of hands on countless occassions and thrown them across the room, just because every time I do it he still has a look of surprise on his face that makes me laugh until I cry.  (Perhaps I need to work on doing more little things or him!)

Times, they are a changin'.

A big change occurred in my life on September 29, 2014.  For the first time in 13 years, I was not living on my own.  On October 26, 2012 I went on a blind date, with this high energy, up for anything, guy who took me on a whirlwind of a first date.  I had never experienced a first date quite like that one. For example, he stated multiple times if he had a papoose he would pick me up and carry me around in it, so I didn't have to walk around in my heels.  That was definitely a first for me.  But that whirlwind date, and that charismatic guy, swept me up, and one month shy of our 2 year anniversary, we moved in to our first home together. 

Anyone who has lived on their own for a significant period of time and then joins their belongings and life with another person, no matter the amount of love they have for each other, and says it's a beautiful easy transition, is a liar.  It's not easy.  It's hard.  It's stressful, and it's at times completely and utterly overwhelming. It's also, undeniably worth it.  We have worked hard at making this our home, a reflection of our life together in this moment, and I could not be happier. 

Here are a few pictures to document our new journey so far:

The day we got the keys to our home!

Goodbye  apartment 11!

Mailbox official!

Our garden guys looking comfortable in their new home.

My dressing room, my happy place!

The day I came home from work to find Ryan had surprised me with Dia de la Muertos mums.

Pictures I have taken from our hikes and framed for art above our bed.

Fall settling in to our front yard.  We have a yard!

  

When Did We Put A Deadline on Love?

Lately I have noticed a trend of not just people posting "bucket lists", but "specific age bucket lists" on facebook or Pinterest, or whatever social media site is hip now.  For instance, "Things to Accomplish by My 20th Birthday" or 25, 27, 30, whatever.  I have my own working bucket list, so I have nothing against making a list of life goals, desires, wants, so forth.  Actually I love making lists, my life would not function without lists, and I sure as hell would get nothing accomplished at work if I didn't have the 15 fluorescent colored post it notes telling me what to do on my desk, computer, phone, any surface a note can be stuck to, really.  It does make me cringe a little though when I see young women, late teens/early twenties, posting goals with narratives having to do with relationship status, or parenthood status.  For example, "If I'm not married with 2 children by the time I'm 25, my life will not be complete", or "If I haven't fallen in love with the man I'm going to marry by the time I'm 27, I just give up on love", and so it goes.  Now, I was never the little girl who played house, pretended to be a bride, or a wife, or a mommy, I know a lot of women who were, women I love and admire, I just was never one of them. (And, that's not to say I never want to be any of those things, but as a little girl I was nursing stuffed animals back to health, reading, riding my bike, playing softball, and chopping off all of my Barbies hair).  I also don't think any of those things; bride, mommy, wife, are bad things or should not be included on bucket lists, I do however believe putting a deadline on those things, can cause way more damage than good.

What happens when these "goals" don't become attainable?  What happens when a young girl makes the married with a kid by 25 goal and what happens instead is;  start dating someone at 20, get married by 22, have a child by 23, get overwhelmed and realize you have no idea who you are or who the person is  you married, and get divorced by 25?  Or the person who HAS to be in love with the man she's going to marry by 27, what happens when she's still dating dirt bags at 27, and completely gives up?  She misses out on potential great romances that could begin at 28 or 29 or 37!  Or what happens when you've set your ultimate goal of being a parent by a certain age, and your body or your significant other's body just won't cooperate with what you've pre-determined? 

I firmly believe setting goals can be productive and positive in life, but I will never believe pre-determining an age for love and family to be productive to a life of happiness.  To those who attain, bravo, but to all those who do not, I cannot imagine the disappointment and pain they may be setting themselves up for.  When did the ultimate goals for women become your relationship status and whether or not your were a parent by a certain age anyway?  Again, I believe those are two important and admirable things to be in this life, but it does not define who you are as a person living this life.  I confess, I am a 35 year old, unmarried, non-parent, and my life is pretty great! I have a family who loves and support me, friends who stand by me through all sorts of crazy, a relationship that lifts me up and makes me a better person and pushes me out of my comfort zone, (and I was still dating dirt bags at 27!) a job that fulfills me, and a life that makes me happy.  ( I do still have a shitty apartment, so that's number one on my bucket list, "buy house to get away from dealing with assholes who smoke in the community laundry room, and complain because water from my plants is leaking down the balcony").

So for all you young women making your bucket lists, let's stop putting an age limit on finding love.  Let's instead find out who you are as a person, who you are at 22, 25, 27, 30, 35....and use pencil on those lists, so you can add and subtract to it as you go in life, as your interests change, as you change.   

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

I am guilty.  Guilty of what I can only assume 99.9% of women are guilty of, talking and thinking negatively about our bodies.  To be real, I have, as long as I can remember, always had trouble with negative thinking when it comes to my body.  For the majority of my teen and adult years, I have, in my mind always been too thick, too curvy, too short, too chunky, too flabby, and the list goes on.  I've used all those words to describe myself at some point in my life.

As a teen I was active, athletic, a gym rat, and then I went to college. And like, some who went before me, and some who will go after me, I spent less and less time working out and more and more time going out, and I paid for it.  I gained, not just the freshman 15, maybe more accurately the undergrad 25. (I know...but I went to a party school, and I was good at it!).  About three weeks following my college graduation I started my first "professional" job as a social worker.  That job was challenging to say the least, and I spent many long hours driving all over the state of KS, dealing with crises I was not ready to deal with, seeing and hearing trauma I was not prepared to see and hear, and dealing with it by shutting down, smoking lots of cigarettes, sitting in a car driving on long empy highways for hours on end, and eating whatever fast food was available in whatever small town I was driving out of on my way to the next.  I became a person I did not recognize, physically and mentally, and I knew I had to change something before the girl I once knew had completely disappeared.  So, I quit my job, without a job on the horizon, and decided it was time to get healthy, both mentally and physically.

In a month's time I had a new job, which could not have been a more perfect fit for me and how I envisioned my life as a social worker ( that job was so perfect for me, I'm still doing it!), and had started a healthy eating and exercise plan.  As time went on, I became recognizable again to my friends and family, and most importantly myself, and I ended up shedding about 35 pounds. Pounds that accrued due to my inability to manage my life, or really care enough at that point, to have the self realization I was self sabotaging in every way.

After my initial weight loss, I had never felt more confident in every area of my life.  I had found my groove in my professional career, and once I found it, I have always felt confident about the work I do.  I felt confident in the people I had surrounded myself with, my friends, old and new, and I felt confident about my body.  I finally felt like I looked good!  I was excited to go shopping, I wanted to buy swim suits.  Swim suits! Working out was part of every one of my days, always. That was eleven years ago.

I maintained that state of mind for several years, and it is only in the recent year or so that I have felt those old negative feelings creeping back into to mind.  Have I stopped working out as much as I should?  Yes.  Have I gained more weight than I would like to admit? Yes.  More than I am happy with?  Absolutely.  Have I used those old words to describe the current state of my body?  Yes.  But, am I happy in my life? YES!  I am so happy with my life as it is currently.  I have a lot of things going really well in my life right now.  And this body, that I have put so much emotional, physical stress on over the years, has always kept me healthy, kept me alive.  I know I need to make changes again to my workout regime, my eating routine, and I'm working on it, but I have to find a way to be happy about where my body is right now, today, April 8, 2014 at 9:00pm.

I work with young girls, pre-teens, teens, even younger who struggle with body image issues every day.  I have a five year old niece, and I always want her to know she is beautiful, but that she is also so amazingly strong, and resilient, and powerful, and in charge of her own destiny.  I want that for all the children I work with, and I don't want the insecurity about how their body may or may not look, hold them back in any way, and I can't allow it to hold me back.  I am a constant work in progress, as we all are, but I am working everyday on this issue that has once again reared it's ugly head in my life, to silence the negative and work on the positive, not just for me, but for all beautiful strong girls and women in my life.

Self Awareness Weekend

This weekend, I had no real plans, but I ended up learning a few things about myself.  In no particular order:

1.  I have the ability to run up a rocky incline through thorny bushes quicker than I would have thought, in order to escape a swarm of little black bugs attacking my face, and only realize after the fact, I am covered in thorns.

2.  There is absolutely no way I would ever survive on the show Naked and Afraid.

3.  I do not like Ugli fruit.

4.  Although I was very skeptical about spending a significant amount of money on pure hiking shoes, because they have no real aesthetic value to me, I am very grateful I did.  They may be the most comfortable shoes I have ever owned, and helped me immensely in my escape from the black bugs.

5.  I have lived in this city 13 years and am just now experiencing some of it's best beauty, thanks to my outdoors man boyfriend.

6.  When told the apartment below me is having plumbing issues and I cannot use the bathroom or run the shower in my apartment, I have never felt dirtier or had to go to the bathroom more than in that time period my entire life.

7.  I really need a place where I can have a dog.  I need a dog in my life.

8.  If I see the Cox cable commercial about the catchphrase, "Can't get that with satellite."  I will spend the rest of the day sporadically shouting out, "Can't get that with satellite, WHAT!"

Baby It's Cold Outside

As I type this I sit cozily on my couch wrapped up in a soft warm blanket, in my warm over sized sweatshirt, my leggings, and my slippers, with snow steadily coming down outside my window.  It really is a beautiful sight to watch,  the white blanket covering everything from trees, to cars, to streets, but as I stare at it, all I can think is, the only thing I like about winter, is my wardrobe.  I know how that sounds, but I cannot stand the cold.  I only think it's pretty to watch the snow, because I'm not out in it. Sure the snow is pretty, but it's going to freeze over and turn into an extremely dangerous ice rink when the windchill drops to negative anything and the high for the day is 4.  And then when it's done being a menace to safety it's going to melt and turn to a dirty slushy mess, making it turn from a pristine white to a grimy black sludge that ends up covering everything.  But you know what doesn't change colors, or consistencies with the below freezing, freezing, barely above freezing temperatures, my large collection of  inviting, snugly, sweaters.  I may hate the winter, but I cannot pass up a giant cowl neck, over sized sweater to save my life.  I can't help myself, it's a problem.  I know this is not some earth shattering, deep thinking, call for social justice blog post, it's actually kind of a vapid post, but in this moment, it's exactly what I was thinking about.

In all seriousness, my Kansas friends, and friends already impacted, be safe in this beastly cold front making it's way to us, it will be dangerously cold, not something really to joke about.  Stay inside.  Do not get out unless it is an absolute necessity, and snuggle up with a loved one on the couch under a warm blanket with a cup of hot cocoa, hopefully wearing a cozy sweater.

All Due Respect

I had an experience a few days ago, that I've continued to think about since it happened, and every time that happens I know I need to get that experience out, I need to purge a little on what happened and how it made me feel and why it has continued to nag at me for the past three days.  I was recently in a very small cafe in another city.  You walked in the door and there was a counter, approximately five tables and four booths along the wall.  The maximum capacity couldn't have been over 40 people.  Upon walking in the door, more like being blow in the door, as it was an insanely blustery day, there was a gentleman sitting in the first booth by the door.  This man was very friendly, although his speech was not understandable he gave me a greeting as I walked in the door with a smile on his face.  This man also appeared as though sitting in that booth drinking a cup of hot coffee, may be the best part of his day.  It also very well may have been one of the few places he would be all day that would be a warm environment surrounded by people, and not be out walking the streets on a cold blustery fall day, as it seemed possible he may have been homeless.  Now, because I was at this cafe right around the lunch hour, and due to it's limited seating after placing our order, my co-worker and I had nowhere to sit, as all the booths were taken. As we were standing patiently waiting for a seat, there were two booths of women who had finished eating but were just sitting talking to each other, the man who greeted us, got up and went outside for a cigarette.  It was very clear he was planning on coming back inside; he was just outside the door and had left his cup of coffee on his table.  As soon as the man walked out the door, one of the tables of ladies got my attention and let me know if we wanted a table we better hurry up and sit down while the man was outside.  I politely told the table of women we would not be stealing that man's table, as he was clearly coming back. One of the women again urged us to sit down quickly before he came back, and again I informed her we would not be doing that.  Her response was, "Oh what is he, like a staple here?"  Should it matter?  Overhearing our conversation, the second table of ladies, acknowledged they were done eating and we were welcome to have their table.  Unfortunately, once again because of the limited space there were other people waiting for a table so the staff cleared the man's coffee when another patron asked to sit there.  Not thirty seconds after, the man re-entered the cafe with his coffee and his table being gone.  Now, he, who was there first, was forced to stand, and had to purchase another cup of coffee because his had been removed.

This whole exchange bothered me in the moment and has continued to bother me through the weekend.  When did people stop giving others the respect they deserve?  When did it become okay to shun people or disregard them, because they are different?  That first table of women couldn't urge us to sit down fast enough.  Was it because they didn't want him sitting behind them, or in the same restaurant as they were?  It was very disheartening for me to see that kind of blatant disregard for another person, a complete lack of respect for another human being.  A person who had been nothing but friendly and polite who had likely been seeking a little refuge in this cafe, why should he be made to feel like he wasn't enough?  He was a paying customer.  He had every right to be there, and every right not to feel judged.  I've decided this whole exchange bothered me so much, because perhaps I'm not always the person I wish to be.  I have judged too quickly, I don't always consider everything another person may be going through without passing judgement, and that is something I plan on working on, being a better all around person, and being a better person to those around me.  So during this season of thankfulness (which by the way should not just be the 30 days of thanks that is my facebook news feed this month, it should be every day throughout the year) I'm also going to try and make it a season of self- improvement, a season of self reflection, and a season of helping and a season of respect.  I hope you all will as well.

Sunday Un-Funday

Sunday is usually my favorite day of the week.   I either laze around most of the day preparing myself for the upcoming work week, watching mindless television, or my favorite summer time activity, laying in the pool for hours on end, or I busy myself getting all my weekly tasks done so I don't have to worry about anything during the week.  Today I decided to make it a busy day, mostly because of the unseasonably cool weekend we're having in the Flint Hills,  (68 degrees, grey, cloudy, and rainy the last week of July, in Kansas, unheard of!).  I had big boring tasks to tackle today and I was ready, or so I thought.

I started off my morning spilling hot coffee on myself.  This happens all to frequently, if I wasn't so addicted to my coffee I'd give it up for fear of covering my body in third degree burns on a regular basis.  Next I decided to start getting around for the day (had to get out of my coffee stained pj's anyway), and the first thing I almost always do is put my contacts in.  I have terrible eyesight.  Terrible.  I can't see six inches in front of my face without my contacts or glasses, and I'm not a huge fan of wearing my glasses for longer than a couple hours at a time, mostly because they slip off my nose and sit crooked on my face and I haven't taken the time to get them adjusted.  For some reason this morning while I was washing my contact to put in, I forgot to close the drain.  I wash my contacts every morning.  I close the drain every morning.  This morning, I didn't, and my contact fell right down the drain and washed away.  Needless to say I was furious with myself!  I contemplated for a solid 5 minutes taking the drain apart to try and fish out my contact, but I finally decided that would likely end poorly for me, and I just wasn't willing to tempt my luck further today.

 After making peace (barely) with the fact I'm going to be rocking glasses the next few days, I got started with some of my tasks for the day.  While cleaning my bedroom and trying to organize my space, I got hit in the head with a storage bin full of blankets, sheets, and pillows while trying to put it up in my closet, I stepped on the point of a tack that had fallen on the floor in my bare feet, and I'm fairly certain I swallowed a giant dust bunny while clearing out a stack of magazines by the side of my night stand.

After coming to the very sane realization my home was out to get me, I decided it would be safer to take on my out of home tasks for the day, which included a trip to Aldi's for groceries.  I don't know how many of you have shopped at Aldi's, but you have to put in a quarter to get a shopping cart.  I don't mind this at all.  The groceries are very reasonable, and when you put your cart back you get your quarter back.  The last couple times I've gone there I've left my quarter in the cart so the next person can use it for free.   As I'm walking up to Aldi's, glasses falling off my face, tripping on my shoestring, a very friendly looking lady is getting ready to return her cart by spies me first.  In my mind, I'm thinking, this is the very break I need in this day that's fighting me at every move, this lady took one look at my disheveled self digging around in my bag for a quarter and is going to take pity on me and give me her cart, how nice of her!  The woman proceeds to walk up to me, offers me her cart with a lovely smile on her face, I'm feeling very grateful for this small act of kindness, and then she sticks out her hand demanding a quarter.  I gave her the stupid quarter, but I still left one in the cart when I returned it for the next person having a Sunday Un-Funday.

Warning: Liberal Catholic Writing

Clearly there is an important piece of history taking place this week in the United States Supreme Court involving marriage equality.  Unless you are completely unplugged from the world you have seen media coverage regarding what is currently taking place in our country.  It warms my heart to see my news feed filled with support for marriage equality, whether it be the picture of the red equal sign, or a rainbow colored Supreme Court building, or one of those pictures with the arrow pointing to your profile picture saying, "This person is an ally and supports marriage equality", it just makes me smile.  And then the smile slowly dissipates upon seeing some posts claiming you can't be religious and a supporter.  Or because you do support marriage equality for our LGBT community, you must not believe in God, or you must not be a good Christian, or you are a marriage hater, or whatever argument is out there.  So, as I sometimes do, I decided I needed to put my thoughts to virtual paper to get them to stop spinning around in my head making me feel like a crazy person.

I am a catholic.  I also consider myself a fairly liberal minded individual.  I was baptized in the Catholic church.  I am also pro-choice.  I received my First Communion and the sacrament of Confirmation.  I also believe in contraception. One of the most calming places for me to be to this day is in the quiet pews of any Catholic church.  I also support the right of couples in love to marry and share their lives with each other and have it recognized under the law.  I believe marriage is not defined as between a man and woman for the main purpose of having children.  I give marriage and the individuals who make that commitment to one another, gay or straight, much more respect then entering into a contract and having the most important thing be procreation.

I was raised in a Catholic home.  I attended CCD and CYO and confession and mass on Sundays.  I was also raised in a home with parents who taught me to be an individual.  To use my mind.  To believe in God but also to not be afraid to question what I do not understand or what I do not believe to be right and ethical and humane. I also appreciate the fact when things happened in my life or to people I love that I did not understand at a young age, my parents allowed me to step away and figure out where I stood in my religion on my own.  They didn't force me to go to church if I didn't want to, they waited until I was ready.  I don't believe that I must attend church every Sunday for God to hear me pray, and I don't attend mass every week, but sometimes if I'm feeling particularly lost about something I will go.  It is a safe place for me among the pews.  I respect my Catholic faith but because I have questions and feel my religion is not current with our ever changing world and growing communities, and do not agree with every piece of what I was once taught as I little girl sitting in CCD, does not mean I am a bad Catholic or that religion is not important to me.  It means I am a liberal Catholic.  It means I am someone who respects the history but will still continue to advocate for change.  It means that I can still be Catholic and support social reform in many facets.  I am proud to be that kind of Catholic and that is who I will continue to be.

For the Love of Dogs

"Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made."  -Roger Caras, president emeritus, ASPCA

In the last year, multiple people I care about have lost their pets, their four-legged best friends, and it is nothing short of a devastating loss.  To lose a pet is to lose a part  of your family.  I have, my entire life, been a dog person.  My childhood always involved a dog, (our family poodle, Inky) my sisters and their families have dogs, most of my friends and people I'm closest to in my life have dogs.  I covet their dogs.  Unfortunately, I live in a place with the heinous "No Pets Allowed" rule, (dumbest rule ever!).  I did at one point believe I could smuggle in the most adorable puppy and keep him without  being caught, that lasted about three days, before I had to find him a new home.  Lucky for me, a good friend of mine agreed to be his new doggy mommy, so I still get to see him every once in a while.  

Sweet baby Cobain.

Dogs are such an important part of humans' lives.  They are loyal to a fault, love without judgement, and listen without interruption.  I honestly believe owning a dog makes you a better human being.  In honor of dog parents, want to be dog parents, and loyal four-legged friends near and far, this post is for you.  Cherish your pets, love them as they love you, without hesitation, and relish in your time with them, for they will change your world if you let them.

Clothing Revolution

I didn't wake up feeling great about today.  I knew I had a monster day at work, I didn't feel well, and just had an overall blah feeling, but in an attempt to shake off  the mood and not let it settle into my bones, which is actually exactly what I let happen when I last posted on here, I got myself in a positive frame of mind, put on some music and got ready for my day.  The day got better from there, or so I thought.

I have this fantastic gray pencil skirt, I love, and unfortunately I let myself get lazy recently and my skirt had forgotten where it was supposed to go when I put it on, so it has been sadly just hanging in my closet for a few months, silently crying, because it wasn't being worn.  So today was the day, I was in a positive frame of mind, I've been working out more, that skirt was getting worn today.  First thing first though, ladies will understand, before the skirt must go the hose.  Now I know most women probably have at least 10 pair of pantyhose somewhere in their wardrobe, the cheap ones you just keep replacing with more cheap ones, the ones that run if you have a hangnail when you put them on, but in the middle of the mess of cheap pantyhose, is that one pair. The one pair you spent too much money on, the one pair that seem magical, the one pair you wear on a first date when you want to make sure your butt and legs look really great.  That pair, that's the pair I chose to wear today with my favorite skirt.  I finished getting ready, was having a good hair day, my hose and my skirt were working in perfect harmony, I slipped on my new black pumps I had yet to wear and I was ready for anything this day was going to throw my way.  I was determined.  I was prepared for the unexpected.  I felt great.  I grabbed my purse, slipped on my coat and headed out the door.

Two steps out the door, I caught my heel of my new pump in the fabric bow on the toe of the other pump, fell into my railing, onto the concrete, my purse (and all its contents) went flying, I shredded my magic hose leaving a nice bloody gash on my knee, ripped my favorite skirt, ripped the bow on my brand new shoes, and hurt my wrist.  I collected the contents of my purse, went back inside, put on a stupid pair of black pants, stupid shoes I wear all the time, and went to work.  I no longer felt determined or prepared for the unexpected, or great, but I was thankful just to be wearing anything that wasn't ripped, torn, and shredded.  Hopefully tomorrow my clothes will not revolt against me and I get out of the door wearing the same outfit I had on two seconds before walking out.  

Attitude Adjustment

Today I was a grump.  My attitude was crap most of the day.  It was the type of day, where people could instinctively sense coming closer than within a 15 foot radius to me would not be a good idea.  Nothing really  happened to put me in such a lovely mood today, it just didn't start off  with a bang and instead of shaking it off, I just let it settle into my bones for the day.  This is never the right decision to make.  By the end of what turned out to be a very busy, long, non-stop phone ringing day, I was simple exhausted.  Had I chosen to not be a grump today, shake off the Eyeore-esque mood of gloom and doom, it still would have been a long busy day, and I probably still would have wanted to break all the phones in my office, but I would have done with a smile, a lot less curse words, and in a much more positive frame of mind.  I'm determined to make the rest of this week a positive up-beat week. I'm not going to pretend there still won't be curse words here and there (I really do need to work on my sailor language), but they will be flowing out of a smiling face, because in all honesty my life is pretty okay.  In an effort to create a happy mind space (a Yankee win tonight would actually be the best fix for this) a song that always makes me think I can rap and dance.  Enjoy, the one and only, Shoop.

My Visit to the Demon Dentist

I'm aware a large portion of society has an issue with the dentist.  I am one of those people.  My entire life I have feared the dentist.  Not on the same level as I fear getting caught in a swarm of birds and being pecked to death, but fearful all the same.  Nonetheless, I have been going every 6 months for my cleaning, and fluoride treatments for several years, (although I don't get the fluoride each time because my insurance only pays for one treatment a year and it makes my mouth feel really grainy afterward).  Recently, I went for my routine cleaning, and left the dentist office feeling very very angry.  I did not really know just how angry I was until I called the office today to cancel the appointment they forced me to make before I left, and when I got off the phone today I was just as angry as I was three weeks ago when I walked out of the office.  (Boy, I can really hang on to some anger!)  What made me so angry, you say?  Well, I'm glad you asked!

My check and cleaning had just finished and I was busy patting myself on the back for a job well done on my dental hygiene care, when my bubble was quickly burst, when my thoughts of dental health superiority were interrupted by the hygienist stating, she had called the dentist in to look at my front two teeth and address the issue of "that gap".  Excuse me, what?  To make sense of my dismay, here is some history on "that gap".  When I was young I had a gap in between my front two teeth.  It wasn't huge, it wasn't disturbing to look at, but it really bothered me.  A lot.  When you're a pre-teen and a young teenager, you are already struggling with the hormones racing through your body, making all kinds of crazy foreign things happen, and any little perceived flaw can turn into a tailspin of insecurity, and that is what "that gap" did to me.  I begged my parents to let me get if fixed, my teeth were straight, I didn't need braces, so they weren't sure anything could be done to fix it.  I'm sure I harassed them and spilled many tears nagging them to figure something out, so they finally let me go to my dentist and talk to him about it and he told me he could fill it by putting a bond on my teeth closing the gap.  Hallelujah!  I swear the heavens opened and angels sang.  

This is one of the few pictures I could find showing "that gap".  I tried to hide it by smiling with my  mouth closed in a lot of pictures.  You can't really even see it very well, but this is the best I could find.  This was in 1993 I would have been 14, a freshman in high school. 

After that initial bonding I no longer worried about my teeth (I promptly found other things to be insecure about during my high school years!)  Then right before my sister Natalie's wedding in 2005, the bonding chipped, I have no idea how it happened, it's really hard to say, my lack of grace is clearly documented in this blog.  It was a simple fix and I went on my merry way, without a care in the world about "that gap", until that fateful day three weeks ago.  As soon as the hygienist mentioned she was bringing the dentist in to look at it, I became 14 again, and it only got worse from there.  The dentist came in to gawk at the freak (okay, so maybe it just felt like that in my mind) and told me, she would really suggest instead of filling "that gap", which I had not even noticed needed any filling,  I needed to get veneers.  On my six front teeth!  How did this go from a simple fill, which I didn't know I needed, to 6 veneers! Apparently you just can't get two veneers, because then I'd apparently look like a buck-toothed hillbilly, oh no, I need all six teeth done.  Then she said, if I did not go the veneer route (which really would "make me look better") at the very least I need two crowns on my front two teeth, and the kicker in all of this is insurance covers absolutely none of it, because it's all considered cosmetic, and not really necessary.  However it did succeed in making me feel like I have gnarled nasty teeth that should never been seen by the public eye.  As I sat in shock, not being able to form words, because I'm 14 and afraid to talk to adults, they wrote me up an estimate for the two crowns, which of course is their "second choice", and didn't even bother giving me an estimate on veneers. They also made me set up a consult appointment before I left, as they feel it's really important to protect the local children from being frightened by my repulsive smile. 

I walked out of there angry, and the more I thought about it, and the more I realized they made me feel like that insecure 14 year old again, the more furious I became.  Today I called to cancel the consultation appointment, stating I had thought about it and would not be needing a consultation on crowns or veneers because I'm perfectly okay with the way current teeth look.  I was asked three times in the three minute phone conversation if I was "certain", "sure", or "do you need more time to think about it" before they would accept my cancellation.  Yes I'm sure.  Yes I've thought about it.  Yes I will be finding a new dentist!

If There Was a Problem, Yo I'll Solve It

Recently I have been loudly pondering the loss of critical thinking and problem solving skills I have witnessed the last few weeks. Educated, professional, adults who seemingly are unwilling to try, or rather want, to think it out before asking someone else for the answer, an answer which they can just as easily access.  An answer with an ounce, a millisecond of self pondering would be in their grasp, it would take but a moment of stopping and evaluating the situation to conclude, "Hmm.  Better not."  And then I stopped and pondered myself and was reminded of the multiple questionable decisions I have made in my life. Seriously, really dumb ass decisions; to include dating the wrong guys for way way way too long, wearing a bell sleeved shirt while shoving food down a running garbage disposal (RIP sheer maroon blouse), consuming way too many adult beverages when I have important things to do the next morning, trying to prove I can sit crossed legged on top of my stability exercise ball and balance when it's well documented I am an enormous klutz (that one left a bruise, or three).  So I concluded I will try to make it the rest of week without being such an irritated judgmental jerk. Good thing tomorrow is already Thursday.

Labor Day Lessons

This was Labor Day weekend 2012.  Labor Day, a day originally created to recognize the dedication and work ethic of the American worker, reflect on the workers of the nation, but seems now to mostly be regarded as the end of summer, filled with pool parties, barbecues, trips to the beach, and an excuse to over indulge in consumption of adult beverages.  I did none of those things.  However I did learn a few things this Labor Day weekend.

1.  Peach salsa from the farmer's market is delightful on fish tacos.

2.  Playing the harmonica and pillow fighting with my 3 year old niece may be one of the most fun things to do, ever.

3.  When you are 3 and get told to pick up your toys, you can fake a headache and get out of it.  That doesn't work when you're in your 30s.

4.  I have a vastly different definition of "pulse-pounding thriller" than the person who wrote the review on the back of the Winter's Bone movie case.

5.  No slip head wraps do not exist.  The packaging is a lie.

6.  Finally, "You save big money when you shop Menard's".  This lesson was taught to me once again by the littlest person full of wisdom, my niece, who decided to break out into this song while shopping in Target.

Hope everyone has their own small moments of laughter, relaxation, and happiness on this Labor Day weekend.  Now prepare to get back to work tomorrow!

And They Lived Happily Ever After

I have worked with many children in my career in child welfare, all of whom hold a special place in my heart, but in the summer of 2008 I held a 3 month old baby, who impacted my life in ways I never imagined.  That summer I was appointed as the CASA for a 3 month old (who will be referred to as "Baby" throughout the rest of this story) who was in the system due to Shaken Baby Syndrome/Abusive Head Trauma (SBS/AHT).  I had previously worked with infants, but did not have a history working with SBS/AHT, and since we knew from the beginning it would be a very involved and difficult case, as the supervisor I took it on myself.  At the onset of the case, the infant was life flighted to the closest major hospital with diffuse cerebral edema (swelling of the brain), sub-arachnoid hemorrhages (bleeding on the brain), pre-retinal hemorrhaging in both of eyes, experiencing seizure activity, was placed on a ventilator in a vegetative state upon arrival at the hospital, given a critical/unstable condition, with hospital staff stating his condition was not likely to change.   Baby was hospitalized for approximately three weeks. Upon discharge Baby was breathing unassisted, but was considered to be blind, deaf, had muscle rigidity on the right side of the body, a severe seizure disorder, and had a g-tube for feeding.  All of these things continue to be true for Baby.

The next several months following Baby's initial discharge from the hospital, were filled with appointments with specialists, a lot of time spent in hospitals and doctor's offices.  I met neurosurgeons, pediatric neurosurgeons, retina specialists, g-tube specialists (I'm sure there's a different name for that, but I don't know what it is); if it had anything to do with the brain I met that doctor.  On a side note, during this time, out of all the neurologists I met, which was about 3, I determined they are such brilliant doctors it doesn't leave a lot of room for a fantastic personality, (sorry if I offended any neurosurgeons who may be reading this!).  I also need to note, I was not doing this on my own, far from it.  At the time Baby came into foster care, I had a good friend who was the supervisor of our local foster care agency at the time, and she worked the case for their agency.  We were lucky to be able to do this together in the beginning, when everything seemed to still be so unknown and undeniably scary.   We went into every appointment with our brave faces on, but for me at least, inside I was in knots wondering what new dismal outcome we would be told today.  There is one appointment that will never leave me.  We were seeing another neurologist, this time a follow-up appointment.  The doctor came in, examined Baby, and told us it was a miracle Baby was still alive, most children with this amount of trauma would have already died.  The doctor described Baby's brain injury to us as “the brain is falling away". Due to the damage suffered, Baby was left with 1/4 of a brain. The doctor then went on to tell us Baby's life expectancy could not be determined, he had seen children only last a few months or on the flip side a case where the child lived 10 plus years with this type of trauma, but his best guess for Baby would be 3 to 5 years, with no progression from the current state.  Before this appointment, no doctor we had seen had ever put a "number" on Baby. That moment, holding that child and hearing a time frame on life, will never leave me.  I felt like I couldn't breathe, but had to continue to be the professional skilled at handling this type of news.  I left that appointment, got in the car, and cried.  Cried for the child who had been born completely normal and had life altered and shortened due to abuse, cried for the child I had already grown so attached to, who may not be with us for too long, and cried out of sheer exhaustion of hearing bad news on top of bad news at every appointment we attended.

 As the case continued there were more hospitalizations, surgeries, more doctor appointments with specialists, more in-home care professionals (Baby qualified for daily in-home nursing care), and more medications added on to an already lengthy list, at one point I believe the daily medication list was over a dozen different medications a day.  Along with in-home nursing care, Baby also received Infant Child Development Services which consisted of occupational therapy, physical therapy, early childhood development, speech therapy, and vision therapy.  I would be lying if I said I wasn't skeptical of what vision services would be able to do for a child who has been found to be blind, or what speech therapy would do for a child who will always be non-verbal, or what physical therapy could do for a child with a seizure disorder, feeding tube, and 1/4 of a brain.  It's not that I did not want those things for Baby, I just believed what the doctors were saying, and progression was not likely.  I also need to say when all these services started, Baby had recently been placed in a third foster home, an amazing family, allowing me to come and observe these services while they were taking place in their home so I could get a better understanding of what they would be working on with Baby.

As the months stretched into years I became more and more captivated and amazed by this sweet fighter of a child.  Baby continued to amaze us all by beating the odds.  As Baby continued to receive services from all agencies involved, we began to see progress.  I can't even begin to list all of the exercises and equipment used to help Baby.  In the beginning it was a struggle to watch because the services seemed to bring so much physical pain, especially during physical therapy, but the end results were Baby being able to sit unassisted, which was a major feat when it first happened.  The next big accomplishment was being able to bear weight when held in a standing position, with assistance, but the biggest accomplishment was when Baby took some steps while in the walker (Baby does not have a normal walker, the walker comes with a harness to strap in for safety because Baby does not have enough body control otherwise).   After someone physically picked up and made a step with Baby's feet a few times, Baby was able to mimic the behavior with a couple steps.  Baby cannot walk or stand unassisted, is wheelchair bound, but the fact Baby has even progressed to taking steps while in the walker is not anything I ever thought would be possible.  

Baby can also take some food by mouth now.  While the majority of nutrition comes from the feeding tube, Baby can eat foods that are the consistency honey, anything of a thinner consistency, there is a great risk of aspirating.  I previously mentioned the muscle rigidity on the right side, this is due to the left side of the brain being gone, the right side does not move much, and Baby's hand is almost always in a fist.  In order to help loosen this side up, Baby now receives Botox injections every few months (not just for Orange County housewives anymore!) which helps loosen the muscles giving more consistent movement.

With every ounce of progress made, one major medical concern remained, and that was the amount of seizure activity.  Baby suffers from a seizure disorder and it seemed with each passing month the seizures became more and more frequent and more and more painful.  At one point Baby began having seizures that presented as long fits of crying, and it was not just regular crying, it's the type of crying where you know there is pain behind those wails and tears, and with a child who is non-verbal, there is nothing you can do to soothe them but try to remain calm yourself and keep them comfortable.  Another moment in this case that will never leave me is when I was holding Baby at one of my visits and one of the "crying seizures" took place.  I managed to keep it together while it was occurring, the seizure lasted for several minutes, but when I left that day and got in my car, I just cried.  It was obvious to all of who had witnessed these seizures they brought severe pain.  In order to help with the seizure activity Baby went to see another new pediatric neurologist, who the foster family really respects, who prescribed new medications to help with the frequency and aggressiveness of the seizures.  While the downside of the increased medications are Baby sleeps a lot, the flip side is the seizure activity has decreased significantly and I choose to believe this means Baby is in much less pain on a daily basis.

As the years went on, Baby continued to grow, and although Baby's health still remains fragile, the progress made is nothing short of remarkable.  I feel incredibly blessed to have been a part of this child's life; the resilience is something to be witnessed.  Baby doesn't know the odds were supposedly insurmountable. Baby was never supposed to be able to sit, or bear weight, or take food by mouth, or connect with caregivers. Baby doesn't know the odds of survival, so Baby learned, and grew, and continues to live.  

I was fortunate enough to work Baby's case as the CASA for the duration of time in the court system, which was 4 years.  I previously mentioned when Baby began receiving all intensive services a move had just been made to a third foster home.  Baby has remained there since that time and in the summer of 2012 there was an adoption finalization hearing, and they became Baby's forever family.  There is no doubt in my mind if it were not for the adoptive family, who took Baby in as their own, from day one, and provided consistency, advocacy, and love every day, Baby would not have made such remarkable progress.  They are amazing people, I could not be happier they are the forever family.

I wanted to write this story because it's a story that needs to be heard.  SBS/AHT is the leading cause of child abuse deaths in the United States, infants from birth to 4 months are the most vulnerable, and crying is the greatest risk factor (http://www.cdc.gov/concussion/HeadsUp/sbs.html).  Unfortunately, we don't know for sure what exactly happened that set off either of Baby's biological parents causing the trauma, and we will never know, that's something they have to live with, but we do know the trauma occurred at two months, which falls into the statistics.  The other very important point that needs to made here, is SBS/AHT is 100 % preventable.  Preventable.  Having a newborn is trying, it's frustrating, it's exhausting, and it's normal for your baby to cry, for no reason, and there are perfectly acceptable things for you to do to take a break from your inconsolable baby.  Programs like the Period of PURPLE Crying exist as preventative programs to give parents resources and safe options to prevent the tragedy of SBS/AHT.

In working with Baby, I changed as a worker and became a better person.  I became set on helping to prevent future children from suffering the same trauma.  SBS prevention efforts in our community became a big focus to me, and we were able, with a lot of work from collaborating agencies, to bring the Period of PURPLE Crying program to our local hospital and community agencies.  Any time one of my friends or friend of a friend, or anyone I was remotely aware of had a baby, I badgered them with information about the normalcy of crying, the PURPLE program, checked up to see how they were doing being new parents, to the point of utter annoyance I'm sure. Honestly I'm surprised people still answered my phone calls!  Also being a person, with little patience, (I heard the saying, "Patience is a virtue" a lot in my life), Baby taught me with patience great things come to you, and to never doubt what may be possible.  Watching Baby grow and bonding with this child, this child who has never seen my face or heard my voice, but does know my touch, is one of the greatest experiences I have had in my tenure as a social worker in child welfare, and not one I will ever forget.  Baby inspired me, taught me to be a more positive person, to be a more loving person, a more hopeful person, and I will be forever grateful.

*It should be noted there are multiple agencies, social workers, teachers, attorneys, doctors, judges, who played a major role in Baby's case and subsequent permanency.  It is not my intention to leave any of those individuals out of this story, there are just too many to name.  A huge thank you goes out to all of those who worked on Baby's case, you know who you are.

**It should also be known I was given permission by Baby's adoptive family, to tell this story.  I hope I did it justice.

Morning Musings

Recently I had a discussion with my sisters about seeing the good vs. seeing the bad in people.  It wasn't a deep long philosophical discussion, it was basically me saying, not everyone is a bad person or out to get you, and them saying, but there are a lot of bad people and gently chastising me for not being more aware and questioning of people.  I would like to state, I am aware there are bad people in the world, I just don't believe it's more likely than not, someone is going to want to kidnap me and stuff me in their trunk and drive me across state lines.  I understand the importance of safety and being aware, but I just don't think I have to live my life being vigilant every minute of every day.  I had basically dismissed this conversation, because as I said, it wasn't a lengthy thought-provoking conversation, but then I woke up yesterday to the headlines of the senseless tragedy in Aurora, CO.

Unfortunately this is not the first of this sort of tragedy we have seen in the last 10-15 years.  Columbine, Jonesboro, Virginia Tech, and the list goes on.  Obviously we all, as a society, mourn the loss of the innocent people and the grief of their families and loved ones in all of these violent crimes; but then it becomes almost automatic to get caught up in who these perpetrators were, what kind of person commits such senseless violence, what made them do it, what finally pushed them over the edge. I don't know if those questions can ever fully be answered.  People who commit such acts of violence are simply maladjusted individuals, who for whatever reason could no longer take the reality of their lives.  I am not so naive to know there are not bigger problems looming in our society, given tragedies of this proportion continue to plague our world, but I don't think we can shut down and shy away from people either.  Do I think we have a gun problem in the United States?  Absolutely.  I have never been a fan of guns and refuse to ever have one in my home.  I don't believe more guns in the hands of civilians is the answer.  Do I think Batman had anything to do with the shooting in Aurora?  No.  I think James Holmes would have found a message of violence in an episode of Sesame Street if he so chose.

 I know there are many of you, some of who may stumble across this blog post by mistake, who will vehemently disagree with my thoughts. You are as entitled to your opinions as I am to my own.  I write this not to offend, but simply to get my own thoughts out, make sense of what's been a running dialogue in my head for the last day.  As I said previously, I am aware there are bad people in this world, who do intend to do harm, and I am not free of knowing that first hand.  I have lost people I love to violent acts of crime.  However, I will continue to choose to look for the positive in people, see the good, because I believe the majority of the time it's always there.  If that makes me a bleeding heart liberal, so be it, that's a title I feel pretty comfortable owning.