Mama Guilt and Peeing On Massage Tables

I woke up in the middle of the night two nights ago wracked with mom guilt.  I was in my hotel room in Atlanta, after traveling for work on a Sunday.  Both girls had begged me not to leave. Ugh.  I don’t need to tell you how bad that sucks.   I get home Wednesday from this trip, I leave 7 days later for a personal trip (more on this later), return from that trip and then 12 days later I travel for work again.  In the middle of all this we have Kinder and PreK Orientation Night, Meet the Teacher Night and our first day of school.  And it’s not just ANY school year, y’all.  This is the FIRST ever school year in what we pray is our forever home and forever schools.  There are back to school clothes and shoes and backpacks and lunchboxes and EpiPen/Allergy Survival kits for the nurse and forms.  Ohhhh the forms.  And do we want to talk about my fear over food allergies/EpiPens?  Holy shit y’all, it’s all enough to make a mama insane.  

So I wake up in the middle of the night with the urgent thought “I need ice packs for lunches".  Where that came from, I have no idea but there I was thinking about it.  And they can’t be toxic gel ice packs” (hi, I’m half-a-hippie don’t ya know), so I spend an hour from 3:30-4:30am researching tree hugger ice packs, add a bunch to my Amazon cart before I go cross eyed and decide to wait until daylight hours when I’m more awake to complete my research/finalize the purchase.  Then I put down my phone and attempt to go back to sleep. 

But my mind is racing…. I probably shouldn’t go on this personal trip. It’s a cruise with one of my besties.  We both NEEEEEED this.  We both work like maniacs and have small kids and are starting kindergarten this year and are STRESSED OUT juggling ALL THE THINGS Y’ALL!   Nobody needs this trip like we do.  I mean, maybe some fellow mamas I know, but trust me when I say how desperately we need to get away.  But there I am, laying in my hotel bed at 4:30am thinking I shouldn’t go.  It’s too much.  I can’t do EVERYTHING.  Something’s got to give and this is one thing that can give.  I need to stay home and make sure the girls’ lunches get packed lest they eat some food that could kill them their first week of school while I’m away.  I’d never be able to live with myself if they got exposed to something and had a bad reaction while I was laying on the Carnival Victory sundeck.  F*ck!   How pissed will Angela be if I cancel?  We bent over backwards to make this work but she loves me, she gets it, she’ll get over it.  I mean, we basically had to find the hypercolor unicorn, purple squirrel of weekends to make it work (recruiting terminology there, sorry).  But we’ll figure it out, we can do it later. I cried and said all these things to myself so many times I guess I eased my stressed out mama brain enough to fall back to sleep.  At 6am.  My alarm went off at 6:15.  Ugh.

Worked all day Monday.  Met with all the people.  Did all the things.  Got back to the hotel around 6pm.  I had planned for a 7:15pm massage at the massage place next to the hotel.  In the middle of convincing myself I DID deserve that trip and it was OK to allow myself to go on a 3 day cruise, I was talking myself OUT of the massage I had already scheduled.  I didn’t need that.  I was fine.  I should just go back to my hotel room and finish that report I didn’t have time to do today. 

But alas, it was too late to cancel.  So now I shall give you a sampling of my stream on consciousness during my not so relaxing massage:

·       Ohh it smells good in here.  But I bet it’s toxic plug in. Shit.  It’s for sure fake fragrance.   I’m not supposed to like that crap.  But it DOES smell good.  Crap, it’s definitely not healthy to be whiffing that for an hour.  I’m probably going to get a headache from that.  Whatever.  It’ll be fine.  I’m fine.  Calm down Kelly

·       Why doesn’t my face ever seem to fit in the face holes?  Is my face a weird shape?

·       OK, here she goes.  Glad I asked for a lady this time.  Last time the dude here was a little too…I dunno close.  I mean, I know someone massaging you means they are going to be close to you.  That’s how it works.  But he was, just, too much.  Or am I crazy.  I’m probably crazy.  I’ve had other male massage therapists before.  No big deal.  Calm down Kelly.

·       But I shouldn’t dismiss the feeling I had, should I?  I had it for a reason.  This is how men get away with shit.  Women dismiss men’s bad behaviors as our own craziness.  I will not set that example for my girls. 

·       Ugh.  Calm down Kelly, it was just a massage. 

·       Shit.  I forgot to order a nap mat for Lucy.  Need to get on that.  And a beach towel for Ellis – the moms on the Dripping Springs Facebook Moms page said Kinder kids needed beach towels for “rest time” even though it wasn’t on the supply list.  I should get her a cute new one and not make her use one of our old ones so she’ll be excited about nap time with her special towel and actually nap.  But do I really want her to nap.  I mean, she naps now at PreK, but she’s getting old…will napping at Kinder mess with her sleep schedule. 

·       Geez.  Calm down Kelly, it will all work itself out.

·       Shit. I need teacher gifts for the first day.  I saw Brandi Brynie post pictures of hers.  They were so cute.  Did I order that pre-packaged kit of gifts I saw in my FB feed?  Such a good idea that mama had to sell those.  I can’t remember if I ordered.  I need to check my emails to see if there’s a confirmation email.  If not, I’ll just get a gift card or make something oily. Do I even have time to do that?  Ugh.  I guess it’s no big deal if I don’t have it on the first day.  If I get it to her by Friday of the first week it’ll be fine.  

·       Dude Kelly, calm your shit down.  

·       I really need to work on that report when I get back to my hotel room

·       Gahhhhh, I can’t even relax during a massage.  Stop thinking about stuff Kelly.

Very consciously trying to calm down, I zenned out somewhere between her karate chopping my back and rubbing my calves for like 10 minutes until the lady asked me to roll over

After rolling over:

·       Dang, I feel skinny when I lay flat on my back.  Why can’t everything stay where it is when I sit up.  That’s bullshit.  It’s so hard to be healthy and skinny and have your gray hairs covered and nails done and do a good job at work and be a present mother and ALL.  THE.   THINGS.  

·       Wait, is she putting on gloves to rub my feet? Am I that disgusting?  What the hell? I mean, I’m fleshy and freckley but am I so gross she needs to wear gloves? My feet are clean and manicured.   Nahhhh.  No way.  This is her issue, not mine.  But I wonder why.  Are most people so gross she feels the need to wear gloves?   Yeah, probably.  But not me.  Obviously, I smell like a bag of lavender, which I doused myself in before coming here. 

·       Gahhhh Kelly, calm down.  WTF do you care about her feet issues.  Just relax and enjoy. 

Layla pops into my head.  She does every day.

·       Gosh Kelly, how can you sit here and stress about all this dumb shit when Layla is gone….get over yourself.  Your shit is NOTHING. 

·       What can you do for Layla’s Legacy?   The issue is SO huge, how can you even make a difference?  It seems insurmountable.  But Sara doesn’t say that.  She just pushes on.  Come on Kelly, DO MORE. Brain cancer is a f*cker. 

·       Gosh that poor family in Buda that just got the DIPG diagnosis that you read about today. F*uck.

·       Ok, ok.  I’m gonna ask around again tomorrow for donations or auction items for Layla’s Gold Gala.  There’s no need to be nervous to ask people….it’s not about you.  Get over yourself.

Thinking about Layla stops all my nonsense stress thinking for a moment and tears steam down my face.  I’m thankful there’s a towel covering my face.

·       Gosh, I’m glad this lady can’t see me crying under this towel while laying here. Or can she?  Whatever, people probably cry on this table all the time.  But even if not, even if I’m the only crier ever in the history of this massage table, this lady would cry too if she knew about Layla. 

·       OK, seems like she’s wrapping up.  Wait.  What is she doing?  Why is she stretching and bending my legs like that….I’m too old for her to fold my legs like that up into my abdomen. And despite having surgery to fix it, my bladder was destroyed from back-to-back pregnancies and she ain't what she used to be.  WTF?!? This isn’t table yoga.   I’m gonna pee myself if she keeps pressing my leg into my gut like that.  Holy crap, lady, stop that.  I’m gonna pee.  Shit.  Now I’m about to start laughing at the thought of peeing after crying laying here on this table.  Shit, now I’m giggling.  I can’t stop.  For god’s sake this lady probably thinks I’m wackadoo. 

·       Stop giggling Kelly! 

·       She’s done.  Awesome.  I have GOT to get up with a quickness and go potty.  Lord Kelly, you’re a grown ass woman.  You have to go to the RESTROOM, not the potty.

·       Oh my gosh, I do not have time to fiddle with this bra in this dark room.  I’m gonna pee myself.  Just shove your bra in your purse, get your clothes on and GO.

I shove my bra into my purse but it barely fits in my little crossbody bag. 

·       Ugh.  I for sure do not have time now to take my shirt back off to put on my bra then put my shirt back on, just make it work Kelly!   You can put in on after you go potty to the restroom.  Just don’t pee yourself in this massage room.  It is highly doubtful those cheap sheets will soak up your puddle. 

I fling open the door and look to the right, scanning for the bathroom.  Nope.  Turn my head quickly to the left while taking a step forward, looking for the bathroom and run into a lady that was coming down the hall.  My bra pops out of my purse and onto the floor. We both just look down at it. 

And you know what my first thought is…..F*UCK IT ALL.  GO ON THE CRUISE. 

Because Layla

These words have been swirling around in my head for months now, fraught with how or when they might take shape. If they should even come out at all.  I’ve started and stopped many times.  Please know that I had Sara (Layla's mommy) read this first and I only post this with her blessing.  

                                                                                                                          

I’ve been on a lot of planes lately, talking to my dad.  And God.  It’s what I do on planes…I get all spiritual and forlorn.  Maybe it’s the proximity to heaven (more on that later) or the distance from real life.  I'm forced to unplug and and it gives me the opportunity to be in my thoughts.  I’ve been transparent about my faith issues in the past.  Y’all, I take the struggle bus DAILY when it comes to faith and God and religion.  ESPECIALLY religion.  It’s a constant battle of my head versus my heart.

But Layla.

There are some things about faith that just don’t work for me.  It seems absurd that entire populations of people are worshiping ONE guy.  Just a guy.  If droves of people were worshiping a current day dude, we’d call them crazy.  Praise Tom!  Oh wait, that HAS happened and we DO call them crazy.  So why is Christianity, or any other religion for that matter, any different?  Because it’s old?  Because otherwise sane, smart people are believers?  For me, being a true believer in the spiritual unknown and science/common sense haven’t been able to live on the same street.  The common sense, practical, literal part of my brain lived on one street.  And the faith part of my brain was in an entirely different zip code.  Sometimes I’d visit my faith that was living over in that other zip code, but always end up back at my comfy, analytical home where I’d watch those faithful people from afar.  Until now, it’s been one or the other for me. I was either all in on faith and God and church and religion or I was out.

But Layla.

Some of the stuff in the Bible is downright absurd.  You believers must admit that it can sound bananas.  But in the most unexpected place I recently found some clarity on this topic.  The TV show Grey’s Anatomy, of all places, had an episode called “Personal Jesus” a few weeks ago where a doctor (known as the super religious, Jesus loving doc) experiences several challenges to her faith in one day.  In one scene, she is talking with a patient that has landed himself in the hospital because he has taken to hurting/punishing himself based on his very literal translation of the bible.  She tells him the Bible is full of stories and metaphors and things aren’t meant to be taken so literally, that it is meant to be followed “within reason”.   Ding, ding, ding.  I can get on board with this.

For a long time I wasn’t all that sure about heaven. This goes hand in hand with my faith struggle I suppose.  I mean if the dude ain’t real, then surely his home in the clouds is a crock too, right?  Could this be another example of a bible story taken too literally?

But Layla.

When you pray and pray and beg and beg and hope and hope and just KNOW that your friend with faith the size of the universe will have things swing her way and that God will save her baby, and then her baby isn’t saved, your already fragile faith can really take a hit.  Why would I…why should I, believe in that guy?

Because Layla.

You see, I just can’t live in a world where my friend never sees her baby again.  That world just can’t exist. It can’t.  My heart can’t handle that. My head can’t either. I simply MUST believe that she’s in heaven, whatever that may be…whatever form it may take, waiting on her family.  And it’s not sad for her, she’s not lonely there, all pitifully waiting like a lost child.  She’s good.  She’s well.  She’s whole.  She is where cancer can no longer rob her of her spunk and brilliance and sweet, squeaky little voice.  And her mom and dad and brother and new baby sister will see her again.  I HAVE to believe this.  I realize the doubters (and I include myself in that bunch) will say I’m just making this whole thing fit my current needs and address my current heartbreak.  I don't know.  Maybe that's true.  I’m fine with that.   I’ve made peace with that. 

Because Layla. 

One little girl has changed me at my core.  Moved me so deeply that I’ll never be the same.  So much so that I’m taking faith lessons not only from her, but from stupid TV shows too.  But hey, you take the lessons where you get them right? 

You see I have friends that I respect very much on both sides of the faith fence.  The non-believers appeal to my common-sense core, my science mind, the doubter.   But the believers appeal to my heart.  And in this case, the heart wins. 

Because Layla.

I think part of the reason I struggle, and maybe why so many like me struggle, it because of stuff like this.  This is on a sign I drive by every single day on the way to pick up my kids form school.

You see, this is not faith.  This is religion.  This is man.  This is why people like me struggle with the entire thing.  But I've come to realize I don’t need to buy into this man-made threat to have faith.  I just need faith that there is more.  And I believe there is more. 

Because Layla

At just 5 years old, Layla's feet were firmly planted on the believing side of the fence and she’s pulled me over.  This makes almost zero sense as I prayed so hard for her to get well, for my friend not to experience the most devastating heartbreak a person can endure and it didn’t go the way I wanted.  Why should I believe when the prayers of thousands praying over Layla were not answered? Why? 

Because Layla.  

I believe because of Layla.

I’m not claiming to be totally resolved in my struggles.  I’m certain I will wrestle with this more.  But for now I’m in a comfortable place where faith can live on the same block as science and although I have to reconcile this almost daily, I am better. 

Because of Layla.

“Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.” 
― Albert Einstein. 

“I believe in God, but not as one thing, not as an old man in the sky. I believe that what people call God is something in all of us. I believe that what Jesus and Mohammed and Buddha and all the rest said was right. It's just that the translations have gone wrong.”
― John Lennon

To learn more about Layla’s story and her Legacy, Visit  Layla's Legacy

Follow her faithful mama at The Other F-Word.

Tipping Point

****please note, parts of this are from a blog post originally made last year, but I edited my own words then out of fear.  Fear of others judging me.  Fear of others not agreeing with me.  Fear of being perceived differently.  Now I'm 40, and as one of my friends recently said..."my give-a-shitter is broken"!  That original post has been removed and replaced with this one.  Enjoy.  Or don't.  Whatever. Like I said, I'm older and I have more insurance!  (FGT for life.  That's Fried Green Tomatoes for you youngins'.) Oh wait, that's not right.  But you get my drift.  


(New and Improved) Tipping Point

Everybody has a tipping point, and a recent memory that popped up on FB reminded me of mine….

Four years ago Ellis was 8 months old.  I had dabbled in natural products, joined all the hippie crunchy mommy groups and I had recently gotten my first set of oils.  I was a little intimidated by all of it, but I had this voice in my head getting louder and louder encouraging me to learn more.  Then Ellis was sick for the first time and had a fever for 3 days.  I was a first time mom with little confidence and I panicked.   I skipped all that hippie shit and did what so many other parents do, I took her to the doctor.    It was Saturday so we saw a different pediatrician than we normally did for her well checks.  She was fussy and wiggly while the doctor examined her.  The doctor quickly exclaimed “ear infection”.  I questioned her because I saw that she literally barely got the otoscope near her ear, let alone held it still long enough to actually SEE inside her ear.  But she told me that yes it was an ear infection and that Ellis needed antibiotics.  She seemed a bit annoyed that I questioned her and again when I told her both my husband and I were allergic to penicillin and that we wanted to stay away from that.  Through her annoyance she promised me the prescription she wrote was not in the penicillin family.  Then this doctor asked me if I wanted to get her caught up on her vaccines.  Um, no I do NOT.  Look, no matter where you stand on the vaccine topic, please know that the absolute worst time to vaccinate is when you are sick.  This should have been my red flag to run for a second opinion.  But Ellis WAS sick, did have a fever for 3 days and I wanted her to get better, so against my gut feeling, I trusted the ear infection diagnosis and filled the prescription. 

I filled the script and gave it to her.  I had a work trip scheduled and didn’t want to leave her, but she seemed to be on the mend so off I went on my work trip.  Then, as I’m standing in front of a room full of people co- teaching a training with my HR pal Carolyn in our Roseland, New Jersey office, I start getting texts from our nanny/neighbor that watched Ellis at her house that Ellis has developed a rash and hives were appearing on her face.   I was worried of course and mentioned it to Carolyn (also a mom with young kids) but I was teaching and didn't want to be an overreacting FTM (that's "first time mom" for those not up on their mommy group lingo) so I carried on with training while monitoring my phone closely.   Next thing I knew, I got a text that 9-1-1 has been called because Ellis turned purple and is having trouble breathing.  Obviously I step out of my training and call the nanny.  I was shaking with fear and I was so far away.  I felt so helpless.   The paramedics needed to know what the exact antibiotic was.  It was at our house and I didn’t remember off the top of my head so I called the pharmacy and they told me.  That’s when I learned it was in fact in the penicillin family.  Thankfully, she recovered from this episode quickly after the paramedics arrived and when Jade arrived he took her back to the pediatrician’s office based on the paramedic’s advice.  This time our regular doc saw her and said he saw no evidence that an ear infection was ever there (it had only been a few days and he said he would still be able to tell if it had been there) and said that her hives and breathing episode was from excess mucus as a result of an allergic reaction to the antibiotic.  I was obviously an emotional wreck being so far away, not to mention I was already 4 months pregnant with Lucy Bell so the waterworks were in full effect!  My co-workers whisked me off to the airport and put me on an immediate flight home.  Of course she was totally fine by the time I got home, but my mommy heart was broken that I had been away when she was in such distress.

A few days later I settled down from the whole incident and faced the fact that our pediatrician’s office was not looking to be a good fit for us.  The regular guy was OK, but he had previously made it clear that if I didn’t get her caught up on vaccines according to schedule, they’d no longer see us.  Um, excuse me, don’t you work for me?  I pay you for your service, so it seems I should be calling the shots (pun intended J ).  That combined with the total and complete god complex/reckless behavior of the other doc we had seen meant it was time for me to fire them – not the other way around.   Sealing the deal was that they never once called to check on her after this whole incident and then never once called to see where we were, why we hadn’t been in for her well checks.  Nothing.  We were simply a number to them.  They didn’t care about Ellis and it was obvious they were too big to even notice we had fired them.

After this I found an amazing, smaller pediatrician’s office, with just one doctor and a team of really great nurse practitioners that fit more with our vibe.  They listen, they don’t’ mind being questioned and they fit our lifestyle.

Lessons Learned:

·  You are your child’s (or your own) best advocate.  I should have demanded that doctor examine her more closely but I didn’t want to be rude.  Never again.  They can call me names, hate me and talk about me in the break room all day long, but I will not be made to feel inferior for simply asking questions.

·  Question everyone and everything.  I should have triple checked on that antibiotic.  I should have asked the pharmacist and not blindly trusted that doctor.  My gut knew something was off and I didn’t listen.  I should have looked it up myself.  Make fun of “Dr. Google” all you want, but in this case it could have spared us a terrible fright

·  Not all doctors are created equally and they certainly don’t know everything about everything. 

·  Some doctors have been bought.  This may sound like a conspiracy theory to you, but how it is that I know not to vaccinate my child when sick but this doctor was recommending it.  Hell, the vaccine inserts themselves tell you not to do this. It’s common sense.  When your immune system is already compromised, you don’t challenge it further my introducing additional crap.  This alone made me realize they make money on vaccines, sometimes at the expense of your child.  Why else would she offer it is such a used car-salesman kind of way?  I understand doctor’s offices are a business and they need to make money, but for the love of all things holy shouldn’t patient care come first?  Don’t they take an oath about that? ( I see you vaccine enthusiasts rolling your eyes now.  I'm not anti-vaccine by the way.  I'm pro-safety.  Safety first.  That's what Viv said in Pretty Woman and I take all my parenting advice from actresses ;) )  

·  Doctors work for YOU.  Period.  End of story. 

• Please note:  I don't believe all doctors are bad.  In fact, some of them are down right amazing and doing the hardest work on the planet, like working with/for kids with horrible illnesses.  They are swell in my eyes. 

So this is my story of how I came to fully embrace our current lifestyle.  I don’t run to the doctor at the first sign of illness.  I work to support the immune system, boost wellness through nutrition and apply some common sense.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve taken my sick kid to the doctor since this first incident.  Even just a few months ago I took Ellis in for a collection of weird symptoms she was experiencing.  The difference now is I am a PARTNER with our health care provider.   I tell them what’s going on, how I’ve been addressing it and they listen to me.  They really listen.  And more often than not, they agree with my approach.  THIS is the kind of health well care I want. 

You may not have reached your tipping point yet.  But when you do, let me know.  I love, love, love, helping people navigate their entry into these waters.  I had a few people help me along the way, still do.  I don’t know it all but I’m willing to learn alongside you.  I promise it’s not as intimidating as it appears.  I’m not that smart.  But what I lack in smarts I make for in common sense.  This stuff is easy y’all.  Like learning to cook, just have to learn what to use and when.  You can do it, too. 

www.yldist.com/kellyburgoyne 

Someone Posted Something on Facebook & Actually Changed My Mind

So Hugh Hefner died this week.  He was 91.  I found out he died when I turned my phone on after my flight landed.  I just arrived home from two very long days of travel and meetings and I was pretty dang tired.  I posted this:

I suppose I romanticized him when I heard he had died because I immediately realized he was the same age as my Nanny that died this year.  Anyways, I saw the news when I turned on my phone as soon as we landed and then posted this while the airplane was rolling to the gate, so obviously I put exactly zero thought into him, his life or my own real opinions on the matter.  I just liked the quote and thought it was fitting for someone that had just crossed over to the other side.


The following day, a Facebook friend posted this:

(I cropped this to protect her privacy)

And I thought, holy shit, she's right.  I'm totally a hypocrite.  I sat on these feelings for a day and now I want to come clean.  I take back my romanticized notion of him empowering women and place him just a few notches above our President ...someone that doesn't really respect women for more than a hot piece of ass.  Sad to me that one of the most successful media moguls in modern times and the fucking President of the United States of America would both only give my daughters the time of day if they were perceived to be hot enough.  Gross.  

The reason I place him slightly above the President in terms of "women friendliness" is because he did help normalize sexuality.  He made it more acceptable for women to own their sexiness.  Some may argue otherwise, but to put it out there the way he did had an obvious impact on the sexual revolution.  He also supported sex education, women's reproductive rights and the movement to normalize and make birth control available to the masses.  We could argue that these were self serving initiatives (his ladies learned how to give blowies and couldn't get knocked up) but regardless of the motivation, these BIG controversial topics needed an advocate and his voice and the weight of his influence certainly didn't hurt matters.  

Anyways, the point of this little write up is to thank my for FB friend for posting what she did (you know who you are) and to say that, although it doesn't happen often, I CAN admit when I'm wrong.  And in this case it felt important to eat crow publicly.  Facebook posts almost never make anyone change their minds in matters of politics, religion or social matters, but in this case that's exactly what happened. 

I Googled My Dead Dad

Yup, I googled my dad.  Weird right? I mean, a week from today he'll have been dead for exactly 11 years.  I'll be visiting my best friend Amy in Atlanta on "that day" next week and I'll be sitting in her driveway having a beer with her, watching our kids play, toasting both of our deceased dads. It really is impossible to fathom that it's been 11 years.  But last week I randomly found myself googling his name.  I'm not sure what I was looking for.  Just something.  Anything really.  I guess I was looking for some proof that the world hadn't completely forgotten him.  He died before social media was really a thing and he was "computer challenged" .  He was a blue collar worker after all, so he didn't spend his days on a computer.  Mom taught him enough to burn CDs on her computer.  His love of music outweighed his lack of computer skills.  He made us all CDs with compilations of his favorite songs and artists.  He wrote the contents of the CD on the CD itself.    I love that they have his handwriting.

Anyways, I googled him and it was heartbreaking.  Mostly because there wasn't much to find except for various versions of his death announcement.  This particular one stopped me in my tracks.   I love his handsome senior photo.  I think what paralyzed me is the part that says "he came to rest in the southbound lane".   Shit.  Of course I knew he came off the bike when he hit the deer and that he sustained serious injuries.  I mean, hello?  He did die from the whole mess.  But I guess I hadn't thought about exactly where he "came to rest" - the southbound lane of Highway 131 at milepost 18 in Eagle County, CO.  And I hadn't before considered exactly how the bike went spinning.  I guess I knew all of this, I just hadn't read it all strung together like this.  It's all so vivid and violent in my head now. 11 freaking years later and today it feels fresh.   Weird how it's been so long and things are still making me realize this was real.  That it actually happened.  That he is for real gone.   But something about visualizing him laying in that southbound lane...it's very fresh all over again.  Fuck.  My mom and sister have both been to visit that place.  I have not.  Yet.  Not sure I want to.  Even though it's the last place he was, it's not where he is.

I'd like to point out that this little article makes a point to mention he was not wearing a helmet and he sustained serious head injuries.  Dude - he hit a deer going probably 50-60 mph on a motorcycle.  It saddens me to say that the helmet would not have helped.  Even if it had, he would have still been left in a terrible state and he always said he wouldn't want to live like that.  Although I don't discount helmets and everyone should wear one.

Googling him got me to thinking.   At first I was upset that there wasn't much to find.  That in this electronic age, he didn't have a footprint.  It's like he wasn't here at all.  I pondered on that for a few days.  But that's a lie.  His real life footprint was huge for those that loved him.  Look, he wasn't a saint. I feel like when we write about him, it's like he's been sainted.  Listen, he was far from perfect.  He did some stupid shit in his day (like not wearing a helmet when riding his motorcycle).  But he was ours and he was perfect for us.  Fuck the electronic footprint.  That doesn't mean we are here any more than the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is here.  It's what we do in real life that matters.  He was here, along with so many others that died before the social media and internet age. They were here. They mattered.

Every year I say this is the last year I'm going to write about him.  That it's time.  That nobody wants to read about this depressing shit anymore.

But then that feels a little like letting the world forget.  And I don't want to do that either.

Working Out Again

I went to my first work out class in years.  Seriously y'all.  Yearrrrrrs.  But 40 is staring me down and I have a goal to hit before that milestone birthday.  So here go my adventures in working out.

My sister is all about home workouts and I got a program from her, but I lack motivation.  We did it some, but it just didn't work for me.  My home is far from being free of distractions.  I already get up crazy early for work (5am), so getting up even earlier to work out in my living room, where my kids will surely hear me and wake up isn't ideal.  And when I get home in the evening, I'm busy doing dinner, a little play time with the kids, cleaning up dinner, some chores, bath time, bed time...you know, ALL THE THINGS.  By the time I get my crazy kids settled locked upstairs, I'm gassed out and ready for bed myself.

My solution was to join the gym near work, get up at the same time as always but instead of getting fully ready, just get in the car and drive to work.  The commute is 1000x faster at that ungodly hour, so I get downtown in time for the 5:30am class and just get ready for work in the locker room. Upside is NO TRAFFIC (can I get an amen?), downside is locker room and shower shoes take me back to living in dorms.  Gross.

DAY 1:
My first class was called CXWork at Gold's gym.  It's only 30 minutes.  I can do anyhting for 30 minutes, right? Well clearly I looked out of place because the instructor pegged me immediately and asked "are you new?"  Well yes, yes I am.  What gave me away...the spare tire around my belly?  The fear in my eyes?  My confused look about what the ever-loving shit are all the things people have laid out before them and was I supposed to bring them?  Do I need to go buy this crap?   The instructor then kindly guided me to some secret side area where all the said crap was kept (a mat, a free weight and a bungee band thingy with handles - I'm sure there are proper names for these things, but I don't know them).  She was all "we have 5, 10, or 15 pound weights.  Which would you prefer?"  Ummmm, 5 please.  I'm here lady, but let's not get carried away.  Also, I wanted to spray it all down with my Thieves Spray.  Ewwww.  But alas, I have a bikini goal so I got over the grodies.

I went to the back of the room with all the things and set up behind everyone else,  who I was certain had all been going for years and could probably teach the damn routines.  How I can go from a self-assured confident women to a sheepish, insecure neophyte is beyond me.  But there I was, feeling very nervous about being able to follow along.

Now look, I've always considered myself athletic and coordinated.  I played sports growing up and I was pretty good at them.  I played left wing in soccer up through my sophomore year of high school (I had always been right wing until my super amazing coach Gary Wilson convinced me to try lefty at some point and I scored my first time out with a strong left foot), I played 2nd base in softball and was always in the top of the batting lineup.  Then I was a cheerleader in high school that danced and tumbled and stunted.  Cheering was basically non-stop aerobics and cardio.  I say all of this to say I have been athletic and coordinated my entire life.  OK, OK "entire life" is a stretch...my entire life up until 18.  That was a long time ago, but I was good at stuff.  I also say all of this to say that just because you were once all of these things, that don't mean shit now!

Planks - who the f*ck made these a thing.  Good God!  And the bungee tube thingy with handles - zero control.  I mean I had zero frickin' control.  It was snapping all over the place, making it totally obvious that I was 1. new and 2. totally uncoordinated.   Picture Phoebe running but with tubes.  HOT MESS EXPRESS.  The damn thing wouldn't stay under my feet like everyone else.  Clearly I don't have the prowess for this advanced level of shit yet.

Remember when i said "I can do anything for 30 minutes", well, I was wrong.  I CAN NOT do that tube shit.  But I stuck it out because even if no longer coordinated, I am still highly competitive and deem myself "not a quitter" so I finished the class.


BodyPump:
So the next workout was a class called BudyPump.  I didn't read the description.  I figured it was some kind of high energy (pumped up) cardio class.  I knew it would be painful, but was ready to face it head on.  I parked at work then walked the 3 blocks to the gym as I did the day before. It was still pitch black outside, as it tends to be at 5:30 in the frickin' morning and this new routine renders me terrified of all the, um, street people waking from their stupors to ask me for stuff but a little jog  running for your life before class is a good warm up right?  Anyways, as I approached the gym I slowed my panicked run down and noticed I could see inside the class windows as other early risers got all their equipment ready for class.  Great!  A new class with more equipment I know nothing about. I peeked in closer and they all had barbels in front of them.  With weights....lots and lots of big weights on them.    Wait, what?!  WHAT?  My friend Christie had mentioned that she attended this class sometimes but made no mention of weights.  I was apparently so scared of this that I turned right around and ran back to my office past all the mumbling/waking homeless .  I felt a little defeated and like a quitter, but whatever.  My office building does have a workout facility with some stuff, so I went and used one of the treadmills so the morning wasn't a total loss.


BodyPump Round 2:
I asked Christie to escort me to the BodyPump class to help me navigate the weights situation.  I wanted to try to go again, but I needed backup.  I convinced her to wake at the crack of dawn (she's soooooo not an early bird) to meet me there and show me the way.  It actually wasn't as scary as I had made it out to be once she got me all set up.  It was hard for sure, but I felt good afterward.

PiYo:
OK, so I was majorly sore from the BodyPump workout but didn't want to skip 2 days in a row.  You see, I missed the day after that BodyPump class because Lucy Bell had woken in the middle of the night and ended up in our bed.  When my alarm went off at 4:45, she begged me to stay in bed and cuddle her more.  I challenge you to say no to that!

Anyways, the only class on the following day (which is today actually) was PiYo.  Confession:  I've never done Yoga or Pilates.  I have yoga pants for sure, but I've never actually done it. In my head, this would be a class full of stretching and poses and low impact and just what all my very, very, very sore muscles needed. WRONG.  Hollleeeeeeyyyyy shit.  That was harder than the BodyPump.  I was happy to walk in and see no equipment in front of all the other attendees other than a mat.  I'm always happy with those damn bungee cords aren't involved.  But oh my goodness, I was not prepared for that.  It was INTENSE.  And the intensity combined with my all over soreness was a recipe for disaster.  I was shaking and wobbling and embarrassingly failing at ALL OF IT.  It was an hour class and in the first 5 minutes I began hatching a plan to pretend I had to leave for a meeting at the 30 min mark.  No way I would survive an hour of this.  But alas, I stuck it out.  I thought for sure my legs would buckle under me at any given moment, but they didn't fail me.  I mean, they barely got me back to work and to my car to go home (I sweat way more than I planned and didn't bring my shower stuff), but my legs are in fact still attached to my body, so I'll call it a win.

My big take aways from these classes are:

1. I am so very out of shape
2. I am so very uncoordinated 
3. I am so very unflexible

Good news is I am able bodied and can rectify all of these things.   In the meantime, I'll be nursing my sore muscles with some things that Mother Nature made.  Well actually, she didn't make them, she just provided the ingredients and some smart people at my fav oily company Young Living put them all together for me.  My recovery kit includes:

1. Epsom salt soaks with essential oils or the new bath bombs from Young Living 
2. Deep Relief
3. PanAway (comes in the new member kit)
4. Cool Azul Pain Cream 
5. Ortho Sport Massage Oil

You can get all of these things here if you're interested.

Stay tuned for more updates on my work out adventures.  There are a few classes I have tried yet so there are certainly more opportunities for me to look like a new born giraffe that doesn't know how her legs work.

#3 That Will Never Be

I just realized if I got pregnant TODAY, I would not have the baby until well after my 40th birthday. And 40 was always my personal cut off.  Not sure why.  It seemed like a nice, round, whole number.  It really is just an arbitrary finish line, I guess.   Somewhere along the way I decided that 40 was it for my eggs and so it became gospel.  But it hasn't really been an issue because we were lucky enough to have two babies in a row and knocked the baby making out of the way.  We decided we were done.  Well, we actually said "Dang these babies are awesome and if we'd met sooner, married sooner and started this process sooner we'd have 10 of these but we're old and tired and broke and done".   We've had many discussions in the 3 years since Lucy was born, usually when we've been drinking and we know that's when your true feelings come out....  "Do we?  Should we? Could we?"

But alas, it was put to bed.  Done.  No more.

However somewhere in the back of my head lived baby #3.  He's just been hanging out back there, like a little angel on my shoulder saying "hey, what about me?"

Yes, I said HE.  His name has been chosen since I became pregnant with Ellis.  That pregnancy was actually a twin pregnancy and I was convinced it was two boys and that I would be a boy mom.. Cannon Christopher and Ellis something.  Cannon and Ellis.  My mom's maiden name and my maiden name.  Christopher is Jade's middle name and went perfectly with Cannon but we didn't have a middle name for boy Ellis.  I was brainstorming other names from Jade's family we could incorporate as the middle name but then we didn't need it.  We lost one twin and the surviving baby was a girl...our perfect Ellis Rene.  Then 13 months later Lucy Bell was born.  Turns out I am NOT a boy mom.  I'm a total girl mom.

Cannon still sits in the back my head, whispering to me and making me daydream about a third baby.  In all actuality, our third baby would probably be another clone girl baby and we'd have another feisty little lady with big eyes and fair skin.  Another independent, opinionated woman in the making. Just like we like 'em ;)  Because that's what we make.

Anyways, I've daydreamed about him/her all this time, thinking....well maybe.  I'm not 40 yet.

But then BAM.  I just realized freakin' 40 is less than a baby away.  So I  just had the epiphany that I actually have already hit that made up finish line.  I mean, we were not planning on having anymore.  But the finality of that declaration feels sad to me.  I will never again know the excitement of telling Jade I'm pregnant.  I will never again know that little fluttering feeling of new life growing.  I'm so not romanticizing pregnancy, because it sucked.  Bad.  I was so sick for the first 18-20 weeks both times.  But also it is so amazing.  The human body, more specifically, the female body, really is incredible don't you think?  We can grow people!  That's really just mind blowing when you think about it.


So I'm kind of sad.  I'm saying goodbye to the baby that didn't really ever exist except for in my mind.  And in my heart.

But also, SLEEP!  I know it's coming.  Those mystical nights I hear people talk about where your precious clone babies sleep all damn night, every damn night.  I'm not sure when, but I just know it must be coming!

*****Please note - if you're 40 and haven't started yet, please don't let my words make you feel any kind of way.  If I hadn't had these babies yet, knowing what I know now about how they make my heart feel full and complete and so, so dang happy, there wouldn't be a cut off age.  Hell, have babies at 50!  You do you!