Time Machines, Field Trips, and Another Anniversary

This week, my kids had a field trip with their homeschool group, Classical Conversations, to The Rock Ranch. It is just about their favorite place ever. It’s a working farm, with historical tours, reenactments, artifacts, and best of all- plenty of places for free play. They took advantage of a giant bubble in the ground- ok, I know I have phrased that completely incorrectly, but to me that’s what it looks like! They took their shoes off and bounced their heads off. Then, there was Tiny Town- a miniature version of an old west town complete with a jail, courthouse, church, school, and stores. That is the highlight of the trip! They chase each other around, and drag their friends to the jail. Oh- the laughter! I could have listen to it for hours.

rock sheet

 

 

On the way home, Aidan and Rose were talking about how this year compared with other years they had been- the weather, the food, the activities. It hit me that I have no memories of those adventures. None. I don’t even remember the days that they went. I don’t remember them coming home to tell me about it, nor the other experiences they shared with dear friends. While everyone else’s lives moved on, I was in a bubble for almost two years. My bedroom was the bubble most of the time, dark, and I was unable to talk or read or even listen most days. The sustained level of pain separated me from rational thought and conversation. I existed somewhere between reality and a dream world. I do remember it feeling endless- days turned into weeks, into months. One day exactly like the next with no progress for a very, very long time.

I told my children that I felt like I had just stepped out of a time machine. A little over two years ago, I stepped out of this reality, and I just emerged. I’ve been doing more and more with the kids, but this week I noticed the passage of time so much more than before. Here I am, driving the kids hours in the car for a full day of activity. I didn’t drive a car for over a year. It was almost as though the last couple of years were a dream. I went from 2016, to now. They have all of these memories that I am not a part of. I’m not bitter about that, rather I feel an immense gratitude that they were so loved and cared for. I get to wake up every day, like it’s Christmas morning. EVERY DAY. I get to drive! I get to eat! I get to walk around! Never gets old.

I’m by no means perfect- my health is an ongoing challenge. A couple of days ago, James and I had an emergency trip to see a neurologist for me. We used to have those nail-biting, jump in the car, desperate wild goose chase for answers, outings together all of the time. A lot of those long drives and longer appointments were dead ends. This one, however, was not. Another piece of the puzzle is being put back together. It’s amazing just how much can fall apart, like dominoes toppling one after the other. I’m playing catch-up, and most days I feel great about the progress but other days (like this week) I look at where I want to be and I get discouraged. When will I get there? There is no magic time machine to jump in, and fast forward. Getting to the destination sure would be nice, but this journey has made me endlessly grateful for each teeny, tiny blessing.

While my recovery was gradual- almost imperceptible for months, the major events that changed my life are pretty easy to identify. I passed another milestone this week- the two year anniversary of my surgery at Emory. It was on November 9th, a Wednesday morning right after the election. The nurse came in at 4:30am to wake me up and tell me that Donald Trump had won. I was so surprised I almost fell out of the bed. They wheeled me down to pre-op in the still-dark hours of dawn. I was blissfully unaware of how difficult the surgery would be, and I think my surgeon was as well. He estimated 1.5 hours, and it took 7. After waking up, there were some complications in the PACU, and I felt real, raw fear. I was free-wheeling (ok, literally because I had enough ketamine in me to kill a horse), and didn’t know where I would land. For the first time in my life, I considered the real possibility that everything would not be ok. The uncertainty was the worst part- moving forward after that with no clear path or guarantees. I know I’m not alone in that experience. While mine was health related, other people I know have faced total uncertainty with jobs, sick children, marriages crumbling, and finances changing. I think human beings have a natural tendency to seek control and structure of their own destinies. To be forced to let go of all control and realize it is a harsh lesson to learn. Control is, I’ve learned, all an illusion of course! Even when we think we are the navigators of all things in our lives, we really aren’t.

Two years ago, I woke up on November 9th and fully realized that I was not in control at all. The reality had been there all along, I just didn’t see it clearly. Now, I wake up every day and let life happen. Am I still a planner? By nature, yes. Do I cling to ideals, bitterly and relentlessly, not wanting to let go of “my” plans? Nope. Not any more. While I was in my “bubble” I changed, evolved and I’m still growing. A time machine would have saved me so much heartache, but then I wouldn’t see life through rose colored glasses like I do today. La vie en rose.

 

Halloween!

This holiday is just plain fun at our house. I really love themes, and usually I can get my act together and dress the whole family up in one theme. This year, the budget wasn’t going to work because we just did some home improvement projects, and I needed to be really low key for Halloween. I know there are cool homemade costumes you can do, but I’m not up for that yet! One rainy day when the kids were stir crazy, James took them out to find the parts for the perfect costumes. I shouldn’t have favorites… but I do. This year, Lana’s is my favorite! She is going as Wonder Woman. She really loves the cape, and she doesn’t walk- she RUNS everywhere. Sweet girl. My older kids are starting to really notice when their candy disappears. I don’t want them to ruin their teeth, have a lot of processed foods and sugar, and -well, um, I really like candy!! That’s what it boils down to. I just plain love chocolate. So, yes, I sneak some of their candy. I think kit-kats are my favorite, with Hershey’s white chocolate coming in a close second.

 

 

 

I wanted to share some of our favorite outfits! I don’t buy ghouls and goblins for our home décor and this really frustrates them. If they could put fake zombies on the roof, the headless horseman in the front yard, and witches with cauldrons on the porches, they would. Nope. I stick with fall stuff like mums, pumpkins, and pretty wreaths. I don’t “do” the undead. The costumes are the same way. I guess it’s the obsession with the forbidden fruit, but I won’t let them dress up as anything evil and bloodthirsty. Other kids may- that’s their choice, but we do goofy, wild, and imaginative instead. I get some complaints, because plenty of friends go a different direction with their costumes, but for the most part they don’t grumble too much. The siblings stick together for the first part of the evening and in our neighborhood, Halloween is insanely busy! The grown ups have bonfires, and grill out in the driveways. It looks like huge tailgating parties everywhere. Everyone is outside, talking and catching up. We have a lot of golf carts where we live (golf cart capital of the world, I think is the nickname!) and sidewalks so people from other places come here due to the safety and ease of walking around.

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This year, we met up with a lot of friends and while the grown-ups had a chance to visit and chat, I volunteered to be the mom that went door to door in the early evening. I followed the group of 15 or so kids all over the neighborhood. What a wonderful privilege, to be able to walk and keep up with candy-hungry young’uns! There were fireworks, pounds of candy, chase and tag in the dark, and so many more happy memories to file away.

 

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James and Amy- our story

I love hearing about how couples met and fell in love. What was their first date like? When did they get engaged? Some stories are funny, sweet, sad, ironic, and all of them are touching. Of course, the story of James and me is my favorite. In my typical type-A, planner personality way, I started worrying about meeting the right fella when I was young. I think the concern began in my teens, that I would love someone who did not love me, or worse, I would never meet anyone that I loved enough to spend my life with. Does it make a lot of sense to worry like that? No, of course not. However, in my immature teen mind, the thought nagged at me that finding the “right person”  (you know the one you hear about in movies and books?) would elude me. I would never know what “true” love was, and I would grow old alone. Now, I had a plan B. I had it all figured out- I was going to be a very cool spinster, who traveled the world and was a published author. I would have lots of pets, and I would throw great parties! Oh my gosh, I am belly laughing right now thinking back. Woe is me, I had real concerns! Right up there with world peace, and fixing global warming- I worried about what the future would hold. My young heart wondered what it would be like to fall in love.

40watt
On our 2nd date, in Athens, GA

I had deep heart-to-heart with my best friends about the categories of infatuation. The type of love that was required for marriage I knew, at least, was in a category by itself. It wasn’t all about being warm and fuzzy, no, I understood even at a very young age, that marriage was a vow and that commitment to the union was the crux of things- not romance. As a person of faith, who came into her adult relationship with God only after marriage, I struggled to trust the Lord with my heart. I desperately wanted to have a deep, loving relationship and marriage and did NOT want to relinquish my white-knuckled control. The thought that life may take me down a different road than the one I envisioned was unacceptable; I wanted to control every aspect of my own future- I KNEW my destiny. I had it all planned.

After college, I wanted to move to Washington D.C. and work on Capitol Hill for a couple of years and then attend the Georgetown School of Foreign Service for a masters degree. After completing my two years abroad after the masters, then I could get married. In reality, I was sitting at a kitchen table eating nachos when in walked my destiny. Foolish young woman that I was, I wasn’t a complete idiot- I recognized James for the gem that he is! It was second semester of senior year of college and I was attending a Super Bowl party at a friend’s house. People from Savannah were invited so I saw a lot of familiar faces. I didn’t dress up, and I probably couldn’t have told you who was playing! I had gone out with friends the night before and I was tired. I wore a sweatshirt and jeans, and no make-up (I still have the sweatshirt). Like I mentioned- I was actually holding the bowl of nachos and eating with them in my lap. James came in with a mutual friend, and we were introduced. I shook his hand over the chips and hot cheese. Clearly, it was an auspicious beginning!

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At a family farm, our first Thanksgiving together 2003

James was equally dressed up- I think he was wearing a hoodie and hadn’t shaved in 6 months.  He still doesn’t like to shave! He used to wear glasses before he had Lasik surgery. He couldn’t afford to get them fixed, so they sat a little crooked on the bridge of his nose and they had a piece of tape holding them together. Not kidding.  I recognized his name from home. He and I were neighbors growing up, our houses were three doors down from each other. I went and found him watching the game, and I asked if he knew that we had been neighbors- he did not. I sat down, and we started talking. We started talking, and we didn’t stop until he left thirty minutes after the game ended! I’m sure our friends were ready for us to shut up. He was the easiest person in the world to talk to- he had the best laugh, it was deep and bellowing like a young Santa Claus. He said he remembers me fixing him a plate of lowcountry boil for dinner and bringing it back to him. I remember thinking he was one of the nicest people I had ever met.

At half-time of the game, I went into the bathroom with my tiny Nokia cell phone (remember those?) and I called my mom, my sister, and my best friend from high school. I told each of them that I had met the guy I was going to marry. That was it- I just wanted to let them know! Maybe it was something in my voice, or maybe it’s because each of them knew me so well- I’m not the type of person to speak in hyperbole, or grossly exaggerate my feelings for a guy. They took me very seriously! My best friend said, “Ok Amy, I look good in pink!” and a year and a half later, she wore pink in wedding.  After the game, we made plans for him to come to our apartment and have dinner later that week with me and my roommates. I remember he wore a blazer, and brought a bottle of wine. I’m not sure who he consulted, but now that I know him so well I can’t believe he dressed up! This is the man who still wears scrubs that he had in medical school, with holes worn in the heels where they have dragged the ground for over a decade.

 

Our first official date just the two of us was in early March. We talked on the phone some before that, but both of us were really busy. Once we were together- that was it, we were inseparable. I know that drove our roommates and friends nuts!  Neither of us had two nickels to rub together. There was no fancy wining and dining; our idea of a date was to go to the grocery store and get the supplies to make sandwiches. We would buy one pastry to split, go back to one of our homes, make a meal and then sit outside on a picnic blanket to eat. We would look up at the sky and just talk and talk. I don’t remember any concerts, fancy restaurants, overnight trips, or jewelry. I do remember our conversations though, and the laughter. We could finish each other’s sentences, but despite my early prediction, I didn’t think we could get married. I had plans, and he was going to medical school.

We made it one week- one- of long distance. I came to visit him after his first week of medical school, and right when I walked through the door he looked at me and blurted out, “We have to get married.” I said something like, “yeah, I know.” And I did know with complete certainty that marrying James was what I was supposed to do. We weren’t supposed to wait for years and then get together after we had met personal goals- we were supposed to grow together, and take on new experiences as a team. I always thought that deciding who to marry would be a little nerve wracking-it’s FOREVER so shouldn’t you be a little nervous? Have doubts? Date for years so you can be sure? I didn’t do any of those things. Deciding to marry James was the easiest decision I ever made. I put that squarely on God’s shoulders- He gave me and James an unreal peace about the whole thing. It felt so natural, like we were extensions of each other.

In typical type A-worry-wort Amy fashion, I kept waiting for doubts, or reasons to be uncertain. Nothing…I prayed “Lord, if this is wrong and I’m not supposed to marry him, I need you to be REALLY clear.” Again, nothing but a sense of calm and peace and certainty. All of my plans to move to D.C. changed. I started marriage with so much joy, excitement and thrill about embracing our future together. I found a way to work in politics where James was in medical school. I worked on political campaigns, and I went back to school to get my masters degree. I didn’t give up any of my dreams, but I got to do them with James by my side. God was so much better to me, than I was to myself. His plans for me included everything I loved to do, and a the kind of work that I enjoyed, plus a soulmate for life. James and I disagree on little, everyday things, but we have always agreed on the big stuff.

7 of us
2015, on my 34th birthday

From the first time I met him, James has been the easiest person in the world to talk to. He became my best friend pretty quickly, and he still is. We tease about the early years and how we would split a cheap beer from Walmart and make a sandwich for a Saturday night date. I think everyone needs to experience the lean years together- they are character building! We’ve had a wild ride full of ups and downs. Both of us have had serious health issues that were long term. James’s began 3 weeks after we returned from our honeymoon. So, we never got the “honeymoon” phase of early marriage. We dove right in to the “in sickness and in health” part. I could write for hours and hours about our first years together- dating, engagement, and the first years of marriage. It feels like a lifetime ago. There’s no one I’d rather do life with than this guy.

 

The best day of his life

This past week, we celebrated my oldest son’s 11th birthday. Usually, the kids discuss their birthday for roughly 11.5 months leading up to it. The cake, the presents, the activities, etc. This is the very first time one of my kids (getting older? small tear!) hasn’t brought up their special day ahead of time. We asked Aidan what he wanted, and he said he couldn’t think of one thing. For the record, we don’t shower them with a lot of gifts. James and I get each child a special present for their birthday, and then siblings choose Dollar Tree treasures that they pick out (always the highlight of the day). For his birthday, I knew what he really wanted. He loves to play Fortnite. I am pretty anti-video game, and we have strict rules about screen time. Oh man, the look on his face was priceless! I asked “do you want to play Fortnite and eat junk food for your birthday?” You would have thought I offered him a million dollars. That was it.

me and a and cake

We cancelled school that day, and Aidan played with his siblings outside, and he got to play Fornite. He was pretty funny about lunch. He said he wanted paninis with *pesto*! He knew not everyone liked it, but he did, and it was what he REALLY wanted. It might be my favorite thing too, so I happily agreed. Aidan had football practice that evening, and he asked if I would make cookies for his teammates. Awww- yes, I will. I’m honored he still wants me around. Rose and I made funfetti cookies from Pinterest that turned out really well actually- ha, a Pinterest win!

Matthew had his last baseball game that night too, and Aidan was going to miss it. He was disappointed about that. Aidan’s first love is baseball, and he’s been coaching Matthew since he could walk. He figured out early on that Rose wouldn’t take orders from him, but sweet Matthew was always up for a game and he didn’t mind constant instruction. It was a gorgeous day, and the boys spent a good deal of time in the backyard. Aidan worked with Matthew on his pitching, hitting, throwing and fielding. It was a full two hour “practice!” Matthew’s team hadn’t won a game yet this season. James had to work one of his long days with double shifts, and we had a complicated evening of running around dropping off kids where they needed to be at the right time.

When I arrived at Matthew’s game, I gave him a wave and a smile. He said somewhat dejectedly “I’m not pitching tonight.” He’s only 6 years old, and he plays on an 8 and under team. He really is excellent for his age, but I understood that they couldn’t start him as pitcher for every game. I tried to cheer him up by saying “hey, maybe you will be the relief pitcher?” I watched his game for a while, and the other team pulled ahead. Matthew struck out at the plate, and tried to hide the tears in his eyes. He is the sweetest child in the world, and it is pretty hard for my mama’s heart to watch him get upset. When James arrived after his LONG day, I took off to go to Aidan’s practice. I told Matthew I loved him, and good luck, I’d see him at home later.

After Aidan’s practice, the boys happily gobbled the cookies. I had two other kids with me, and we called James from the car to find out how Matthew’s game turned out. They don’t play past an hour and twenty minutes. James didn’t pick up the phone, so we tried mom. To our complete surprise, they were still playing 2 hours later! It was the bottom of the last inning, and Matthew was pitching- relief pitcher just like I thought. His team was ahead by one run! They had to hold the other team. Matthew had struck out one batter, and caught a pop fly for the second out. One more out and they would win, their first and only game of the season. He had made the two outs by himself.

Aidan was so funny. He had my mom on speaker phone- “MOM!! PULL THE CAR OVER!!!!” I did pull over, because I was too excited to drive. We listened as my mom announced each pitch that Matthew threw. “I CAN’T TAKE THIS!!! CAN I HANG UP??” Aidan asked multiple times. He couldn’t stand the anticipation and the pressure that was on Matthew’s shoulders. When mom announced the last strike, third out- never have I EVER been that elated! HAHA. We were screaming and whooping in the car, and we all pictured little Mattie on the mound throwing his glove in the air with glee.

Aidan was cheering so loudly, I couldn’t drive the car for 5 minutes. Screaming, fist pumping with the other brothers- it was a wild sight. Matthew won his last game, on Aidan’s birthday! When we got home, the brother’s embraced for a while. I met James’s eyes over their heads- THIS is why I endured 9 months of hyperemesis multiple times, I told him. This is why I missed out on girls’ nights, vacations, date nights, and decent food to be sick as a dog with each pregnancy. THIS, right here. Oh, the love that night! Aidan said it was the best day of his life. It was a sweet, simple day filled with love and family time. But, it was a perfect day to us.

aidan and matt
The joyful reunion after Aidan got home from practice and Matthew returned from his game.

When you lose the battle, and it’s ok

I’m going to share something pretty personal here: James and I have had *one* real argument our entire marriage. We’ve had this argument about 11 million times, but it has been the same one, over and over. We disagree on things, but there’s one thing that has been such a sore spot for us over and over. I have this perception that I have to be the mean parent, and he gets to be the fun parent. I’m the rule enforcer, and he’s the one who gives in to their demands and lets things slide. I always feel like one of us has to hold the center, so it must be me. I can’t give an inch, because then, who would keep order?

This perception in my mind of our roles in the home has led to battles, real, raw emotional battles over the years.  The hurt starts with me, not because of anything that James purposely did.  I’m sure when I’m old and gray I’ll be able to offer calm wisdom to young parents about how I learned from my mistakes, doing this! For now, I’m sorta/kinda still in the middle of it, and trying to figure out how to compromise without both of us feeling frustrated.

engage
Right after we got engaged, when we were 12. Just kidding:)

I am no doubt the stricter parent. Does that make me a “better” parent? Ah, confession. I’ll admit, in my more selfish, angry moments I thought that it did. I know I’m wrong. This line of thinking has gotten me nowhere except angrier, self-righteous and spinning my wheels. Not a great combination. James loves our children fiercely, and has very different ideas about what’s perfectly normal and acceptable. I don’t think that anyone needs to share every argument they have with their spouse on the internet, but I thought that perhaps other parents might find some common ground? One parent thinks they are the strict one, and carries some resentment that the other parent is the “fun” one?

One very recent and vivid example of our disagreement has to do with technology. We will always have to navigate the changing world of discipline and privileges as the kids get older. I am stuck in the 1980s- I didn’t do that as a kid, and I’m fine! I didn’t miss out! See?! I can’t stand video games. Cannot stand them. Cartoon people jump around and you get points, and there are different levels…blah blah blah. I have seen people totally engrossed, obsessed, sitting in front of a tv all day on a weekend in college, with no social skills because they just play video games all day. That’s my perception of what it looks like when people play.

There is a very popular video game trending right now called Fortnite. You’ve probably heard of it. I was fine with not having it at all in our home. James downloaded it for our oldest son to try, and that opened a new can of worms. I can beat my head against the wall and rehash the same arguments over and over again about why I don’t like video games, but James can silence me with one sentence “I played them occasionally and I turned out fine.” He turned out better than “fine”- he happens to be my hero. I think he hung the moon. I can’t argue with that statement. It’s true. He’s a hardworking physician, a very hands-on loving father, a patient husband who was my rock during the hardest times of my life, and a man of faith.

I realized that I want peace in the valley, I want to show James how much I admire him, and after a lot of prayer, I knew I needed to take a long, hard look at my pride. I have a pretty rigid view of what’s right and wrong, and more than anything in my life, marriage has softened my edges. I hope that it has made me a better person- I think so. My personal opinion of video games hasn’t changed, but how we treat them in our home did. The boys play Fornite sometimes and the world hasn’t stopped turning. It’s not winning and losing a battle. There shouldn’t be “winning” in a loving home, because that means that someone gets defeated. I just used that analogy in the title of this piece, to represent my personal battle. I battle my pride all of the time- pride over asking for help, pride over teaching the kids “enough”, and pride over being the perfect parent. Gah- it makes it glaringly obvious how much my arguments are about PRIDE, when I write it down and read it.

We have days, times, limits, etc. on screen time. We are in a unique position because of James’s job, where we have multiple computers in the home. One of them was not being used, and was a very nice desktop. We installed it in his office, so that when the boys are online they are next to James- literally. I don’t feel like I am in a position to share every rule we make about screens, because what works for us is probably not right for someone else. Plus, each one of my children is treated differently. That kind of irks them! I get the question “why is he allowed to do __?”

I hope that when I look back on my life, I can say that I learned from my mistakes. The fact that I’ve had the same argument for 11 years, clearly shows that I have room to grow! As much as James and I are alike in many ways, and we love each other, we communicate very differently. My biggest stumbling block is my pride, when it comes to being a good human being and a person of faith. These compromises as a parent and a spouse might get me to Heaven one day- breaking down my innate tendency to always think that *my* way is “right.” By working on my communication with James over every-day disagreements like Fornite, I hope I’m a better listener and friend to everyone else! I read once that marriage is like putting two rough rocks in a bag. Over time, they bang against each other and become smooth. I like that. It’s not easy, and sometimes there are tears of frustration, but my rough edges are being refined and honed, by love.

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Dancing at Piper’s wedding, after 14 years of marriage.

Why do I homeschool?

I remember having a conversation with a friend years and years ago, and she said that she wanted to homeschool her children. I thought wow! that’s great, good for you, but I could NEVER do that. The first question I asked was “what about socialization?” She had a long, well thought out answer full of plans and ideas that sounded wonderful. In my mind, I thought about prom, and AP English class discussions which I loved. I didn’t want to deprive my children of the good experiences that I had had in school. Homeschool sounded interesting, but it wasn’t for me. My husband went to a private, Catholic high school and I went to a private, secular high school that was academically challenging. I loved school, and I’m still close with friends I’ve had since middle school. Still, a tiny seed was planted that day while on a coffee date with a mom friend.

Fast forward a little while. We were living in the Philadelphia area for James’s residency and he had matched with a fellowship in the Detroit area. I had heard the not-so-pleasant stories about Detroit (#1 most dangerous place in America, at the time) and I obsessively scoured the internet trying to find us a suitable place to live. We had no money for flying out there and searching in person for a rental. I was pregnant with Matthew, and I remember sitting on the sofa/bed/chair/everywhere with the laptop on my legs and searching- again and again. Nothing. If I found a cute place, I immediately got outbid. I was flummoxed, because to my knowledge not many people were moving to Detroit! I finally broke down and called a real estate agent to ask what in the world was going on. She kindly explained that I was trying to move to the ONE good school district in the area. ahhh- gotcha. That made sense. No wonder it was so competitive.

God provided for us, perfectly, in His time, just like He always has. In what felt like the LAST minute, I received an email from a doctor at the hospital where James was going to work. She was an ob/gyn and she was renting out her family home and would LOVE to have a medical family stay there. Phew. It happened to be on the cutest street in America, in the best school district, with kind neighbors- basically perfect. While that experience ended well, it got me thinking. What happens in a year when James is looking for jobs after fellowship? Do we make a list and say that not only does  the job have to have certain criteria, but we have to find a home with a certain floor plan, in a specific school district? I knew that that was too many variables, too many unknowns.  I had to remove some.

Finding a job near a great school district was going to be too much pressure. The buck stopped with me, not the teachers, to make sure that my children were well educated. I didn’t want to end up with a  great job, albeit in the middle of nowhere, and not have a way to make sure that the kids were well taken care of academically. I decided to start researching homeschooling as a back-up option. I don’t do things halfway- it’s all or nothing. It wasn’t feasible for me to physically go back to school to get a degree in education, so I ordered the textbooks and taught myself. I read about early childhood education, lesson plans, child psychology, development, and education theories. I was very practical about all of it at the get-go.

I remember this so vividly- I was reading a woman’s blog one day- ok, back up a little. I didn’t exactly know how blogs worked! I googled “mom homeschool blog” and worked my way through them, reading about how they divided up their time and managed to teach multiple children. During the course of that afternoon, a warm and fuzzy sensation spread through me. I mean that literally! There was a warmth, a tangible feeling of joy and love that I will never forget. I felt a calling, a very strong conviction, to homeschool my children. I was not looking for a “sign”, but one hit me like a brick wall. It was the clearest answer to a question that I hadn’t asked out loud- Lord, what do I do? He said, Amy DO THIS. Gulp. Really? I will repeat that- I was NOT looking or asking for guidance, I *thought* I was just reading and preparing “just in case.” Nope. Funny how life happens?

After that afternoon, when I felt a calling deep within me, I went to my husband to get his blessing. Oh, by the way, we are going to keep these LOUD, little humans home with us and take on the task of education too. M’kay? I feel called to do this. Before I got all of the words out of my mouth, James was exuberant! “Amy, those homeschooled kids ALWAYS win the Scripps spelling bee!” Those were his exact words. Oh, sweet James. He was valedictorian, and the best speller I know. Bless his heart. So far, none of his children have exhibited one-half of his ability to spell. Hehe. However, the thought of one of his kids winning a national spelling bee was what first attracted him to the idea! From there, we delved more into the nitty-gritty of each subject, the logistics, and the spiritual and moral side of things. Education is an immense responsibility and we knew from the beginning it was a team effort.

My sweet friend who talked to me in the coffee shop that day also extolled me on the attributes of Classical Conversations. It is an international “school” with a standardized curriculum, that repeats every three years. Meaning, wherever you go, the CC group is doing the same thing as all of the others around the world. I read about every kind of approach known to man for education. I settled on the “classical” approach, and it works well for us. There are so, so many things I could write but this post was just to give a little background on the “why.” When we found out where we were moving after fellowship, I immediately looked for a Classical Conversations group to join. The public schools here are amazing, but I committed to trying homeschooling for one year. The one year turned in to six, and we love it.

I was deeply grateful for the public school system when I was too sick, and in too much pain to teach. The teachers there didn’t just teach, they loved my children. My daughter and son flourished academically and made a lot of friends. Long story for another day- but the gist of it is, God took care of us at every turn in life. There have been many bumps in the road, stops, starts, and pauses.  We’ve committed to trying to tailor the education to meet each child’s needs, as well as me and James. It saves our sanity and patience to have the littlest ones in a nearby preschool, that we love- they are like family!

When I started homeschooling six years ago, I created this gorgeous classroom. I carefully chose the paint color for the walls, posters, charts, globes, art supplies, desk, bookshelves, etc. I admire those families that actually use a “classroom” at home. Wow. So in reality, now we use the kitchen table. Why? It’s a lot closer to the snacks which my children “need” in order to learn, at least every hour. The books get stacked on a pretty hutch that I got for dishes. It does not have one dish in it. It does have a LOT of broken crayons:) We use our formal dining room now too- it’s covered in kids’ books, and papers. Education is not confined to a classroom. It’s all over our house! There’s a science experiment currently growing in my kitchen, and the Classical Conversations cd’s are upstairs in the bedroom, where the little siblings can listen to them as well during their quiet time.

 

So, why do we homeschool? In short, I felt called to do it. James has a heart for it as well. We have always been on the same page as far as education is concerned. What started out as a one year commitment, to “see how it goes”, has turned into a lifestyle for us. It works for us! We had to change things when my health was suffering, but that is the great thing about community- everyone loved on us, and pitched in! My oldest son didn’t miss a beat. Public school served our family very well, private preschool and kindergarten did, and our homeschool community acted like family and kept Aidan moving along. CC embraced my mom who took Aidan every week last year, when I was still stuck in bed.

I’ll share more details about curriculum another time. For today, just know that I love homeschooling. I never in a million years thought that we would be doing this! And socialization, is not a problem. Just ask them- if you can get a word in edgewise!

Birth Story- Eli the Wildman

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Eli the Wildman turns 4 this weekend. His birth story, if I had to rank them, would be my favorite. It’s not my fave because he was the easiest, or fastest. Oh no. He was my biggest, by over a pound, and he got stuck! I don’t know- it was just memorable from start to finish. I found out I was expecting him when James and I were on our first getaway in 10 years, in St. Thomas. We were about the board the plane and I felt sick to my stomach. I wasn’t even 4 weeks pregnant at the time. Yeah. The morning sickness started at 3.5 weeks with Eli! I had hyperemesis gravidarum with him, and it is impossible to adequately describe what that feels like. If you’ve been through it, you get it. It’s a 24/7 experience- and nothing helps. I had a 2-week reprieve and it felt like a miracle to me. We went to Savannah in the summer of 2014 and I got to enjoy my family and the coast. Upon returning home, the 24/7 sickness returned. There wasn’t one day that I didn’t throw up for the rest of the pregnancy. I remember praying and worrying that he would be small and sickly, because I couldn’t eat well or hold down vitamins. By the end, I was consuming maybe 500 calories a day? And that consisted of sipping Gatorade and half of a banana. My legs and arms were thin, but oh boy, did my belly grow!
I was the biggest I had ever been during a pregnancy, and the weight kept climbing on the scale. It defied science or reason- I ate less and less and got bigger and bigger. Oh Eli, you were Superman from the get-go! He kicked harder than any of the other babies, and I thought of him as a fighter. I was suffering, but he was fighting to thrive. I was sitting in church on Palm Sunday that year, and they read the Passion Gospel. The priest got to the part about when Jesus was crying out from the cross, and the bystanders thought he was calling out to Elijah. It hit me then- that was his name. Elijah the prophet was a tough guy! He was brave and a fighter. My Eli picked his name that day, and it stuck.

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The labor and delivery of my fourth child lasted 30 minutes, start to finish. It was kind of like being struck by lightening- it was so powerful and fast! I planned early on with Eli to have a natural childbirth, because if it went quickly I didn’t want to even think about anesthesia or worry about getting it in time. I figured it was just best to count on not having time, and plan accordingly! A week before he was born, I got sick of our carpet upstairs in the kids’ bedrooms, so sick of it that it just HAD to get torn up RIGHT THEN. We HAD to have wood floors because the carpet was FILTHY. In fairness, it did have stains on it from a really bad bout with a stomach bug. I had scrubbed on my hands and knees one too many times and at 9 months pregnant, those brown, shag carpets were toast.
The flooring was finished at 6 pm on a Friday, and Monday morning a cleaning crew came to vacuum all of the dust and debris left behind. We went to Classical Conversations and I brought my big yoga ball to sit on. I don’t actually use it for yoga, it served as a comfortable place to sit during the pregnancies. I’m sure I freaked out a few people that morning! My lower back ached, and I had a gut feeling he was coming that day. I calmly left the kids at CC and drove myself to the ob/gyn’s office. I spoke to a midwife and explained that I was feeling achey, and I thought he was coming that day. Bless that woman’s heart, she believed me and said “Ok Amy, come to the hospital when you are ready. We will admit you and let you have a room to stay in until he comes. There’s no rush.” I went back to my kids’ homeschool group and told them I was having the baby later- there were some cheers, and hugs and I left amid smiles and excitement.
I called James from the car on the way home with the kids, and told him that Eli was coming later that day. I think he said something along the lines of “Oh man, that’s not convenient, I just fixed the work schedule.” In my pregnancy/labor hormone blur I didn’t react well to that, and the rest of the conversation sounded like an exercise in how to NOT communicate with your spouse. When we cleared things up and he understood I wasn’t being induced, I didn’t pick Monday just to thwart his work schedule rotation and that we had a baby boy who wanted to meet us SOON, I was able to take a few deep breaths and spend a few hours with the kids at home. I wasn’t in labor- at all. It was just a feeling, all day. My mom was up here staying with us, and when James got home from work, the excitement was palpable. The kids were jumping around, knowing that something big was happening, but not quite understanding how much life was about to change.

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James and I went to the hospital like old pros. He had a trash bag full of my favorite pillows, and I carried a paper grocery bag with supplies for a post-birth meal that we had picked up at Publix. No kidding- we showed up with fried chicken for James. We must have looked like the Beverly Hillbillies to the nurses. I walked up to labor and delivery, and was shown to my room very calmly. We brought our groceries and pillows and linens, and made ourselves at home! I wasn’t having any contractions-none. The nurse came in to introduce herself and we chatted about how the midwife agreed to admit me for the evening, so I could get some sleep. The midwife had said she agreed that Eli would be along later that evening. The midwife came in as we were getting acquainted and said that they needed the room since the floor was filling up. I had to get Pitocin or have my water broken. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen with a drug-free birth! Yikes, they are hard enough already without heaping more fuel onto the fire. I declined, but the midwife was insistent. She needed me to have that baby, asap. Well, I can be insistent too when the occasion calls for it. I told her I would be discharged before I would let anyone touch me. I was so sure that he was coming that night, I was willing to drive across the street and wait at the hotel.
I don’t think that anyone had ever said that before- or since. It sounded like a lot of work for everyone- paperwork, which I know people hate! I wasn’t going to give an inch. Childbirth is tough and I didn’t want anyone messing with me. My babies come fast, and when he decided it was the right time, he’d be there in a timely manner. There was no way I’d labor for 12 hours and I knew that. It was just a little tough to convince everyone else of my certainty! Usually I’m not that inflexible- must have been a little bit of Eli’s personality shining through. I wanted my little guy to choose when he got there- I had my heart set on that, and James was in total agreement. The nurse saw that I got a little upset, when I found out that I was on the “clock.” If I didn’t have progress by 10pm, I would be discharged. It was 9:30pm. The nurse suggested that I go for a short walk, and she would check on me later.
Sweet James held down the fort, with our chicken, fresh fruit, tunes, and pillows! Baha. I went for a walk around L&D. I walked to the window of the nursery where you can see the babies. I prayed. I blocked everything else out, and I spoke from the heart. I told God that I had said that I was ready before, but that I knew I hadn’t been. NOW, in that moment, I was ready. I said “Please Lord, I’m ready now. You can send him.” I walked right back to the room, and sat down on my big, bouncy yoga ball. I rested my head on my chest and felt the first contraction. That was it. The midwife came to kick me out, and James held up his hand to silence the incomers. It was 9:45pm. He told them the contractions were 2-3 minutes apart. I made it under the gun, by 15 minutes. Eli was born around 11pm, I think? You know it all gets blurry there at the end! He came before midnight, on October 6th, just like I said he would. I think I could write 10,000 words on each child’s birth. Eli’s is especially bright in my memory, I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I was so prayerful and aware of time that evening? Each minute seems like a freeze frame in my mind when I think back. The moment he was born, the entire room yelled “WHOA!!!!!” in unison. Then I heard, “how big was your biggest baby?!” I told them, and the midwife said “HE’S GOING TO BE THE BIGGEST!!!”. Oh my gosh. I lost track of reality and time after he made an entrance. At that point, I made eye contact with someone in scrubs and demanded pain medication, asap. Laughing as I remember that. Natural birth, medicated recovery!

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I felt like I had given birth to a baby elephant. I vaguely heard James screaming excitedly “Amy…learned about this in med school…Mighty Mouse…muscles…protein…disorder…he’s got huge biceps…”. Ok, it’s all really blurry after the meds were delivered! Eli was my biggest baby, by over a pound. He was 9 lbs 7 oz, and he was a week early. His head was in the 99%, and the hardest part of delivery was the fact that he was short! Plenty of babies are heavy, but he was heavy and only like 18.5 inches? At most? So he was a giant ball of muscle with fluffy blonde hair. Oh Eli. He was an exquisitely beautiful newborn, because he looked like a round 3 month old boy. He didn’t end up having that Mighty Mouse disorder thing, but they did run a couple of extra tests. I had been SO sick, so thin, and he was a He-man mini-beast. He looked like a wee body builder.
That night, there aren’t any pictures of me after I delivered my behemoth of a son. There are pictures of him! I was exhausted, and happy. And I have never felt that connected to my body, God and another human being before. I have prayed thousands and thousands of hours over my life, and that is the only time that I could sense an answer immediately. My timing actually matched God’s timing! Realistically, I’m running late or too early for some request or guidance. That night, October 6, 2014, I was 100% certain that my prayer would be answered at the moment that I asked. Eli and I were ready to meet each other, and never once did James flinch when I told him of my certainty. That night, he knew too. Eli- it had to be you, wonderful, beautiful you!

August 31- A Day to Celebrate Life

Today is the 2 year anniversary of my hernia surgery. I had been suffering from a right, femoral hernia for about two years and I kept thinking the pain would go away. The summer before my surgery, the pain got so bad that I had to use my grandmother’s old walkers to get around. I was READY to have the surgery. It was supposed to be no big deal, laparoscopic, the surgeon had done “hundreds of them.” Overall, my health was good, I was young, it was an uncomplicated procedure done by an experienced physician. I really didn’t think that much could go wrong. If anything, I figured a problem with anesthesia could be the only complication. As it happens, the anesthesia went very well. However, the moment I opened my eyes in the recovery room, I knew that something was wrong.

surgery Me, right before they wheeled me back 8-31-2016
Unfortunately, the searing, burning pain and the shocks of what felt like lightening through my core, are very much imprinted in my memory. I asked the nurse immediately to please call my doctor, something was WRONG. Hazily, I saw her make the phone call, shake her head, and hang up. She returned to my bedside and said that the doc wouldn’t be coming. I should take my Percocet and motrin and go home.

It’s a LONG ordeal to describe, so I’ll hit the highlights. I had urgent follow-up appointments, ct scans, drainage of a hematoma that they thought might be causing a problem (it wasn’t), in and out of the ER, admitted to the hospital multiple times, more procedures, work ups, etc. My surgeon said that my insurance wouldn’t cover anything in terms of a revision for at least 6 months. He couldn’t fix anything that went wrong, for half a year. He told me to go find my own pain specialist until the 6 month mark. That was it. I was curled in a ball, in the bed all day every day. Intermittent fever, couldn’t walk without crutches because of the pain, sit in a chair, go to the bathroom, or sleep. I knew I couldn’t make it 6 months.

Finally, I called the surgeon’s office and explained that something HAD to happen, he had to see me, DO something- I couldn’t live like that. They called me back and oh so benevolently, admitted me to the hospital- without decent orders for over the weekend. I lay in the bed, in a ball, shaking from pain. I had a fever. One young nurse cried and left the room- she wouldn’t take care of me any more because she couldn’t hold it together. An older male nurse came and stood by my side- I was in a haze, but at some point he stormed out saying “this just isn’t right!”. There was nothing that they could do to alleviate my pain- my physician was gone for the weekend and hadn’t left instructions for adequate care. They weren’t able to get an IV in, because I was so dehydrated from being denied water for so long. James was working, and I retreated into a bubble, mentally. I prayed over and over, nothing intelligible, just begging for mercy. Then, I heard voices- a song.

“Thank you for being a frieeeend!! Travel down the road and back again…”

Golden Girls

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Click the link to hear the song! You’re welcome.

My dear, wonderful friends from high school completely shocked me and all came to the hospital (one lived in New York, one in Miami, one in Atlanta) for a surprise visit. They were singing the theme song from the Golden Girls as they entered the room. My angels had arrived! They went to bat for me and very long story short-they got a wheelchair and busted me out of there like it was Alcatraz! One of them drove me to the hospital where James was on call and I was admitted there for the weekend, with the intention of getting a direct transfer to Emory on Monday. They took great care of me, and it took until Tuesday, but I made it up to Emory. I sat in a triage room for 13 hours. THIRTEEN. That’s not an exaggeration. My mom came up to meet me there, and I remember the immense relief we both felt when they finally got me to my room, at 4am.

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Me, in the wheelchair right after we got outside the hospital. I managed a real smile. Hard not to when surrounded by so much love. They were my answered prayer that day!

My prayers were answered when my dear, loyal friends came and helped me. I prayed that there would be no complications getting me admitted, and although it took FOREVER, I will never forget the feeling of relief when I fell asleep that first night. I was scared, but I felt like I was in the right place. Surely, they could fix me.

The rest of the story is to be continued… Sometimes, people have the privilege of hearing God answer their prayers in the moment and other times, it’s only evident what was happening in hindsight. Still in others, it doesn’t make sense at all on this side of Heaven. I can honestly say that all three have applied to me throughout this journey.

Today also happens to be the Feast of St. Aidan! August 31st was a day worth celebrating in our home, for the past decade. St. Aidan is the patron saint of firefighters, and my oldest son’s name means “fiery one.” It could not describe him more perfectly. St. Aidan was an Irish monk and missionary, who spread Christianity to all of northern England in the 7th century. He travelled without ceasing during his lifetime, spreading the Gospel to everyone from the upper classes, to children and slaves.

aidan  Recent pic of Aidan

We like to acknowledge and honor each one of the children’s saints- whether from their first name, middle, or birthday. It’s so sweet how each of them feels a kinship with these special souls throughout history, who loved our Lord. We tell stories about St. Rose of Lima, and St. Matthew the Apostle. Not gonna lie- St. Nicholas day might be everyone’s favorite because we do the traditional gifts, which include the all-important chocolate!!!

Earlier in the week, Aidan asked me what we were going to do for “our” special day. August 31 will always be significant to me. Best way I can think to describe it is, it’s a second birthday. The new “me” was born that day. My life changed, drastically, and I will never be the same. I’ve told friends and strangers alike that I feel like George Bailey, in It’s a Wonderful Life. I’ve been given a second chance to live my life- that seemed ordinary before, but now, everything is in Technicolor. EVERYTHING is brighter, sweeter, a privilege. I was driving to the grocery store with the kids in the car, and I had a migraine the other day. I thought “oh, I wish it would go away, I want to feel fine.” Then it hit me- I’m driving a car! Taking care of my own children with no help! Going to the grocery store to buy food to cook! I didn’t do ANY of those things for well over a year. Over. A. Year. I’m lucky enough to grocery shop with a migraine! All of a sudden, my mood lifted and I started to sing along with the radio with true joy.

 

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A picture of my high school friends in April 2018, Savannah girls!

My “bad” day was what I had only dreamed about a year ago. What a blessing a grocery trip can be. Cleaning up a spilled sippy cup isn’t a burden because my legs used to be so weak I couldn’t squat and then stand back up. I couldn’t hold my daughter in the bathtub, couldn’t rock her to sleep. Now, if she pops up at 2am, I relish the chance to hold her close and rock away. Yes, August 31 is a big day for us. My oldest son’s namesake, and my second birthday. It IS a wonderful life!

My Middle Child

I have had 6 pregnancies and 6 children. This one was the easiest- well, the only easy one and it was a foreshadowing of things to come. My third child, Matthew came into the world on my parent’s wedding anniversary, a couple of days before Thanksgiving. It was cold, and we lived in the Philadelphia area. I remember waking up on Thanksgiving morning, my first one back home with him, and experiencing a feeling of such complete happiness and joy, I’m not sure I could ever top that!  Matthew is our third child and second boy, and he has broken the mold. His personality, temperament, and attitude are unique and special, only to him. He has traits that I wish I had, and I hope to be more like him when I grow up!

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First day of school this year, I was able to drive and take him by myself (a big deal for me!) 2018, 1st grade

He was my smallest baby at 6 lb 14 oz, and he was born the earliest as well, at 37 weeks. As a baby, he never cried. He would make a noise when he was hungry or tired, but he didn’t fuss. I didn’t know that was possible! He sat rear-facing in his car seat for three giant road trips, two down the east coast, and one halfway across the country. He didn’t cry once. When he cried for three days, after we moved to Detroit for a year, I actually called the hospital! Ha- I’m sure they thought I was crazy for calling to see if we could come in because he was yelling. Before we loaded the car to go, I noticed a rash had popped up on his hands. He had hand-foot-and-mouth disease- and that was the only time he really fussed as a baby!

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Aidan and Rose holding him, his first day home.

In a house full of loud personalities, he’s the quiet one. He’s not shy, he’s just not loud. He doesn’t demand attention- ever. He taught himself to ride a bike on his first try, and he swam across the pool by himself, without anyone teaching him. He can play with a pinecone or a paper cup for hours and be completely entertained. If I could describe his personality in one word, it would be “content.” I think that a lot of adults have to strive for contentment. Being at peace in one’s surroundings isn’t a natural tendency- at least, in my 37 years of observation. Matthew is totally at peace, wherever he is. He’s not always hoping for the next best thing, asking about what’s for dinner at the breakfast table (like every other person in this house!) or coveting every toy that other children have around him.
On Mother’s Day this year, they made me cards and we had a lovely day. That evening at dinner, I thanked the children for a wonderful Mother’s Day and he looked shocked. “TODAY is Mother’s Day?!” It hadn’t registered all day! Another time, he asked when my husband was getting home from work- James was sitting next to him at the dinner table! He has a wonderful ability to block out noise and distractions and totally focus on something. I will call his name for 10 minutes, not hear a peep, and find out that he is 3 feet from me, under some pillows, concentrating on a bug crawling.
Matthew gets along with everyone. He was in kindergarten this year, and during one of his class parties, his teacher told me that he was very smart- he liked to call out the answer to all of her questions. I was pretty shocked, embarrassing for me, because I didn’t realize he could read. He never brought me books, or read out loud like the other children. When I read to him, he sits quietly. He knew the words all along, he just didn’t mention that to me.
My oldest son, Aidan, is a sports nut and he forced Matthew to be his baseball/dodgeball/golf/tennis/football/soccer/any-ball game buddy. Matthew did t-ball for the first time last year since he had learned to love it from playing so much at home. His team lost like 35-0, and after the game he came up to me and asked sweetly if they had won. He truly didn’t care either way- he just loved the game itself. He isn’t competitive in the sense that he likes to “beat” other people in anything. He really enjoys playing games, sports, tag, etc. but just for the sake of the game, for fun. He is a good sport about losing, which is something that we didn’t have to teach him- it just came naturally. See, again, he has traits that I envy! His contentment with life is so beautiful to me.

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On a date with mom and dad, before school started. This 40lb kid ate the entire $10 milkshake! He didn’t get my metabolism.

I love predicting where I think the kids will end up in 20 years. James and I talk about that, and I joke around with the kids as well. Matthew- my prediction is that he will either be like Matthew McConaughy’s character in Dazed and Confused “all right, all right, all right”, or he will be a hermit/monk who takes a vow of silence and lives in a cave with no earthly possessions, and he’s the happiest person that we know. Either way, his laid back nature will continue and he will always be every sibling’s best friend. I wish I could write down every Matthew story that I know, and preserve them forever. He’s hilarious, gentle, non-conforming, peaceful, his laughter sounds like bells ringing, and his faith runs deep. His name means “gift from God” and it is perfect for him. Thank you sweet Matthew, for being so resilient when I was lacking as a mother, and for being so forgiving. You are a gem my dear.

Fixed the Computer!

 

 

I’ve had so many stories, thoughts and experiences that I wanted to share, but our laptop was on the fritz. I’ve tried to get the kids to be more tech savvy and losing Google Chrome was the result of them having more computer time! I have no idea where it went, or why it doesn’t work anymore. I’ll figure that out later! I wrote something a while back, in the midst of a season of change. I’m still in that season. I feel like, for two years, I’ve been redefining who I am and what my role is every single day. I’m trying to find my footing so to speak, and it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be. Trials change you. You can’t walk through fire without getting burned, and I did. Badly. But the wounds healed slllooooowly. Veeeeeery slowly. The change was imperceptible from day to day. The only time I realized it was when I looked back. Where was I a few months ago? Where am I now? It wasn’t a giant boom, I didn’t wake up one day and shout “I’m healed!” What a cool story that would have been, right? No, it was gradual, and it’s still happening. I’m a work in progress.

This is what I wrote back in May:

IMG_1091      A lot has happened around here over the last few months! I keep telling myself I will write when I feel better and have the spare time. I’ve been putting off making phone calls to make vacation plans for the summer, and procrastinating about seeing a doctor whom I like a great deal- but I want to feel even better when he sees me again. Sometimes I have a very good reason for putting off plans or items on a to-do list, but frequently it’s an overall attitude of “when my life is perfect, then I will do it!” (whatever “it” is). I think that part of that mindset stems from fear- fear that has been so deeply imbedded in my soul for so long, it’s hard to break free from it completely. I always hold back some- will I get too tired? Will I make pain worse? Will I commit to something and then disappoint loved ones? The past two years have been traumatic for me, and I can’t deny that they have left an indelible mark in my mind. How will I choose to use this experience? These memories?
The past few months have been a leap of faith for me, and a process of letting go of fear even more. I had been on nerve pain medication (Lyrica or Neurontin) as well as pain medication (fentanyl, oxycodone, etc.) for a year and a half. I tried over half a dozen other medications as well, and suffered through every awful side effect that came in tiny print, in the little booklet from the pharmacist. My body lost all muscle, appetite, I lost a third of my body weight, and my hair thinned a lot. I always knew that the medications were temporary, and I was very hard on myself for taking anything for pain. I carried a lot of guilt over that. My dear friend Kathleen told me at the beginning, “Amy, you can worry about pain, or medication. Pick one, not both.” So, I picked pain and took the meds that my kind, conservative pain management doctor said would help.
The timeline to come off of everything was all my idea. Once we FINALLY found the right combo of interventional procedures like nerve blocks and injections, I was SO ready to be done with the meds that had allowed me to have some sanity in the midst of great pain. I cannot put into words just how awful that part has been! Fentanyl withdrawal is a special kind of torture. That was last year. The past three months I stopped the last of the nerve pain meds and oral pain medication. I even stopped motrin, because of nausea all of the time. I still had chronic pain every day when I stopped taking meds, so I think of it as a leap of faith- faith that everything would be ok, and I would be strong enough to handle life with some pain. After the first two months passed, my nervous system calmed down a lot. There’s a long, technical explanation for that, that I understand, but I won’t explain fully, since it might bore everyone!
I finally have an appetite! I would literally lie in my bed, curled in a ball, and think of all of the foods that I would eat one day, when the nausea was gone. Krispy Kreme topped the list- every time! I did research, James did, my parents did- everyone was so supportive about this next phase of trying to get my overall health back. Not gonna lie- it’s been brutal. B-R-U-T-A-L. I read that the hardest part of stopping any substance that the body is used to, is the mental battle. People use the substance as a crutch of some sort. I know how blessed I am to say that I never had that battle. At all. I have experienced every physical symptom of tolerance and withdrawal, but zero mental symptoms. I give God 100% of the credit there. Everyone has struggles in life, and I don’t think that I am better than anyone who did have to struggle with addiction.
While I am SO glad that this particular struggle is behind me, I am grateful to have gone through it. Yes, I actually said that. I have a deeper understanding of people who have addictions, and who are afraid to live their lives without a crutch. I am less judgmental- I never realized that I was before! Oh, my heart goes out to people who have to suffer through the physical symptoms that I did, AND fight a mental battle as well. If I could wrap my arms around someone suffering right now, I would do it. One of my favorite docs told me that I didn’t have the cravings or miss the meds because I didn’t let them become part of my identity. They, along with many, many interventional procedures, were a means to an end and not who I am.
Every day, I have some symptom- something that reminds me that I’m not perfectly well. Like the thorn in Paul’s side, it’s always there. I put off doing a lot of things for the past few months, because at first, I was dealing with withdrawal and increased pain while my nerves adjusted. Then, I felt weak because I hadn’t eaten well or exercised for years. Yep, that would sideline just about anyone. Daily, I started to obsess over small improvements and mark my existence and my success by how my body felt or looked. I realized last week (yeah, it took me that long!) that I had made physical well-being an “idol” in my life. I don’t think that wanting to feel healthy and strong is bad, not at all. However, obsessing over it and thinking that life will “begin” when everything is perfect- that is wrong. I failed to appreciate the progress I had made, because I was always looking on the horizon for something better. Anything can become an idol, and frequently, it’s something that appears to be good and just. Who doesn’t want to feel good? Ok, another question- who has perfect health? Hmm… Silence.
No one has perfect health, and I’m not sure why I kept thinking that it was an attainable goal. These mortal bodies are just that- fallible, fragile, and will not last forever. If I set my sights on things above, our Lord’s steadfast love, and I search for contentment in my soul, then anything that comes my way in life won’t knock me down. Like a strong wave crashing onto the beach- did you ever walk out into the surf at the beach as a child, and let the waves hit you? Sometimes they can knock you down, but usually, if you know just when to jump, they break and you are still standing. When you are lying in bed at night, after a day at the beach, sometimes you still have the sensation of waves hitting you…but you are snug in bed, and not being rocked by the ocean anymore. The waves have left their mark.

 

 


I looked at James the other day and told him I was just going to embrace whatever came my way- good or bad, but I didn’t want to wait anymore to enjoy things. I can lie beside little Lana and admire her profile and her little dimpled cheeks, even if I’m dizzy or tired. I can laugh, hard, even if I’m sore. You’ve heard the phrase “progress over perfection”? I lost sight of that. I am incredibly grateful for the progress that I have made. I will focus on that, and I’m not going to wait to celebrate anything.

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First swim meet of the 2018 season, on my 37th birthday. I was able to attend the whole thing!