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First Day Back to School

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It’s back to school day for my older kids. My sixth grader had to leave on the bus at 6:45 a.m., so we said goodbye to him early this morning and then went on a quick walk before the next child left at 7:15 a.m. One of our neighbors was out walking too, and she asked if this was a happy day or a sad day, and in unison Alex and I said, “Yes.”

It is a relief every year to send the kids back to school, and resume the structure that goes with it.  We are so much better about putting our kids to bed on time during the school year.  It means more sleep for us, and more quiet time while they are asleep. Often in late July, or early August, I find myself making an appointment with my counselor just to deal with my late summertime woes.  Then school starts, and I can quilt and read at night, and everything gets into a predictable routine. Suddenly my mental health improves.

Still, I’m going to miss the otter pops, trips to the library and swimming pool, and late nights reading library books.  It’s so nice to not have to go anywhere or do anything for long periods of time. This summer we did not take a big family vacation. We just went to a couple of family gatherings and reunions. We spent a little time at the lake, a little time hiking, and a lot of time reading, riding bikes, and generally lounging.

This year, my youngest starts kindergarten, and next year he will go to school full time.  When my oldest went into kindergarten, I cried like a baby. But the next two I was able to mostly keep my composure. This morning I felt calm as one of the teachers took him to the small blue chair at the very short table for his testing. I filled out my set of blue papers on the clipboard.

I threw away the car seat this week. All four of my children used that car seat, and when I put it in the gray dumpster, I felt a twinge of sadness, but I didn’t come apart (like that other time I threw away part of their childhood). I think I’m ready to move forward.

After testing, this morning I went to get a muffin at the local coffee shop with one of my best friends, and my youngest child. He had apple juice, and I had a raspberry peach muffin that was pretty heavenly.  He scolded me for not getting him any food, so I broke off a piece for him, and we all enjoyed the cool morning before heading off to our work days.

I have a little bit of mom guilt for not planning an elaborate kid centered vacation this summer.  But I decided that some times it’s okay to just letter summer be, and enjoy the simple pleasures of a fully dedicated rest. Guilt is optional. That’s my motto.

I’m Sick

It has been a couple of years since I have come up against the fact that there is something wrong with me, and I have no control over it.  I guess that is a bit of a fatalistic view, because I absolutely can decide what I eat every day, whether I take my medicine, what time I go to bed, how much I exercise.  But as far as those lifestyle factors getting rid of my illness, my doctor tells me it is “not expected.”

I go through varying stages of grief with this problem. At first I was very angry at my body for betraying me. One of my core values has always been good health. I love eating healthy food, exercising, growing food in my garden, and I even love having good mental and emotional health.  I think I appreciate these things because good mental health does not always come easily for me. That is probably why I have placed so much value on healthy eating, exercise, and lifestyle habits. There are so many things I can do and have done to maintain good forms of health.

At my first appointment when I was diagnosed with my illness, my doctor told me that this was not my fault. Tears started streaming down my face. I have done so many things to preventatively maintain my health, and none of them worked.  I am seropositive with rheumatoid arthritis, and no matter how much bone broth I brew, no matter how many walks or bike rides I take, and regardless of the sunshine I gather, I can’t change that fact. It’s not my fault.

When I was first diagnosed, I told quite a few people in my family. They started telling me stories of people who were diagnosed with RA, and then did X, Y, or Z, and it went away.  I found these stories increasingly frustrating, because so far, I had not found A, B, C, X, Y, or Z to be effective. In fact, I even called my counselor, whom I love dearly, and who has helped me in so many ways, and she told me that she was diagnosed with it incorrectly, and that I should get a second opinion.

So why am I talking about the thing that pains me  most in my life on my gratitude blog? I need to talk it out because there are some things I am grateful for in this journey, and here they are:

Acceptance. I thought I knew what acceptance was before I had to accept this part of my life. I was wrong. I now know what it is to deal with something I never thought I would have to deal with. I remember the darkest morning of my journey, when I couldn’t squeeze my shampoo into my hand without pretty excruciating pain.  I had been trying so many different things. None of them were working.  And the voice inside my head finally said, This is your new reality.  I had to accept that my life has changed to one that includes this pain.  I had to decide that I would keep getting out of bed every morning, and keep showering, even if sometimes I just felt like not doing that. I had to accept that life sometimes is what it is. And accepting it really helped.

Connection. One of the things that has come with my illness is that I have to lean on my partner Alex more. I have always been extremely independent. I don’t like to need other people. I don’t like to ask for help, and even when it is offered my natural inclination is to say, “No, thank you,” and struggle along myself.  I would rather carry a large anvil across town to the piano park than call someone and ask to borrow their truck. I don’t know why I am this way, but it makes it hard for some of the people closest to me to feel connected.  Oddly, I love it when people ask me for help. I guess it is because when I help other people, I feel connected to them. So I am grateful for my illness because it has forced me, in a way nothing else could, to rely heavily on my husband Alex. I couldn’t get by without him, and I can’t express my gratitude for the deepening of our connection enough.

Empathy. As someone who enjoyed pretty good health for much of my life up until the last few years, I used to be less patient than I should have with people who were going through health problems. It is ironic, because I have a whole pile of nurses in my family who are so loving and always caring for everyone they talk to – “Here, I have this Health Thing, and I want you to try it and see if it works.” I don’t know where the nursing wentI didn’t get it in my blood. I think I got a little bit of acid in my blood, so maybe that’s where the stupid arthritis came from. But I digress. Since experiencing times when I couldn’t get out of bed, and had to call people and cancel things that I was in charge of, I have grown in compassion for people who Just Can’t.  It’s okay to not always be able to do everything. Captain Marvel is fiction. I am not her, and I don’t have to be. I don’t have to expect anyone else to be her either.

My Hands. If you google RA, there are some pretty scary pictures of what it does over time to joints, particularly the hands. Having those images in mind, every day when I use my hands or sometimes even just look at them, I’m deeply grateful for them. I’m grateful that I found  my love of quilting earlier in life and have made so many, and still have many more years of quilting to look forward to with fully functional hands. Medicine will make this possible, and I guess that’s one more thing to be grateful for.

So, hi. My name is Jenny, and I have RA. I am grateful for all the things I have learned from having this illness.

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For the Love of Your Mother

Tonight, I came upon my love of my daughter. She is a night owl, and has been from birth. She biologically wants to stay up until between 10 pm and 2 am, and sleep in until between 8 and 10 am.

As a baby, she stayed up until those late hours every night. As a toddler, she came over to her door and cried to be let out at bedtime until she fell asleep on the floor next to the door. I always felt terrible having to open the door and slide her out of the way to put her back in her bed.

Now she is an early teen, and she has spent the tween years perfecting the art of chatting me up when I come to say goodnight. “Are we doing anything tomorrow?” “So, how was your day?” “Is anything fun happening tomorrow?” “Did you know this really interesting story that takes me forever and a half to tell you, Mother?”  Okay, I’m paraphrasing on that last one, but you get the idea.

I, on the other hand am a morning person. I tire naturally around 8 or 9 pm, and drastically run out of gas at around 10 pm. I wake up without an alarm clock before 7 a.m. quite regularly. Early in the morning I feel bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to face the day.  Exactly the way my daughter seems to feel about 9 pm.

We went to the river the other night, and the kids found tadpoles, and even a frog in that awkward teenage stage who hadn’t lost its tail yet. When we were done and got home after Normal Kid Bedtime, Daughter was ever happy to take a leisurely shower, and do heaven knows what in the bathroom for another hour before I finally went and nagged her into bedtime submission.

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Go to bed child, or you’ll be sleeping with the frogs.

Sometimes I think of our relationship as a sort of tragic romance, or maybe momance, since she and I love each other, but can never find the magical way to be together when we both feel great. Tonight during her excessive bathroom ritual, I started an angry tirade in my mind, as I often do. Imagined angry tirades are a fun  hobby, what can I say? I imagined my lecture to her, Daughter, these are the circumstances under which you are allowed to get out of bed and approach your exhausted mother: 1. Your bedroom is on fire.  2. You are bleeding. 3. You are crying. (At this point I started to realize) 4. You are scared or worried.  You have any problem that a mother might be useful in discussing …

I discovered that my love for my daughter overcomes the multitude of her late night sins. It doesn’t matter what is troubling her, I will be there for her, because she is my daughter. Even if I’m tired and grumpy, I love her and I want to hear what she has to say. What if she didn’t want to talk to me? That would be the worst. So my gratitude today is for these things:

I have a daughter.

She wants to talk to me.

My love for her is so deep that it surprises even my most jaded, tired, 11:00 pm mom self.

Summer Time

frog-1It’s Sunday night, and I’m just thinking about some things I love about Summer.

I love going to the library with my kids almost every Wednesday. We scavenge the children’s and junior fiction shelves for things to keep us reading all week. I initial their little tracker cards for their daily reading, and they pick a coupon. Then we go get their free french fries or donut, come home. They have an impromptu readathon while I get lunch or dinner ready, depending on what time we went.

As often as I can sneak in at bedtime, I read picture books to my youngest. He is five, and for awhile he got lost in the mix because we had aged up our bedtime reading with the older kids. Alex read them all of the Harry Potter books. I tried to take turns on that one, but Alex is a gifted reader and did so well at the voices that after awhile the kids wouldn’t let me read those to them any more. He has been working his way through The Lord of the Rings series with them now, and it’s slower going with me sliding my picture books into our mix.

Summertime also means a chore / exercise / play time / screen time spreadsheet that Alex created. The kids follow it so their days have structure. Since I have been working, Alex mostly gets to enforce it. I am grateful for that.

I love hiking with them. The picture above is a little frog they discovered with their cousins on a hike we took this summer. While we were walking I had to pull back from my hard working, task oriented self to let the kids wade in the water and examine details like frogs. I had the impulse to push everyone along, and hurry them down the trail. But that is not summer. Summer is for stopping at each curve in the creek, and seeing what we can see.

Every week my kids swim at the city pool. A couple of them are still not confident enough swimmers, so I watch them the whole time I’m there. It’s an exercise in mindfulness. I can feel my brain wanting to switch into distracted mode, going through to do lists for work, starting to rest, thinking about reading, social media or checking my email on my phone. The pool pulls me back. I have to watch the kids. I slowly count through the four of them, one at a time.

On one of our first swimming trips I was doing my slow watch, and suddenly a fully dressed mom was half-way across the pool. By the time my attention was fully on her, she was grabbing her little girl, who had been struggling, unable to get her face out of the water. A lifeguard had been completely oblivious, and was sitting on a stand immediately above the little girl.

The experience just brought home to me how fleeting life is, how quickly and how dramatically it can change. It made me so grateful for each afternoon, each moment I have to watch, to read to, and to just be with my kids.

One of my sons was extremely difficult this afternoon, throwing a high conniption fit because I wouldn’t let him watch a movie. I sat with him as he cried through a long tantrum on his bed. I’m glad I have this time tonight to sift through my thoughts in writingto reflect on how much I love the little darlings in spite of their occasional evil spells.

Change Your Mind

Something I have really been grateful lately is the opportunity to change my mind. I have changed my mind so many times, about so  many things. Sometimes I start to get embarrassed that I change my  mind so much. But is it really such a bad thing to do?

When I was in college, I knew I wanted to major in English. I also wanted to get a teaching license and minor in math, because I thought it would make me more marketable as a graduate. My sophomore year, I did a semester of watching other teachers at two schools. One of the schools was a huge high school. The other school was a remedial high school where kids who struggled at mainstream high schools attended.

I was so discouraged when I watched a group of eighth graders sit in a reading circle and realized that many of them were functionally illiterate. My heart absolutely went out to them, but the helplessness I felt in the face of their situation overwhelmed me. Looking at the amount of classes I would have to take to get a teaching license doubled that sinking feeling. It would take me a “super senior” fifth year of college to get through unless I wanted to study all through the summer every year. I dropped out of the teaching program at the end of the semester.

My math minor ended when I started to take a second year math theory class, and the class was so hard that I was afraid I would lose my scholarship if I finished. I dropped out.  Through my college experience I also started minors in Spanish and Communications, dropping both of them when I realized they would make me take 5 years, too, and I could only have a scholarship for four years.

I started to have a complex that I quit everything. I worried and worried that I am weak, and that I just don’t have what it takes to succeed. When I struggled to get my real estate license, and to decide to keep practicing as a realtor, the dragon of this fear reared its ugly head and blew fire in my face. “You are a quitter,” it hissed in my ear. For awhile, I listened, and wallowed in self pity.

Later, I questioned. Am I really a quitter? I thought about all of the quilts I have made. I thought about my caregiver project. I still have plans and dreams to work on both of those things. I thought about my marriage, which so far has lasted 15 years, and my kids, who are  13 and younger. I haven’t quit on any of those things, even when they got hard.

Just because I have stopped some things, doesn’t make me a quitter. It’s called changing your mind, and it’s one of the best things you can do when you are trying to move forward with your life.

I once received a wedding invitation that was followed a week later by a notice that the wedding was canceled. When I received that cancellation, I thought, “Thank goodness they changed their minds now instead of after the wedding!” It’s so much better to change course early than far down a road that is the wrong way.

I recently had to tell the senior members of my team that I had changed my mind about some decisions I had made at work. They were so gracious, and accepted my apology for changing my mind so often.

I like being reliable, and relying on other people. I think this is why it has been hard for me to let myself change my mind. But it’s also nice to be fully honest. Letting yourself change your mind allows for a happier and more authentic existence.

I once decided never to speak to a close friend again, because I kept hurting his feelings and feeling bad about it. Later, I changed my mind. Now we have been pretty happily married for 15 years.

If you are not sure if it’s okay to change your mind, let me just say that I highly recommend it.

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You Are Just as Smart as You Ever Were

IMG_5444Lately I have had a mighty struggle about what I want to do with my life. I got my realtor’s license last fall after coordinating a team of realtors for about a year and a half. I loved what I did as a coordinator, and I am learning to love the new things I am doing, too.

The truth is, I’m a little introverted, so some of the things realtors do are harder for me than I wish they were. I’ve wondered if this is the right path. I worked so hard to get here. School took almost a year of studying at night, weekends, and any time I could tightly squeeze it in between my four kids, work, and church stuff. At one point I gave up, thinking I’d never be able to finish my realtor schooling because of the health problems I was facing.

Then I got my health managed, and by early last fall found myself taking the real estate exam. I got my license, and began practicing real estate. My first year has been a challenge, with ups and downs. I haven’t been sure if this is what I want to do with my life.

I have unloaded on my dear partner more times than I care to admit. I love my team and office so much. I have had terrific clients so far, and the more experience I get, the more capable I feel of helping people through whatever happens in a transaction.

I’m pushing 40, and maybe it’s a mid life crisis, but I kept questioning if this is the right path for me. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to change careers again. I have worked in a building supply store, a doctor’s office, a youth treatment facility, and as a writer and photographer, and I’m just starting to feel old. I feel like I can’t keep jumping around like this anymore.

One night a few weeks ago, Alex said something profound to me. He had said this to me in different ways, but he looked at me, put his hands on my shoulders and said, “You are just as smart as you ever were.” He waited for it to sink in. For months I had been questioning if I could do anything else, if I could do this, or if I had lost the possibilities I always believed in when I was younger. For months he had reassured me that I can do anything I set my mind to do.

Finally, his words sank in. I realized that just because I’m older, just because my life is more complicated with work, children, and health issues, doesn’t mean I’m not still me. Someone inside of me needs to write, and I had shut her down for a long time.  When Alex said that, something switched, and I decided that I’m going to make room for writer Jenny to be part of my life.

Does this mean I have to stop being a real estate agent? For a long time I thought it might. But when I started looking into copywriting as a trade, I immediately knew that specific path was wrong. I think that Realtor Jenny and Writer Jenny are going to have to work together. And I think that because I am as smart as I ever was, I will be able to make that happen somehow.

So in this post, I am grateful that although I usually have the words, when I needed them most, Alex had the right words for me.

And just for an inspirational boost for anyone feeling like me, here is a great article from the Wall Street Journal letting us know that It’s Never Too Late to Start a Brilliant Career.

Summer Solstice

Yesterday was the longest day of the year, and so many good things happened.

I had a good day at work, plowing through lots of things that needed to be done, managing mischief, as they say.

Then, after work I went to dinner with my best friend and husband Alex. We ate at River Rock Roasting Company, and sat enjoying this view:

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Could my boyfriend get any cuter? Love him. And then there was this life changing salad. I really love the Amarrakesh (sp?) at Red Rock because it has this heavenly yellow lime dressing. I don’t know what else is in it, but it has just enough heat, possibly some turmeric? Whatever it is, it is exotic. The only thing I don’t love about that salad is that it is all spinach. So last night I ordered the Cobb Salad with no bleu cheese and no ranch (I can’t eat dairy – one of the greater tragedies of my life), and the lime dressing from the other salad.

Shortly thereafter, this salad came, and it was heaven on a plate. It had so many good things. Romaine lettuce, tender chicken breast, bacon – just the right level of crisp. The cucumber and eggs were sliced to thin perfection. I left the tomatoes, because I’m experimenting with avoiding nightshades for my RA diet, but even that meant a pretty red pop on the plate when I was done.

Whoever that chef is takes true pride in his or her work, and I thank them for it. It was a solstice dinner long to be remembered. I wanted to go order another one after we had left because I kept thinking about this salad.

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Just look at it. I wish you could smell it and taste it. I made Alex taste it twice. It was magnificent.

Afterward, we went to Best Buy to shop for laptops for me, because it’s getting to be time I had my own.  On the way out, there was a gorgeous sunset. The pink gold clouds stopped us in our tracks, and we stood leaning against our car to enjoy it while it bloomed. iPhone pictures never do things justice, so you’ll just have to trust me. Yesterday was definitely a solstice to remember.

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Horrible Children

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See those feet sticking out from under the blanket? I’m pretty sure they are about 18″ farther away from the head on the other end than they were yesterday. Today I am grateful for my healthy youngest child. He had a serious illness this winter that also taught me gratitude for modern medicine.

He is our baby, and he is lucky because I figured out mindfulness better by the time I had him. I enjoyed his infancy so much, because I knew what I was doing. He was my fourth practice, and I wasn’t perfect, but I was much better than each previous one.

I think he is going through a growth spurt, because he put himself to bed at about 8 pm yesterday, and fell asleep on the couch today in the late afternoon. For a little while I would get upset at growth spurts, because we think he is our last child. Growth spurts meant the baby falls away even faster into a little, and then a not-so-little boy. Today, I will be grateful just to watch.

I’ll listen to him ask for his “white blue blanket” and enjoy the mystery of not knowing whether he means that the blanket (his favorite) is light blue, or that the blanket is white and blue. Someday he will say all of his L’s properly. Not this day, and for that I’m grateful.

Notice the X wing he and his brothers made. He has to have it next to him always, whether he is napping on the couch, or in his regular bed. At night he rests it in the window sill.

I always jokingly call my children horrible, but what I really mean is that it’s horrible how quickly they disappear from babies to toddlers, to big kids, to teenagers. Soon enough, they’ll be off adulting. It’s absolutely horrible. Still, I’m so grateful for the joy of standing over this child, relishing the stillness of his nap.

My Dad

Today I am grateful for my dad. I have too many reasons to make a thorough list, so I just wanted to share a recent story that illustrates who he is.

My dad is the mayor of his town. I went to a city council meeting to represent him on a property thing he is doing. I’m a realtor, and since he’s the mayor he wanted someone else to be there due to his conflict of interest. At the beginning of the agenda, the city recognized a couple of employees for their outstanding work.

Someone got up and read a letter to all of us from a man who had moved to town as his wife was sick and passing. He talked about how comforting it was in his time of grief to work with the two city employees who manage the cemetery. The letter described the city employee’s services in glowing terms, and stated how comforting it was to have these great professionals help him lay his beloved wife to rest.  It was a long letter, and by the time it was read I had tears flowing down my face. I don’t even know that guy, or the two employees, but I was moved.

I looked up and my dad was crying. The mayor! Crying openly in a city council meeting.

Then the city honored a couple of teens from one of the local youth homes as well, and Dad’s voice cracked when he congratulated them, too. My dad’s love and compassion for his fellow humans is profound. He has so much love for other people that it spills, wet, out of his face on a regular basis. It spilled into his children, too, and many of us are crybabies just like him. I wouldn’t change that.

So while I celebrate my dad for many reasons, today I choose to celebrate his compassion. Thanks for creating a safe space for me, and for all the people you help in your church and community, Dad. You’re a keeper.

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