The Day After Reconstruction

I'm sitting here fighting the effects of vicodin and valium in order to write my thoughts on this day after my surgery. It's been an odd day.

The day began at 7:30 a.m. with me in the bathroom stripping my drains. It was odd to be back to dealing with drains again. Without much thought, I grabbed my alcohol pad and began pinching the tube on my right side while sliding my hand down the tube toward the bulb attached to the end. It only took a moment before moving on to the left side for more of the same. Again I followed the same procedure, only I had forgotten that all things have been more uncomfortable with my left side than my right. I quickly stripped the drain and released the tube, upon which I felt a deep sucking pain in my upper chest at the top of my "breast". I had an odd thought as I was nearly passing-out from the pain - "Is this what a sucking chest wound feels like?" Of course I wasn't bleeding out, but I was seeing a large donut-like circle with a black center floating in front of my eyes. Quickly, I sat on the toilet and called for my mom. When she couldn't hear me from the other side of the house and past all the noise of breakfast cooking and babies squealing I purposed to make it back to my bed where I promptly fell asleep for another two hours. So much for starting school with my son on time.

Eventually, I came too and joined the family. I was feeling rather fine with pain meds in my system and was able to sit with Koen and guide him through his school work. Much of the time I wanted to lie my head on the table and rest, but was determined for us to not lose a day of school work. As the day went on I washed a few dishes and was able to do a little paperwork which felt productive. I was just seeing the wood grain on the top of my desk when I began running out of steam. Was it really possible that I had done so little and could be that exhausted?

As much as it pained me, I spent most of the day avoiding the babies because they wanted me to pick them up and I couldn't. It was just upsetting for them, so I tried to redirect them to my mom or sister. I really just wanted to be able to snatch them up and cuddle them, but I've been here before with my first surgery and knew better. I did that the first time, insisting that I could lift them without hurting myself and wound up paying a price. I really had to resist their cuteness and especially their cries. Thank God my family was here to give them the attention they needed.

By late afternoon I was completely spent and gave-in to the call of my bed. I collapsed into an oblivious slumber, sleeping right through the wonderful dinner delivered by a friend from our home school support group. At approximately 11 pm, I woke to the sound of a crying baby and, realizing I was hungry, made my way to the kitchen. One bowl of cereal later and a slow trip to the bathroom for my evening meds and I was back in bed. The whole day was a slow blur, but whew! One day down, two weeks and six days to go until I can pick up my babies - and six weeks to go before I can go back to running. It'll be there before I know it and I'll be so glad.

Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Colonoscopy!

The day of my surgery, my sister and I were sitting in the waiting room contemplating the early morning giddiness we both seemed to be manifesting. I'm not sure why but everything seemed funny. Both of us being military wives, it's nothing new that we are ID'd nearly everywhere we go. It's a fact of life we've grown as accustomed to as our daily underwear change. On that morning though it struck us as quite odd that I would be carded for my surgery. In essence, this is the conversation that ensued . . .

Why are they ID'ing you? I mean what person in their right mind would walk in and say, "Eeny, meeny, miny . . . colonoscopy - yeah, I'll have the surgery that guy over there is having!" Of course it was me checking in for my reconstructive surgery! LOL The fun didn't stop there as we found other silly things to laugh about.

At one point, I noticed Valerie looking around at the other patients in the room. She was trying very nonchalantly to glance out of the corner of her eyes at the feet of all the gown-garbed patients' hospital-issued socks. As it turned out, every other patient in the room was a man. Suddenly Val leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Do your socks have stripes on both sides?" Top and bottom is what she meant. When I told her yes, she laughed and revealed to me that she thought it was just that all the men in the room were dumb. We both got a big chuckle out of that one, especially as she looked down and saw the rubbery stripes on the top of my feet too! Actually, I was beginning to sound like Muttley. You know, the canine side-kick of Dick Dastardly in the Wacky Races cartoons from my childhood? (Yes, I sound like Muttley when I laugh hard, hence my occasionally used nickname.)

We just couldn't stop laughing. Why was everything so funny? I still don't know. One thing is for sure though - it made the waiting to go under the knife bearable. Thank God for my sister! We chatted the time away so effortlessly that I even came up with a new doll. When I was a kid there was a doll named "Chatty Kathy". I asked, what if created a new doll and called her "Chatty Natrix"? Somehow one of my sister's nicknames I've bestowed on her came from a blending of a previous nickname along with the Matrix movie as I had one day envisioned her dodging bullets like Keanu Reeves' character. The name "Natrix" was born and she is now lovingly referred to as both Aunt Ralph (Ralph was my childhood nickname for her) and Aunt Natrix (this is obviously the more "super hero" version of my kids' aunt, which of course she is to them).

I started to contemplate what characteristics the Chatty Natrix doll would have. Let's see . . . she would obviously have to have at a minimum:
1. obnoxiously white, straight, and cavity-proof teeth, and be a dental expert
2. eyes that squint really hard as she laughs
3. an accompanying canine companion larger than her and roughly the size of a Clydesdale
4. a built-in psychology manual and parenting manual capable of delivering timely insights at the pull of a string
5. and no doubt, a really cool Matrix-like black jacket and coordinated shades that would flow as she dodged life's bullets with grace like Nemo (if you haven't seen the movie, this isn't funny to you at all).

These don't even scratch the surface of all this doll could be based on the original, but I could never nail Valerie down to a fixed set of characteristics anyway. She's a polymorphous creature able to both leap tall buildings in a single bound and simultaneously blend in with the bystander. She's my sanity and my proverbial muse. She's both simple and beautifully complex - and she's my sister! :)

Being ever the extrovert, once my IV was placed and the staff began to grow in numbers around my pre-op cubicle, I continued to chat up the nurses when suddenly my whole world began to slur. Actually, according to Val it was the sound of my voice. I looked at the nurse anesthetist and said, "Did you just give me something?" Of course she had and within about 10 seconds I reached a place where no memories remain. I don't recall the bed moving or any sounds and afterward was sure that I had fallen into a deep coma until Val shared with me that I was still mumbling rather unintelligibly and attempting to carry on a conversation as they rolled me down the hall toward the OR. We had all been laughing together before they drugged me. I'm sure that's why I woke up laughing.

They say you wake up however you went to sleep. I'm glad my awesome sister and husband were there to greet me as they rolled me past the waiting room whereupon I was laughing and shouted out to the whole room, "I have BOOBS!" As the room full of people chuckled at my cheesy smile and obvious joy, my sister announced to them, "It's been awhile since she's had boobs." Apparently this was also a declaration I made several times while being rolled down the hall toward the recovery room. LOL

Thoughts Before Reconstructive Surgery

I'm going in for my second surgery tomorrow to remove the tissue expanders (TE's) from my chest and have the implants put in. It'll be odd to have breasts again. All the changes my body has undergone over the last almost four months have been unbelievable. I've gone from having breasts that have fed babies, to no breasts at all and feeling rather manly, to slowly growing mounds that sit high on my chest and are hard as rocks, to tomorrow going back to having breasts again. It's a lot of changes to digest.

The first surgery left flaps of skin on my sides that I've begun lovingly referring to as "Thing 1" and "Thing 2". When they told me the flaps would be gone after tomorrow's surgery I was almost nostalgic. I said, "But I was about to name them!" LOL We all had a good laugh. I was seriously considering Thelma and Louise.

I spoke with my roommate earlier today and she gave me a head's up about what to expect. We had our mastectomies on the same day and recovered together. Last week she had her reconstruction surgery. It was nice to have her share her experience. There were even questions she spawned in me. I thought I knew everything to look forward to until then.

Like the night before every major planned event in my life, I've had a hard time settling my mind. I'm nervous and excited. There's even a part of me that is sad to let it come to an end. This experience has helped to further shape me into the person I am. It's been such a huge part of my life that it's come up a lot in conversation. Now that it's going to be finished, I won't have as much of a reason to talk about it, yet it's still molding me.

When I was widowed I found it hard to talk with anyone without telling them about Jason's death. How could I leave out a reference to something that had and was changing me so drastically? I thought they needed to know in order to "get me". Will this be a similar feeling? It's not exactly the same, but it's certainly made me a different person. This too, like every other experience I've had, will become part of the fabric of my life. Once the scars heal and no one can tell from the outside that anything is different about me it'll become another way to relate to others in similar circumstances.

I've written all my brain can process at this hour. My body is sufficiently exhausted and it's time to call it done. This time tomorrow, I'll be thanking God living life to the fullest. :)

Have a Nuk and a Nap

I have a new song I sing for Karter. Imagine this to the tune of the old Coke jingle "Have a Coke and a smile. " It's amazing how enduring a good marketing jingle or slogan can be. This one came out in 1979 and here I am more than 30 years later…still singing along.

Have a Nuk and a nap,
makes you feel good,
so refreshing,
makes you feel right,
have a Nuk and a nap…

That's the way it should be
when Mama likes to see
Karter smiling at me…

Have a Nuk and a…
Have a Nuk and a nap.

The Wisdom of an Older Brother

Yesterday I was standing in the kitchen talking with my husband when I heard my 10 year-old son Koen laughing intensely and sounding physically strained. The accompanying sounds of my 14 month-old daughter Lisse struggling gave rise to a quote from my son that I couldn't pass up the opportunity to document.

Koen called from the living room saying, "I like that Lisse won't quit, because she's persevering and that's a good lesson to learn . . . unless you're persevering against your older brother."

He's a wise one. :)


Big brother and little sister. They adore each other.

Surrogacy: The Hope of Giving Birth to My Niece or Nephew

On September 30, 2010, my sister Valerie, her husband Aaron, and I had an appointment at the Jones Institute for Reproductive Medicine. After years of trying to conceive and suffering a heart-wrenching number of unexplained miscarriages, they decided to take me up on my offer to be a surrogate for them. We headed to our appointment in torrential rain, feeling uncertain what the clinic would say about my suitability because of my age or medical history, including my recent bilateral mastectomy and upcoming reconstructive surgery. All our apprehensiveness would turn out to be unfounded.

After filling out tons of paperwork, consulting with the doctors, and both Valerie and I having ultrasounds, her for her ovaries and me for my uterus, we were given the green light. It turned out to be much easier than I thought. There will be lots of coordinating of schedules along the way, trips back and forth from Florida for both Aaron and Valerie, and probably some nail-biting, but we now have a time frame. In fact, we were certain they would have a reason to make us wait and were surprised when I was given my first prescription to be started the very next day! That night I headed out to the Wal-Mart pharmacy to turn in my prescription. We couldn't believe it. The transfer should be sometime around Thanksgiving, using her egg and his sperm.

On October 1, 2010, I zipped over to the pharmacy to pick up my meds, then crossed the parking lot and stopped in front of the pet store. I sat in my van with the first pill in my hand. Feeling overwhelmed by the emotional events of the previous two days, which included losing my beloved Shiba Kenji, being worried sick trying to find our Papillon Dexter, then the elation at finding him, I had to take a moment to pause and just breathe. The event I was about to mark was huge - so much bigger than me in that moment. The last nine months of my life had been wrapped up in one big exclamation point. Funny, nine months is the length of time most people associate with a pregnancy.

Holding that little, white, Progesterone pill in my hand represented the hopes and dreams of so many people, starting with my sister. It also guaranteed that the next year of my life would be no less emotional than the last. I could say that the next year will be wrapped up in a huge question mark. That thought didn't frighten me. I'm a Navy wife and therefore accustomed to question marks. :) One thing was certain, God is in control and will either use me to make my sister a mom or not. There I was, alone to ponder the enormity of the decision we'd all made together, my family and hers. I was thankful for those quiet moments. I prayed and gave the whole process to the Lord to make of it what He wills. Of course I also put in my personal request to finally become an aunt. :) How amazing just to think of having the opportunity to bring my niece or nephew into the world.

After praying, I threw back my water bottle and popped the pill in my mouth, thinking, "Here we go!"

The Day We Found Dexter

The morning after Kenji died we awoke at 7 am and prepared ourselves to search for Dexter. I had already prayed and asked God to protect him and bring him home. I didn't know what losing both of them would do to Koen. Dexter had been missing the whole night through horrible rains that had left Elizabeth City, N.C., severely flooded. By 7:30 am we were ready to go.

First, we went out and drove around the neighborhood again calling Dexter's name and whistling to no avail. Then we headed back to the house to call the Albemarle Pet Crematoria to find out about cremating Kenji. The funeral director was at our house within 15 minutes to pick him up. The whole thing seemed surreal and, though I was crying, I felt detached and numb.

Afterward, we left again to begin knocking on doors while we waited for the animal shelters and animal control to open. We started with our closest neighbor and planned to work our way down the street. At our neighbor's house we shared our news and she told us the hour she had last seen Dexter. She recommended we check across the street from her because he might have been able to get under a door that is left cracked open for their dog. Could he be in there? We left and went straight across. After showing Dexter's photo to the very nice lady, she told us her daughter had seen him running down the middle of the main road in front of our house. Traffic, she said, was stopping for him and he was running toward the gas station at the end of the road. Our road is highly traveled and has no shoulder, only deep ditches. That sighting was about 7 pm. I decided to abandon our door-to-door search and go instead to the gas station to show his photo to the staff.

No one at the station recognized Dexter, so Koen said, "What's next?" I quickly said, "Let's go down the street to Lamb's." Being early morning, I thought Lamb's convenience store and gas station might have lots of locals in and out. Maybe we could show his photo and get a hit. The two employees said they hadn't seen him, but a line of customers began turning their heads to look at the photo on my cell phone. The second lady in line said, "I saw him last night. He was diggin' in my trash." I was relieved! Her sighting had been later in the evening. As she was giving me details about where she lived, Koen began to yank vigorously on my shirt sleeve. I leaned over to him and he whispered excitedly in my ear, "I prayed and God told me this lady is going to lead us to Dexter!" He sounded as serious as a heart attack. We finished talking with the lady and made for the door.

Jogging to the van, Koen asked again, "What now?" I told him we were headed toward that lady's street. As we jumped in the van, he began saying, "I know we're going to find him! The last time he got out I found him sniffing in the flowers around a neighbor's mailbox." The tone in his voice was one that said he didn't believe that we would find Dexter later, but that we were literally going to go right then and pick him up. He was convinced that God was pointing us toward his best friend. Though I'm a Christian, I was skeptical. His faith was unshakable and I worried about what would happen if we never found Dexter, or worse, found him dead. Would that rattle his faith? Time was running out for my search because I had only an hour before having to leave for a doctor's appointment. My sister had coordinated her trip from Florida and we both had to be there. There was no way we could reschedule.

Turning onto the street where the lady lived, I slowed my speed and we began calling loudly for Dexter. After numerous houses, I saw a front door open and decided to stop. Another nice lady told me she hadn't seen him, but would be on the lookout. After a brief conversation we were back in the van. I backed out and was just picking up speed when I looked to the right and spotted him standing in a flower bed two doors down and across the street from the lady's house. I shouted, "DEXTER! DEXTER! There he is!" I couldn't park fast enough!

Whipping into the driveway, we both sprang from the van and bolted toward him. He was soaked to the bone, filthy, covered in fleas, and obviously injured. Three of his legs were skinned with patches of fur missing and he was barely walking toward us. In fact, he only stepped out of the flower bed and just stood on the sidewalk waiting for me to pick him up. He winced and yelped as I gently scooped him up, snuggling him into my chest. We made our way back to the van crying tears of joy. We climbed in and I passed Dexter over to Koen's lap. The smile on his face was priceless - pure joy!

Before we could even move another muscle I knew we had to stop and thank God for leading us to Dexter. We give Him all the credit. He derailed every plan I had for finding Dexter, which had included calling shelters and animal control and printing fliers to put up, among other things. Had I taken time to do those things we might have never found him.

It occurred to me later that Koen had had the faith to move a mountain. He prayed, believing, and he received. Later, he told me he had a new nickname for Dexter. He called him "The Miracle Dog". What was wrong with me? The night before as I stood contemplating whether to buy him a soft, new dog bed, I was certain I'd probably be wasting my money. I just couldn't bring myself to believe we'd find him alive and had decided against spending the money. Thankfully, Koen didn't share my skepticism.

All day I pondered the lesson I'd learned from my 10 year-old son. I ponder it still. I want to have the faith of a child, my child. Someone later commented that it was my determination that led us to Dexter. However determined I might have been, without God my little man would not be sleeping in his bed tonight with his best friend. I give it all to Him who has given all for me. I'm so thankful for the prayers lifted up by our family and friends. They were all used by God to sustain us through a frighteningly uncertain time.

The sight of Koen and his best buddy together again gives me peace. Dexter's presence has helped to soften the blow of Kenji's death. We all have been reminded that life is short and that we need to cherish and give time to those we love. I'm grateful that we have more time to love Dexter. Now we just need to pamper him until he's well and running circles around us again.


Koen reading with Dexter, August 22, 2009.

The Night We Lost Kenji

Last night we went to a farewell dinner for Arie's Chief in Chesapeake, Virginia. We left our home at 2 pm to meet Arie and do some shopping before our dinner. As usual, the dogs were in the garage so that they could come and go from the backyard to do their business. It had been raining for four days . . .

We returned home at about 9:30 pm and we began preparing the babies for bed while Koen went out to check on the dogs and make sure they had plenty food and water. I was just preparing to lay Karter down after his bottle when I noticed a flashlight in the backyard. I thought that was odd since it was raining. Why would anyone be in the backyard with a flashlight? After laying Karter down, I realized that Koen hadn't come back in and Arie was no where in the house either. I stepped into the garage where Koen met me saying that Kenji and Dexter were missing and the side gate to the yard was open. Arie came right behind him and told me the rain had saturated the ground, which made the fence settle enough to release the gate latch. Kenji and Dexter had run out and we had no idea how long they'd been gone.

I threw my shoes on and ran out as quickly as I could, followed by Valerie and Koen. We jumped in the van and drove a large perimeter around our neighborhood calling their names and whistling. Nothing. They were gone.

Back in the house, I began looking up numbers for animal control and anyone else I could think of to contact. As Valerie got on the phone making calls, I left again with Koen to search a larger area. It was pouring rain and we were driving with the windows down, again calling and whistling. Frogs were jumping everywhere and I inevitably ran over too many of them. The whole night seemed like death and foreboding. I felt sick as I turned around, dodging frogs, and drove back toward home. At that point we had been looking for them for almost 1.5 hours.

As we approached the house I could see flashlights in the road in front of our house and the shapes I began to make out as Arie, Valerie, and Aaron (my sister and brother-in-law). I was driving up on them when Val calmly waved me off. My stomach sank and I wanted to throw up. Who was it? God, please don't let it be both of them! Koen sat next to me clueless of the sign I'd received from Val. I pulled into the driveway and as I parked I told Koen they had found one or both of the dogs and that it wasn't good. Someone was dead. We both jumped from the van and I began to jog down the driveway. Meeting Val halfway, I said, "Who is it?" She told me it was Kenji. I turned and Koen was gone. Arie and Aaron were standing next to Kenji when I walked up. He had been lying in the tall grass along the side of the road just across the road from our house. I felt so guilty that I'd passed him, not even knowing he was there. I was empty and heartbroken.

Val said that dispatch told her they had received a call and that animal control was going to go out in the morning and pick the dog up. We were so thankful we had found him first. After spending a few moments with Kenji, Arie and I agreed we had to gather him up and bring him home and I ran to find Koen. Rounding the corner from the yard into the garage, my eyes met Koen's. The look on his face was agonizing and he seemed to be holding his breath. I said, "Buddy, it's Kenji and he's dead." No matter how softly I spoke those words I couldn't seem to muffle their blow and my tenderhearted 10 year-old son was reduced to loud sobbing tears. We melted into each others arms - two hearts breaking in two. That's where Arie found us. He wasn't crying, but the look on his face was pained and he seemed to be straining not to cry. It occurred to me that he needed a hug. I think I hugged him, but all I truly recall is talking about what container we could use to hold Kenji. Arie grabbed a large green tub and I ran to grab a towel. I felt the need to make Kenji dry and warm, to give him comfort even though I knew he was gone. Really it was to soothe me by treating him as gently and lovingly as I knew how. Standing in the door of the closet I pondered which towel was the right one to choose on the occasion of losing a best friend. My eyes landed on the purple towel and I thought of Jesus. I yanked it from the stack and ran out the door.

Arie wrapped the towel around Kenji and something about the purple color and Jesus gave me a slight bit of comfort. Arie gently placed him in the container and we walked to the garage. Koen gathered with us and we said our goodbyes to Kenji. Sachi was running all around us and we decided to bring her over so that she too could say goodbye to her best friend of eight years. I raised her paws up on the side of the container and pulled back the purple towel. She leaned forward, sniffing all around Kenji. Her face seemed to change and we thought she understood. We spent some time with Koen before sending him off the bed around 12:30 am.

The fleas on the side of the road were horrible and Kenji was covered in them. We had only recently had our backyard infested with them and had sprayed the yard and treated the dogs. Seeing those fleas made me an angry woman! I felt that he was being violated and was determined to kill them all! I announced to Arie and Val that I was going to Wal-Mart to buy flea killing spray. I was relieved when Val offered to go with me. We drove to Wal-Mart in torrential rain. Elizabeth City, N.C. was flooded.

In the pet section I grabbed the flea killer spray and turned to see the dog beds. We still had Sachi and I felt compelled to buy her a comfortable new bed. The thought occurred to me that if we found Dexter he would need a soft new bed too. I stopped myself short of buying two because after finding Kenji I was skeptical that Dexter would be coming home. I stepped into the check-out and wound up sobbing in front of the cashier and another customer as I told them we'd just lost Kenji. The customer, a man named Jerry, said he would pray for us and specifically for Koen. I grabbed my bag and headed back out into the rain.

We sprayed Kenji and covered him. I was comforted knowing the fleas were dead. How could they live and him not?

Morning would bring many phone calls and knocking on doors in a mad search for Dexter. Koen was worried sick and distraught at the thought of burying Kenji in a yard we would eventually move away from. We all decided to call the pet crematorium in the morning and have him cremated so that we could take him with us the day we move from this house. It was nearly 4 am and still down-pouring before I forced my eyes to close with visions of Kenji in my mind - worried sick about Dexter.


Dexter laying his head on Kenji. They were best friends.

Don't Tell Me to Come Out of the Closet

When I was a little girl, I used to spend a lot of time in my step-mom’s closet. What took me there was as varied as the imaginings of a child. One day might have found me crying over an argument with a friend, while the next day I’d have been pondering my adolescence or maybe even “What do I want to be when I grow up?” No matter the reason, one thing was certain – Dad would always join me there if tears were involved.

There were several reasons I chose that particular closet of all the places in the house. First, it was a place I knew no one would come and interrupt me. There was simply no reason for anyone to knock on that door and ask if they could come in, like the bathroom. Second, it was large enough that it didn’t make me claustrophobic and I could conceal myself behind the hanging clothes at the farthest recesses of the closet. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly - I could turn off the lights and vanish. I spent many hours like that, wishing I could disappear. This was my haven; a place of refuge from the storms that brewed in my life, both real and imagined.

Dad and I like to joke about the times we spent in that closet, bonding. Sometimes we even moved a fan in to get some circulation going. It could get pretty stuffy. He gave me fatherly advice and listened when I cried. In many ways I grew up in there. I can’t recall the exact words of wisdom that emanated from that room and though there’s no doubt they helped to mold and shape me as I stumbled through adolescence, more important was the fact that Dad took the time I needed to see me through it. Thank God for Dad. (Of course thanks to Mom too. What she and I shared wasn’t a closet, and will be addressed in a later writing.) Thank God too for a place I could go to figure things out - away from my siblings and the other craziness of life.

Speaking of craziness. Today I was nearly a crazy woman. At first glance it’s going to be difficult to see how this day and the days of my closet adolescence are connected, but it’ll soon be clear.

We headed out to Virginia Beach to buy Koen’s Boy Scout uniform, looking forward to having lunch together at our favorite place, Chipotle. Everything was going smoothly until we pulled out of our driveway, and the tears began to flow. Karter and Lisse cried inconsolably for the first hour we were out. Here is where I will tell the story slightly in high gear so as not to mentally wear the reader out. I wound up sitting on the floor of the van between the front and middle seats feeding them their lunch while we were stuck in traffic. With me turned around backwards and on the floorboard, hence not navigating, Arie dislodged us from the traffic, only for me to realize he was going the wrong way on the interstate. After lunch, Koen spilled an entire soda on the floor of the van. Then we were off to the Boy Scout store where they didn’t have one item of clothing in Koen’s size after we drove nearly 1.5 hours one way to buy his uniform. We then made our way to run another errand, during which time my normally wonderful husband morphed into a jerk. Out of respect for my husband I’ll spare these details. We were sitting in a parking lot while Arie looked for directions to our final stop when I decided to get out of the car and walk over to a Starbucks. I needed a few moments alone and I was annoyed with Arie, so the thought of a frappuccino was consoling.

I was slightly steaming as I stood in the store contemplating the notion that I’d somehow got back at Arie by not offering to get him a Starbucks. If you know Arie, you know this would be a major letdown for him. I felt justified, even triumphant, and finally peaceful just getting away from the stress that was in the van. As the glow was just building in me, either from the triumph or from my previously noted steaming, I got a text message and photo from Arie. He said, and I’m quoting here, “:( I’m sorry I was a..."



I about died laughing! After chuckling at Arie’s photo and feeling like he had sufficiently apologized, I texted him back with an offer to buy him Starbucks. He responded with a request for an iced coffee and I patiently waited in line not realizing the horror that had begun unfolding in the van. Yep, it only got worse from there, just when I thought things were looking up.

I crossed the parking noticing that Arie was no longer in the front seat. As I opened the door he said something like “you have no idea…” Lisse, who had not pooped at all the previous day during our trip to Busch Gardens had had massive diarrhea while sitting in her car seat and blew out her diaper. Arie said he actually heard it. He might have even gone on mumbling something incoherent about a geyser afterward, but Koen distracted me with a request to go in the grocery store for something to drink. I think he was partly trying to get away from the smell. Climbing out of the van, Koen inadvertently kicked over my mocha frappuccino, spilling it on my floor mat. I could tell he felt horrible for spilling another drink, so after my initial ARE YOU KIDDING ME? reaction, I dialed myself back and told him to let it go and that it was okay. I handed him my wallet and sent him off for his drink.

Upon pulling out the mat to clean it, I unveiled a soggy floorboard indicating a possible problem with our a/c leaking under the carpet. Then Arie, while cleaning up Lisse, began to laugh hysterically. I turned thinking I was about to witness my husband’s nervous breakdown when I heard him say, “She’s peeing!” He could barely get the words out of his mouth from laughing so hard. Whatever parts of her clothing that weren’t covered by poop were at that point soaked in urine, as was a portion of the carpet where it had run off the pad.

The next thing I knew, Koen was opening the back hatch with no drink in his hand and he was crying. When I asked what was wrong and why he had no drink he said, “I can’t do anything right today.” I consoled him and had him repeat after me saying, “Today is the day from hell.” I thought I said it as calmly as I could and though I was giving him permission to say his first ever 4-letter word the day seemed to warrant it. His lips parted into a strained smile that said “I don’t really want you to make me smile while I’m trying to feel sorry for myself.” Once I told him about Lisse peeing on the floor we both fell into each other laughing. I told him, “I KNOW! IT’S A HEAVENLY CONSPIRACY! All the drama,” I said, “must be a heavenly conspiracy to keep us from going home.” Maybe God was keeping us out of some sort of trouble by stalling us with so many distractions.

There are detailed portions of the story I have left out, like Karter almost ripping the signal arm off the steering column, Arie missing our exit (again), and Lisse biting me, but you get the gist I’m sure. It really WAS the day from hell. At the time I could only imagine that short of an auto accident, an acute medical condition (each of us was already having an acute mental condition), or a death in the family, nothing could have made the day more stressful. I said as much to Arie, then thought better of it and acknowledged it could have indeed been much worse.

Speeding as fast as we could safely get away with, we bee-lined for home. After more screaming, all three kids finally fell asleep, leaving me and Arie with some much needed quiet time. For a time we sat silent or maybe I should say shell-shocked before I inquired, “How’s pizza for dinner? I’m not cooking.” Arie asked if I meant the frozen from the store variety. “I said I’m NOT cooking,” shooting him a playful, yet serious look while he laughed.

We eventually made it home, fed and bathed the kids and played until they were exhausted from repeatedly climbing onto the couch only to be dragged off again each time. After one last bottle and teeth cleaning, they went down without so much as a whimper. Here is where I was thanking God again.

After lying Karter in his bed I stepped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and carry on my nightly routine, which includes stepping into my closet so that my electric toothbrush doesn’t wake the baby if it rattles against my teeth. (He’s sometimes a very light sleeper.) I stepped in and out of my closet a few times before pausing inside. With the door pulled shut and the light on, I looked around and pondered the quietness of the space. Actually, it was more like I was soaking up the peace. I began having flashbacks of my childhood days in the closet and what it meant to me then. It occurred to me that at that very moment I was doing exactly what I did as a kid – taking refuge from the storm that was my day.

Thankfully, nowadays I have better coping skills than when I was a kid. However, admittedly there are still days when I step back into my closet, shut the door, turn off the light, and hope no one comes looking for me. Having kids can drive parents to get creative with their hiding spots. Sometimes you just can’t get away from all the noise, sometimes you don’t want to, but during those inevitable times when life gets to be too much or too loud - there’s always the closet. :)

Know Where You're Going & Plan the Trip!

A man named Henry Emerson Fosdick once said, "He who chooses the beginning of a road chooses the place it leads to. It is the means that determine the end."

We often hear "the end justifies the means", but have we really thought about what that means for the life-changing journeys we are on? This literally means that our actions are acceptable if they help us achieve our desired end result.

This begs two questions:
What is our desired end result?
AND
What means are we willing to use to get there?

We can't just focus on the result we're wanting without bringing into sharp focus the means we're going to use to accomplish what we want. So many people talk about having a plan. The importance of having a plan and working that plan cannot be underscored enough, because failing to plan is itself a plan to fail.

I've spent a tremendous amount of time questioning my weight loss and fitness plan. I have it set as a daily spark goal for myself - to start each day reviewing my goals. If I'm not daily committing myself to focus on making right choices for my health, then I am going to be more prone to letting those choices be made for me. Does it take extra work? Yes. I plan ahead for meals and snacks and steal time during my son's swim practice to hit the gym. These are things I plan out ahead of time so that I don't find myself at the end of the week saying, "A whole week flew by and I didn't work out once!" or "I got caught up at an appointment, etc. and had to hit the drive-through for lunch." These things happen when we don't plan.

It's not enough to just say I want to weigh 135 lbs. I'm letting myself down if I only visualize myself wearing a size 5. That would be like wanting to take a dream trip to Italy. You're given the airline tickets (joining www.SparkPeople.com for free), but forget to plan the trip! I'm committed to NOT throwing away that opportunity. Now it's a matter of replicating the success I had the first time when I lost 61 pounds before becoming pregnant with the twins. It's not rocket science. It's just determination to feel better about where I am physically and deciding that where I am now is not where I want, deserve, or need me to be.