One More Hug

photo from myptsd.com

Every November, as I look back on another year of my son's life, I continue to be amazed by this wonderful gift I've been given.  Cliched as it is, I cannot even begin to thank God for blessing me with his life.

In the last year, my family has faced battles that I couldn't imagine.  I've done what I can to shelter him from the worst of what we've endured.  While I know we cannot shelter him forever, I also know that a seven year old should only have to shoulder so much burden, and he certainly shouldn't have to shoulder the burdens of adults.

In the midst of our pain, our sorrow, and our trials, my son continues to be a shining light.  His sweet innocence breaks through all of those heavy worries to provide a breath of fresh air and peace in the midst of our storms.  The best part?

He doesn't even realize he does it.

There have been days when I think the soul-crushing weight of the world has become more than I can handle.  I'm trying to tie the knot in the end of my rope but hanging on still seems impossible.  And then I pick up my son from his nana's house, drive home, and carry him to bed (an increasingly difficult request, to be sure).

As I lay him in bed and say goodnight, I am struck silent with prayer.  Prayer for his protection. Prayer for his comfort.  Prayer that I will continue to be the mom he needs.

And each night, as I get to his door, he lifts his head and asks the same question:

"One more hug?"

And each night, the response is the same:

"Of course Mouse.  You know you can always have as many 'one more hugs' as you want."

On Black Friday, Mouse turns 7.

7 years of fun.

7 years of laughs.

7 years of cries.

7 years of hugs.

And, as I will turn to walk out his door, it'll be my turn to ask for just one more.

On The First Day of The First Grade

photo via zazzle.com

Unlike Billy Joe McGuffey, Z isn't normally particularly clumsy.   He did, however, have his first day of first grade today. 
Yes, I know, your Facebook news feeds and Twitter timeline are inundated with "first day of school" pictures, comments, and posts.  And yes, I'm writing this anyway.

Where a great deal of those posts are telling you how EXCITED those parents are for the start of school, I cannot join in the merriment.  It honestly makes me sad.  Even with my hideous work schedule, I've enjoyed starting my mornings with Z.  We've gotten up, had breakfast, hung out, and possibly moved on to his current Lego Xbox game obsession (sometimes Batman, sometimes Star Wars, always Lego).

On Wednesdays, my day off, we had fun.  We've gone shopping, played outside, and just spent time being together.  He is getting couponing lessons early, being taught how we'll save for his college education.

This morning, as I walked him to class, it struck me how fast this is all going.  I know that every parent says that at some point, but it genuinely has caught me by surprise.  I wonder how much longer he'll continue to allow me to dote on him and hug him in front of his friends.  How many more times will he let me walk him to his class at the start of the year?

And then I pause. 

Why spend time worrying about all of that?  It's wasted time.  I could lament all the time that's passed, or I could focus on all the time that (I pray) I have left.  I can worry about the day that he'll stop hugging me in public, or I can relish the fact that he often reaches out to hug me first.  I can fret that he'll soon stop turning back to wave goodbye, or I can make sure he sees my smile and wave back. 

Tomorrow is the last day that I can walk him to class.  I foster his independence, wanting him to make the choice.  So, I asked.  And his response? 

"I want you to walk with me."

And so tomorrow, we walk.  We'll go to class, hug goodbye, and I'll let him go. 

And watch him fly.

Breakthrough

photo via efhcenter.com

"My breakthrough came when I stopped feeling sorry for myself and took responsibility for every part of my life.  No more pity parties. I've gotta love me more than anybody else loves me."

~Mary J Blige

In July 2010, I made the decision to take control of my life.  I was tired of being sick, tired, and generally exhausted.

A year later, I wrote this post about my progress to that point.   I was feeling pretty good about where I was at that time.  Full of hope and plans to move forward.

At the end of that year, I turned 33.  The hubs and I had been working for two years to be able to get ready for our IVF attempts.  82 pounds down, and I knew time was not on our side.

So, we took that leap and learned what we did.  And hope failed me.

I took a break.  I took a break from my blog, knowing that I needed to learn to deal with my own realities in private before I could begin to put things on "paper."  I took a break from reading and reviewing.  I took a break from nearly everything except going through the motions to get through the day.

I had my introspection (heck, I'm still having it), and I realized I had two choices:  continue to wallow or accept life as it is and move forward.

I may be sarcastic and cynical at times, but at heart I'm an optimist.  I know that things will get better.  There might be more hills and valleys before it does (and there have been), but I trust God to get me through those things that I cannot even begin to process.

Part of moving forward for me means getting back on track.  In the nearly two years that have passed, I have lost two more pounds.  The idea exists that if you go a year without gaining weight back, then you've been successful.  Since I actually lost more weight, I'm counting that as success.

I decided to stop my excuses and, taking Mary's suggestion, to take responsibility for every part of my life.  The first two?  Exercising and eating.

1.  "My knee hurts too much, so I can't exercise like I want to."

Whatever.  While I did enjoy running, the reality remains that ANY kind of exercise is work to me. Add to this that while I really don't have some of the common side effects of obesity (Thankfully, I have somehow managed to avoid high blood pressure, diabetes, or high cholesterol), the orthopaedic concerns were fully driven by my weight.  My knee issues are partly hereditary   However, my healthy weight mother has managed to hold off the knee surgeries at age 50+. Me?  The first one came at age 29.  Had I addressed my weight sooner, maybe I would have been able to hold off the corrections for longer.  Even if I couldn't run/walk/cardio load my bottom half, the fact still remained that I have arms and a midsection that needed work.   Getting some of that weight off might have helped me to ease the load on my knees.  My responsibility...my fault.


So, six weeks ago, I got rid of the excuse.  I decided to have my right knee corrected the same way I had my left one done five years ago.   While it's healing, I am working on my arms with dumbbells and working on my midsection.  I'm following my physical therapy like clockwork, ensuring the knee will be able to take the workload I'm throwing at it come June when we take a family trip to Disney.


The result? I have managed to get stronger than expected faster than anticipated.  Walking in Disney?  Piece of cake.

2. "I don't have time to cook, so I have to grab what I can." 

Again, whatever.  I was doing what was easy, not what was good for me. It was easy to blame work, child, or life schedule on an inability to plan for what I needed to be eating,  In truth?  I was choosing to not plan.

It just so happened that a couple of weeks before my surgery, I was introduced to a wonderful woman who had lost a great deal of weight on Medifast (over 100 pounds since August last year, to be exact).  An unexpected financial offering allowed me to be able to make the investment. That wonderful woman is now my Health Coach, helping me on this journey.  With Medifast, I only have to worry about one meal a day.  The other five are Medifast provided.   So, the food excuse?  Gone. I check menus if I'm going to eat out, so I know where and what I can eat.  And thanks to the tutelage of Tom and Rachel when I first started this journey, I have been able to make many recipes that I love Medifast friendly.  It ensures that I don't get bored with the meal I'm making for myself.

On Friday March 8, I officially hit 100 pounds lost.  And not just close to 100 pounds:  I was EXACTLY 100 pounds smaller, to the 1/10 of a pound.  There is something so completely empowering in taking back control of my life and my health.

I'm not going to say that I don't find myself trying to make excuses again.  It's a habit that was long cultivated, and it's a habit that will take a long time to break.

But that hope?  It's there. With each step that I take, I'm getting stronger and stronger.  I know that it's completely in MY hands to change.

My Responsibility.

No More Pity Parties.

Love For Me, By Me.


My Breakthrough.