Yesterday I had to be in two places nearly at once. It was only by proper planning (dinner before we left and snacks for the second gym) and the kids not being assholes (they all got into the car without yelling at each other!) that I was able to even accomplish it. (Shout out to MC Hammer for being on the radio so we could dance in our seats.) At 6 I finished teaching my regular class and by 6:30 I was ready to teach another class at a gym in another town, with the kids in tow. Usually I ask Matt to grab the kids when I fill in, but daycare was open until 8 at the second gym, and one late night wouldn’t break them. And, frankly, Matt needed a break.
Later he thanked me for going with the flow and taking the kids along with me instead of asking him to help.
And that’s what love is.
We’ll be celebrating 10 years in August. I can say with 100% certainty that when I first got married at the age of 21, I thought I knew what love was. I thought it was flowers and romance and date nights and deep conversations. But when Valentine’s Day would come and it wasn’t some extravagant gesture and I didn’t get flowers thrown at me for no good reason, I got upset and frustrated. I’d look at other peoples’ marriages and wonder what I was doing wrong. What was wrong with our marriage?
But then, finally, somewhere after Luca was born, and I wasn’t handling motherhood that well, I saw it.
Love was watching Matt take the kids to the park so I could have some alone time. Love was coming home to a cooked meal after a long 12 hour shift. Love was sleeping in on a Tuesday just because.
The moment I stopped comparing myself to what I was told I had to believe to be true about love, I realized that Matt and I have our shit together. Matt is who he is, and one thing he is not is a guy who is a romantic. He’s the guy who plans things a day in advance. The guy who sends me youtube clips to cheesy country songs that remind him of me. He’s the one who keeps me from imploding.
Do I like getting flowers just because? Sure. But they die. And Matt knows that that makes me sad. So instead he brings me home donuts.
Do I like date nights? Heck yes! But sometimes it’s just easier waiting until the kids go to bed and have an in home date night. I like to reserve my babysitting needs for things like Luca’s vision therapy, doctor’s appointments and that one time we’re invited to go to a party.
And it’s not all about me. I show Matt I love him by mowing the lawn so it’s one less thing he has to do and more time he can spend with the kids. I even overcame my fear of the attic and stopped nagging at him to get stuff down from there, when I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. But I still stand by the fact that I swear that’s where all the stink bugs live.
I started taking my car to the shop for maintenance instead of making him waste a day to get it done. I keep the house clean and somewhat organized and I even do the laundry now. (True story, he did all the laundry until we moved it to the second floor about 5 years ago.)
I guess what I’m trying to say is, is that love doesn’t have to be so difficult. Once I stopped trying so hard and took a good look around, I realized that I’m most definitely loved and it shows. I have two dogs and three cats and he’s an asthmatic who is allergic. He just takes his meds, and grumbles at me every now and again, but my roomba Alfred keeps it pretty clean around here so he can’t really complain that much.
Plus, when he comes home and we have a foster kitty or six in the house, he is only mildly irritated. Especially since the cats always love him the best.
And every morning he wakes up before me and gets the kids lunches made and feeds them breakfast and doesn’t laugh at me when I dance around the kitchen to really bad pop music.
Sometimes he even joins in.
It’s been weighing heavily on my mind, what happened two weeks ago. I haven’t really known what to say about it. When people ask me I would answer very clinically, and the second they say, “Oh wow, you saved his life,” I’d look down at the floor and avoid making eye contact.
Audrey had been having a very rough time with, what now has been diagnosed as, asthma. The night before I had spent it at the Children’s ER until just before 2 am. When we got there, and waited in chairs for about 15 minutes, she was starting to have muffled speech, and so I went to the triage nurse who immediately brought us back into the trauma section of the ER, where she then got hour after hour of breathing treatments, which lead her to vomit all over herself, then cry because her hair was wet and messy, then cry because she had to keep the mask on after we got her cleaned, then cry because she was so tired. We couldn’t get her oxygen level to stay above 92% without the use of an oxygen mask, and frankly, it was scary.
But the whole car ride home, at 1:45 am, she was chatting all the way, wide eyed and commenting on the fact that the sun wasn’t very bright (it was the moon) and she couldn’t believe all the planes in the sky (stars.) I was exhausted, but knew I had to be up in the morning to get the kids ready for school and teach my regular 9 am BodyPump class, plus I was filling in for another instructor who taught a 30 minute class prior to mine at 8:30.
When I got to the gym, I was chatting with a member in the parking lot on our way in the building, when a tall, older man burst through the doors and asked if I was a nurse.
“Yes, I am, wh-…”
“We need you right away. By the racketball courts. RUN!”
In the five seconds it took me to get there, I thought to myself, I hope that this is something I can make a quick decision on. Because, let’s get real here. There have been times when someone falls and hurts themselves, and it’s not necessarily an emergency. But when I got there, a member that I’m very, very fond of, was laying on the ground in a small puddle of blood, and he was dead.
Now trust me when I say, I don’t want to be dramatic, but all my nursing education backed me up here. No heartbeat. No breathing. No spontaneous movements. Nothing. I immediately started CPR, and began apologizing for the ribs I cracked. I remember my nursing instructor telling me that good CPR breaks ribs. Another guy there got the defibrillator and while I worked on him, he was able to attach the pads and we were then advised that he needed to be shocked.
This went on, for what felt like an eternity, and three rounds of CPR and two shocks total, he was awake and confused – but he was talking.
Now, working at a gym like this one, well, we’re a small town if you will. Everyone knows everyone. So when I had come back to teach again at 5, I was being stopped left and right, or pointed at from afar and whispered about. It was incredibly overwhelming. I had made a facebook post a few hours after it happened, because that was the only way, in that moment, that I could process it. I wanted everyone to know that being CPR certified isn’t a joke. That it is vital and necessary and you never know when you may need to use it.
But then I was being called a hero. Just today a man whom I have seen at the gym for years, yet we’ve never spoken, stopped me after I taught and said, “You saved his life. If you weren’t here, he’d have been dead,” but all I could do was look down at the ground and mumble thank you.
I’m not a hero. I just happened to be in the right place, at the right time, and I got lucky. The hero is the defibrillator, as he was later found to have an arrhythmia.
And today, two weeks after the incident, he came by the gym to show me that he’s alive and well, and he brought donuts. All I’ve thought about for the past two weeks was him and how he was doing. And today, seeing him standing on his own and looking tall, I couldn’t help but hug him twice. He is one of my very favorite people and he owes me nothing.
But that donut was delicious.
After I had Luca, I went down a really deep, dark, sad hole and stayed there for about six months. It’s a sad but true fact that the postpartum depression I had after him basically blocked out all of my memories of him as a small child.
I constantly feel guilt from that, despite the fact that I know I wasn’t in control of it at all. When asked questions about how he was as a baby, or when he himself asks me to tell him stories about when he was a baby – it tends to leave me with this guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach, because I. don’t. know.
The other day a video popped up on my memories with him walking and clapping his hands. He was 10 months old, wearing a yellow long sleeved shirt and a diaper. I remember that shirt. I remember that brand of diapers. I don’t remember taking the video or anything that happened before or after it. Not a thing.
So imagine my continuing guilt when I sat in a room across from a psychologist, who, after a lengthy Q&A, said that Luca probably has anxiety and depression.
Now, I know that I’m doing the right thing, having him screened early, being an advocate for him, doing what it takes to make it right; but god, I feel so shitty right now. So shitty.
I thought that when I beat the depression that plagued me from 15-20, it was behind me. And then I got beat down again with it after I had Luca, and while I know that I’m mentally in a good place, there’s times where it starts to show it’s ugly face, and I’m aware of it, so I get it in check. I’ve learned over the years how to cope and be and recognize.
I foolishly remember filling out medical history forms, and thinking how I was so thankful that the only family medical issues is depression and anxiety and not cancer or heart problems.
But depression is scary. Especially for boys. They’re always told to man up and get over it. They can’t be emotional or show their true feelings, and I worry. I worry that I won’t be able to reach him or help him heal.
When he had chronic strep throat, we removed his tonsils. He hasn’t been sick since. When he took a header into the bookshelf and got an abscess under his baby tooth, we removed the tooth, and he was fine. Some day, he will probably need braces. We’ll get him that.
But how do you fix something he can’t see?
I told the psychologist today that I’m out of my depth here. That, as far as basic parenting skills go, I’m really good. But I don’t know how to help Luca correctly. I’m afraid that everything I’ve done to help him in the past is all wrong, and I’ve only made it worse. That when he has those tantrums, my approach to helping him isn’t giving him what he needs.
I feel so lost.
When we got back to the car, Luca seemed okay, but then again, I always thought he seemed okay. He then said, “Mama, did you know that we’re all made up of stars? That’s pretty neat.”
“That is pretty neat, little buddy. That’s pretty neat.”
Life has become pretty busy. I mean, I guess that’s what’s supposed to happen when you have four kids, and they grow older, and subsequently get busy with their lives. Aside from my growing teaching schedule, the kid’s taekwondo and Luca’s vision therapy, Claire and Mae are starting softball today.
Coordinating life is so hard. I feel like I’m constantly trying to strategize how I can make it through the day. Just two weeks ago I had to figure out how to be three places at once. No lie. I had to teach at 9, a dentist appointment for myself and Audrey at 10:15, Mae finished school at 11, she had her dentist appointment at 11 (same place as me), then Claire and Luca had a half day, so I had to be home before the bus at 11:45, then meet my mother in law in a town 30 minutes away by 12:30. By some bit of magic, I managed to get everywhere on time. All the lights were green for me. But there are days when I hit every red light and I’m sitting in my car, heartbeat racing, and mildly sweating, because if I’m five minutes early, I’m late. So when I’m actually late, I’m super frustrated and borderline insane.
When I take a minute to sit back and actually look at the coordinating that goes on in my daily life, I’m pretty impressed. I’ve sort of gained the motto of, “Eh,” which I don’t think is really helping me much, but it’s better than my old one of, “OMG HOW AM I GOING TO GET ALL OF THIS DONE? I CAN’T DO THIS. HOW DO PEOPLE DO THIS? I WANT TO CRAWL INTO A HOLE AND HIDE.”
Tonight I teach my regular BodyPump class, but at the same time, Claire and Mae have softball practice and Luca has vision therapy. It took me about 5 years, but I finally figured out that it truly takes a village to raise a family, and you can’t be afraid to ask for help.
Since softball is Matt’s thing (he’s one of the assistant coaches) I don’t have to worry about that. He just needs to know where I’ll be so he can grab the girls. Vision therapy has been a bit of a struggle, but my step-dad has been super helpful with taking him on the days Matt or I cannot.
Everything I do, I have to have a fallback plan. If a kid gets sick, and I am scheduled to teach, who sits with them? If heaven forbid I get sick, who helps me? Who watches the kids when I need to go to the doctors? When the girls are napping, but a kid needs to come home early from school, what do I do?
In a few weeks, Matt and I are running the Pittsburgh marathon. (I’m only doing the half. And for charity! If you want to help me reach my 1k goal, donate here! Claire is running the 5k for the ARL as well.) In the past, my sister or mom have come to the house at the crack of dawn to watch the kids, but this year we got smart and asked if Carly could just take them for the night. That way everyone wins. The kids have been begging to go back up to Carly’s house and run around her huge yard, and this way, we can leave when we want to (which for Matt is way earlier than I want to) and not have to worry as much. I used to dread running these races because I’d worry about the kids. Are they okay? Are they giving the adult a hard time? Does the adult watching them hate me for asking? Am I being selfish for running a race and asking someone else to watch my kids? Am I a horrible person for even asking someone to do something for me? I should stop racing.
And then I get home, and everyone’s fine, and the kids are happy, and the adult is probably thankful they’re either done having kids or now never want to have kids, and I did all that rushing and worrying for nothing, and completely missed that I ran a race. I never stay for the post race activities. I never seek out other friends who ran. I usually get in my car and drive home, as if it was just something I had to check off my to-do list.
And that’s basically it. I am constantly checking things off my to-do list. Always. Today, for example. I am subbing a pump class this morning. I keep checking the clock. At 9:15 I will leave the house to go teach. At 11 am, I will get the kids out of the gym daycare and come home immediately. Check, check. Lunch. Nap time at 1. Kids get off bus at 3:25. Homework. Leave the house at 4:25 to beat the traffic. Larry picks up Luca at the gym at 5, Matt picks up the girls at 5:15 for softball. I teach at 5:30. Check, check, check. Get home. Get them fed. Get them in bed. Stare at phone for an hour. Sleep.
I can’t be alone in this, can I?
When Luca was born, he was a quiet boy. He was always taking the world in from his big blue eyes, and never asking for much.
I was always warned, “Oh, boys. They’re such a handful. They’re so boisterous, they’re so crazy!” But it never happened. He was always my relaxed, chill boy. Loved to snuggle. Was empathetic.
But when he entered kindergarten, it sort of defeated him in a way. He had always been shy, but this was different. He was struggling, but it seemed that I was the only one who saw it.
His teachers and basically everyone else brushed it off, stating he’s very immature. He’s the youngest one in the class. He’s a boy. Boys always develop later than girls. Blah blah blah. But no. I can read my kid. I saw in him similar struggles that I went through in school, but getting any information out of him was a struggle. He wouldn’t open up to me whatsoever, and, again, it was brushed off as, he’s young.
When April came around, I needed to sit down with his teacher. She gave me the same BS about how he’s immature and is just adapting to a new way of life. I then mentioned to her that I have dyslexia and I see him struggling as I had, and while she listened to me, she still brushed it off.
About a week later, I got a note from his teacher stating she wanted to meet with me again. That seeing Luca through new eyes, the eyes of just maybe I could be right, she’s witnessed some things that had her agreeing with me.
We met, and she agreed, but then Luca’s tonsils took priority and so the summer was spent having surgery and getting better.
When first grade began, I told his teacher right away to please keep an eye out for him. That he’s so quiet that he can easily be left behind. His teacher has been amazing. She kept up on him and let him move at his pace, but despite all of this, when the new year began, she sent an email saying that he had gotten increasingly worse in the matter of a few weeks and was there something she could do to help? He spent 75% of his day daydreaming, and when he was one on one with his teacher he would cry because he physically couldn’t focus on the work she was having him do. He would never cry in school before this. He was noticing it, too.
I immediately got him into his pediatrician and she said that it could totally be ADD, but she’s not going to blanket diagnose him, and referred us to a doctor who would administer neuropsych evaluation.
I know I’ve said this a million times, but the elementary school my kids go to is amazing. The principal stopped me when I was volunteering for an after school program and asked permission to give my number to the district’s social worker who can help guide me through the process, help with the stress. The social worker was amazing. She gave me a list of things that could also help him, one of them would be to see a behavioral optometrist.
We went to see Dr. Hans Lessmann, who you can google, is a very accomplished man. He is also very good at what he does. He ran Luca through a battery of tests, many of which were incredibly eye-opening. For example, in one test he had Luca draw a line down a piece of paper, and on the right side he had to start with the letter A and on the left side he went to B, so on and so forth until he got to Z. On the right side, all the letters that could be backwards – C, E, G, were backwards. When he was asked to copy a series of dots and lines just as he saw them, they were usually upside-down or on an odd angle.
He was diagnosed with Non-Malingering Syndrome or Streff Syndrome. It’s pretty amazing. Basically, his vision is 20/20, that is, until he’s under stress, and then his vision is 20/40. His eyes see, but his brain does not. It was described to me that Luca is in a constant state of fight or flight. That he is always in tunnel vision. That he cannot see except for the one thing he’s focusing on because he’s so overwhelmed that he is just working for survival. Dr. Lessmann said he’s up a creek, with no paddle, but everyone is telling him to row anyhow.
When he gave the diagnosis I was elated and defeated all at the same time. Finally someone had believed me, but my poor kid was so stressed at the age of 6. I was heartbroken.
He began light and vision therapy and within three weeks, I started to see my Luca again. He was coming back. Where he had lost all empathy, because he couldn’t even care for himself, let alone about others, he was giving me hugs on his own again. When he used to freak out and yell about things, he now stops himself and asks me to work it out with him. He’s also focusing a little better in school.
It didn’t come easily. Not by a long shot. The light therapy has side effects of tantrums and major melt downs, and we had those. He would have full-blown attacks of …. I don’t even know what to call it. Anxiety? He would sit on the floor screaming and rocking and holding himself. You couldn’t touch him, you couldn’t reason with him, and it would last for what felt like an eternity. But I would grab him anyway and hold him tight and whisper in his ear that I’m here and I wasn’t letting go.
He told me, several hours after he’d calm, that he liked that.
As a mother, watching my kid go through this, it has been incredibly challenging. I’ve had to bite my tongue more times than I care to mention, and I’ve had to walk out of rooms to keep myself from saying something that I’d come to regret. I’d have to remind myself that he’s doing his very best, and right now he’s going though something rough.
But oh man it hasn’t been easy.
When Dr. Lessmann had Luca doing an activity in another room, he asked me, “If I could snap my fingers and make everything better, what would be the one thing you’d want to see improve for him?” I said, “His emotions. I want him to not be so sad and frustrated all of the time anymore.”
After Luca had finished his activity, he came into the room with us, and Dr. Lessmann asked him the same thing. He said, “I don’t want to be so sad anymore. And scared.”
He’s improving. He’s more aware. He’s more kind. He’s more Luca. It’s going to be a long journey, but to see him already feeling more confident and acting more ‘like a boy’ and being silly and rough and tumble…well I’d pay a million dollars for that.
At this point in my life I would have been almost done. Mae is going to kindergarten in the fall and I would have made it. All that free time to teach and do things and watch Netflix all day if I wanted to, but then you came along and now freedom has been pushed back by two years.
And three and a half years ago, when I knew that was my new reality, I took pause.
Okay, I totally freaked out.
But it wasn’t you I was freaking out about it was me. Seriously. I didn’t even know how I had managed to birth and partially raise three kids, let alone throwing in a fourth.
But I did.
And here’s the thing: you were the easiest to add in.
Now, Luca still gets the prize of best baby ever because he didn’t peep, he slept, he snuggled, and he got teeth without making my life hell.
But adding him in was another story. Claire was miserable at first about it. She wanted him shipped back. And while it took about three months for her to get over the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere, the second we showed you to your big siblings, they all melted for you. Especially your big brother. You have been the most loved child ever. So while I was super upset in the beginning about the thought of another baby, knowing YOU and seeing YOU changed my whole life for the better.
Now you’re three. You proudly announced that to the hostess when we went out for lunch today. You were bouncing up and down holding up five fingers screaming, “I FREE!”
You have two volumes: loud and louder. You also have two settings: happy and go away. When you go into your sound making go away mode, dad calls you AB, because the sounds you make rival that of the characters from Angry Birds. But you look him square in the eye and say, “I’m not AB, daddy! I’m Aud-ee.”
Sorry it’s a hard name to pronounce. Not to mention the fact that we hardly call you that, rather, you’re mostly called Podge, Audgie, and AB. It’s okay if you end up with a little bit of an identity crisis because we’re already saving up for future therapy bills.
So in your short, yet very long three years, you have most definitely completed our family. Aside from possibly adding in new animals down the road, we’ve reached our limit. That’s not to say you’ve been awful, quite the contrary; why would we add in another when we ended on a high note?
And I’m okay with the fact that I have another two years before I can do some serious Netflix binges or whatever else I’ll be doing during the day, because we have a lot of adventures coming our way. You’re very lucky to be the last kid. I now see what life is like to have most of my kids away at school and I miss them, so we have to make sure to end your toddler years with a bang. I’m seeing hikes and day trips in our future complete with a single jogger so we can fly.
I never imagined in all my wildest dreams that I’d ever be a mother to four kids, but here we are. And we’ve got our stuff together. You are by and far the greatest surprise I have ever received. Even more than the Skip-It I got for Easter when I was 8. That thing was awesome.
If I could wish anything for you, it would be to continue to look up to your siblings. While you do in fact have large steps to follow, that’s not what I’m getting at. Let them teach you and show you and help you – But don’t let them do for you. You, at three years old, are already more capable than I had ever imagined. The world is yours, anything you want to be or do, you can. How do I know this? Because, dear daughter, you are half me and half your dad, and we work hard and have overcome some big stuff, so we know that there’s no stopping you.
Go out there and smile, and be brave, and be kind, because by just doing those things you could possibly change the world for someone. It may just be you.
You said to me the other day that as soon as you turned 5, you didn’t need naps anymore. Just let you go being awake all day, and it’ll be just fine.
So we tried it out, and for two days you were the grumpiest, most tired little human. You weren’t very pleasant to be around, you know. So we instead came to the understanding that naps during the week days are good, weekend naps are optional. You seem okay with that.
Except when you’re not.
Now that you’re five, when you introduce yourself anywhere we go, it’s “Hi! I’m Maelie. I’m five! I’m going to kindergarten this year!” But before that, on the day you turned 5, you couldn’t understand why we were dropping you off at preschool.
“MOM. DAD. I’m FIVE now. Why am I still in preschool?”
Of course explaining it to you, that while you may be five now, you can’t just jump into the middle of the school year, you looked at me like I had ten heads, and seemed mildly irritated, but you shrugged your shoulders and marched off to school.
There are about a million things I want to tell you, but you already know them. From the moment you were born, you’ve been that child of mine that has a natural understanding of everything. And while, of course, I have to still stop and explain things to you, most times I’m halfway through explaining and you’re all, “Yup, mom, I’m good now, got it,” and run off while I’m standing there thinking, but do you?
You probably do.
Despite the fact that I have to remind you at least 20 times a day to put the cat down, or brush your hair, or not to leave your shoes in the middle of the floor, or for god’s sake put the cat down, you know your stuff. It took you all of 5 minutes to figure out how to play Monkey Math and now I can ask you basic math questions and you fire them back as quickly as I ask them.
You also, have gained my awesome skills of memorization. However, remember that memorizing a word doesn’t mean you can read it. Seriously. Learn from me. I figured that out the hard way.
But I do love your ‘reading’ of Captain Underpants. Your animation and different voices for different characters is probably the best part.
You have also learned to be a very good big sister. One thing was for sure, well before Audrey, you never acted like the youngest. You needed someone to boss around. Now, Audrey really doesn’t like being bossed, so you have figured out how to get her to do things she otherwise wouldn’t want to do, simply by making it seem as though she came up with the brilliant plan. You especially stick to that story when I don’t think it’s a very brilliant plan and yell.
You’re always singing or dancing or ‘being fabulous.’ It’s rare that you’re ever in a bad mood. I mean, you can be, and when you are, watch out, but usually you’re all smiles and positivity.
I learn a lot about you just by watching what you do. You’re very social, but don’t mind playing alone. When someone says something mean to you, you typically shrug it off. Especially your brother. You don’t take much personally, you just smile and go about your day. There are times I wish I could be more like you. Your directness and your lack of caring what other people think. I mean, I know you’re only five, but at this point, most kids get upset when someone isn’t nice to them. Not you. You find someone else to play with instead. To heck with them, then.
I love you, Maelie. From the movement I met you, I have loved you. With your big eyes and even bigger personality, you have a way of naturally lighting up a room simply by being present.
Every year I say this, and every year I mean this:
You’re the sweetest, most incredible little five year old I know. Please don’t ever change. You can grow, but don’t change who you are. Because as I always say, Miss Mae, who you are is my very favorite thing.
Happy (belated) birthday.
In a time of loss, I’m often reminded of the finality of it all. There’s no take backs once you die. When it’s someone older than you, you suddenly realize that you’ve never known a day without that person in your life, no matter how close the relationship was. Fact is, once someone dies, the world continues on, and it’s the living that has to figure out how to continue on without them.
I have bear witness to that moment when the soul leaves the body, the time when patients have been so far gone they begin to mutter to things they see in their mind, past spouses and parents, saying they are coming home. I have been the one to call a family member saying they need to come soon. I have been the person to have that family member sign the authorization for release of the body form. I have bathed the bodies postmortem and prepared them for the morgue. I’m good at being that person. I find that death isn’t scary when the dying is ready for it. However, I’m also detached from the situation. I’m a professional. So in that aspect, death is all in a day’s work, no matter how hard the loss may be to the family. I fill out my forms, say all the necessary pleasantries, and clock out at the end of the day.
But still, as I stand there in the room where life was once present, I can’t help but wonder, where do we go?
Last month, Matt’s grandma passed. We knew it was coming, and everyone was able to see her once more before she went, but the family was still heartbroken.
It’s then, when someone dies, that you suddenly realize how much you really didn’t know about a person. You find the obituary to be incredibly informative. And then you wonder, should you have known more? Taken more time? Called more often?
I have known and seen loss many times in my life both professionally and personally. I know not a day goes by that I don’t wish I could talk to my friends just one more time, but the truth is, I don’t even know what I’d say.
Today, and every day, the world loses amazing people. Most of the time, we never see it coming. So I guess the point I’m trying to make is, talk to them now, while you can. Make a point to meet for a quick lunch. Even a stupid emoji text is enough to let someone know you love them, or at least that you care.
Today I am mourning for my sister’s loss. And if she happens to read this, I hope she knows that she was the best granddaughter a woman could have ever asked for. You always called and wrote and visited. You were exactly the woman your grandma hoped you would be. Don’t question if you didn’t do enough. You were perfect. She loved you the best.
My heart hurts. Every day it hurts. When I think of the first graders murdered in their classrooms. When a video about children refugees doing what their parents tell them to, as they flee a war-torn country. When I read articles about students with lunch debts having their lunches tossed or getting cheese on bread as a meal. It hurts.
It hurts every day that I see someone posting a hate-driven article with mostly incorrect facts as law, without fact checking for themselves. That people call other people who are here illegally, “illegals” instead of human beings. That women are being called whores and murderers when they seek a safe abortion for reasons that are only their business.
It hurts when I see on the news about a dog being abused, choked, muzzle duct taped shut, or starved. When I read about a cat being used as a chew toy and having rocks thrown at it by children. When people spend thousands of dollars at a breeder when there are thousands of animals awaiting for homes for less than 200 dollars.
When I hear about kids being made fun of for what they wear, when they can’t help that their parents can’t afford something different. When the elementary school has to send out backpacks every Friday to some kids filled with food for the weekend, because that’s the only meal they’ll get until school is back in session on Monday. When a child is bullied because they read or write their words backwards. (I feel for you, kid.)
I get sad at the hypocrisy of it all. The couch warriors who retweet hateful things, repost a meme that spews anger and lies, and yet do nothing to make it better. Just bitch about it for the sake of bitching, and then feed off their friends who are also bitter about it, and further feed the cancer of hate. And the comment section on most any post about anything is just a mess. “Here’s a really extreme one case situation that makes my point for me, that’s probably false anyway,” pretty much sums it up, as my friend said to me.
It’s enough to make me want to swear off all of social media. But I don’t, and I won’t.
In my life I have chosen to surround myself with people who are doers. And even if they aren’t so much doers, they are listeners to all sides and fact checkers. People who make it their life’s mission to save animals, help the homeless, donate time to the less fortunate, or, at the very least, shut up when they need to. See something offensive or something that they don’t agree with? They keep scrolling. It’s not the end of the world.
I don’t know where I’m going with all of this. My head is swimming with all the things I’ve seen in my life, and I wonder if life has always been this way, and I’m just now noticing it, or if it’s really this polarized anymore. Why do people have so much hate in their hearts? Why do people care so much about what other people do in their lives? Why is it so necessary to tell the whole world, via a very hurtful meme, what you think? Would you say this to someone’s face? Would you look them in the eyes and say, “I think that you are a horrible person because you are ______ (gay, getting an abortion, trying to flee a war, are poor, need medical assistance, food stamps, rehab…)”
I often have my kids look people in the eye when they are talking. I remind them every day – especially when giving an apology. I don’t know how many times I have to say, “Look at your sibling. Do you see how sad they are? You need to see this, because it’s right in front of you.”
Now, people can text each other awful things and they don’t see the other person’s reaction; Someone posts something hateful on the internet and they don’t see how it personally affects someone else. I have stopped myself so many times recently by asking myself, “Would you say that to their face? Would you stand by your comment in person?”
I’m just frustrated.
But I’m thankful for my friends who save animals, help kids, are kind to strangers, help their neighbor, look out for each other, pull together in times of need, and post really cute cat videos. It helps take away some of the hurt.
Believing you can change is a hard thing. I’ve been doing the same workout routine for years, and I *hate* having my schedule disrupted. But I started noticing that I was kind of stuck on a plateau. I wasn’t getting weaker, but I wasn’t getting stronger. After having had five years and four pregnancies, I was used to seeing that dramatic change of weight loss or toning up. Now, done having kids, my body hasn’t really caught on to the fact that I’m not about to get pregnant again. It’s still hanging on.
My pants fit fine, the number on the scale is okay, but I was hoping for more. I’m not looking to be 0% body fat but getting rid of the baby pouch would be awesome. I know it can happen. I’ve seen friends who have had multiple children rid of it with their own exercise routines, so I know it’s doable. I just have to actually sort of care and not just go through the motions.
A few weeks before Thanksgiving, I started getting into running again. Not just a once and a while thing, but actually making it a plan in my day. I would often tell myself that I workout enough; why would I need to add more, and won’t I be tired?
Turns out, no. No I won’t be. In fact, I feel so much better. So on Thanksgiving, I started a challenge where you must run a mile or more, every day, until Christmas. And I have. Every day.
Funny thing is, it has actually made me a better athlete all around. How so? Well, when I run before I teach spin, I’m already warm, so I can put on a lot more resistance, therefore getting a better workout. I’ve noticed it in my teaching style, that when I’m working even harder than normal, the members in turn work harder. If I give a little extra, then it makes it easier for them to want to also give a little more.
When I run after I teach Pump, my legs are ready for me to go faster. I don’t have to go through that first mile of my muscles groaning with effort. It’s effortless.
I’ve done this challenge all completely on the treadmill so I could see definite progress. I wanted to have actual facts to back up my work. When I started, I would start out running at an average 9:30-10 minute pace, gradually increasing it until I got uncomfortable. Now, as of today, I start out at a 8-8:30 pace, and usually do my last mile or half mile in the sub 7 range.
What does that mean? It means progress.
On Wednesday and Fridays, I run after Pump and usually there’s this delightful senior named Carl, a retired school teacher, who is walking on the treadmill at the same time.
A few weeks ago, I was complaining that my legs were tired, so I jogged at an easy 9 minute pace for the 20 minutes that we typically are at the treadmills for and chatted about his wife’s upcoming surgery. Last week, I put it on my new regular speed, and Carl looked and said, “Well, you were looking for improvement. I think you found it!” And then we chatted about her recovery from surgery.
He’s definitely been a good cheerleader. Especially when he wasn’t there one day and instead of doing my usual 20 minutes, I cut it out when I hit the 2 mile mark at 16ish minutes. Could I have run for another 4 minutes? Probably. But my biggest downfall is my weak mind during physical activity.
I suppose, when looking at the big picture, that’s why I enjoy group fitness so much. I need the motivation of others to really pull me through a hard workout.
I find that I’m not alone in this. One of the biggest things I’ve seen when teaching is people not trusting themselves and being afraid to try a little bit more. Especially in spin. For anyone that has never done a spin class before, let me just say, of all the cardio I’ve ever done in my life (and I’ve done a lot) it’s the hardest. For me, it’s hard because I hate to fail, and so if my legs find muscle failure and I slow down, I feel as though I’ve failed the instructor or members. But in reality, to find that muscle failure or at least that burning fatigue, is a wonderful thing to achieve. I’m constantly preaching to anyone who will listen that it’s good to fail. It’s good to find that awful, uncomfortable, takes your breath away, muddies your brain and makes you want to yell feeling once and a while. For me, it reminds me that I’m alive and strong and capable of almost anything.
There’s a person who takes RPM with me every Monday night. She’s exactly the kind of person you want to have in your class; energetic, hard working, motivating. She works out front and center and watches my feet and speed like her life depends on it. And because she’s there, watching, working, I work twenty times harder. She’s been in the game a long time, and she knows when/if an instructor doesn’t have the proper resistance on. She knows if you’re slacking. She watches your form, she watches your speed, and she watches your face.
In the beginning I thought it was because I was being judged, but in reality, she and I are very much alike in that, we need someone to be honest and kicking ass to really find our own peak potential.
And maybe a little judgement. But whatever.
So basically, I found something in my life that was stale, I had to get a little uncomfortable, but here I am, a few weeks later looking out from the other side and I’m happy I suffered a little bit to get here. Nothing worth having is easy, I’ve noticed. Kids, marriage, dogs, health. But I suppose when I see the effort that I’ve put forward into all of those things, I appreciate it that much more.
Have a very Merry Christmas, everyone.