Peace be with you.

Liam's birthday was last week!  Hip hip!

I kept it EXTREMELY low key this year, and that's not a lie.  My anxiety level was so high, I was about ready to call the whole thing off.  The "theme" was Toy Story Drive In.  So I borrowed a projector and my parents set up the garage as a movie theater.  I rented a popcorn machine, which I think the adults liked as much as the kids.  We made tacos to eat.  There were under 30 people there- 10 of which were little ones.  It was fun!

I planned to invite my good friend from up north- one of those people who upon the first meeting, there was some instant clicking going on.  Lots of laughter.  Talking.  Smiling.  Hugs when departing.  You know the kind- natural friendships.  So I invited her to Liam's party.  She bought train tickets.  She and I began to plan our visit.

My mother in law had other plans.

"She's not welcome.  And I couldn't possibly have a good time if I knew she was going to be there."

Really?

"I think she's loud and opinionated.  She makes me feel awkward."

Pot calling the kettle black much?

"I don't want her there."

--So what, pray tell, would you have me do?

"I don't know.  I could be the adult here, but I don't feel like it.  I don't want her there."

At this point, I erupted.  (I feel it prudent to mention I was in the bathroom at the time.  Liam was opening gifts for his ACTUAL birthday DAY, my parents were downstairs, we had just finished cake...  And for those who aren't parents, there's a little siren which goes off when kids realize their parents are on the phone.  It's much like a dog whistle...but it encourages kids to just run WILD and get into every possible thing they can get their grubby little paws on.  This requires multi tasking.  AND ANOTHER THING.  I hate talking on the phone.  Just laying there talking frustrates me to no end.  Multi-task.  The end.)

What I said went something like "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  FINE.  I'LL UN-INVITE HER."

"Well I mean I just-"

"STOP TALKING.  I SAID I'D UN-INVITE HER.  WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT?"

"I know how this sounds."

At this point, I wanted to reach through the phone and grab her.  Yes, I know how this sounds.  You are CHOOSING to make a poor decision.  "I could be an adult, but I choose not to be."  One thing my MIL loves are peace signs.  She's a grown up hippy.  But not the kind who does sit ins and rallies for the whales.  No no.  She wears peace signs.  They're on her walls.  In her art work.  On her shirts and earrings.  Peace peace peace.  Except for unwanted guests.  Except for people she decides are "not one of us."

This is like claiming "I'm pro-life!  No abortion!  Save the babies!"  And then in the next breath condemns "illegals" to get out of our country.  I'm pro-life!  Just.  Not YOUR life.

Our pastor is leaving our church.  It saddens me GREATLY because we love him and his family.  They are our best friends, quite literally.  They have three great kiddos, and we all have lots in common.  For a church who practices "peace," we're not seeing much of it.  Many times where strong opinions are voiced, the need to be heard outweighs the need to practice peace.

We went out for breakfast the other morning.  Andy ordered eggs over easy.  The waitress came to our table bearing his eggs and a terrible look on her face, "Sir.  I bumped your toast and it broke your egg yolk.  I'm SO SO SORRY.  I can take it back."  Andy looked at her and gently said, "Oh I don't care.  I'll break it myself here soon!"  She breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you so much.  You wouldn't believe how people get so upset over that."

I could choose to love refugees entering our country out of fear, but I don't want to.  They should get their papers like everyone else.  Women and children be damned.

I could choose to speak to the pastor about my concerns, but an anonymous letter seems like a more valiant way to get my point across.

I could choose to look at my waitress making minimum wage as a person and ignore my broken yolks, but, eh, she should get a better job anyway.

I could choose to be an adult, but I don't want to.

As an aside, my inlaws never made it to the party.  My MIL had a high BP and went to the ER and they found out she had strep.  She's got a medical heart issue- I'm not sure what it's called.  But high BP could be fatal.  Maybe it's time to let bygones be bygones and let go of some hate.

My friend was gracious and did not attend the party.  She changed her train ticket for Thanksgiving, which seems like an awesome time to be together with the people you love. 

Grace and Peace be with you.
(And also with you.)

It's Me! Only...better.

In the last 10 months, I have been on a quest.  Better me.  Better life.  Better family.

Move forward.  Move up.  Just move.

After the Great Barfing of 2015 (let us never forget...) life went on.  My MS remained in remission...until it flared again.  I could feel everything, it wasn't a relapse.  It's just all those ridiculous shots I was giving myself?  Yeah, not working.  Not even a little.  More lesions on my brain.

Then came the great schism of the insurance companies.  Geisinger stopped "participating" with Pinnacle.  What does that even mean?  Well for starters, I got to find all new doctors for myself AND Liam.  OBGYN to pediatrician, neurologist to PCP.  Go ahead and transfer all those files and find someone new to confide in.  You'll be fine.  You mean you've been going to the same OBGYN since you were 16?  Awww.  That's adorable.  Go ahead and find a new one.

The new neuro stared at my chest the whole time.  "My job is to keep you out of a wheel chair for as long as possible."  He so pointedly remarked.  Wheelchair?  What?  I didn't think I was that bad?  He showed me my MRI (up until now I'd never seen one) "All these white spots are lesions.  You need another medication."

My new med was proven to drop your heart rate in the first dose, so you needed to be under the care of a doctor for 8 hours to make sure if I dipped, I didn't dip too far.  And if I dipped too far...well.  Someone to bring me up again.  They came to my home and took my blood.  Blood didn't make it to the lab in time (snow storm).  Had to have it drawn again.  Then the doctor who was supposed to come the very next day to do the first dose quit.  Two weeks later, they found a new doctor.  He was a slight fellow, interesting enough to make the day progress quickly.

MuckFest came and went.  My team was wonderful this year.  This year it was different.  Last year was awesome, but this year was more...spiritual somehow.  The one member of my team, Linda, had lost her husband at Christmas.  Our pastor and his wife were on my team.  Zoi, my new aunt, was on our team.  Lives were changed.  I was in the ER with breathing issues 4 days ahead of time.  Anxiety, they said.  I believed it.

The MS Fitness Challenge came to town.  "You're signing up."  Andy told me.  So I did.  I kept making calls and filling out forms until they HAD to include me.  My trainer's name is Lydia.  She's absolutely beautiful.  (Andy says she's not his type.  Okay? Um?  Good?)  She's got gazelle-like qualities that make me feel like a 30 year old mommy with MS.  She's so incredibly nice, it makes me excited to work out with her.  I'm lifting weights like a boss.  I'm TWICE the person I was 2 years ago when I was flat on my back, unable to maneuver my leg.

6 months later, no new lesions.  No change.  "Condition stable."  To God be the glory.  See you again in 6 months to check again.

I twitch now, which is like, ugh.  Seriously?  Makes me look like some Tourettes patient.  It's not too bad, just irritating.  Gets worse when I'm nervous.  The end.

I will tell people, "MS saved my life."  And nobody gets that.  When our marriage was failing, MS stopped us in our tracks and gave us something new to fight against.  We started talking, and I mean REALLY talking.  My husband became more compassionate.  I became someone I liked again.  MS gave us a common cause.  It's "our" disease to fight.  So we fight it.  Because of MS, I was challenged to lose weight.  Lots of weight.  People see me in the grocery store and don't know me.  I say, "It's Libbie? Libbie George?"   "OH!  We didn't even recognize you!"

There's something extraordinary about being the best version of yourself you can possibly be.  It's like being me...only better.

May I Write Again?

I'm embarrassed.

Last time I wrote was the new year...January.  It's October.  This isn't the way friendships are supposed to go but...  sometimes life just picks up steam, you know?

I can't even begin to form the words to express what an amazing place I'm in right now.

Liam is three years old today.  Three.  Years.  I re-read my blog entries from his entrance in this world, and my stomach just ached.  Seems all so far away.  The majority of my friends are on baby number two!  I've held many friends through miscarriages.  I've celebrated 1st, 2nd, 3rd birthdays with all their children.  It's just been busy.

There's been times I've concocted blog entries in my head.  What I'd say to the masses about a particular subject. (Something witty and original, of COURSE!)  But honestly, who cares?  So many times a friend will post a blog entry and I'm like- blah blah blah.  Sorry.  I'm not a blog reader.  But I came back to my page here to read about my labor and I saw- over 11,000 hits.

People are reading.

So I'm coming back with my tail between my knees stating, I really really want to write again.

So I will.

Careful, mom.

Okay here's a riddle to start your new year:

What smells like puke, makes you go through half a pack of TP, and causes your out of town guests to stay longer than they wanted to?

Give up? That's okay. So did I. 

It's the GI bug, of course!! And when five adults and one toddler run through it in 48 hours, you would give up too. Did I mention we have one bathroom. Did I mention five adults. Did I mention I have a two year old who isn't well versed in the art of throwing up. 

Salvation came through a pair of these babies:

You can only listen to other people yarf for so long until you're ready to take a long run in a short gym. Speaking of gym- those are my husband's gym shorts I'm wearing. Because I own no more baggy clothing. 

When everyone left and we Rug Doctor-ed the last "just about made it"s out of our oriental rug...we knew we just needed to get out of the house. On New Year's Day, you've got slim pickins.  But we found a place with nothing but huge bouncy things like at a carnival. $9.50 per parent and Liam was free. Only thing is- people over 200lbs need not apply. 

Sigh. Welp. Glad I lost that weight. 

This amazing kid skipped the 4 and under ones and just went to the top of the biggest slides pronto. At one point, he had scaled the top of this very daunting slide and was sitting there patiently watching his 30 year old mother do her best to fling her leg over the top of this INCREDIBLY UNSTABLE blow up obstacle. "Careful, mom." He says. 

Careful, mom? Mom? What happened to, "help me, mommy!!" ??? Now he's like my mentor at the top of this carnival attraction??? Mom?

Earlier in the day I was standing in the bathroom trying desperately to do anything with my hair. Liam comes in and hugs my leg, "Happy, mommy?"

My heart melted. Yes! I am happy! You make me that way! Every day I get more attached to you and I love you more and I make you promise me you'll never grow up. But you will. And IF I've done my job correctly, my happiness and wellbeing will STILL be important to you. And BECAUSE I've done my job right, I will tell you- I'll be okay! You GO and do whatever you want! Whatever makes YOU happy! 

In the meantime...

You're going to need to go to Nana's now. Because you may be feeling better, but mommy is not. And selfies on the toilet are unbecoming. 

From my potty to yours, Happy New Year, friends. 

Christmas 2014

It started out as any normal Christmas.

Andy got home in time for the Christmas Eve service and our annual post-service-party went off without a hitch. We invited everybody, and everybody came. 

My Christmas movie uploaded and formatted successfully. All packages were wrapped carefully, Santa's milk and cookies (and one tiny carrot for Rudolph) were shoved ever so mindfully under the tree, along with a note stating "thank you for presents" scribbled lovingly over with stickers and other unintelligible pictures. 

I foraged the trail to the modest pile of gifts- plugging in the tree and turning on the music- and adding a "OH WOW HE WAS HERE!!!" Just for effect (which got an audible gasp from the second floor and a little happy dance with tiny feet).

I try not to post pictures of the gifts for FB. While people are posting "wrote this from my new iPad!" I tend to try to lose my phone and all forms of communication with anyone else but those around me. Pictures can be taken with the real camera. Video can be captured with the real video camera. In my small mind, Christmas should be quiet and intimate. 

And then my inlaws came. And Liam started throwing up and Andy broke out with a fever of 102.1 and began running the other direction. My inlaws and brother in law were held captive to a second Christmas morning consisting of "open a gift, clean up Liam's puke, open a gift, wait 20 minutes so Andy can go to the bathroom." And then my mother in law started with it. And in our tiny house with one bathroom, pure medlam broke out. 

One might say- well that escalated quickly. And one might be right. This is where you find me now. Sorta laying in bed, flannel PJ shirt, Andy's gym shorts and a plastic bag and roll of paper towels by the bed. Andy evacuated himself and Liam and his brother and went to Nana's. 

The fact of the matter is- life has a way of doing this to you. One day you're writing about all the things you must get done, and the next day none of that matters. As I was sitting in the funeral service for our dear friend Alan, they were speaking about how kind and generous of a man he was. How he used to drive 15 miles to follow his mother home from work every night, to make sure she was safe. (A revelation to her as she loudly exclaimed mid-service "I didn't know that!") One day you're planning meals and shopping for the best prices and the next day, you're just puking it all up. 

There's no ending to this post. No parting words of wisdom about prioritizing. About what really matters in life. About how when they contractor says "we could potentially put a second bathroom in here" and you're like "no, that's okay" how you should be slapped. 

It's almost the new year, so we'll count on health and well being then. In the mean time...I gotta go. 

So this is Christmas...and what have you done?

This month has gone so fast.

My husband has been out of town all month.  Literally.  He's come home for the weekends, and then back out to Pittsburgh for the remainder of the month.  Our time together this month has been spent over the FaceTime screen or on the phone, OR on whirlwind "buy everything you can as quickly as you can" Christmas shopping trips.

To say I am tired, would be a mere drop in the bucket to what I'm really actually feeling.  Everything I've done this month, I've done alone.  He can't help this, of course.  It's training for his new job- the job that pays better and has better hours than the last two jobs.  In short- this is a really really good long term thing, after a pretty crappy short term thing.

I've tried really hard not to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season.  With Andy out of retail, I didn't even visit the mall this season.  There was no mall Santa for Liam to pose with.  We went to our little hometown Santa on a whim, actually.  There were no trips to see Christmas lights- although we did go to Messicks Farm Supply to watch their "mighty machine lights" about 5 times.

I've tried really hard to make the season special for Liam.  We wrapped his gifts for his grandparents together- using masking tape instead of scotch tape, because his fingers were too small.  And after he had placed the bow gently on top of his daddy's gifts (that he painstakingly picked out at HomeGoods...)  he looked up at me with his little cherubic face and said, "Daddy be SO HAPPY for Christmastime."  Oh my goodness, I'm crying right now typing this.  If you could only see those gifts.  He picked a pack of bag clips that look like owls, a kaleidoscope from the toy department, and a pack of Reeses peanut butter cups.  A two-year-old's bounty. 

Daddy be SO HAPPY for Christmastime.

On Sunday morning, our great friend Linda found her husband face down on the floor of the bathroom.  He had apparently died during the night and she found him in the morning.  She came to church.  Hours after watching her husband be zipped into a bag and hauled off, she came to church.  Nobody could believe it.  Nobody knew what to do with her.  It was like she had the plague.  People I think were actually angry at her for coming.  But what people don't see is that she has nobody but her husband.  Linda is the epitome of a "people person."  And the church is her family.  She and Alan were always the first ones there, last ones to leave, seen with a rag and bucket cleaning up tables after socializing, bidding on items at auction fundraisers.  I mean- just everywhere.  So where do you go after you suffer a loss?  To love on your family.  It makes sense.

Daddy be SO HAPPY for Christmastime.

None of my gifts are wrapped.  I threw some of them in bags last night as I was trying to clean up, put Liam to bed (he finally gave up at 12:30, and then was up many times during the night).  This Christmas movie I'm trying desperately to make is not formatting correctly.  There's not enough room on the computer for this movie.  I'm frustrated with it.  The excitement I had for it is gone, now knowing that I have a few hours to figure something out, after I've been trying to "figure something out" for literally 48 hours now.  I downloaded $40 of new software to make it work.  Wasted two dual layer disks (at $45 a pack).  It's costing me time and money I don't have.

Daddy be SO HAPPY for Christmastime.

Tonight we're having an annual Christmas Eve party.  We have one every year.  Just a few friends, mostly far extended family.  Ten or so people tops.  Except for this year when I'm planning on 25.  And I've done it all myself.  With a broken vacuum.  And a toddler.  My inlaws are coming down directly after Christmas, so somewhere in the scuttle, I need to erect two air mattresses, complete with bedding.  Come up with some sort of food list.  Make two lasagnas for another Christmas celebration the evening of our dear friend Alan's funeral.  And I have an MRI on Friday.  Don't forget that MRI.  Because at the end of the year, my insurance is being dropped by all my doctors.

Daddy be SO HAPPY for Christmastime.

I'm missing it.  Big time.  And as I'm trying to stop and relax and pretend I don't care if stuff doesn't get done, I realize that I'm getting MORE anxious because stuff isn't getting done.  Our work Christmas party is now my baby, because they fired the girl who normally did it (thank GOODNESS.  Highlight of my year!)  But it is also causing me anxiety because the people I work with are ungrateful. 

But for my sweet little boy- Christmas is just happening all around him.  To him it's magical and wonderful.  He's excited to give the gifts he's wrapped.  He's excited about the prospect of Ho Ho, ascending from the heavens and bestowing gifts on him in some unimaginable way.  I think I'm realizing that I've been so frantic to get all this stuff done and maintain normalcy because I know how important Christmas is to a child.  And I'm Santa now.  I don't ever want him to know about the hustle and bustle and stress and anxiety surrounding this holiday, because I'm realizing now that I NEVER knew about it growing up.

What more is Christmas about?  Than a little baby boy coming to save us from our sins, and a little baby boy wrapping gifts 2000 years later to give his sweet daddy.  A daddy who has been taken away for a month, to make a better life for his family.  A man and his wife, traveling to Bethlehem to make a better life for their family. 

Daddy be SO HAPPY.  For Christmastime.

Remember that time I was a really awesome parent?

Liam celebrated 2 years of life this month.  What I really need is a shirt for him that says, "Mommy and Daddy lasted 2 whole years!"  Because this child is a daredevil.

Liam has been dabbling in the art of break dancing.  He does this little fall to the ground and spin around on his belly, and then end up on his side with his head propped on his hand and his feet crossed at the ankles.  It's really quite impressive.  He first did it in my presence at a wedding we attended last weekend.  My little, shy son went out on the dance floor by himself and just started busting a move!  It was the hit of the wedding.

Rewind to a week before his birthday.  Tuesday.  The little break dancing boy is cutting a rug, spinning around and around until he crashes, and he just grabs his arm and starts wailing.  Thankfully, this is in the presence of Nana and Daddy, and not me.  So we do what ANY awesome parent would do- we put ice on it.  Wednesday.  He falls again.  Inconsolable wailing.  Awesome parenting move #2- we put a bandaid on it.  Mind over matter?  Maybe it will work!  Thursday, he's running to grab his balloon, falls to the floor, alligator tears all over the place.  Sobbing.  Screaming.  I look at Andy- "Maybe.  It's broken?"  Awesome parenting move #3- calling the doctor at 9:30 PM- Do we take him to the ER?




Friday.  Day out of work.  Pediatrician.  X-rays.  Cast. Two week sentencing.






















So in case you're math minded, that's FOUR WHOLE DAYS we let our son run around with a broken limb.  Think about how many times I grabbed his arm to prevent him from getting into trouble.  Think about how many times I held his arm while trying to get the wash cloth in between his fingers after eating.  Think about how many times that child told me his arm hurt, and we didn't believe him.

For his birthday, I put together a Mighty Machines theme.  I pulled out all my resources.  Working in avionics, I had access to an airplane.  (I'm also tight with the man who owns the airport adjacent to my parent's property.)  Knowing a few boys with big toys, I commandeered a big rig truck with sleeper cab, a HUGE John Deere tractor with grain bin (literally the tires alone are taller than 6'4" Andy), an awesome motorcycle, and you should've SEEN the look on that child's face when the fire truck pulled in.


























Liam just kept going from one machine to the next, touching tires and blowing horns and climbing into drivers seats.  Cast and all.  At one point, I was standing at the top of my parent's property looking down at the fruits of my labor- kids playing, parents laughing, Sesame Street Radio blasting in the background...Hopefully this makes up for Awesome Parenting Moves 1-3.  But wait-who has Liam?  THAT'S RIGHT.  Nobody.  And in awesome parenting move #4, my son is scaling the tractor, trying to get in the cab.  Cast and all.  "SOMEONE GRAB LIAM!!!!"

*facepalm*

Needless to say, my boy was a champ through this whole process.  It was me running around with the saran wrap and press and seal who had the problem.  The poor boy could hardly sleep, which isn't unusual, but it was even more difficult for a boy who sleeps on his hands. 

So okay, maybe I wasn't an awesome parent.  Maybe I made a FEW mistakes.  But who doesn't?  No child leaves childhood unscathed.  It's not an excuse to be a crappy parent, but it's more of a...consolation.  Because it's very very true that behind every amazing kid, there's a mom who is pretty sure she's doing it wrong.