Ty's Journey

If you're looking for funny, this post ain't it. Sorry. I'll get back to my hilarious pretty funny mildly entertaining posts once things have calmed down a bit around here. But I'm coming off a pretty intense weekend that began with Ty's "big" doctor's appointment, limped along in the reality of my insanely whiny children and my absent husband, and is ending with a filthy house and a critical lack of rest. To top it off, my husband's grandmother - an absolutely amazing woman who has been a profound spiritual influence in my life - is in her final days of hospice. I've done a lot of crying this weekend.

(I know. Not funny. But at least I gave you a fair warning.)

My focus at this particular moment, though, is my son. This post is mostly for friends who know about Ty's situation. Not many of you out there in blog land know what he's been dealing with, because I think I've only written one post about it. And that's mostly because his situation is what it is. He's not dealing with a terminal illness or anything as scary as that. He was just born with a birth defect that seemed to be, for a long time, one that we could deal with. Only lately, it's demanding more and more of our time and attention. You're welcome to read on, if you'd like. I'll describe the initial steps of Ty's journey pretty quickly:

When he was born, the nurse told me that it appeared Ty's left arm was badly bruised from the rather traumatic delivery. When I looked at his arm, it was bruise-colored from his shoulder to his middle finger joints. The "bruise" was still there two weeks later, and my pediatrician told me that it was probably a port wine stain. He sent me on to a pediatric dermatologist who waffled a bit on the diagnosis and sent me on to Dr. K (the doctor I referenced in my previous post and the man I hope to never, ever see again!). Dr. K didn't really care what it was called; he just wanted to get rid of the discoloration and went to town zapping it with a laser. After two sessions, I vowed to never go back.

At that point, Ty was almost four months old. His left arm was nearly twice the size of his right, was a dark purple / red, and was covered in numerous lesions. The next doctor we saw - a highly recommended pediatric plastic surgeon - called it a hemangioma, and said that the tumor was outgrowing its blood supply, hence the ulcerations. Ty underwent three laser surgeries with Dr. Joe. Although Ty didn't have to be awake this time around, Dr. Joe was much more aggressive, and each surgery left Ty's arm mottled with burn marks for weeks after the procedure. I finally told Dr. Joe that I needed a break.

Everything seemed fine for awhile after that. Ty's ulcerations healed and the discoloration of his arm was much less pronounced. I never noticed it unless someone out in public asked me what was wrong with my boy's arm. I'm not a fan of nosy people, but to keep things simple I said it was a birthmark.

After several months, we were back at the doctor for Ty's 2-year check. Dr. P, our pediatrician, paid special attention to Ty's arm. And during his exam, we both noticed a big problem at the same time: Ty's left arm was significantly longer than his right. Dr. P sent me back to Dr. Joe, who sent me on to Dr. Al, a hand and upper extremity surgeon. Dr. Al diagnosed Ty with an AVM, or Arterio-Venous Malformation, which is basically a tumor caused by an abnormal collection of blood vessels. His first goal was to determine if the tumor was "high-flow" or "low-flow." After a lengthy and sedated MRI, the radiologist told us that Ty's AVM is low-flow. Praise God. With a high-flow AVM, the result is more often than not amputation of the limb.

At this point, things suddenly felt much more serious. Obviously, Ty overcame a huge hurdle just in passing this "test": he won't lose his arm. But I'm beginning to realize that Ty's arm isn't just some birthmark or mild defect I can casually refer to as his "lucky fin" (the Finding Nemo reference I'd started using). We're facing some pretty serious stuff now.

If I haven't lost you yet, here's where things stand:

- Ty has a low-flow AVM. The tumor cannot be surgically removed because 1) there's a high risk of significant blood loss and 2) it's nearly impossible to remove the whole thing. Chances are that it will to grow back. All we can do is periodically "de-bulk" the tumor through surgery.

- Ty's humerous (upper arm bone) is growing rapidly due to the excess blood flow. It will continue to grow at an advanced rate, and there's nothing we can do. At some point, Dr. Al will make an educated guess as to whether or not the bone has reached it's adult size and will remove the growth plate. In the end, it's hoped for that Ty will have two, reasonably proportioned arms as an adult. But he will definitely go through an awkward period during his school years.

- We consulted with a geneticist on Friday, which was the "big" appointment I referenced earlier. There are three concerns we are facing now, as a result of this appointment. 1) We did a genetic screening to see if Ty has a predisposition for developing an excess of soft tissue. If the answer is yes, he will need to have routine ultrasounds to rule out any tumors growing in and around his abdominal organs. 2) Ty will be getting an echo cardiogram and a chest / abdominal CT to see if the AVM is in anyway connected to his heart. This is our big concern right now, since the AVM is on the left-hand side of his body. 3) Since Ty has passed out several times after hitting his head, it may be necessary to do an MRI of his brain as well, to make sure that the AVM is not in any way connected to the blood vessels in his brain. I'm not thinking about that right now. We'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it.

And that's where things stand. If you made it through all that medical jargon, I'm impressed. If nothing else, it helps me to process through where we've been and where we're going. I have plenty to say about where I'm at emotionally, but I think I'll wait to get into all that. I'll just ask that, if you feel so led, you would add us to your prayer list. I'm praying specifically that 1) there is no AVM presence around his heart and that 2) Ty won't have any more episodes of passing out. If we can avoid that circumstance, then we can skip the MRI of his brain and therefore all of that additional radiation. I have other prayers I'm praying, too, but I'll just start with those.

Thanks to all of you who pray for and ask about Ty regularly. He is such a sweet and happy kid, and a tremendous blessing to our family. As I've said so many times before, we just weren't complete until he came along!

Blessings,

Boy, Oh Boy

As one of three sisters and a mother of three girls, I feel like I have a pretty good handle on what makes girls tick. And I'm pretty sure it's hormones. But two years ago we added a son to the mix, and I think I'm discovering what makes boys tick. And I'm pretty sure it's hormones. One hormone, really.

My mom - who actually has time to read books like Dobson's Bringing Up Boys - was recently describing to me the "testosterone bath" that my boy's brain is apparently swimming in. Supposedly all this testosterone causes my son to come up with spectacularly insane ideas, but blocks the concept of consequences. Hence, the problem I've encountered lately with "dangling."

The first time Ty dangled was shortly after his 2nd birthday. Ella came running inside from the backyard yelling, "Mommy! Hurry! Ty can't get down!" I dashed outside to find my son dangling from the monkey bars of our outdoor play set. They're roughly 7-feet off the ground and Ty was hanging on for dear life. As I ran up to catch him, he looked over at me and whimpered, "Stuck."

"Yep, you're stuck alright, kiddo. Let's not do that again."

" 'K, Mommy."

One week later I walked into the twins' room and saw this same child dangling from the top bunk of the bunk beds. His little legs were swinging around, his feet looking for purchase. He looked around as I gasped and said, "Mommy. Stuck."

Since then, I've found him dangling from several precarious spots - the bunk beds again, countless play sets, and in one heart-stopping instance, the top of the pantry shelves. Each time he sums up his experience: "Stuck." Unfortunately though, dangling is not the worst of my problems.

A few weeks ago I was upstairs folding laundry in my bathrobe. The kids were hanging out downstairs watching "Max and Ruby" and essentially enjoying a sick day when the doorbell rang. I don't usually answer the door in that particular state of undress, but curiosity got the better of me. I opened the door to a woman I'd never met before holding Ty in her arms.

"Um, is this your son?"

She gathered from my ghost-white face and my inability to speak that she had, indeed, found the boy's mother. As it turns out, Ella had been inspired a few minutes before to put some of her artwork in our mailbox. During her foray into the front yard, Ty slipped out the door and started up the street towards a friend's house. A woman happened to be driving by at the time, and correctly assumed that I was not wise to the child's absence. She watched him make his way past a few houses, and then intervened.

The next person to bring Ty home was the Orkin Man - who really is the hero those commercials make him out to be. This time, I have no idea how Ty got out. I'm just thankful that our exterminator recognized him.

After that escape - which siphoned about 10 years off my life expectancy - I made an emergency call to my dad, who came over the next day with every locking device under the sun. Now every cabinet, closet, and door is equipped with child-proof locks. This solution may be short-lived, however, since my two-year old boy appears to be the master of escape. I thought that reversing the lock on his door would keep him in his room at night, but using a stool and his trusty plastic screwdriver, he managed to pop the lock three nights in a row. After that, I added a slide lock up at the top. Ty discovered through trial and error that by kicking the door, he can eventually get the lock to slip. Then he pops the second lock with his screwdriver and is out the door.

I won't lie. I am terrified of what this boy will eventually be able to accomplish. How long will his brain will be sitting in that bath of testoterone? It almost makes me anxious for my girls' estrogen-soaked teen years.

Almost.

Because Self-Esteem is Overrated

In an effort to help Ella make new friends, I recently arranged a play date for her and a little girl from school. Ella really seems to like her, but the jury is still out for me, thanks to the following conversation:

Ella's new "friend" asked me, "Did you know your ceiling has a big crack in it?"

"Um... yes."

"Why does it have a crack?"

"Well, as houses get older and settle they sometimes get cracks." Ever the consummate teacher, I continued, "You know how people get wrinkles when they get older? Houses are the same way." (In this case the consummate teacher needed to shut up. Don't worry. You'll see why.)

"I don't have wrinkles."

"That's because you're still young."

"But you have a LOT of wrinkles."

I didn't have the time, or the words, to reply before she went on.

"Ella, should we take our shoes off?"

"Only if we're careful not to step in the dirt."

"Ewwww! You have dirt in your house?!"

"Oh yes, lots of it. Just look at the floor!"

The jury may still be out as far as I'm concerned, but something tells me these two are going to be fast friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to make a quick call to my therapist. And Merry Maids.

Remembering a Little of Life BC (Before Children)

I was a lot of things in my past life: daughter, wife, teacher, friend, seamstress, bookworm...

And then I had a baby.

And then another.

And another.

And yes, another.

Obviously I'm still a few of the things I once was, as my parents haven't disowned me (to my knowledge) and my husband hasn't left me (would I notice if he did?). But now that I've added "Mother" to the list, there's just not much time left in the day to teach, read, sew, or pursue friendships.

Until this week anyway, which reminded me a little of the woman I was BC (Before Children).

So first things first: I'm a teacher again!!!

Can I tell you what a shock it is to type those words? Just two weeks ago, my husband and I were praying about school for next year. We knew our budget wouldn't allow all four kids to attend private pre-school, but we really felt led to enroll them anyway. The day after I delivered their applications to the school, I got a call from a principal I used to work for who now runs a homeschool program. One of their teachers is having some health problems, and he was wondering if I would be willing to finish out the year for her. It's one day a week of teaching 7-8 grade English - an my salary is the exact cost of the kids' pre-school.

Isn't God good?

I've had the best time this week buying my school supplies and writing up lessons plans. It's refreshing to be doing something I love so passionately, without feeling like I'm neglecting the needs of my family. Of course, I'm totally terrified of not being able to balance everything, but that's another blog for another day.

Since I'm back in the classroom again, it only seemed appropriate to get a new "teacher bag". Convenient timing, since my dear friend Rachel and I had a sewing retreat planned for this past weekend. It was a wonderful three days of friendship-building, sewing, reading, and sleeping in. And I thought you all might like to see the results (because people in blogland seem to love posts like this). Anyway...

Ta-da! My new teacher bag:



Excuse the poor photo quality. I took some quickie shots just to give you an idea of what we did.


These are the 3 dresses I made for my three little girls:




This one is Evie's, with the green panel in the center:

This one is Ella's - I kept it solid pink all the way around, to make hers a little different from the twins':

This one is Emily's - it's the reverse of Evie's, so the skirt panels are swapped, and the bodice and strap fabric's are reversed:

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

OK, enough of that now.

They did turn out a little big, but they actually look really cute worn as smocks over shirts and jeans. That should get us through the cold weather, anyway. By summer, they should be just right as sundresses the girls can run around in at church.

It was so much fun to finally start - and finish - some sewing projects, and Rachel and I are hoping to do it again soon. My hubby is on his way to the Grand Canyon tomorrow for a week of mountain-man backpacking, soI figure he owes me big. Plus, he knows that it feeds my soul to re-connect with that BC woman every once in awhile.

It gives me the strength to spend a whole week, alone, with my four children.

Diary Excerpts: The Making of a Christmas Card

November 26, 2009

Dear Diary,

Wow! Where did the month go? I can't believe it's Thanksgiving already, and I haven't started on our Christmas cards. I don't even have a family picture yet. I mean, I guess we could use that one of us at the beach, but none of the kids are looking at the camera and Ella's eyes are all puffy and red from crying and the hubby's smile looks a little forced and... Yeah. It was a bad hair day. Maybe I should give Andrea a call and see if she can shoot our family portrait this weekend. Speaking of which, I should give her another shameless plug on my blog - if I ever actually post again, that is. Man, the holidays are crazy...

November 29, 2009

Dear Diary,

Well, we had our family pictures taken today. Actually, in the interest of expediency, we had our family pictures taken, our 10-year anniversary pictures taken, Ty's 2-year old pictures taken, and the twins' 4-year old pictures taken. Too bad we ran out of time; I really want to get the Halloween pictures taken before the girls ruin their fairy costumes. Although judging by the condition those fairy wings, it's probably too late anyway. (Note to self: Figure out if that is dirt or mold...)

Anyway, the process didn't go as smoothly as one might imagine. For starters, I forgot to do the laundry last night, so the twins' sweaters were dirty. And Ella's sweater was too small. And Ty's outfit didn't match. And neither did mine. And we were totally running late. Which is the only reason we didn't stop at the store to buy new matching outfits for the six of us. Well that, and the fact that my husband was looking at me as if I'd gone certifiably insane. Frankly, I don't think it's insane to want everybody to match exactly, but whatever.

Even with a photographer and two assistants, the shoot was more torturous that an afternoon of waterboarding. Apparently, the phrase "Look at the camera and smile!" is understood in a child's brain as "Look anywhere but here, and tears would be great if you've got 'em". Seriously, someone should do a study...

Of course, it didn't help that there were like ten other families in the park getting their Christmas pictures done at the same time. I'd like to think that they're all just procrastinators like me. But since everybody matched, they'd probably just spent the last two weeks coordinating their outfits. Not looking so insane now, am I Diary?

December 9, 2009

Dear Diary,

Andrea got our family pictures edited and turned around in no time. She's a miracle worker. Apparently children can look away from the camera making odd faces, and a pro can still come up with pictures like these:

The "We've-Been-Married-Almost-10-Years-and-the-Kids-Haven't-Killed-Us-Yet" Shot

Emily and Evie's 4-Year Old Picture

(They turned 4 on December 6, 2009!)

Ty's 2-Year Old Picture

(He turned 2 on December 11, 2009!)

Ella's 5 1/2-Year Old Picture (She turned 5 on July 14, 2009, because once upon a time I actually PLANNED my pregnancies!)

I'm surprised I can say it after that hideous afternoon in the park, but I'm really happy with our family pictures. In fact, I've got one picked out for our Christmas card! I'm taking it in tomorrow to get it printed up.

December 10, 2009

Dear Diary,

In the letters of this texting generation: O... M... G... I'm never going back to that camera store again.

It started out fine. I found a parking spot right out front - though in the interest of keeping the sheriff's department happy, I had to drag everybody out of the car and into the store with me.

Which is when things started to fall apart...

I do not make quick decisions. I'm a perfectionist. You know that, Diary - I write about it all the time. It's just who I am. So chaining me to a computer with 3 of 4 my kids running around, and telling me to pick out my own picture and card design? Stress-FULL. First of all, there were 435 pictures on my disk. And I couldn't remember which one I'd picked. Of course within the first 2 minutes of my hunting and pecking, the kids had knocked over no less than 3 picture frames and a stool. In a panic (and with no sheriff's car in sight), I hauled everybody back out the van, gave them some books to look at, and locked them in. Luckily, my great parking spot kept them in my line of sight.

I ran back in, picked a random picture, and then started flipping through the designs. Would you believe I found a design that matched our brown, red, cream, and light blue attire? Yeah, neither would I - but I actually did! That was the only thing that went right, though, since as I was printing off my order I happened to look outside and notice Evie in the front seat of the car.

Naked.

I grabbed the receipt and ran out the car, where my naked child greeted me with a shriek of, "I HAVE TO GO POTTY!" Why this required her nudity, I have no idea. But her sister was not about to be left behind and started stripping down as well. As soon as everyone was re-clothed, I hauled them back into the camera shop and asked if we could use the bathroom.

It turns out that the bathroom is also their storage closet. Or vice versa. Either way, kill me now.

I HATE public restrooms.

As if all that wasn't enough, Emily needed help getting her seat belt fastened. Or she did until I climbed back there to help her - by then she'd already clipped it. Being the ballerina that I am, though, I tripped over my own feet and fell out of the car, landing on my sciatic nerve. No big deal, though. I just had to lay in a crumpled heap on the parking lot until the feeling came back to my right leg.

(Seriously, kill me now.)

December 11, 2009

Dear Diary,

I had to go back to pick up my pictures today. I hope nobody recognized me.

December 15, 2009

Dear Diary,

It's nearly midnight, but all of my Christmas cards are stuffed, addressed, and stamped. Well actually, I ran out of stamps half-way through, but I'll get around to picking up more. Whew. Feels good to have that done.

December 16, 2009

Dear Diary,

Emily un-stuffed all the envelopes.

December 17, 2009

Dear Diary,

I sent out the stamped half of my cards today. I wish I'd had time to write a letter this year, but the hubby put his foot down and actually said "no". He seems to think this project is is consuming me.

Whatever.

January 4, 2010

Dear Diary,

I found a stack of Christmas cards this morning when I was cleaning out the office. Did I forget to buy stamps?

January 5, 2010

Dear Diary,

I'm posting a blog today if it kills me. If people didn't get a Christmas card from me this year, the least I can do is post a picture.

On second thought, maybe I'll get around to it tomorrow.

Calling Poison Control: The Evolution of Motherhood

Want to know where you are on the evolutionary chain of motherhood?* Read the following descriptions, and choose the one that best describes you as a mother. Then, leave a comment and let me know, "Which mom are you?"

Early Neanderthal Mom: (The evolutionary process has barely even begun.)

You're a first-time mom, and your brand-new bundle of joy knocks over an open container of baby powder. Powder goes flying towards your baby's open mouth and you go into full-on mom panic mode. You grab the baby, the powder, and the portable phone and run to the kitchen, where the Poison Control number is taped to your refrigerator. Hearing the hysteria in your first-time mother's voice, the Poison Control operator quickly assures you that the 1/8 tsp. of cornstarch-based powder that your baby just licked off her lips will not adversely affect her in any way.

Still Neanderthal Mom: (You haven't learned much, but there's hope for you yet.)

You're still a first-time mom, and your newly-mobile 7-month old discovers the kitty's cat food. She dumps it out, stirs it around, and then places the food piece by piece back into the bowl... until she gets hungry and decides to help herself to a snack. You pick up the little darling a few minutes later, smell the faint scent of tuna on her breath, and freak out. You run to the junk drawer and frantically dig out the list of emergency numbers. A Poison Control operator soon assures you that food considered safe for kitty consumption is likewise safe for small children (although it is not recommended by the FDA).

Cromagnon Mom: (A big evolutionary leap, but you've still got a ways to go.)

You're suddenly the overworked, under rested mother of four children 3 and under. The bigger house you were forced to upgrade into is mostly baby-proofed, but lately you're noticing a few places that you overlooked - like the kids' changing table. You walk into the bathroom after nursing Baby #4 and see your other three children brushing their teeth. This is not completely traumatic until you realize that they mistook the diaper rash cream for toothpaste. You race downstairs to find a phone, then dial 4-1-1 to get the Poison Control number. The Poison Control operator asks you a series of questions that make you feel increasingly like a bad mother, and then determines that while the zinc oxide might make them a bit nauseous, your children will be generally unharmed by their oral hygiene experiment.

Early Modern Mom: (You're almost there!)

Baby #4 is now walking, and loves to open all of the drawers in your bathroom. Although technically "baby-proofed," most of the cheap plastic child locks have broken off your cabinets and your adventurous baby is having a free-for-all. He locates a bottle of Dramamine in one of the drawers and quickly dispenses with the child-proof cap. You walk in just in time to find him on the floor surrounded by an empty bottle and seven pills. According to the label, the bottle holds eight. You can't remember if you took a pill on your last cruise or not. The boat was a little rocky, but you can't specifically recall any sea-sickness. You wait 15 minutes until the mother-guilt piles up, then walk downstairs and dig through the pantry for last year's phone book. You finally find the number for Poison Control, answer a series of questions that once again remind you what a lousy parent you are, and listen while the operator instructs you to watch for signs of sleepiness. You are just wrapping up the call when Baby #4 goes sprinting by in a monkey mask, with his three sisters in hot pursuit. You remember now that you probably were a tad sea sick during that last cruise, and decide to ignore the operator's advice about waking up Baby #4 every hour or so through the night.

Modern Mom: (Congratulations... I think.)

You have officially given up on the child-proof locks, and now keep cleaning chemicals like Febreeze out in the open and close on hand - because the smell of your kid's dirty diaper is far more deadly than a whiff of "Clean Scent." Unfortunately, Baby #4 is a climber and can usually get at whatever he wants. Plus, he loves to know how things work. You see it coming, but as fast as you sprint up those stairs, he still manages to shoot himself in the face with air freshener. At this point, you're pretty sure that Big Brother has you on a list somewhere, and that yet another call to Poison Control will result in a visit from DFACS. You read the warning labels on the back of the Febreeze canister, acknowledge that perhaps those warning labels really are there to serve an actual purpose, and dunk your kid in the bathtub to both "flush out the affected eye" and rinse the scent of air freshener from his hair. Then you put him to bed, confident that despite your lack of medical knowledge, his vision will not be affected by this little incident.

So tell me, "Which mom are you?"

*The evolutionary chain of motherhood is actually a hoax. In truth, mothers are created by God. And it is only by His grace that my children remained healthy through all five of the above scenarios...

The Headless Sprinting Chicken

Anybody else out there reading Deadly Viper: Character Assassins byMike Foster and Jud Wilhite?

Anybody out there want to slap me right now for admitting I have time to read?

Well before you hurt me, I should let you know two things:

1. Deadly Viper: Character Assassins is essentially a "bathroom read." You can pick it up during your 30 seconds or so of time in the loo, and get a good couple of pages read. If you have earplugs, you might even get a full minute of privacy - so long as you can't hear the children knocking on the door asking, "Mo-ommy! What are you do-oing?!?" (Or am I just projecting my own experiences?)

2. I've only read two of the six chapters, and the ones I read were in the middle of the book. Yeah, that's just how I roll.

Anyway, one of the two brilliant chapters I had "time" to read a few weeks ago is called The Assassin of the Headless Sprinting Chicken. It's all about how the concept of "balance" is essentially bunk; that we will never be able to have a morning quiet time every morning, eat everything just right, exercise everyday, drink 64 oz. of water before bedtime, create perfectly happy and well-behaved children, and still slip into bed at night looking like a Victoria's Secret model.

OK I took a few liberties with my synopsis, but you get the point: Balance is bunk. Instead of being a healthy - albeit flawed - person who can roll with life's punches, I'm more like a headless sprinting chicken running around trying to achieve perfection through the illusion of a balanced life.

And yes - that about sums up my experiences of late. I have been absolutely CLOBBERED by the Assassin of the Headless Sprinting Chicken. In trying to be all things by doing all things for all of the people around me, I have failed myself miserably. I'm living off daily drive-thru Cokes and the occasional pack of chicken nuggets, but I can't tell you the last time I sat down to eat. I get out of breath cleaning my house, because it seems like every time I turn around all of the stuff that is supposed to be upstairs is downstairs, and all of the stuff that is supposed to be downstairs is upstairs. My 5-year old's pre-K homework has been late for two weeks in a row. (And come to think of it, so has she.) I can't remember the last time I prayed for myself, my husband, or my children. And to save my life, I can't seem to swallow the happy pill we all know I need.

The plane is going down, and every one's wearing an oxygen mask but me.

So what's the answer? According to the Deadly Viper authors, "LEAD YOURSELF. NO ONE ELSE WILL" (93).

Wilhite goes on to spell it out on p. 94: "I am responsible to lead myself, to ensure that I'm resting, learning, growing, and bringing my very best self to the job every day. I'm the only one who knows what my emotional, physical, and spiritual gauges are telling me and I've got to listen to them. I am responsible for my own self-care, growth, and development."

Ouch.

Basically, everybody else is wearing their oxygen mask because I've placed it on them. But the instruction we've heard the flight attendant give a thousand times before is to place the mask on ourselves first. I realized last week that I'm no good to my family right now, because I've been so busy caring for them that I've forgotten to give any thought to myself. All I'm really doing is running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

Of course, I'm writing all of this down "pre-solution." I really don't know what I'm going to do to start taking better care of myself. I know that writing is somehow therapeutic for me, so I suppose this post is a step in the right direction. I'm hoping that the bowl of cereal I'm going to go eat in a second isn't too bad either. Perhaps I'll even get out of the house for a bit on this beautiful day, and just take a few minutes to enjoy the time before it passes me by.

On that note, let me share one final bit of encouragement I heard last night. It's a daily devotional that was once kept in the wallet of a famous Alabama coach that my husband is NOT going to let me mention. So forget I said it, and just read the words:

This is the beginning of a new day.

God has given me this day to use as I will.

I can waste it or use it for good.

What I do today is very important because I am exchanging a day of my life for it.

When tomorrow comes, this day will be gone forever, leaving something in its place I have traded for it.

I want it to be a gain, not loss - good, not evil.

Success, not failure in order that I shall not forget the price I paid for it.

Blessings to all of you mommies out there today. Make it a good one!