One Month + One Day Post Surgery

OK, I'm going to gripe.  A little bit.  And then I'm going to talk about how great I'm doing.  Because that eliminates the gripeyness, and points out the positives and then I can move forward.  What am I doing in here?  I'M KICKING MY OWN ASS.  DUH!

I. am.  EXHAUSTED. 

It's like constant morning sickness, without the euphoria of a baby on the way.  The tired, foggy-headed, mouth watering icky sickness that wakes me up at night and keeps me tired all day.  I think the high doses of antibiotics are friggin killing me.  Figuratively.  Truthfully, they are helping me, I know that.  But, holy shit. Also, my hands and feet have started tingling, which I'm told can be a side affect of the meds.  Oh, and did I mention the anxiety?  I get a fun heart palpitation and a panicky feeling while the IV is running, every time.  It goes away after a few hours. Another side affect.

I'M ANEMIC, WHICH MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I CAN'T BREATHE.
 I'm a bit anemic too, which adds to the anxiety feeling.

I'M TIRED OF PUKING.

Within an hour of each daily dose, I am losing my lunch pretty regularly.  I am eating yogurt and kombucha and pickles and olives and saurkraut to keep probiotics in my system and taking my vitamins mostly in the form of raw food and upped my protein, iron and vitamin C and D and

I HATE FOOD RIGHT NOW. 

I have no appetite.  I don't want to eat.  I want to throw up.  All. The. Time.  But I do eat, as much as I can.  I've still managed to lose 8lbs this month.  (I don't miss it.)

I AM REALLY HURTING SOMETIMES.

At one month post-op, I decided I want to stop taking pain meds, and I've been weaning myself off of the two they prescribed me after surgery.  I'm now using the pain as nature intended.  As a gauge.  As an indicator.  When we hurt, that is our body's way of telling us something  is wrong.  We need to listen to that very important indicator.  When pain increases, my activity has to decrease.  If I feel no pain, I will keep going like a freight train.  I know this about myself.  So I have to have something to tell me when to slow down.  This will keep me from injuring myself.  Again.  (it only took me about 7 years to learn that. duh,  I know.)  So what am I doing when my pain increases if I'm not taking pain meds? I rest.  I meditate.  I distract myself by writing or painting or sewing or playing a game with the kids or reading, etc.  I use heat or ice on my back and hip.  I use Arnica Salve, which is AH-MAZING for pain, I wish I had tried it years ago!  Massage.  Music.  I eat a Tbsp of raw honey + 1tsp turmeric + 1tsp cinnamon up to 3 times a day, which has very powerful anti-inflammatory properties.  And it's helping!

I AM GETTING REALLY LONELY.

Yes, I have a large family, so the kids are wonderful at keeping me company.  But, I am not able to drive until the IV meds are done, and Lou works a lot, the kids are in school, and I'm home ALL the time.  Like, I don't leave the house for days sometimes.  (it was nice while it was below zero, but...)  I'm starting to watch funny pet videos to cheer myself up, because I'm getting cabin fever.

http://cheezburger.com/7994247168


I AM TIRED OF TAPING A ZIPLOC SANDWICH BAG TO MY ARM EVERY TIME I TAKE A SHOWER.

Uh, yeah.  I have to keep my PICC line and dressing from getting wet.  I found out if I cut the "zipper" off of a Ziploc bag and then cut the closed end off too, it fits perfectly over my PICC line and I tape it down, so it is waterproof when I shower.  It's annoying.  Then I'm paranoid the whole time I'm in the shower, totally freaked out that I'm going to get water in the PICC and have

OK now cool things about all of this.

I MADE A MEDICAL DEVICE OUT OF A ZIPLOC SANDWICH BAG!! 

Heh, heh...

I AM AN AMAZING HUMAN BEING.

One neat thing about post-operative healing is that there is a natural anesthetic in your body that helps to curb the pain.  I suspect I have A LOT of that natural anesthetic.  My entire incision area was completely numb, like dentist-induced Novacaine numb, until about a week ago.  Now, as the body heals from the inside out, I'm getting feeling back in that area.  (my butt hurts.)  It's not just the incision area that hurts, it's hurting down my left leg all the way to my foot, occasional shooting nerve pains as the tissue and nerves figure out what the hell just happened.  The human body is amaze-balls.  This is going to be ok.  And it's funny to randomly exclaim that my butt hurts.

I AM ALWAYS WEARING ONE OF MY FAVORITE COLORS NOW!

I am now always wearing my favorite shade of periwinkle.  The ceramic "ball" that they put into my hip is a very lovely shade of lavender or periwinkle.  :)  You can't see it in the photo, but I know it's in there, because I saw it at my last appointment with the surgeon. 

I also got to see the old hardware that they took out, and the surgeon showed me where it was damaged, and how I can avoid having that happen again by not "power-walking," avoiding certain yoga poses that extend my leg too far behind me (which I did anyway because they would cause discomfort) and just being aware of movements that hyper-extend my hip joint.  :-/  I still do not have a definitive answer about how/why this infection occurred, but I do know that both bacteria are harmless when found on the skin, but can be (obviously) very serious and/or life-threatening when they enter the bloodstream, especially of people with compromised immune systems and prosthetic devices.  (ahem, moi.)  They like to quietly settle into these prostheses and slowly do their damage.  This surgery was actually a blessing in disguise, because I was actually sick for a really long time, and no one could figure out why, or explain my symptoms.  Now we know.  So a little pop and click pain in my hip actually ended up maybe saving my life.

I'M OVER HALFWAY DONE WITH MY IV ANTIBIOTICS!

I have just under 3 weeks left of IV antibiotics.  Then I will have 6 months of oral antibiotics.  Then they want me to think about staying on antibiotics for life, as a prophylactic measure...which I'm not crazy about, but we'll see.  After 7 years on meds and doing all my doctoring with Western medicine practitioners, I feel a million times better using natural healing methods, and am finally off of all prescription meds.  That was a very long and scary battle.  I don't want to have to be on anything for life.  But, Western medicine does have its place, I am a living, breathing testament to that truth.  So I'm going to do some research and decide on my best option. 

I AM F*CKIN STRONG!

My pain is decreasing, and my strength is increasing, every day.  I am slowly getting my feet under me again!  Today I was out in the yard for a few minutes, talking to the kids, and walking on uneven, snowy surfaces is still not a great idea, without a cane.  Not at all.  But I am getting stronger every day!

I DON'T USE MY CANE AT HOME ANYMORE!

I don't use my cane at home anymore, only when I'm shopping or at an appointment, anywhere that requires a lot of walking.  Yay me!  I know I'm stubborn about it, but I really don't like using a cane again. 

I AM HUNGRY FOR GOOD FOOD, AND TIRED OF SHOUTING!

OK I'm going to go make some chicken stir fry and fried "rice" (quinoa), heavy on the veggies.  FOOD CAN HEAL US!!

I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!  THANKS FOR ROOTING FOR ME!!!  WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER!

I love you all, and thanks for always loving me.  xoxo

Healing Scars

Project:  Scars.

This surgery didn't go as perfect as my doctors and I had imagined.  What appeared to be a routine revision and scar tissue removal, turned into a bit of a clustercuss.  When removing the scar tissue, essentially, they "unleashed the bomb,"  setting off a mass septic infection that had no symptoms until 24 hours post-op, had never shown up in my bloodwork, did not appear to the surgeon even as he operated, but that showed up in the cultures from the tumor, scar tissue and hardware they removed from my hip.  This infection has required 3 different antibiotics, oxygen therapy, a 4-day hospital stay and a PICC line insertion, which has allowed me to give myself the necessary daily doses of 2 antibiotics for a 6-10-week period, to be sure that this infection doesn't settle into the new hardware they just put into my hip. Three weeks into this IV antibiotic therapy, I think it's going just fine.  I'm eating to heal my body, I'm staying on top of my physical therapy, and holding down the fort at home with help from a great partner and family, some wonderful nurses, and my amazing kids.

So, along with the expected pain of healing, I've had twice the number of doctor visits, daily IV doses of antibiotics that make me nauseous and exhausted, and I'm still Mommy, Nanny, Consultant, Writer, Illustrator, and all of the other things that I love to be so much.   And I'm managing.  Thanks to wonderful family and supportive friends, I'm managing just fine.

At first it was really scary, and hard not to be angry...but then I realized, I could document this, and maybe use it to speak to people about how drunk drivers don't just affect people during the times they drive drunk, or affect only their own lives when they get caught.  As a result of this drunk driver's actions, I have now had 9 surgeries.  I'll likely have a few more before it's all said and done, but hopefully not for a long time.  I really mourned my scars for awhile, my pain, the changes that have had to take place in my life and my work as I've adjusted to the way my brain and body work now.  A lot of it is invisible to most people who know me, but I know.  I feel it, I notice how I'm different, and sometimes that really makes me sad.  Sometimes, I'm amazed that I'm even alive at all, and I really do try and make the most of my life and all of the beautiful blessings in it.  I love my scars now.  They tell a story.  They tell my story.  They speak of my pain, and they speak of my healing.  Sometimes I wish I could send a letter to the man who is responsible for these scars.  And I wonder, would it make a difference?  It already does, to me.  This is all a part of me, of my life, and I embrace it.  But if you know of anyone who drives drunk, who's driven drunk, or who might have a problem with drugs or alcohol, maybe you can tell them my story, show them my scars, and maybe they'll see just a snapshot of how a drunk driver impacted my life.  I've never posted pictures of my scars before, I've been self-conscious of them for years now, but maybe showing them will make an impression on others and save someone from suffering what I have.

My new hip scar, December 2013, total hip revision and pseudotumor removal.

My daily IV meds.  Thankful for my dialysis and IV experience!!  Piece of cake!  This also makes me sit still for an hour a day.  :)

The scars on my face that, most of the time, only I can see now.  My eyelid was reconstructed, my nose was put back in the center of my face, and my lips and chin were peeled back like a banana until the doctor stitched them back up.  But, amazingly enough, my vital signs were stable, my heart is strong and just kept right on beating.  This allowed a wonderful plastic surgeon to take his time reconstructing my face and removing auto glass.  And I have even learned to love these scars.  They remind me that I am more than what people see on the outside.  

This is what happens after using a cane for 2 weeks as my hip heals. I also lift babies for a living.  And today, I planked for 90 seconds.  Nothing will keep me down for long!!!

The stretchmarks are thanks to my five beautiful children.  I have earned my stripes, people.  The scar that runs from my sternum down to my pubic bone is thanks to a drunk driver, and my need for an emergency splenectomy, which was lacerated and dumping my blood into my gut at a dangerous pace that day.  Four units of blood lost, and thank you to the donors who saved my life by replenishing my lost blood supply!  Without you, I wouldn't be here!  Donate blood, especially if you have a rare type, like me.  You never know whose life you will save!

 My left hand, healed up a long time ago, had stitches up the backside and down through the palm from auto window glass cutting it in half.  Good hand surgeon, salvaged almost all nerve function and rehab has brought back full use. 

My right hand, I had shattered bones suctioned out of my wrist and replaced with metal plates and screws.  It works just fine now.The x-ray looks like a pin cushion is in my wrist, lol.

I don't have any pictures of my neck scar or or an x-ray of the fused bones, or an x-ray of the messed up vertebrae and disks in my neck and back, but they let me know just about every day just where they were hurt.  I've learned to accept it, I don't fight it anymore.  I love my body and how it's  healed, and I am so thankful for being so strong, that I can care for my family, for myself, and for others around me that I love so much.  I don't ever take for granted how precious life is, or how fragile.

I forgive the man who caused me all this pain.  I don't wish him ill, I wish him peace.  I hope he's found healing and forgiveness of his own, and that he's turned his life into one that blesses others instead of causes continuing pain.  It is a daily prayer of mine.  I hope he's never driven drunk again, and I hope he's told people what happened to us that day, so that others can be warned of how devastating alcohol can be when you get behind the wheel.  I'm so glad I'm here to tell my story.  I am so lucky that I'm here to raise my kids, and that as a family, we can warn others against the dangers of driving under the influence. 
Especially as we go into New Year's Eve, which is probably a big night for people who drive when they really shouldn't.  Be safe, everyone, and make sure that the people you love are safe, too.

Just a few of my many reasons for living.  <3>

Surgery

Yep, surgery, again.  I'm a little nervous about it.  It's my 3rd surgery on my hip in 8 years.  I know that each time they have to do it, there's less of my God-given bone in there, and more Bionic Woman.  This means that, much like a car with its mechanical parts, I am going to need a bit more care and upkeep than I used to.  OK.  I can adapt to that.  If I must.  I do enjoy setting off the metal detectors at airports and watching everyone freak out when I show the TSA my awesome scar.  (my ass cheek)
This has been such a lesson in letting go of how I WANT things to be, and accepting how things ARE.  The quiet and loving silence of TRUTH.  It is now my friend.

I have made so much progress in the past year.  I wish I had had more time to post about it but I was too busy 'fixing' me.  I healed by leaps and bounds, would find my limits again and this time listen to them instead of rage against them, and just accept it.  I'm a slow learner.  I'm used to getting my way.  Meh.

I'm afraid to go through rehab again.  To feel I'm getting better, to feel hopeful, and then to hit that brick wall again, the one I've become too familiar with, but I've learned to lie back and love the sky I see over the top of that wall, rather than continue to bash my head against what I can't plow through. I've seen some amazing suns rise and set on this wall.  I am not depending upon an incredible outcome in order for me to be "ok."  I am just deciding to be ok.

I'm afraid of feeling that deep sadness that I felt after the disks in my back got so bad a few years ago.  I have made a slow and incomplete recovery from that, and I've learned to live with it...I've been stubborn about it, stopped all therapies, not wanting meds or injections or P.T. anymore, because it just gave me false hope of feeling better, which never happened, and the crash into that damn wall just got so tiresome after a while.  No more.  I am turning my back on that wall, I am taking a right, I am going around.  It looks like the Great Wall of China sometimes; others, it's just a crack in the sidewalk.  I can stand there, shouting at that wall like a crazy person and hating it for being in my way, or I can just walk beside it, grazing it with my fingertips to remember why it's there, enjoying the scenery along the way, because my life does not exist at the base.  I am my life.  I am not a roadblock. And, what is crazy, anyway?
 I may look at that wall sometimes, I may even paint beautiful pictures on it of me dancing in high heels, smiling and laughing without a trace of pain in my eyes.  That feels like going in reverse, though, and I can't change it, being wistful doesn't help me.  Being grateful does.  So, probably the picture that I'd paint would look more like a sunrise, or a sunset, or whatever picture brings me the most peace at that moment.  I am not my limitations.  I am not my scars, my medical history, or my tears.  I am me.  I am loved.  I am amazing.  I am so strong, even when I feel weakest.

So, it will be ok.  The surgery will free me of some pain in the long run.  I have been through tougher rehab than a simple hip revision.  I can do this.  I am thankful for a road to travel.  I will recover.  I will continue to do what I do, better all the time, and I will love the hell out of every single day and all of the amazing people I am blessed to have in my days.  I will go on.  :)

And, look at this pretty picture of a grapevine that I took while hiking!  Lou almost had to carry me back, because my leg hurt so bad.  Yup, time for some new scar tissue.  LOL

A Children's Book About Death

So, as most of you know, when my brother passed away in 2007, he left behind a wife, pregnant with his twins, and a 3-year-old son.  His son had many questions and fears concerning death after his dad's passing, and so, his grandmother (my amazing mother) wrote him this beautiful book.  And I have been honored to co-illustrate it with Deb Jarvar.  If any of my readers know children who are searching for answers concerning death, or any parents who are struggling to explain this type of loss to a child, please check it out.  It has helped my nephew, and my own children, in dealing with the passing of someone we all love so much. It is purposely exclusive of any particular religion so that everyone is free to express their own take on the subject, but it simply allows the readers to ask questions and initiate conversations about personal beliefs, and what thoughts bring comfort and healing during difficult times.

Thanks, Mom!!!  You are the BEST!!!  We hope that this story brings peace and healing to many many kids!!
Thank you, Brother, for the many life lessons we have embraced since your passing.  We'd rather have you here, but since this is our reality, we will love the lessons and spread the message of love that our journey has given us.  We couldn't have done this without you.  I love you always.

I hope the link below will work...if not, go to createspace.com or amazon.com and search for Aidyn Learns About Energy.

And here's a secret:  There are many more children's books coming!

Love and Light to All!!!

https://www.createspace.com/4508220?ref=1147694&utm_id=6026&fb_action_ids=10151734895675079&fb_action_types=og.likes&fb_source=aggregation&fb_aggregation_id=288381481237582

Veteran's Day- What's Happy About It??

 Uncle Ron, age 19 or 20 in Naval Uniform  

Today, I'm thinking about all of my uncles who served in the military.  I don't know all of them well enough to have had them share their stories with me, but I have been lucky enough to have one uncle share some of his story.  I'm thinking about my mother's eldest brother, who served in the Navy during the Vietnam war.  When I was a kid, I think I knew he had served, but I never really thought about it much, since I was, after all, just a kid, more concerned with the silly things that kids do, like laughing, playing, lollygagging...
When I was about 21, I asked my uncle, "What was it like in Vietnam?"  The rest of my family got very quiet.  Uncle Ron did not often talk about what happened there, what he saw or experienced, and I guess no one really asked him about it.  But that day, he decided to share with us a bit of what he had lived.  I think it was an hour or more, Uncle Ron told us about seeing new officers get killed within days of being "in country" because they wouldn't listen to the ones who had been there longer.  About how walking to the latrine was a life-or-death trek sometimes.  About how lying in your cot at night, listening to not-so-distant bombs drop and missing home feels like a cold iron hook in your guts.  About how the bonds with your brothers of war are like no other.  We all listened intently, just letting him talk, taking in all of the stories, and the pictures I formed in my mind, as vivid as they were, I knew they were nothing compared to the things my uncle had seen with his own eyes. At the same age of my two oldest sons, now 19 and 20, Uncle Ron had already been to war, had seen death, had experienced things I hope my sons never do.  Today, that hits home very hard.
I remember thinking then, and I often think it now, how spoiled we are as a country.  We know so little of war-ravaged streets, of our schools being bombed and our paths to and from work being daily war zones.  So many countries of this world see war as one of the only constants in life, war and death.  I won't write much about war, because I know nearly nothing about it.  About what strength must lie inside a person to be able to carry out the tasks necessary for survival and success in a war situation.  About how returning home doesn't mean the war has been left behind.  I think every soldier brings a piece of that war home with them in their hearts.  I have seen it in veterans' eyes, and I wish that I could erase or ease that pain for them.  But then, they carry it proudly, with a strength that is not known to civilians, because it has not been ingrained in us, it has not been lived by us, but it has been lived by someone we all know.  And for that, I hug my Uncle Ron a little tighter each time I see him, a little squeeze to say "Thank You."  It's all I can do.  I can't unsee the horrid sights, sounds and smells of a place I've never been.  I can't imagine what it's like to carry that badge.
Something else I never knew, but I found out on my own, was that my Uncle Ron had earned some medals for his Naval service.  I found one while cleaning out a cabinet in my grandparents' house, a star with green ribbon, in a blue velvet box.  He didn't talk about these medals, he never told me or anyone else how he got them, and I still don't know.  I just know that I love my Uncle Ron, and I am so very thankful for him, his service, and the service of all military personnel.  I am thankful for the sights, sounds, and experiences they endure to protect our freedom.  Thankful for the pain they carry, sometimes for decades, for a lifetime, after serving our country.  And all I can do is say thank you?  The words seem so paltry, so pale and feeble when used to honor such sacrifice.  They are only words.  But these are my words, and my words are the only way I have right now to show these amazing people, people like my uncle, my gratitude.

So, THANK YOU, Uncle Ron, and all of your brothers and sisters who serve, have served, and will serve our beautiful country.  And if nothing else, I feel it is our duty as civilians to do everything we can, every day, to keep this country beautiful, to work together to right the wrongs within our own borders, and to make our world deserving of the freedoms we enjoy because of these amazing soldiers.  And I will do just that.  I will continue to teach my kids to do just that, and I will tell myself that it has to be enough.  But I know it is never enough.  I know it's idealistic, and I fear that within my lifetime there will be more division and less unity in our country, but I will never give up hope, and I will never stop doing my part, because people like my uncle never gave up, never stopped protecting us.  For that, I am forever grateful.  I love you!

Uncle Ron, 2013, with his decorated Naval Uniform.

Anniversaries and Forgiveness

Eight years since I woke up in Heaven.  Eight years, during which, I've learned about forgiveness.  Forgiving the man who altered my life course so dramatically, who caused me immeasurable pain, the stranger who drunkenly ran a stop sign, eight years ago.

I have witnessed deep physical pain, deep spiritual growth, the deepest depression, and the deepest love and gratitude.  I have also experienced the most intense rage.  All because of the experiences I've had since this crash.   I am grateful for each experience, for the bad along with the good, for the realizations and the epiphanies and the tears, because they have all made me who I am.

I know, and I knew the day of the crash, that man had no intention of hurting me that day.  He was a victim of his illness, his habitual drinking, as is noted by his repeated OWIs.  I just happened to be on my way to work, crossing that intersection at the very moment he ran that stop sign, and broadsided my van.  I think of him occasionally now, send him prayers, and hope that he has found sobriety and peace.

I don't think I actually forgave him until a year or two ago.  I was so terrified to admit how angry I was at him, how enraged I was at this person, someone I had never met and yet he had managed to nearly kill me, altering everything in my life ever since.  Immediately after the crash, when my family told me it had been a drunk driver who had caused the accident, I just cried.  I told myself I forgave him.  I was too afraid to face that rage.  I knew I needed to heal, and holding onto that anger would not help me in my recovery.  That anger was like a poison, it seeped into my bones, it burned inside every time I ached or couldn't do something because of a physical roadblock or pain.  I let it go.  I forgave him.  He truly didn't intend to hurt me.

After several years of pain, depression, panic attacks, etc, I finally just got QUIET.  I learned to listen to how I was feeling and why, without guilt, without pain, without fear; to just listen, ask why, and also, how is this emotion going to serve me?  If it didn't help me heal, I learned to let it go.  Feelings of worthlessness started to melt away, the deepest depression started to lift from my life, and I realized that I needed to move on.  It's time to stop stuffing down the feelings and start coping with them.  Ignoring them will only make them bigger, more debilitating.  The beautiful thing about forgiveness is that you can't forgive someone else without also forgiving yourself.  Forgiveness is what I needed to truly learn to manage my pain.  The pain has not gone away, my loving acceptance of it has helped me to cope with it better.  My ability to see the gifts in spite of the pain, or maybe because of the pain.

Sometimes I have felt like I just needed to get over all of this; sometimes I have to remind myself that it's hard  to get over something that is still a part of your every day.  A limp, a scar, an ache, a flashback or a trigger...there is not a day without some or all of them.  But I own them now, instead of feeling like their victim.  I stopped being afraid of the judgments of others, and I stopped harshly judging myself.

Thank you everyone, for loving me through this, for knowing the depth of what I've gone through and not losing patience or faith in me.  I love you all, and am so very thankful for the people who have saved my life.
I'm healing.  I'm halfway there, I swear!

If any of you reading this would like to share your stories with me, please leave your comments here for me.  I want people to know that we all struggle here, we all have pain and difficulty, and if we can reach out to one another for encouragement, let's do that.  We're all in this together.  Namaste!! 

I've Been Blessed With These Lives, I'll Do My Best With These Lives

Today, I'm thinking about how grateful I am that I get to stay home and raise my children.  Yes, I would make more money if I worked outside the home 40 hours a week.  No, I would not be able to get the medical clearance, I would not do well or feel well, or be happy, nor would my kids be as well-adjusted and centered as they are.  No, they're not perfect.  But they are great kids.  They are REAL, human, fun-loving kids. Sometimes I question my ability to guide them through a situation or difficulty, but we always make it.  I haven't run out of resources yet.

The reason I think about this a lot is because, for the majority of my two oldest boys' lives, I worked full-time.  I still read them bedtime stories after a home-cooked meal at the dinner table with the kids and helped them with homework.  But I always felt so hurried, on a timeline, always behind.  I regret not knowing how to relax into each moment with them, I hadn't yet shed my caustic and constant worrying mind.
Things I do miss about working outside the home.  I miss an orderly environment, designated clean and dirty areas, a set break time, going to the bathroom without a detailed conversation through the door, and the assurance of a shower before everyone else uses all the hot water.  I don't miss bosses, deadlines, patients dying or suffering beyond my control as chronic illness often demands, being confined to the scope of a practice I no longer put full faith in, or wearing shoes.  Or, getting out of my pajamas before I'm damn good and ready.

A few years ago, I finally threw in the towel.  It was not my choice.  I had been told by doctors that it was my "best option at this time."  I had much healing to do, and was not allowing my body, mind and spirit to DO that healing.  I resented that I couldn't just GET better.  I hated my very bones for not just DOING what I wanted them to do.  I still have days when I wish I could be saving lives.  But, I am.  I am saving my kids' lives, and the other kids that I'm blessed to have in my life, saving them from growing up without the self-awareness and other life skills that are such an important part of personal success.  I see the truth in it now.  I also see the great gift.  The gift of healing for not only myself, but for my kids, too.  This is so important.

I never would have allowed myself "permission" to stay home and raise my kids.  I lived by my work, I had to make money to feed the family, that's always how life was and I did not expect it to be different until I was well beyond retirement age, and I was perfectly ok with that.  Never questioned it.  It was just reality.  I probably used to make jabs at stay-at-home moms, mostly out of jealousy and guilt that I wasn't able to stay home with my kids, too.  Now I admire any parent who is able and willing to take on the endless task of running a household, full-time.  Work used to feel like a vacation sometimes.  Being home full-time is great fun, very rewarding, and also, very difficult.

 I've always thought that, since I am the mother of five children, that I've always taken my job/responsibility very seriously.  "If I have been blessed with these lives, I will do my best by these lives."  Not, "I will do my best with 'my' kids."  They are not mine.  They are not possessions.  I live by that.   I will not be The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe.  I DO know what to do with these kids.  I WILL love them endlessly, I HAVE and will continue to teach them to be compassionate and be kind and generous, and responsible, and ABLE, to know that they deserve excellent treatment and opportunities, and to be thoughtful and happy and well-read and to QUESTION. Everything.
 "Because I said so" is not in my vocabulary.  Do not be sheep.  I may be your shepherd, (for now) but you are not sheep.  "Trust your instincts.  Trust that feeling in your belly, what does it tell you?"  "Look at her face when you say that to her, what do you think she is feeling?"  They are more self-aware than most adults I know.  Many endless conversations about decisions and consequences are had in this house, not only concerning discipline, but environmental consequences, social consequences, emotional consequences, etc.  I am the mother of many critical thinkers.  This process starts young.  I remember looking into each of my babies' eyes, and seeing such wisdom I thought to myself, "They are already so brilliant.  Oh, dear lord, what have I gotten myself into?"  The most intense love of a lifetime, that's what.  The potential of each life in this world is staggering.  I don't always know best.  But I know I am deeply blessed.  My kids teach me as much, if not more, than I teach them.  And I will do my best to do right by them, always.

I don't post in detail about my kids very often, they are so precious to me that I feel this fierce sense of protection over them, that if I describe them or my relationship with them and how we live, I'm exposing them to the judgment of others and I have no tolerance for judgment.  I also have no desire to assume I have the right to write about them simply because I am their mother.  They deserve privacy, and I respect that. 
But, goddammit are they amazing.  And I am thankful that, in spite of the hurt and heartache of not being a successful nurse or director of nursing somewhere important by now, I am very grateful for the opportunity to BE here.  To listen to them.  To play with, to work with, to make a difference in kids' lives.  That is the why.  :)

The longer I am home, the more I start to let go of the external focus that drives so many of us, and also leaves us so emotionally starving and empty. It starts at home!!  What does?  EVERYTHING.