Category Archives: Cub WIlliam

Running from 6-7

In a world where you can be anything, be kind—until they say “6-7,” and then, well, all bets are off. That’s my new motto, etched into my boy-mom soul with the same grim permanence as a Sharpie stain on a couch cushion. You know the original saying, the one that sounds like it was dreamed up by someone whose biggest household crisis was a slightly wilted ficus? Mine’s been battle-tested in the trenches of a home where survival sometimes feels like the main event.

Picture this: I’m in the thick of what I call the “keeping them alive” phase of parenting three boys—Cub, Oz, and Wynn, my little whirlwinds of testosterone and poor impulse control. It’s not hyperbole. These kids have elevated “6-7” (you know, that endlessly clever knockoff of the world’s dumbest joke) to a kind of tribal chant. Say it once? Adorable. Twice? Tolerable. By the 47th time before breakfast, I’m wondering if the neighbors would hear a scream or just assume it’s the dog again. Being a boy mom isn’t for the faint of heart; it’s for those who’ve stared down a fart joke epidemic and lived to tell the tale. Poop? Fart? Endless variations on bodily functions? I’ve banned those words so often I sound like a malfunctioning parrot: “Quit saying it! Napkin! Napkin exists for a reason!”

And don’t get me started on selective hearing. You can deliver a State of the Union address about bedtime, and it bounces off them like rain on a raincoat—yet whisper “ice cream” from the next room, and they’re there faster than a Disney Lightning Lane Premier Pass holder. Dinner tables? Forget Norman Rockwell; ours is a spill zone of biblical proportions. Ketchup arcing through the air like a poorly aimed missile, milk pooling mysteriously under chairs—it’s inevitable, like taxes or that one sock vanishing in the dryer. The shirts? Always, always stained, not from heroic spills but from the casual genius of wiping grubby hands right across the chest, napkin be damned. I’ve done laundry loads that could fill a Laundromat, each one a testament to why paper towels were invented.

Then there’s the trail of abandoned gear—water bottles sprouting like mushrooms in every corner of town, jackets draped over bleachers from wrestling meets to soccer fields as if we’re auditioning for a lost-and-found world record. We’ve left behind more Owalas than a hydration influencer. It’s chaos, pure and operatic, the kind that would send a lesser soul fleeing for the hills. But here’s the magic: amid the “6-7” choruses and the perpetual crumbs, there’s this ferocious joy in it. These boys are my tornadoes, my glorious messes, and somehow, in the eye of the storm, I wouldn’t trade a single stained shirt for all the quiet in the world. Kind until 6-7 hits critical mass—then mama roars. Be kind out there, friends. Or at least napkin-adjacent.

Running from the Last Day of School

Today is the day every child has circled in red on their mental calendar since September: the Last Day of School. It’s also the day every parent greets with a mixture of dread and existential panic. Not because we don’t want to spend time with our delightful offspring (I mean, we love them, right?), but because the thought of keeping them entertained for the next 100 days is the parenting equivalent of running an ultra-marathon with a backpack full of snacks and a hydration pack filled with cold coffee.

Summer vacation, you see, is not for the faint of heart. It requires the strategic planning of a NASA launch, the logistical coordination of a Disney World vacation, and the snack budget of a minor league baseball team. If you haven’t spent March, April, and most of May quietly panicking about camp sign-ups and wondering if you can buy Goldfish crackers in bulk, you’re simply not doing it right.

Let’s talk numbers. The average child will ask for a snack approximately every 47 minutes during the summer months. Multiply that by three children, factor in the “snack inflation” effect (where a snack is never quite enough), and you’ll find yourself at Costco, staring at a pallet of granola bars, wondering if you should just buy two. Camps are another story: they’re expensive, fill up faster than a Taylor Swift concert, and getting both my 9-year-old and 7-year-old into the same camp, at the same time, is a feat of scheduling wizardry that would make even Len Testa proud.

Now, here’s the real twist: I work all summer. My husband, a teacher, gets to stay home with the kids. This means I can plan every minute of their day with color-coded charts, Pinterest-worthy snack carts (parental approval required, because my middle child would subsist on nothing but snacks if left unchecked), and lists of wholesome activities. But, much like planning a perfect marathon route, I have absolutely no control over whether anyone actually follows the plan. I am the race director who sets up the course, only to watch the runners veer off in search of ice cream.

As a kid, I was never a fan of summer. I liked the reliable routine of school, the thrill of learning, and the predictability of lunch at 11:57 a.m. Summer meant my mom would lock us out of the house until lunchtime, and my dad would sign me up for every volleyball camp in the continental United States. I loved volleyball, but as the perennial “new kid,” making friends was about as easy as running a 5K in flip-flops.

My kids, on the other hand, are thrilled. They’re not yet at the age where sleeping until noon is a competitive sport, but TV, video games, water balloons, and swimming are all firmly on the agenda. Meanwhile, I’ll be working, shuttling to baseball every night, and dodging the daily messes that seem to multiply like rabbits in the summer heat.

And honestly? That’s just fine by me. Because if running has taught me anything, it’s that you don’t have to enjoy every mile—sometimes, you just have to keep moving forward, one snack break at a time.

Running for The Boy Mom’s Field Guide

Let us begin with a simple truth: if you are the mother of boys, you are not so much raising children as you are attempting to survive a long-running, low-budget circus, minus the elephants but with all the mess. For the uninitiated-those fresh-faced, hopeful “boy moms” who still believe their living room can be both stylish and functional-consider this your orientation. For the veterans among us, think of it as a comforting nod, a knowing glance across the playground, and perhaps a prompt to add your own hard-won wisdom to the canon.

1. If It Smells Like Pee, It’s Pee

There is no need to consult a flowchart or conduct a chemical analysis. If your nose so much as twitches, you can be certain: it’s pee. And it will be somewhere you never thought possible-behind the curtains, inside a toy truck, or, in a feat of physics, on the ceiling. Accept this early, and you’ll save yourself hours of fruitless denial.

2. Cheese Sticks and Fruit Snacks: The Universal Solvent

It is a well-documented fact (by me, just now) that boys will never eat the dinner you lovingly prepared. However, announce bedtime or suggest dental hygiene, and they will be gripped by a hunger so profound it borders on the existential. The solution? Cheese sticks and fruit snacks. These are the Swiss Army knives of boy parenting: they resolve tantrums, mend broken spirits, and, on occasion, substitute for actual meals.

3. You Can’t Have Nice Things

At some point-usually after the third shattered lamp or the fortieth marker mural on the wall-you will utter the phrase, “This is why we can’t have nice things.” You will say it daily, sometimes hourly. It is not a complaint; it is a mantra, a rite of passage, and possibly the title of your future memoir.

4. The Wardrobe of the Perpetually Disheveled

Knees will be ventilated, shirts will be adorned with a Pollock-esque array of stains, and you will be tempted to throw them away. Don’t bother. Any new clothes will be similarly decorated within hours, and your children are blissfully unconcerned with appearances. Consider it early training for Silicon Valley.

5. Something Broken? It’s Always the Second One

If you have more than one boy, brace yourself: the second child will be the one to break it. Whether it’s a toy, a gadget, or your last nerve, the first child might be the careful experimenter, but the second? The second is the wild card, the chaos agent, the reason you now have “fragile” stickers on everything

6. The Emergency Car Toilet

You may believe your car is for transportation. Your sons believe it is a mobile restroom. Always have an empty bottle or a lidded cup at the ready. The need will arise, usually on the highway, and always when you are out of options.

7. The Paper Tsunami

Each day, your children will return from school with a stack of papers that could be used to wallpaper your house. Sort through them, keep the one with actual importance (there will be one, possibly), and dispose of the rest. After two weeks, throw away the “important” ones, too. Your kitchen table will never be clear, but you can slow the encroachment.

8. Did I Just Say That?

You will find yourself saying things that, in any other context, would result in a wellness check from concerned neighbors. “Get your penis off the wall” and “Crayons do not go there” are just the beginning. Embrace the absurdity.

9. Your Husband Counts

Remember, you are raising more than your own offspring; you are, in a very real sense, raising someone else’s son as well. Your mother-in-law will be delighted.

10. Soak Up Every Minute

Despite the chaos, or perhaps because of it, these years are fleeting. Laugh, play, and try to remember it all, even the bits that smell suspiciously of pee.

In summary, being a boy mom is less a job than an adventure-one with fewer safety harnesses and more cheese sticks than you ever imagined. Enjoy the ride, and remember: you are not alone.

Running to My Husband

I never really understood why, but I always wanted to be a wife. Not in the “I want to be June Cleaver” sense, but more in the “I need a permanent audience for my daily musings on laundry and the existential crisis of mismatched socks” way. So, after seven years of dating—a period in which we both became experts in the fine art of waiting for the other to propose—my now-husband finally popped the question. I suspect, if I’m honest, that after seven years he simply ran out of plausible alternatives. It’s either get married or start a competitive stamp-collecting hobby, and he’s never been good with glue.

The early years of our marriage were, in retrospect, a bit like the opening act of a play where the actors haven’t quite memorized their lines. I knew he loved me—he did, after all, tolerate my penchant for keeping the tv on while dead asleep every night—but I wasn’t entirely sure he liked me. I was there, keeping small humans alive, contributing to the family bank account, and occasionally reminding him where we keep the can opener. It took another seven years (because apparently, we do everything in seven-year increments) before we rediscovered the spark that brought us together in the first place, and realized we actually wanted the same things out of life—namely, a working dishwasher and children who don’t use the curtains as napkins.

Now, nearly eleven years into this grand experiment called marriage, I can honestly say we’re growing together. We have shared goals, synchronized hopes, and—most importantly—a mutual understanding that whoever steps on the stray LEGO has earned the right to pick the next family movie. We’re strolling through life with a sense of purpose, trailed by three small boys who operate with the energy and coordination of caffeinated ducklings.

I never imagined being a boy mom would be so entertaining. My sons are perpetually grubby, constantly ricocheting off furniture, and have turned minor household accidents into a competitive sport. Every day is a blend of slapstick comedy and impromptu science experiments involving mud, gravity, and whatever was once clean. It’s the best kind of chaos, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. My life is overflowing with more love (and laundry) than I ever thought possible, and for that, I am endlessly, comically, and profoundly grateful.

But are you bleeding?

Let’s be honest: How many times have you yelled this up the stairs to your kids? If you immediately said daily, you can be my friend. Unfortunately, about 40% of the time the answer at my house is, “YES!” That doesn’t mean they are actually bleeding. I think they just know that that will actually get me to put down what I am doing and go upstairs to find out what is going on.

After yelling this ump-teen million times over the past few quarantined months (and my boys are only 5 and 2, so we have YEARS of this left), I started thinking about this exclamation in a difference light.

I tend to overthink, overanalyze, worry myself sick over things that will probably never happen. And through all my anxiety I end up wasting time and energy that isn’t necessary. Recently I decided to start using “But are you bleeding?” to my classify my worries. It is a good barometer for how bad things actually are. I will give you an example:

Yesterday, my husband (who is now a grade school physical education teacher, a story for a different day) text me to tell me that my son’s teacher is in quarantine because her husband tested positive for COVID-19. My initial thought was this:

Then the questions start up in my head-

-How much time has Cub spent with her since she has been exposed?
-Her son is also in Cub’s class, so how much time has Cub been around him since he was exposed?
-Cub sits next to her son in class, so how many things have they both touched that could potentially expose us?
-Has Chas been in contact with either of them?
-What if we have to quarantine?
-I don’t have enough groceries to feed these kids for 2 weeks!
-Does this mean I could sleep in?

The questions go on and on… You can get consumed in them. So here is where you apply my logic: But are you bleeding? In this situation, is it a matter of life or death? Well, it is COVID, so that leaves a few more questions. Fortuantely, none of us have pre-existing conditions that would warrant complete panic. Assuming we act responsibly, it probably is not a matter of death.

So, I don’t think we are bleeding. And even if we are, maybe just a trickle.

I can order online and pick up groceries at Wal-Mart, or my mother-in-law could pick them up for me and drop them off on our front porch. Another way to stop any bleeding.

Yes, everyone has probably been exposed. Fortunately everyone was wearing masks. We have not been contacted by the health department to quarantine. Winning!

Everyone is feeling fine. No symptoms to report. Winning again!

And if you did have to quarantine, yes, you might be able to sleep in. Well that would be major winning if we had to quarantine, but we don’t so its losing.

Anyway, that is how you stop the bleeding in about 27 steps. Any questions? Wait, what was I saying? Is confusion a symptom of COVID? And here we are, back to the beginning. No one died! Yay! But Lord, am I tired!

The harsh realities of parenthood

Screenshot 2018-08-26 18.52.54I think one of my biggest fears in life is being the person that people dread walking in a room. And that’s not to say I want to be liked by everyone. That is impossible. Plus I hate most people, so I don’t expect them all to like me. But in this sense I mean walking into a room with my kid and someone whispering to the person next to them, “Oh no. Not them.”

Now, to clarify, when my boys start wrestling, and they walk into the gym I want everyone and their dog to say, “Oh No. Not the Thompson boys!” I just don’t want people saying that when we walk into pre-school, which happens to be the exact situation I currently find myself in. We are starting week 3 of pre-school with Cub. Let me just throw a few items out there so people know the situation:

  1. Cub turned 3 on June 28th.
  2. We don’t necessarily expect to send him to kindergarten when he is 5. We think 6 is probably going to be better for him maturity wise (and athletically).
  3. He has been potty trained for 4 weeks, but took to it like a champ and has only had 2 accidents in his 8 days. One of those accidents was during nap time, and the other was because the teacher didn’t get his pants off of him quick enough in the bathroom (yes, he still needs some help with the clothing stuff). I am not blaming the teacher…
  4. Last Sunday he had what I would consider a significant head injury. He was ankle tackled by a friend at a birthday party and smacked his head on a chair, I mean HARD, right across the bridge of his nose and left eye.
  5. He had just started talking around the first of May. He is hard to understand, but he is repeating everything you say and has a pretty good vocabulary if you listen to him. His annunciation is not great yet, but the difference from 6 months ago to now is REMARKABLE.
  6. Cub does have tantrums. He likes to get his way, but I in no way think that these are any different from most kids.

The first week of pre-school was challenging for Cub. It was the first time he went anywhere all day, all week. He was still sort of potty training so the whole situation was new for him. I got multiple calls from the teacher, checking in, talking about a tantrum or two he had thrown, but everything was pretty normal from my perspective.

Screenshot 2018-08-26 18.53.00Week two started out terrible. I was having a very rough day at work, went to pick Cub up at 5 and was bombarded with a swift, “We think Cub should go home from 11-2 for lunch and nap. He can be here from 8-11 and 2-5, but let’s have him go home for lunch and nap.” By the end of the week the conversation turned to sending him to a special ed. pre-school from 12-3 everyday. I mean, can someone help me connect the dots? Cub doesn’t nap easily, but he had been in the new environment for just over a week, they have already jumped to the conclusion that they don’t want him in a traditional pre-school classroom. The reports I have gotten have been nothing but good in terms of his cooperation, his involvement in activities, and interacting with his peers. But apparently because he won’t nap and can’t enunciate the same way other kids do he is now special ed.

I mean honestly. How is that fair?!? The kid has barely had a chance in the class. It makes me very upset. If you don’t want my son in your class, if you are the person who in your head is saying, “Oh no. Cub is here,” then just let me know, and I will take my dollars elsewhere.

Just a little rant on a Sunday night, but man am I stressed at the moment. If these people had met Cub in March, they would never believe the amount of progress he has made in 6 months. I tell you, this kid is going to be something. He is a special kid. He is smart, physically gifted, and doesn’t miss a beat. Someday these teachers are going to say, “Hey! That’s the kid that I kicked out of my pre-school class.” I can’t wait for that day.

Running from the Beach

Well, here I am, on day eight of a ten-day travel odyssey, and I can scarcely believe I’ve made it this far without collapsing into a heap of exhaustion. Since last Wednesday, life has been a whirlwind of suitcases, sunscreen, and sporadic Wi-Fi. From Florida’s sandy shores to California’s bustling streets, I’ve covered more ground in the past week than I usually do in a month. It’s been two weeks that feel like two years.

The first leg of this adventure was spent in Florida with Chas and the boys. Daytona Beach and Disney World were the highlights, and let me tell you, we packed more “magic” into those days than a Harry Potter marathon. Chas’ conference went swimmingly (pun intended), and the boys had the time of their lives. Now, I’m in California wrapping up work for Prep2Prep, but honestly, my brain is still somewhere between Cinderella’s Castle and the Pacific Ocean.

Let’s pause for a moment to talk about the Hilton Daytona Beach. If you’re ever in need of a place to stay there—and frankly, why wouldn’t you be?—I can’t recommend it highly enough. The location is perfection itself: smack dab in the middle of the boardwalk area, with nine restaurants (yes, nine!), a lovely pool area, and views of the Atlantic so stunning they could make a poet weep. Our room overlooked the ocean, which made mornings feel like something out of a travel brochure. Sure, we had a couple of minor hiccups—the TV decided to stage a rebellion, and we needed a fridge for the baby’s milk—but the staff swooped in like superheroes to save the day. Honestly, you could spend your entire trip within the resort’s confines and leave feeling utterly content. A heartfelt THANK YOU to the Hilton Daytona Beach for making our stay unforgettable!

Now let’s talk about Cub—our resident Aqua Lad. This child was in his element at the beach. I wasted precious packing space on sand toys only to discover he had no interest in them whatsoever. His sole focus? The water. Waves crashing? No problem. Surf pounding? Bring it on. He ran back and forth through the surf like he was auditioning for Baywatch: Toddler Edition. And when he wasn’t frolicking in the ocean, he was in the pool—so much so that his eyes turned red from all the chlorine. Did that stop him? Of course not. Cub has mastered holding his breath underwater to such an alarming degree that strangers started looking concerned.

Then there’s Oz, our little trooper-in-training. He’s teetering on the brink of major mobility—Labor Day will likely mark the start of our new life as full-time wranglers of two mobile children. On this trip, though, he was content to nap on the beach while I dug him a little shady spot in the sand like some sort of makeshift crib architect. He enjoys water too but prefers splashing over swimming—a distinction that makes him slightly less nerve-wracking than his older brother (for now). Flying with him wasn’t terrible this time around, but once he starts moving? Game over.

As this marathon of travel winds down, I find myself staring down the imminent arrival of school season with mixed emotions. On one hand, I know these moments with my young family are fleeting—Cub will be off to school before I know it, and then it’s all downhill from there (kidding… mostly). On the other hand, there’s something comforting about returning to normalcy after two years of pregnancies and ear infections throwing us off course. This year feels promising—straightforward even—and I’m optimistic it’ll be our best one yet.

But for now? Two more days on the road before I can collapse into my own bed and declare this epic journey complete!

 

Trials and Tribulations

AutismMy journey in motherhood has been winding and bumpy. At first it was a breeze. Pregnancy with Cub was textbook. I went into labor naturally. I pushed twice, and he popped out with a perfect head and 20 digits. The first year went by in a flash, and we went to Walt Disney World to celebrate our first year as a young family with an ever growing baby boy.

It was our second trip to WDW where things started to change. (Just a quick comment here: I am not placing blame on WDW, but rather using our trips as mile markers. Glad I cleared that up! Wouldn’t want WDW to get a bad rap on my behalf.) It was in October of 2016. Cub was just over 15 months old and had started daycare in August. When we returned home for Florida, we both got bad colds, I assumed from germs on the plane and at WDW. Cub’s cold didn’t go away until we finally got him on medication in January. It wasn’t anything serious, runny nose, annoying little cough, stuff like that. But I specifically remember the first time the doctor said he had fluid in his ears. I thought nothing of this really, because he didn’t have an ear infection. Little did I know this would seriously change the course of Cub’s childhood.

By April 2017, my kid was no longer talking. He used to say Mama and Dada, Dada work, all kinds of cute little baby things, but he was different. We took him for general developmental testing where they determined that Cub was not hearing at all. After a variety of doctor’s appointments, we ended up getting tubes put in his ears in May of 2017. We hoped that this would take care of the problem quickly and we would be back on track.

Come October 2017, and we were seeing NO improvement. In fact Cub wasn’t saying anything at all. He was having behavioral problems at school (climbing fences, taking off his clothes) and I was beside myself, begging the developmental team to help us figure out where to go next. We developed a plan and executed it beautifully. It turned out that the more physical activity and play that Cub participated in, the more verbal he became. At our 2.5 year check up, our pediatrician suggested that we schedule an appointment with a developmental pediatrician in Wichita to get a little more analysis on why cub still wasn’t talking like his peers. The sensory processing initiatives that we were implementing seemed to be working well, but he still wasn’t saying words or sentences. She was booking about 4 months out, so we patiently waited for April to come and to meet with her.

I am not going to rehash what went on with our family from January of 2017-January 2018 in regards to other babies. 2017 was undoubtedly the most challenging year of my life and naturally some of that stress is pasted on to your children, no matter how hard you try to shield them from it.( Feel free to go back in my blog posts to see what happened with both Quinn and Oz, if you don’t already know the story.)

Finally in April of this year, we met with Dr. Valarie Kerschen at Wesley Medical Center in Wichita. After an almost 2 hour appointment, we left with hope that she would get us on the right track. Cub was doing quite a bit better than in 2017, but we still weren’t getting consistent words out of him. After a routine test by the dev. team here in Hays for his annual dev. profile, it was determined that Cub probably was not hearing again. I immediately called the ENT and got him in the next week.

Thank goodness for the ENT. She wanted to be very aggressive with treatment, because she knew what we were going through with Dr. Kerschen. He was hearing almost nothing at all, so she put us on a very strong antibiotic and wanted to see us back in 3 weeks. She also ordered an xray of his adenoids, which showed an enlargement. Fortunately when we went back to see them, he was hearing near perfectly, and we felt like we were back on track. He was also a different kid, imitating us and people around us, making new noises almost constantly, and following directions much better.

We had met with the Part B team prior to our second visit with Dr. Kerschen, and so Cub’s IEP was in place and ready for him to start in the fall. Everyone was in agreement that we were moving in the right direction and that Cub was making tons of progress.

June 5th… One of the worst days of my parenting life. At our second appointment with Dr. Kerschen, she announces that my son… MY SON… has autism. I wanted to scream and cry and yell at her for even thinking that. You want to know why? Because I know that is NOT the case.

On paper, maybe. But in real life, no chance. He is the smarted 2 year old you have ever met, physically gifted beyond belief and saying new words and phrases daily at this point. I honestly think we are simply the product of the perfect storm of events. Socialization and his ear problems started at the same time. We don’t know how long adenoids had been an issue, but once we got those taken care of this spring, my son has been a difference person. There are so many positive signs. No repetitive behavior. He’s not odd socially. He just likes to play by himself. I don’t like people. Why does he have to like people?!?

My new mission is life is to prove this doctor wrong. A label like Autism is devastating for a family, and to throw it around casually would be irresponsible of a doctor. Sensory issues, maybe, but Autism, NO WAY.

I’ve decided to chronicle our journey here, because, well I can, and because I am sure that there are other parents that have fought this same fight. I’m taking a stand for my kid, and we are going to work so hard that when we go back to see Dr. Kerschen in 2019, she will have no choice but to reverse the diagnosis. That is my crusade, and I won’t stop until we make it happen.

There is a season

The year 2017 has been filled with a lot of heartache, as far as I am concerned. As summer approaches, I continue to hope for better things on the horizon, and I think they are out there. We have had some interesting developments since my last post, so I decided I would take a few minutes to share them with you.

Fact #1:
Cub got tubes in his ears about a month ago. A year ago, he was learning new words and talking like a champ. Once he started daycare in August, it was like he was a totally different kid. He (we) have constantly been sick since he started, and according to the ENT, all that build up created big problems for my little man. 4 weeks post-surgery, and I have a different kid. He can hear, is making new sounds daily, and is quickly turning from a baby into a big boy.

Fact #2:

Our baby was a girl. Chas and I had the opportunity to visit with a Geneticist a few weeks back and definitely got some reassurance that going forward with our family plan was the right thing to do. We also confirmed that our baby was a girl, which I knew all along anyway.

 

Fact #3:

Dealing with something like a miscarriage never goes away. It just takes different forms. Some days are fine, other days torture, and I constantly worry about the future, but it still only comes one day at a time. Cub quite often stares into space and will just start laughing hysterically, and I know it is Quinn making her presence known. Cub is so lucky to have a guardian angel like her.

Fact #4:

The work/life balance never gets easier. I am up at 5 am everyday because I get some of my best stuff done prior to the boys getting up at about 7 am. My “mom time” is probably the best part of my day in most cases, and its great to start the day with Cub and Chas knowing that I have already put in a few hours of uninterrupted work. Plus I get to watch the sun come up, drink my coffee and listen to the latest Adam Carolla Show podcast with no background noise. It really is marvelous. It does, however, make me worthless after about 6 pm. Once dinner is done, maybe we fit in a walk, and then I am ready to hit the hay.

With lots of summer events coming up, I am doing my best to stay organized and keep everyone on track. I would like to do a fall half marathon, so that is something to look forward to. I hope you all have a great start to the summer!

365 New Days, 365 New Chances

A few weeks ago, I redid the bathroom off our kitchen. By redo, I mean I gave it a fresh coat of paint, changed out the shower arm and shower head, added a new towel hook and hand towel bar, and patched some holes for the previous owner’s mistakes. Oh, and I also replaced the outlets and light switches, of which there were way too many for a bathroom that is barely 12 square feet.

Anyway, I bought a sign to hang in the new bathroom that says, “365 new days, 365 new chances.” I love the sign, because it reminds me that no matter how bad the previous day was, I can change the day to come. Obviously no two days are alike, and this could not have been more true this morning.

I woke up to a 21 month old heel kicking my hip bone. This is what I call a rude awakening. (Insert ba-dum-bum here). After yelling for the pain to stop, I scooped him up and put him on the floor where he proceeded to swipe everything single thing off my night stand. Fine, I’ll get up….

Upon standing and taking a step, I literally fell over in pain. The inside of my right ankle felt like it had a knife sticking out of it. The usual “walk it off” did not help, so I hobbled around until I finally went to get dressed and pulled out my trusty KT Tape. I’m telling you, it is glue for the body. The best stuff ever created! I hopped on Google, figured out what the pain probably was, then went to YouTube to see how to KT Tape the shit out of it. Pain gone. Crisis averted.

My point in telling this story is that life is sort of like a long run. There are minutes where you think you can’t make it any farther, and then there are times when you are coasting and think you can go on forever. Every day, every mile, is a new chance to get better, change, move forward. This is hard to remind yourself of some days, and I have had a few of those days lately. We all have them sometimes.

Now excuse me while I go get my son out of the bathroom sink, because apparently that is a place we like to climb to and hang out now… Keep Moving Forward!