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Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness

jennifer — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 02:00:43 +0000

So last week we headed south to my grandmother’s house with the dock on the bayou that I love so much. My mom and dad met us there – further intensifying what felt like a wonderful security blanket of fun, sun, and family. And one night I even got a little brave and my husband and I headed to the beach for a date night, staying up past my self-imposed healthier lifestyle curfew.

And then at 5am I woke up yet again, in an ambulance.

Seizure #2, darn it.

But this time I had a handle on it. And as I sat on my ER bed, legs swinging over the end, I was fully intent on getting the heck out of there. And thanks to my rockstar neurologist back home who conferred with the ER doc, I was released by day’s end although much to my chagrin, with marching orders to start taking anti-seizure meds until we get to the bottom of this. Nevertheless, we tried to finish out our vacation on a high note.

So when we got home we unpacked, did laundry, went to the grocery store and I set up a meeting with a specialist for later this month.

And settled into a medical holding pattern.
And it’s been pouring down rain ever since.
And my daughter’s attitude has reached an all-time diva status.
And these meds make me feel groggy.
And I ignored that little voice in my head that told me not to and spent a couple of hours one day googling “seizures.”

Insert meltdown here.

So there it was. I allowed myself to wimp out and call my parents, bawling. Just a full on self-pity, regression, anxiety-driven venting session. My mom listened patiently on the other end, without judgment, while no doubt nodding to my father in the background to confirm that this was in fact the-call-they-had-probably-anticipated–with-perfect-parental–accuracy-would-happen–within-72–hours-of–me-getting-home-and-back-to-reality.

It did feel really good. And now it’s done. So yesterday as I tried to dry off from my self-pity dip, many thoughts were swirling around in my head…dramatic and life-affirming thoughts that I focused on to reposition any negative neurons dancing around in there.

I thought about how 7 years ago this very week I lost my grandfather to Alzheimer’s. And when I flew down for the funeral, I surprised my parents by telling them I was pregnant with their first grandchild. It was an incredible moment when loss met joy.

And as I sat with my sister-in-law yesterday with our collective brood of now five kids at a big booth at McDonalds I thought how amazing it is that these children didn’t exist 7 years ago. As they sat munching on Happy Meals I surveyed their little faces sitting across from me. Blue-eyed, hazel-eyed, brown-eyed. Sensitive, creative, shy, feisty, outgoing. A budding champion athlete, artist, entertainer, CEO and the newest baby asleep in his car seat in a cute baseball onesie. A kaleidoscope of little people that have challenged and exhausted us. These little lives that we created. That have turned us into mothers. That we adore.

And I thought about how earlier that morning the nurse at our pediatrician’s office marveled at how much my daughter had grown at her 4-year checkup and how I felt completely elated that our biggest obstacle at the moment is her fear of vegetables and the dentist. And the diva thing.

And finally, after I watched our mailman play, with unadulterated joy, with the neighbor’s dog across the street, I had pretty much pumped myself up into a “Life is Good” frenzy..with a July 4th theme. I will share it with you now despite the fact that it’s so corny you could seriously use it as BBQ side dish this weekend…

Life. Is to recognize the beauty of the entire journey and to embrace and cope as best we can with the sickness and the loss and joy and birth equally…to let it all wash over us. To recognize the weight of thoughtful gestures as small as a friendly manager at McDonalds offering your table a free ice cream, or a sleep-deprived sister-in-law who packs five car seats in her minivan and drives you around in the pouring rain.

Liberty. To give yourself the freedom to admit you don’t know what the heck you’re doing sometimes. To not care about perfection or putting yourself out there or care if you’re acting the right way. To be brave enough to say what you really mean. To admit even at the age of 37, you are sometimes as needy as a daughter as you hope you’re as strong as a mother.

The Pursuit of Happiness. To logically decide that despite a bad economy, a large mortgage and a freshman year starting in 2021, it’s a great summer to spend a good amount of money adding on a back deck. To create a physical space where you will host dozens and dozens of cook-outs with cold beer on hot summer nights. To create a forum for deep conversation, ringing laughter and heated debates over the best songs of the 80’s.

And next July, when the VA Hospital on the other side of the woods behind your house has its big celebration, you will know that the pile of wood and nails that you paid someone to put together was worth every single penny.

Because it will provide a spectacular front row seat to a fireworks show that will be brilliant, awe-inspiring, loud and so close that at times it’s even a little scary.

And you’ll spend what seems like a really long time waiting for it to start and then it will pass so fast in a flash of color and light.

And it will be absolutely beautiful.

Just like life.

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It’s Electric

jennifer — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 19:59:28 +0000

So earlier this week I had this test, a 24-hour EEG. The purpose of this test is to record what’s going on in my brain for a full 24 hours to see if there’s anything funky happening…some may argue that we’ve already known that this is the case for quite some time.

Anyhoo, for this test, I was instructed to go to this little medical office in a big office park and get about a dozen or so electrodes stuck to my head and chest, all of which were then connected to a wire that hung down the back of my neck and plugged into a little 3-pound computer/old school walkman/doohickey fanny pack… too bad those didn’t survive the 80’s because it’s such a good look.

After the electrodes are stuck to me with great precision by the tech (who did not care for my jokes nor my idea that he should open a combo electrode/hair highlighting salon), he wrapped about 17 yards of gauze around my head so tightly that I considered swimming (if I hadn’t been strictly warned not submerse myself in water) across the English channel in celebration of such a wonderfully customized air-tight bathing cap.

After about 45 minutes when I was fully wired, and the computer thingy acknowledged that I was charged up, connected and being recorded, I was ready to go. I threw a scarf over my noggin (the brochure said to bring one and luckily I read that part) and called my husband on my cell (using the 5 minutes or less of cell phone use I was allowed for the 24 hours) to come pick me up. And as you would imagine, I laid low for the day.

But over the next 25 hours and 13 minutes before the electrodes were removed (a moment just as physically exhilarating as giving birth to a 9.4 lb baby boy after 31 hours of labor), I pondered a few possible benefits of this whole EEG thing:

1. No need to wear a watch, the computer has a clock and displays my name, which could serve as a handy ID should I wonder.

2. Maybe this will super-charge my metabolism and I won’t have to subject myself to the Baywatch (they know that’s not still on the air, right?!) Bikini Workout that I found on the “On Demand” channel this week.

3. And on that note, since the instructions say I should definitely NOT stand near an open flame, no temptation to eat high-calorie S’mores.

4. There’s no telling how much better I’ll be at the robot dance after this (I can’t take credit for that one, that was my sassy gal Michelle’s suggestion).

5. You can’t get more low-maintenance than gauze hair.

6. This totally justifies the cost of that cute little tie-dyed sarong I bought in Jamaica on our honeymoon. Who knew it would come in handy for neurological-testing-head-coverage purposes all these years later.

7. I’m guessing I can get through the checkout line at Stop & Save much faster and get a bulk discount on batteries if I fill my cart with AA’s and go running and panting to the express line yelling, “Quick!!! I’m losing power!! I’m losing power!!!!!”

8. Maybe the results will shed some light on why I failed chemistry and barely passed Algebra in high school.

9. If I slip the tech a $20 maybe he’d upgrade me to “Bionic”…if he weren’t too young to know who Jaime Sommers was.

10. I could reeeeally mess with people at the school bus stop in the morning:

Neighbor: “Sooooo Jen, what’s on tap for today?”

Me: (in a robotic voice), “Whatever-my-Earth-leader-tells-me-to-do.”

So all in all, it’s not so bad being electric….boogey woogey woogey.

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Pedestrian Crossing Ahead

jennifer — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 21:51:22 +0000

So two weeks ago, early on a Sunday morning, I woke up at about 4am…in an ambulance.

And I had no idea how I got there.

All I remember when waking up was thinking, “It is way, way too bright in here.” And as I lifted my head off the stretcher, three friendly-faced EMT’s were looking right at me. One face in particular, a guy with salt and pepper hair, was talking. He explained, very calmly, that I apparently had some sort of seizure in the middle of the night and my husband had called 911. And I was on my way to the hospital.

Was I dreaming?!

I racked my fuzzy brain and remembered the night before…a pleasant dinner out with a girlfriend, my husband and son coming in from a fundraiser at a local sports center…a little TV and going to bed…And now this?

The next few hours were to say the least, a little trippy. I had a million questions. Who took the kids? (my sis-in-law who apparently made it to our house in record time). Did they see it? Were they upset? Where’s my husband? How did it happen? Did the sirens wake the neighbors? And where is my pajama shirt?

And then, over the next day and half, a flurry of CT scans, heart monitors, EEG’s and MRI’s…phone calls to my family with updates…The kids bringing me a bright yellow smiley-faced balloon from the gift store even though they looked a little hesitant as I sat them on my lap to explain that Mommy was just fine despite the hospital gown and all the wires… lots of nice nurses and doctors… oatmeal without sugar because I forgot to order it on the side.

And through it all, the memory of those first dazed and confused moments in the ER, when my husband of 12 years sat by my bedside, head in his hands, and broke down, shaken by what he had seen and what the outcome might have been.

We hugged. And when we held hands he rubbed the top of my hand with his thumb just because we’ve loved each other for a really long time.

And as each test result came back fine, we felt relieved. The worst scenarios were ruled out. I’d need additional testing to find out what might have caused the episode but I was free to go. A trio of neurologists in white coats convened in my room on that sunny afternoon and with a few discharge papers, some follow-up appointments scheduled, and some stubborn sticky electrode residue still on my skin, I was allowed to go home.

But no driving for SIX MONTHS.

No driving!? What do you mean a state law regarding seizures!?!? I have two young children! A million activities and play dates and school things and errands and important stuff to get to! It’s almost summer!! And I live in the suburbs!!!

And then, quickly, the realization that, well, I guess that law makes sense. Until we know more, how do I know it won’t happen again? And how could I get behind the wheel knowing there’s a small chance I could put my kids, myself and other people in danger? It’s an enormous inconvenience, but it makes sense.

Time to completely reconfigure the logistics of a minivan life, with no minivan and a husband who unfortunately works crazy hours in a fast-paced job.

And then the most amazing thing happened when I came home.

My circle of family, friends and fellow moms came out in droves. They emailed, they called, they signed up for driving duty. They dropped off homemade dinners. They came by just to give me a hug and a little vase of flowers. They immediately started pulling into my driveway to take us to ballet and the dentist and swim lessons. They bought dishes at HomeGoods and brought them to my door, just because they remembered that I said I needed some new ones and they thought I’d like them. They overwhelmed me with love, support and transportation. And I was, and still am, so grateful.

I don’t know what the next few months will bring. And admittedly, I really hate being needy. I hate giving up my independence. I hate that I have to ask a friend or family member every single time I need a ride somewhere - that I will have to inconvenience someone else pretty much every day of the week. And I hate the realization that although I am young and healthy, I am not invincible…that big, scary things can happen to me.

But I have faith that this is not one of those times. And I am again, very grateful.

So for now, I’m thinking it’s probably best to count my blessings and look at this as a huge opportunity. Because if you think about it, if you’re forced off the road, you have the time to take in the view instead. So this summer I plan to spend a lot of time in my friend’s cars, talking and commuting and treating them to iced coffee and spa treatments and lunches if they’ll let me. I will feel guilty and silly sometimes to have to keep asking for help but I will try to keep it all in perspective. I will try to cook a nice steak as a surprise for my sweet husband who now gets nervous and checks on me if I take too long in the shower. I will dial back my crazy laundry lists of to-do’s and give the coffee percolator and the late nights on the computer a break.

The kids and I will ride bikes, paint rocks, toss water balloons, drink lemonade and listen to crickets. I will invite my former neighbor Dorothy over for lunch like I’ve been saying I would do for over a year. I will hold my new baby nephew and breathe in his precious baby smell. And on the weekends we’ll drive up north with Daddy to our favorite clam shack and eat outside along the rocky shore.

But as nice as all that sounds, I also know I will be grouchy sometimes, and I’ll get stir crazy and I’ll look at my car keys longingly and even feel a bit sorry for myself. But I will try really hard to embrace this pedestrian life. I hope that it will make me a better mother, a better wife, a better friend, a better person…that I will now understand what it is like to be humbled by illness or restrictions and that the next time someone needs my help, I’ll really and truly get it.

So at this moment I have come to a crossroads, or perhaps more appropriately, a crosswalk.

And I’m walking across, holding on tight to my son and my daughter’s little hands..thankful for my family and my life and my health and this day..and for my amazing friends, who are waiting on the other side of the street with a smile and a minivan, always, remarkably, ready and willing to take us wherever we need to go.

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You Take the Good, You Take the Bad

jennifer — Wed, 20 May 2009 03:49:39 +0000

You take them both and there you have…a day like today.

Wake up to a rainy, drizzly, dreary day. Bad.

Have daughter refuse, for the second time in two weeks, to let the pediatric dentist go anywhere near her teeth. Bad.

While driving down a narrow road in minivan, swipe the side of a curb so hard that it actually shreds up your tire…thus repeating a similiar incident that occurred just 3 months ago. Bad.

Cancel plans to swim laps with friends as part of mini-triathalon training in order to rush the car (with kids in tow) to Sears AutoCenter at 5pm before husband leaves town for a business trip the next day adding another level of difficulty to the logistics of getting a car fixed. Bad.

Discover that the chicken and fruit salad at the mall food court Chick-Fil-A across the street is actually pretty darn good. Good.

Pay for new tire and alignment adjustment. Bad.

Contemplate having either a large glass of wine or large coffee when arriving home. Make the decision to consumer neither. Good.

Sit at the computer being productive after the kids go to bed only to have your husband come into your office holding a pair of men’s boxers that he’s found while putting away his laundry saying, “Uh…whose are these?” Bad.

Call your mother and father in Texas and have them confirm that yes, indeed, our laundry did get mixed up while at their house a couple of weeks ago and the boxers are in fact, my dad’s, and do not belong to my secret-Izod-underpants-wearin’ boyfriend. Good.

Realize that the sun will probably come out tomorrow. Very good.

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Things That Go Bump in the Night

jennifer — Wed, 06 May 2009 23:46:37 +0000

So the other night at bedtime we played a major game of musical beds with the kids. I can’t remember the circumstances exactly, just that we were all cranky and tired from re-entry from spring vacation, and the kids didn’t want to sleep in their own beds, and we were way too tired to protest.

Anyhoo, it went something like this…

My husband and son fell asleep in our bed.
My daughter and I went to my son’s bed (it’s a double and hers a twin, so I opted for more space despite being surrounded by rubber lizards and Star Wars toys that align his headboard).

After a few hours of the slumber party, I awoke with a case of pollen-induced sniffles and decided I reeeeeally wanted to be in my own bed. I transferred my son out of my bed to his sister’s room (Note: 50 pounds of a sleeping kindergarten is a force to be reckoned with, especially when you have to hoist him over his sister’s safety bed rail).

After the transfer, I checked on my little girl, who, curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed, seemed to be doing fine solo. I snuck back into my bed and under the warm sheets…ahhhhh.

What was surely just minutes later, I awoke to a snoring boy who’d snuck back in. Darn it. I was now sandwiched between husband and son, unable to move or breathe thanks to what was now full-on allergy congestion. The clock said 4am. Seriously?! 4am?!? My post-vacation to-do list began to swirl in my head and I crawled out of my loud cocoon and just committed to starting the day.

The coffee went on.
I checked the local news.
I decided I didn’t need to get stressed out over the swine flu before daybreak and turned the TV off.
I headed downstairs to my office to tackle emails.
I was cranking along, absorbed in correspondence, clutching my faithful coffee mug.
Then all of the sudden I hear a dull “THUD” overhead.
I froze.
A second later, crying.

Instinctively, I knew — my daughter had fallen out of bed because she’s used to having the safety rails. I bolted up the stairs and into the room. She wasn’t on the bed or on the floor. But I could hear her crying.

Oh my god, she’s fallen on the other side, in that little space between the bed and the wall! I leapt across the bed.

She was screaming bloody murder, and I could barely make out in the dark that she was wedged in the space sideways with her face turned up.
She was crying, “My head!!”
I felt a wave of panic.
In that moment in the dark, at 5:00am, with adrenaline running through me in full force, I thought she might really be in pain, or worse, she’d really injured her head.
I reached to pull her out but she was wedged in pretty tight.
I screamed for my husband.
He ran in, stumbling to get the lamp on.
“Get the light!!!” I screamed, “She’s stuck!!”
I thought about just moving the bed but it’s super-heavy with drawers underneath.
“We have to move the bed!!” I spat.
“Don’t panic, don’t panic!” he said.
I reached down again and somehow shimmied her out.
Thank goodness.

I pulled her to my lap and hugged her tight. She was in a full-force wail. I stroked her hair and rocked her and whispered,”You’re OK baby, you’re OK.” My heart was still pounding in my chest. My hands were a little bit shaky.

I gave her a quick once over and realized she was in fact, fine.

A few minutes later, when we had all calmed down, I saw that the big, heavy toy bins at the foot of my son’s bed had been moved back a foot or so.
“How did those get like that?” I said.
“I moved them when you said we had to move the bed,” my husband replied.
He’d done it so fast I hadn’t even realized it in the heat of the moment.

Wow. What a way to start the day.

And I got to thinking, its moments like that when you realize how amazing your own body can be..the strength of your own sheer will when you think your child might be in danger…those moments when instinct and adrenaline just take over.

And whether it’s real danger, or just another bump in the night, we don’t know.

But we go flying up the stairs each time just the same.

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Right on Target, Part II

jennifer — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 03:12:16 +0000

Umm, it’s a good idea to not let your husband find out you spent a whopping $244.56 at Target because he read about it on your blog.

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Right on Target

jennifer — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 03:42:25 +0000

So I go to my beloved Target the other night to buy a few things for the kid’s Easter baskets and just a few random household items.

1 ½ hours AND $244.56 LATER, I complete my short shopping trip.

Whaaaaa??????!!! The audible gasp I let out upon viewing the total tallied by my red-polo-shirted friend is certainly futile, if not ridiculous. Because this happens to me EVERY TIME.

So I find myself wondering on the ride home…do I let myself quadruple my expected spending every trip because I know in my heart of shopping hearts that it’s my Target destiny to do so? OR, are the folks behind the bull’s eye such brilliant marketers and merchandisers that when I enter those wide automatic doors and get a whiff of those personal pan pizzas at the snack bar, something in my brain snaps!?!?

When gals like me stride through the door… full of hope that we’ll stick to our fiscally responsible lists…do they shoot an invisible dart of shopping adrenaline that hits us right between the eyes casting a retail spell over us as we navigate our extra large red carts mindlessly through the aisles?

Maybe the security camera is actually just for show and the folks back at corporate in Minneapolis just sit around in conference rooms with a web cam and popcorn getting a good laugh every now and then. I can totally see it…

I walk through the door at 8pm on Tuesday night, bleary-eyed, clutching a short shopping list scrawled on a post-it with a half-dried-up green marker.

“Hey Sally, come see this! She’s only got 5 items on her list! Ha!! Cue the ladies clearance belt rack and the ½ price sports bras!”

THWACK! Goes the invisible dart to my forehead.

Hmmm..I think I actually need some new workout stuff.

“Ha Ha! It’s like shootin’ fish in a barrel! Call Jerry in household and tell him to cue the spring door wreaths!”

THWACK!

Inexplicably my squeaky cart is suddenly veering away from giant low-price shampoo bottles!! But ohhh…what are those pretty green flowery things over there in the home section!?!?!

Just strolling by ladies pajamas on my way to bath towels. Oh those look comfy…
Thwack.
There’s the shiny summery swim stuff…we need goggles for swim lessons!
Thwack.
Star Wars underwear is on sale, I’ll buy 2 packs!
Thwack.
Tinkerbell lunch boxes that sparkle?!?!
A 24-pack of paper towels!?!?
A “HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL 3″ DVD FOR ONLY $13.00?!??!
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Sigh.

And then, it’s time to face the little neon numbers, $244.56.

Target, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.

I love you.

But it’s a wonder anyone gets out of there with $1 left in their pocket…which is exactly why you smart, smart people put the dollar bin section by the door.

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The Tipping Point

jennifer — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 03:05:42 +0000

I pull into the Jiffy Lube just off Main Street and slowly drive around the back. Squinting in the morning sun, I peer through the car windshield, scanning the lot and the open service bays.

No sign of him.

As I cruise through the lot, a young man in the standard issue navy shirt and pants walks out of the side entrance toward me, wiping his hands with a grease rag. I slow to a stop and push the auto button to lower the driver side window as he approaches…bzzzzzzzzz.

“Hi,” he says, “What can I do for you?”

“Hi,” I call out to him, “Uh, is Ben working today?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “He is.” This guy is wondering why on earth a chick in a minivan is asking for Ben. I start to feel the color rise to my face a little.

‘”Um, could you ask him to come out here for me?” I say, still squinting.

“Sure,” he says. I try to ignore the slightly amused look he gives me as he turns on his heel to go back through the door. I tap my fingers on the wheel nervously and reach for the money that I’ve put in the cup holder.

A few seconds later, Ben, in similar garb, strides out the door. He’s taking the last bite of a sandwich. Great, I’ve interrupted his lunch break.

“Hey!” he says with a smile of recognition on his face.

“Hey there!” I say. His friendly hello puts me at ease a bit.

As he gets closer, I notice he’s wearing a heavy, funky chain necklace. A sharp contrast to the round boyish face that’s peering out from under his baseball cap. He’s a young guy, probably in his mid-twenties.

“Well,” I say with a laugh as I lean out the window, “I like to be true to my word. You didn’t think I’d come back, did ya?” I reach out and hand him the neatly folded bills, $3 in total…

“I really appreciate you filling up my tires yesterday. Thanks again.”

He leans forward and takes it.

“No problem at all,” he says with a nod and a smile, “Thanks.” He puts the bills in his pocket without looking at them.

“Oh sure.” I mutter. I’m not sure what to say next as he stands next to my car, hands now in his pockets.

“Well…” I chirp out, “Thanks again!” Have a good one!” I wave goodbye and ease my foot off the brake and the car starts to move forward.

“You too!” He says with a quick wave back and then he turns with a slight jog to head back in.

As I pull the car back onto Main Street, I’m smiling to myself, relieved that my silly little mission is accomplished.

The day before I’d stopped in to get air put in my tires. I was annoyed at my husband for not doing it for me, because frankly, all car-related tasks intimidate me. But I was also annoyed that I couldn’t figure out how to the use the air machine at the gas station and just do it myself. It’s air!!! How hard can it be!?

But alas, I had given up and gone to Jiffy Lube because according to my husband, they’d do it for me for free. And he was right, they did, or more specifically, Ben did. And when this nice fellow filled the four tires in a flash and said, “You’re all set,” I realized, suddenly and awkwardly, that perhaps I was supposed to tip him. Dang it.

“Uh. uh..can you take gratuities?” I say while fumbling through my purse, that of course held no cash. “Argh!” I proclaimed before he could answer,”I don’t have any cash. I’m sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he had said without a hint of falseness.

“Well, what’s your name?”

“Ben.”

“Ben,” I said, “I’ll catch ya tomorrow! Thanks!”

And with that I drive off in my usual flurry, feeling a bit stupid, and frankly not 100% sure that I would come back to face my gratuity gaffe.

But over the next 24 hours I thought about all the things that are quite disappointing and disheartening these days…things like a mega-wealthy financial guy accused of leaving unknowing, trusting clients in financial ruin…and political figures being investigated for tax fraud…and budget cuts and jobs lost and major newspapers shouting headlines of economic doom and gloom as they themselves are in danger of being shut down…

So that next day, when I woke up to a busy day of kid activities, errands and other daily what-not, I made sure to put a stop at the Jiffy Lube on the list. It certainly was not a grandiose gesture, and I even felt foolish doing it. And my whopping $3 tip was not going to enhance Ben’s paycheck - at best he could use it across the street to get a coffee and a donut. But I decided I really wanted to follow through on my promise. So I did. And it felt really good. And who knows, maybe I made Ben’s day just a little bit better.

Right now it just feels like it’s a good time to try and build a little trust, to invest in each other, to have a little faith, and when we can, to try and pay it forward…even in the smallest of ways.

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