POV

Two weeks ago I found out that my mother has breast cancer.  I responded as any loving daughter who lives over 6 hours away from her parents and has 4 four children and 2 part time jobs that prevent her from running home at a moments notice would...I ate, and stressed, and panicked, and prayed, and ate.  Oh, and cried.
Since I don't believe in scales I'm not sure how many pounds I added in just one week, but I wouldn't be surprised to find it was more than two.  I can say that I fended off about 3 panic attacks, a war I haven't had to wage for some time.  I didn't lose sleep, I was probably too exhausted from fighting off panic attacks and semi-comatose from the sugar intake that I wasn't giving myself enough insulin to cover, because, oh yeah, I am anxious about treating myself aggressively with insulin (not a good thing to be anxious about as a diabetic!)
That first week trying to grasp the information given to me and the realization that so much more information was needed was a difficult one.  It was then that I decided I needed an outlet.  Our family had joined the local YMCA at the start of the year in efforts to expose our boys to the pool.  I enjoy the pool so I would alternate weeks taking one boy at a time.  It had been a month since I'd been to the Y and I had never gone solo so I decided to make it a priority to go to the YMCA after one of my busiest days of the week.
I had packed a bag so that I would have no excuse to go.  After a work day that had started at 8am and ended at 8pm I just sat staring for a moment at the bag of clothes.  I had very nearly talked myself out of even so much as opening it but before I could I jumped up and changed as quickly as I could with a sense of near desperation.  I got in my car and drove straight to the gym, two or three more blocks and I could be at my front door, but I made the turn into the parking lot and went into the building.
I chose a recumbent bike to work out which is the best option for my poor range of motion in my left knee.  Even at that my foot slipped from the pedal several times as I got started and sought the perfect height of the seat, tension in the pedals and pedaling speed.  Finally, after some time I started a work out on the machine and began.  I took several deep breaths to cleanse myself of the day, the weight of worry on my shoulders and the in attempt to gain focus.  In other words I was utilizing one of the basic coping skills I teach and practice with my clients who deal with anxiety.
After my cleansing breaths I found that the Olympics were on the television in front of me and that gained my interest almost immediately.  So I settled in to watch the snowboard action on the screen.  In doing so I realized I was having a hard time breathing and my legs felt like lead.  'How long have I been at this anyway?' I wondered.  My friends, the timer on the bike said 0:01:48.  I'm not kidding.
To my credit I was able to tune out the crying thighs and panting breath to watch some quality athletics and to bank a full 20 minutes on the exercise bike.
In my 20 minutes on the bike and in the midst of physical effort and Olympic thrills I was able to reflect on all that had been happening in my life in the last week.  Thinking of my mothers recent diagnosis led me to think about my own diagnosis almost 23 years ago.  I had been an athlete in high school, running track, playing soccer and cheerleading for basketball season.  I took pride in working hard, pushing myself physically past any level I thought I was capable of.  When I was diagnosed with bone cancer in my left femur the summer before my Senior year and was told I could lose my leg because of it, I was devastated.  It rocked my world on so many levels.  But as I sat on the recumbent bike this particular day, the only exercise machine in the place that could accommodate my handicap, I realized that I've lost some of the drive and determination I had as a young girl.  The girl who would run until her sides hurt and then run some more.  The girl who would work and work to jump higher and become more flexible.  The one who played coed league soccer and stood up to very tall and strong young men just because she believed she could.
"I wish I could run."  That's what I say now.  "I wish I could bend my knee at least 90 degrees so I could ride a bike or kneel."
"I wish I were more flexible so I could do yoga."
"If I could run I would do it all the time.  I would run in races and be athletic."
As these thoughts, my mantras of the last few years, played through my mind there in the middle of the YMCA I had an epiphany.  A thought slapped me in the face and I probably literally jumped.
"You are able to walk, why not do that all the time?"
"You are able to ride THIS bike, you should get better at this.  Go longer, faster, harder."
And so it was that my POV, point of view, shifted.  In my quest for a simpler, happier, healthier life I realized at that moment that I need to focus on what I am doing and can do instead of wasting  each moment bemoaning those things I am unable to do, things out of my reach.
I need to focus on what I am doing and what I can do.
That includes continuing to be the devoted and loving daughter over 6 hours away from her parents at such a difficult time with 4 kids and 2 part time jobs that keep her from running home at a moments notice.  I'll be the best daughter, mother, worker, wife and friend that I can be from right where I am.
I know that it's so practical and so plain-as-the-nose-on-your-face ordinary but that thought in that moment I believe changed me.  So I wanted to share it with you.  It has taken some of the proverbial weight off to be honest.  I want to focus on what I am doing and what I am realistically able to do as I urge myself to be stronger,  healthier and more focused.  It is a simple and beautifully freeing truth that there is no more expected of me than that.  Welcome to my new POV.  Breathe the fresh air!

In the Silence

It was a particularly difficult day.  As a mother I have these days fairly often.  If you have ever cared for a child you know that while each child brings such unique joy to life they are also capable of bringing frustration in equal measure.
At age four my oldest is consistently waging a war of wills with me.  He is a smart boy who can count as high as you want him to and knows how to write his letters big and small.  He is also one who feels he knows how and when things should be done which typically does not coincide with my instructions or will.
Our twins, at age 2, almost 3, are playing follow-the-leader with their older brother in his pursuit of autonomy however, they bend to their parent's direction much sooner.  They are working to remember to use the toilet, share their toys and to use words not screams or hits to relay their emotions of frustration and anger.
All of these pre-school aged boys of mine are tender-hearted, creative, funny, impulsive (as one would expect of 3 and 4 year olds), curious and stubborn.  They love their baby brother fiercely and though he is only 4 months old they endeavor to include him in much of their work and play.
My baby.  This is the most amiable and pleasant baby you will ever meet.  The youngest of four boys would have to be be, wouldn't he?  When we brought this baby of mine home from the hospital I had to wake him up to feed him, "Hey little guy, time to eat now."  Even now he enjoys to sit and watch his brothers or his puppy dog do what they do, it doesn't matter what.  I read somewhere, regarding birth order, that the youngest child learns very early on how to seduce their caregiver and to draw people to them to get the attention they need.  If this is true, I absolutely agree because when my baby turns his beautiful blue eyes my way everything else fades and I'm held captive.  He looks into my eyes, smiles and says, "Aggooo" and it's the best thing ever.
But yesterday.  Let me say here that I've been learning, as each child has been added to my life, that it is most time folly to try and plan to get something done.  Attempting to tackle a predetermined to-do list is just asking for frustration.  Getting things done in a day with 4 children has to be more organic.  Such as, the boys want to play with their big trucks downstairs and the washer/dryer are down there so while they play a few loads of laundry gets done.  Or they want to read books to their baby brother and I get to clean the bathroom or take a shower.  Chores have to flow with the day, they can't necessarily be planned out, at least not in my reality.
So, I did what I should not have done and determined to get X,Y and Z done this particular day.  Between more messes than usual, overly tired 2 year olds into everything on different levels of the house and more time outs for the 4 year old than I can honestly remember, things did not happen the way I had hoped or planned.
I struggled with myself and my temper all day.  Fighting to not yell yet feeling as though I was not being heard.  Using self-talk to try and calm myself down to no avail.  And finally it was bedtime.  From the time breakfast was over to the time we brushed our teeth and said nighttime prayers the day had flown by, a flurry of tears and matchbox cars and marker on the kitchen floor.
After the nightly ritualistic calls of, "I need a drink", "Can I have another hug kiss?" and "I can feel my pee coming out", and my response to each I crawled into bed.  My husband and I heaved heavy sighs and each silently offered prayers of thanks for a now quiet house and a cozy resting place.
The stillness was broken by the cries of one of my two year olds.  This little boy in particular talks, laughs, sings and moves everywhere possible in his sleep.  I leapt up at the sound of his cries and went into his room to find him uncovered at the end of his bed with one leg wound into the ladder of the bunk bed.  His eyes weren't even open.  He moaned a bit when I detangled his leg, picked him up, nestled him into his covers, stroked his hair and gently kissed his forehead.  Then, as I sat next to him on his bed I couldn't move.  It was like the blue-eyed laser beam stare of my baby.  I was motionless, mesmerized by the beauty and wonder of this child before me.  With a hand on his head I thanked God for every part of his being.  The physical, emotional, mental and spiritual.  The parts of him that are funny and the parts of him that are stubborn.  I prayed for wisdom and strength, for health and joy.  This was a sacred moment for me.
I spent time with each of my boys that night, hands on their heads and hearts, stroking their little arms, kissing each finger.  Praying for their present and future, blessing them and thanking God for every inch and aspect of their being.
In the silence I was able to see things for what they were, to see each child for what he is-a miracle, a gift.  The whir and responsibilities of the day dimmed the light of sacredness, the silence served to illuminate.  I'm sure I will "struggle with myself" through many more days in this life, but I will be certain to recognize what is sacred and in doing so work to balance myself even during the most difficult of days.