Getting Through It

I never meant to stop posting for so long. Not to worry nothing to serious happened. I just felt...well like I didn't have anything to say. I did have some adventures and the kids were cute, but the general theme of January was: get through it and don't look back. The more I thought about it the more I realized how much of my life I spend getting through it. Big stuff like major surgery, moving and having both cars broken down at the same time as well as small stuff like registering my kids for school, planning and packing for a trip and going to the dentist. All off which occurred this month except major surgery (knock on wood) and moving (at least for us, someone close to me moved though).

I plot a determined and unyielding path from difficult but necessary objectives and I keep on truckin'. That is not at all to suggest I don't have fun along the way. I tend to enjoy myself more often than not. I just can't let those goals/problems hang over me like dark clouds or pile up like laundry. When I'm excited they happen quickly and I feel accomplished. Lately, I was in a rut. The world kept turning as I eternally shuffled things from the mountainous inbox to the completed projects file only to have them sneak back in to the inbox. The engine lights, deadlines, missing paperwork, broken things, early morning fits and endless logistics got heavy. Like baby elephant on my chest heavy not buried alive heavy. At least baby elephants are cute.

I was functioning, getting through it, but not so much enjoying myself. I needed something to look forward to on the other side of all my getting trough it. A silver lining, light at end of the tunnel, a reward. A birthday trip to Disney without the kids ought to do it. Now, I had some gratitude and excitement for fuel!

I still found myself...not as sunshine-y as usual. So, I started giving myself reasons to take care of myself. Doing little things for myself and speaking up. Now, your probably saying "Speaking up? When has THAT ever been your problem." I'm incredibly assertive, but if I want but don't need something I don't tell anyone. So, the other day after a long hot weekend morning shower I told Mike I really wanted a pre-birthday pedicure. Guess what? I got one. Even better I found Riley's new tap shoes ($5 at a consignment store) and then went a few doors down feeling accomplished and had my toes done. It was heaven sitting in the massage chair with my feet in the warm bubbly water.

Not only was Mike perfectly willing to fork over the cash for what we've dubbed "my yearly pedicure", but he asked why I don't do that more often. Now, I have a renewed vigor in everything I do from errand running to getting dressed in the morning. I feel more like myself. I'm so looking forward to an insanely fun and busy February!

However, I do think overachievers need to cool their jets now and then. Sometimes an illness or rut is a great chance to lower my expectations for myself, take a breath and reevaluate. Separating internal and external pressures can be confusing sometimes. I often feel the world will end if I do not find my stamps or get Roo to school 10min early. The truth is both of those thing happened and the world didn't end. It's ok to borrow and stamp for the important letter and be exactly on time or (GASP!) two minutes late. I'm still doing my best so even though the outcome changes I can be proud of myself.

Cleaning Sucks

I have two kids, an extremely messy husband and pets...and oh yeah a physical disability. Sweeping, mopping, vacuuming cause back pain and hip dislocation. Bath tub scrubbing makes my knees swell. Dish washing hurts my ankles. You get the idea. Don't worry this is not a complain/vent. It's another post in which I attempt to cut myself some slack. Before kids I did all the necessary cleaning and then I was "done for the day". Now, I recover from cleaning the way I recover from illness...I don't.

That is a REAL picture of the actual sink/counter/kitchen full of dirty dishes I woke up to on my 28th birthday (aka first birthday after I had Riley). I'll leave the condition of the rest of house to your imagination. Yes, I woke up on that post-partum birthday and wept at the massive mess. Then I whipped out my camera and documented it like an insane person. I think I wanted proof of what I'd done all day on my birthday while tending to a 7yr old and 5mo old. Truth is I can never be sure with all the hormones and sleep deprivation why I took 20+ pictures of my trashed house. As I started trying to deal with the situation I got mad, I mean really! Today?!? So, I decided I needed professional help (Yes, probably that kind too). I called a cleaning service. It would be Mike's birthday present to me, I'd inform him of his generous birthday gift later.

That was the first time I asked for help, but not the last. Like most moms keeping the house clean is a constant source of stress. Soon after that birthday I had a major back surgery and I started paying my friend to come once a week and help me. I was essentially stationary on the couch. A stack of diapers and a drink beside me, a baby gate encircling a patch of living room floor, and Riley climbing on and off my lap. I got up to use the bathroom and make our lunch. It was some rough times. $20 for someone to come run the vacuum and clean my bathrooms was well worth it. As time passed and different surgeries and recoveries happened the person helping, rates and tasks I needed them for changed, but I had weekly help whenever we could swing it.

Since our move it went from weekly to once a month. For awhile now I've been going it completely alone sending up the bat signal on special occasions. Before you get all "cry me a river" you have to clean your own house all the time. I live with an amazing slob (I love him and he's great at many things, but being aware of the wreckage of his presence is not one of them), a fused spine, two kids, pets and unpredictable physicality. I do my best, I ask the kids for help and I try to remember how much better things are now than in the old days. I feel like I'm pretty on the ball, but I'm not a miracle worker and I can only do so much. Recently I stumbled on this post: What Normal Looks Like. Some of it was accurate, some of it didn't apply, but the spirit of it gave me a moment of relief. I forgot that it's not just me struggling.

I hate it when the house gets out of control, it is literally hard for me to get around in it. I am doing my best at any given moment to keep things pleasant and functional. Note: I did not say "to impress people." I just want to be comfortable and relaxed in my house. If my physical abilities ever caught up with my expectations of myself this place would be immaculate! Short of the nano technology my husband swears will be the end of all my orthopedic issues someday I don't really see that happening.

Imagine if cleaning didn't just exhaust and frustrate you, but actually caused you physical pain. Are you sympathizing? Good! Now with that in mind, call before you drop by so I have time to tidy up.

Pinkalicious New Cane

I went back to therapy for my last visit and they had no luck finding a cane in my size. I was not surprised. I've spent a lifetime hunting for things in "my size" only to conclude they simply do not exist. The next day I got a call from a local number I didn't recognize and sent it to voice mail, assuming it was something stressful that could wait. When I listened to the message it was the lady from PT explaining that she had found me a cane. I simply needed to go pick it up. She described it as "pinkish purple" and gave the impression she'd paid for it out of her own pocket.

This afternoon I went to pick it up. Low and behold it was the right size!

Test Drive

After I had given it a spin I called and left her a message thanking her. Do you like it? It's not bad looking. Pink wouldn't have been my first choice but I like it. We may spruce it up a bit more actually. It's super light and you know THE CORRECT FREAKING HEIGHT!! On the walk back to my car my sister was using my old crutch and she started complaining about her shoulder! Moving on, my friends. There's still a lot of work to be done on my shoulders to avoid shoulder surgery, but this feels like a good place. I know what's wrong and what I have to do to fix it (even if that's a ton of work).

A Lot On My Shoulders

The latest chapter in my most recent orthopedic odyssey was a trip to physical therapy this week. I've had physical therapy visits hundreds of times, and most of the time I remember them positively. At the age of three years old, I hadn't yet walked. It was during a PT appointment when my mom and grandma were told the therapist was going to "try something" and not to get their hopes up, etc... Then they put a walker in front of me. I grabbed on to that sucker and took off. I had places to go! I went straight to the vending machine in the hallway and asked for cookies, of course! Everyone hearing this tale, laughed about how the adults were in tears about this wonderful moment, while I only had a single minded desire for cookies (so little changes). I wanted a package of the little round cookies with crinkly edges, vanilla with lemon cream. I remember that part vividly.

Obviously, physical therapy has done me significant good here and there, since I was smaller than Miss Roo. This appointment was a horse of a different color, it was for my upper body. I knew I was upset about the appointment. I knew it might be painful and it would certainly be different. I had no idea that it would be a deeply emotional experience. I just wasn't prepared.

I am screaming at myself even writing about this "What is your problem! It shouldn't be this big a deal." It was. It is. It's ok for my shoulder blades to hit a 10 on the pain scale. It is NOT ok to go to physical therapy for my shoulder blades. I have never been able to rely on my lower half and conversely I have always demanded my upper body pick up the slack. It can't break. It can't join my orthopedic issue roller coaster. It is unacceptable.

As I sat there relaying my medical history it could have been a conversation about anything all. Once the evaluation turned to my pain I had a lot of trouble. I felt stupid. I got chocked up several times. I could not articulate my answers well in almost every case. It hit me hard when he asked if I needed a stool to get up on an exam table. I refused one, as is my habit. I used my arms to pull myself up and I sat down. The therapist said in a matter of fact way, "you expect a lot of your arms." I could have burst into tears right there. Dammit. Of freaking Course I do! Did? Oh God.

He told me he sees lots of people with shoulder issues, but NONE of them have fused spine AND walk with crutches. I tried to joke about how ditching the stupid things would solve everything. In case I haven't said it recently, I hate the crutches. As it turns out they (duh!) had a major part in screwing up my shoulders. He gave me an exercise to do until I come back.

I wanted to punch a wall or cry. Instead I hauled my now-furious shoulder blade out to the the desk to make some more appointments. I wanted to scream at someone because this isn't allowed to happen. Instead I collected Isaac and tried to suck it up. I hope this is an isolated issue and not a sign of things to come.

Just keep swimming.

Drip, Drip, Drop Little April Showers

Let's talk in-climate weather logistics. Honestly, since I rarely used a mobility device unless I was post surgery growing up, I guess it wasn't an issue. The first time I remember rain being an issue was in college when I was suddenly had to traverse a vast, hilly campus on wheels. Obviously, holding an umbrella was not an option while pushing my wheelchair up hills slick with rain so mostly I'd bundle up in my winter coat with my hood up.

Later, I suffered the standard how-do-I-get-the-baby-and-groceries-inside-the-house conundrum. I wasn't still using mobility devices on a regular basis. I just wished I had more hands (don't we all). When I had to carry a baby and an umbrella I was ok, but getting her and I into the car dry was always tricky. I started arranging the umbrella between the door and car roof so I had both hands free to get her situated. It meant a dry baby and mostly dry mommy. Usually, I'd get rain trickling down my back a bit before I could get in.

I'm not complaining. I don't mind being a little damp. I just wanted to give you a frame of reference. Now several years after the baby and a few major surgeries later I'm on crutches outside the house. Aside from not easily being able to manage an umbrella there's the crutches on a wet surface issue. I can't count the number of times I've had my crutches go out from under me in opposite directions on wet ladies room floor, or on a puddle-ly sidewalk. A crutch on water is like stepping on a banana peel. I've never (knock on wood) been injured seriously, but it always scares me to pieces. One-a these days Alice, broken hip!

The other issue is that anyone with bad joints or any inclination towards inflammation isn't a fan of what rain does to their body. It never used to bother me much, but I grew up and got hit by a bus. Ever since the bus, rains hurts. It doesn't always take me out of circulation, but I always feel it to some degree.

These days, I ditch one of my crutches if I can because lopsided-ness is worth umbrella coverage. I really don't care about getting wet at all, except that it makes the joint pain worse. Wet equals cold, cold equals muscle tension. I try to keep my joints warm and keep my physical activity mid-level to minimum. I take fish oil twice a day to help my joints and minimize the need for anti-inflammatories. I try to get in for regular messages and stretch often, but it doesn't always work. Best case scenario is obviously to stay in, but let's get real kids have to get to school and errands must be run even on a rainy day. I keep an eye out for puddles so I don't slip, but things happen. Mostly, I try not to be too rough on myself if the rain throws a wrench in my to do list. Luckily, I know a little girl with pink kitty rain boots who's usually up for cuddle when the rain wins.

Thanks, Mom

Today I woke up to a mysteriously injured hip. The old rage, at everything unfair, was inflamed as my hip joint. I had rested after a long week of birthday fun. I rested more than I normally would and still I woke up in agony. Granted, I ran around quite a bit this week and then took the kids to a theme park over the weekend (in celebration of Isaac getting into his first choice magnet middle school), but 48 full hours later the pain was all in one joint. Do you know what it's like when your "good hip" hurts? Oye. Unfortunately, I have to severely limit my use of over the counter anti-inflammatory medicine so as not to upset another medical issue. It made for a long weepy morning and I am no wuss.

I ran around and wore myself out, than ran around with the kids (in the wheelchair) and I rested almost a full 12hrs prior to today. I was fine for a a whole day. The day it didn't matter. The day it was up to me what I got done. Now, the day after that one I get out of bed unable to bear weight on my right leg at all. Minimum doses of anti-inflammatory later, no change. I was frustrated and scared. What if I had really done it? What if my I'd blown out my good hip? It was too terrible to consider.

I confessed the gravity of the situation to Mike, but I wasn't about to give up on my day. Especially, after I gave my ungrateful punk of a body yesterday "off." No dice. I had plans to volunteer at an event at Riley's school. The hip pain would NOT win. It was the same situation I've been through a million times except I wasn't just tired or just in pain I couldn't step down on my good hip. Again, how is this at all fair? I over did it, then rested, then over did it and then rested. How can it hurt this much? Why today?

I babied it earlier in the day. By the time I had to head out I discovered wearing my braces and shoes helped a bit. I sucked it up, and hobbled to Riley's school with more weight on my crutches than either leg. I don't think anyone noticed my wincing or perspiration given all the hustle and bustle. I was able to slide into a tiny chair and craft my way to distraction. It was school-wide hub bub so there was a lot to take my mind off the evil presence in my joint. Nobody seemed the wiser, especially Riley.

I smiled as I guided her classmates through my craft station and the merrily escorted Riley through the others. In my head, however, it was a checklist: Craft One-check, You can do this. Breathe, Craft Two-check, Ok, wrapping it up. Turn in Card-check, Pick up Book-check, Hang in there. Breathe. Pick up Cookie-check and We're outta Here-check. I made it, without cheating Riley or her classmates out of any part of the experience. I got home, dictated some directions and collapsed until bath time.

It wasn't the first time and it won't be the last. It was just a more extreme example. I prefer to fight through pain that comes and goes or can be largely ignored, but when your eyes well up with tears every time you take a step it's a whole other level of pushing through. I suspect, all mothers have a sense that their children have no idea how much they fight and sacrifice for them.

I remember going through some nasty pre-term labor with Riley and a good friend assuring me she'd be happy to recant all I went through to bring this kid into existence when she's an ungrateful teenager. My children have no idea how many times I've wanted to check out and instead found myself in an "above-and-beyond" situation. They shouldn't know about it, not when I can fight and be there. Now and then they need, to know that I need my feet up or a request is just too much at the moment, but I don't want them to ever feel guilty for wanting me around. Someday they won't. I'll never be sorry for overdoing it, if I've been able to make memories with my rapidly growing kids. Now, cleaning is a different story...no one wants basketball sized swollen knees from scrubbing floors and tubs. I pick my battles, not always as well as I should, but I do.

For now happy faces have to be my thanks.

Stranded

From time to time, I have been truly stranded. I have been stuck in a bed, a chair, in a room or some other place that I don't want to be, with no way to leave. I have woken up unable to to climb out of my bed. I have found myself on the couch unable to reach my crutches. I've had a child take off in my wheelchair and leave me stuck. I have crawled like a baby across rooms and been carried. It is a vulnerable thing to be stranded. Somehow, I never feel relaxed like a cartoon man in tattered clothes sunning himself on an island beach waiting for rescue. It is pure frustration to be stranded, stuck and stunted. It is the battle against my flawed body to accomplish my goals at it's extreme low.

I can forget where I put my crutches the same way someone else might misplace their phone or keys. Nothing like forgetting your legs, right? I expect on my worst of days to be besieged by frustration and I plan accordingly. The trouble is that sometimes it's a good day physically and something completely out of my control strands me. Those days knock the wind out of me.

It is hardest when an overly physical task sprung on me: a wet bed in middle of the night, a broken pipe under the sink or any of those day to day emergencies that happen to everyone. Things that wear on my joints and test the limits of my fused spine. I take them in stride, but they always cost me. I balance things as much as I can, because that's what Moms do.

I have a friend who left her wheelchair in the driveway when she transferred into the car and didn't realized she didn't have it in the car until she was pulling into a parking space at her destination. Stranded. Another disabled mom friend of mine recently went shopping prior to a snow storm and couldn't find an electric cart that functioned. Not one electric cart with a charge in the whole store and no one who cared. Stranded.

I had a similar experience recently with a happier resolution. I went to Target bright and early, grabbed a electric cart and went on my way. I picked up everything on my lengthy list working my way to the back of the store. It was there, of course that the battery died. There I was perched on a paperweight, in the back of this sprawling store. I was mildly irritated until I turned around and saw another woman in the same situation, a handful of aisles behind me. She was older and heavier than me, but she had a shopping companion. I'd say the competition for who was worse off was a draw. My basket was ridiculously full and I didn't want to abandon my haul to find help. I sat there scanning the aisles and debating whether to just walk out. I couldn't bear the thought of being stuck or giving up after my trip was all but done.

Finally, I saw someone coming and felt completely relieved- for about two seconds. He passed me on his way to rescue the other lady. He swapped her bum cart for a new one. I waved him over, now visibly upset, and he explained that he just gave her the last charged chart in the store. I looked from my cart to him in dismay, but before I could embarrass myself with any further emotional display he offered to fetch a cart. He said he would load and push it for me. While he was gone the rescued lady's second cart ran out of steam too! It was almost so ridiculous it was funny. That poor woman.

My hero followed through, cheerfully getting quite the cardio-workout placing all my stuff in a regular cart. He walked me through my last few items and on to the checkout line. He unloaded everything on to the belt and disappeared to save the other victim of the-day-all-the-batteries-died. The managers were appalled by the situation and my new friend even came back to help me get everything in the car.

I've been lucky a few times and not so lucky many more times. I think everyone has those moments, but they are more routine when you have mobility issues. I find being prepared: shopping early so the carts are still plugged in from the night before, not patronizing stores that are too hard to manage, stocking up on things when I'm out so that if I can't get out later we have them, being very vocal with management when there's an issue in hopes it won't happen again...and so on. Somethings are just beyond our control even if we do everything we can to prepare there will always be surprises. "Pick, yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again..."

Same Old...

Most of the time, it doesn't matter. Most of the time no one mentions it. It just is. The sky is blue, the Earth is round and I walk funny.

I don't exaggerate; it is usually of very little consequence or importance. There are moments, days, or even stretches of time when it does matter. Times when someone says something that brings it to the forefront in a way it doesn't deserve to be often. If a friend of mine adapts to a challenge and then laughs about it (like it's the most ridiculous thing ever), I might find myself thinking "Oh, yeah I'm different than you." Those kinds of stories resonate because my disabled mom friends and I have made those adaptations to cope without a second thought. When someone rails against keeping a toddler on a lead. When someone talks about me like I'm a decorated war hero for taking my kid to the playground. It matters.

I'm not saying it should never matter - of course it matters sometimes. It matters greatly sometimes. My existence is different than a lot people I know. I live in a physical flux. I am not a normal specimen of humanity. I have not been injured and recovered back to some magical epicenter of functionality. I started out with a set of issues and challenges to adapt to. When there is an injury, surgery or other change in circumstance, I adapt. I am changed each time, and each change is a link in a chain. It's not a ripple in a pond that will still itself again.

It's not linear. Injuries, healing, back to normal? Not quite. Yesterday, you saw me hobbling around unaided by crutches and today I'm in the wheelchair? In your world it means there's something wrong, but in mine it's day-to-day adaptation. I'm not "getting worse", I'm coping with uneven terrain, distance, a swollen joint, a speedy preschooler. I just didn't feel like walking/finding my other crutch, needed both hands, wanted to wear a bigger purse. You change clothes, I change my method of mobility (or whatever else is needed). You take Aspirin for a headache, I walk less when I need to.

I'm not saying it's never linear. Particularly after surgery there is a reasonable progression, but in my day to day life things are always changing. Please don't take any of my comparisons here as hostility - on the contrary, I adore all my able-bodied friends and fans so much that I felt I could share. I am not trying to elicit pity from you. I see what is different between us which is tricky when so much is the same.

Maybe I'm just permitting myself to record a stream of consciousness with no real significance to anyone but me. In which case I'll indulge further and say I don't have any aspirations to be "other" than I am. We all have struggles, it makes us human. I never seriously longed for a "cure" from what is, as I stated at the start, simply a fact of my existence like any other.

It's all in the "eye of the beholder", as Rod Sterling so nicely put it, it is merely "an accident of birth."

Post Party Ponderences

Yup, her shirt says "I am 3." No I didn't make this one, but it just happens to be a pink 3 with white polka dots. Minnie-tastic. I got it on clearance awhile back and figured it was a good shirt because she'd have a daytime outfit on party day and be able to keep wearing the shirt all year. We rocked the "Mouse Ears" hairdo all day.

The party was amazing. I count it as two successful parties in two months. Congrats me(aka Ready, Set, Happily Ever After Events) well done. Today the exhaustion that had been creeping up all week landed like a ton of bricks. So, after some coffee and some completely unfocused sitting around thinking I got to cleaning. It was a BIG job.

On the plus side we got the food exactly right this time. Every hot dog and cupcake was consumed. Every drop of "Minnie's Pink Lemonade" (We mixed strawberry juice and lemonade and floated lemon slices) and Mike's gourmet iced teas had been imbibed. There was only about two bowls full of fruit salad and a plate of chicken left which we polished off Sunday. I was very proud of how little was left food wise, but the dishes were considerable. On top of kitchen mess, toys new and old were EVERYWHERE. Decorations and deflated balloons littered the floors, walls and tables. You can tell kids had some fun here.

I cleaned for about 3 hours, crawling around on the floor. I threw toys up on the wheelchair seat and towed it behind me as I went. I'm sure it was a site. I spend a long time pulling down decorations (snapping extra pictures of anything bound for the trash) and popping balloons. Leeloo wasn't a fan of all the popping. Now does anyone know what to do with the empty helium tank? When I had made a dent in the mess I laid down for a bit before round one of dishes.

I think I was at the sink when it hit me: It's over. All the planning and crafting. It's done now. I waited to feel sad. Nope. Relieved? Not really. Hmmm... Accomplished. That was one heck of a third birthday. You're welcome, Miss Roo. I'm a rockstar party planner. Then something else occurred to me: She's 3. No more toddler, she's a preschooler. She's one of the "big kids." When I think of the diaper clad, breastfeeding, nonverbal days I am awash with relief for potty trained, independent-minded, part time school attending, absurdly articulate Miss Roo. That being said, I am a little sad. It went by so quickly looking back and I spend so much time hurting/healing when she was small.

When Mike got home he didn't mention my cleaning progress. Eventually, I demanded that he look around and say thank you. Sometimes you just have to tell them what you need. Then he laughed and said "I didn't notice because it looked exactly like it did before the party!" It was only after my comment that he realized how much work that must have taken. Miss Roo didn't mind the clean up one bit. I think she'd had just enough birthday and besides down with Minnie means up with Halloween.

Physical Impairment vs Playground

I used to play on the playground with Isaac. At least the swinging and sliding and such. I always left run and chase to others. Since Riley's existence I find myself parking it on a bench more often than not. God, that sounds sad. Maybe it is...I'm very hands on at home. I color, paint, build with blocks and all that good stuff often. Outside, even in my own backyard I do a lot more watching than playing. I do make frequent use of the swing though.

Today (covered in SPF 50), I took Riley to a new playground. I went on crutches, thank goodness. There were a fair amount of challenges.

As you can see in this picture there was a plastic barrier around the sand area. A very tall one. I think it hit Riley near chest level. I was unprepared for this and not super quick about observing it. I set our stuff down, shoved the camera in my pocket and abandoned one crutch. Bad call as it turned out. I made a few failed attempts to swing my legs over before enlisting Riley's help. Bless her she tried, but alas I was gravity's victim once more.

Recovering from the fall "into the playground" was something of a puzzle too. I had very little traction in all that sand and only one crutch. Hmmmm....I ended up on the 4th try digging my back foot into the sand and pushing the crutch against the plastic half wall. Then I was up and limping.

It was a meager little playground, long since abandoned for the fancier upgrades in the distance. It has a slide, a swing set with toddler sized bucket swings and a bouncy pelican. I told Riley it was a playground just for her. She was excited and slightly dubious, but she had a lot of fun.

By the time I started to go around the slide to help her up the ladder she'd made it to the top. It was shady enough that she didn't scald herself on the way down either. Of course with so few options I knew we were headed for the swings soon. I did take immediate notice that they were all "tot seats" as the sign called them. Not a "big girl" swing among them which meant two things: 1)I couldn't swing too 2)How in the heck was I gonna get her in there?!? When she was a baby no big deal she was a light weight. At home these days it's rare for her to request the "baby swing", but if I'm in my wheelchair I let her climb me and then from standing in my lap put her in. Otherwise I drag a lawn chair over and let her climb that.

From the ground, in sand, into a seat that high...I didn't get this on the first try either. I propped my crutches against the the swing set (I always choose the swing next to the support so Riley expects it now). Then I attempted to brace myself and lift. Fail, of course. I tried a few things before I finally backed up against the aforementioned pole and pulled on the swing to see how far over towards me I could get it. That's how I did it, picked her up leaning on the pole, pulled the swing toward us and aimed her feet in. Once she was situated I picked up a crutch and pushed her until my arm was falling off.

Talking her out of a swing it always a job, but I convinced her to go bounce on the pelican. We used the same exit procedure we do at home: she stood up leaning on me, I leaned on a crutch while lowering her in kind of a roll down my body until her feet where on the ground. The pelican was super appealing to me because she could do it by herself and it was outside of the sand. I caught my breath for a minute while she figured it out. We decided her name was Princess Pelican. She and Riley had a few adventure while I caught my breath.

Right before we left Riley got creative she decided the top of the slide was a tower (hers is at home, Daddy built it) and then she was a trapped princess. I tossed her the key to her tower from the bench. She caught it, unlocked the door with gusto, discovered the "tunnel" (slide), took it to freedom, ran excitedly through her private playground and then climbed the ladder to repeat the whole thing.

So, now that I've done it once I've got systems in place for this playground and will happily return. Many thanks to my amazingly smart little girl for insisting I swap her sandals for sneakers before we left. The last obstacle and only unsolved issue was the potty. I suspect it's by the new playground that was crawling with summer camp kids in the distance. There was no way I was making that hike or braving that crowd to be wrong either. We rushed home which is about 2 minutes away (and made it). I felt both proud of myself and Riley's teamwork and totally frustrated at points. The truth is my daughter would have enjoyed walking around an empty field, but I hope she never feels defeated by a problem. I'm also happy that she had so much fun playing a game with me while I sat on the bench.

Now that I write that we do that in the backyard a lot. We swing together or she climbs the tower and I swing. All the while having a dialogue/playing games/singing songs. I guess we ended on a rather cheesy note, so I leave you with Galaxy Quest: "Never give up. Never surrender!" (Take that playground.)

Your Mom Could Beat Up My Mom!

I was reading a friend's blog (not a fellow blogger I now consider a friend although we've never met, but a friend-in-real-life's web log.) and she mentioned her precocious little 5 year old daughter's dramatic accusation that she had not won the jumping competition at camp that day because her mother never taught her how. Her mother, like myself, has CP. I pondered this a long minute after I read it. I used to worry as a child that if I ever had kids they would grow up and resent my disability one day. I decided as a kid that a)I was awesome and b)I was NEVER having kids.

Clearly, I was at least half wrong there. Funny, I never stressed over what Riley would make of my physical ineptitude for anything athletic or requiring balance. Maybe it was the fact that Mike already had a very active 5yr old when we met. I had to adapt quickly. I didn't teach Isaac to ride a bike, that was a job for his dad, but I did teach him to swing by himself and tie his shoes. He seemed to have the physical milestones well in hand.

I just needed to teach him the stuff I was good at. Fine. Good. Mike can do the running and jumping. I never thought about how balanced we are in that way. Just last weekend we took Riley to a gymnastics birthday party. I got her ready to party and then socialized and took pictures. Mike jumped, flipped, ran and climbed.

One day, surely the kids will realize that I'm different than the other moms. They will probably even resent it at some point, but all parents (aka human beings) have strengths and weaknesses. My mother certainly never taught us sports of any kind and she was perfectly able bodied. I resented my parents not being cooler or having more money briefly over the course of my adolescence. So, my kids can go for the easy, obvious failings if they so choose.

I have moments like the other day when Isaac asked why we never go to the beach, when I feel a bit guilty. Any post surgery, injury or exhaustion moment when my kids are full of energy, that I feel mopey. On the honeymoon when all Mike wanted to do was snorkel and I epically failed (and then childishly whined about it), I felt guilty. Doesn't he deserve a wife that can snorkel? Don't the kids deserve a mom who can play at the beach? Or ride bikes with them? Sure they do.

The reality is they don't have one of those. Just like they don't have a mom who can reach the top of the fridge without a step stool. They have me and I get the job done. They have a dad who can run, jump, flip, etc so they're lucky that way. Mike and I balance each other in lots of ways. Do they deserve a dad who doesn't feel anxiety meeting the other parents? Probably, but that don't have one. I pick up the slack there and no one misses out on much.

I suppose it's all well and good to ponder it as a hypothetical. I imagine it will be much more emotional when Riley accuses me of ruining her life because I can't help her with her pliés or pirouettes. Somehow it will be my fault when Isaac, who is currently going through an incredibly spoiled sport phase, doesn't win some kind of physical competition or doesn't get to go on a class trip because I'm just not capable of supervising a spelunking expedition. It will sting, but I'm only as perfect a parent as I am a human being. I have done and will do everything I can to make sure their childhoods' are full of new experiences, but please don't ask me to take them to the beach by myself, UGH.

Back To Adapting

It was a slightly different "back to normal" today. I found myself with kids neatly squared away at their respective schools rushing home to Miss Leeloo. Which wasn't an altogether unfamiliar thing, to have a baby at home. I reflected on what I saw as the biggest challenge all the way home: How will I get her outside quickly? Luckily, she had been out a few minutes ago and was lazily munching her breakfast in her "room" (crate) when I got back, passing my husband in the driveway.

She was calm enough and settled down to sleep for a bit afterward so I had time to ponder. I mulled it over while I folded laundry and tidied toys. I wasn't going to cause a regression making her pee on the pee pee pads all day. Plus, that wouldn't be super fun for my back either. I decided to try my go-to in Middle School, I would attempt to use my wheelchair as a stroller and push her to the backyard. If that failed I could attempt to carry her on my lap.

Plan A was an epic fail. She wanted nothing to do with being in the wheelchair by herself and even with my arm serving as a seat belt she jumped out. Than I attempted to sit down and scoop her up, but she is no longer the 13.1 pound baby we brought home. While I am still able to lift her from the lower couch trying to pick her up from my wheelchair is a no go. Shoot. We'd have to do it baby duck style. She'd have to follow me.

I got her outside, but she recoiled from the heat and camped out in the shade on the patio. I rolled down into the grass and tried to coax her out. I used the same words Mike does "pee pee time". She didn't budge. After such a long nap she had to be bursting. I got down on the ground and petted her, eventually pulling her into the grass. I got up and watched her for what felt like forever and then finally she got up sniffing. With her bouncy puppy run she found a nice spot in the flower bed and took a tinkle. I praised her no end and thought maybe we might just make it.

The rest of our potty trips were increasingly longer and in some cases unsuccessful. Just like a toddler she followed happily then almost immediately began testing my resolve. On the plus side she knows Mommy and Daddy can take her out to potty now with certainty. Also a bright spot she's 11 weeks old Thursday which means in a week she'll be old enough to hold it. She's growing up so fast.

A Time to Lean

My wheelchair has been in need of new tires since February. It just seemed like something that could wait until after the wedding. I got through everything on bald tires and then gave up on using the chair. I liked that I didn't have the choice, but I've wanted to sit lately. On the other hand I should be able do to everything I did pre-surgery without compliant, right? It's been five months.

I'm healed enough to get around, but not to abandon using the wheelchair inside the house occasionally. I haven't been using it. I haven't been resting at all. I have been attempting to use one cructh or use the furniture to hobble around a lot more. Today Riley handed me a crutch and said "Here Mommy. There's your crutches. You use them so you don't say ouch. Hold the handles." My little helper. She's probably right. Maybe I should use them both more often. Maybe I'm pushing too hard.

PS: I pulled a tendon in my hip

Some Days Are Just Fails

For all my independence, perseverance and positive attitude some days just stink. Today, I loaded Riley up and headed off to get my post honeymoon haircut. Traditionally, I don't bring her to the salon because I'm there for hours. Today I was just getting a cut and her presence was requested. It started with the parking space.

There's a disabled space next to the door, but it was taken. In all the years I've been coming to this salon I've never had to park farther then the third space from the door. I ended up on the other side of the parking lot today. I had myself, Riley, Riley's cup, Riley's snack, Riley's baby doll, my laptop (to show them wedding pictures) and my purse. My hands were full of crutches and I stupidly forgot my tote bag. I usually keep one in the car for these occasions. Now I had a bit of a hike to undertake with all this stuff.

My first thought was to make two trips. This was a great thought. I've decided as a disabled mom that if it occurs to me to take two trips, that is always the right answer. Alas, I didn't today. I unbuckled Riley and handed her her cup and snack. I grabbed my crutches looped my purse across my chest, tucked my computer under my arm and bit the dolly's arm so I could step up the curb.

I was so proud of myself. I'd done it. All I had to do was step up on that curb. Gravity and I (being lifelong enemies) had another spat just then. My laptop took flight shattering dramatically into pieces. I fell backwards onto my crutches. There I was, pinned. The weight of my own body had trapped me. I couldn't pull my arms from the crutches or pull the crutches out from under me. My first thought was that I couldn't scare Riley. "Stay on the curb, baby" I managed with the little bit of breath that hadn't been knocked out of me in the fall. I was hyper aware of my awkward position, but it took a few seconds to think of what to do.

There was an older gentlemen there all the sudden. He was wonderful, I have to say. In the past people have made a HUGE deal or grabbed me and tossed me to my feet without warning. He said in a very even tone "Are you alright? What can I do." I asked him to stay with Riley. Bless her sweet like heart, she had stepped down off the curb and was stroking my hair calmly asking “Are you ok Mommy?” Then I gritted my teeth and rolled over. I got off my crutches and handed him one. By the time I was standing again there was a crowd.

Bloody rubberneckers! Gawking and useless. I had a lot of adrenaline pumping through me so I couldn't feel much pain yet. I thanked the man who proceeded to disappear very respectfully while the old ladies stared open mouthed as if I had two heads. An employee of the salon scooped up my laptop parts and walked with me. Once inside she handed me a wet towel. I was so concerned about not scaring Riley (who's only witnessed mommy having a big fall once before) I hadn't noticed I was bleeding.

Once I was wiped off and bandaid-ed and Riley was happily playing all I could think was, "I'm an idiot! I smashed my laptop. Why didn't I make two trips?" Turns out only the battery flew off and one hinge so it was still functional enough to show wedding pictures. Haircut managed the owner herself escorted us to the car. Mental note: It's ok to ask for help.

By the time I got home I was hurting. Imagine a hard fall causing all of your muscles to tighten into metal, it's rough. I had a badly skinned elbow, a skinned knee and a horribly bruised wrist. By the time I put Riley down for nap all the adrenaline was gone and the back spasms started. I took Advil and laid down. I needed to keep going because Tuesday is dance class and Riley missed two in a row with the wedding.

I felt better after the nap, but not good. I got Riley fed and in her dance clothes. She was just bouncing off the walls with excitement. I decided to take her to the library to kill time before class. She potty-ed about 45 seconds before we walked out the door. I was hurting too much to try and load and unload the wheelchair so I walked.

We had picked our books, colored a picture and were headed to check out when it happened. Riley has never been anything but good at the library, ever. We go to the library between twice a month and once a week. She told me she had to potty. I hurried over to set our books down so we could use the bathroom. She had started to fuss behind me but my back was turned for a moment. It was the mom behind me who said (in a non-judgmental way, bless her) "um, she's naked." and then "can I help?". Riley screamed when the stranger approached, I really can't fault her for that. She'd never stripped in public before and just like my slow reaction time after the fall I wasn't immediately sure what to do.

I pulled her clothes (leotard and pants) back on while she fought me and screamed. Then I grabbed her hand and started leading her to the bathroom. It seems awful now, but I told her in a stern tone that if she didn't stop crying and pulling against me I wouldn't take her to dance class. Once we were in the bathroom it all made sense. There was a small bit of icky-ness in her panties. She'd been at the tail end of a cold. It happens, but it really scared her. No wonder she was crying and stripping. Poor kid. We're so far past the accident days I didn't have spares with me so I cleaned her up and told her she had to wear the yucky clothes for just a little bit.

The library's close so we got her home and changed, but not before the wrestling match of the century getting her into her car seat. I felt like the worst mother in the world. She kept saying "No Mommy please! I'm too poopy. Please." Ugh. Once she was happily playing for a few minutes I had a cry because I won't ever be able to pick her up and run to the potty. Poor girl. To add insult to injury there was no way I could take her to dance class with her tummy giving her trouble. She was so sad.

I guess we'll have to resume conquering the world tomorrow.

Eliminate All Excess Stress

Can I do less? You betcha! That appointment is causing me anxiety, I'll reschedule. I'll walk around that mess until my back feels better. I'll eat first and put Riley down for nap when I'm done for once. Riley's still sleeping and we're supposed to be somewhere? Cancel. I hope I can keep this up. It's fun, but out of character. Maybe this is the way Mike's brain always works?

I am trying to conserve both energy and sanity. So help me, I will not continue this zombie walking. I need to remember things and feel happy in these last few days before I get married. I did finally get a normal night of sleep last night. I hope I can repeat that tonight. With any luck I'll be human by the end of the week.

It helps that Mike and my friends have really been stepping up on the wedding front. Mike made my garter yesterday which was big for me. It's such a little thing detail, but it meant a lot that he took a minute to do it. I'll post pictures in the wedding blog. My bridesmaids are throwing me an awesome Mad Hatter Tea Party themed bridal shower next weekend! It is beyond nice to have something like that to look forward to. My friends have been adorably excited about the wedding it makes me feel special. Also, my awesome unofficial bridesmaids been practicing henna on her husband for my bachelorhood party. YAY!

Conserving is one half of the equation, relishing the little things is the other half. That part is much easier for me. Henna, bow bouquets, swinging with Riley, canolis, packing for the honeymoon (well not packing I hate packing!) how about being packed, my new books...etc. Yay!

Hindsight is Twenty, Twenty

I should not have walked the combined square footage of three stores in between physical therapy appointments. I should have spaced out the trips. The trouble is my wedding is two weeks away and my groom just decided what the boys were wearing this weekend. All that walking and then home empty handed mid-week, but the weekend was worse.

I should have rested before the baby shower. I should not have run errands first. I certainly should not have gone to the mall afterward! I was so disappointed about not finding anything during the week I made some not great choices. Isaac wears a size 8 and he needs brown dress pants. I checked online, Target, Kohls and Ross, Nada. Apparently, little boys ONLY wear black or navy dress pants EVER. Also, brown pants were plentiful in toddler sizes and mens sizes so that's the only age window it isn't done I guess. I shall have to file a grievance with the prepubescent boys union about this.

Aside from Isaac's pants, he's a groomsman, I needed to see if the shirt I liked for Mike was available in store to save us the $10 shipping and I needed shoes to get married in. Now, I escaped without kids having had Mike load the wheelchair into the back of my station wagon for me. I never go to the mall on weekends I always go early on weekdays. There's a good reason for that. Not only was every handicapped space gone, but every space near the store I wanted in general. I should have thought about what that crowded of a parking lot meant and gone home.

I got a descent space, used my crutches to get to the back of the car and then pulled on my wheelchair until it kind of fell out. I left my crutches in the back and wheeled in to Macy's (I should also mention I really hate department store). They did not have the shirt in the color I needed for Mike. They had a similar one (also on sale), but it wasn't in the size he told me. I pondered that and called him to discuss while I searched the boys department. Mike told me to get the size smaller shirt.

LOOOOOOOOOONG story short, that was all I came home with. There were no brown pants in Isaac's size. I found several shoe options, but none in my size/the right color. It was a bust. I dragged my tired butt back to the car after those fruitless hours of searching and could not remember how I'd been able to load my wheelchair up by myself before. I took my crutches out of the back, folded up the wheelchair and then made several comical attempts to put it in. Basically, I have to tip it back in a giant wheelie until the front wheels are in the car. Then I have to reposition (and brace) myself so I can push it up it enough force to get it in. Once it's standing up in the back I just tug it until it's on it's side and shut the door.

I got home beyond tired to discover the shirt didn't fit Mike at all. It has to be returned. I just put all the cardboard and pins in a bag because I have no idea how to redo them. He also got the wrong size bathing suit at Target earlier in the day so that has to go back. It gets better. I went to order my plan b shoe choice online and it was sold out!

It was so stressful. I did order Isaac the only pair of brown dress pants in his size in all of creation. They better fit. Other than that I busted my butt on minimal sleep (been having nightmares)for almost nothing!

Back to Normal(ish)

Let me start by saying it has not been all Facebook and Netflix on the couch since my surgery in November, at all. In fact, I did not allow myself a "laying around period" post surgery this time. I got out of the hospital on Wednesday and on Friday night I through Isaac's 9th birthday party. Then that Saturday I went to a baby shower and so on...You're getting the picture. I tried to disrupt our "normal" as little as possible.

Riley goes to play with her friends 3 days a week. Those three days are supposed to be the day I rest and have quality time with Isaac. Instead, I drop Riley off and hit the ground running trying to squeeze as much productivity as is humanly possible into those few precious hours. Until two weeks ago therapy came to me and I was still cautiously weight bearing. Not anymore. I started out patient physical therapy two weeks ago. I was also told by the doctor "you're healed, go crazy."

To clarify healed means the bones knitted back together and I am in no danger of popping it out or re-breaking. It does not mean I'm back to my level of functioning pre-surgery. There's been a lot of atrophy and there was always weakness. Not to mention I have never had both hips in the sockets in 30yrs. I have to learn to walk closer to the way normal people do (at least as far as my hips go) it's been tricky.

I digress, I have in the last three days in (addition to cleaning, organizing, blogging, crafting, homework checking, entertaining, cooking. bathing, etc) started finally doing dishes and laundry without assistance! I know my life is soooo glamorous. We do not have a dishwasher so standing and hand washing dishes was a test of endurance, but I passed the other day. Although my laundry room is accessible by wheelchair there's no getting the clothes out of the washer without standing, reaching and a wee bit of climbing, but I did that too.

Did I mention I was tired? My dad who's also recovering from orthopedic surgery (he broke his leg) keeps asking me if I'm bored. I wish. No, actually I don't. This is better than bored, just tiring.

Dresser Drama

It always seems to be two steps forward and one step back, doesn't it? I was feeling all liberated yesterday. This morning I was supposed to sleep in a little and let Mike get the kids ready. The problem was I eventually needed to get dressed. At the moment there is a sandbags-on-the-shoreline style barricade arond my dresser. My poor dresser sits in close proximity to Mike's desk. Mike is a slob. The spillage gets out of control sometimes and the overflowing mess can potentially cut me off from half of my room.

Some days back it occurred to me that there was a simple answer. Instead of having drama and demanding he pick up or be on hand whenever I'm ready to get dressed , we just move the dresser. Ta-da! My problem solver powers are great. Unfortunately so are his powers of procrastination. Although we had a simple solution and it would only take him moments to execute it had not happened as of this morning.

I tried to stay asleep, but anxiety gripped me. I'd get up after he was gone to the office and attempt to climb over the piles to my dresser and hurt myself and no one would be there to meet Isaac after school. Worse physical therapy this week would be shot. I decided to get up and have Mike help me before he left. I picked out clothes for Riley and started dressing her while I waited for Mike to emerge. He came out of the bathroom grumpy and annoyed. He had to get my clothes in the middle of getting ready of work and the fact that they kids were now both ready was no consolation.

While he was sighing and retrieving my clothes I burst into tears. It wasn't my best moment, but I was sick of this shit! No girl should have to depend on a boy to pick out her clothes. I was tired and if I hadn't needed help I would have still been in bed. I got dressed and kissed the kids and laid down for another 30min before I started my busy day.

When I was putting Riley to bed tonight I heard Mike moving the dresser! It's such a relief to know my clothes will be accessible from now on. It's a microcosm of how I feel about my physical limitations. I don't have to run marathons I just want to dress myself. It's also, a microcosm for marriage: I could have yelled, screamed, cried and reasoned with Mike for who knows how long about keeping his mess away from my dresser, but in the end that's his workspace and he's a slob. I will never be happy being dependent on him for things I could do myself. So we move the dresser and don't expect anyone to be someone they're not.

A Little Running Around

I haven't run an errand by myself in a while. The surgery laid me up and prevented driving until recently. On top of varying levels of mobility Riley has been my shadow lately. I had intended to bring her with me to Target to pick up a few things after her nap. It turned out Mike had an urgent request with 30mins left until Riley's nap. I thought I'd still bring her for a quick drip, but she had a fit that included throwing a bowl of food. So, I left by myself.

It was strange. I remember similar feelings of freedom the first few times I went somewhere without her when she was a baby. I alternated between extreme pride at my independence and mobility and the feeling I'd forgotten an appendage. I walked into the store on my crutches, but I was tired from the party so I hopped on an electric cart. I zipped around gathering my items. It was strange not to have to entertain a toddler. My thoughts seemed louder.

I even ran into a mommy friend and had an uninterrupted conversation, whoa. Once my errand was complete I came home to a quiet house and worked on crafts projects until nap time ended. It was nice. I was happy to see madam cranky pants when she woke up. It's nice to have options again.

It's nice to run around by myself and equally nice to come home to the kids. I don't mind being home most of the time and I enjoy spending lots of time with kids. What I don't like is have no choices. Stir crazy doesn't really cover it. Little by little I'm getting out and about again, doing more around the house and feeling like myself again.

Park Party

The last of Riley's little group of friends turned two this weekend. I can not get over how much growing up has been going on right under my nose! It was a fabulous party and little Miss E the birthday girl had a fabulous time, can you tell?

it was my first solo birthday party since the hip surgery. I have an amazing group of friends and I wouldn't have occurred to me to worry, but it was a park party. You just never know what to expect with those (or with a two year-old). I'm not super mobile right now (nor have I ever been) so reading a shelter number on an invitation always makes me nervous.

I thought about using the wheelchair, but I knew loading and unloading aside the terrain would be unforgiving. Crutches it was. Riley insisted on her party dress, but having made that mistake before I added polka dot leggings ans sensible shoes so she could climb.

I got to the party early. I told myself, I could do this if I stayed tough. The last party we went to I was less healed and she got waaaaay away from me. Mike was there and after some yelling and arm waving he collected her. This time I was on my own...I scoped out the close proximity to the bathrooms and breathed a sigh of relief. Then before we could get out of the car E's Daddy was there asking if he could help.

I had him carry the present, but made Riley walk holding my fingers all the way to the shelter. The playground was right next to us. Not just that is was the little kid playground! Perfect. We hugged the birthday girl and went over to check it out. E's parents had scoped it all out before hand, way to go. They made an awesome mix of kids party music. They even had healthy party food: lots of fresh fruit, cheese, goldfish, pretzels raisins and craisins. Aside from the cake it was all good stuff. Riley tried yogurt covered raisins for the first time and LOVED them. She calls them candy raisins.

We successfully navigated the playground together, perched ourselves on a picnic table bench for a snack and even made a successful potty trip. At that point the kids and daddies hit the playground and I got to rest for a bit. Riley stayed close most of the afternoon and it wasn't until it was time to go that she discovered the big kid playground. In the end I enlisted help and lured her to the car with promises of more candy raisins.

It was an amazing afternoon. Good friends, great music and cute kids. I can't believe how they've grown. I knew these kids before they could crawl and now they walking, talking, dancing, bossing mommy around two year-olds.