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.

I Am I, Don Quixote

My heart is pumping at such a rate that I have no feeling in my limbs. I am shaking, numbly. First, I trembled wondering whether or not this was "the right time." Then I anguished over whether I'd been dismissed out of hand, sight unseen. Now, it's official and everything is committed. I am numbly shaking as acid rises up my esophagus. I can't think about how long it's been.

I must prepare. Over-prepare, but not obsess. It will be over soon and then it won't matter either way. It will be a thing I did. An experience I had. Maybe, it'll have consequences I can't foresee, but mostly I anticipate...nothing significant changing. I am afraid. I am old now. I am calling upon myself at an uncertain time. Please God, give me my old strength.

Now it is here. Today is the day. I feel oddly calm. After sleeping past eight, eating breakfast in peace and a long hot shower I feel as if I've taken a time machine back to before I had kids. I spend over an hour slowly blow drying and styling my hair! I kept thinking any minute someone would interrupt me, but no one did. Once I had done my hair and make-up I stood in front of the mirror holding up different outfits. It was amazing. When I looked ready the nerves set in...

I've been out of the game so freaking long. It was my whole life and it's nice to remember that life. At the same time, things have changed. I've never auditioned with crutches before ever. Not once. I'm unsure and I don't want to come off...amateur. I do a full warm up. Forty-five minutes of stretches, humming, vocal work and articulation. So decadent. I flew out the door as soon as Isaac was home from school.

I cursed the heat and my black dress all the way there. Unlike in the "old days" I found it easily and had no trouble parking. Pulling into the parking lot I had a moment where I consciously waited for this to feel normal...it never did. As I climbed out a pretty brunette walked bouncily by. I smiled warmly. When she smiled back I asked, "How'd it go?" She paused a moment and then said thoughtfully, "Good, I think. I'm still shaking." I locked the car, checked the time and made my way along the path the signs pointed out.

I was completely calm. When I approached the glass door an older gentleman held it open for me. He smiled warmly and I thanked him. Another man seated at a table looked up.
"Hello, do you have an appointment?"
"Yes."
"What time?"
"3:10" (which it was, on the nose)
"Ok...(scanning document) Victoria?"
"No, [My Name]"
"Oh. You're down here at 4:00"
"That's not what the email I got said."
"It's ok it's been running slow. Bad traffic. I just need your head shot."
(I hand it over)
(gesturing towards some chairs)"Have a seat, it won't be long."

He passed my head shot to the man who held the door for me. They have a very brief whispered conversation (I assume about the time slots). There are two other girls in the lobby one is reading quietly the other is looking for something. I hear her ask for call back sides for the character I'm auditioning for. They can't find them she's instructed to email the director. Both girls leave. He turns his attention to me:
"Will you be ready in a minute?"
"I'm ready when you are."
"Ok. I have to ask, can you climb the steps to the stage?"
"Yes, no problem"
(He disappears briefly and then comes back)
"Ok, you're up. You can leave your bag here."
"Great."

Walking into to the theater I shifted from numb to excited. Not regular excited, like I could weep for joy excited. Home. I'm me again. Thank God! There are two young men seated mid-way back. They greet me warmly too. They inform me I can deliver my audition in front of or on the stage. I tell them I'll go up on stage. The walk is long, down the incline on the crutches, but I am propelled by the adrenaline that is now pumping through every extremity. I probably could have leapt the stairs. Honestly, I wish that I had. In the past I dealt with my awkward gait up the stage steps, today awkward gait and crutches. I couldn't have been less graceful with a crutch sticking straight out like a freaking lance. Sigh.

Once I was up on stage I leaned those suckers against a handy podium first thing. I moved a chair as close to center as I could get it. I sat down. My fingertips and toes buzzed. They asked me about college and if I lived locally. I told them I was born here, went to college in Boston, lived in NYC and LA before moving back and starting a family. Later, probably because there wasn't anything else to obsess over I fixated on how I mentioned having a family. In a normal job interview it tells them you're settled here, but at an audition it might give the impression that I wouldn't commit to the show. Which is irritating because they'd be so very, very wrong to assume that.

They told me to go ahead whenever I was ready. I performed my piece, but I have almost no awareness of how it went because I felt like I was going to explode the whole time. Hello, adrenaline! I do remember distinctly that they reacted as if they enjoyed it. There were smiles. When I was done they said "Thank you." All very friendly, but it felt like a no. Off I went back to my real life minutes later.

The goal was never to get the part although that would have been lovely, it was to go. I did it. I went. I can go. I can be some version of who I once was. I remember how now.

"The wild winds of fortune
Will carry me onward,
Oh whithersoever they blow.
Whithersoever they blow,
Onward to glory I go!"

Suitcase Full of Memories

When I moved cross country I left most of my belongings in storage. I'd planed to return in six months. It has been SEVEN years. My belongings were moved, given away, and sold. I went through the entire grieving process over the years and come to accept that I would probably never see any of it again. Low and behold, a suitcase worth of my things were saved and delivered to me.

I thought I'd be elated to see any relics of my past life, but honestly I felt fear. I put off taking possession of it for weeks. I'm not sure, looking back, if I could quantify the source of all my anxiety. Maybe it was because I'd given it all up for lost. It was unsettling to think of items I let go of to suddenly be mine again. Perhaps, I knew that whatever was in the suitcase would bring my past flooding back.

Not that the past is bad, but it's a bit like exhuming a body. There is far too much emotion so fear wrestles the weaker feelings to the mat and becomes all you can recognize. I honestly, don't know what was left to feel after all the years and tears. I left an apartment worth of stuff and could only think of two things I wanted back: My Rainbow Brite Doll (what was I thinking?!?) and my red shoes. All the books, movies, and kitchenware that I bemoaned losing, had shifted down the priority list over time. It's just stuff.

In one of my last conversations about the stuff I left behind I said "throw it all out." I didn't want that stuff to exist anymore. I was tired of having a piece of me somewhere else. I was angry that my decision years ago meant stress for someone else now. I don't want to remember a time I can't go back to. I'm afraid to waste time regretting things I can't change. I'm afraid of getting emotional about what isn't in the suitcase.

I took possession of the suitcase, my sister so graciously packed and delivered to me, this holiday season. I thanked her and looked through it. My doll was rescued and a ton of journals and scrapbooks. These things from my past were documentation of my past stretching all the way back to went I left for college. Strange. I felt numb looking through everything and then I brought the suitcase home.

It remains in the hallway untouched. Part of me feels like there is no room for all that ME in this house. Where do I physically put it? Do I have any right to have these momentos of my life before Mike and the kids here? What is ok here? My before life and my current reality always had boundaries before now...

I must reconcile the before me with me now. I must unpack the suitcase. Right? Why is it so hard?

Day 5: 30 Days of Gratitude

Day 5: A few weeks ago I decided to make myself a massage appointment. I told myself I'd earned one and I'd do without some other things so as not to upset the budget. Then, as is often the case when I make plans for myself, I totally forgot about it! When they called to confirm my appointment I felt excited, but almost immediately guilty. Sneaking off at dinner time to spend real money on myself for a luxury. Tsk-tsk, me.

I felt like a criminal warming up leftovers, switching on a movie and running out the door. That is just how Mike found them happily eating and watching a few minutes later when he wrapped up what he was working on and came to check. The whole drive I was nervous. This wasn't my first massage (although it had been years) so I think it had to do with time of day and money.

Once I got in the room and began chatting with the message therapist I had (as I so often encourage my kids to do) an attitude adjustment. I heard my physical complaints coming out of my mouth not in a whine, but as if they were items on a grocery list. I heard myself listing recent major stresses and my eyes begun to well up with tears. As my friend in L.A. used to remark so evenly "Well Katie, that's a lot." Yes, yes it is.

I absolutely earned this. I deserve to be in less pain. I have a right to take care of myself. I did a good thing by making the appointment. After an hour of deep tissue I felt much better, but it was obvious we weren't going to work out everything in one session. When I checked out I explored my options. Wouldn't you know it, they had a plan with discounted messages if you commit to at least one a month for a year. Not only did that sound entirely necessary and reasonable (especially, now that hospital bills, doctor co-pays etc are starting to die down), but for signing up I also got an additional discount on the message I just received.

I booked another appointment for Friday and went home to help put kids to bed. I was hungry and sleepy post massage, but my temper that had been so close to the surface was non-existant as I asked Riley for the fifth time to put her socks in the hamper and get in the tub. I felt more fluidity of movement than I can remember having before, but mostly I just felt like my mind was clearer. I got Riley out of the tub, into pajamas and into bed for a story and the smile never left my face. Evenings are always so hard because I'm tired and either the pain is worse or I've been tolerating it too long. I even ate all of the dinner Mike made me which is a change since my appetite's been super low lately.

I felt like I needed to keep the secret of my massage and committing to more of them, but then I realized no one was judging me except me. Mike thought it was a great idea for me to start going at least once a month. He was happy I felt better and glad I got a good deal. My next appointment is during the day though, I wrote it right into my to do list!

A Good Fit

I feel like Jane Goodall, but I'm observing baby nerds. Ten year old boys in their natural habitat, building with Legos and discussing computer games. Old enough to care about impressing each other, but not cool enough to succeed.

These are my son's peers in every way. This is the first time I am on hand to witness him "fitting in". Their social aggressiveness is painting him as the quiet one (HA!!).

Build and socialize and savor this moment of being perfectly matched. Their conflicts arise and dissipate so naturally. Like tiny waves of testosrone breaking, most often, on a shore of laughter. Delightfully discovering commonalities among a group of uncommons.

It makes me wonder when the first time I felt socially matched was. My first impulse is to say the drama office backstage in high school. Honestly, I probably did "fit" better there than anywhere else at that time, but I think the place where I felt the euphoric sense of being with people who understood me (and part of me hates to admit it!) was the teen lounge in the orthopedic hospital where I "grew up."

Don't get me wrong I'm not opting for the segregation of the disabled (although I could probably make a compelling case for teenagers!). I've always been quite at ease around the non-gimpy population. There's just so much pressure in adolescence. It was nice to find myself around people who "get it." That old elephant got to take some time off. We just existed in our microcosm without stares, tiresome explanations or being told how "brave" we were. There was a peace. We had drama over boys, broke rules and stayed up late.

When the slumber party ended I went back to being the "one" who walks funny and that was ok. I remember feeling at home with my nerdy video store "family" later and much later with my mommy group, but nothing touches the lounge. Perhaps it resonates louder in these days when the changes in my kids make my path a place full of opportunities again. What kindred spirits will line the road on the next leg of my adventure?

Finding Oz

We recently watched a Star Trek Deep Space Nine episode in which the main character was "disabled." Technically, all disability and disease has been eradicated at this point in the future. This woman is native to a planet with very low gravity which makes it very physically exhausting to get around in normal gravity. I know how she feels, Damn Gravity! Seriously, I love the idea that a low gravity planet exists! I would love to go there. When I was a little girl I always wished I could live underwater.

So, this capable young woman finds the station's doctor smitten with her and of course he has a plan to fix her. Collective groan from my disabled readers. Although not as overdone or ridiculous the sitcom stand by of meeting a girl you like and then finding out she's (gasp!) disabled and having angst about perusing her, this plot's been done. My favorite example of this plot is actually a subplot in The Poisonwood Bible. A book that when presented to me as a gift bore the inscription "Can't wait to see you play Ada in the movie." Ada's is the disabled character who falls for a neurologist. Her doctor succeeds in "fixing" her and then one of my favorite audition monologues ensues. The gist is that she's not sure who she is anymore and how arrogant the able-bodied are always trying to "fix" people.

In Star Trek's version the doctor falls for her before he tries to fix her unlike the the asshole in the book. Other than that it's fairly similar. She undergoes the first round of treatment and experiences euphoria at her temporary change. Then she feels all the discomfort that goes hand and hand with a major change to your physicality and she starts to doubt herself. I emphasized with her struggle. She is already a strong beautiful woman who's struggles have made who she is, in her case a Star Fleet officer. In her situation though there is the added element of never being able to return to her home planet for any length of time once the changes are permanent. Another character compares her to the Little Mermaid which is funny after my underwater comparison, but completely apt. All the sacrifice and pain to be other than you are (each step is like walking on broken glass in the original fairy tale)and you can never go home.

I enjoyed the episode other than a fleeting moment or two of yelling at the screen. I understood her. I, like her have never asked to be "fixed", but there were some moving moments related to this in Oz the Great and Powerful (not spoilers). As he's performing magic tricks a wheelchair bound girl in the audience asks him to make her walk. He refuses, apologizes and flees the theater. At that early point in the film I was attempting to roll my eyes at the cliche, but his reaction to it was so human, I couldn't. Later, in Oz, he meets a little China doll whose legs have broken off. He produces super glue and that girl does walk. Again, I wanted to roll my eyes, but it was so real (feelings not circumstances) I couldn't. It is a shallow victory because she has her legs, but she's lost everyone she loved.

The china doll was a character I could relate to. Only her body was fragile, everything else about her was tough. She was braver and more resilient than most. She becomes an important part of the group, but the Star Trek character like so many disabled TV characters leaves the show after one episode. I think the it would have been fascinating if the doctor had married her. Than they would have had to navigate being military, living in space and her unique physicality. On top of which the doctor would allows be trying to fix her and it would cause all kinds of tension.

I'm not saying I would watch a show because it had a disabled character. I'm just saying we have lives and adventures too. It would be nice if television used disabled characters to further interesting plot lines and complicate character relationships rather than as token minorities for "movie of the week" style writing.

To The Ortho: The Next Generation

It was Isaac's turn to visit the Othro today. He'd grown out of (and destroyed) his brace and I was hoping to circumvent a full fledged check up and just swing through the brace shop, but apparently he was over-do. So, we picked him up early from school and arrived late for his 2:30pm appointment. We didn't leave the waiting room until 5pm, but they made up for it by giving us A WHOLE BOX of thin mints!! Number 5,004 on the list of reasons kids' orthopedic appointments are better than grown ups.

We waited so long for the Doctor they felt bad and gave us a box of Samoas as well. The good news doesn't end with girl scout cookies though. The doctor was pleased with Isaac's muscle development, growth, etc. She decided to downgrade him from his AFO to an arch support. He could not have been more thrilled. She wants him to try it for 4-6mo and then she'll re-evaluate. The picture above is him pressing his foot into foam to make a mold for the arch support. The woman doing it has known me since I was Riley's age and made many of my braces.

Speaking of "Over the years" I spotted myself not once, but three times on the photo collages in the waiting room.

Can you say early 90's school picture, anyone? Oh! The bangs!

I wasn't much oldr than Riley is now in this one. I think I'm holding up a book of children's prayers, but I am postive that I am rocking some pink sweat pants.

NERD ALERT! The glasses years. I was wearing a dress the same color as my pink wheelchair in this one. Look at those cheesey colored lights in the background, those were so cool.

Into the Future!

I toured my first choice option for Riley's kindergarten. I was a nervous wreck. I had that feeling I remember from touring my collage while I was still a senior in High School. The feeling of being a fraud. I can't really be thinking about my baby's Elementary school career. It was completely surreal. I fussed over what to wear the entire day before and then thanks to the chilly weather this morning I had to go back to the drawing board. I went from a cute skirt to jeans dressed up with ballet flats and a cute top. Did I look like someone's mom? Did they see me and think I was lost on my way to high school? I don't know...

I arrived about 10mins early which gave me time to wolf down a granola bar and check that Riley had gotten off to school ok. I found the drive pleasant enough. It'll take us about 15-20min each way on school days, but it's not a terrible route. I liked how tucked away the school itself was. A few blocks in from any major roads in a quiet neighborhood. Feeling very much like I'd snuck backstage at a concert I headed up the sidewalk towards the bright red door. I was greeted by a friendly woman who said "Oh! Good Morning, you must be our visitor." She found the teacher I was meeting and I got a quick tour of the whole school (It's not a big place)as the kids settled in. The first thing I noticed was that they allowed the parents to walk their kids into their classrooms and say goodbye. Wonderful. At Isaac's old school they allowed it for the first week of kindergarten ONLY. You were treated like a criminal for even attempting to walk past the front gates after that.

I enjoyed the children in the kindergarten classroom very much. They reminded me of my kids, they were bright and inquisitive and very silly. There a was mutual respect between children and adults I found very reassuring. I loved the intimate class sizes and the way they nurtured creativity. It seemed like a wonderful place to learn. It is still my first choice for Riley, no question.

After a few hours I felt very anxious to get home. Maybe it was that weird feeling of being a fraud or maybe I was just tired. I hated feeling so secure in what will happen down the road, but not a clue where Riley will be next month. More than anything I just missed her. I didn't see her in the morning and than I spent time with all these 5yr olds (who seem huge compared to Roo) and I just wanted to see her. I picked her up early today.

30 Again

I know women as a gender seem to prefer to ignore their birthdays, but not me. I told my friend (who was teasing me about my birthday countdown on social media) that I see it as a product of healthy self-esteem. I am very glad I was born. Be enthusiastic and a little self-centered on the day you were born, it's only once a year. I'm not celebrating being 30 again because I feel 31 is something to be ashamed of. I'm just giving 31 the attention usually given to a 30th birthday because there was a wedding pending, an illness and a new baby last year instead of a big party. As an adult I have most certainly NOT required a party every year. Usually, dinner out and a card or two are just fine, but 30 is a milestone and it needed to be acknowledged.

So, rather than recant some "Before I Turn 30" list and bemoan missed opportunities I thought I'd list what I've accomplished to this point (toot, toot) whether I meant to or not. Here goes:

• Got a poem published
• Made Homecoming Court senior year (I know it sounds shallow, but it was a huge deal to me)
• Graduated High school in top 5% of my class
• Got Accepted (And paid my own way) through an amazing conservatory style theatre program
• Spent a semester in Ireland (that included St. Patrick's Day & My 21st Birthday!)
• SURVIVED being struck by a bus as a pedestrian
• Wrote a play
• Graduated with my BFA in 4yrs
• Lived in NYC for a whole year
• Played the lead in a new play (with the playwright's seal of approval)
• Got my driver's license (at 23yr old- it was a big deal)
• Moved to L.A.
• Went to the OTHER Disney
• Did my first independent film
• Got a role on a TV show
• Became a mother
• Survived MAJOR back surgery
• Took a cruise
• Visited Mayan ruins in Mexico
• Paid off my car
• Got married/planned a wedding
• Took my family on a cross country vacation
• Had a blog post re-published
• Started a business (that flopped)
• Learned the ins and outs of couponing

As you can see there's more to do, but my quarter life hasn't left an extensive bucket list. As always I think it best to "just keep swimming". These are, of course, the highlights (as I see them). There is still a good deal of the world left to see and many more adventures to pursue.

Just Another Girl On A Stage

I've been listening to old Cds in the car lately (I know so 90's of me). Ever notice how song lyrics strike you differently at different stages of life? I love that. I love that about all art, every viewing has fresh life experience behind it. Just now the idea of being "one more girl on a stage" seemed exceedingly pleasant.

For those of you who don't know, I'm an actor. I've been recovering and writing for a long while now with an audition here and there. Nothing too exciting on that front. The point being I'm itching to get back out there. On the surface the song describes a performer acknowledging that she's one of countless thousands. I lived in NYC & LA and counted myself among the 70,000 actors looking for work. That feeling wasn't news to me.

After a few listens, it dawned on me, I was never "just another" anything. That sounds more arrogant than I intended. I wasn't just another girl on stage anymore than I am just another mother of two now. As much as I resented being the "girl in the wheelchair" growing up, there is power in being memorable. I never had A-list Hollywood success (got famous), but between my inconspicuousness and my talent those who didn't cast me certainly did not forget. My most exciting TV role was a girl in a wheelchair, as it turns out.

I remember the day I took those head shots. I'd been living in New York and peddling my wares with a black and white head shot. I was immediately given two pieces of advice upon arrival on the West Coast: 1)Get a local number 2)Take new head shots. The world was my oyster. I was ready for anything! In the years that followed many of my dreams came true. So many unforgettable roles and experiences came my way. So very unforgettable that I am stunned at how long ago many of them were. Time marches ever forward. The postcard below is role I decided to move to New York after college to pursue. I was so excited to be involved in the inaugural Tribeca Theatre Festival, to have the lead, to work with celebrities, and to have my face on the post card! I remember thinking this is the beginning of everything. I imagine most kids fresh out of school have that moment: no more learning, time to do it. After seeing the show the playwrite came to the next performance and gave me flowers.

I share time's love of forward motion and I went where ever opportunity took me. I pressed on and shined through until my body broke down like a used car. Even as I relocated and adapted I kept on trucking. It wasn't until my difficult pregnancy and subsequent back surgery that I decided to let it rest. It felt like a betrayal of who I was. I've never sought fame and fortune, but when it's in you it's in you. I find it difficult to be articulate about my craft. I remember auditioning for BU's theatre program. I was asked (after my performance) "Why do you want this?" Without hesitation I replied "It's the ONLY thing I've ever wanted. It's like air to me. I need to be good at it."

Passion is important. Everything is so dull and predictable without it. I don't think true love in any form really dies. I'm still reeling at the show in NYC being 9 years ago. Plays, performances, film, TV, voice work...So much happened before and since. So much change in the rest of my life, but it never left me. Now it refuses to wait quietly while I deal with other things. I'm one of thousands of thirty-somethings who isn't where I thought I'd be doing what I thought I'd be doing. Maybe, the song lyric is agreeing with me: You see me as "just another", but you're so very wrong. Onward, art-ward forever and ever.

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."

Mine, Mine, Mine!

A friend urged me to join the weekly photo challenge. It was a simple fun way to get myself “out there” more. At first I felt out of my depth. After my first thoughtful entry, I was proud of myself. That is, until I saw the other entries. It was like my vinegar and baking soda volcano was displayed among high-energy particle accelerators and organic computers. A funny thing seems to be happening for me though. Something unrelated to photography, although I think my subsequent posts hold their own nicely. The challenge themes (or other entries) stir me to write more interesting posts. Yes, I hear you screaming, “Well! Where are these more interesting posts?!?” Until typing this ditty they were nothing more than a “brainstorming list” collecting whatever the digital version of dust is. So here goes…

The theme of the photographs this week is “Mine”. Here’s Post A Day’s description: Is there a place, object, or view that’s entirely yours, or you’re a bit selfish or possessive about? Is it a feeling you feel when you look at the photo, or perhaps an unwillingness to share? I get rather possessive about that first cup of coffee in the morning. It’s definitely mine and I want it all to myself.

Simple enough? Maybe. My first impulse was a picture of the kids. Then, as I decided this required further reflection, and clicked through other submissions that seemed wrong;-well not wrong- just not quite it. Of course an overwhelming number of mommy bloggers posted pictures of their kids. It’s still amazing to me that I made another person. I’m very proud of that. I think that’s what those other ladies are hitting on, the pride aspect. Because here’s my thing the kids aren’t “MINE” in the possessive way. My secret Oreos are mine in that possessive way. My beloved wedding ring is. I may have had a hand in creating them, but the children belong to themselves (God, or nature, or the universe ultimately).

I fear I’ll stray so let me come right to the point (a bit late). I find it disturbing, that in general when anyone asks a woman to declare her selfishness in any way even briefly and harmlessly, she feels the need to stand up and shout her selflessness from the mountain top. Sigh. I do it too. What are we afraid of? You can love others immensely and still want things. It’s ideal to be fulfilled in your family life and with yourself, isn’t it? I wonder why there’s a sense of shame in saying we selfishly covet something. I don’t see men acting this way, as often.

I love my kids, but I did not stop being a woman at the onset of motherhood. I still like Pumpkin Lattes, OPI nail polish, movies, not sharing my desert and time alone. None of those things make me love the buggers any less. I read a friend’s status the other day which said something along the lines of “taking care of a sick kid all day, and then going out tonight. (don’t judge [legitimate reason not to reschedule])” It made me angry. How could anyone who has ever spent 8hrs with a sick child blame someone for wanting a break? If you have the energy at the end of a day of giving your whole self to your kids, and a chance to escape, go. The kind of mother, who deserves judgment for her wildly out of whack priorities, would never worry about what others think. Besides, why should my friend feel the need to explain herself? Anyone who knows her knows she’s a good mom and what do strangers matter?

I do it too. Sneak away, buy something for myself or have a moment when I just don’t like my kids and feel the need to publically state how devoted a parent I am or some such thing. Life was simpler before the oversharing, fostered by an ever present social media, invaded daily life. It’s hard to measure up against, quite literally, every other mother in the world. It’s a tool that can be used for good or evil. After all there’s a lot to be said for the far reaching support networks, vast amounts of information (albeit unreliable and flawed), and creative outlets. There are ups and downs to all of it, but this is another tangent. I wish upon a star for women, on the whole, to chill out, myself included. Who cares if some other mom breastfed until college? Or some other toddler can recite the alphabet in 3 languages? The fact that we’re worried about it means we’re probably doing the best we can. Every human has strengths and weaknesses. Not all moms are created equally good at making meals from scratch, sewing Halloween costumes or sock drawer organization. It’s ok to be an individual who is raising a tiny human who, you guessed it, is another individual. They are a brand new individual who has (for better or worse) thoughts, feelings, and plans of their own.

So, the next time you can’t stand your kid, don’t wallow in guilt or post a sonnet about their birth on social media- just laugh because it only means you’re both human. If someone asks, “What’s your selfish pleasure?” tell them about the cookies you baked and ate, without sharing, during nap time- with a smile. To enjoy motherhood completely, I think you really have to retain a sense of self. Your kids (and spouse) will thank you. Love them to the moon and back, just love yourself too and don’t apologize for it.

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.

Ponderences

I've been doing a lot of deep thinking. I'm not a kid any more, in fact I have some of my own. My past though vivid in my memories is done. Things have changed and they refuse to quite changing it seems. I miss other places, people and things. Nouns I guess, I'm pinning for a few nouns. I've been weeding out the let goes from the hold ons. I visited my college campus with kids in tow sooooo surreal. I've bumped into an ex-boyfriend's mother (also with kids in tow). I've reached out to old friends and have been almost equally as rejected as embraced. My twenties are gone and my life is marching ahead in a completely new direction.

I have a husband. Dude! Just a brief word on the subject because I just received my professional wedding photos and they brought all these emotions to the forefront once more. Marriage is a strange beast. I don't believe we prepare our children properly for it. There are no stories about financial hardship, medical issues, depression, weight gain, etc...between princes and princesses in castles on hills. You know? I'll sum up for you what I've realized. A husband is not a boyfriend. He won't kiss you or compliment you even half as much, but he sticks it out through your worst moments. Then you're supposed to return the favor. You don't get to dote on each other as much because life is happening and you have to be a team. It's a huge job especially when raising smaller humans. You pick one equally flawed human being and agree not to go it alone anymore no matter what life kicks your direction. Life does more kicking then the boy on the playground who liked you, but didn't know how to say it.

I also found myself avoiding people because I judged myself harshly compared to what I perceived they were doing. You know: "they're super heroes with exciting lives and I do dishes and wipe noses"... Low and behold if the grass wasn't greener for them too. Woah. I guess perspective is everything. I have a horrible time waiting for anything ever. HATE it. So, whenever there's no forward motion on any front I start grieving a loss. Dramatic? Maybe. The message keeps coming in that the dreams I put on hold may not be dead after all. Amen to that.

I want to say that I've figured things out, but the lesson seems to be that I won't ever figure it out and I should instead learn to accept that. I can't predict how aging will affect me physically (damn it) nor can I say what will change in the world around me 6mo from now. So simple to write so hard to accept. Today I was busily framing wedding photos and getting birthday invitations ready to be mailed. Mike went off to hang shelves. Nice quiet Sunday? Nope, Riley didn't nap a wink of her usual two hours and Mike broke the aquarium and flooded our bedroom.

Life just keeps changing things up. I used to think the girl scouts were telling me to have a plan when they said "be prepared" now I think they mean adapt quickly.

I'm Not In the Mood to be Stared At

The right to be ignored. Is that what I'm looking for? When I suddenly, after making it a lifelong habit of ignoring it, notice and become incensed by staring, is that why? When I choose to share the story with an empathetic friend is that why? Now I'm hollowed out from a long couple of hours with the kids and that same friend calls to say he's been thinking about what I said. Huh. So while receiving his advice a toddler enters the room screaming at me to spin something. Ah, there it is again the desire to be ignored. Not indefinitely just for the short term. I wonder if that Potter kid rents out the cape.

My whole life I've been wishing the other people at the store would become uninterested in the lady walking in her funny way down the aisles. They don't and on an average day I tune them out completely. On a great day, I may even mess with them a bit, but on a bad day...on a bad day I wish they would disappear. Maybe I've had it exactly backwards. Certainty having kids brings on this desire on a pretty regular basis.

Respect and listen to me, but for the love of God let me use the bathroom for 2min without an audience. I remember a moment when I was in middle school that I was taking my time about going to the bathroom. I mean like an extra 30 seconds nothing excessive and a friend knocked to ask if everything was ok. Does that happen to the able bodied? I know it happens to every mother of two. Everything from I'm bleeding profusely from the head to what's for dinner warrants a knock on the bathroom door.

As an actress I never wished to be ignored and had the contrary desire. As a human being who happens to be disabled and later as a mother I have often silently prayed I could be invisible. I know there are disability advocates who say staring is good, because being noticed is good. Right. Sure. Only I am not the disabled population of the world I am just a girl in grocery store. I am grateful that I can get out and about on my own have been my whole life, but some days I don't want to feel like I'm on display.

I am also grateful to spend so much time with my healthy, happy kids. I still want privacy for a trip to the bathroom or a phone call now and then. Pretend I'm not here. Just get all zombified and sucked into Mickey Mouse at an opportune moment for me instead when we're running out the door late for something. I was never late before I had kids, sigh.

I digress, staring is ok if you're under 5 or if it's a precursor to a social interaction. Like, "Sorry to stare, but you're hair is on fire" or even "That is a fabulous dress."

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.

Struggling With Contentment

Yes, I said with not for. I had a list in my 20's that changed (or been filed away)when I moved in with Mike. Then once Mike and I had been through some up's and downs I made another list: 1)Bigger House with Backyard 2)Marriage 3)Baby 4)Steady(ish) Financial Situation. Wouldn't you know it I got all that. Not in the way or timing I had anticipated, but here it all is. I've been walking around all glow-y and happy for a few weeks. Hurray us! Things are good.

Then I start to feel the stillness. I am very happy. I have few regrets these days. I just feel less productive without long term goals. I'm used to the struggle. This quiet contentment is a bit like an itchy new sweater. I'm still happy don't get me wrong, but now I'm antsy. I have short term goals like learning to use my sewing machine and ditching the crutches but I've had my eye on the prize in the distance so long it's strange.

There's no more "almost there" we're here. I'm quite happy being a stay at home mom now that I've gotten over it not being my choice and I can see getting back to work in the not so distant future as a reality. There's always room for improvement, goals to meet and projects, but there aren't anymore major milestones looming. I'm a grown-up, married, mother of two. Now all the milestones will belong to the kids.

I'm not complaining either, I'm quite content with that idea. Darn it. It's just not what I'm used to. I've been fighting so hard for so long that when there's stillness I feel guilty that I'm not doing more. I'm trying to be more in moment and push myself less. I may even get used to it...

On the Verge...

Of a big shift. At least that's the way it seems to me. It has little to do with the piece of paper we got today allowing us to legally marry and everything to do with being grown up. Maybe that's not the best way to put it. I've been young and free. Then we were young and struggling in every way. We struggled with finances, relationships and our roles. Now we are older, wiser and on far more solid ground. We are moving past that part of our lives.

Just like we left behind our twenties and our old house the bad times are behind us. At least the kind of times when I was wrapped in confusion about what I was doing with my life (or who I should spend it with). Little things like receiving a set of stemless wine glasses as a wedding gift cause me to reflect a moment on what adults we've really become. It's like we were living the roles of parent/partner, etc but we hadn't accepted and settled into them. Now we're settling in.

I admitted out loud the other day that I have a relationship with my frying pan. That is not a thing you hear a young woman say (in general). Ok, yes stay-at-home-mom, mother of two, homemaker, (almost) wife I accept that this is where I am in my life at this moment. It's alright. I no longer wrestle with who I thought I was at 25yr or where I hoped to be by 30. This is where I am. Life marches on and I'm blessed in a lot of ways.

Mother Of Two

I will make two meals for the three other members of my family before it occurs to me to eat. I will meticulously dress my daughter and leave the house in the clothes I slept in. I will re-organize the play kitchen approximately 1,000 times before I ever get around to re-organizing the actual kitchen. I will read 10,000 books to the kids before I finish one of my own. I will set out to buy a new article of clothing for myself and buy outfits/shoes for the kids every time.

I will hear about everyone's day and then type my thoughts into a blog post. I will supervise both kids' tooth brushing and be too tired to walk back to the bathroom one more time. I will burst into tears over shoes in the doorway again. I will be gleeful about the amazing new non-stick pan. I will spend a month designing and hand crafting invitations for 2yr olds. I will know every Laurie Berkner song ever composed and not recognize a single song on the radio in over an hour.

I will feel guilt for perceived judgment when I don't get everything I intend to do done in a day. I will feel insecure around other moms on the playground. I will look forward to a trip to Target all week. I will spend a year going to the local library and never see anything outside the kids section. I will refer to my mom as Grandma even when there are no children present. I will worry more about my son's school work than he does. I will imagine being an emptynester every day and than cry every day of their 18th year(s).

I will consider watching a TV show with my co-parent "quality time". I will be more likely to find finger puppets in my purse than lip gloss. I will consider yelling at my GPS an adult conversation. I will continue to witness behavior in my children, remember doing it to my parents and be sorry. I will treasure the moments I occasionally resent. I will take 3,000 pictures of the kids before I ask someone to take one of me.

I have two kids.

Goodbye Twenties...

Yesterday Isaac was standing in the kitchen with his backpack on examining the calander.
Hey, Dad!
Yes, Isaac.
Next week is Valentines Day!!
Yes, but you know what happens before that, right?
Um..ah..
Mom's brithday.
Oh. But next week is Valentines Day!!

The end of my twenties is not even a blip on a 9yr old's radar (or anyone else's I suppose). I have some low key plans for tomorrow. With the wedding fast approaching and Mike's cousin expecting a new baby any minute it didn't make sense to make a big fuss. I've been making jokes about being old, but it wasn't until this morning when I wrote "last day of my twenties" that I really felt sad.

I know thirty isn't old and I'm sure being in my thirties will be great, but it's sad that a decade when so much happened is coming to a close. I graduated college in my twenties. I saw Ireland too. Then again I got hit by a bus in my twenties. I lived in New York City for a year, but I also had to move back home for a few months. I found a place I belonged in Los Angeles and even professional success there. I also fell apart and had 5 surgeries in my twenties. I become a mother to a 5yr old and later had a baby in my twenties.

I will miss and never forget my twenties. I will always be proud of all I accomplished and experienced over the last decade. I'm also sure after some reflection that moving on from them will be a good thing. Twenty nine years 364 days...