Shopping with Toddlers and Other Tales of Horror

Our attempt at family photos, back in the day.
(And yes, The Hair... I know... not in the running for "Who Wore It Best"....
It seemed like a good idea at the time. So let this be an important reminder
that "Just because everyone else is doing it, doesn't mean it's a good idea.")

 

I recently told my daughter that my version of "I Had To Walk Uphill Both Ways, In The Snow, Every Day to School" sob story / mark of honor is, "I Took All Three Kids INSIDE The Store. Every Week. With No Curbside Checkout or Online Shopping."

Oh how I wish curbside checkout would've been a thing, Back In The Day. I would have been all over it. Chad was home so little when we had Littles that I typically had the choice of either: 1) shopping really late at night without kids, only to find myself in the Frozen Food aisle, vaguely staring at the offerings, and not sure why I was there or what I needed; OR 2) taking the kids with me to the store, which all too often involved crying. Them, or more often, Me. 

The grocery store and Target were difficult enough. But the hardest stores by far were those that were staffed by elderly ladies. Feel free to accuse me of ageism, but it seemed like if an older grandma type was at the register, she usually would quickly descend on me and my kids with the ferocity of a mama bear protecting her cubs. One would think that these women would be cooing at my adorable children, but instead they were usually lecturing me on Please Do Not Let Your Children Touch ANYTHING. These women were terrifying. They also seemed to forget that I was there standing before them with the express purpose of handing them money.

One store visit in particular stands out. It was at a fabric store, and I was buying supplies for some sort of a Have To costume. (Perhaps tied to my questionable decision to put Aerin in dance lessons at age 2 1/2 yrs?) This local fabric store closed before Chad usually got home from work, so I had to go during the daytime, kids in tow. Morgan was in a carrier, but old enough to be heavy. So I'm going to guess he was 1 and Aerin was 3, give or take a few months. 

The tricky part was, I had Morgan in the carrier in one hand, or alternately looped in the crook of my arm. I had my purse on the other side, and also was trying to hold Aerin's hand. Whenever I had to let go of her hand, she immediately took off like an Olympic sprinter. 

During this time of parenthood, I had a friend who told me (with an air of "What in the WORLD is so difficult?"), and I quote, "Whenever we go to any store, I simply tell my child to put their hands in their pockets and stay by me." Which apparently worked like a charm with her compliant child, but was sort of like me telling my 3-yr old Aerin, "I'd like you to run a sales tax report and do a complete inventory report of stock while we are here at the store." It was not even remotely possible. 

Instead, Aerin liked to play a game called, "LET ME RUN AND HIDE FROM MY MOTHER! ISN'T THIS FUN??" So while I was looking at the fabric bolts, she kept hiding underneath the round wagon wheel displays of fabric. Luckily, she typically giggled as she hid, so I could find her and drag her out, lecturing her with a touch of exhaustion. And ignoring the dagger eyes from the store clerks.

(I know what you're thinking here..."If that were my child...." So let's address that right now. I'm sure you would have parented much, much better than I did. Not only in this moment, but probably always. But in my defense, did I mention the whole exhaustion thing?)

After grabbing one huge bolt of fabric that was a possibility for our need, and hauling that around, still while holding the heavy baby carrier and repeatedly retrieving my 3 yr old from her various hiding places, I just desperately wanted to get out of there and to the blessed peace of children-safely-and-securely-buckled-in-car-seats. But we still needed ribbon.

Unfortunately, this store had a great abundance of ribbon. And it wasn't ribbon encased in plastic. It was rows and rows of spools of ribbon, which could be cut in the amount needed. As I started to look for the right color of ribbon, Aerin decided that an even FUNNER game than "Hiding From Mom" consisted of taking both of her small hands, and furiously spinning the spools so that ribbons were unraveling at light speed. 

She was surprisingly adept at this game. 

It was way past time to Tap Out and throw in the white flag, but for a now forgotten (PTSD-Blocked, perhaps?) reason, I had to buy my stuff this very day. So I desperately tried to reprimand my 3 yr old, while rolling back up the spools, and placing the huge fabric thing and Morgan on the ground. Which again prompted icy daggers from the store clerk. (Because of The Fabric. Not the baby.) 

I started to feel a little sick and realized that to complicate matters, I really needed to use the restroom. And no, it could not wait. So I left my fabric, and hauled both children INTO the cramped stall with me and sat down on the toilet. I talked to both kids as I multitasked and took care of business. But within 30 seconds or so, Aerin had dropped to the floor, and army crawled under the partition to the next stall. Fortunately, no one appeared to be in the stall. At least there were no screams. Other than my own frantic yelling, "AERIN! GET BACK HERE! AERIN, COME TO MOMMY RIGHT NOW! AERIN!" 

But unfortunately, I was still multitasking and truly could not get off the toilet. If you get my drift. 

Then I heard a terrible sound. A sound that filled me with horror.

Splashing. And giggles. From the next stall.

"AERIN! STOP THAT THIS INSTANT! GET AWAY FROM THE TOILET, RIGHT NOW!" I used my Meanest Outside Voice possible, touched with a bit of hysteria. "I MEAN IT! NOW!"

More giggles. More splashing.

It was the most helpless feeling in the world. 

Finally, I finished my business, and stormed out of the stall, still pulling up my pants, roughly grabbed Aerin from the other stall, hauled her to the sink, and washed her, fingers to shoulders, with tons of soap. Morgan, in the meantime, still sat in the carrier, by himself, in the stall. I was violently scrubbing Aerin's arms while still lecturing and threatening in My Outside Voice, when another woman came out of a third stall, laughing. She had heard everything. 

I don't remember if she spoke to me. The humiliation was swallowing me at this point. 

And that's when I truly did Call It. I picked up my children, and walked out of the fabric store. Leaving the fabric sitting out, the ribbons unspooled, and quite a lot of soapy water on the bathroom floor. 

Shockingly, the world did not stop turning even though I hadn't made my "absolutely-essential" purchase. I do remember that I didn't return to the store. Ever. But I genuinely can't recall how or where I bought the all-important costume supplies. And how it was that life went on as normal.

It took a few weeks, but eventually I was able to laugh about the ridiculous futility of the entire event. The story has now become Family Legend. And my daughter Aerin turned into an absolutely lovely, incredible adult. She is still playful, active, adventurous, and enjoys teasing the dog and her siblings. But she is also kind, wise, disciplined, respectful, and beautiful in every way. 

In fact, nowadays I can take her anywhere. Even to fabric stores. 

So many difficulties in life are simply solved with time. We grow, our children grow, and things have a way of working out. But in the moment, with unraveled ribbons and toilet-water-hands, it seems very very Big.

It just makes me wonder... what are today's Fabric Store moments, that I will find humor in tomorrow? What am I hyperventilating about that I will eventually hysterically laugh about, with time and distance and perspective? (And possibly, a bit of therapy?)

It's something to try to keep in mind. 

And P.S., I'm also reminded how very difficult it is to be a young mother. Even with Curbside Checkout and Online Shopping. So if you happen to be in the parenting trenches, give yourself a big hug from me. 

Just don't ask me to take your children to the fabric store. 

Better vs better. (Long Covid, 38 Months In)

 A few weeks ago, I was able to go to The International Surfaces Event. This is the biggest tradeshow in flooring each year, held on the Vegas Strip. The Strip is one of my least favorite places in the world (Don't get me started on Their Astounding Lack of Efficiency), but I was giddy to be there. I hadn't attended this tradeshow since January 2020. It always requires miles & miles of walking and hours & hours of standing, and I just couldn't do it, after getting Long Covid. But this year, I was able to go. Granted, I did the Geriatric Version of Surfaces. And each day got a bit more difficult. But still, I was able to do it. And that was a huge deal. Simply because it was a measurable, tangible mark of progress. And it felt so wonderful to have that.

I was also deeply touched by those who were celebrating this little victory with me.

I am not Better, as far as being anywhere close to my pre-Covid baseline. But I am better than I was a year ago, and much better than I was two and three years ago. And that gives me hope, that I can continue to progress and get better, until I am Better. If you know what I mean.

I started a new test medication combination (an anti-inflammatory drug + an antiviral drug) that performed well in a research study done a year ago. They are conducting a new larger double-blind study on it right now. I'm not part of that study, but am trying out the medicine. I'm told that it takes about two months to know if it is helping, and I'm about one month in. So far I don't feel a difference. But I am hopeful that I will. 

In the past 18 months, I've been part of 2 other medication research studies. For one, I was in the "control group", and for the other, I got the real thing. (Fun Fact: I hate being in the "control group".)  

HERE'S THE BORING MEDICAL PART. People ask about my symptoms. So if you're interested, keep reading. If not, skip this part, and scan to the bottom. (It will NOT be on the written exam.)

I've explained this before, but as I start to launch into everything, there still remains a part of me that feels sheepish, overly sensitive to the fact that I sound a bit like a hypochondriac, and gearing up for well meaning but common questions, like whether I'm sure it wasn't the vaccine (A: Yes.).  

Some people ask me if I'm sure my symptoms aren't simply due to getting older ("We're all tired!"), or the deconditioning that has occurred as a result ("You just need a good long walk outside in the fresh air."). I think that those things must factor in somehow into the mess, but the reality is, my continuing issues, typed out, will appear in every credible medical document and study about the disease. (Feel free to google at will.)

Some symptoms have improved, thankfully, but each improvement has occurred separately, and not from one single pill or regimen. Most everything boils down to the fact that Long Covid triggered a massive freakout in my system that made automatic functions like breathing, oxygen saturation, circulation and blood delivery wacked out. My mitochondria are underperforming, and doctors aren't quite sure why. Blood tests show that mono/EBV is in my system, which aligns with one theory that these latent viruses are reactivated somehow through Long Covid. (Fun Fact: I never knew I'd had mono. My mom's philosophy of "only go to the doctor if you are bleeding uncontrollably or a limb is hanging at an all new angle" carried over to me, and before Long Covid, I typically just tried to ride everything out.)

But, again for those interested, here's what seems to have helped:

Respiratory -- I struggled with low o2 saturation, and had supplemental oxygen for 9 months. I'm doing much better now, but still have a sensitivity response where catching a cold or going to a high(er) elevation can quickly throw me back down into the 80's. Most of the time now, o2 is happily 90+, and even can get into the high 90s. I still don't have the breath to sing an entire song, but I can sing a verse, sometimes two. (Singing in tune is a completely different matter.) What seemed to aid improvement with this is that I went to a breathing & voice specialist at the U of U Medical Center. She had me do exercises that seemed to eventually help my muscle memory "remember" how to breathe more deeply. I really should still be doing the exercises daily, but as I've improved, I've gotten a bit lazy with my regimen. I need to get back to it. 

Ironically, I find that I sometimes miss my home oxygen machine. Isn't that funny? It was a way to plug in and feel better relatively quickly, rather than having to do the work of Deep Breathing.

Dizziness - Several factors here but biggest was POTS, and the best help for this has been wearing compression socks and/or tanks, drinking lots of water, and a med called metoprolol (sp?). I still really struggle at events that require long periods of standing (parties, receptions, viewings, tradeshows, etc.) Standing is much, much harder than walking. I thought it was just me, but my doctor explained it has to do with the fact that walking helps pump the blood and oxygen up as I move, whereas with standing, everything just drops and stays there. 

Neurological - I have tinnitus and numbness less often than I did. I do still get brain fog, but that's one of the "is this age? hormones? or long covid?" things. I hear really sad stories of Long Covid patients whose brain fog is so bad that they can no longer work, drive, shop, etc. Fortunately, mine has not been at that level. Or if it is, someone needs to tell me, because I'm completely oblivious to it. 

Fatigue and PEM crashes - I'm often asked what a "crash" feels like. After overexertion, (typically physical but can even be after intense emotional or mental strain), I feel like I get hit with the flu. Not like the stomach flu. The "Influenza A - every part of my body is aching, I can barely get out of bed, sore throat kind of flu". When it hits, I'm always wondering if I picked up an extra virus or flu bug, or if it's a Crash. But there are patterns that I can usually identify. Here's an article about this, if you're interested.

 As part of a research study last August & September, I started taking something called oxaloacetate (sp?) and I feel like it helps a bit with fatigue. Crashes seem to not hit as often and last a shorter amount of time. Perhaps it's in my head. But it seems to help. The problem is, the medicine is horribly expensive, even with my clinic's discount code. But I still take it, because I think (??) it is helping.  

As I have mentioned before, while not life-threatening, the fatigue and PEM have been hands down the hardest symptoms to manage. But after 50+ years of being a Go-er, I am clumsily learning to "Pace" and to be gentle with myself.

Whether intended or not, I've realized that growing up, I absorbed the message from my depression-era grandparents and hard-working parents that laziness was an unforgiveable character flaw. As an adult, that meant subconsciously I never felt "down time" was justified. It has been challenging to reconcile my new (or at least newly recognized) need for rest and a slower pace with the crusty Inner Coach in my Head, who impatiently hollers, "C'mon! Get Going! Quit Being a Wuss!"  

Turns out, I had to learn to forgive my body for being weak and frail. This took time. Actually, I'm still working at it. 

I also have this frenetic side of me that wants to try every diet, medicine, vitamin, holistic regimen, physical therapy, or advice of any nature that anyone and everyone suggests might help. Because I do desperately want to get Better. But I've also learned through trial and error that I have to do one thing at a time, slowly. Otherwise, all of the results get muddied together and it actually takes longer to figure out if it's helping or not. 

All of this requires patience. And by nature, I'm anything but. So I have to tell myself to Chill, quite regularly. which brings me to my:

SPIRITUAL TAKEAWAYS - There is no question that I have been learning lessons from God along the way. It's difficult to explain, but I can feel Him changing my heart, little by little. I feel closer to Him. I feel His love and presence in a less diluted way. 

I had a beautiful, uplifting conversation a few weeks ago with an amazing friend who has been on her own journey. We talked about the difference in having a transactional relationship with Jesus Christ, versus a deeper, covenant relationship with Him, and what that looked like. 

The first year or two of Long Covid, once it became apparent that this disease was not going away and in fact was creating a chaotic and terrifying symphony of misfires throughout my body, I turned to the Lord. I prayed and pleaded for guidance, with great sincerity and intent. I felt like I was lost in the woods, not knowing where to go and which path to take. But I knew He understood the complexities of this illness, even if doctors and specialists did not. I desperately needed His wisdom and guidance. If I could just follow Him, He'd show me the way out of this miserable and dark and confusing place. So I sought to draw near to Him, so I could better discern which direction to go.

Then, over time, things evolved. I saw Long Covid as a daunting mountain that I had to summit. We all have them, and this was mine. I yearned to make it to the top and see the vista below me. I wanted and needed God's help to have the strength and stamina to conquer this gnarly mountain in my life. He is the Master Healer, and I knew He could help me, if it was His will. I sought Him sincerely, because I needed His strength. 

But I think in both of those cases, although I didn't realize it, I was seeking a Transactional Relationship with God. If I could walk alongside Him, He would do this or that for me. It was part of The Deal.

I do not believe that it is wrong to turn to God for direction and discernment, strength and endurance. In fact, I believe He is always pleased when we search Him out, regardless of our reasons why. But my relationship with God has changed through this experience. As I said, it's a little hard to put into words. But I guess the best way to summarize is that I have slowly shifted from seeking His blessings to seeking Him. 

Now, I simply want to walk with Him. Even if it's wandering in circles through a forest. Even if I'm still near the bottom of the mountain. Even if my oximeter is at 86 and my entire body aches and my limbs feel like they weigh 1000 lbs. Having Him by my side is enough. 

It really is.

Because feeling Him near; feeling His love, grace and peace; feeling His gentle tutoring as I strive to become a more earnest and devoted follower of Him -- that makes everything Better. In the very best of ways.

 

Magic.

Today was Christmas. It was a wonderful, relaxing day that even included a nap. Naps didn't come easy when my children were younger. 

This Christmas, we were able to get wonderful gifts for each other and our children, without gut-wrenching worry over each dime spent. But today I was also remembering a Christmas of years past, when money was extremely tight. 

The flooring industry had taken a hit with 9/11, and our fledging software company had absorbed that downturn, with very few sales and not enough maintenance fees to hold us over. Things were very, very tight. We had not had much of a paycheck for months. And at the time, I was working doing marketing for our company but not getting paid. (In that it was counterintuitive to building a financially stable business if we both took paychecks at that time.) So I couldn't supplement our income.

As December approached, I was really worried about presents for my children. I had a pit in my stomach all month long. While they were not particularly greedy nor materialistic, they were at an age when they believed in "the magic of Christmas", and in the power of Santa to bring them whatever toy they asked for. And while I understood that money and presents do not buy happiness, I felt weighed down by stress and worry. 

If I remember correctly, this was our first winter of Chad serving as bishop. He and I have wondered, in retrospect, if this experience was to give him an extra measure of compassion and empathy for ward members going through difficult financial trials. 

And despite the anxiety, small but significant blessings came. Annie's sweet preschool teacher Mrs. Goose offered to let her continue to attend, and told us not to worry about her tuition until we got a paycheck.  We had enough food. We somehow could pay our house payment. Everyone was relatively healthy. But we were basically living off our credit card, which was terrifying and risky.

But it ended up being such a beautiful, memorable Christmas. 

We were blessed with many sweet acts of service that year. There were so many tender mercies. But one I remember in particular was that someone (or a group of someones, most likely) did a Twelve Days of Christmas for us. Each night, we would receive a gift at our doorstep. Thoughtful, funny, and creative little gifts or treats, that warmed our hearts each night. My kids absolutely loved it, and were so excited each night to find the gifts. 

At the end of the 12 days, we were given an envelope filled with cash. I can't remember how much it was, but I do remember it was a significant amount of money. And I remember that both Chad and I just cried. 

I'd worried about missing the magic of Christmas, with our stringent budget. But have realized since that THIS was the magic of Christmas. Feeling God's love through the kind acts of others. Sharing love with one another. Strengthening the feeble knees. Serving and giving without recognition. Pulling others to their feet and putting an arm around them, to rejoice in the birth of our Savior, together. 

Christmas angels appeared amidst our heavy, dark night that year. They helped us feel seen, supported, and loved. It was extremely humbling.   

And it was truly magical. 

Learning Humility By Force (also known as Parenting)

Before I was a parent, I thought I was a patient person. I was wrong.

For me, motherhood has been the most amazing, most rewarding, greatest generator of joy in my life (besides Jesus Christ, of course), and 10/10 the most humbling thing I have ever experienced. I so often felt (feel?) like a large lump of a rock, that God was chiseling, bit by bit, to try to uncover the daughter He knew was in there and the parent He knew I could be. News flash -- this did not feel pleasant nor comfortable.  

Luckily, I have been blessed with absolutely incredible kids who were resilient despite a mother who made all sorts of mistakes. 

I have an embarrassing confession to make. When I was something like 3 weeks pregnant with my first child, and thus an Expert on all things related to motherhood, I smugly said to my husband, "I don't think I will get morning sickness. Because I'm a healthy person, and not one of those drama queens who have to 'take to their bed' with a migraine every few weeks."  Well, God heard that, and decided I needed a bit of a lesson in empathy and judging others. I had terrible morning sickness throughout my pregnancies. And, just in case I hadn't learned my lesson, later in life He allowed me to experience debilitating migraines, just for good measure.

That pattern has repeated itself throughout my entire parenting career.

I was NEVER going to talk baby talk. And that lasted until Aerin, my first, was about 15 seconds old. 

I was NEVER going to be overprotective. But then I quickly spiraled into a complete meltdown when my three day old baby was exposed to chicken pox. I called the doctor, after hours, sobbing. ME: "My neighbor came over with her 2 year old toddler. Her daughter had her hands all over my baby. And I just found out the next day she broke out with chicken pox! And I know that the day before is when they are the most contagious!" DR: "Does your baby have a fever?" ME: "No." "DR: Has she broken out in spots?" ME: "No. Not yet. But the toddler was contagious! And she was touching her!" DR: "Is your baby showing any signs of sickness?" ME: "I don't know! She's only a few days old!" DR: "But there are immunities. She'll probably be just fine." ME: (wailing) BUT I"M NOT BREAST FEEDING!!!" (Dissolving into sobs.)

I'm sure I made the "Honey, you'll never guess what happened today at work," conversation that night between the doctor and his wife.

I also was NEVER going to be overly controlling. When I was younger, I interpreted that as not doing my kids' science fair tri-folds for them. I thought it meant letting my children access their storybooks at all times, do art projects involving glitter, and get both the legos AND the pokemon cards out at the same time. But then I became a mother of teenagers. I became wracked with anxiety over the fact that I could not protect them from the hell of junior high. The heavy realization that I could not prevent them from choosing horrible friends or damaging boyfriends, nor could I keep them from potentially making dreadful choices that could harmfully impact the rest of their lives, was incredibly troubling. And at that point, I realized... I have Control Issues. 

My kids actually were all really great teenagers. But I didn't know if any of us would survive their toddler years. All three of my kids landed in the Completely Crazy and Out of Control Toddler category. Still not sure if it was genetic, parenting fails, or a combination of the two. But each one of my toddlers was incredibly busy.  

People would often comment on it, thinly disguising their criticism by saying things such as, "My goodness, your daughter/son is very.... active... isn't he/she?" or "Wow, you are a very patient mother." Which was usually code for, "If that were my child, I would not put up with that."

A few years ago, my friend Rebekka, who was always very direct, said to me, "I need to apologize to you." When I asked her why, she said, "We always sat behind you at church. And I would watch your kids climb all over you and I would tell Gary, "If those were my kids, they'd be slapped silly. Why doesn't she do something about her kids?" But your kids turned out really well. So I guess I was wrong." 

I mumbled, "Thank you?"

And then about 6 or 7 years ago, a friend from my old neighborhood and ward said to me. "We were just talking about you the other day. Y'know (neighbor)? Her kids are really really hard right now. I told her, "Do you remember Christy Ogden? Her kids were TERRIBLE, and yet they all turned out really great." 

I'm not sure if I should be grateful I'm a source of hope for beleaguered mothers, or embarrassed that I am the litmus test of crazy toddlers? 

Either way, I'm grateful that we all survived somewhat intact and that no one became an axe murderer. 

But never say never. 

Because that's how Parenting goes.

"Lord, If Thou Hadst Been Here" - Becoming Whole

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about the story of The Raising of Lazarus. It's a beautiful and amazing miracle. And while some think it is simply a nice biblical allegory, I believe it really happened.

In a talk April 2023, Elder W. Mark Bassett spoke of the story of Lazarus, and had some cool insights. He talked about how in the process of performing the miracle, the Savior asked followers to do what they could do, and then He did what only He could do. For example, Jesus requested that those present move the stone from the grave. They could do this. 

Jesus next expressed gratitude to His Father, which I believe is instructive for all of us. Gratitude opens the windows of heaven. And expressing gratitude to God is something else we can do ourselves. 

And then, Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, as only He could do. He commanded Lazarus (or "Laz" as the Chosen calls him) to come forward.  And Laz obeyed.  

Then He asked Lazarus's loved ones to help remove his grave bandages. And their fear turned to wonder. 

What a joyful scene this must have been!

The reminder that the Lord asks us to do what we can do, and then we look to Him to do what only He can do, has made me think about my Long Covid journey. What are those things that I can do to improve my health? And what things do I need to leave in His hands?

My favorite part of the entire chapter of John 11 is verse 5, which reads, "And Jesus loved Martha, and her sister [Mary], and Lazarus." I believe that all of our stories can start that way. 

"And Jesus loved Christy... and Chad..." and so on. 

But Him loving us doesn't translate into a stress-free life. He loved Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. And yet tragedy struck. 

"Lord, if thou hadst been here..." both grief-stricken sisters say to Him, when he finally showed up on the 4th day. "Where were you, and why did this happen, if you love us?" and "Why didn't you come sooner?" was the unspoken, heart-wrenching question. 

We all have those moments.

Yet Martha still met Him on the road when she heard he had come. She was in anguish, and He was too late, but she still exerted the initiative and energy (and, quite possibly, charity despite disappointment) required to go meet Him. I love that example. 

Do I go to meet Him? Even when I'm thinking, "Where have you been?"

My aunt and uncle asked me a few weeks ago to share some thoughts as we studied Paul's teachings about the Lord being with us in difficult times. I have so many different thoughts and emotions tumbling around in my mind, and it's hard to crystallize them all.

I have been learning a lot of truths over the past 2 1/2 years. One that is glaringly obvious is that I am NOT a patient person by nature. And while Long Covid has brought a lot of insights and a lot of growth, I do not yet feel like I am on the mountaintop, looking down with a clear perspective. I'm still trudging along I-80.

But I absolutely recognize that the Lord has sent heavenly help through all of this. His hand is seen in different ways... sometimes through a new insight; sometimes through the kind actions and words of others; sometimes with a reminder that I can still serve and help others despite my limitations; sometimes simply with peace. I try to record how I have seen the Hand of the Lord at the end of each day. Having that record reminds me of His tender care and that He is not an impartial observer.

But one thing that I have realized, to a much greater degree than before, is that the Savior is not a magic wand. He is a companion on the journey. When Jesus was on the earth, with only one or two exceptions, he didn't teleport himself from place to place. He walked the dusty roads alongside His followers. He camped on the hard ground and endured the elements. He worked to put up tents, find and cook food, and all of the other mundane and sometimes uncomfortable tasks, alongside everyone else.

And with my personal journey, I've realized He is walking alongside me, even on the most difficult paths. He doesn't just magically whisk me onto a Nimbus 2000 to skip the hard parts. (Is it sacrilege to combine Harry Potter and Jesus? Hopefully, no.) The point is, the key element that makes things easier to navigate is NOT that the setting changes. It's that when we are yoked with Him, we benefit from His strength, His power, His direction. We can't access those things if He is just cheering us on from a distance. 

I've thought a lot about what it means to be yoked with the Lord, and how I can choose to be so. What does that look like for me? And, once I am, how I can be submissive and not continually yank against the yoke saying, "No, I want to go THIS direction!" or "I really think your navigation must be off..."

My illness has increased my desire to be yoked to Him, and has reminded me that I need Him. (Every hour I need Him.) Because everything is better and easier and more joyful when He is near my side.

But it's a work in progress. My health is a work in progress. My life is a work in progress!

The oratorio Lamb of God, by Rob Gardner, has a song that Martha sings, that speaks to how I feel. She pleads,

Yea, Lord: I believe that Thou art the Christ, which should come

The Son of God

But I do not understand...

Touch my eyes and bid them see

That my gaze might pierce the veil

And behold the wondrous scene

That, in dreams, I've long beheld

Oh, touch my heart and bid it know

That ev'ry sorrow here

Is but a moment's tear

And Thou wilt make me whole again

Touch my ears and bid them hear

All the glory of Thy truth

That my hope might come of faith

And no more require proof

Oh, touch my heart and bid it know

That, while in darkness here

The light is ever near

And Thou wilt make me whole again

Then touch my lips and bid them sing

Songs of everlasting praise

That my soul might then believe

And give thanks through all my days!

Oh touch my heart and bid it know

That ev'ry breath I take

Is by Thy tender grace

And Thou wilt make me whole

And Thou wilt make me whole

Oh, Thou wilt make me whole again.

("Make Me Whole", Lamb of God, by Rob Gardner)

Here's to becoming whole!

Lessons Learned Juggling Work and Family (My 2 part column in Floor Covering News)

So I was asked to write a column for Women in the Flooring Business, and Floor Covering News, on juggling work and motherhood. I think the invitation was based on some conversations I had had with a friend @ WOFB, and the empathy I expressed in her role as a young single mother juggling a career, kids, and car pools. It certainly wasn't because I have it all down. I never have. 

TBH, I struggled with writing the column. It was daunting because I know that these women are trying really hard to do really hard things, and thus, it's tender. I also recognize no one's situation or path looks the same. And I would never want to make a woman feel discouraged or defensive. I wanted them to feel encouraged.

So this is what I ended up with, and they printed it in a 2 column series in Floor Covering News. Keep in mind this is a professional newspaper for the flooring industry, so the audience is made up of individuals working in the industry. But I believe many of the lessons apply to those working hard as stay-at-home mothers as well.

Getting older is a mixed bag, but one of the blessings is that life teaches you lessons along the way. When WOFB approached me to talk about balancing a profession and parenthood, it was definitely NOT because I did it perfectly, or even gracefully. In fact, I often felt I was dropping balls at the speed of light. And sometimes I bungled things, on both the workfront and the homefront.

But with age comes experience, perspective, and empathy. I’ve worked full-time, part-time, and been a full-time mother at home. I’ve worked 100% in the office, solely from a home office, and a hybrid of both. I’ve been the employee, the employer, and the freelance contractor.  

Spoiler Alert: It’s All Hard. 

It’s okay that it’s hard. Often in today’s world, we’re wired to automatically jump from “This is really hard.” to “Therefore, something is VERY wrong and needs to be fixed.” But the reality is, parenting demands a lot of us, if we are engaged and committed. And it’s extremely difficult to juggle work and family life, particularly when children are young. Feelings of exhaustion and overwhelm are common. 

But that doesn’t mean we’re doing it wrong. Worthwhile, long-term investments, whether building a business or nurturing a family (or both, simultaneously), require much of us. Ask any elite athlete or musician. Sacrifice is always part of the equation. So when you’re feeling like a failure, try to allow yourself a little grace. You’re doing difficult things. Life often gets easier. And forward progress doesn’t have to be flawless in order to still be gaining ground. 

Evaluate, Adjust and Adapt. And Repeat.

That being said, it’s amazing how sometimes small adaptations can improve things dramatically. A change to your schedule, a different day care solution, doing certain tasks from home, etc. We often jump to All or Nothing conclusions, when in reality, the looming concern can be helped by a slight adjustment. One mistake I made when I was younger was thinking that I had to choose A or B, when really there was an entire alphabet of options that were available to explore. Secondly, I thought that once I made a decision, I had to stick with it forever. That also is a fallacy. For instance, I worked fewer hours when I had little ones at home, and as my children grew, (and our company grew), I was able to increase my work hours and responsibilities. Of course, a large percentage of people simply don't have a choice - regardless of their children’s ages, they have to work full-time. But Covid forever changed workplace expectations and configurations, and we often don’t consider all of the creative ways we can adjust and adapt to make the best choices for ourselves and for our families. 

But then, once you find your groove and things are flowing along rather smoothly, inevitably - BAM - life throws you a curveball. Perhaps there’s an emergency situation with your company, or a staff member has a crisis and you are unexpectedly picking up their slack. Or maybe your child or parent becomes gravely ill. There may be times you simply have to miss your daughter’s soccer game, just as there may be times you choose to miss an important sales meeting in order to watch her score the winning goal. You will at times have to revise and adapt, and find new solutions along the way. What works this year may not work next year. Don’t be afraid to adjust, evaluate, and adjust again, as needed. And as an employer, try to allow your team members to do the same.

Boundaries Should Be a Thing. 

Many years ago, I worked at an ad agency. The hours were long, the pace was intense, and there was an unspoken but very clearly defined rule that any inference that your life did not 100% revolve around your work was not acceptable. There were snide remarks, particularly (and sadly), from women about other women, when family interferences of any sort crept in. Fortunately, as a society, we have evolved a bit since then. As telecommuting and working remotely have become more prevalent, it also has become more common to see visible signs of your role at work and your role at home intersecting with one another. Some customers may be understanding; others are not. 

Life is easier, in my experience, when you can somewhat segment Home Life and Work Life, whether physically (store vs. home) or hourly (I am available these hours and days). Here’s the tricky part: it’s often much easier to say no to your spouse/partner, your kids, and your personal attempts for self care, than it is to say no to a client or supervisor. Getting swept up in the path of least resistance can negatively impact the health of those relationships. And these are people (yourself included) who are definitely worth investing in.

Sure, there’s never enough time in the day. And you wish you could clone yourself. That’s a given. But being purposeful in scheduling your time can give you a sense of control. It can remind you that you have the power to choose your own priorities and path.

Here’s an example. Growing my business was important to me. Spending time with my children was also important to me. Something I did with my children that worked well (among the 3,000 things I tried that did NOT work well), was Fun Day Fridays. I would do my best to clear my Friday afternoons in the summertime and during school vacations. Fun Day Friday would be spent enjoying time together, and everyone took a turn choosing the activity. It started with not-so-fun-for-Mom activities like “visiting the ball pit at McDonalds” but as my kids got older (and surprisingly, were still willing to hang out with mom), it evolved to movies, hikes, Super Smash battles, etc. Fun Day Fridays helped me feel less guilt when I had to say no to various activities Mon-Thurs, and that simple act of carving out a block of time just for my kids seemed to help them know that spending time with them was important to me. And ultimately, it created a reservoir of sweet memories that has blessed our relationships. The return on that simple investment of time has been huge. Perhaps you can’t carve out a weekly summer afternoon, but deliberately penciling in time (whenever it may be) with family and diligently keeping those appointments will have a huge payoff.  

The Myth of Balance - We all strive for the magical balance between home and family and self care and work and community service and everything else. I’m not convinced that true balance is feasible or realistic. And there are times that things will be dramatically skewed. (Starting a new business or just having given birth are two examples that come to mind.) But you get points for effort here. Taking time out regularly to prioritize and plan, rather than just getting swept up in the tumbling chaos of life, can help you stay mindful and present. Balance is not required to feel at peace.

You’re Doing Better Than You Think. Truly. One of the hardest things about trying to juggle all of the demands of life is that there are scores of spectators on the sidelines, throwing shade and critiquing us on our juggling techniques and the balls we’re dropped, and so much more. It’s painful to get punched over something you are trying so hard to do well. I wish that we as a society, and particularly we as women, could be better at recognizing that everyone’s juggling act is unique and worth celebrating. We are hard on ourselves, and we are hard on each other. And most of the time, we’re doing much better than we think we are. You may feel like a Hot Mess, but that heat is simply the steam powering you up and over the mountains of life. And I celebrate your journey.

Processing Long Covid, 2 Years Out

 (Written Dec. 26, 2022)

I cannot make out with my husband any more. I can kiss him, but I don’t have the lung capacity for long lip locks. I have to keep breaking away.

I’ve also learned I can no longer sustain a sound (ooooo or eeeee) and go up or down in pitch. (Is it called melisma?) I don’t have the breath for it. When I try, I just spastically staccato 3 or 4 different notes. 

Just a few ongoing gifts from Long Covid.

I hit my 2 year Covid anniversary on Christmas Eve. Thinking about it makes me weep. 

How irritated I was, Christmas Eve of 2020, that our plans for that evening had to be canceled. I smile wryly at the irony of it all. To think how annoyed I was that I couldn’t do what I had planned. It’s fortuitous that I did not realize that I had years ahead of me, stacked with plans I had to cancel, tasks I couldn’t complete, events I couldn’t attend, and symptoms I couldn’t understand, let alone clearly explain. And that I was just beginning a lengthy, interminable receiving line of doctors and nurses who either shrugged, dismissed, or were intrigued in an “aren’t you a fascinating specimen” kind of way.

There’s been progress. On nights like tonight it may be hard to recognize, but it’s true. And I need to state, unequivocally, that the past two years have also carried plenty of joyful moments, and countless blessings. Truly.

But I guess I’m allowing myself to mourn a bit tonight. It’s 4:48 am, and my body aches and each limb feels weighed down and cumbersome, and my breathing feels shallow and off-kilter although o2 is perfectly fine right at this second (92%). 

But the body aches are keeping me up and I can’t sleep. So I figured I might as well process by writing. It’s what I do.

I’ve blogged a bit in the past about a few lessons learned along this journey. I learn them, and re-learn them, and then start to forget again. I’m obviously not great at retention, when it comes to Lessons from God.

But as I think about it, I WANT there to be growth and wisdom harvested from this horrid experience. Otherwise… what a waste. If I have to suffer, I want to learn from it.

The writer in me wants to be able to summarize the experience neatly into a tight, clear, precise thesis: Here’s the conclusion. End of story. End of suffering.

But it’s not quite that tidy.

Even with 2 years under my belt, I still haven’t given up fighting for a denouement to this story, and I’d like it sooner rather than later, thank you very much. 

I want Long Covid to be a mountain I conquer. Huffing, sweaty, legs wobbly, a bit dehydrated, but eventually sitting at the summit, being cooled by the wind, and taking in the beauty and immensity of the view below me.

I want it to be a formidable and worthy opponent whom I finally conquer, bleeding and staggering, but victorious. A half nelson on the wrestling mat, with the ref pulling my weary arm to the sky in victory.

I do not want it to be a slog along I-80 through Wyoming and Nebraska, the road endlessly stretching before me, each view similar, not knowing where the summit is or even if there is one.

I do not want it to be the horror flick villain that Just Won’t Die, the one who keeps jumping out from the shadows, just when you think he is gone for good.

I want a Hero’s Journey; a resolution; a victory. Not a weary, monotonous trudge.

But perhaps I’m being a bit melodramatic. (The middle of the night can do that to a person.)  I realize there have been small victories. And that I’d be a fool not to recognize it. I am significantly better than I was a year ago. Chad & my kids remind me of this when I start to feel sorry for myself.

I no longer have an o2 machine next to my bed. (Although strangely, I miss the o2, sometimes.)

My POTS is better controlled, so that I can drive most days, and thus I have regained my independence. I am less dizzy. My heart doesn’t race and jump all over like it used to. I can go to the grocery store without resting heavily on the shopping cart to steady and support myself. I can do more around the house. I can even exercise on good days. Not like I used to, but I remind myself that something is better than nothing.

And did I mention? I rode a bike for the first time in 2 years. It was blissful.

I’ve moved from an 80-85% cancellation rate to about a 15-20% cancellation rate of planned events.  

So there really is much to celebrate.

But not quite enough to say, “I'm on top of this.”

My body aches most of the time, and sometimes it is quite severe. It feels like the flu.

My chest occasionally feels tight and sore, particularly after breathing exercises. I already talked about the spastic breathing. It’s like my mind forgot how to breathe, and now it seems to take concerted effort and focus to do it right.

Then there’s the fatigue. Oh, the fatigue...

My hands go numb each morning and night when I kneel to pray. And several times throughout the day.  My feet also go numb quite often.

I still get occasional tinnitus in my ear.

The dizziness is better, as mentioned, but I still often have to seek out a wall to balance me. I’ll be standing and suddenly, standing up straight is a tricky business. When using stairs, I now have a white-knuckle grip on the handrail. And I’ve picked up the habit of automatically moving my hand along a nearby wall when walking.

I fight sleep issues more often. (Case in point - tonight.)

I am constantly trying to find the balance of pushing myself enough to improve and avoiding the dreaded Post Exertional Malaise crashes. But I am crashing less often than I was a year ago. So that’s something to celebrate. (Crashes are not fun.)

And in other good news, there is more research coming out about Long Covid. And some studies have been encouraging.

I’ve blogged about lessons learned, and re-learned. Things like:

Everyone has their own Hard, even when it isn't visible.

Don't compare. 

My value is not my Output.

My value is not my Body.

I believe in a God of Healing. I need to actively seek out and spend time where I can encounter  Him. I need to continually reach out to Him. He makes things easier.

Healing can mean many different things.

It's okay to rest.

Progress isn't always linear.

It's important to take care of myself.

Life is a gift.

I can reach out to others, even when I don't feel good. Connections bring joy.

(Anyone feel like they are in a greeting card factory explosion?) 

But one lesson I still am having trouble with is the difficulty of the Ongoing Trial.

It’s one thing to say, “This sucks” but still recognize that at the end of the day, or week, or month, it will be over. It’s another thing to navigate it when the end isn’t in sight.

The difficult relationship, despite sacrifice and herculean efforts to improve it.

The job that you hate, with no prospects for promotion.

The childlessness that doesn’t look like there will be a Sarah and Abraham ending to it.

The Long Game can be brutal.

What I am starting to realize, and trying to get a buy-in from my heart about, is that I can’t be so focused on that Takedown Moment. I can’t postpone my happiness for the denouement. 

I have to just put one foot in front of the other, and be happy for good walking shoes, kind companions on the journey, and the knowledge that God is real, He is loving, and He is near.

I’m still not happy to be on this path. In fact, I’m quite cranky about it.

But I can at least try to notice the beauties of the backdrop. 

Elder Neal A. Maxwell called it “enduring well”.  But then again, my problem is I don’t want to “endure”, I want to “conquer”. 

We don’t always get what we want in life.

And we can get stuck or move.

Most days I choose to move.

So I will have my messy, snot-smearing cry tonight, and then I will keep trudging along with my clumsy, heavy, weak, overweight body.

Because there is a lot of loveliness, even on I-80. 

And I choose to have Hope God can help me find it.