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.