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On this Thanksgiving Eve, the day before the first Thanksgiving we will not spend in Pennsylvania with my family (at least in a long time … there was that one year hubby and I were in Hawaii, but I don’t count that since the kids were with my family. And who are we kidding, the kids are the only ones anyone wants to see anyway), I’m making a vow to not stuff myself like a turkey tomorrow.
I will not stuff myself.
I will not stuff myself.
I will not stuff myself.
You see, promises like these need to made in the open for the world to hear (or read). And coming off what I’m fairly certain was THE WORST health screening I’ve ever had in my life, I feel it’s time to make a change. If I don’t, I might end up dead.
Or worse–on a diet for the rest of my life.
Which means no Dove chocolate or cotton candy or Coke or Happy Meals.
And that, my friends, would be worse than death. Especially the Coke part. That is my weakness.
Unfortunately, it seems I might be headed down that road to heart attack or death or some other crappy outcome. I’m a bit overweight, and I don’t exercise. I eat the worst foods ever. And I have a family history of every bad thing in the books. I’m destined to have issues. And those issues are starting to sprout their ugly heads.
So tomorrow, I promise to not gorge on every carb offered me. I promise to pass on seconds. I promise tomorrow is the last day of this life and the next day is the beginning of a new one.
Cause if mama don’t get to eatin’ better and movin’ soon, there might not be a mama in the house.
So today I’m thankful to have a tomorrow to right my wrongs. (If everything goes as planned, of course.)
(Insert mental picture of me holding up glistening turkey leg.)
Here’s to tomorrow. Cheers.
It’s been an interesting couple of weeks in the Jackson house. The kids are, on one hand, driving me nuts and making me want to walk in front of the next Polar Express train to roll into town.
But then, on the other hand, they go and say something sweet and do something amazing that makes me love them even more.
Gah. It’s all just too much to handle.
But it’s that time of year where I have to love them. The glimmer in their eyes is almost too much to take. They’re excited about the holidays, their upcoming bdays, etc. It’s just a fun, exciting time.
It’s also a time to teach them-again-about the value and importance of helping others who are in need. We’ve taught our kids about community service and they have all taken part in service in one form or another. So I shouldn’t be too surprised that our oldest decided he wanted to pitch the idea to his teacher and principal that his school start a Pennies for Peace (www.penniesforpeace.org) program. Pennies for Peace is a project started by Greg Mortenson, author of Three Cups of Tea. The Pennies for Peace program offers schools, clubs, children, families, etc., a chance to help children in Pakistan and Afghanistan through the collection of PENNIES. Our sons are going to help launch this program at their school, and they are thrilled. I am thrilled. I think it’s fantastic. They are so interested in learning more about these countries, the children who live there, and how they can help by collecting pennies.
They’ve also helped me pick out food to donate to a food pantry and some of their old coats to donate to a shelter. Now they keep pointing out what toys they don’t use anymore and want to donate those as well. Looks like a trip to Goodwill is in our future.
It’s a great time. I know a lot of people think this way only during the holidays. I’m lucky to get the warm and fuzzies all year long, since my kids actually DO have hearts.
And because of that, they melt mine.
Family. It’s all that matters.
Sometimes it’s so difficult.
Sometimes I want to pull my hair out. Run away until I can’t hear any of the complaining, moaning, begging, fighting, jabbing, painful, hurtful, negative crap.
It comes from all directions, really. From everyone.
If you’re reading this, it’s probably not you. Or, maybe it is.
Mostly it pains me to feel so angry, empty.
Sometimes a good, ugly cry makes it better. Most the time it just gives me a headache.
Don’t worry about me. I’m fine, really. Things come and go. Right now, they’re coming. And like I said, coming from all directions.
Sometimes (always) it’s hard being the only girl in the house. Sometimes it’s hard not knowing where I fit in, who I fit in with, where I should be.
Here, there, anywhere but here and there.
It’s all so confusing.
It’s times like these I want to hide. Melt into the darkest corner. Crawl into a box. Disappear under the bed.
But really I’d rather go dance around in an empty field somewhere near a mountain or ocean. Alone. NO YELLING. NO ARGUING. NO BACK TALK. NO PAINFUL YELLING THAT LEAVES MY HEART CRUSHED.
That’s what I want. An open field near an ocean or mountain. Or both. I want … quietness. I want to be still. I want to hear my heartbeat. Remember what it feels like to be … me.
Sometimes that’s all we need. An escape.
In my mind, I am there.
Today has been a tough day for me, many of my friends and many of those I follow on Twitter and on blogs across North America-and the entire world.
Today is Rashale’s 10th birthday and Maddie’s 2nd.
And neither of them is here to celebrate with us.
It’s easy to say it’s not fair and we need an explanation. It isn’t fair. We do want an explanation.
We can’t always have one. And that sucks. It sucks so extremely bad.
Rashale battled osteosarcoma and won. She then died unexpectedly … and without much explanation.
Maddie was born premature and then battled the odds. She was happy. She was beautiful. She was full of life. But it was hard on her little body when she got sick.
I never met Maddie or her parents. She came into my life via the Internet, as she did for hundreds of thousands of others. She came into my life when I was already down for the count. Rashale had passed, and I was a wreck. I carry other people’s sadness as my own, and I was heavy with hurt. I hardly knew Rashale, but then again, I knew her well. We had shared e-mails, telephone calls, giggles, bathroom breaks, dinners, jokes, special moments. I saw her with her “hair off.” I held her hand and carried her on my back. I touched her foot when others weren’t even allowed to see it. We bonded quickly and her death killed a part of me.
So when Maddie died, I lost it. I told fellow Hoosier blogger Casey, of mooshinindy.com, that I almost felt embarrassed to be so sad about Maddie. It’s sometimes hard to mourn the loss of someone you never met, even if you feel true sadness. It’s hard to explain. I tried my best that day. Casey understood. We both shared stories about how our husbands must’ve felt when we were curled up in balls over the death of a daughter that wasn’t our own. At least Casey KNEW Maddie. She visited her home. Played with her. Her Maddie was like my Rashale.
Casey organized a March of Dimes walk in Maddie’s honor in Indianapolis, and I was there. It was one of the only times I met Casey. She was surrounded by loving friends, friends of hers, friends of Maddie’s mommy and daddy, and then a few of us who never met any of them. I won’t say I wasn’t feeling a bit out of place, because I was. I didn’t feel like I fit in with this group of amazing women who all had a gaping wound in their hearts. But I walked on, for Maddie. I got over my nervousness and awkwardness. I didn’t get over the sadness.
So … today a lot of us are sad, but happy at the same time. Enjoyed to have known … even for a glimpse … two very special, sweet, amazing, brave little girls who will forever live in our hearts.
Here’s to you, girlie girls. We miss you. We love you. We’ll see you again one day.
I hope you’re both dancing and giggling together right now at your very special birthday parties.
XOXO
