Push Pause

Let me share a picture with you.



This is our Christmas Tree.

We woke up in a rush on Friday morning and counted the hours on our fingers, designating events to time slots.
One little is sick. That takes priority and so we slide off one event from the day's plan.
The medicine gets divided up into two bottles, instructions and diagnosis documented.

We drive to the local nursery, 15 minutes away because we wont make it to the farm an hours drive away today. Theres no fuss however. We're all used to the compromise here.

No taller than anyone can decorate themselves.
No more than $40.
All 4 littles must unanimously decide.

This one. This is the one. Quick, lets take our picture.

Its our first tree as a family. Our first living tree in more years than were willing to unpack from memories.

Can we look at ornaments?

1..2..3...sure. Sure theres time. Lets look.

At home we let the littles cluster around the television together while Ian and I assemble lunch plates. Theres a lot of Thanksgiving left overs but this is the last time they will all eat it together. We periodically glance out the front window at cars that slow by our drive.

We move a little faster.

"Clara, Henry....Jackets...say goodbye."

I glance at our Christmas tree still in its orange netting leaning against the wall where it will stand, and I move quickly to zip a jacket; tuck a strand of hair.

"Do you have your medicine? Dont forget it! Have fun! We love you!"

In the foyer we take a moment. From here they cant see smiles falter.

Iris and Aeva are next and they have the longest stretch of time. Holidays are often unforgiving in how they parcel out the minutes. They will be gone a week and a half.

"We're meeting daddy at the Px! Cmon, lets get in the truck littles!"

They know the way it goes. Iris shelves her books and removes the scarf I gave her. Aeva fishes out the beat-up black shoes and returns her new snow jackets to the closet. She pulls on a hoodie. Sometimes things do not properly return for a season or two. Sometimes theyre not allowed to move items back and forth.

"Will I see you Monday?"
"Yes. But not this coming Monday."
"Why? Why today?"
"Because its Daddy's turn"
"oh."

We arrive 2 minutes early. I use them up, carrying Aeva down from the truck. Nuzzling her nose and kissing her furrowed eyes. I hold Iris close and breathe in her hair. Kiss her cheek and she watches me silently. She never really speaks to me when she goes. Like the volume gets turned off on my favorite radio station. She simply looks back and walks away.

"I love you. I will see you soon. You'll have fun. Call you tomorrow?" I call out until theyre gone from ear shot.

I smile so they will see it if they watch.

We stayed out late.
We bought every Little an ornament. We bought lights and christmas gifts.
Ginger bread houses and craft decorations.
We lugged home bags of things to store.
We got a tree stand.

Stood up the evergreen and watered her.

And left her bare.

Because that is OUR Christmas tree and this month we will only have all 4 of our children 11 days.
In those 11 days we will transform that naked tree into a thing loved and hung with all our lights and colored orbs.

Until then we push pause and we wait.

That is how its like when you share your children. You count minutes and days and leave things waiting in the eaves until they can be there with you again.

Its a hollow thing.

Quantum Physics and Puzzle Pieces

I was dragging my feet. 

"Where are we going??"

"Its around here. I just want to show you something I found the other day." 

I had been led past the practically empty playground and into the wooded area beyond. Turning my head I glanced a teen so deeply into his phone he'd likely be useless to forensic artists here shortly. 

"You're going to kill me and dispose of my body in the woods aren't you?"

In almost 5 years of dating, I'd had a lot of practice sorting through profiles and messages to successfully find every ripe jerk in the DMV. Sometimes I would be so skillful I could find them as far as Pennsylvania. 

Those dating app algorithms have NOTHING on me. 

Nor for me really. 

I had made it through the wringer. 

I'd just lost a very dear friendship I could have sworn would survive a nuclear meltdown. Walked away from one of the most toxic relationships I could have kept. 

From the spot on the ground where my shattered pieces lay I decided I had spent my last shiny effort. I was a lone jagged puzzle piece.

The dating scene was a cesspool and all decent men were either married or chronically attached to women whom I was ashamed to share a chromosome with.  

This guy? He had two words on his profile. Strike one. 

And neither word appealed to me. Strike two. 

But he had one picture of him imitating his crazy looking dog and I thought: 

"That's a cute pup!"

About now he was waiting to hear me tell him I was on my way. I was going to grab dinner at Panera and he had the option to join me. 

But I was dragging my feet. Twice I had told him I was moving the timeline. Twice I sat down on my bed and wondered what the point was. 

'This isn't a date. It's you going to grab dinner and he either shows or he doesn't. You pay your tab like you always do and you come home.'

I grabbed my car keys and strolled out. 

Almost a year ago I was at this very park with Aeva. 

Before the trees swallow them up I can almost see me pushing Aeva on the swings. Her golden hair flying behind her. She leans back to look at me with that open mouthed smile and I know her little heart is full. It's her birthday and we are holding on to our tradition of spending the day as she pleases. 

We had started out at the Crofton archery range I could be found at most every Sunday. 5 minutes down the road we found a bowling alley tucked away in a quiet neighborhood where Aeva reigned supreme granny bowler. When Aeva suggested a park, there was one just another few minutes drive from there. It was the kind of little town one could raise kids happily in. 

The familiar tune of an ice cream truck permeated the playground chatter and Aeva pleaded: "Can I have one momma??"

The late afternoon belonged to her dad and it was quickly approaching. 

"Sure thing kid."

I was dragging my feet. 

He showed up. 

I had nothing left in me. 

We'd spent a good hour or so talking. Two kids, divorced, likes picking up heavy things and putting them back down again. Plays a guitar, speaks Spanish and is Mormon. 

I suck my teeth. 

"I'm Buddhist. Not a religion, but it is my spiritual lifestyle."

Smiling he tells me it's fine by him. 

I spent a few years studying different religions and their sects for the purpose of interfaith discussion. My brain racks up what I learned about the Church of Latter Day Saints. It's tough. This guy? He's being real nice and I didn't even have motivation enough to shave my legs. 

Panera closes at 9pm. It's a convenient way to transition into goodbyes. I'm good at those. I know the routine. 

"It was great meeting you. Thank you for coming out."

To which hell say: Yea thanks, I had a good time. 

He smiles, "Can I see you again?" 

Wait. What? That's not in the script. 

"Sure...Sounds good." 

I turn and start walking away. 

"When?"

Before turning back around I could feel the weight of the question. 

His smile was the same but his eyebrows were knit together like he was worried he was losing out on something thin and wispy. 

"When can I see you again?"

I can't remember the last time I was asked that like it mattered. I can't remember *ever* being asked that like it mattered. 

Years ago I read about a theory concerning atoms that link over incredibly vast distances, vibrations traveling the distance between them instantaneously.  Correct me on my quantum physics but I think it's called fuzzy atom theory. Scientifically it can explain some seemingly magical correlations. Romantically it sounded to me like the physical proof of the way souls might weave into each other. 

And to me at that moment it looked like a tendril of light specks speeding from Ian's heart-space to mine. The air around my face buzzed like it does sometimes right before something big happens. Like when Universe wants me to pay particular attention to something because it will matter and so each detail should be taken in. I wanted to ignore it but the feeling stole in through the air into my lungs, rattling my hollowed out chest before settling heavy in the chasm. 

I met Ian in the Winter of my life. In the endless darkness my eyes had grown accostumed to the absence of light. They had learned this landscape of shadows on the wall. 

He too was a jagged puzzle piece. 

Clearing the last of the trees bordering the park, the merciless sun bared down at me and ignited a glen. 

It was unbearably hot. We had been on our way to the zoo and I was already regretting wearing anything more than gauze. Or portable air conditioners. Or skin. 

The way the sun cut across my eyes, it took me a moment to see the bench Ian was asking me to sit at. 

The same atoms that pulled me by the hand now had also been dragging their feet. 

We had lived and traveled to many of the same states. Missing each other by hairs. 

I had spent years frequenting the range he drove by daily. We worked an exit on the highway in distance. 

Nearly a year ago, Aeva and I had circled three sides of Ian's block. Driving past him to the park. 

He could have had his children there that very day. 

But it wasn't the right time. So they dragged their feet in the wrong relationships. In the wrong circumstances. Bidding time. All so that we would meet at precisely the moment when the orbit of our atoms could successfully reach out and say: 

'There you are. I've been looking for you.'

Our jagged sides interlocking perfectly. 

By that bench in the sundrenched glen he took a knee before me. 

So you know....I said yes. 

Hello It's me Mom

Iris     9:23am

'MOM?! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! WE HAD TO EVACUATE THE BUILDING!'

My eyes barely scanned this message when my phone lit up with her name and I answered. 

She was running. 

I could hear kids screaming in the background. 

"Mom?!? Mom I'm scared! They told us to run for the forest!"

I started running back to my office from where I had just been handling an issue for a customer with my routing team. The  tone in her voice spurring me towards my keys. 

"What's going on?!"

Iris's reception was bad. "The principal---Not a dr----gun??--what's going on mom?!"

"I'm on my way!"

She cut out. 

Do you know what that feels like? Do you know how quickly your mind can cycle the sweet face of your child before your eyes, her every tumultuous and every joyous moment?

Let me tell you. It's fast. 

Last night Iris was upset at me.

She is in a play at school and rehearsals run until 6pm Monday thru Thursday. Most nights, I can accommodate picking her up from school. Most Wednesday's and Thursday's I am far from home by 5:30. 

On my designated Wednesday's her father picks her up for me and I pick her up from him on my way home. On my Thursday's I was going to have to pick her up a whole hour early from practice. 

Obviously I was ruining her life and role as Simba. 

One does not cross the King over measly things like life and responsibilities. 

As I stepped out of the bathroom after my shower, she confronted me: 

"Mom. I need to get something off my chest. I cannot rest until I do."

I apparently cannot get dressed until then  either so I wrapped my towel tighter and nodded for her to go ahead.

"I cannot miss rehear----"

She paused ever so slightly and I could see the tiny readjustment going on in her tween head as she made a slight pivot in her argument slightly too late.

"--- I miss spending time with you. We're always busy and rushing about and I don't get lazy days with you anymore."

"Yea? And what days were you thinking you'd like to hang out besides the weekends?"

Blink. Blink. 

"Um. Like... Wednesday's and Thursday's...."

Ah. Hello teenage manipulation. I was wondering where you were. 

The last time I vividly remember adrenaline coursing through my veins like it was replacing every red blood cell, I was staring at the headlights of the car about to impact me and change the course of my life forever. 

If I remember A&P correctly, adrenaline is an accelerator for fight or flight reactions. 

I don't think my body remembers that part of science because much like in my car accident, everything slowed down. 

As I ran for my car I felt like I was running through jello. I was fainting I think. I wouldn't know for sure as I've never done it. But my mind was not racing. It was analyzing every next step and guiding me there safely. 

I reached my car and while driving out I tried Iris's phone again. 

Straight to voicemail. 4 times. 

No. No.no.no.no.nononononono. 

I try again. 

"Hello?! It's me mom!"

Those words! Oh those words!

"Where are you?! Are you ok?!"

"Mom please. Hurry. We're being told to go through the forest to Aeva's school! Please! Please come!"

"I'm coming! I'm almost there!!"

I wasn't. Truth of the matter I was still far. Truer still? I had no idea what the hell to tell her or what to do except be there right now. 

That's all I've ever done for my kids: be there in whatever capacity they need and want from me. 

Move across the country. Get a job. Get two jobs. Make it to all events. Smile. Throw epic birthdays. Bring the clarinet. Bring the clarinet again. Pay for all the activities. Play nice. Make all the costumes in the damn play. Get up early, go to bed late. Be fun. Be serious. Be selfless. Be here now. 

So naturally when I didn't tell Iris I would figure out a way to make sure she was there that last CRUCIAL hour at rehearsal every OTHER Thursday that I had her... She reeled. 

How dare I?

No seriously. How dare I?... 

As she laid in bed crying for me to hear, mumbling whole sobbing sentences because I had ended the conversations and her ploy to mask Broadway aspirations under quality time with mom.... I wondered if I knew what I was doing. Was I doing what was best for us? Or just simply what I wanted for myself? Dare I choose my own agenda first this one time? How far from my mark was I really?

"Stay with me baby. Stay calm ok?"

"I'm scared mom!"

"It's ok. It will all be ok. No matter what. No matter where you are or where you run to I will find you. Ok? You know where safety is. You go there. I will find you."

I was the first parent to arrive on scene besides those that had been there prior to the threat as was apparent from the visitor badges on their shirts. 

I parked my car far. In sight of all the officers and administrators lining the school entrance. Walking up the middle of the road, I was watched. 

The school secretary called out for me to stop. 

"My daughter is out there. I know I can't go in. Can you tell me what's going on? Can I wait here and see her after?"

It's not what my panicked heart wanted to say but it's what my brain, jogging through jello, knew was right to ask. 

Sometimes you can't be the hero. Sometimes you can't do what you want. 

Sometimes you have to let others do their job and not get in the way. 

Two hours I stood outside the school with an officer who could see the panic I was trying so hard to conceal. I traded texts back and forth with Iris who was somewhere on the far side of the school in the tree line between the junior high and elementary school. I could see the specks of trees and children. I knew the teacher that was placing herself between the school and the children. 

'Is Aeva ok mom? Did you go check on her?'

'Yes. I called the school. They're safe.'

I heard the all clear come through the officer's radio and he smiled at me. 

I started for the school but was met by a teacher. Ms. Reynolds, one of the two Lion King production teachers.  

She hugged me. I told Ms. Reynolds about my argument with Iris while we waited for the office to call her up. 

"I see you. I see what you do for her. You're always there. But you need to start stepping back. An hour will not harm her. You have a life too and she needs to learn that. She's not used to it but it's important. You have to take care of you too. I'll have her ready by 5."

Today there was a gun/bomb threat at the school. The details are still not certain nor released and I couldn't care. 

I stood outside the police perimeter for two hours because the only thing I cared about was seeing her face, in real life, telling me she's ok. 

An hour after I saw Iris safe and sound, Aeva fell and skinned her knee pretty badly. The nurse down played the incident and I thought nothing of it until I saw the jagged wound still bleeding through the fully torn knee of Aeva's uniform pants. My momma guilt felt at its highest. While I made it to one child, the other got hurt. Sometimes I'm not sure I'm doing my job right. Sometimes I feel so far from where I think I am. 

Yet isn't that how it goes? 

How dare I think I can always control risks? Outcomes? 

You think you've been doing the right thing all along but like Jon Snow, you know nothing. 

Aeva was delayed first aid an hour and yet her knee didn't suffer for it as she romped around the living room with her two newest best friends. 

Iris will not suffer for the hour she will lose from rehearsal as we spent that hour cooking together and figuring out Math homework. 

I never ever want to be reminded of my children's precious lives again in this frantic way. 

There is no way to protect them through and through. No way to mitigate every single threat possible and impossible. 

My life paused today. It brushed such a large fear in my world as a mother. 

That pause made a difference for Iris and I. Funny how much difference a pause can make. 

Iris's face broke through the crowd of middle schoolers rushing to classes and she buried it in my neck:

"I'm so sorry momma. I'm so sorry I was selfish. I was so scared!"

"Hello baby. It's me, mom." 

If and when

6 days before a scheduled C-Section, I found out my step mother (my momma) had 2-3 weeks to live. As much as she thought it would be her heart, from the years of living and yelling at my father, it would be cancer to do that fierce woman in.

3 days later I hid all signs of labor in order to dilate in peace and avoid a c-section that not only petrified me ...but delayed me two weeks of travel. 

3 days after Aeva was born, we were driving 13 grueling hours from Augusta Georgia to Miami.  

In the first few days I shut down to anything that didn't relate to learning the little being nuzzled to my chest in her Moby and drinking in the last I would see of my blonde green-eyed mother.

It was when I was standing in the shower at the end of the first week, hot water raining down on me, that I broke apart. 

I felt torn wide open physically and emotionally. I pushed too hard in labor, I had stitches where no one wants stitches, I had an empty swollen womb that still didn't comfortably allow waistlines. My boobs were raw from the first awful days of nursing a child with a bad latch, and tight from engorgement. I hadn't slept. I hadn't eaten. I both ached to hold my infant even then but wished my arms would hold just themselves up a little while. 

Instead my shoulders sagged and my world crumbled. My momma was leaving this earth and it grieved me, but I had brought my Aeva into this world against so many odds and for that I rejoiced. One tinged the other.  I cried hard for all the destruction in and out of my body and wondered if I would ever be able to come back from this desolation. If I would ever not feel like I had just been ripped from the middle up. 

I wondered if I could mend. 

Nearly 4 years ago a decade long marriage ended and I was suddenly irrevocably on my own with two small girls and zero answers. The only thing I knew was that my daughters needed proximity more than I needed pride or protection. I drove to Maryland from Texas. I wondered if the drive would ever end. In Maryland I quickly scrambled for a job after 3 years of being a stay at home mom. I hadn't finished college, I didn't have much money, a reliable car or home, nor much sanity left to speak of. I wondered if I would ever get hired. I wondered if I would make enough. How I would afford lawyers for two court cases.how I would manage two children full time as well as a job and mounting legal concerns. I wondered if I would survive. 

2 years ago I had massive orthopedic surgery. 

I'm pretty sure that if I wasn't so thickly drugged up when the nurses at Ellwood City hospital tried to wake me after surgery and I had some control of my tongue and lips I would of been yelling:

I REGRET IT!!

Instead all I got out were unintelligible moans of pain and discomfort. My whole left leg had been jigsaw puzzled and I think they tried jamming the wrong pieces together. 

To think the night prior I had promised myself I would run a 5k. Right then I doubted if I would even walk. 

The first time I met Steve I was 3 weeks post op and had just had two sadistic nurses clip and yank 60 steel staples from my two incisions. 

I was not a happy camper. 

Steve was way too chipper. 

What's more, he looked entirely fresh out of school and eyed my chart like a geek with a brand new science kit. 

'Fuck,' I thought. 'he's never seen this kind of surgery'

"Well, I've never seen this kind of surgery but I did a little research!"

Nailed it. 

Day one was full of measurements and briefing. 

While Steve ran me through range of motion measurements, or lack there of, we talked about time lines. 

How long on zero weight-bearing on the op leg?

When can range of motion be increased? 

When will partial weight-bearing be allowed? 

How long will you need to be on crutches? 

And then a new one: 

"What's your end goal?"

No one really asked that up until then. I mean, I had surgery in order to treat and cure AVN (avascular necrosis) in my femoral head. It's not really something you come out of with a goal. That's kind of the surgeons thing. You know: My end goal is to not cut up the wrong leg and manage to stitch it all up the right way. 

"I want to run a 5k."

I remember Steve unflinchingly nodding his head and smiling. 

Dude is way too damn positive. 

I wondered if he'd realize how absurd my goal was. I wondered if he forgot how torn up I was. 

The days that therapy was its worst, I sat in the shower at night and cried with self pity. Then self loathing. Then exhaustion.

I wondered if this roller coaster would stop. If I would feel normal and able. If I could overcome. 

"Not if, but when."

Steve always said it to me. 

"A 5k is not a matter of IF but WHEN you run it. And when you do, I want to see it"

July 2015 14:55 minute miles 

October 2015 12:53 minute miles 

Today I ran my 2nd race. In the cold rain with the wind saying "NO" and the ground proving difficult. 

I ran along side my childhood friend Evelyn, having flown to see me..whom I had wondered if I'd ever see again. 

I walked and ran and pushed through doubt and pain. 

I ran thru the Finish Line and straight for the can.

Each time I've had sight of a race's finish I get so excited I spontaneously gag and dry heave. I'm sure the camera man in my face caught me diving into the crook of my elbow hoping to staunch any mess. 

Like an overexcited dog, I get so worked up I hurl. While everyone around me thought I had simply pushed that hard for time I had merely pushed so hard for my When. I laughed between heaves and sank to my heels with simple happiness. 

Two almost feels better than one. It feels like continuity. Like healing. Like surviving. Like overcoming. 

Like...when I drove out all the if's. 

Mother's Day

"Sorry to break it to you Momma, but Mother's Day is cancelled this year again."

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, sitting up, hands on knees, your head aimed down like youre tired but you look up at me and smile. You shrug and push off, ambling towards the door.

Its barely daylight.

"Momma, its early and theyre still asleep. Its gonna be a busy day today, you dont get that rest."

We've made it to the kitchen where the first rays are crossing the living room through the balcony curtains to streak the cabinets and counter tops cleaned just last night. You've reached the coffee maker, filled up the pot and start counting the scoops of grounds.

"Didnt you hear me Momma?"

Pressing the start button, you nod.

To you, its like I didnt say a word and I didnt just cancel your day.

But I see you Momma.

I see you measuring ingredients and setting out plates just enough so that little hands that want to help can mix and pour all by them selves. I see you acting surprised when they run into the kitchen with eagerness to make you sweet cakes, eggies and toast for your Mother's Day. Giggling because they get to treat momma to breakfast.

"She'll be so happy!"

I see you cleaning up the mess, Momma. I see you doing the dishes.

I see your lap crowded with paper flowers you taught them to make, cards you gave them petty cash for, their inscriptions spelled out by you when they ask: "Momma, how do I spell Happy? One P or two?"

Yet still you smile wide as you read the proclamations of love outloud and shower each one with kisses.

I see you dressing those babies up so beautifully Momma. A brush barely through your hair but the little ones are prancing about in their best.

"Dont I look pretty for you now Momma?" they ask
"You always do."

I see you take them to the park Momma. I see you pushing them on the swing.

"5 more minutes Momma!"

I see you watching them each. Not sitting. Not reading. Not relaxing one bit.

The day is full of activity and the world seems to be out to celebrate their matriarchs; their mothers and grandmothers and aunts. They tote bouquets of lilies and chrysanthymums, tulips and roses. There are ballons and chocolates. New purses and certificates for massages. There are fathers to hold babies and give Momma a rest.

And I see you wiping dirty faces, holding discarded jackets and napkins.

I've seen you running to the school on your lunch because shes forgotten an instrument. Swearing that you ought to teach her a lesson in responsibility by not taking it, and yet you kiss her head before you go and never tell her so.

I see you, sick as a dog, but saving your sick days for those mornings when a Little doesn't feel well. For a field trip needing a chaperone. A teacher parent conference. A play. A day that would be more miserable missed at work while healthy than at that same desk feeling like death. 

I see the other mommas, more troubles than shoulders can hold but never too heavy laden to love their child. To stay up late for them, to go an extra mile. 

I see the Mommas that are Daddies too. 

Momma, there's no rest for you nor any that you'd take. 

I see you momma, this is a Mother's Day. 

What Grinds Me

I should probably own a Keurig by now.

Most mornings I wake up dazed and confused roused by my insistent alarm clock. Like a zombie I shuffle towards the coffee pot, palming my way around the kitchen island. Not sure why it works but if I close one eye and squint with the other, I can typically find the filters and ground coffee in 4.26 minutes flat. Sometimes absent-minded staring is required because I simply cannot remember what the hell im doing in front of the pantry.

4 or 5 heaping spoonfuls of coffee in a filter and a pot of water later I fat finger the big 'ON' button, and rest my head on the counter as perculating sounds start popping.

Sometimes I wait for it to finish, but days like today I dont. Cream and sugar already in my mug, I take the coffee pot off its base and pour.

There is an astounding congregation of black specs surfacing in my coffee. As coffee continues to drip onto the hot plate, I lift the lid and find that the filter folded over on itself and the coffee and grinds have flooded the reservoir. Now theres coffee spilling from the hot plate on to my counter so I return the pot and the hot plate hisses wildly.

From previous experience I know I just wont like the coffee grounds in my coffe and spooning them out wont save me from those that have already drowned and will ruin my last sip. What I need is to filter this sucker. Yea.

To be honest, Im spoiled. Usually this was Iris's morning routine. The kid once asked me if she could help make coffee for me and I let her. She makes a mean mug. Like, 3 spoonfuls too many per cup of water mean. But it perks me right up after growing in some chest hair.

Lately I have had to learn to do this all by myself.

If you have been reading me for a little while, you might have guessed that I share my kids with their father. What you may not know about was the 2 and a half year long custody battle I was fighting until just recently.

By recently I mean almost 3 months ago. I started this entry almost that long ago and then sat staring at the screen, shook my head and walked away. 

Sometimes my muse just doesn't want to talk to me. Sometimes I just don't want to talk to myself about this shit so I let it marinate.

This coffee however...wont be helped by marination. Is that a word? Marination? I cautiously placed a filter over a clean mug so as to re-filter the grinds out of my cuppa. I poured slowly, cautiously....all over the effing counter. and the side of the filter slipped and fell into my mug. Grinds man. Grinds in my coffee. AGAIN.

You know, divorce is hard. Wether amiable or not, its not an easy feat. Its not enjoyable and im pretty sure it will haunt me a good long while. But custody disputes? Those are traumatizing. For you, for your kids, for your wallet. Judges are not impatial. Money DOES dictate quality of defense. People hold grudges. Mean, deep, damaging grudges.

I started off the case as best as I could, but I am human. I have emotions and a demanding job and no sick days left sometimes. Ok...all the time. I literally have not had vacation time used for anything other than court or sick children in 3 YEARS. I let that frustration get the best of me. 

Worst part? It all haunted me in that court room for 3 long greuling days (3s not my number!) Nothing illegal. Nothing crazy. Just...nothing that resembled whom I am. Whom I wanted to be. 

Back when I had my accident, while I learned to walk again and hoped that I could...my entire life replayed itself. I vowed never to take health and life for granted again. 

In that court room, I saw the me that was Momma Bear. ANGRY Momma Bear. Fearful momma bear. The Defeated Momma Bear throwing punches wildly in her grief. That was not grace or poise or role model material. I stood at that fork in the road and decided...this is not whom I will ever be again. I won't allow a situation to take away from me. I could start over again. I don't NEED these grinds in my life. 

I have this handy little app on my phone that tells me just how much crap I eat every day. How bad it is for me and how I'll never lose weight this way. 

What I mean is, it's a calorie counter. For a while there everyday I'd go over my caloric allowance and it would shine all red and angry. So the next day I start again. Somedays id meet my allowance. Somedays I'd go over. Lately, I'm right on track. Until I remember the icecream bars in my fridge. Little red specks all over that app. I've quit trying on weekends. Far as I know, weekends don't exist to your metabolism. They're like free shots. If free shots mean anything resembling 'no points against'. But what the fuck do I know about sports to be making baseball references. Seriously. I guessed my march madness bracket. I'm just not a football fan! Every Monday though, I start again. 

At this point I'm just staring at my coffee mug. 

You ever just stared hard at something and willed it to FIX itself magically? That was me and that mug. I stood there, hands on opposite sides of this thing, leaning over, nose to rim. Willing it. To dissolve the grinds. It's right there. The sweet nectar of the Gods. Right. Beneath. The. Surface. 

I grab a spoon and try to fish out the specks but in goes the spoon and SCATTER goes the grounds. 

Fuck me. I just want java! The more I viciously scoop, the more coffee I'm dumping in the sink. I'm going to be late and this mug is defeating me at an alarming rate. 

In this world I have no idea what the future holds. 10 years ago I never imagined that I would be in Maryland, fighting a coffee cup, living alone in an apartment with part-time children, working in a produce company, nursing a bionic hip. 

I didn't want this. Still don't. But there's no plausible alternative I could want. I tried every avenue possible to stave off the inevitable. I lost patience. I started treading water. Frantically attempting to stay afloat a situation that just wasn't viable. I never wanted to make it this far in life only to start over again. To share my children and know that they live two lives in two households because that new-normal is in their best interest. Even if it grinds me, I can learn that something's aren't salvageable and that we can always start anew. 

I dumped the coffee full of grinds I couldn't filter out. I couldn't fix my error. Or what it did to my mug of joe. 

There's grinds in that coffee but it's not the coffee I HAVE to drink. 

New filter in the machine. 4 scoops. Not 3. Water. On. 

I can always start anew. 

I am not a lot

Here is a list of what I am NOT:

Im not a morning person.
Im not able to function without the sweet nectar of coffee.
Im not organized.
Im not into rabbit food or any of these fucking new age diets crap.
Im not thin.
Im not patient.
Im not a runner.
Im not typically safe for the general public's sensitivities.
Im not typical. Period.

Im also not thrilled about waking up and having to go to PT on the weekend before my 3rd mug of joe. Im fairly certain my therapist, Steve, came to this understanding when I stood infront of him receiving instructions. I was slightly hunched, a few degrees to the right, arms a la neanderthal, and eyes that were only open from the sheer force of raised eyebrows. In my workout get-up, I could of passed as an entrant in the local Zombie Run. As a zombie.

Jog in intervals on the treadmill he says.
"gnehhh..." I answer

He has the treadmill set up facing a window and I was so dazed by the sunlight I often forgot to change the speeds for the intervals.

Steve: Hows it going?
Me: Yes.
.....
Steve: ...Does it feel ok?...
Me: Oh. Yea. Knee? Dunno...stiff. Hip..uff...
Steve:...ok. Well...we will talk when youre done...

Pre-Surgery physical restrictions, Surgery, Post surgery 6-month no-weight bearing restrictions and pain....All those suckers added weight and my hips and ass are gluttons. They rake up any extra calories around and store it away. This is evident in my need to pull my shirt down in the back every few strides. Id like to punish the hoarders but we all know im an amazing cook and I just cant buy into the Quinoa craze.

Steve is the kind of physical therapist that is used to athletes. Hes used to working with them and as far as I know, is one himself.
I....am not.
Yet and still I am set up to run plyometric drills, hoping from square to square on the ground on the tips of my toes and quick-stepping through the taped off 'ladder' on the ground. I remind myself to buy a TIGHTER workout bra. Im squatting on the flat side of a Bosu Ball which is the #1 most awkward squat I have YET to achieve.

Steve takes measurements. Lift your leg. Rotate left. Rotate right. Dont let me push your leg up...now down. Now left. Now right. Strength, Range of motion, and flexibility measurements are jotted down as part of my re-evaluation today.

Steve: I rarely give out 5s. You have one 5 for quad strength. Most patients I receive, have not had hip or bone surgery. They come and go at a 3- or 3+ range. You have 4s. Congrats. You are technically at normal hip functionality.
Dont get too giddy. Watch that hip rotator. Its bad. And that ankle. Your 5k is no longer an if, but a when.

I am not entirely fixed.
But.
I am not fully broken.

Growing up in Miami, 60 degrees was the dead of winter. A freeze came at 55 degrees. God forbid 50 ever showed its face in the Sunshine State. We will go to work and school hours before a Category 4 Hurrican graces our shores, loading up on booze and food for the traditional Hurrican Parties, but its a state of emergency if we can see our breath when we exhale. No one goes to school. No one goes to work. We could DIE out there!

I think it was 60 degrees most of this afternoon so naturally we went to the park.

Both girls brought their bikes, walked them to a bench, and left them there while they used the play ground.

Aeva: Momma!! Come get me!

Aeva is running fast towards a green rubberized hill on the playground. Its steep and you need momentum to run up its side. Shes halfway there.

I take off.

I look like that Zombie I mentioned, or maybe like Igor but screw that Im gonna win this race!
I make it to the top, we butt-scoot all the way down and Iris turns to me with two hands up.

"You did it mom.... High five!"

Im not fast or smooth.
Im not still sitting on the bench watching from a distance either.

Theres a trail in the park that weaves through a forested area and into a garden with more trails, a lake, and an atrium. Iris stays behind in the park with our friend Chris, and Aeva asks me to take her on the nature trail for an 'adventure'.

Aeva: Momma, I need to exercise my legs. Can I run? Will you run with me?

She takes off. Steve said no running outside because there was ice on the ground.
But its 60 degrees and I dont see ice on the trail.

We run for a few minutes, winding through the forest and dashing around other people on the trail. My canter is hobbled. My steps are shorter on the left and quick to shift to my right. Aeva picks the road when we come to fork and she tells us when to pause before resuming. We cover about 2 miles. Maybe more. Aeva names the geese we see. The two that are snapping at each other and honking angrily she names after herself and her sister. Pretty accurate if you ask me.

Aeva: I like running with you.
Me: I like running with you too.

Im not a runner.
Im not giving up yet.