what i would tell you

*

Ed note: What follows is barely English. I’m pretty sure it’s essentially a series of very long, run-on sentences (with a few fragments thrown in for fun). There’s also a whole lot of random punctuation – a comma here, a hyphen or two there. If I had the time, I’d edit it. But I don’t. Which is kind of the point. Good luck, my friends.

**

I have so much to tell you. If only I had the time.

If I had the time, I would tell you about Brooke’s latest breakthrough – about how she was crying at CVS the other night because I told her that we couldn’t buy a bag of goldfish (because we had JUST come from dinner and we were on our way home for dessert, if you must know) and how she said – or kinda screamed, but whatever – through her tears, “I feel mad about it!”

UNPROMPTED.

And I’d tell you about how weird it feels to be happy that your kid – who is in tears – just told you she feels mad. Well, maybe not happy as much as proud, but either way, it’s still weird.

If I had the time, I would tell you about the awards ceremony that I’m running, co-hosting, emceeing and otherwise losing my stuffing over this Thursday night to honor seventy-five teachers, administrators and staff members in our school district who have gone above and beyond the call of duty this year to impact the lives of special needs kids.

And about how you can’t give me a hard time for doing it because I committed to it last year, so despite my best efforts to PULL BACK, this one was non-negotiable.

If I had time, I would tell you about how it’s been a nightmare of logistical headaches and misunderstandings and hurt feelings and blatantly disregarded instructions and hundreds upon hundreds of e-mails back and forth and back and forth and Good Lord, how many times is the phrase, ‘No good deed goes unpunished’ going to go through my head before this is done?

And about how I know it’s going to be wonderful because last year was wonderful and because these teachers really, really deserve the recognition but how I really, really just can’t do this anymore and how I’m kinda wishing the time away so that I can be past this and how that feels awful because, well – please see the first part of this run-on sentence about how the nominees really, really deserve to be recognized.

If I had the time, I would tell you about how Brooke has started using, “Sort of” and “If you don’t mind” ALL THE TIME and how dang cute it is when she says either of them.

If I had the time, I would tell you how we went to see my Grandma this weekend, and how blessed I feel that the girls have their great-grandmother in their lives. Someday I’ll tell you how I didn’t meet her until I was older than both of my girls are now, and how much I therefore cherish seeing her with them at this age – and how much they each adore her in their own way.

If I had the time, I’d tell you about how my aunt – a long since retired kindergarten teacher – goes out of her way to not just indulge, but to include my girl. How she doesn’t get remotely ruffled when she uses her pretty, decorative hand towels for things pretty, decorative hand towels should never be used for, or how, when she smushes her palms flat into the just-served cheeseburgers she says, still smiling, ‘You know, I thought that looked pretty irresistible too.” Or how her son – my cousin – doesn’t tell anyone when he sees Brooke eating the fruit out of the serving dish (off of the serving spoon.)

If I had time, I’d tell you how Katie pointed out a man to me at the pool the other day and said, “That guy’s not very nice,” and went on to tell me that he had been “swinging his kid around in the pool even though it was too crowded and then the kid kicked Daddy in the head and me in the neck which wasn’t exactly a surprise cause there was like no room,” and how when “I said, “OW!” the guy didn’t say anything” and how when “we moved away from him Daddy muttered ‘jackass’ but don’t tell him I heard cause he thought he was being really quiet.”

If I had the time, I’d tell you about another moment at the pool, when a woman I barely know cornered me in conversation and wanted to chat about how she has the summer off and how she’s staying home with her kids for the summer and how she’s ‘really just not sure that it’s her thing’ and how she ‘might just go crazy hanging out by the pool all day’ and how I came THIS CLOSE to pointing out to her just what a God-awful problem that must be and holy hell, ARE YOU SERIOUSLY talking to me about this? (But I didn’t cause I knew it would sound judgmental and really, it wasn’t her fault that I was seethingly jealous; but I was.)

If I had the time, I’d tell you about the meal we had on Saturday night. About how we went to a NEW place and how Brooke sat CALMLY and ATE HER FOOD – like ALMOST ALL OF HER FOOD – and how she TRIED SOMETHING NEW and ATE THAT TOO and how Katie and Brooke were SHARING food back and forth and how Luau looked at me halfway through dinner and said, “Who IS this family?” and how we laughed when I shushed him so as not to break the spell.

If I had the time, I would tell you about how I’m really not worried about the results of the EEG, but how not being worried worries me, because when I say, “I just don’t think it’s seizure activity because she really appears to remain lucid” it just sounds so damn hauntingly similar to, “I just know she’s not autistic because she talks, for heaven’s sake” and how I know that I know just slightly more about epilepsy now than I did about autism then, and how that all stays somewhere in the back of my mind and in the depths of my gut and how while I keep saying I’m not worried, I know that you know that I’m lying to both of us.

And above all, if I had the time, I’d tell you again how grateful I am for you. For all of you. For your prayers for my girl and your notes and your comments and your constant, unwavering love and support of my family.

For getting why it was such a big deal the other day when Brooke said that she only “sort of” had fun at the pool because “well, it was a little crowded” and for understanding just how much that one interaction represents.

Yeah, that’s what I’d tell you.

If I had the time.

sisters – on special needs siblings saturdays

**

 

**

Please join me over at The Squashed Bologna today.

I’m honored to be a part of Varda’s Special Needs Siblings Saturdays Series, helping to shine a spotlight on the often unsung heroes in our families’ stories.

Please CLICK ON OVER. And while you’re there, share your thoughts with Varda. If nothing else, you can tell her that she has the cutest blog title ever. See you there!

—>  CLICK HERE  <—

**

Ed Note: WordPress has been doing some funky things with the hot links. If you have any trouble, please copy the following URL into your browser.

http://www.squashedmom.com/2011/05/snss-sisters.html

Thank you!

eeeeeeeg

Yes, we took pictures of Brooke getting an EEG. Why? Because we billed it as an adventure. And when on an adventure, one takes pictures.

Right?

Right. 

**

Her Royal Highness, Princessa Brooke, boned up on the Here We Go For An EEG social story on the ride to the hospital. (For the record, she pronounced EEG as a word .. Eeeeeeg … and I didn’t correct her cause it was sort of ridiculously adorable.)

*

*

Within a minute of the above photo, she came down with a horrible stomach ache, was kind of a hot mess and the rest of the car ride pretty much sucked, but hey, the picture’s really cute, so we’ll go with that. 

*

*

We brought a couple of close friends along with us to the Children’s Hospital. Incidentally, did you know that because it’s called Children’s Hospital it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a children’s hospital? I didn’t. Until I saw the signs for OB/GYN and Geriatrics and then, well, yeah, I knew. (Random fact courtesy of Diary. You’re welcome.)

Despite the signs for pregnant and elderly folks, it was obvious that we were in the right place when the woman at the front desk dipped into a royal bow when she saw Princessa Brooke. I mean, c’mon, how cool is that?

Oh and we made a new friend right away. Brooke named her Rosie. And, as you can see, she was having an Eeeeeg too.

*

*

I had a full bag of tricks available for operation distraction, including this – the world’s coolest fidget. The whole thing is super stretchy rubber. The mice get smushed in and pulled out of the holes in the cheese. Details below on how to get it**- (and no, I don’t have any connection to nor do I receive anything from the company; I’m just telling you cause I think it’s cool and I like you so I want to share cool stuff with you.) Moving on.

*

*

The intake nurse, Miss P came and sat with us for a few minutes in the waiting room. She indulged my girl like nobody’s business, even sitting through Brooke’s version of Simon Says (which is basically Follow the Leader) and singing Happy Birthday to one of the mice. I believe it was Mousy. Which may or may not be the one on the left.

The most amazing part of all of it was that she TOOK HER TIME WITH US. Not once did I feel like she was in a hurry. Or had to be somewhere else. She just listened.

When Miss P left, we took the chance to look through the pictures in the social story one more time. By the time that the technician came into the room and introduced herself, Brooke said, “Hi, D, I’m going with you now.”

D brought us back to her ‘castle.’ Everything she showed us was royal and everything she did was ‘fit for a princess’. She was even kind enough to remove the pea from the bed before Brooke climbed up. I think that one was lost on Brooke, but her parents got a chuckle out of it. 

D explained everything she did – from showing Brooke the silly lipstick crayon that she would use to make marks on her head to letting her see the color of each and every one of the twenty-eight wires before attaching them to her head.

It mattered. Every bit of patience mattered. Above all, her obvious respect for Brooke mattered. She talked TO her. I was grateful. And relieved. And sadly, a little surprised.

*

*

She told her that she was doing her hair. Princesses, after all, must have their hair done. Brooke took us though the Beauty Parlor script from Elmo’s World. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” she said, in her deepest prince voice.

Who would have thought we’d have laughed? We did.

*

*

I have no idea what’s going on here. It was just really cute. (She’s smiling under there.)

*

*

Blowing a pinwheel? Fun. Entertaining even. And over after twenty seconds, max.

She had to do this for THREE MINUTES. That part wasn’t so much fun.

My favorite part was when the tech said that it was time to sleep. I’d told the intake nurse that it wasn’t going to happen. This just isn’t a kid who falls asleep outside of her bed. And even there it takes her a good forty-five minutes. But they assured me – sleep deprived, she’d drift off. I knew better, but what the heck. It’s your dime, kids. Give it your best shot.

The tech spoke softly. “OK, Princess Brooke, it’s time to sleep now.” The lights went off. It was nearly dark in the room. I knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that she would sleep, but I didn’t want to seem uncooperative. I tried to sound like I meant it when I said, “C’mon, sweet love, we’re going to take a little nap now.”

Right.

Brooke pretended to snore. Loudly. I tried not to laugh. She said, “I’m sleeping.” I tried harder. She stage-whispered, “I’m really awake.” I tried even harder. A phone rang in the hallway. She said, “The telephone woke me up!”

It was hilarious.We finally gave up and I laughed out loud.

Taking off the leads was awful. Brooke yelped in pain and began to cry. Then the tech used what should have been a warm towel to get the glue out of her hair, but the water was hot.

Brooke shrieked. It was just too much. I asked the tech to take a break. I picked up my screaming, crying girl and carried her to the bathroom. As we got inside she yelled through her tears, “I’m sorry!”

I knelt down to her. “Why, baby? What are you sorry for?”

“Because I’m crying,” she yelled back. My heart nearly exploded. “Oh, my sweet baby. There’s nothing – nothing – to be sorry for, OK?”

She nodded her head, then said, “That means ‘yes’.”

We went back into the room and asked the tech to use a cooler towel. A soon as she finished up, Brooke changed out of her princess dress and we all got the heck out of Dodge. We were done.

In the car, we asked what she wanted to do. Anything – the day was hers. Any food, any destination. Whatever she wanted.

Our first stop was McDonald’s. Duh.

*

*

My child –  who weighs fifty pounds soaking wet (with a dumbbell in her pocket)-  ate THREE of these. With fries. And a bagel in the car.

*

*

And then decided she wanted to go to the zoo. Her parents were beyond exhausted, but couldn’t say no. Besides, these birds weren’t gonna feed themselves, people.

*

*

An “Uh Oh!” turned out to signal the demise of Brooke’s shoes and the end of our time at the zoo. Daddy had to give her a lift back to the car. Doesn’t look like anyone was worse for the wear.

**

In the end, it was a good day. Exhausting, but in its own way, good. I have never been so proud of my girl. Three years ago? Two years ago? Even last year? Not a chance this day would have gone this way.

But my girl has been filling her toolbox. And we have filled ours. Together, I’m not sure there’s anything we can’t get through.

As we walked out of the EEG, the tech stopped me at the door. “You guys are doing a really great job with her,” she said. I bit my lip. I didn’t want to cry. My girl had finally stopped sobbing, I didn’t want to start. But I was touched to my core.

Not just because she said it, but because in that moment, having done what we’d just done, I believed it.

Parenting is a job that doesn’t end. The work never stops. There are no completed projects. And parenting a child with challenges is a whole other ball of wax. We don’t get to rest on our laurels – ever. There’s no break.

But what there are are moments like yesterday – when we get to look back, see where we’ve come from, acknowledge where we are and say, “We’re doing OK. Maybe even a little better than OK.”

Whatever comes of the testing, so be it. Our girl will still be our girl – same wonderful, bright, quirky kid we know and adore beyond all reason. Same kid who lights the world with her smile and  powers it with her laugh.

So we’ll face whatever we have to. With love, with patience and with as much grace as we can muster.

And of course, with a princess hat.

As you do.

Ed note: ** I’ve been told that the hot link to the cool fidget isn’t working and I can’t seem to fix it. The company is called Pocket Full of Therapy. Click –> HERE <– and type ‘cheese’ into the ‘search catalog’ to find the toy. Sorry for the confusion.

grateful

**

All,

My girl was nothing short of heroic today. All the while – through each and every single moment of the day – she was perfectly, authentically HER. I have never been more proud of her than I am right now.

We spent the day surrounded in your love and comforted by your prayers. We await the results the same way – feeling overwhelmingly grateful for each other and every one of you.

Thank you for your incredible support of my family. We are blessed beyond our wildest imaginations. 

With love,

Jess

**

sleep deprived

***

Monday night .. 

To: Team Brooke

From: Jess

.

All,

.

Luau and I have been noticing over the past few days that Brooke has been looking up (not moving her head, but rolling her eyes toward the ceiling) quite a bit. We’re wondering if any of you have observed the same and if so if you’ve noticed any kind of pattern around it, ie times of stress / anxiety. 

.

We’re going to try to keep track of when it’s happening but so far we’re at a loss. Any thoughts / insights would be greatly appreciated. 

.

Thanks!

.

Tuesday afternoon:

.

From: An SLP on Brooke’s team

To: Jess

.

Hi Jess,

.

Some thoughts regarding the eye rolling…

.

Has Brooke ever been checked for seizure activity? I only ask because sometimes small eye movements can be a sign of a seizure. May be something to rule out if it continues to happen.

.

As I read the e-mail, my phone begins to shake in my hand. I go numb. I blink back tears. I nearly vomit.

.

Then I take a deep breath.

.

Lose it later.

.

Action first.

.

What do I DO?

.

An e-mail to the developmental pediatrician, who agrees there is cause for concern.

.

A phone call to the regular pediatrician, who also agrees.

.

A referral.

.

A message for my dear friend, J whose daughter has autism and a rare seizure condition. “Where do we need to go for the EEG?”

I know she’ll know. I wish to God she didn’t.

.

A call back from  J, “Honey, Are you OK? I couldn’t understand your message. Tell me what you need.”

.

I had started to cry while leaving the voicemail. I’d held it together all day, but those words – possibility of seizure activity – they were too much. They caught in my throat, snaked around my heart and wound up stuck somewhere in the middle of a jagged breath.

.

I explain what we need. She tells me where to go. We will insist on the smaller campus of the City’s renowned Children’s Hospital. “It’s quieter there,” she explains. “Calmer.” She knows just how important quieter and calmer are.

.

A call to the pediatrician. “Yes, that is where we need to be. Yes, I know it’s further away. Yes, it’s where we need to be. No, I don’t want to go to the one closer to the house that has more resources at their disposal. Trust me on this one. Thank you.”

.

A call back in the morning, then another. “They’ll be in touch with you soon.”

.

I google the phone numbers and call them myself. Mama’s not waiting.

.

The EEG will have to be sleep deprived. “Sleep deprivation stresses the brain,” explains the intake nurse. “Oh, honey,” I say, “no one needs to tell me that sleep deprivation stresses the brain. Believe me, I know.”

.

A welcome laugh.

.

Instructions. “Keep her up until midnight and wake her at four. No caffeine. No hair products. Conditioner is fine but must be well rinsed. Bring anything and everything from home that may be comforting. DVDs, stuffed animals, games, anything she’d like to have with her. She can wear whatever she wants.”

.

I laugh. “If you tell my girl that she can wear whatever he wants, she’ll come dressed as a princess.”

.

Best answer EVER …”Why not?”

.

Why not indeed.

.

I send up a prayer of thanks for J. God, did we call the right place.

.

A text from J making sure we got in, followed by a call. “Jess, I called over there. They knew who Brooke was right away, but now they know a little more. I made sure you have D. She’s the best tech there is. We’ve never had a better experience than with her.” My heart aches. I know just how many ‘experiences’ they’ve had.

.

I can’t believe that J made time for this. She will never cease to amaze me.

.

An e-mail from another of my closest friends. A moment of snark that she knows I need, followed by this:

.

“I have [the girls] praying before every meal. After [my big girl] finished, she opened her eyes and said, “I’m not sure what we’re praying about, but I’ll pray for Brooke every day of my life if she needs it.” And then she said, “And Mom?  She’s going to be okay.  I know it.”

.

Tears.

.

Good ones.

.

That girl is never wrong. I’d trust her with my life.

.

***

.

In my heart of hearts, I truly do not think that Brooke is experiencing seizure activity. It just doesn’t add up. But it also doesn’t feel right. And I can’t deny that there is enough evidence to warrant investigation. After all, I’m the one who just yesterday said to a friend, “If it doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t.” Head in the sand doesn’t help my girl.

.

So we go. And God-willing, we will rule this particular nightmare out and move on.

.

***

.

It’s 5:51 am. We’ve been up for nearly two hours. Brooke is playing a game on the computer while I write – “Play with me, Sesame!” again and again and again. She holds Prairie Dawn up to the screen to see her friends. “Look, Prairie,” she says. “That’s YOU!” Together, they sing along to the Sesame Street songs. I swear I could eat her.

.

Last night, she told me in no uncertain terms that she will go to the special doctor’s office in a pink princess gown. I was informed that she will be wearing princess shoes, some beaded necklaces and a bracelet, along with a pink princess ring. She will be called Princessa Brooke.

.

Why not indeed.

.

The checklist is complete. We’ll make sure she has everything she needs on the way out the door.

.

The laptop – loaded with her favorite episodes of Elmo’s World and Dora the Explorer

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Two brand new, never-before played with fidget toys that just happened to come in the mail last night

.

Prairie Dawn

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Dora

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Three favorite books

.

Stickers

.

Paper

.

Magic markers

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Some last-minute, assorted toys

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Mama’s desperate, aching prayers – No more. Please, God. No more.

.

We’re ready.

.

Ed note: Sorry about all the dots and stars on the screen. The formatting was a mess and they were a quick fix. 

mother’s day in pictures

**

As you may have heard, the girls surprised me with a trip to the spa on Mother’s Day. Well, sort of. It was a trip to the Mama Spa, which, as it turns out is in my very own house and has the two cutest spa attendants I’ve ever seen. Well, unless you count Tomas, that tanned, strapping young massage therapist at that hotel in the islands .. oh, sorry, I digress.

My girls had thought of everything.

From the orange juice ‘cocktail’ …

To the eye cooler thingamajig

To the robe

To the candles (which Daddy helped light)

To the … um … ‘spa’ products?

To the ‘facial’ (no, I have no idea what the heck they’re actually doing, but I’m told it was a facial.)

Heck, this place was SO swanky, they even drank your drink FOR you! now THAT is service, folks.

The day at the spa was followed by a short scooter break, in full princess regalia.

As you do.

Note: somewhere in here, Katie went flying off of her scooter and ate the sidewalk, skinning her knee and fattening her lip in the process. Good times. Anyway, it’s not like we’d take a picture of all that, so you’ll just have to imagine a lot of tears, a fair amount of blood and a trip home to recuperate.

At which time Brooke took the opportunity to relax with Winston -

(cause all that scootering and relaxing at the spa was a little tiring.)

And finally, we all went out to dinner.

Brooke was spent and it was a little more than she could handle, but before hightailing it out of the restaurant, we did get this ludicrously self-indulgent picture. I kinda love it.

**

And there you have it – Mother’s Day chez Diary.

I hope that you had a wonderful Mother’s Day (if you can remember back that far, cause without these pictures, I’m pretty sure I’d have come up dry) and that no matter what your connection to or definition of motherhood may be, that you felt and feel celebrated and appreciated. You deserve no less.

As a matter of fact, I say we all take thirty seconds today – just thirty seconds – to create our own Mother’s Day. To stop for just those thirty seconds and celebrate all that we do and to remind ourselves how much it really matters.

For extra credit, we can find another mom who might need a little reminder of her own and let her know how much she’s appreciated.

Can you imagine how powerful that could be?

So what are you waiting for?

GO!

untitled

In the dream, it is mid-winter cold. I don’t know where we are, but there is snow everywhere.

People are lined up in front of a long structure, as if at an amusement park awaiting their turn on a ride. The structure appears to be a conveyor belt of sorts – tilted slightly downward – upon which we are apparently meant to slide. When my turn comes, I dutifully hop up, and wait to see what will happen.

I’ve come here at the insistence of a friend from college. One whom, in my waking life, I haven’t seen in nearly five years. I still have the wedding gift I bought for her and never managed to give to her. It’s a beautiful teapot, painstakingly chosen to suit her unique sense of style. To this day, it sits in its box, waiting until we can get together again. She has a daughter of her own now. The wedding was a lifetime ago.

The attendant gives me a shove and I find myself careening down the snow-covered conveyor belt. At its end, the belt drops off and deposits me in a vat of icy, dirty water. I am soaked. And angry. I feel duped.

My jeans are drenched and sticking uncomfortably to my legs. It’s freezing outside. I’m miserable. Why on earth would anyone do this on purpose, I wonder.

I hear my friend coming down the belt. I turn to watch her. She’s propelling herself with her arms, pushing – faster, faster, faster. She’s barreling down the ramp. I want to scream to her, to warn her. It’s too late. Before I can speak, she’s soaked too.

I notice a hot tub a short distance away and consider getting in. I walk closer and find a clump of children in the tub. I see my girl, my Brooke, in the tub. She is naked. There is a little boy on top of her. His arms are around her shoulders, wrapping her in a tight hug.

She doesn’t protest. She loves hugs.

He kisses her on the lips, then gets up and moves out of the way.

I watch in slow motion – as this nightmare within a nightmare becomes clearer. There is a line of boys waiting for their turn.

Brooke has no idea what’s happening.

On Friday afternoon, my girl thought she had made two new friends on the school playground. She didn’t understand that they had been alternately teasing her and running away from her.

“You two are my best friends,” she had said, the moment before they finally turned their backs on her, whispered to one another, then turned back again only to roll their eyes at her before running away, leaving her standing alone.

As Luau tried to take her home, she said, “But we can’t leave my two best friends.”

I am woken by a jagged sob. It’s mine. My pillow is soaked with tears.

I am terrified.

gone fishing

I thought about just putting this up for a couple of days ..

.. and going on my merry way.

Because I said I was going to PULL BACK - and I meant it.

But let’s be honest, I’m not exactly the fishing type. I mean, I love the water and the solitude is great, but then there’s the bait and the hooks and the well, you know … the fish.

So I’m leaving the following instead.

It’s brought to you by a veritable throng of dedicated, caring professionals who worked together to teach my girl.

It’s brought to you by YEARS of perseverance, by literacy specialists who joined forces with speech therapists, social pragmatics teachers, aides, classroom teachers and various and sundry others.

It’s brought to you by Braidy the StoryBraid and Toontastic and by people who believed that it was possible.

It’s brought to you by hope and faith and hours upon hours upon hours of hard work.

It’s brought to you by imagination and will and strength and determination and tenacity.

Above all, it’s brought to you by an eight year-old girl who may have challenges, but who proves again and again that she has no limits.

I’ll be back in a few days. In the meantime, I give you my girl, telling us a story. And giving us hope.

See you in a few days, my friends.

pulling back, on hopeful parents

.

.

I’m at Hopeful Parents today, talking about pulling back.

Please click on over. And leave a comment there, if you’re so inclined. I love hearing from you.

-> CLICK HERE<-

tired, 2011 redux

**

Warning, dear reader. If you’re the kind who comes here for a daily dose of optimism, please feel free to skip this post entirely. No, seriously, just move right along and we’ll pretend you were never here. Surf on over to Huff Po or check out TMZ or go see what’s happening on PopEater. You could find pictures of Pippa in a bikini or see if you can keep a straight face while you read about Bristol Palin’s ‘corrective chin surgery’. 

You won’t hurt my feelings if you go; I promise. I’m not one to hold a grudge. But if you decide to keep reading, I make no apologies. You were warned.*

*

I’m much too young to feel this damn old. ~ Garth Brooks

*

I’m tired.

Bone damn tired.

World weary.

Autism weary.

Advocacy weary.

I’ve had enough.

Enough of the constant uphill battles. The red tape. The money. God, everything comes down to money, doesn’t it? I’m so sick of hearing about it, fighting about it, searching for it – not having it.

I’m tired of politicians letting us down. Of civil servants who forget to be either. Of blind partisanship and arbitrary division.

I’m tired of good people fearing that honesty might get them fired.

I’m tired of explaining why truth, whether we like it or not, is not situational.

I’m tired of lies – the big ones, the little ones, the really, really obvious ones.

I’m tired of scripts.

I’m tired of reworking, rethinking, reviewing, reframing and redirecting ALL THE TIME.

I’m tired of Elmo.

I’m tired of feeling like there just aren’t enough hours in the day. EVERY SINGLE DAY.

I’m tired of fighting the same battles again and again and again.

I’m tired of feeling like I’m short-changing everyone in my life – including me.

I’m tired of saying, “I’d love to, if only I could find the time.”

I’m tired of saying that I’ll do it if no one else volunteers.

I’m tired of no one else volunteering.

I’m tired of Mother Nature’s wrath – of tornadoes and floods and tsunamis and earthquakes and good God, why?

I’m tired of war.

I’m tired of watching people die.

I’m tired of hypocrisy.

I’m tired of hate.

I’m tired of watching people point fingers at everyone but themselves – until it’s time to take credit for something they didn’t do.

I’m tired of the twenty-four hour news cycle.

I’m tired of explaining.

I’m tired of apologizing.

I’m tired of feeling responsible.

I’m tired of being a grown-up.

I’m tired of the vague sense of unease that I haven’t been able to shake for months.

I’m tired of wondering what would happen to my girls if God forbid ….

I’m tired of fearing for the future.

Im tired of forgetting to live in the present.

I’m tired of feeling like I’m never done.

Ever.

I’m tired.

Just tired.

And today, that’s all I’ve got.

Sorry, guys. You were warned.

* Ed note adapted from the original, Oct 2008