Looking Ahead...Letters To My Children

I saw something this morning that I instantly knew I had to do.

I made my kids their own email accounts.

They know nothing about this.

That is perfect.

I thought this was awesome for so many reasons.

Now they have a cool email they can inherit when the time is right. It's not going to have to be 45 digits long and lame because all of the good names are already used up.

Also, I can email them things now, that they can read later.  Later being whenever I decide to give them access to their account.

I can email them words of wisdom from me because I am so wise and I have life all figured out.

Did you catch that bit of lunacy?  I'm laughing so hard at that one I think I just snorted.

I can email them stories about themselves that are funny, exciting, or that make me cry.  Because I do that.

I can email them simple reminders that I am their mother and I love them.

I really hope this counts as family history, because I am failing miserably at that and I really feel like I shouldn't be.

Looking ahead...

Hello 2014

“Oh God of second chances and new beginnings, here I am again.” - Nancy Spiegelberg


If there ever was a quote for me, this would be it. 

I have always looked at the New Year with a little anticipation, a little dread, and mostly optimism for what the next year will bring.

2013 was a great year for us.  The kids survived a year of school and then started another one.  We learned, re-learned, practiced, tried, failed and worked our way through football, homework, pre-school, church and life at home.  We Hub and the boys, tackled and removed one nasty cactus that I'm truly convinced was Satan in plant form.

It was an especially good year in football.  This was J's last year in little league and his team won the championship.  It capped a great season for him.  I hope he takes the lessons he's learning in football and applies them to his life.  He's such an amazing young man.

T  had a year where the sports glory eluded him.  He never gave up though and I'm in awe of is resiliency and his desire to try new things.  I hope he too, takes those lessons and applies them to his life.  I feel like he's right on the edge of some very great stuff.  

It was a good year for Hub's team as well.  They also won their championship and it capped an amazing year.  I'm absolutely grateful for the football family we have.  Now if we could get him in a job he enjoys...

Lu has grown leaps and bounds.  She is mastering and learning and discovering.  She's a brave girl and remains sweetly stubborn.

Then there's me.  

Why is it when I think of myself I think of the long list of things I am not?


I'm so very not at so very many things, and I so very want to be much more.  

More in control, more organized, more patient, more kind, just to name a few.

Just. More.

I'm determined to get there.

2014 is going to be a good year. 

Back Brace {Part Two}

I am and could be very sarcastic about this whole experience.  Read on.

After going through the process of getting fitted for the Milwalkee Brace, I finally got it.

Another trip to the Doctor's office where he and his staff smiled so encouragingly.  Where my mother smiled and nodded in approval and checked everything over twice.  She seemed so validated.  I was paraded, twirled, checked, poked.

They all looked at me like I should be grateful.

I was and I wasn't.

I really didn't want to be deformed.  Who would be?  I knew I was a long way from really, truly being deformed, but the possibility was there.  Lurking.  All of the adults in my life said, 'You have to wear it or else...'

I also was a good kid.  I could tell this was really important to my mother and I knew she was set on this therapy.  I really didn't have a choice.

Still, I knew this could crush me.  Kids can be brutally cruel.  I'd been down that road plenty of times and I had some decisions to make about how I would handle myself.

I resolved that I would obey the rules and wear it for as long as I needed to.

And not a moment longer.

The brace had a plastic girdle.  It had 2 metal bars that went up the back and one up the front.  These attached to a collar.  They also had pads on them.  Words can not describe the depths of uncomfortable-ness.  I'd slip the brace on through the opening in the back. Then I'd screw the collar together at the back of my neck and tighten the strap at my waist.  The girdle came pretty low in the front, but I could sit comfortably.  In the back, however, it completely deformed my butt - for lack of a better way to say it. Since a major pressure point was in my tail bone region, it effectively split my rear in two top to bottom.

So much for wearing cute jeans.

I wore it home and stared out the window for the long 2 hour drive in the silence.  I'm sure my mom said things like, 'This is for your own good'  'It really won't be that bad, no one will even notice.' 'You're so blessed, you should be grateful we can do this for you.' 'I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm trying to help you.' She may have even said she was sorry. I really can't remember.  I try not to be bitter, but let's be honest, there's still a little there.

I had to wear it for 23 hours a day, meaning I had to sleep in it too.  I could take it off to shower.

School started and I was Joan Cusak in 16 Candles.



I should add that I also had braces on my teeth.  My clothes covered everything up except for the collar.
Most people said they thought the collar was some kind of head gear for my mouth.

The back pads didn't really bother me too much.  They were just constant pressure.  What really hurt was the chest pad.  It was placed at the top of the sternum and I'm a little lop-sided today because of the way it sat. It burned. Oh, the burning.  It was like when you tie your shoes too tight and your feet ache. I couldn't get away from it.  I would sit in class and try to exhale all of the air from my lungs so I could get the pad away from my chest.

Thankfully it was the mid 80's and the shirts were long and loose.  My close friends got over the newness pretty quickly.  I tried really really hard to just be normal.  I would sit in church on the pews and tears would stream down my face.  Not because I was touched, but because sitting at the angle of the benches was killer on my back.

I had resolved in myself to proceed forward, get through each day and do the best I could.  I had fun with my friends.  I went to class and did my best. I got into art and started to blossom.  My art teacher that I talked about here, started calling me 'Stiff'.  It wasn't funny at all to my mother, but I could laugh about it.  I found this determination that I wasn't going to let it get me down and beat me.  It was an empowering feeling.

When I felt a little picked on I would think about everyone else who had real stuff to complain about in the world and I'd quit my pity-party.

Slowly it became less of a blinking light on my forehead and more just a part of me.

I had a boyfriend (if you can call it that...) One night at a dance I had had enough of the brace.  I took it off, shoved it in my locker and went on my way.  No one said a word.  We danced, and laughed, and had a good time.  Later in the evening I asked him if he noticed anything different.  He said no (and then kind of chastised me for not wearing it.  Rude.)

I realized it wasn't as huge to everyone else as it was to me.  After that, I just wore it and didn't care sooo much.  I was still me, and the brace was never ever going to change that.

I wore the brace for 9 months.

Then I was done.

I was actually supposed to wear it for a year.  My main doctor that made the initial diagnosis was no more. He had been having an affair with his receptionist and his wife divorced him, taking him to the cleaners in the process.  He filed for bankruptcy and closed his office doors.

My mother found another doctor, who I liked much better.  He said I probably would have grown out of it. Some good exercises and physical therapy would have really helped and I probably wouldn't have had to wear the brace at all.

Seriously.

She stands behind her decision that she did what she thought was best.

I get that.  I honor her for it.

It's a waste of time for me to wish I'd never worn it.  I did.  I chose not to shrink, but to grow from it.

It brought me out of my shell.  I'd walk down the scary Senior Halls and people would look at me I would just try to smile, walk quickly and have some confidence. Once in a while someone would be 'brave' and ask me about it.  I learned to explain myself and get over being so nervous I couldn't get the words out.

It also gave me a tad bit of empathy for people who are and feel different from what society tells us is normal.  Physical, mental, emotional, whatever.  We all have scars.  We all have insecurities.

I learned that things we all feel so awkward about sometimes are way over done in our heads.  Many times people just don't care...in a good way.  What is huge to one, isn't so much to another.

It ended up in a dusty old storage shed.  We went through it a few years ago and I found joy in throwing it away.

Would I choose to put my children though it?

Yes and heck no.  It was grueling and hard and painful so it would be a last resort to put my child through it. No - I wouldn't jump all over it with big smiles and think my child should be so grateful to wear the 'freak brace'.  No - I wouldn't take one doctor's diagnosis.  I would do a physical therapy program and I'd document progress and results.  Then, and only then, if I had exhausted every other resource and felt like that was the only best last option then I would.  And we would work through it together.  I would like to think I have some depths of understanding.

Would I go through it again?

Not on purpose, but I know I could if I had to. The reality is that I did go through it.  I did the hard thing, and I chose to be as positive as I could about it. Even though the memory still bites, the experience did shape me. Nothing can ever take that away.

Back Brace {Part One}

For whatever reason, my mother thought I had scoliosis.

I remember as a kid, she would take 2 fingers and run them down my spine.  I realized years later she was searching for a curve.

The back story is that she had a friend growing up that had it and a niece that had it and somehow it stayed on her radar.  No harm no foul, I know she was just doing her best, but it led to a major challenge in my life.

When I was 14-ish, we drove from the small town where we lived 2 hours to the larger town that had a more qualified chiropractor.  He checked, re-checked, talked with my mother and analyzed my back.

He ordered x-rays and it was determined that I had a form of scoliosis called "Dorsal Roundback" (Kyphosis).

This basically meant that I didn't have a curve in my spine left to right.

I had a curve front to back.

He said my vertebrae were growing in wedge shapes front to back.  It was slight and I have to wonder if she was set on treatment as a just-in-case measure, or if he saw an opportunity.  The theory was if I didn't get help, I would grown hunched over.  The Doctor's recommendation was that I wear a brace.  A Milwalkee Brace.  I had never heard of it.

The Milwaukee brace, also known as a cervico-thoraco-lumbo-sacral orthosis or CTLSO, is a back brace used in the treatment of spinal curvatures (such as scoliosis or kyphosis) in children. It is a full-torso brace that extends from the pelvis to the base of the skull. It was originally designed by Blount and Schmidt in 1946 for postoperative care when surgery required long periods of immobilization.

Milwaukee braces are often custom-made over a mold of the patient's torso, but in some cases, it can be made from prefabricated parts. Three bars—two posterior and one anterior—are attached to a pelvic girdle made of leather or plastic, as well as a neck ring. The ring has an anterior throat mold and two posterior occipital pads, which fit behind the patient's head. Lateral pads are strapped to the bars; adjustment of these straps holds the spine in alignment.

This brace is normally used with growing adolescents to hold a 25° to 40° advancing curve. The brace is intended to minimize the progression to an acceptable level, not to correct the curvature. For corrective measures, special exercises or physical activities are used. If the curvature continues despite the brace, surgery may be required.

The Milwaukee brace is often prescribed to be worn 23 hours a day for several years, or in some cases, permanently.

I cried.  A lot.  I'll be honest, I was very, very angry about it too.  It was hard enough just being 14.  Let alone brand myself as 'different' or 'weird'.  I was heading into high school and the thought of wearing it totally crushed me.  I remember thinking that I just wouldn't do it.  No how, no way.  But, being 14-ish and needing to honor my parents wishes I had no choice.

Milwalkee braces work off of pressure points.  2 pads on the back, pushing just below the normal curve between your shoulder blades, offset another pad on your chest.  Securing the brace around your pelvis and pulling it tightly causes the pads to effectively straighten out the 'S' in your spine.  Keeping the spine in this position during the growing years would allow the vertebrae to grow normally and not wedge shaped.

I went to another clinic in another town on another day to be sized for the brace.

When I got there they gave me 2 body stockings to put on.  (That was it.  Seriously.)  They went from my neck to upper thigh, like a really tight mini dress.  Remember, I was 14, and awkward, and shy, and gawky.

Next I went into a room with an 'H' shaped thing made with metal poles that had long handles that swiveled out from the sides.

There was also a pulley and a rope attached at the center of the top. 

2 technicians who were very nice and very professional gave me instructions to place my tailbone lightly on the cross piece and hold on to the 2 handles at my sides.  This meant that my legs were slightly bent and my arms were out straight.  They put me in a head gear that secured the back of my head and jaw.  Then they cranked on the pulley, effectively pulling my back straight.  I was left to 'balance' on my tailbone while they wrapped wet plaster strips around me, making a body cast.  I was grateful the water was warm.

To say it was not pleasant would be the understatement of a life time.

When they were about done they took two strips of plaster about twice as long as the rest.  They wrapped these around me twice and then pulled tightly over my hips, one left and one right.  These, I would find out later, were pressure points.

Then I balanced there, cramping, knees skaking and watching the clock move slower-than-cold-tar while the plaster dried.

Then they cut the mould off and I realized why I had been given 2 body stockings to put on.  One of them came away with the plaster and there was a mould of my body.

In the car on the way home I definatively told my mom I was NOT going to wear it.

She told me I would.  The End.

Stay tuned for part 2...

Good Solid C

My high school art teacher was awesome.

He looked like Santa Claus.

He was older then, and I'm not sure he's still living. He had a quick smile and a bit of a belly.  He had twinkly eyes.  He also smoked a pipe in his office with the back door open.

He taught me to see in fragments and to see as a whole while focusing on a small detail.  Most things we put a label on are a combination of shapes.  Master the shapes and then put them together.  That way, saying 'I can't draw noses' sounds a little weak.  Draw what you see.  See shapes.

I was such a teen age girl.  My world was consumed with my hair, make up and if the boy I liked noticed I was alive. One day, when I was upset about something trivial, he handed me a stick of gum and said,

'I betcha the sun comes up tomorrow morning.'

It was the wake-up call I needed.

He also called me 'Stiff' because I wore a back brace for a while.  My mother found zero humor in this nick-name and was quite offended, but I thought it was hilarious.  It gave me a way to laugh at myself when what I really wanted to do was tunnel under a rock and light the brace on fire.  That's a whole other story.

We had weekly notebook assignments that were designed to support basic drawing skills.  Keep the fundamentals strong, and you keep a good foundation sort of thing.  The assignments ranged from: hands, eyes, noses, bottles, your reflection in the back of a spoon, shoes, ribbon, crumpled paper, eggs and more.

They were due at the end of class every Wednesday no matter what.

Every Wednesday at the beginning of class we'd all be furiously working on our assignments.  I'd go to him for help and he say, 'Darken the darks and lighten the lights.'  I go back to my desk and work some more.

At some point I'd go and turn my assignment in.

I'd watch him find my name and tick over to the week's box where he would pencil in a grade.

'Good solid C', he'd say.

I'd yank the notebook back and return to my desk to keep working.

I can't say how many times this happened in my four years of high school, but it happened plenty.  When I'd had enough, done enough, or was out of time, I'd go back and push it across the desk to him one last time.

'Done?' he'd say.

'Done.' I'd say.

Then he would find that box again and write down a grade.  It was usually an A, maybe a B.  I had good art skills.  I loved it.  It was my thing.  And I wasn't about to let him put a C in his grade book.

A few times I thought he was joking and I thought I'd call his bluff.  That didn't work for sure.  Something about seeing a C in that little box made me crazy.  I'd snatch that notebook back and keep working.

When I was a senior, I asked him why he always did that to me.  He really didn't do it to anyone else.

He smiled.

He asked me if I liked getting C's and I readily admitted that I hated it.  He then explained that if he would have written down B's or even A's, I never would have pushed myself to be better.  He explained that I was already as good or better than most of the other students but that shouldn't be an excuse for me not to try harder.  It wasn't about them, it was about me.  I had the skills and ability to be better than I was but I needed to learn to push myself and never be satisfied with a 'Good Solid C'.

I've thought about and applied that concept so many times since then.

Sometimes good enough isn't good enough when you're capable of more.

When I design, I take additional steps at the beginning to hopefully avoid mistakes later.  I do this with the understanding that as the job moves through engineering and into production, because it's been done right the first time around, there shouldn't be problems or needless double checking.  I could design faster if I didn't worry about some of those details but it's worth it to me and everyone else to do it right.

I've also found that on the flip side, sometimes good enough is just that...good enough. It doesn't make sense to give up something better for something good.  T was assigned the pre-game treat last week for football.  I've seen some moms do these amazing cookies that are little edible works of art complete with a cute slogan that's stamped and embossed and looks magazine cover worthy.  They must take hours to do.  I neither had the time or desire to do it, even though I could have.  I bought a bag of candy, printed some words and had my boy separate, stuff and staple those zip lock baggies together.  I was done with my part in about 5 minutes.  T was invested in doing something nice for his team.  It wasn't about my art skills.  It was about the boys.  They loved the sugar and didn't care about the fluff. Works for me.

It's different for each of us where we draw that line.

I haven't been a serious fine artist for years but the bug is still in me.  Now I use a computer for design.  I still love pencils and a good quality paper that feels right on my finger tips.  I have a camera that I really need to learn how to use better.

Whatever it is that I do, whatever task or challenge I face, I've resolved to never be satisfied with a good solid C.

My Step-Dad

I could take days and days to write out my history.  To combat the extreme boredom that would induce, maybe I'll just chop it all into sections and go a snippet at a time.  We'll start with this.

My Step-Dad.

Today is his birthday.

He's 74 years old and wow, that seems way older than what he is.

He and my mother married when I was nine.   I moved from the sunny, busy, lock your doors, bright lights big city-ness to a small, cold, depressed, isolated town.  They divorced when I was 18.  I whole bunch of life happened in between there, which molded me, not so gently at times, into who I grew up to be.

My favorite thing about him is he's a lover of nature.

He is a hunting, fishing, hiking in the woods kind of guy.  Always has been.

I've eaten Deer, Elk, Antelope, Moose, Pheasant, Sage Grouse, Trout of all kinds, and Cotton Tail Rabbit, all taken at his hand.  Ok, not the Moose, but still.

I've horse-packed, hiked and seen views only a handful of others will ever see.

He's amazing.

He was a father figure when he didn't have to be.  I just kind of came with the deal.  I'm grateful to him for being in my life and continuing to be there when he still doesn't have to be, but is.  Love him for that.

Happy Day.