The Journey to Runner Status: 50 Shades of Purple?

Since I was a teenager, I have regularly run—other than a few “breaks” for things like pregnancy and a bad ankle injury.  But, for the most part, running has been my main mode of exercise.  It has been my “medicine” for anxiety, sadness, to help me achieve health (even though my health is my biggest source of anxiety)… I like to run.  No, I love to run—especially after the run is over. 

Despite my individual participation in the activity of running, I have always been hesitant to call myself a RUNNER.  I mean, I ran around my neighborhood in old t-shirts and shorts.  RUNNERS run competitive races, keep track of time and distance, have nice running clothes, special running shoes, and they have those amazingly sexy toned calves.  I’ve never been a REAL runner.  But that all changed 2 days ago…

But my journey to runner status really began about a year and a half ago.  I hurt my ankle and couldn’t run.  I tried biking and walking and the elliptical machine—nothing was the same as running.  I decided once I could run again, I would RUN again.  I wanted to run a 5k and not be embarrassed.  Last summer, I started timing myself and seeing how far I could run.  I couldn’t even run a 5k after that stupid injury!  But I was setting a goal.  Physical goals are hard for me.  Though I had run, I wouldn’t push myself or anything like that.  So, my goal was to, by this spring, run a 5k and not be embarrassed.

Then, Buzz ran the Marine Corps Marathon last October.  He did it without training and made mistakes a real runner would never make—like buying new running shoes the day before the race.  I mean, even I knew that was a no-no.  I made fun of him—a lot.  But, on the day of the MCM, something inside ME changed.  I obsessive-compulsively checked the live updates to see how he was doing.  I was so proud of him.  Maybe he wasn’t a REAL runner, either (though hands-down he was way closer to one than me)…but that didn’t matter.  He was out there pounding the pavement for 26.2 miles like every other RUNNER out there.  I was inspired.  That day, I ran 5 miles under a 10 minute pace.  That was the longest distance I have ever run, at least since college.  When Buzz got home, he was sore to say the least.  But within a day, with the pain still present, he said he wanted to do it again.  What was wrong with him?  Was he a real runner?  Only a real runner would subject himself to that kind of torture, I think. 

Then, we signed up for the MCM series Turkey Trot 10k.  I “trained.”  My goal was to finish in an hour.  I was nervous.  Buzz and I ran the course prior to the race, since it was here on base, and I made it under my goal time.  Still, race day I was really nervous.  But I came in under 55 minutes!  I felt great!  I couldn’t wait to do it again!  Maybe I COULD become a runner.  We signed up for a 4-mile race in February.

I bought real running gear, not so much because I wanted to LOOK like a runner, but because I realized that that gear is more comfortable and necessary when you are running long distances outside—especially when it’s too cold to be outside to begin with.  I considered starting a blog called “50 Shades of Purple” to chronicle my quest to become a runner—turns out I really like the color purple and this is reflected in my running clothes, even though it must be impossible to match shades of purple among various articles.  Plus, it fit with the whole 50 shades theme as I became obsessed with running and developed a new relationship where the running dominated my mind and body.  But, I opted out of the blog idea because I was scared I would fail and then I would have these deep desires out there for people to see…and everyone would know I didn’t achieve my goal. 

Then came THE injury.  It was some strange-name condition that is worse than shin splints and not as bad as a stress fracture (which they thought it was but was ruled out with an MRI that diagnosed the strange-name-thing).  I only had to take a few more weeks off from running (yay!) and get some orthotic inserts for my running shoes.  I felt old and anyone who needs orthotic anything is certainly not a RUNNER.  Nonetheless, the day after I got the diagnosis, I signed up for the MCM Historic Half Marathon—about 4 months away, even though I had still not run more than 7 miles.  Ever.  My goal:  13.1 miles in less than 2 1/2 hours.  IF I could do that, I would feel confident in calling myself a RUNNER.  That race became more than a goal.  It began to define who I was—or who I could be—or who I wanted to be.  It consumed my thoughts.  Running was always on my mind.

So, I “trained” again.  But this time I knew I had to start out slowly, despite reaching the 7-mile mark before my injury.  I had to start out at 1 mile, slowly, and then work my way up.  That was frustrating but I didn't want to risk another injury.  I remember my sense of accomplishment when I completed my first 8-mile run without a struggle.  I stopped getting gastrointestinal distress (as Buzz and I embarrassingly call it) after my longer runs.  I started recovering faster from the joint and muscle pain and stiffness.  The first time I ran 10 miles (with hills) the pain was intense but the sense of accomplishment was bigger than the pain.  I was soon able to run 8 miles with no problem.  Then, one day, after my 8 (planned) miles, I just kept going—to 13.1!  Yes, there was pain—but it paled in comparison to the goal I had just reached—in less than 2 hours and 10 minutes (with minimal hills). 

I started researching my big race.  Hospital Hill scared me to pieces!  Hospital Hill refers to the hill next to Mary Washington Hospital in the final miles of the half marathon.  There are stories…this hill is a legend around here and among those who have run the course.  Running groups (with real runners) started training to tackle THE hill.  I started training to run more hills on base, since I wasn't part of a real-runner club.

The day before the race, I cried on the way to pick up our race packets.  Buzz didn’t understand.  Of course I could do it, he said.  But what if I couldn't?  What if I stopped/didn’t finish, or got hurt, or passed out, or died?  (Yes, those were real thoughts.)  We drove hospital hill.  It didn’t look THAT bad in the car…except I would have to run 9+ miles before I tackled it on foot.  My response:  at least the hospital is right here.  All I wanted to do was finish under my goal time and that hill was standing in my way.  But, if by some chance I could actually achieve that goal even with the evil hill, then I would have done it, I could call myself a runner, and I would never do it again.  I would stick to 10k’s and finally run that 5k I talked about this time last year. 

The night before the race, I carb-loaded with Moe’s and mac and cheese.  I only slept about 4 hours.  I was so nervous.  When the alarm went off at 4:45 I was exhausted, but jumped out of bed easily thanks to my nerves.  Real runners aren’t nervous before a race.  And they probably aren’t that tired.  Plus, real runners probably train when they were tired.  I didn’t.  I waited until another day to run if I was tired.

I got dressed—I had put aside my race day outfit (with 4 shades of purple) a week before, down to my underwear that I knew wouldn’t give me wedgies.  I made my old-faithful long-run breakfast—a peanut butter and banana sandwich.  But I couldn’t finish it because I had a nervous stomach.  Real runners didn’t get that—I bet they were able to scarf down their breakfasts.  I took my vitamins, kissed K (the babysitter spent the night so she would be there when we left), drank lots of water, and headed off.

We parked.  After 2 pee-pee stops (at Wal-Mart and a porta-john) we were off to the start line.  While waiting for the porta-potty, I saw people—real runners—running to warm up.  I couldn’t do that.  I had to save my “juice.”  The first 2 miles was my warm up—plus I was already warmed up from the heart-pounding anxiety.  But, back to the start line: It was real.  This day I had dreamed of—choked up about envisioning myself crossing the finish line—was here.  It was real and surreal all at the same time.  I bet real runners didn’t think it was surreal. 

I almost cried during the national anthem.  There I was, among Marines and real runners—at the same start line on the same course.  It was happening.  Deep breath…the gun fired.  And we stood there.  With that many people running, it’s not an on your marks, get set, go sort of thing.  It takes a while to get to the actual start line and then some more time to really get going as you wait for the pack to disperse.  But, soon enough, we were off.

I remember running under the huge flag in the air right after the start line—hoping in less than 2 ½ hours I would be looking at the same flag from the other direction with a huge sense of accomplishment.

I was so excited, but told myself to settle down.  I had 13 miles ahead of me.  Then came the rain.  I realized that I hadn’t trained in the rain.  Real runners do that, but not me.  Oh well, it would keep me cool, I thought.  It did.  And one of my shades of purple was a new armband I had bought at the expo the day before (a not-real-runner move, I'm sure--to get so excited at the expo and make irrational-type purchases) and it was perfect for keeping the wetness out of my eyes.

In all of the excitement, I am so proud of what I did the entire race: I took it all in.  ALL of it.  I looked at every person cheering that I could.  I high-fived the people on the side lines.  I read the signs.  I looked at my fellow runners—fellow runners?  If they are fellows, does it mean I am among their ranks?  Anyway, if this was going to be my ONE and ONLY half marathon, my one experience that would help me become the runner I wanted to be even if I would never do it again, I had to take it all in.  I had to savor all of the information my senses fed me.  And I did.  When I got tired, I danced to my music on my iPhone, just like I do running at home.  When I hurt, I reminded myself that it was just pain and the race was really run in my mind.  When it got tough, I took the advice from real runners—it’s just me and the road.  When I had to, I looked at my feet, saw I was still moving, and reminded myself this was about ME and I COULD do it.  And the only person I had to prove something to was ME.  It hurt toward the end.  I remember telling Buzz that every step hurt right after Hospital Hill.  Hospital hill was a beast, but I conquered it with flying colors, with Buzz by my side.  I loved the sign that said “What Hill?”  I loved the clapping and cheering.  It makes me want to go be a spectator at a big race and cheer on all of the runners…maybe I could be that person with a sign that pushes the person who "wants to be a real runner" toward their goal.

Buzz and I held hands as we crossed the finish line.  The pics and video show a big smile on my face.  My time: 2:12:44.  Maybe it wasn’t the best time for a real RUNNER, but it was AMAZING for ME.  The pain didn’t even bother me.  I was on top of the world.  I did it!  And I loved it.  I took it all in.  I lived each moment.  I RAN each moment.  And it felt good.  It still feels good—amazing!

The pain has subsided for the most part and, yesterday, I signed up for another half marathon later this year…and the Turkey Trot 10k again.  What’s that?  I signed up for ANOTHER half?  But the one two days ago was supposed to be my one and only.  The only explanation…I AM a RUNNER!   (And I’m writing this down because I never want to forget this feeling when I made that transition…or maybe I’ve been a runner all along, but that was the moment when I recognized it for REAL.)

Closure?

I've been trying to work up the guts to come back here...to say that I lost my best friend.  Yes, my best friend had 4 legs...and he's been my BEST friend through the thick and thin of the past decade.  I am so glad I have chronicled my relationship with my pups here on this blog.

Here is what I wrote on my Facebook page the day after I said goodbye...

We said our final goodbyes to Sampson last night.  Hardest thing I have ever had to do.  He was my BEST best friend over the past decade--better than I could ever have imagined when I picked up that little puppy nearly 10 years ago. I could write a dissertation-length eulogy, but the song I am posting (My Old Friend) says it better than I could right now.  So I will just say, while I have no peace and comfort now, I hope to find those by knowing his struggles are over and by remembering all of the love he received from and gave to so many others.  He taught me so much and will always be a part of me.  

"The love and the laughter, will live on long after, all of the sadness and the tears..."

Since then, I have worked through what I imagine are the stages of grief--intense anger and guilt (directed at myself), intense sorrow, and I've moved on to acceptance.  I accept that he is gone.  I accept that he lived a good life.  I accept that I did all I could.  What I can't accept, is that life really will be "okay" without him.  I'm still struggling to figure out my way and navigate adult life without my sidekick.  

I have since found comfort, as well.  Comfort from my friends and family, comfort from his medical team (yes, he had a team--a great one).  I have found peace knowing that his sweet soul will forever outlive his body.  But I still am not at peace with my loss.  I'm getting there, I think.  I started to go to a support group. But, as I told one of my dearest friends (who I met through Boxer Rescue when we were adopting Angel) that I couldn't go because I could never believe that anyone else loved their dog--their friend--as much as me.  Her response was priceless.  Mind you, this friend is the biggest animal lover I know--her house is literally dedicated to fostering homeless animals and finding them good homes.  She, herself, has lost some dear pets, including a boxer, in the past year.  She said, "I'm not sure anyone ever has loved a dog as much as you loved Sampson."  I suppose that, on top of the huge outpouring of support I received, helped me to know that Sampson knew he was loved beyond belief--and that's what truly matters.

In the time that has passed since Sampson's passing, I have also found some great outlets for my energy--including getting involved in a great organization that helps people pay for life-saving care of their pets.  I always felt one of our gifts to Sampson was the ability to handle all of his health issues.  He had the best of the best medical care--even if that meant sacrifices in other areas of our financial life.  He was worth it!  And I'm so glad that was not a guilt I had to grapple with through this process.  I am always searching for ways to share his story--to keep his memory alive.  This will get me through.


We also welcomed a new boxer boy into our home, Claymore.  I was hesitant at first, but as Buzz said, "This is just want we do.  We are dog people.  And if we're not dog people, I don't like us."  True, true.  Even after that, I was not sure I could manage another boxer.  But Sampson was partial to boxers--could pick one out of a crowd.  So we got a boxer, but one whose looks do not resemble that of Sampson.  He's a good boy.  He came from the same Boxer Rescue as Daisy and Angel.

So, today, I'm searching for closure.  I know that can't totally be achieved, but at least I can get it out here...on this blog...so I'm not "scared" to come back to it.  I am so lucky he spent his entire life with me.  He was the best.  And I carry him with me in my heart and my soul.  


I miss my Old Man...My Old Friend.  As I said in my Facebook note when I was at a complete loss for words, this song says it all...  As I told Sampson every night during our cuddle time before he drifted off to sleep, and as I told him the night I said my final "goodbyes" and "I love yous," 

Good Night, Sweet Prince.


"The love and the laughter will live on long after all of the sadness and the tears..."

Maybe?

So I'm working on positive thinking...I'm ALWAYS working on positive thinking, it just doesn't always work for me.  ;)  But looking over these old posts last night brought back some memories and have given me a better sense of time in terms of Sampson's progression.  And MAYBE, just MAYBE, things aren't AS bad as I have made them out to be...  Let's take a trip back in time...

You can chronicle Sampson back to 2002, but let's start with his back problems.  It was early in 2010 when we first became aware of his spondylosis.  He was exhibiting some crazy symptoms, including some trouble with mobility.  We found that disease on x-rays--the same disease that took our Angel-girl--and we found it the same way, with x-rays for strange symptoms.  We made some adjustments--crate downstairs, better attention to gentle exercise, etc.  Because of his crazy tummy problems, we couldn't go the long-term pain meds route.  That's when we started acupuncture.  It was AMAZING.  He literally went from not being able to go up and down stairs, to RUNNING all around the back yard like a crazy man.  Good times.

I can't believe that was two years ago...

He started to regress a little bit last year--maybe springish timeframe.  I was worried.  I even had family portraits taken at our house because I began to fear if I didn't do them soon, we may not have the opportunity to take them with Sampson.  Then, all of the sudden, at the same time his left foot began to drag to the point we needed his "boot" to keep his toes from bleeding, he perked up.  I didn't get it--but I loved it.  He went back to playing like a crazy fool in the mornings, talking to me when he woke up, kidney bean dancing better than any boxer, running laps around the yard, taking steps and jumps with no problem, and kissing me with his big sloppy boxer mouth.

Until now, I didn't make the connection...

The degenerative myelopathy (DM) is what causes the foot to drag.  It is indicative of his spinal nerves "dying."  Without nerves, there's no pain.  It's painless.

This horrible disease that I curse on a daily basis, that makes my old man wobble, that makes his legs drag and cross, that renders him unable to run has taken away his pain.

Now, I'm not going to go so far as to call DM a blessing in disguise, but I will say that this connection now makes sense.  Unfortunately,  it's progressed to the point that he can't kidney bean dance for me...or run...or walk normally.  But, for a moment in time--MONTHS of time--I now believe that it gave me my Sampson back--in full strength.  It took away his spondylosis pain--pain that can be excruciating--pain that can make a dog suffer to the point that no responsible human would allow.  Maybe, just maybe, DM gave me more time with my Sampson.

Sampson in the sun, Fall 2011

On his last set of x-rays, it showed his spondylosis had progressed beyond any stretch of the imagination.  Yet, because of the DM, he can't feel it.  His spondylosis has progressed beyond the extent that Angel's reached, yet we had to let her go because of the damage it had done.  Again, I can't call DM a "blessing," but I will be thankful--putting on my positive thinking hat--that he is still here.  And he is not in pain.

A Scoop of Moon-Flavored Ice Cream?

So, I'm back.  I've been here, just not *here*-here.  My writing time at the computer has been spent dissertating.  Dissertation is a dirty, dirty word to me right now.

But blogging fell by the wayside.  Lots has been going on, but I'm going to keep it short and to the point right now.  This blog started out in the "old days" of MySpace (ha!) as a place for me to write about my dogs.  Writing has always been therapeutic for me--not writing in the dissertation sense, but in the journaling sense.  And now, more than ever, I need some therapy. Sampson--my old man/my best friend--has degenerative myelopathy--more big words I have learned through Sampson's health issues.  It's not good.  Basically, the nerves in his spinal cord are dying.  (Here's a good, quick summary via the American Boxer Club: http://americanboxerclub.org/purina1.html .) He is becoming paralyzed.  He has lost almost all control over his left, back leg.  But he is holding on.  He has some good times and bad times.  I think he's still happy--getting joy from food, treats, and love.  We have made some adjustments to daily life.  My heart remains heavy--in all likelihood, his spine is going to give out before the rest of his body--and that means a tough, tough decision for me.  But I know it's the right one--I just hope I know when it's the "right" time.

I found this great blog today while Googling Sampson's disease.  Great, because 1.  It made me feel like I am not alone and 2. It reminded me that maybe blogging shouldn't fall by the wayside.  I came back here...my Moon-Flavored Ice Cream--the things that make me smile and give me the warm and fuzzies.  And I read about Sampson over the past few years.  I am glad I have a place where some of his life up until this point has been chronicled.  Maybe I should get back on that routine?

So, here I am...and I think I'll be back.  I can't promise when, the topic, or the tone.  If there is one thing Sampson has taught me, it's to be happy and enjoy the here and now.  Whether it was during a deployment or just a plain old gloomy day, he was there to make me smile--to bring me joy.  And that's the meaning of the crazy title of this blog...so, I *think* I will be able to make time for my writing therapy, with a scoop of Moon-Flavored Ice Cream.

Old stuff...

I'm changing it up a bit this week...taking it way back and stepping up the random factor.  I'm talking 80's cars and washing machines.  Yes, this post has it all.  :) 





I get nostalgic a lot.  Being part of a military family, I have learned to move and bid goodbye to "stuff" leaving me with just memories.  Some of those memories make me laugh, even if I don't mind leaving behind the "thing."  And, today, I'm taking it back to my first car...

1988 Ford Tempo GLS (not sure what the GLS means). 

It was reddish-maroon, 2 doors, instead of a spoiler it had some sort of fin-type thing.  It had "new" electric seatbelts, power locks, manual windows, some sort of power lumbar support button, and a tape deck that came with a sweet tape of awesome 80s music.  It was a 5-speed.  My parents bought it when I was in 3rd grade.  Little did I know I would be driving this fine piece of machinery to high school.  EM-BARRASSING!  But doesn't everyone have one of THOSE cars?!? 

It never stranded me.   But I called it "the bomb" because I felt it could blow up at any time.  And, secretly, I hoped it would so maybe I could get a new set of wheels.  It did have an issue with some hose breaking and making what I thought was smoke spill from the hood, but that was a quick fix.  The heating coil broke one year in college and we had to wait for the part.  It would overheat if you didn't turn the heater on full blast.  I fully remember driving down I-81 in the middle of winter with the heat blasting and the windows down because it felt like a sauna in there.  The cruise control didn't work when the A/C was on.  Something broke in the steering wheel once and the horn would just start randomly blowing...and it was the loudest horn I ever heard.  Ahh, memories.

I took it everywhere until I bid it goodbye my junior year of college when I bought my first new car.  We sold The Bomb to my uncle (who used it to drive back and forth to work so as not to put miles on their newer cars) for $475.  Asking price was going to be $500, but it needed an oil change at the time, so we took that into consideration.  Yeah, when the value of your car goes down because it needs an oil change--awesome. 

My dad used to sing this song "Old Yellow Car" from as far back as I can remember.  And, after bidding goodbye to the Tempo, it has a little more meaning now.  If you haven't heard it, it's worth a listen.  Don't get me wrong, I don't wish I was driving The Bomb NOW, but it will always hold a special place in my heart.  And there's something to be said for a car that's paid off, never leaves you on the side of the road, and you could care less if a grocery cart runs into it in a parking lot.  :)



And while I'm on the topic of old, funny songs and old stuff, I figure I may as well share this song as well. This is one my cousin used to sing all the time...I would beg for it because it made me laugh, and still does! Plus, he "jazzed it up" just a bit with the sound effects, which you will hear in this little tune, making it even better. :) Now, it reminds me of MY washing machine. The first grown up purchase that Buzz and I made together was our washer-dryer set. We got it on sale for like $500 (yes, for the SET--great deal, huh?!?) right after we were married at the Navy Exchange in Newport, RI. That was nearly 9 years ago...and it's still running. But that old washing machine is a lot louder with a variety of noises than it was in its new days. Hopefully it has some time left with us...but it's seen better days. And, when it's time to go, I guarantee I will be humming this song in my head for days.

Enjoy! Hope this provides some smiles and laughs...and I would love to hear about others' relationships with their bo-bo cars and household appliances. :)

The girl who stole my heart...

K has successfully tackled her first week of kindergarten.  Another milestone.  I feel so incredibly lucky to have such a strong, independent young lady.  And I can't believe how fast she is growing up right in front of me.  I can't say it happened over night.  There have been signs...  She doesn't like cartoons any more, or anything babyish.  She stopped riding in the running stroller (as much, sometimes I can still bribe her by letting her play Angry Birds) because she thinks that is babyish.  She's way into fashion.  She loves to listen to her iPod and pretend like she's making music videos.  Her favorite musical artists are Evanescence, Katy Perry, and Ke$ha.  I know, I know...don't judge, please.  I'm of the philosophy that I can't hide her from what's out there.  I heard a little boy in her class the other day singing Ke$ha, so we are not alone.  Plus, we're still all good because she still says my dad is the best singer and guitar player in the world.  So, she does have musical taste, she's just a fan of the top pop, too. 

Anyway...kindergarten is here.  And she's rocking it.  And I feel comfortable where she is.  My biggest issue is fear of all the germs she's being exposed to and the sociologist in me doesn't like that I am mandated to send her somewhere 5 days a week.  But if we have to do it, I think she is at the absolute best place for her.  We kept her at the same school where she went to Pre-K because we loved it so much.  Small classes, familiar faces.  Plus, next year will likely involve another move and all the transitions that come with that and Buzz changing billets again (ah the life of a military family).  So we thought the best thing we could do was give her this continuity while we can.  She has already told me how much she loves the school and wants to stay here for first grade, too or at least find a school just like it when we move (she wanted to have that discussion at 2 am the other night/morning).  They wear uniforms here--well, they have a dress code, I guess I should say.  But that dress code makes her look that much more grown-up.  What happened to my baby?  I'm glad for every milestone and realize how quickly they all pass...so I'm trying to eat up every minute. 

Also, she has continued with her riding lessons and has found a new friend in a pony.  She loves to go after school to hang out with her buddy.

My little girl is growing up...  But she is in this stage where she is still so young, needing just the right combination of protection and freedom.  I hope I am able to give her all that she needs.  She is always going to be that little bundle of joy I held in my arms the day she was born.  The girl who I would stay awake at night when all was quiet and slowed down just to watch her, in disbelief that precious little being was mine.  The baby who took off running one New Years Day, leaving me to not be able to sit down for the next few years.  The girl who would swing for hours and point to the moon every night.  The child who has been by MY side through deployments, keeping me sane and giving me purpose and strength.  The same child who I woke up in the middle of the night to greet a daddy coming home from Iraq, who she only really knew through pictures.  The child who, just a short time later, said goodbye to her daddy for another deployment--and asked him on webcam through that deployment why he wouldn't just come out of that computer and give her mommy a hug--who, when her daddy came home and swooped her up, she asked him to please put her down and give mommy a kiss.  The person who can comfort my dog when he is scared, nervous, or in pain.  The girl who gets more excited about my birthday than her own.  The kindergartner who, when I explained to her that I would need to be working all weekend on my exam, offered to bring me the books I need to the guest room where I will be working so I don't have to walk down the stairs and get them myself.  The child's heart bursts with compassion.  And that girl has stolen my heart--from the second I knew she existed to the moment I saw her in person to this morning when I left her at school playing happily with her friends to right now when I look forward to picking her up and taking her to riding lessons this afternoon.

So, in honor of my no-longer-baby girl, I have two songs to share this week for my favorite link-up. 

First, Jack Johnson's "My Little Girl"...the lyrics say it all.

Second, "My Wish" by Rascal Flats, which makes me tear up every time I hear it.  I know I can't hold her hand every step of the way, but I do hope that every step of the way she gets back all that she gives--and like the song says, I still hope she gives more than she takes.  I know she does now.  My wish is that she can keep her big heart and wear that warm smile even out in the cold world, where my time by her side gets shorter as she grows and I must trust that I am doing the right thing in the times we have together and I can teach her to be that big-hearted sweetheart on the outside, the same as she is on the inside--but tough enough to handle whatever comes her way.  My wish is that she follows her dreams and I can support her through it all.  I know with the life she was born into, that of a military child, many of the lyrics are even stronger for her:  it's hard for her worries to stay small sometimes, I know that sometimes she's going to have to bump up her strength in order to not have to carry more than she can hold, it might not be easy to remember all the places she's been and the people she meets. But she can do it.  She's an amazing little girl...growing up in front of my eyes...

Stop by Goodnight Moon, listen to the other jams, and leave one (or two) of your own!

In hiding...

Oh good grief, I'm terrible at writing on this thing these days.  I think about it all the time.  I love to write, to journal, to vent...and, in the past, this has been a good place to get all of that done in one place.  But lately, I've been a bit in hiding.  I have what could be my final comp exam coming up soon--it WILL be my final exam (yes, the last exam I will ever have to take) IF I pass it.  I'm sweating bullets thinking about it...ahh, stress...

But right now, I'm saturated with studying so I'm looking for things to do to keep my mind OFF the anxiety of the pending exam weekend--yes, weekend--it's 3 full days of test-taking. Ugh!

I have so much to write about...K started kindergarten, Sampson has had more "issues," I had an amazing week at the beach, I turned 31...

I'm stuck on that one right now.  I'm 31.  I feel like I should maybe be a little more successful, done with school, more financially stable.  But, I'm "just" a part-time college instructor/graduate teaching associate, I'm STILL in school, and I feel like a dog chasing its tail with money--largely due to the HUGE economic burdens of graduate school WITH a family.  But, I am where I am.  And I love where I am, if I don't think about the student loan debt.  :)  So, I missed my favorite link-up for the past few weeks with "Goodnight Moon" so I am playing my birthday song today (a couple weeks after the birthday itself) to remind me that I need to enjoy this "ride." 

'Round about my 24th birthday, Buzz got me the License to Chill CD (back when we bought CDs, not just bought music on iTunes).  "Trip around the Sun" was my instant favorite, as the first line is "So I'm singin' happy birthday..."  And, as the song says, this year gone by ain't been a piece of cake.  But neither is any year.  We are all lucky to have time to sit back (or sit up at the computer and have the opportunity to be in grad school, even if it means student loan debt too-long exams) and enjoy our trips around the sun.  One of my favorite parts of the song says "I'm just hanging on, while this ol' world keeps spinning.  And it's good to know it's out of my control.  If there's one thing that I've learned from all this living, is that it wouldn't change a thing if I let go."

I'm not planning on letting go--I'm fighting through exams, a dissertation, a sick dog, motherhood, military wife-life, and all that goes with it.  But, sometimes it is good to sit back and put things in perspective.  I'm not saying I won't have a major breakdown if I fail this exam--but the world will keep spinning if I do, or if I don't.  So, I'm working on enjoying the ride right now...and being thankful that I am in a place to pursue my dreams with my favorite people (and dogs) on earth, even if it comes with the ups and downs of success AND stress.