Friends, if you read my most recent blog, you know that my sister died last year on April 30^th. Last June, my neighbor, Claire, happened to be walking by and told me that her mother had just passed. Though I didn’t really know Claire other than saying hi to her occasionally, I felt an instant connection to her. We walked down the street and met her father and spent a few hours listening to their stories of the kind lady that had just left them. I told myself that I would walk down and check on him every now and then but, I let my daily life get in the way of that. Sadly, Claire’s father just passed a couple weeks ago. While I am sad that I never took the time to walk down to spend time with him, it also says to me that there is such a thing as true love. He left this world to be with his wife, whom he just couldn’t live without anymore.

Today, my husband and I walked down to see how Claire is doing and ended up spending the entire afternoon with her and her siblings. My boys ran around their yard while we visited and grilled out and had a wonderful picnic with new friends.

My message tonight is this: reach out to your neighbors and friends. You never know what they may be going through or if they just need a kind person to be there for them. In the last year, I have dealt with so much sorrow but never reached out to people for help. If you know someone is suffering, just reach out to them. It isn’t your job to save them, so to speak, but, a small kindness goes such a long way. We met some fabulous people today that just needed to share their story of their wonderful parents and the love they had for each other.  I look forward to forging a friendship with Claire and her wonderful family going forward. Life is so short. The more love we give, the more we receive. And, isn’t that what life should be all about anyway?

After my sister died last April, I kept thinking, “I just can’t wait until this year of firsts is over.” I spent the spring and summer of last year saying, “We didn’t even know she was sick yet.” Then, in October it was, “Last year this time, Chris had just had surgery.”  In January it was, “This time last year, we were celebrating her birthday.” Each month, there was another “anniversary” to remember.  Today, I can still think, “this time last year, she was still alive.” She was on her way out of this life at this point, but she was still here. She was still breathing and trying to communicate with me in small ways, though she couldn’t speak any more at this point.

I really believed that it might be easier to think about once this year of firsts was over.

But, now that it’s here, there is a strange new grief. After April 30^th, I won’t be able to say, “This time last year…” and end that sentence in any way that says Chris was still alive. I don’t know why but this makes me sad in a whole new way.  It sort of feels like losing her all over again. Another strange thing is that, I’ve also spent this past year only remembering her with cancer. All the many, many years of memories I have of her but when I think of her now, I only see her as she was when she was sick.

I don’t know much about the stages of grief but I’m assuming this is a fairly common thing.  I just need to realize that it’s never going to be easy.  No amount of time that goes by is going to make me miss her any less. There will always be an empty space in our lives where she was.  But, I’m sure once we get past this first anniversary, I’ll be able to look back and remember her before she was sick.

I am so grateful that I was able to spend those last few days with her. It was difficult to watch her and know there was nothing I could do to stop it. But, I know she was glad to have me there. A couple of days before she passed I spent the night with her in the hospital. It was the last night she was able to open her eyes. Every twenty minutes or so she would open them and just look at me. She couldn’t say anything but I know she was just checking to make sure I was still there. I would just look back and smile at her.  I didn’t know what else to do other than try to look encouraging.

The very next night, my Aunt Shirley came and sat up with me all night. We sat across from each other, each of us holding Chris’s hands and remembered funny stories from when we were kids. We did a lot of laughing that night. I know Chris was aware enough to hear that and I like to think it made her happy.

The morning Chris died, as sad as it was; it was so amazing to see the peacefulness on her face as she breathed her last.  Strange as it may sound, it is truly one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed.  After all the months of sickness she finally looked happy.  I swear she went with a small smile on her face. I’ll be forever grateful I was there with her.

In our home, making scrambled eggs (aka “cheesy eggs”) is a really, really big deal. Each boy pulls a kitchen chair to the counter. One begins to pour pepper all over the counter, the other pours the salt. Whoever pours the salt must shake it as vigorously as possible, spilling as much salt as you can. We have a pepper grinder so the pepper must be twisted at full force, shaking it as you go… again, to get the maximum amount of pepper on the counter.

Once Mom sets the egg carton on the counter, it is then the job of each boy to pounce on them, pushing each other’s hands out of the way so that you can be the first one to get an egg… in the process, almost pushing each other off of the chairs.

You must then race to be the first one to get your egg cracked into the mixing bowl. To do this, smash the egg as hard as you can against the side of the bowl, maximizing the amount of shattered shell that ends up in the eggs. (It’s fun to watch Mom chase the egg shells around in raw eggs, trying to pry them out only to have it swish to the bottom of the bowl.)

Once the eggs are sufficiently smashed, each boy grabs a fork and begins stirring the eggs as fast as their little hands can move. If half the eggs haven’t splashed over the top of the bowl, you aren’t doing it right. Then, the second Mom turns away to grab a towel to clean up the spilled egg, grab the salt and shake as hard as you can into the eggs. (Crunchy eggs with shells need extra flavoring, after all.)

While Mom cooks the eggs, continue to stand on your chairs, pushing each other, insisting your brother is closer and can see better so that Mom gains a few more grays while trying to keep you from falling off of your chairs and into the hot stove top.

After the eggs have cooked, hop down off of your chairs and fight each other to the fridge to get out the sprinkle cheese. Open the crisper drawer where Mom keeps the cheese but do not use your hand to close the drawer… use your dirty shoe to push the drawer closed with all of your body weight.  Open the two pound bag of sprinkle cheese and dump the entire contents into the eggs and ask what is taking so long for it to melt.

Finally, after Mom has scooped out 90% of the sprinkle cheese, sit down and eat. And that, my friends, is how you make scrambled eggs.

After Sunday school yesterday, Christopher told us all about the story of Jesus rising from His tomb. They made a little craft that had a swinging rock opening that he held onto all day. At one point, I had the television on and I was watching The Bible series while I folded laundry. Christopher came in from outside just at the part where they were whipping Jesus. I tried to turn the tv off so he wouldn’t see it but he grabbed my arm and asked me, “Why are they beating that man, Mommy?” So, I reminded him of the story he learned at Sunday school about Jesus and tried to explain to him that there were men that were very unkind to Jesus. Before the program got more violent, I turned it off and Jim and I talked with Christopher and Jacob more about the happy part where Jesus comes back.

We went on through the rest of the afternoon, played some more in the yard, rode bikes then came in and had dinner. But, Christopher must have been thinking a lot about what he saw and learned at Sunday school, because, half way through his bath he got real quiet. Then he looked up and said, “I would do something if I saw them beating Jesus. If I saw those men beating Jesus, I would drive up in a big fire truck and beep the horn to make them stop!”  Jim and I looked at each other and Jim said, “That’s good, buddy. We should always try to help people who are in trouble, shouldn’t we?”  Christopher replied, “Yes, because it’s very bad to be mean to people.”

We walk a fine line in trying to protect our children from things that are frightening yet still be able to teach them about those frightening things and unkind people and how to deal with those situations. I was amazed that, though the scene scared him, he wanted to see it and understand what was happening. It helped me realized that it’s never too early to teach our children about injustice and ways to deal with it. I love that he conjured up the biggest thing he could think of believing the sight of a big red truck would save the day. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if that’s really all it took to save others?

Yesterday would have been the final day of my 100 day challenge had I not gotten sick.  Three weeks ago I ended up with the flu that kept me out of commission for about 4 days. Just as I was starting to feel like myself again, Jim ended up with strep throat, which quickly moved on to Christopher, then Jacob, then me. Jim, who never misses work, was out sick 4 days last week.  I can’t be too hard on myself. It was inevitable that I was going to catch it. I had two sick little boys on my lap, burying their little faces in my neck for comfort for almost 4 days straight. I was doomed.

I think the most frustrating part about it all is that it finally felt like a habit to work out every day. I no longer dreaded it. In fact, I awoke most days thinking I couldn’t really get on with my day until I had that part of my routine complete. Now that I’ve missed over a week of exercise, I know I have to build that back up again. I fear it will be difficult.

Today, I took the boys to the mall. We had lunch and then walked down to see the Easter Bunny. Just walking the length of the mall completely wore me out.  I know I’m still mending from the strep but it was disheartening (to say the least) that I could get winded so easily after how good I felt and how much my stamina had increased.

I have to accept that I just need to rest a few more days.  And that’s ok.

The good news is that it is spring; a time for rebirth, right? It’s a time for starting over. If I did it once, I can do it again. It may take me a few weeks to build that stamina back up to what it was but I know I can do it this time. So, a few more days of rest and then it’s time to pull myself up by my bootstraps (or tennis shoe laces, in my case) and get moving.  I’ll call it my spring challenge!

I’ve been reading a lot about the gluten free diet.  I’ve sort of shied away from it in the past as it seems to be the new “fad” diet that everyone is doing. And, while I do think some people are just jumping on the band wagon, there are those that it really has helped. What has most intrigued me is that I have read many articles that indicate it can have a positive effect for children on the Autism spectrum.  There are conflicting opinions on this stating enough research and testing haven’t been done but overall, the belief is that a gluten free diet has helped some children on the spectrum improve in both behavior and physiological symptoms.  No one knows what really causes Autism but, if there is any chance that my son’s issues are tied into gastrointestinal problems then that is a huge incentive for me to make this change.

Another incentive is that, for years I’ve been convinced I have a thyroid problem. I have had the blood tests done but they all come back normal. I’ve also read quite a few articles on how those tests are not always accurate. When I talk to my doctors about this I get the same response, “Everyone sees symptoms after they have read them.” Though, I try to explain that I had the symptoms before I read them and that’s why I did the research, I just sort of get the eye roll or hand wave. (Maybe I just need to find new doctors!) But, the more I read about this, the more I am convinced. And, I have read many articles that indicate a gluten free diet is also helpful for thyroid issues.  I have two very good reasons to give this a try.

The biggest challenge will be with my boys. They are the pickiest eaters on the planet. They would live on Eggo waffles and chicken nuggets if I let them. (Unfortunately, I am ashamed to admit that they eat those far more often than they should!) It will take some convincing but, based on some of the recipes I have found, I think I can find a fun alternative for both the waffles and the nuggets.  My husband is easy… he’ll eat just about any food I offer him.

I have reached out to some relatives and friends and have gotten great responses about the positive changes a gluten free life has made in their lives.  I know it isn’t a miracle cure. I’m not expecting to wake up in two weeks to find that Jacob is no longer on the spectrum or that I am suddenly more energetic than I have been in years, dry skin cleared up, brittle nails shiny and healthy. But, even if it makes a small difference, it will be worth it, especially for Jacob. Anything I can do to help my son make positive changes in his life is well worth the time and effort.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to share your thoughts and experience with me and for all the recipe links you sent. I’ll let you know how it goes for us.

I failed. I failed. I failed. That is what I keep telling myself.  I only made it to 84 days. No matter what was going on with me, I found a way to work out so I could meet my challenge of 100 days of fitness. But this past Sunday night, I started feeling sick. Monday morning, I was so sick I literally could not get out of bed. Thank God I have a kind and caring husband. He took the morning off so he could get Jacob ready for school and then get Christopher to a sitter. Jim then worked from home, bringing me sips of water when I needed it.  I got out of bed long enough to say hello to the boys before dinner and then went right back to bed.

Tuesday, I got out of bed but couldn’t do much more.  I was able to get Jacob on the bus and Christopher back to the sitter on my own but, after that, I was under a blanket until it was dinner time. I tried to do some stretching but that only lasted a few minutes. Jim, my wonderful husband, got dinner ready for them again that night.

Today, I am feeling just a bit better. I was able to get the boys to gymnastics and I got myself to the gym. But, after 15 minutes on the treadmill, I had to admit defeat. I just don’t have the energy to exercise for 30 minutes.  I got off the treadmill, walked to my van and cried. I failed. I made one challenge for myself and I failed.

But, why do I look at is as failure? I worked out for 84 days in a row. 84! Why does this have to be a failure? Would I say that to someone else that had made this challenge for themselves? Would I be telling them they failed simply because they got too sick to do it? Of course I wouldn’t. So, why do I always focus on the negative when it comes to myself?

So, I was sick. I am sick. I was able to get 15 minutes on the treadmill today. My body needs rest. There is nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s actually wise of me to listen to my body and not do harm to myself just because I insisted I could work out for 100 days. I took a hiatus for 2 days. So what? I am going to go snuggle back under my blanket with my boys and watch a movie. They have been begging me to do that all day.

If I feel better tomorrow, I’ll try for another walk. If I’m able to do it, great, if not, I’ll try again the next day. So, I may have to start over with day 1 but, is that really a bad thing? I made it 84 days! And, I have made tremendous strides in the last 84 days. I see exercise in a whole new light. That’s the point. Not that I couldn’t make it to 100 days. I did not fail. I succeeded in making a change in my life.

For now, I’m going into the living room to watch Toy Story with my boys.