Kindergarten Here We Come

I can hear her little sing-song voice all through the house…

“Kindergarten here we come,
and we will have lots of fun.
Reading, writing, numbers too.
Kindergarten, we love you!”

Last year’s dress rehearsal for this year’s graduate.

I stop listening at “Kindergarten here we come.” The rest of the song is lost as my internal Momma voice screams “Noooo! Not my baby!”

The Young One is rehearsing for pre-school graduation. Actually, she has been practicing for over a year because technically she graduated last year when she was five. The Hubs and I, however, made the decision to wait…to *gasp* “hold her back”. We put off the inevitable, and now as a six-year-old, she will walk the commencement exercises of the Kids Academy Pre-K Class of 2013.

We thought one more year would better prepare her…another year to mature…another year to grow…another year for Momma to keep her baby close.

Some well-meaning friends warn us she’ll be bored in Kindergarten, and kids who are bored in school find ways to get into trouble. Others praise us for offering her a better chance to succeed as the oldest child in the class, and still other more sports-minded acquaintances pat the Hubs on the back and congratulate him on red-shirting his daughter in preparation for a bright athletic future.

The Older One’s first day of Kindergarten. He’s the little one on the far left. What was I thinking?

With the Older One, we never considered not starting him in Kindergarten at five-years-old, even though with his early August birthday, we would have been more than justified. We were younger then, less financially secure, and weekly daycare expenses were a strain to the budget. We were ready to move to the next phase of child-rearing, and away he went. Just a week after that milestone birthday, I packed his lunch, helped him load his backpack, and put him on a bus to spend the day with strangers.

Flash forward 14 years, and I’m dreading August when I will send my daughter into that fanciful Kindergarten she sings about. What if she’s not smart enough? What if she can’t make friends? What if the teacher doesn’t like her…or me! What if I fail in my fashion sense and send her to school in last year’s early elementary school trends? What if her hair isn’t right? What if her shoes aren’t tied? What if she comes to the conclusion that the words in that song are all lies?

I’m either smarter or more paranoid than I was the last time, or maybe times have changed. Stranger danger is more ominous. Violence in schools is making headlines that have me wanting to hold onto both of my kids forever. Plus the Young One is a girl, and everyone knows they are just plain mean to each other in a way boys aren’t. Even though I’ve been here before, this is brand new territory.

Then again, maybe 19 years of parenting have altered the way I remember the prior Kindergarten experience. I love the Older One just as much as the Young One, and my fear for their well-being is equally strong. So I imagine I was most likely just as anxious last time as I am this time. I’m sending my beloved child into the big, bad world.

I suppose she’ll survive the trauma. The last kid did, and now he’s at the US Military Academy at West Point making friends and scoring A’s in physics and statistics and foreign languages I didn’t know existed back when he marched from pre-K to K. He is a Division I athlete and will one day soon be a leader in the greatest Army on the planet. I guess Kindergarten at five didn’t hurt him too much.

I think I’m going to start singing another song…

“Kindergarten here we come.
I hope you think it’s so much fun.
Momma’s crying, worrying too
Because she loves and cherishes you!”

If you’ve done the Kindergarten thing already, what are your best/worst memories? If you haven’t, what are you worried about? What are your thoughts on holding kids out of Kindergarten?

***I started this post in response to today’s Five Minute Friday prompt, “song”, but after I got started, I found I had more to say than could be written in five minutes flat. So, I broke the first rule and wrote for more than my allotted five minutes, but it was worth it. If you think you can get it all out in a measly five minutes, join us at Lisa-Jo Baker’s site every Friday where a great group of bloggers say a lot in just a few minutes.

The Comfort of Socks and Time Machines

I carry a sock in my pocket.

This is not a sock. It is a time machine.

Every spring and fall when the morning temperatures start to cool I pull out my lightweight jacket. Eventually, I reach into the pocket for the first time and feel a small bundle of soft cotton. I wonder what I have just found. I pull it out and smile widely because I have just transported myself back in time.

Suddenly, it is no longer, May 2013. It is September 2008, and I have just dropped off the very Young One at daycare. She is only a year old, and this is one of her first days at her new school. We are in a hurry this morning, and I grab shoes and socks on the way out the door, thinking I will somehow save time by putting the footwear on in the class room instead of the bedroom. When we finally find the time to finish dressing, I discover an extra white sock in the ball I’ve grabbed from the dresser.

I quickly stuff it in my pocket, and forget about it…until the next time, I reach in my pocket…and the next time…and the next time…and countless next times for the next five years. Each time I touch it, I see that little baby I fell in love with. Now that little baby has just celebrated her sixth birthday, and I find comfort in that sock.

The sock that forever rides at my hip on frosty mornings is a constant reminder of little feet, little hands and little arms that locked around my neck at daycare pick up.

I have no desire to remove the sock from my pocket.

It transports me to a time when I had started a new adventure as a momma to a girl. It gives me a smile on a cool, rainy day. It makes me laugh at my own silliness. It is my time machine. It is my comfort as my Young One starts her journey to kindergarten and beyond.

This sock will stay in my pocket. Its comfort will warm my soul as I watch my daughter transform from pre-schooler to young girl to young woman. She will grow out of many more socks, but she will never grow out of my heart.

Do you have every-day mementos that give you comfort? What are your time machines?

* Today’s post is brought to you by Five Minute Friday and the word “Comfort”. If you are really looking for some comfort today, join us on Lisa-Jo Baker’s site.

Be Brave

I wear the words “Be Brave” etched on stainless steel wrapped around my wrist with strips of purple leather that represent the official color of Crohn’s and Colitis awareness.

“You are braver than you believe…” ~Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh.

These are the  words that get me through each day as a Crohn’s Disease warrior.

When I get out of bed and my first thought is, “How much will I hurt today,” I must be brave.

Each day, I look at my calendar and weigh all the tasks on my to-do list against my level of pain.  I wonder, “How am I going to get through this day?” before I look to my wrist and read the answer–”Be Brave.”

When the Young One looks at me with sadness, and asks “When are you going to be done being sick?”, I think to myself, “Be Brave”, as I try to find a way to tell her I will always be sick, but some days will be better than others.

I think of the events on the horizon–dinner parties, birthdays, homecomings, project deadlines, and I know I can’t do it all right now. So I tell myself to “Be Brave” as I make the decision of who to disappoint today. The Hubs?  The kids? The boss? Myself?

Some days, giving in and going home is my bravest act.

When food hurts…when another doctor’s appointment interrupts the day…when I ask for another day off…when I need another ride to the hospital…when I reach for the pain meds…when I can’t sleep at night…when I look fine on the outside, but feel like my insides are on fire…when I pray every night that I haven’t passed this horribleness to my son…when I try to find the simplest answer to a polite “How are you?”…I remind myself , “be brave”…”Be Brave”…”BE BRAVE!”

I must be brave to face the challenges of my disease. There is simply no other way to get through it.

Do you or someone you love need to be brave to fight a disease? Check out Bravelets.com to find the one that helps you fight the hardest. Bravelets will donate $10 of your purchase to the associated cause.

***Today’s post is brought to you by Five Minute Friday and the powerful word “Brave”,which, by the way, popped into my head last night as I lay sleepless once more. As I tried to find something positive to think about, my mind wondered with anticipation to what I would find in my inbox when I went searching for today’s word. I was truly shocked when I actually saw that word–my word–as the prompt for today.  I guess someone else thinks I need to write about this.  Magical things happen on Lisa Jo Baker’s site every Friday. Please join us.

A Flock of Friends

With springtime comes sunny days, warm breezes and friends who want nothing more that to run and play and laugh.

It only takes one friend on a swing to attract a whole flock!

I look out my window to watch the Young One swing on her favorite green swing–the one that doesn’t creak when she soars high. Soon, she is joined by one friend, taking the a seat on the noisy yellow swing. Minutes later, I watch as another little friend races across the yard to claim the trapeze between the first two.

Between giggles, they swing and sway and flip and hang.

Then someone…probably my Young One, as her reputation is that of the “ringleader”… yells a dare, “Betcha can’t do this!” I glance up to see her standing on the green swing. Sure enough, her friends won’t be outdone and quickly do the best aerobatic feat a five-year-old can accomplish.

More giggles, then a race up the ladder.

And silence…

What could these three pre-school friends be plotting on a warm April afternoon?  I watch them huddle around the top of the sliding board, and then in coordination with some unseen signal, they give a girly war cry and slide to the grass below.

Then they are off, like a flock of birds. One friend…then two…then three…racing to the next yard…to the next swing set. Then on to a driveway for bikes, scooters and roller skates before taking off for the sidewalk with chalk in hand and artwork on their minds.

A carefree afternoon in the sun.

Just fun.

Just friends.

Just perfect.

Do you remember those all-day plays with your friends? What was your favorite activity?

This post was brought to you by Five Minute Friday and the word “Friend”. If you have a spare five minutes, join us on Lisa-Jo Baker’s site. You won’t regret it!

Be Your Own Hero in Five Easy Steps

Today, I am raising my arm and giving myself a mighty fist pump!

I am victorious.

Go ahead…ask me.

I am my own hero, and no matter what you are fighting, I believe you have what it takes to be your own hero too. So after, much consideration, I’m sharing my five-step master plan for pushing through the rough patches and claiming your own victory, no matter what battle you are fighting.

Stiletto Momma’s Five Steps to Being Your Own Hero

1. Know Yourself. Way back in the glorious decade of the 1980s, I was fortunate enough to be a student in the coolest eighth grade teacher’s English class. All of my classmates wanted this woman to teach them the intricacies of grammar and literature. She was the kind of teacher who sat cross-legged on her desk to lecture us on Shakespeare. She chewed gum in class, and while she was probably in her late forties, to the 14-year-olds in her class, she was one of us. She also taught me what I know now to be one of the most important life lessons.

Our assignment that day was to write an autobiography, and we were encouraged to start by thinking about something for which we have expertise. My cool teacher climbed on top of her desk, curled her legs under herself and proceeded to help us brainstorm topics. Around the class we went–each person taking a turn claiming his or her expertise.

“Baseball,” one athletic boy stated with confidence.

“Shopping,” a girl proclaimed, happily.

You might be thinking that girl was the future Stiletto Momma, but while in the present, I do wield credit card and shopping bags like a champion, back then I had yet to experience the joy that comes from retail therapy. Instead I shyly stated my expertise was playing my favorite woodwind–the flute. I had been playing for a handful of years, and I was fairly confident no one else in the class could trill a high C quite like me.

After the last of my classmates had shared their expertise, that coolest of cool teachers jumped from her perched, wagged a finger at her naive pupils, and declared, “Wrong! You are all wrong.”

The class got silent. Some people turned pink from embarrassment, but the teacher continued with her point.

“Everyone here is an expert in only one thing, and everyone here is an expert on the same thing. You are all experts on yourselves. Who knows you like you do? No one. Who knows everything about you? You! You are an expert on you.”

Although, I don’t remember what I wrote in my autobiography, that lesson has stuck with me.

I am the only person who knows absolutely everything about me. I know when the fatigue is more than just the exhaustion that comes from a hard day’s work. I know when the pain isn’t my “normal” pain. I know when something is wrong.

I move on to the next step….

2. Be Persistent. I eventually graduated middle school, then high school, college, and eventually graduate school. Finally, I drafted my first resume, and set about finding a real job. I mailed that carefully embellished document to every newspaper and publication I could find. I had a few interviews, but no offers of employment. I waited and waited for the phone to ring.

One day, the Hubs asked me a very simple question. “Why don’t you call them? Remind them who you are.”

The Hubs is a smart man, and while he may not realize it, he taught me another import life lesson. Make yourself known. Tell people who you are. Tell them you are important, and don’t let them forget about you. Be persistent.

I know my doctor has more than one patient. He’s a busy man, but I am a busy woman. I am a momma; I work a full-time job, and I have a blog I like to maintain with some regularity. I can’t do any of my jobs, if he doesn’t do his.

So I pick up the phone, and I remind him who I am. I’m the one who called yesterday,and left a message telling you that I don’t feel right. If I don’t feel right tomorrow, I’m calling back. I know myself, and I’m not going away until you help me find out what went wrong.

In the meantime, I move on to the next step….

3. Get the facts. My first journalism job was as a reporter for my hometown newspaper. I wrote for the sports section. Yes, me the girl who played in the band instead of on the team. I knew more about playing the fight song during the pep rally than scoring points in the big game, but there I was, covering girls’ high school basketball. I’d interview the coach after the game. Then call my dad to ask him what the coach meant when he gave me some complicated play terminology. I didn’t have Google back then, but I did have Daddy!

Fact-gathering, when it comes to your health, can be a little trickier these days. The Internet makes it so easy to enter all your symptoms into a search engine and find the perfect cyber-diagnosis, but read too much, and you will soon believe your common cold is a rare incurable malady.

Instead of searching my symptoms, I seached for support groups, and got my facts from people like me. People who know my pain–literally. When symptoms moved from nausea to fatigue, they told me to ask for a vitamin level check.

Now, on to step four….

4. Be Your Own Advocate. No one knows you like you do (see step one), and no one is going to stand up for you unless you stand up for yourself. I knew something was making me tired and feel so…wrong. The MIL said I needed to eat more. The Hubs said I needed to sleep more. I knew it was more than that, and my support group (aka my “Crohnies”, because we all have Crohn’s Disease) agreed.

So, back to the doctor’s office I went. “All your blood work looks fine,” my primary care doc said.

“Even my vitamin levels?” I asked.

“Well, we didn’t check those,” she admitted.

“Can we check those,” I asked in my most you’re-the-doctor-but-I-think-you-missed-something voice.

She gave me a weary sigh, and said in her best I’m-humoring-my-patient voice, “I guess we could check that if you want.”

Two days later, she called to say my vitamin D was too low, and that may be why I’m so tired! Hmmm….

I was just coming off that victory when the pain started. On any given day, I have what I know to be “normal” pain, but this new pain was definitely not normal (back to step one again). I called my GI…again (see step 2). He saw me in his office, shook his head in sympathy, and said he needed to consult with someone. He’d call soon.

That was two weeks ago, so instead of waiting around to be put on hold, I escalated my complaints to my surgeon, and I didn’t stop until she worked me into her busy schedule. Then, finally, after two months of knowing something was wrong, but being told by experts that I was fine, I had confirmation. My surgeon found it within 15 minutes–an active flare of Crohn’s.

Now, take a deep breath, and move on to the final step….

This step is so important, I wear a reminder on my wrist.

5. Be Brave! I didn’t necessarily want to hear that my Crohn’s was back on the war path after a two year break in the action, but the diagnosis was actually a victory. I knew something was wrong with my body (See how important step one is!), I didn’t let the doctors ignore me (step two). I searched out my facts (step three), and I spoke up for myself (step four).

Now the real battle begins, and all the courage, I’ve been gathering will be put to good use. I’ve done this before. I’ll stock up on foods approved for a low residue diet (really just an excuse to eat all the carbs I want without feeling guilty). I’ll buy the industrial-size bottles of multi-vitamins (because fresh fruits and veggies are a no-no, and that I do feel guilty about).

I’ll push through the pain to play Go Fish with the Young One (because I’m sick, but she’s not), but later we’ll take a break and watch our favorite Nick at Night show, Full House (because those crazy Tanners still make for good TV 20 years after the first episode, and because I need her to know I have a boo-boo in my belly and need to get my rest).

I will be brave!

Go back to step one, and repeat as needed.

You may not have Crohn’s Disease or a chronic condition, but you probably do have something you battle on occasion. We all do, but with a little perseverance and bravery, we can all pump a fist for victory and be our own heroes.

What do you do to be your own hero?

The Remicade Rebellion

Today, I launched a massive assault on my immune system. With a drug called Remicade flowing through my veins, I am living up to my self-proclaimed title of Crohn’s Disease Warrior.

Crohn’s Disease, along with its IBD sister Ulcerative Colitis, is an autoimmune disease. In most cases, the human body’s immune system is a defender of evil and wrong-doing. When viral cells or bacteria slip through its defenses, the immune system mounts an attack, sending out soldiers to destroy the enemy.

While your immune system does its duty, you feel its effects in the form of fatigue and fever. After a few days of this raging battle, the fever breaks, your energy returns, and you go back to your everyday life. You may even be stronger after the battle because, like all military machines, your immune system has learned lessons from this most recent war and will try harder to not let those foreign invaders breach its defenses next time.

In my case, the conflict is more like a long-term civil war. More than 20 years ago, my immune system received intelligence indicating my digestive system was an enemy combatant and launched a devastating first strike that took months to recover from.

Like all good immune systems, mine learned how to combat against my feeble attempts to overcome it. Each new medication I took or treatment I tried would keep the flames of war at bay for a while, but eventually my immune system would send in spies to locate and take advantage of my intestine’s weaknesses.

About a year ago, we moved on to biological warfare. Remicade is in a class of drugs known, appropriately enough, as biologics. This secret weapon works to block a protein that causes inflammation and painful symptoms. Every six weeks, I send in reinforcements, and the battle continues.

With every assault, my immune system is weakened, giving my digestive system enough time to rebuild the most recent damage. Unfortunately, the price of war, sometimes includes collateral damage. A weakened immune system means the rest of my body goes unprotected from other more common viruses and bacteria. A stomach virus can last 10 days. A cold can last a month, and if I every meet up with super-villian TB, I might be forced to surrender. The reward, however, is worth the risk, and I soldier on.

So, this afternoon, I chatted with my favorite nurse as she started my IV. (She’s my favorite because she always gets my tiny vein on the first stick and because she always asks how my son is doing at West Point.) She flushed the line, then sent in the troops. I pulled up the foot of the recliner and settled in to watch three back-to-back episodes of Law & Order and sip my super-sized unsweetened iced tea with extra lemon.

The war rages on. The Remicade Rebellion is in full force, and one of these days, I might just claim victory!

We all have wars we fight on a daily basis. What’s yours?

Who Stole My Vitamin D?

I just hit a wall…hard.

I was sitting at my desk doing the Stiletto (Working) Momma thing, when BAM! I hit a wall. The same thing happened yesterday…and the day before…and the day before that…and all the days before that for the past 28 days.

Go ahead…ask me.

The wall of fatigue has been my enemy for an entire month. I’m moving along like my normal self, and then all of a sudden my shoulders sag, my head feels heavy, and I slump in my chair with a sigh, wondering how I could have possibly slept through the night and awoken in the morning feeling just as tired as I did when I turned off the light and called it a night.

Rest is all I seem to do any more, but with little to no relief. I haven’t been to the gym in over a month. My personal email account is backed up, and my friends are wondering where I’ve been, since I haven’t been chatting with them on Facebook.

I’ve been lying in bed. I’ve been traveling back and forth to doctors. I’ve been flinching from needle sticks, and I’ve been watching my blood fill little tubes.

I’ve been living the life of Crohn’s Disease. This time, my vitamin levels are working against me.  With Crohn’s Disease comes various complications such as chronic diarrhea and the ever-popular bowel resection, that result in an inability to absorb nutrients. Combine that with dietary restrictions, and getting the appropriate amount of vitamins becomes a constant struggle.

I felt like I had won the chronic illness lottery when my doc called with the results of the latest blood work. Finally, a positive result–something to blame. Vitamin D deficiency!

Yes!

I did a happy dance, and then promptly rested my weary body on the nearest chair.

Who knew one tiny vitamin could wreak so much havoc.  My vitamin D is only about half the level it should be, and it’s doing it’s best to kick me when I’m down.

But I’m fighting back…with lots of gel-filled supplements, a little sunshine, and a whole lot of rest.

Are you a chronic illness warrior? How do you battle against extreme fatigue?

* Today’s post is brought to you by Five Minute Friday, the word “Rest” and the letter “D”. Think you can hang with the fastest typing bloggers on the Internet? Join us on Lisa-Jo Baker’s site. I’ll read your post after my nap!