DINOVEMBER!

Have you heard of Dinovember? A friend of mine posted about it on her Facebook wall and as soon as I read it I decided that I was for sure going to this. The idea behind Dinovember is a child's toy dinosaurs come to life at night, usually participating in some shenanigans. When the kid wakes up the dinos have frozen in place! Some of the scenes I've seen are dinosaurs singing karaoke, drawing on the walls, and playing a board game.

Last night I secretly gathered all of Joe's toy dinosaurs and arranged them so that T (the t-rex) and Alan (the velociraptor, named after Jurassic Park's Alan Grant) dumped a whole box of animal crackers on the kitchen table! The brachiosaurus sipped on a juice box, and the triceratops fought over a Cheez-it while the stegasaurus pigged out on a whole bag. Having kids is so much fun because it give me a chance to play again!

Joe woke up, saw the table and at first was like "What the heck?!" But then I started explaining what had happened and he thought it was pretty funny. He kept asking, "Did Daddy do this?"

I don't plan on doing this the rest of November since I'm afraid it won't be fun anymore because I'll be stressing out over finding creative ideas. I might do it four or five more days and then I'll post the rest of the dinosaur's adventures.

I overheard the dinos discussing how they wanted to do a family movie night tonight...

Scenes from this morning

DINO PARTAY!

P.S. For some reason the video I tried posting yesterday of Sam smiling didn't work. Here it is. You're welcome. :-)

The Final Part of the Story and My Thoughts as a Mother

This is part three of our story of Joe's epilepsy diagnosis.

Part One


Part Two

The next day we saw the sunrise from our 6th floor hospital room. It was beautiful. It was kind of like God was saying, "Today you will be at peace."

Sammy and the sunrise

The night before we had received a definite time for the MRI, so we planned our meals accordingly. It was much less stressful that way.

Joe was still tethered to his EEG machine, so he couldn't go far, and it was starting to bother him. Thankfully we crafted a play area on the floor, brought him toys and the nurse moved the camera so he was content for awhile.

The mega neurology team came early in the morning. Dr. Cruse sat down to deliver the news of Joe's EEG results. "Well, the EEG is normal. That's good because we can rule out the 'bad' stuff." He went on to explain that no medication would be needed since it was just a one day thing and that we'd just have to watch out for anymore episodes. We would still have the MRI just to rule anything out.

While I was very happy to hear that no "bad stuff" had been found, I still felt uneasy. Was this seriously just a fluke thing? A one time deal? I was fearful of the thought of going home with no answers. I would be constantly paranoid that it would happen again... this time in a much worse manner. Would I ever feel comfortable enough to let him stand on the kitchen chair and help make cookies? Would I constantly be following close behind him while he walked for fear that he'd seize and violently fall over? I am a control freak who wants to know what is going on. I hate unanswered questions. Was this whole torturous (and expensive) hospital stay for nothing?

We spent the rest of the day waiting to go down for the MRI. A vascular team came to put in an IV. Even these specialists were impressed with how strong Joe was. It went a little smoother than other times, but you can never get used to your baby being in pain. Then we learned the MRI was bumped from noon to1:00. While we were waiting, the EEG technician came in to remove the electrodes. Joe freaked when he saw him but we assured him he'd like this part. Joe fussed a little when the tech was removing the electrodes, but for the most part stayed still. I sat in bed with him thinking that he'd want to get up and play now that he was free, but he was getting tired, so we popped in another movie.

Probably 10 minutes after the EEG guy left another doctor came up. I recognized her from Dr. Cruse's neurology team. She introduced herself as Dr. Zuccarelli and pulled a chair up to the bed. When she did that I knew something was up.

"I know we told you that Joe's EEG was normal. But that was based on an earlier reading from last night. He just read the rest of it, and it does appear that there are abnormalities."

It was then she told us the diagnosis: myclonic epilepsy.

His brain was just made a little different, and these nerve currents just fire a little differently. He has a disposition for seizures and certain things like lack of sleep can trigger them. Just a few weeks ago Ryan and I cut out his afternoon nap in hopes he would start sleeping better at night and I fear that could have been the cause.

She went on to explain the precautions we'd have to take, what to do if he has seizure and different issues and situations to look out for. She explained the medication he would now have to take and the emergnecy medicaton we would have to carry on us at all times (like an epi-pen) in case he had a seizure lasting 5 minutes. She was so nice and comforting and straight forward.

I sat there holding my son and tears streamed down my face. Joe was starting to nod off to sleep and I just held him tighter and tighter. I was so glad to have answers, but this just broke my heart. I knew this could be the diagnoses, but actually hearing it said out loud was heart wrenching.

She left and soon it was time to wheel Joe down to his MRI. Ryan and I went with him and waited awhile in the pre-op area reading him books. The anesthesiologist came in to do a quick check up and when he was listening to his heart it was taking a long time. He told us to lean him back and we did and he listened to his heart again. He said the reason he did that was because he heard a heart murmur. I was like "Are you effing kidding me?!?!" I almost had to laugh because SERIOUSLY?! But he assured us that it was a very very common thing and as soon as we laid him back the murmur went away. 

Soon the nurse came in and gave Joe some anti-anxiety meds into his IV and he gladly went with her. She didn't give us a chance to say good bye as she walked away. We were lead to a waiting room. I went up to nurse Sam, meet up with my dad, and grab some lunch.

When I came back to the waiting room I sat down with Ryan. We hugged and talked because that was really the first time we could do so since we go to the hosptial. Joe being in the MRI was probably the hardest part. Thinking about him being alone in a metal tube made me sad. I knew he was sedated, but I was still forlorn to be away from Joe. I was afraid he'd wake up and be afraid that we weren't there.

When they called us back he was still very very very asleep. We snuggled him in a wagon and rolled him back to his room. He stayed in a deep sleep for a very long time. Ryan's mom and my dad left. Ryan loaded up the van because we would be released soon after Joe woke up and ate something.

Sleeping after his MRI

When Joe woke up he was very loopy and goofy. It was actually pretty funny. They gave him some food and tried giving him his first dose of Depakote. They sprinkled it on some pudding thinking he would think it was sugar, but he wasn't fooled. We had to do a lot of coaxing and convincing for him to eat the pudding. Soon we were all packed up and ready to wheel him out to our van.

It was kind of bittersweet to say goodbye to the nurses. They had been such a tremendous help. It was also kind of scary because now we were on our own. We were armed with informatoin and medication, but it was aways kind of comforting to know the nurses were right around the corner in case there was an emergency.

We drove home, grabbed his prescription, let him watch a Batman movie and all went to bed together. I cuddled Joe, grateful that we were in our own comfortable bed. Tears rolled down my cheeks again as I tried to process it all. It really felt like it was all a dream.

My mom had told me how proud she was of me for being so strong. I have to be strong for Joe's sake, but I'm tellling you this has been so hard. Joe has always been so healthy. He went a whole year without seeing his pediatrician. I'm just so confused as to how this could happen. Dr. Z assured us that he would develop into a happy and healthy little boy even with epilepsy, but there will be a part of me that will now be forever paranoid.

I've always been a little paranoid as a mother. The sickening thought of losing my son HAUNTS me. Just thinking about those mothers and fathers of those precious babies killed in Newton, CT last year makes me sick to my stomach. Just knowing that one minute I can be holding my loving healthy boy and the next minute I could be burying him in the cold hard ground terrifies me. I whisper prayers of protection for Ryan and my boys numerous times a day. My love for Joe is so fierce and so strong that I just can't bear to think of him in any kind of pain. Hell, my heart breaks a little bit whenever he is ignored by another kid at the playground. I saw quite a few sick children there at the hospital, and while my heart went out to them, my heart especially ached for their parents. I am growing closer and closer to Mary, the Mother of Jesus now that I've become a mom. Sure, my son isn't suffering for the salvation of souls, but giving God the control and trusting in his will is hard no matter what.

Then of course comes the mommy guilt. I keep thinking that maybe if I wasn't so tired and zoned out or piddle farting on facebook so much that I could have caught these seizures sooner. I feel guilty that I've put my needs in front of my own children. This has definitely been a wake up call for me. I hid a lot of "friends" from showing up on my newsfeed on Facebook and no longer feel obligated to read a ton of blogs or comment on them. I've always felt this overwhelming "need" to blog... like I have such "important" things to say and I just itch to get them out there on the interwebz. But I don't think there are a whole lot of people out there reading these words, and that's OK. I don't plan on abandoning this blog completely, but it just won't be a concern anymore. I foresee a bunch of tickle fights and crafting in the future rather than blog posts about our hopes and dreams.

Joe has been doing well since this whole ordeal. He hasn't had one single seizure, at least when we've been around. We've had to switch from the Depakote crystals to liquid form because no matter how we tried to disguise it, he always figured it out there was medicine in his food. I felt like Kathy Bates from Misery when I was hiding the meds in his oatmeal. We have to take the normal precautions as any parent of a 3 year old does, but we have to be a little more vigilant. One thing that Dr. Z mentioned was that he can't really climb the monkey bars without us close by in case he has a seizure. Even the short myclonic seizures that last a second or two can cause him to fall and get seriously injured.

We aren't going to treat epilepsy as a disease or disability. We'll make the appropriate changes, of course, but we will strive to keep his life as normal as possible. There is a chance he could never have one ever again and even grow out of this epilispy. Since this has happened a lot of people have contacted me telling me they know someone who had/has epilispey and they have normal happy lives.

I just feel like Joe being diagnosed with epilepsy has placed limits on his childhood and general being a boy-ness. Just the other day at the park there was a 8 year old boy at the very top of the jungle gym. Of course Joe will be doing that someday, but if I am present I will be freaking out. Dr. Z said that if Joe goes swimming either Ryan or I HAVE to be there. He could drown in even one inch of water. She made it clear that it HAS to be Ryan or I there to supervise. Not even just Grandma Mary or Memaw and Papa. I asked her how that would work when he's 15 years old and wants to go swimming with his buddies. He will not want his mommy hanging around. She told us that we'd approach that problem when he is 15. But I get so scared thinking there is an ever present danger lurking in his brain that could cause him to get seriously hurt. I don't want this to hold him back from having a normal childhood. 

I am not wasting my time wishing and complaining that Joe didn't have this condition. It is what it is, and I have to deal with it instead of wishing it away. I DO hope and pray he outgrows it and that he never has another seizure again.

I think all of us who are mothers grow and change as the years pass us by. We go from brand new moms who are scared crapless about everything to moms with more experience who are still scared crapless, but have a little more confidence cutting baby fingernails. This situation has definitely shaped me into a slightly different kind of mother... hopefully a better one.

I want to thank everyone for their prayers and kind thoughts and words during this ordeal. It was truly scary, but I definitely felt the peace and calm from your prayers.

Peter Pan and the Jerk Factor

For Joe's birthday we got him the old Disney movie Peter Pan. I thought it would be great for a little boy. Pirates, adventure, imagination... all wonderful parts of childhood, right? Then Joe watched it and as soon as Peter said girls talk too much I started paying attention. I could go on and on about what bothered me in this movie, but basically... Peter Pan is a movie full of super mean people. Tinkbell is mean, Peter is cocky and mean, those horrid mermaids are mean (and attempted murderers.) Captain Hook is mean, but that's to be expected.

I'm not quite sure of the moral of the story with this movie. I haven't watched the whole thing beginning to end because that's impossible with two tiny people trying to mutiny against you. There very well could be a very solid message to this movie, but with all the cruelty and bullying going on, it's hard to tell.

I was tempted to put this movie onto my "hide the DVD box" list. It's not like I will forbid him from seeing it, but the movie just annoys me so much that I'd rather him not see it for awhile. This list is long... Cailou and Yo Gabba Gabba are also on here. This list contains programming that generally annoys me and/or that I think contains a poor message.

Some people might think I'm overreacting. It's just Disney. It's just a classic cartoon. Rest assured, I know all this. We are not those parents who are overly strict with what we will let our kids watch. We don't ban Santa Claus or tell him fairies are of the devil. There will obviously be some programming that will not be allowed, but classic Disney is not on that list. It's more of a "I won't encourage them to watch this show because it bugs the crap out of me" sort of list.

But all this got me thinking. I know that young children should limit their TV time, blah blah blah... but what I think is more important is for parents to WATCH the shows their children are watching and explain what is going on. Instead of shoving Peter Pan in the back of the DVD case maybe I should let him watch it and point out how we shouldn't be mean to others. Maybe this could be a good opportunity to teach him a thing or two about manners and how to treat others.

But is age three too young to do that? Do you sit with your children and explain what they are watching? 

Or should I just shut up and let him enjoy his cartoons?

Why I think 3 will be fun

I just realized that the title of this post may convey why I think three CHILDREN will be fun. While I am sure that is true, this isn't some pregnancy announcement!

In less than a week Joe will turn three years old. Ryan and I have said for a couple months now that we think Joe might have the "terrible threes" rather than the "terrible twos." Our personalities are really clashing now that he's becoming more and more independent. There are more many, many, many, many more tantrums now than when he was two. Maybe they are more infuriating because we can't use the "oh we just can't communicate" excuse. There are days I want to pull my hair out and start hitting the wine bottle because maybe that would make the "I'M AWAKE! I'M AWAKE, MOMMY! I'M AWAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!" coming from his bedroom as soon as I put him down for a nap a little more bearable.

But as much as there are times I feel like my brain is going to explode there are those times that my face hurts from smiling so much. Joe has matured so much in the last few months. It seems like in lightning speed he's gone from a bumbling toddler to a little social human being.

I realized on Sam's birthday just how much fun Joe's birthday will be. Joe enthusiastically opened all Sam's presents and even started the chorus of Happy Birthday without being prompted. I think this is the first birthday he actually understands the concept of birthday. I'm so excited for him to see his party guests.  I can't wait for the excited happy look on his face when he opens presents. I wonder how he'll react to everyone singing to him. At least I know he can blow out his candles. Last year he just kind of blew raspberries at them. We're planning on decorating for the party the night before while he's asleep to surprise him the next morning. It's going to be a dinosaur theme. And we are so doing this for the party:

Don't judge us cuz we're awesome.

Thinking about how Joe is more aware of what's going on makes me excited for this upcoming holiday season. Each fall we go to Vala's Pumpkin Patch in Gretna, NE. We've gone the last two years with a group of my cousins. The first year, when he was one, he had a blast. Last year.. he had just turned two... and the terribleness was coming out. But this year I think will be fun. He won't be so afraid of the petting zoo and he'll probably want to do more the activities. Or he could be a holy hell terror... but I prefer to keep an open mind!

Joe when he was 13 months old

The one thing I am hesitant on is Halloween. I've seen the fear factor creep into his eyes these last few weeks. Just a couple weeks ago we were all sleeping in bed and he woke up saying there was a bear in the bed. He was pointing to Sam. I turned on the light to show him it was his brother. He said, "Oh." then looked a little closer to be sure, and then he really figured it out and said, "OOOOH!!!" An hour later he woke up saying there was another bear, but it was just a shirt hanging by our closet. Just this week he tells me he doesn't want to watch certain movies because they are "'cary" and has insisted I remove Buzz, Woody and Jesse from his bed at night. Just today he said the crack between the bed and the wall was scary. I think we are entering the realm of fear. I've written about my thoughts about the scariness on Halloween before, but this year I think we're going to have to be extra cautious. I do think he'll be excited to dress up and get candy. I'm sure he'll ask to watch The Great Pumpkin fifty times a day, but judging by the worried look on his face while looking at the inflatable Halloween decorations at Wal-Mart... this may be a tricky holiday.

I don't blame Joe for being freaked out.

Joe at 13 months helping us carve a pumpkin

I can't wait for fall and to show him how the season is changing. I can't wait to rake up leaves and have him jump in them. I can't wait to fix yummy crock pot meals and watch the Chiefs play when we get back from Mass. I can't wait to teach him about Thanksgiving and how we should count our blessings.

Don't EVEN get me started on Christmas. Oh, Lawdy. I revert into a seven year old at Christmastime... always have. But now that Joe will be a little more aware of what's going on... I'm going to go all Buddy the Elf. I will be just as excited as he will to see Santa and all the lights and presents because I will get to see that magic and wonderment in his eyes. So often I feel like I fail in teaching Joe about God, but I think Advent will be a perfect opportunity to start. Maybe, just maybe.... I can finally start doing all those Catholic liturgical crafts because Joe might understand it now!

Joe at 15 months being amazed at the Christmas village at Crown Center

I have always loved this time of year. It's magical to me. Even my melancholic personality seems to fizzle away in the months of September, October, November and December.

I really do think three will be a fun year. Sam is starting to walk all over the place and he laughs hysterically at Joe all the time. Joe often encorages Sam to walk and says, "Good walkin'!" I know there will be those maddening times when they start to fight over stuff, but absolutley cannot wait to see how their relationship develops.

And I can't wait to see how Joe's relationship develops with Ryan and me. He's talking so much now and we actually have conversations. Sometimes Ryan and I will be talking in the car and Joe will just butt in with some story about a lion and a dinosaur. We can actually sit down and watch a movie together and talk about it. He asks me to sing songs and how things work and what is the monkey's name and it. is. so. fun.

Seeing him run around in super hero underwear instead of diapers makes me realize just how fast he is growing up. So much has changed in a year and I know more changes are coming in leaps and bounds!

Happy almost 3rd birthday to my Joe. Words cannot express the love and joy I have in my heart because you are in my life!

Turning 2... he still looks so babyish!

Almost 3... my little hero!

I am a mean mom

Every mom has those days. Those days where the hours drag on and it's one tantrum after another. Those days where you count the hours until your husband comes back home. Those days you just want to quit motherhood.


I knew even before Joe was born that motherhood wasn't going to be easy. I knew it would be hard but I was slapped in the face with the realization that it was a thousand times harder than I thought it would be starting around 30 minutes after Joe was born.

I didn't think it could get any harder.

These last few weeks have been especially difficult with Joe. I thought I knew what the terrible twos looked like... psh.... what a joke. These latest outbursts, screams, hitting, plowing into Sam... they are so much worse compared to a few months ago. Will the age of three be worse than two?

I am not quite sure what is going on with Joe. Maybe because of this shit-tastic Midwest weather he feels like he's been cooped up for too long. Maybe now that Sam is very mobile he feels like he has to compete for our attention. Maybe my give-him-the-iPad-so-he'll-leave-me-the-hell-alone tactics are backfiring and he's overstimulated and has brain rot.

What upsets me most is how ashamed I am at my behavior. I know we all lose patience with our kids, but I have no patience to lose. As soon as we get up in the morning he ticks me off and I'm yelling. I'm screaming. I'm slamming down plates and cups. Then a day-long struggle of wills plays out. Now, don't think I'm slapping him around and denying him food or anything, but when I look back at the end of the day at my behavior with Joe I cringe. I used to be patient and calm with him. I used to be able to ignore his screams. Maybe now that I have a crawling, cruising, teething Sam to worry about my patience is nonexistent. But the bad part is, I even lose my patience with Sam. When my bladder is nearly bursting and I take a quick minute and set him down and run to the bathroom and he comes crawling after me bawling, I yell out, "Just leave me alone!!!" Soon he comes around the corner toward the bathroom door with big giant tears in his eyes and he reaches out to me and I feel like a big pile of crap.

He's only 9 months old. Joe is only 2 years old. I can't expect them to act like they're visiting with the bloody Queen of England. I can't expect them to act like adults. I am the one who should be acting like an adult and yet I'm the throwing tantrums, pouting and yelling.

I hate it when I see the fear creep onto Joe's face when he knows I'm going to yell. I hate myself when I yell. I hate it that when Ryan calls me at 11:00 each day while on his lunch break I always lament to him that it has been a day from hell. I'm tired of being tired of motherhood. I'm tired of going into fits of range and annoyance. I'm tired of feeling heartwrenchingly guilty when he places a bucket on my head, kisses my nose and calls me a princess. I'm tired of that punched in the gut feeling thinking that a majority of the time Joe sees me being a mean mom instead of a loving and caring mom. With all that is going on in our world we never know when God will call us home. What if Joe's last memory of me is me giving him a swat on the butt and yelling at him for constantly kicking me during diaper changes?

Maybe the weather is affecting me, but I just feel like I'm in a pit and I can't get out. I'm exercising 5 days a week, eating healthy and taking my vitamins, so I am taking care of myself. Sometimes I think I think this anxiety and stress is more than the normal course. I often feel that I need to bite the bullet and look into therapy or medication. But my pride and laziness gets in the way. I know depression and anxiety are common. But I have a hard time differentiating between the normal blahs that everyone faces from time to time and the serious stuff. Somedays I think I'm fine... others I want to drown myself in Ghirardelli chocolate and wine. (But that's like 57 Weight Watcher points. So that's a no go.)

Sometimes I wonder if I'm cut out for this stay-at-home mom thing. I wonder how I will feel when I enter the workforce. Sometimes I feel like I need a very long break, yet I can't stand being away from the boys for too long. It's such a double-edged sword.

I keep thinking that if my attitude changed, then so will Joe's. I'm sure all the yelling, screaming, pouting that Joe does is being exacerbated by my own antics. Toddlers are going to be little butt heads, but they learn so much from the parent.

I know that it will get easier with time. I know I am in one of the hardest times of parenthood. But I want to enjoy this time because there is a lot of joy to be found. I love seeing Joe and Sam play and laugh together. I become amazed at Joe talking about "ceratots" (triceratops) and other "ar-saurs." Just watching Joe play with Legos and Sam watching him in amazement are moments that won't last forever. I don't want to spend these moments frazzled and frustrated. I don't want to spend these precious few years hoping they'd hurry up to a somewhat easier age. I just want to enjoy this time, but it's so damn hard.

Prayers please as I finish out these last few weeks of school and then look into some time to refocus and recharge.

Of Mothers and Sons

Wow. Our nation has experienced quite a chaotic week.

It has been a whirlwind of a week. The authorities released pictures of last Monday's Boston Marathon bombing suspects last Thursday afternoon to the public. In a span of about 24 hours there was a hold-up at a convenience store, another murder, a shootout resulting in the death of suspect #1, and a massive manhunt for supect #2. A whole major metropolitan area was on lock down. It all concluded with another shootout and the capture of 19 year old Dzhokhar Tsarnaev- alive.

The events of the Boston Marathon bombings have burrowed deep into my heart. Tragedies such as this really get to me. I know they affect everyone, but when these unthinkable events happen (Aurora, Virginia Tech, Sandy Hook, etc.) I go into a very dark place and am convinced that evil has won and that we are no longer safe anywhere. I feel much more grief and terror than what I think is normal for people. And if you involve a child in this tragedy, well I pretty much lose it. Seeing sweet, innocent Martin Richard's face broke my heart. Whenever they show a child victim's photo I immediately see my own son's face and a flood of heartache sets in.

I was glued to the TV on Friday. It felt like I was watching a movie, but I had that punched-in-the-gut feeling knowing it was all real and that there were real people and victims involved. The media outlets kept showing Dzhokhar's face over and over and over and over again.

I saw what everyone else saw. A monster. A murderer. A person who ruined people's lives. A person who tainted a joyous athletic occasion.

But after seeing his face over and over my motherly instincts kept creeping in, even though I desperately kept trying to push them away. I kept thinking about how young he looked. Just a punk kid fresh out into the world. A kid... just a kid. This monster who just took the life of an 8 year old little boy was once 8 years old himself. From what I understand Dzhokhar was just about 7 or 8 years old when he and his family sought asylum in the United States.

Reflecting on this tragedy makes me think of the many tragedies that have plagued our country in these last years. These monsters shown below, these instruments of evil, used to be innocent little children.

 

Did James Holmes run around and play Power Rangers and Ninja Turtles with his friends when he was younger? Did Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold jump for joy when they got that Super Nintendo for Christmas? These monsters were once kids who had the same dreams and hopes as we did when we were younger. They played the same games and read the same books as we did.

Each of these murders had mothers. Since I have become a mom my thoughts often drift to the mothers of these killers. How awful it must be... your own son, your flesh and blood, the babe you carried for 9 months, birthed, and comforted is a murderer. The one you rocked to sleep and whispered lullabies to... is a monster. The toddler you watched make block towers, who amazed you with their first sentences and songs, who colored big scribble pictures with crayons... is a terrorist. The child who fell down and scraped their knee and you swept them up in your arms and kissed their tears away... has taken life. 

We mothers of sons want our boys to grow into strong men. Into kind-hearted gentlemen who are leaders and protectors. We want them to be happy and successful in what they choose to do with their adult lives. We want them to take their God-given talents and do good things. We watch them as they grow up right before our eyes and pray we lead them on the right path. We don't picture our sons being murderers.

I can't pretend to know how it feels to have a son who has killed others. I can only imagine the horror and grief. You have lost your son either to him deciding to take his own life at the end of his massacre or to the prison system. You mourn the loss of your child at the same time being sickened that they have taken so many other innocent lives. Can you imagine the thoughts, regrets and images Sue Klebold, Dylan Klebold's mother must go through? After many years of silence she opened up about that fateful day.

In remembering that day in April, Sue Klebold explains the agonizing decision she had to make when she realized her son was one of the shooters. "I thought that if this was really happening and he survived, he would go into the criminal justice system and be executed, and I really couldn't bear to lose him twice. I gave the hardest prayer I ever made, that he would kill himself, because then at least I would know he wanted to die and wouldn't be left with all the questions I'd have if he got caught by a police bullet. Maybe I was right, but I've spent so many hours regretting that prayer: I wished for my son to kill himself and he did."

 "I had a sudden vision of what he might be doing. And so while every other mother in Littleton was praying that her child was safe, I had to pray that mine would die before he hurt anyone else." 

 When asked what she would say to her son if she could speak to him she said this:

"I would ask him to forgive me, for being his mother and never knowing what was going on inside his head, for not being able to help him, for not being the person he could confide in."

That sentence just breaks my heart. To feel like you failed your son, and in doing so failed so many other parents and children, those lives your son took.... I just cannot imagine. No one really wants to think about or sympathize with the murderer's family. Many want to place the blame on the family. Sometimes that's the case, many times it is not.

That brings me to the big question that has lingered in my head these past few days. At what point does the little innocent boy become a murderer? What causes such hatred and evil? We know some clues... mental illness, bullying, rage against authority, tough childhoods, family influences. But what causes it all to become so big and so burdensome that these boys lash out and take lives? Surely these kids don't dream of becoming killers. It just boggles my mind and I so desperately want to make sense out of it all. But you can't place evil into a nicely explained package.

I know these questions can't easily be answered. I'm no psychologist and I don't think even some psychologists can answer these questions. I have read up on some of these boys and quite frankly the way they think is bone-chilling and gives me nightmares. It's hard to imagine that these monsters were once little babies.

I've often thought about if any of these killers had any remorse, but the fact that they have behaved in such an evil way makes it difficult to pin any human sorrow on them. However, after Dzhokhar was captured and we learned that he spent all day hiding in a boat makes me stop to think about how, as a son and brother, these killers must think. Dzhokhar hid away like a scared little boy. He didn't have any bombs to go out in a blaze of glory. He had a gun, which he used to exchange gunfire with authorities, but why didn't he take his own life? He was injured from the shootout hours earlier that took the life of his brother. There was no getting out of this, so why didn't he take the coward's way out and end his life? (I am not saying he should have killed himself, just expressing my surprise since that seems to be the path many of these terrorist choose.) When the police were closing in why didn't he kill their hopes of getting him alive so they could get information out of him? I'm not trying to paint him as a remorseful person because judging by his alleged behavior right after the bombings he was not sorry since he went about daily life as if nothing had happened. But it makes me wonder how much of an influence his brother had on him and how much information he will give authorities.

What did Dzhokhar think about in that boat? Did he think about his brother? Surely as kids they wrestled around and played with Legos and G.I. Joes. Did he know that his brother was dead? Did he think about his mother and father? Did he think about the tears his family was going to shed because he and his brother were terrorists and killed and injured so many innocent people? Did he think of his friends who he used to hang out with? Did he think of his brother's wife and his 3 year old niece? Did he think about all the dreams he had as a little kid? Being free from the war and terrors of where he was born and living the American dream... becoming happy and successful. Possibly raising a family? Did he think of his victims? Surely he saw the pictures of Martin Richard, Krystle Cambell and Lingzi Lu before he and his brother went on the run. Did he think of how their lives were cut short and how their families' lives would never be the same? Did he realize that no matter what happened to him that his own life would be cut short, whether by dying in a boat or being imprisoned? Did he feel remorse that he had a choice in his future but his victims did not? All that he had was over now. Happy childhood memories... hugs from his mother, laughs with his brother, going to school, playing with friends, listening to music... all led to this moment. A terrorist cowering in a boat waiting for his life to end.

When the authorities closed in on him and after one brief volley of gunfire he just laid there. He showed his hands, lifted his shirt to show he was not wearing a suicide vest and just waited to be taken in. Was he ready to cooperate with officials? Does he regret his actions? Does he wish he could take that moment away when he went from innocent to monster?

The information coming in about the Tsarnaev brothers is coming in fast and full of stories about their rather bizarre family, their tribal and religious views, their past and possible motives for the bombings. There are so many unanswered questions.

It's disheartening to know that there is probably no end to these tragedies. We are all capable of evil and too many of us act on it. I am terrified of letting my kids out into the world knowing they could encounter a monster like Seung-Hui Cho or Timothy McVeigh. I watch my sons play together. I watch Joe build Lego houses and Sam gain more and more confidence to pull himself up. I know these years will fly by and soon they will be adults. I just pray that I have taught them to always love, even when hating is easier. I pray that I have taught them to be brave- to run into the smoke to rescue those who need help instead of running away. I pray I have taught them to be strong when life hands them difficulties. I pray that they glorify God in all they do and show others the goodness and beauty in life. I pray they become good men.

I pray that my sons, these happy, innocent faces, will make this world a better place.

 

Trying to understand real food

There has been a certain post floating around in my head for months now. I've hesitated writing it because I was afraid it would open up a can of worms.
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This post is a plea for information and also a rant, so please bear with me.

Real Food... Huh?

The first time I ever heard of organic food was when I watched Jon and Kate + 8, you know, before she went completely and totally crazy.

I never really thought anything of organic food. Little by little I would see something advertised as organic. Maybe it had been there all along, or maybe I just now noticed it because I watched Jon and Kate.

This was all a couple of years ago. I noticed one of my facebook friends lamenting that they couldn't find any food that did not high fructose corn syrup. Then I kept hearing about the documentary Food Inc. I was never a big fan of documentaries such as these because I always felt it over-sensationalized everything. So I never watched it.

Pretty soon this organic and real food stuff was everywhere I looked. On the news, in social media, advertisements... you name it.

This brings me to my first question.

Real Food... Why Now?

With this trend of throwing out processed foods and eating real food seeming to grow more and more I am starting to wonder.. is this just a phase?

Has the real food craze always been around and I've just been living under a rock eating my Doritos and Spaghettios? 

I have read so many articles and blog posts about parents not allowing their kids to eat processed foods... at all. No Oreos, no candy, no nothin'- not ever. They claim that when they do allow their child to eat this stuff it's like Dr. Jekkyl and Mr. Hyde; their kid is no longer recognizable in their demeanor.

I think back on my childhood eating habits. I know I ate Oreos, chips, Hamburger Helper, Fruit Loops and Kraft Mac and Cheese. But my mother did not fed me this food all the time. I loved fruit and cheese. My mom was always encouraging me to try new foods. She never let me drink pop. I never really liked to drink milk until my mom used a little mommy trickery and put milk in a wine glass for me to drink from. Worked like a charm. 

Moderation is a good thing, right? So my honest question is why are we moving away from moderation of real food and some processed food and right into no processed foods at all? 

Thinking on that question just opens up even more...

Why now is a bag of popcorn or Oreos considered cancer-causing?

Is the obesity epidemic more because of food choices or parenting choices?

What is different about the eating habits of my generation (I am 28 years old) when we were kids compared to the eating habits of children nowadays? Why wasn't there an obesity crisis when I was younger?

Why do we hear more about food allergies and gluten intolerance? Was I just sheltered in my tiny rural town? I had never heard of these problems until just a few years ago. Have food allergies and gluten intolerance become an increasing problem? If so, why?

The Un-Appeal of Real Food

  

I have all these questions. I have a few friends who are very into the real food lifestyle, but I wanted to get a wide array of information. That was a big mistake. The interwebz are filled with "experts" and I encountered a lot of vitriol toward the kind of food I was regularly eating. I was giving myself a death sentence by eating Spaghettios. I was a little turned off by some real food advocates. This is going to be blunt and vulgar, but a lot of the people who advocated the real food lifestyle were self-righteous assholes. The ranting and raving annoyed me, so I just removed myself from the subject. 

Annoyance turned into pissed-offness when I kept seeing graphics and charts and snarky memes aimed at parents who fed their kids anything that wasn't real food. I couldn't escape these sort of attitudes. Basically, according to these people I was poisoning my children. Charts and "research" were showing how quickly my child would die of cancer and how unintelligent they would be in the future. While some bloggers were trying to educate the masses and rally against big evil food corporations they were making me feel like a horrible mother. Here I was feeding my son, who I love so deeply and fiercely, chicken nuggets FROM A BAG. I was giving him TARGET BRAND FRUIT SNACKS! But I had already set him up for disaster when I gave him Gerber rice cereal when he was 4 months old. God forbid if I had used formula instead of breastfeeding him! He'd be a zombie! I do try to give him healthy options. We rarely eat fast food. Still, my budget and lack of cooking skills forces me to dig into the processed food quite often.

I wish that some of these advocates would stress how awesome real food is for your body and how it makes one feel better instead of using it as ammo for tearing each other down. I wish advocates would use their passion to change things for the better. Save your fighting words for those big corporations and regulations that make it nearly impossible for families like mine to afford to eat real food.

Getting Over It and Moving On

It took me awhile to realize that real food is just another cog in the mega machine in the mommy war. My sensitive nature makes it hard to buid a thick skin and just ignore the bitterness and criticism. I've got to put on my big-girl panties and just realize that people advocate in their own way.

Thankfully my real-life real-food friends are very kind. They are enthusiastic, but in a "Wow, this granola tastes yummy and I made it myself!" way instead of the "Wow, this granola tastes yummy and won't give my children and me brain tumors!" way. Many of my friends admit to eating McDonalds or indulging in a Mountain Dew on occasion. Only a time or two have my feelings been hurt, but that's just because I am very sensitive when it comes to my mothering skills. Motherhood is one of the hardest things in the world. I'm constantly worried that I'm going to screw up my kids.

I am about to start my journey with Weight Watchers again. Lately I have been feeling so lethargic and crappy. I know WW will force me to think about my food choices again. I lost 30 lbs the last time I was on the program and I felt so good... physically, mentally and spiritually. I guess exercising and eating fruits and veggies will do that to you. So now I am ready to learn about real food. I am ready to serve healthy options to my family. I want to know the answers to the questions I asked but really don't know where to begin. I want to keep it simple. I don't want to dive too deep into politics (because it seem that's where everything comes down to nowadays.)Who is Monsanto and why does everybody hate them?

So here I go, gathering info for my real food journey...

Wait, you can eat second breakfast when eating real food, right???

 


 

Falling down the stairs to meet Mary

Last week we went over to my in-law's house. They have a beautiful, large home and Joe loves to run all around, including up and down the stairs. Joe has no problem going up the stairs, and he's getting a lot better at going down. So when he is hanging out at the top of the stairs I don't bolt over there like I used to.

However, this time was different. Joe had been playing around upstairs, running in and out of the rooms. He was standing at the top of the stairs and just like that- down he went. I bounded over in what seemed like two steps with my arms outstretched even though I was far too late getting over there to catch him. I looked on with horror as I saw my little boy tumble down the stairs.

I saw it all in slow motion. He started sliding on his back and I saw the look of terror on his face. Fear pierced his eyes. I saw his whole tiny body tense up as it twisted and turned down the stairs. I saw his hands reach out to grab on to something- anything to stop his fall. Those little boy hands that are still holding onto a hint of baby fat. All I could do is yell out, "Joe!" and run down the stairs after him.

He hit the landing with a soft thud, laid there in shock for a few seconds, then cried out. I scooped him up in my arms, my heart beating a million beats a minute and shakily held him. He stopped crying after 10 seconds, but my body would not calm down. Thankfully my in-laws' stairs have super soft, cushion-y carpet, so he wasn't hurt at all.

The way I have described this experience my seem to be a little over-dramatic, but this is the first time I watched as my child was getting hurt and there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening. Joe has had plenty of boo-boos. He's fallen off chairs, beds; he's walked into walls, even chipped a tooth. But I've always been able to be right there to comfort him. Even though him falling down the stairs probably lasted only 10 seconds I felt so helpless.

That was the first time I really, truly felt a connection with the Virgin Mary- mother of God.

I know so many who have a deep and committed devotion to Mary. I've always admired her, but never really "clicked" with her. I felt more of a connection with her when Joe was born, but nothing that made me feel like Mary and I were BFFs.

But the day Joe fell down the stairs made me think about how Mary must have felt as she saw her son marching to his death. Seeing him beaten, bruised, tortured and ridiculed... and there was nothing she could do.

Joe falling down the stairs is nothing like going to get crucified, but I could understand Mary's anguish. Her yearning to run to her child and hold and protect him. I understood her sadness at seeing her son hurting. My heart broke as I saw my little one fall down the stairs. Can you imagine the pain she went through at seeing her son being killed even though he did nothing wrong?

That night I started thinking about my relationship with Joe. I am pretty attached to him. Yes, there are MANY times during the day I want to crack open the bottle of vodka Ryan got as a Christmas gift. He drives me crazy at times. But when it comes to leaving him with others... I feel lost. We are very lucky that we have family nearby that like to watch him while Ryan and I can have time to ourselves, but I find myself missing him when I am away from him. I get a little depressed when I think about sending him to daycare or preschool. I won't be the one who kisses his boo boos. I won't be the one who sees his smile when he hears music. I won't be the one who gets to see him draw a picture, or teach him a new color or shape. I HATE that feeling. I know I shouldn't feel that way because there will be SO many others besides me that will teach him and shape him. Maybe it's my pride or my overwhelming desire to always protect him, but it bothers me.

It is tough to swallow realizing that God did not give me Joe as my own personal little person who loves me and entertains me. God made him as his own son, a son who will be with him again someday in heaven. God made Joe for the benefit of others, besides me. Someday he will grow up and live to serve his wife and children. There are times now he likes to dance with me. I will pick him up and he'll rest his chubby-cheeked face on my shoulder and we'll sway. I flash forward to his wedding day when I will sway with him, but then he'll go and dance with his bride and they will drive off together and begin a new life. There are times when he sleeps with us at night and I wake up and he'll be looking at me with his beautiful blue eyes and smile. Someday it won't be me he is smiling at, but his own son or daughter.

How did Mary feel knowing her son was made to die for us? She knew that something was up when she and Joseph presented their baby to the temple. After Simeon had blessed them he turned to Mary and said, "Look, he is destined for the rise and for the fall of many in Israel, destined to be a sign that is opposed. And a sword shall pierce your own soul too..." (Luke 2: 34-35) This probably gave Mary the clue that she wasn't going to have a normal life with her son. He wasn't going to grow up to be a carpenter like Joseph and get married and give her grandbabies. He will die to redeem mankind.

I don't want to focus on the tremendous responsibilty Mary must have felt at raising the Son of God. (Can you imagine losing the boy Jesus, the MESSIAH, for three days?!) I keep thinking about how she must have felt rasing Jesus knowing he wasn't going to be with her phsycially forever. How would it feel knowing that he was born to serves others... to save others? How did Mary feel whenever she saw her own toddler son fall and scrape his hands? Kissing them, not realizing that in about 30 years they will have huge nails driven through them and hung on a cross?

The Child Jesus and his Mother Mary from The Passion of the Christ

Yes, my relationship with Mary and her son is growing with the aid of my own relationship with my son. My pain will never be as much as Mary's. But because of the pains of motherhood I especially feel her loving embrace when I think about dropping off my Joe on his first day of kindergarten or thinking about his first broken heart. I feel her loving embrace when I change poopie diapers and cook chicken nuggets.

I truly feel her loving embrace through all the ups and downs of motherhood.

Mother Mary, draw me closer to you so I can be closer to your son. Help me to be the best mother I can be so I can raise my children to someday inherit the glorious crown of heaven.

Thinking about the Scary...

***This is a thinking-out-loud post. So please bear with me while I ramble.***

A few weekends ago we went into a Spirit Halloween store. We were wanting to look for a costume for Joe. It didn't cross my mind that the contents of this store might scare the living bejesus out of our innocent two-year old.

We walked in the door and a ginormous animatronic spider jumped out at us. Joe Spider-Manned his way up Ryan's legs and clutched onto him in pure terror. We tried to comfort him while we were walking through the store, but it was extremely difficult with creepy Halloween music infused with anguished screams and moans, costumes with bloody axes and decorations like this hanging all around. This is really a decoration from their store.

I bet the factory workers who make this crap have some freaky nightmares. 

We finally found the children's section, but Joe was still pale-white scared and I admit I was a little uneasy as well. After a minute or two of browsing, we quickly left, making sure we ran past the scary jumping spider and sang, "LA LA LA LA LA LA!!!" to distract Joe.

We went to Target which was right next to the Spirit store and Joe quickly resumed his normal happy toddler self. Still, I couldn't shake the heartbreaking and unsettling feeling I had when I saw the look of fear on Joe's face. For the first time ever I somewhat understood why some parents don't allow their children to celebrate Halloween.

Now, don't worry. I'm not going to ban my children from dressing up and trick or treating. I won't raise them to believe they are worshiping the devil and only let them partake in Harvest Festivals. I will allow and encourage them believe in fairies, unicorns, Santa Claus and make-believe worlds. I will let them have fun with their imagination.

Here I am, glorifying Satan.

I don't think there is anything wrong with fantasy, fun, and a little bit of fright. But Halloween can be so... overly-scary.

It doesn't help that I was very sensitive and easily frightened as a child. I had a love/hate relationship with Halloween. I loved the pumpkins, the candy, the frivolity. Trick or treating was fun... until I reached a house that had a bunch of scary crap on the porch. Screw the candy, let's move on. It's pretty inronic I was like that since my mom was one of those enthusiastic Halloween decorators and had bats, spider webs, spooky music and this on our front porch that scared the ever living crap out of me each year:

Obviously not too scared to get my picture taken with this unfortunate woman. 

I remember other things that used to terrify me as a child. My cousin had a cassette tape of scary stories. The one I remember the most was about old widow Clamsey and her cat that strangled people. I remember going to a friend's house and she and her older sister insisted on playing vampire. I was the unwilling victim and I remember it feeling so real and scary. There was one time I went to a birthday party sleepover and the birthday girl rented Halloween. Yeah, I spent most of the time pretending to be asleep. Don't even get me started about Jurassic Park. These things didn't just scare me... they stayed with me. I would dwell on them and they would haunt me. Maybe because I was practically an only child and only lived with my mother did it seem that I was all alone and vulnerable.

Fast forward to high school and I wasn't afraid of ANYTHING. Fear turned into brass balls as I frequently went on joy rides with my friends around town all Dukes of Hazzard style. Movies like The Exorcist and Texas Chainsaw Massacre didn't scare me. And my favorite activity? Ghost hunting. My senior year my best friend and I looked up ghost stories on the internet when we were supposed to be working on the school yearbook. After our football pep rally bonfire a bunch of us got together to go explore abandoned houses. (Yes, I know this sounds like a plot of a horror movie. Or just really really redneck-ish.)

Three of my closest friends and I really got into ghost hunting and paranormal investigating. We spent our weekend nights driving around the country, snapping photos in delapitated houses and spooky old graveyards.We tried to talk to the spirits and use Ouija boards, which I know is just asking for trouble. However, we did start and end each ghost hunting session with a prayer, so hopefully that protected us. I was fascinated with EVPs and ghost stories and all that jazz. We never encountered anything paranormal. The scariest thing we experienced was walking upstairs of an old house and coming face to face with a giant raccoon, which we were pretty sure had rabies.

But once I hit my spiritual growth spurt, fear started to creep in. Watching The Exorcism of Emily Rose and Paranormal Activity scared the living poop out of me. Some of my friends and I went to a major haunted house in the Kansas City area. When we were waiting in line I was filled with dread. When we started walking through and a huge Satan popped out of a mirror I was terrified. It wasn't a fun-type of scared... I wanted to get out of there. The thought of hell and evil became much more "real" to me when I became closer to God.

So I've gone from cowering in fear to giving fear the middle finger. Where am I now in regards to fear and Halloween?

I'm still a fan of spooky, creepy things. I still love a good ghost story. I love Tim Burton's eerie weirdness. I find the old-school macabre fascinating. And, hello, I'm Catholic! We have all sorts of weird stuff. We have relics. We have All Souls Day, a day for honoring dead people. We have saints like St. Lucy who had her eyes torn out and St. Denis who was beheaded but didn't die and traveled around awhile carrying around his head preaching.

St. Denis- Bad. Ass.

EYE BALLS!!!!

Catholics have all sorts of other saint stories involving dragons (Satan), saints getting their boobies cut off (St. Agatha of Sicily) and war and blood and guts. And many of the aspects of Halloween that we treasure are not from the hands of Satan, but from Catholicism. (You're welcome, candy companies.)

But then there is the other end of the scary spectrum. Are there some things we do around Halloween that delight Satan? We dress up as serial killers carrying around bloody butcher knives and axes. Women objectify themselves by dressing up as slutty nurses and slutty Big Birds. (What the hell is that all about?!) We focus on the dark and the horrible.

Aren't there enough scary things in our world? We have people shooting up movie theaters. We have 17 year old kids kidnapping children and dismembering their bodies. We have nannies allegedly stabbing children. We have parents beating their 3 week old babies to death. 

Just turn on the news and we see real-life horror stories. There have been real screams of terror and pleadings for help. Do we really need that in CD format to play on our front porches for trick or treaters? There has been precious, innocent blood spilled. Do we need the fake blood and the fake knives? There are so many souls being tormented by real-life demons every day. Do we really need to decorate our houses with them or dress up like them? Do we really need another slasher movie? This is where I can see why some parents don't allow Halloween for their children.

I don't really know the answer to those questions. Still, I do see some value in the scariness of life. After so much dark and terrible we really find joy in the goodness of life. We breathe a sigh of relief when we see the sun rise in a horror movie, because the scary part is usually over. We are delighted when we see that helicopter come and save the people from the dinosaur-infested island. We wipe away our tears and cast our burdens aside when we see Jesus Christ has defeated Satan and death and Hell, and the glorious, light-filled and joyous Heaven is opened to us- where there is only love and no fear. With out all the scary stuff in our lives we don't see just how good the Good is. The scary stuff can be fun at times, but too much of it will cause us to hope in something with a little more happiness and light.

I will let my children trick or treat. We'll put up scary black cats and witches and goblins. I'll let them be spooked. I will let them become lost in the adventure of their imaginations. But I am still trying to figure out that balance of protecting them from scary things and letting them gain courage on their own. I am still trying to figure out how much scary I can handle.

What are your thoughts on scary stuff and Halloween?