Trick or Treat

+alternately titled: The lamest Halloween blog post title EVER.

I love Halloween. Really, really do. I trick or treated up through my senior year of high school, because you could not convince me that I was too old. I mean, really. Free candy. What's not to love about free candy? The answer to that obviously rhetorical question is that you should love everything about free candy. Even those crappy weird peanut butter-ish things that come in the orange or black wrappers. I mean, sure they taste like weird peanut flavored wax, but they're FREE.

My love for Halloween has multiplied since having kids (except for the part where they were so freaking hyper all day long because they could not wait for trick or treating--that part sucked). I love that Luke is old enough to choose his own costume and I love that instead of being a superhero or a monster, he chose.... well, you'll see that his costume is pretty obvious.

A UPS man. Yes, that's right. Of all the costumes in the world, my four year old chose to be a UPS man.

But isn't he the cutest UPS man you've ever seen? I think so (unless your child also dressed as a UPS man, then I will contend that it is a tie).

And Tommy who didn't really get to choose got to be a bird, because it's a nice warm costume. I realize that this is probably the last year that I'll get to choose for Tommy. I'm not really sad about that, instead I'm pretty excited to hear what he'll choose next Halloween.

His bag said bird seed on it. You can't see because he was busy practicing flapping his wings in this picture. Only Tommy.

We had such a great night trick or treating. Luke said thank you at every single house and Tommy perfected standing there sweetly smiling in such a way that he somehow got extra candy placed in his bag.

These guys. When did they get to be so big? Luke directed all of us to stand at the end of each driveway, while he held Tommy's hand and helped him up to the door. Last year, I had to walk both boys up to each door. What a difference a year makes.

(Shout out to my mom who made both boys' costumes.)

I hope your Halloween was full of smiles and candy!

My Brilliant Feet

For the first month or so of school, I ran every Tuesday and Thursday morning before work. I liked waking up a little eariler and getting my run over and done while the rest of my house was still sleeping (well, usually--often times, Tommy would be standing at his gate as I tried to slip downstairs to run). I liked being able to just go straight home after work and not have to worry about where and how to fit a run into my day.

But as it got darker and darker out in the mornings, it became more complicated. My runs were erratic because I ran the first half mile so fast, trying to get out of my dark neighborhood and onto the brightly lit, heavily trafficked main road. The last time I ran in the morning, I ended up freaked out because a van pulled into a side road directly in my running path. I am certain they were probably doing something completely normal, like delivering a paper or picking someone up for a carpool. But with it still so dark outside and no one else around, I ended up turning around and doubling back because, yes, I am quite paranoid.

After that, I started running on the bike trail near my work. I've learned a lot since I've started running this area. Only crossing the road once, two miles in, is great. I don't have to worry about traffic or a car coming up behind me. I can just run.

I've learned to tell the difference between twigs and snakes. It helps when the snake is moving or in a decidedly un-twiglike shape. Still, there are times when what I think is a twig will suddenly dart into my path and yes, it startles me.


I've learned that when a faster runner passes me, it's okay to acknowledge that they're much faster than I'll ever, but that doesn't make me any less of a runner. I've learned that I will almost always be jealous of bicyclists, with their easy ways to store water. Runners, suggestions for fuel belts or do I need to just suck it up and start carrying a water bottle in my hand? I really don't like to have extra things, but I was pretty parched after seven miles today.

I've learned that because the trail has slight inclines and many curves, I never quite know what's up ahead. Each further run takes me to new sights. The first time I went seven miles, I discovered this bridge just after the 3.5 mile mark. Because I run out and back, my feet haven't taken me beneath this bridge just yet, but I am certain they will.


I've learned that no matter how I run, the half mile between my car and this bridge always seems so short on the way out, but SO LONG on the way back.

I know my car is up there, but I always feel like the end of the trail is moving away from me as I'm running and no matter how fast I go, it keeps getting further away. It's like some sort of horrible optical illusion, until I finally round the corner and see my car. I probably look like some sort of deranged maniac when I come bursting out of the trees and leap into the waiting driver's seat of my car.

Mostly, I can't believe I'm saying this, but mostly, I've learned that I love running. There were times early on when I hated it. I hated every single second that my feet hit the pavement. And don't get me wrong, there's still a huge internal struggle between lazy Erin and running Erin every time I have to go for a run, but these last few weeks, I've noticed the slow drain of stress out of my body when my feet first hit the pavement. I never thought I'd feel this way, but I'm so glad I do.

Muddy Good Time

Saturday morning, Sarah and I ran the Monster Dash mud run and obstacle course.

First of all, can I just say that we rocked our Team Sparkle skirts?


I learned a few things about mud runs. One, the walls were just as difficult as I thought. I made it over one, but not without quite a few bruises and scrapes. I counted one as a victory and skipped the other two.

Two, swinging across a creek via rope is actually not as easy as it may seem. In fact, my train of thought went something like this, Whee! I got this, I got--uh oh. SPLASH. I also learned that rope burn on the inside of your thighs is maybe not ideal.

Climbing a cargo net was pretty easy, but getting to the top and realizing that the way down involved a steep board with two small planks stretched across? That was a little terrifying. But I did it!

And last, I learned that if you crawl through a water-filled tunnel, it will be cold and disgusting. So cold that I got down in it, felt the water go into my shirt and up and around my back and froze, thinking, What am I doing here!? Then my common sense kicked in and I realized that sitting there questioning what choice in life led me here was not going to get me out of the cold, wet tunnel any faster. Not surprisingly, the majority of the mud on my body came from this obstacle.

After the tunnel, the next mile was pretty much all running in mud. It was fun. And squishy. Sarah and I both ended up with trashed shoes.


Mostly, though, I learned how much fun this is compared to a regular 5k. It wasn't about the time it took or keeping a steady pace, it was just about being there, doing the obstacles, and having fun in the meantime. I can't ever see myself doing Tough Mudder because that scares me, but maybe something like the Down & Dirty Mud Run will be on my calendar for the next year?

He is, I am, We are

I hate being repetitive. Thematic. I tell my students, Vary your writing. Don’t get stuck on one topic. Don’t be afraid to explore.
Yet here I am, stuck on one topic. Predictable. Boring. Thematic. Blogging about seizures again. Still, epilepsy in its nature is not predictable and maybe that’s what makes it so hard. That a child can be just fine one second, playing with a ridiculously huge collection of Thomas trains and in the blink of eye that same child can fall and start seizing in the middle of his trains.

Because of course, this was my evening last night. The same as other evenings. Did you know that his seizures almost always happen at the exact same time of night? We could set a clock to them. But different, because it’d been so long since he’d had a true grand mal seizure that those little seeds of hope starting to sprout.

Last night was more painful than other nights because Luke was the one who found Tommy seizing. Shane and I were in the kitchen. Luke was on the couch with his Leapster, Tommy on the floor with his trains. A four year old can be often dramatic, yelling and hollering like his hair is on fire when really he only wants to get my attention to ask me why clouds are white. But last night, as he came running into the kitchen, shouting my name, I knew. The fear in his voice was so real, so tangible, so much more than I ever wanted to hear in my four year old’s voice. He drug me into the living room and I had that horrible moment that always happens during seizures, where my brain forgets itself for just a split second and I feel like I’m above my body and I think, What is happening? Why is his face like that? Why are his arms twisted and his lips blue? And then I zoom back into my body, scoop him up, and talk to him. Tell Shane to look at the clock. Comfort Luke. Praise Luke. Calm myself internally. Hold my shaking child, exhale when the tremors stop, when he sighs, his eyes flutter open, then close and he drifts into that post-seizure state of unconscious, pale-faced sleep.

He’s so verbal these days, so aware of what words mean and how to answer questions. Last night I held him and said, Were you scared?

He nodded his head two times. Yes. Yes, mama.


linking with Just Write

Fall(ing) In Love

I really do not like autumn. I try, because it is pretty, but all I can think about is how winter is coming and I hate, hate winter. Still, I can’t help but have a little soft spot in my heart for this time of year, because it all seems so vivid. The air is crisp, the leaves are beautiful and everything seems to have a sharper quality.

This weekend was very much an autumn type of weekend. Friday, we went to a hayride put on by Luke’s school.

We thought Tommy would go crazy for the hayride, but in typical Tommy style, he panicked last minute and refused to go anywhere near it. Of course! So, he and Shane stayed behind by the bonfire, while Luke and I went on a long, dark hayride. The sky was clear that night and we could see so many beautiful stars.

You can have bonfires in the summer or spring, but doesn’t it seem like the wood smoke always smells a certain, different way at this time of year than it would in July?

I’m not sure why that is, but it just seems like the smoky smell that might be annoying at any other time of year actually smells good in October.

Saturday night, we went to a Halloween party. I was too lazy to get the boys costumed up, but I was able to break out this awesome monster hoodie that we’ve had since Luke was a little guy. My friend Ashlee made it and we still get so many compliments on it.

The boys loved the bounce house and okay, I did too. I’m not the only adult who still loves bounce houses, am I? Bounce houses were not really a huge thing when I was a kid. In fact, I only ever remember one called the Moon Walk that was always at my town’s Octoberfest. Otherwise, there weren’t bounce places and certainly no one rented them for parties. I had such a deprived childhood, clearly!

Sunday morning, I snuggled on the couch with my two favorites boys. All three of us had hair that smelled like a bonfire. I tried to breathe in their scent, holding onto it before the cold winter months that will make me hate fall again. But right now? I kind of like it. If only we could just skip the snow and go straight to spring.

In the Rain

Yesterday, I ran six miles in the rain. When I left work in my running shorts, my co-workers said, YOU ARE NOT RUNNING IN THIS. I said, I don't know. I'm going to start out and see where it goes.

And so I did. I was, not surprisingly, the only living soul on the bike trail. Even my slithery snake friends were all holed up somewhere warm and dry. I did see a spotted salamander. He was really cute, but when I tried to take a picture, he ran away. Probably to find a nice dry spot.

When I got to work this morning, someone asked if I ended up running. I said, I did. Six wet, soggy miles. Someone else said, What sort of insane person chooses to run for six miles in the rain?! Before I could answer, someone else said, A dedicated runner.

I'm not really sure if I am a dedicated runner, but I needed that run yesterday. I spent the first half wondering what I was doing, trying not to slip on the wet pavement and leaves littering my path. I spent the second half feeling good, enjoying the water running down my face, laughing at how squishy my shoes were. I somehow managed that coveted negative split, the difficult task of pushing each mile at a faster pace (not too fast, mind you) until you finish. Knowing that a half-marathon in April (yes, I am paying someone to let me run 13.1 miles) could very well mean rainy grey weather just like yesterday, so I might as well get one steady rain run under my belt.

I finished the last mile out of breath, seeking shelter in my car where I peeled of my socks and shoes and cranked the heat, hoping to dry out my clothes a little bit. I needed that run, that crazy wet run in the rain. I loved playing in the rain as a kid, but as grownups, we don't get to do it as much. We avoid the puddles and try not to get our fancy clothes wet.

I sat in the car and mused over how well this week has gone. How the behavior problems Luke started after Tommy's hospital stay have dissipated, how happy he's been. How happy I've been, yet I didn't notice. I needed that rain to wash away the sadness I've carried around, to wring sadness out of my body like rainwater out of clothes. For once, I needed to feel a little crazy in a good way, instead of the overwhelming frustration I've been feeling for awhile now.

I guess that what I learned is that it's okay for adults to play in the rain, too. Really. Go find a few puddles. They're good for the soul.

Love Notes

On Luke's first day of preschool, I wrote a note and put it in his lunch bag. Feeling sad that unlike some kids, he'd have to stay four hours after preschool, I wrote a note on an index card telling him how I loved him and how I couldn't wait to hear all about his big day.

He can't read, of course. I was worried that he'd be too shy to ask someone to read it for him, but I was wrong. In the car that afternoon, he told me that he asked his teacher to read it and she did.

I kept sending him notes, but somedays, I'd be in a rush and forget. Somedays I'd be too tired at the end of the night to even think about it. One day, I picked him up early after a doctor's appointment and his extended care teacher told me how the notes I send are so sweet. She said every day after washing his hands, he retrieves his lunch bag and very shyly brings the note to her. She told me she reads it to him and he smiles. She said often times, he puts it in his pocket, then removes it during quiet time and looks at it. Once, she said, he kissed it and laid it next to his head. She said, "You can tell he really loves you."

I haven't missed a note since then. The other night, I asked Luke what he wanted me to pack in his lunch. He said, "A turkey and cheese sandwich, carrot sticks, and a note."

Always, buddy.

Linking up with Just Write

Friendly

Today I'm dealing with that sad vacation letdown when after a great weekend, you're not ready to get back into the swing of normal life. This weekend, Keli visited and it was seriously a blur of a weekend. Friday, I picked her up at the airport and we drove into the city to meet a whole bunch of lovely people for dinner. Keli was horrified at the rudeness of Chicago drivers and maybe a little afraid for her life when she realized that when you merge in the city, you come very close to playing bumper cars. We had an awesome dinner and it was such a beautiful night to be in the city. I'm only sad that I couldn't take her all the way down Lake Shore Drive, due to parts being closed for Sunday's marathon. I mean, don't you always want your out of town guests to take LSD?

Saturday morning, we got up bright and early, thanks to Tommy trying to bust into Keli's room. It was good, though, because we got to meet Steph and Sarah for a seriously delicious (and fatty, let's not even talk about all that I ate this weekend) breakfast, then we walked around some of the cute boutiques by us. In the afternoon, we took the boys to Taltree to let them run around and to let Keli enjoy our currently gorgeous fall colors. Saturday evening, we met Sarah and Donya for another seriously delicious (and, ahem, high calorie) meal. Sunday morning, we got up early and I got to take Keli to one of my favorite running spots. I ran five miles and probably needed to run fifty-five to make a dent in the previous night's meal! Later, we got to see Beth and meet baby Clara, who is honestly probably the sweetest baby ever. Then because I am a glutton for punishment, we took the boys to a bounce place that happened to be populated by every gross person in the world. Poor Keli! At least Shane had a nice dinner waiting for us after we, thankfully, drug the boys out and liberally applied hand sanitizer.

This morning we left the house before Keli was even awake and can I tell you how badly I just wanted to forget work and take off today? So badly! But I'm pretty excited that Keli gets to head into the city and stay with Sam, because something tells me they're going to get along beautifully.

I wish I had a million pictures to share, but a) Keli's the photographer and b) we were kind of having too much fun to take many pictures. Now if only I could convince Keli to just come live up here.

In A Year

I don't remember what I had for dinner two nights ago. I might be able to tell you what I wore two nights ago, but only if I dig through the laundry pile. Even then, it's iffy.

But I can tell you what I ate a year ago. I can tell you what I wore a year ago. I was wearing black yoga pants, an orange top, and a black sports bra. My customary post-work comfy clothes. We had spaghetti for dinner. We ate the spaghetti on yellow plates. Vividly, I remember this, yoga pants, uneaten spaghetti, yellow plates. The way the fork scraped across the plate as I cleared the remainders of dinner from the yellow plates into the garbage. The weather, eerily like today. Indian summer, blue skies, changing leaves and sunshine. Those stunning moments of clarity, broken by my husband shouting my name from the other room.

In six years of marriage and two kids, we don't use each other's names as much as we should. Him shouting my name should have been the tip off that something was wrong. My even-keeled husband raising his voice. I'm the shouter, the one who gasps with excitement, yells when startled, when I see a big spider. That's me, not him. Then there was the sound of his voice. Fear. And beneath it, an undercurrent of grief, of helplessness.

I froze for a minute, blinking like it was a dream. "I think he's choking!" And on the floor, a silent child with closed eyes, blue lips, and a pale face. On the floor, the scariest sight I've ever seen. Holding him, yelling for my husband to please call 911. Holding him, looking out the window like help would come dashing through at that minute. Holding him, in that one terrible moment actually thinking he was dying and wondering, wondering how on earth I could possibly go on. Then as teeth clamp down on my shaking finger, my finger trying to clear an already clear airway, the sudden smashing flashback to a red class cross, the instructor saying, "Never put your finger in the mouth of someone having a seizure. They'll snap their mouth shut on you." The purple-red angry teeth marks on my finger as I pried it out, "I think he's having a seizure, he's breathing, he's breathing, thank God, stay with me."

And he keeps breathing. Sometimes seizing. Mostly untroubled by being an epileptic two and a half year old. He'll never remember that night. Still, our lives changed, maybe just because we've never been so scared. Maybe we'll tell him about it. Maybe he'll outgrow all of this and we'll never have to tell him. But in my heart, I know that no matter how old I am, no matter how many troubles and losses I live, I'll never forget spaghetti on yellow plates.

Linked with Heather of the EO's Just Write

Tired of Tired

I try not to complain and count my blessings, but forgive me for a lapse. I am just tired. So very tired. After a night in the hospital and an afternoon at the dr's office, I was counting the minutes until Friday night. Thursday, I ran for six miles and it felt good to pound my frustrations out on the pavement. It started to look up.

Fast forward to Saturday night when a seemingly healthy Tommy put his head down on the couch and I asked if he was okay. He grabbed his ear and said, Ear hurts, mama. I said, no. no. no, your ear does not hurt, and gave him crazy eyes. He nodded and said, Ear hurt, while tugging his right ear and just like Monday, he went from fine to lying on my shoulder crying. Off to urgent care where of course we find out that he has an ear infection. Stop at the pharmacy for antibiotics and by the time we got home and got the boys to bed, it was 9.

I just want calm, I guess. Normalcy. It's been a year since his seizures started and I finally felt like I was finding that, but now I'm not, back to teetering on the brink of exhaustion. Tomorrow morning, we go to University of Chicago for an EEG. It's not a sleep deprivation EEG, thank goodness, but my head hurts just thinking about it. There's bloodwork, too, and I'm sure he won't be thrilled at the prospect of needles. Then there's follow up appointments to discuss the results that we hope and pray are normal. I'm trying to not stress about the eventual medical bills, because the important thing is a healthy child, but it's hard.

People keep telling me to take care of myself, too, but I don't know how. I'm finding it harder and harder to even carve out the time to run or to sleep, really, because someone needs to make lunches and clean floors and do laundry and teach for eight hours a day. And of course, I would love to get a hair cut or a pedicure, but there's the aforementioned worry about medical bills, so that's not happening anytime soon.

Last night waiting for our prescription, I held Tommy. I looked up and met eyes with an older woman across from me. We smiled at each other and she said, I was just watching you with him and thinking of my son, of how fast it goes. It seems like he was just little, but he's 24 now. Treasure this time.

I know this. I know someday he'll be 24 and I'll be thinking back to the fall that he was two and I won't remember how tired I was, but right now, it's hard. Hard to stem the rush of tears that keep coming to my eyes, hard to temper my impatience at the kids, at laundry that never ends, at life in general. I know this is just a season and such a short season, but my heart and mind and body are so tired.