Love Birds

Over the greater part of a year I've had the privilege watching mallard ducks in our ponds. 

Last winter, they made roosts in the weeds. Spring, the ducklings hatched. Mommy eventually left and they grew until they all flew away. Summer, ducks came and went.

Autumn, and they're pairing. Dana called it "couples skate" on the pond this morning. 

Now I understand how the great ecologists got hooked. So much beauty and so much to understand from watching these beautiful creatures. 

The Day After My First CrossFit Games

I am sore this morning.
The good kind of sore.
The you-feel-it-the-second-you-wake-up sore.
The proud kind of sore.

I felt every leg muscle move as I stumbled to the coffee maker, smiling.

Yesterday, I competed in my very first CrossFit Games, at the box that's changed my life, Fentress Crossfit.

I started going in April, when they offered a Groupon.
I was hooked quickly.
And with the support of my family, awesome coaches and my CrossFit peers, I've kept it up.

It's now a line item in our monthly budget.

I've lost 30 pounds, two clothing sizes, and this crazy thing has happened.
I've become this girl who likes to work out!
It's insane.
When I miss it for a few days, I miss it.

Yesterday, I finished near the bottom.
But - I accomplished my two declared goals:
1. Don't get hurt.
2. Don't embarrass yourself.

Six months ago, I couldn't have done this.
A year ago - I would have thought the current version of myself had lost her mind.

I lifted 30 pounds more than I thought I could lift yesterday. I learned that it's time to start pushing myself even harder. I also really want to work on my running (truth: lack thereof).

I feel high.
Again - I was at the bottom of the finishers.
And yet, I can't stop looking at the pictures. I can't believe I did this.

This is just the beginning for me. I'm still new at CrossFit.
I can't wait to get stronger and leaner and faster and move up in the world!
I'm so thankful that I'm surrounded by people who are so supportive and we all cheer each other on, no matter our fitness levels.

Also - I'm super thankful I got to experience this yesterday, alongside this guy:

I actually haven't had anyone ask or say to me that Michael must be my inspiration - because he can't do this stuff, and I can think of him and push harder. Michael asked me if I had.

Actually, it's not like that. I have tried thinking of him when I'm pushing through a workout... and I don't find inspiration in thinking of what he can't do. I wish it did, but it doesn't work for me like that.

But - hearing him counting my reps and yelling "yeah" and posting proud pictures to Facebook - that does make me push harder. And now that he's been there (how fun is it to have things that you love collide?) I feel like I can share CrossFit stuff with him on a whole new level and he will get it. He LOVED being there. He was PUMPED UP.

So, he does inspire me. Just not in the cliche' way. In the real teammate kind of way.

I Knew Something Was Wrong

I want to talk about sharing a bed. Not in the intimate sense, but in the literal sense. I know a lot of wives in my situation who don't get to share a bed with their husband, or they sleep in a bed pulled up right beside their husband's bed. It's up to everyone to figure out what works for them.

Thankfully, we get to sleep together.
Sleeping in the same bed was an adjustment for both of us.

When we first got married, Michael had to get used to sleeping flat, and not in a hospital bed. I had to get used to waking up to turn him in the middle of the night. He adjusted and generally no longer needs me to roll him over. I got used to the occasional muscle spasm. It wakes me up for half a second. I lay still to feel it out and see if it happens again. Usually, it doesn't, and I go back to sleep. Or, if it does, I wake Michael up and ask him, "Are you okay?," he grunts and we both go back to sleep.

Not today.
I felt a strange feeling. It didn't feel like normal muscle spasms or puggle snoring.
I asked Michael, "Are you okay?"
"No," he says.

I shoot out of the bed, with an instant jolt of adrenalin, way stronger and more instant than a pot of coffee. Boom! I'm here to fix your problem, my love. Anything you need, I'll get it. He says he has a fever, and chills. I'm worried. I knew he didn't look right this morning. He said he was exhausted, but I could see it in his eyes, pain.

I work an overnight shift. I'm familiar with exhausted. That look in his eyes this morning was not exhaustion. But, I tend to be a freaker, so I gave him a couple of Ibuprofen, threw him in the bed, and we called it a day.

Until this afternoon, when the shaking woke me up. He was not well. He looked near tears and his body was shaking.

He asked me to roll him over, I did. I took his temperature: 101. Gave him some Azo and more Ibuprofen, and I held him until he stopped shivering. I stroked his hair and his chest - up high - where he could feel it.

He fell asleep.
I googled on my phone, laying there beside him - back to back.
I knew what he was experiencing was Autonomic Dysreflexia, because I'm a CFN (that's Certified Fake Nurse).

My plan was to keep an eye on his blood pressure and his headache and make sure to keep filling his water bottle up.

Sigh.
Another UTI.
He gets them often, but this one is bad. Never seen him like this in the 4 years since we got married, and I never saw him like this in the two years before that - even though I know he's had a thousand UTIs in that time.

It's after midnight now - and I'm in the living room with Brokaw, while he's back asleep after half a sandwich, an episode of 20/20 and a little cuddle time with his nurse lady.

Autonomic Dysreflexia is a scary, powerful thing.
When you have a spinal cord injury, it's like the phone lines from your body to your brain have been cut off. Your tummy or your feet can't tell your brain, "I hurt," so, they scream out in other ways - spasms, blood pressure spikes and drops, it can be really dangerous.

Isn't it amazing, though, that his body still manages to get its message through? Look at how hard it works to communicate. Sometimes it's subtle. Sometimes it's screaming. But if you pay attention - even though it's below the level where it's easy to understand, if you listen, you can find out what's wrong.

I'd say we could all learn from that kind of committed communication.

I hate UTIs. I feel like if you're going to be paralyzed, you should be handed an immunity card on the day of your injury. Like, okay, so you're going to spend the life in a wheelchair - so it's only fair that you have this "get out of any other illness or injury" card.

Too bad it doesn't happen like that.
There's nothing worse than seeing him suffer. I'm glad that (other than the whole paralysis thing) he is generally a very healthy, low maintenance quadriplegic. I'm grateful he doesn't deal with pain or other medical issues on a daily basis, because we know some people who do, and I can only imagine how difficult that is.

I want him to just rest. I'll do anything and everything I can, being a CFN and all.

I'm staying up, in case he needs anything. This too shall pass. I don't want to worry either of our mothers by posting about this! I just like to keep it real, so there you go.

On Traveling, and Perspective

For Ben, and Robin. We love you.

Traveling isn't easy.
It's pretty exhausting, actually.

This is how it usually goes down for us:
I make three lists.
D, M, and 3.
D = all of my stuff
M = all of Michael's stuff
3 = all of the stuff we must take with us to manage anything and everything related to Michael's disability.

I pack for all three of us.
I load the van. Which, honestly, it's a good thing we have a van that has no middle seats, because even when we go away for a short weekend trip, we take A LOT of stuff. When we left yesterday for the cabin, we had seven bags, plus a cooler. These are not big bags. But still, seven of them, for two people, for two nights away from home.

Then, I load Michael into the van, and tie him down (not as mean and/or crazy as it sounds) and get his seat belt on and make sure he's all comfortable.

Then, I'm in, find a place for my purse, crank the A/C, and we're off!

Michael gets bonus husband points this weekend for wearing a hoodie so that I could comfortably crank the A/C, guilt free.

I drive, obviously.
Then, we arrive.

Michael and I were able to successfully pack mule all seven of our bags plus the cooler up the ramp to the cabin in one trip, and he didn't fall backwards, so that's a win.

This is the point where I ran out of patience.
Note: My patience used to run out when I was packing the van, so this is actually an improvement!

When we get to the destination, I unpack everything and make sure it's in its place. Because I'm the psycho who believes everything has a place - even on vacation - even in a cabin we're only staying in for two nights. I also believe everything's place is as close as possible to where that place would be at home. Hey, I like my routines, what can I say?

While I'm doing this, Michael brushes his teeth and takes his pills.
I turn down the bed.
He tries to go back to the van to get a cord to plug his phone in. He is unsuccessful at getting the cord, but successful in cutting his knee open, so now it's bleeding. Luckily, there are band-aids in one of his bags from a trip long ago.

I'm about to cry. I feel it coming.
But, I don't. I take a deep breath, I think of my friend Robin.

Robin was a quad wife like me. Robin took care of all of this stuff, and more, for/with her husband Ben for years. With a smile on her face, an encouraging word for others, and her "Proud Wife" shirt. But Tuesday, unexpectedly and suddenly, at the young age of 52, Ben passed away. Everything changes for Robin now.

I don't want to look back at all this stuff I've written one day and hate myself for complaining about driving and patching up busted knees and feeling like a failure because I didn't remember the gait belt even though the home health aide packed Michael's bag and it was his responsibility and her responsibility and not my responsibility.

One day, I will be alone.
I hope it's not for a very, very long time.
But when that day comes, I don't want to have a life full of memories of feeling overwhelmed, and stressed out and alone.

We have lots of sweet memories of being a team and being a young couple in love and road trips and vacations that are awesome. I want to remember those.

So, I need to write about those.

See, that's the danger in your writing being your "free therapy." Because do you go to therapy to sit on a couch and talk to someone about how much you love your life? No. You go because you're burned out, or sad, or angry, or confused, or all of the above.

Michael raided the entire three bedroom cabin and stole all the pillows off all the beds (except the top bunk bed, slacker) and I got him all snuggled in the bed. We used the belt from his pants in place of the gait belt (I strap his legs together while he sleeps so they don't frog out) and I cleaned the cut on his knee and put a band-aid on it.

Caregiver responsibilities were over, so then I snuggled up beside him, laid my head on his right shoulder - a.k.a - my favorite place in the world, and he was snoring in no time, and I'm positive I wasn't far behind him.

I slept for eight hours, laid in bed for two more thinking about getting up. I got up an hour ago, and as soon as I'm done with this thought, and two more sips of my coffee which is now room temperature, I'll do it again, in reverse order.

I'll do it gladly.
Because there's nothing more precious than my husband.
I'll take good care of him.
Better care than anyone else would, no matter their advanced nursing degrees.
Better care than I take of myself.
And I only pray that I have the chance to do this until we are both very old people.
Life is but a vapor, y'all.

After going years and years without going to a funeral, I've lost four friends out of nowhere this year.
Monday, we will go to celebrate Ben's life.
We'll hug sweet, sweet Robin, who loved him with all of herself.

Shocking loss changes you.
But, only if you let it.
Or so, I'm learning.

Galatians 6:19: "Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."

Saturday Morning Post: Black Coffee

It's 3:20 a.m, Saturday.
I'm alone in the living room of a cabin at Shenandoah Crossing. I'm surrounded by beautiful woodwork, and a rug that reminds me of the Reagan Ranch. Michael is going to be sleeping for the next 40 minutes, so this is my time.

I have a nice, big mug of black Breakfast Blend, hot. I'm so glad they don't have those small hotel-mugs. I need a real cup of coffee. And, since I've started eating mainly Paleo a few months ago, and now I drink my coffee black - all the time - I wonder how and why I ever didn't.

Black coffee is so real, so pure, so exactly perfect.

I'm so glad we are here at this cabin. It's going to rain today, which means no excursions to local wineries or hiking in the National Park or shopping (without money shopping is no fun anyway) in Downtown Charlottesville.

I'm glad it's going to rain.
Because I just want to wear yoga pants all day and drink black coffee, and write.

There is SO much in my head, in my heart, that I'm a spaz at home. I don't have much time for exhaling, and when I do, it's like there is so much built up, an hour of time like this can go by, and I have nothing actually written to show for it.

I have several freelance writing opportunities there for the taking, waiting for me to have/make time. I have two pages of blog post ideas, but nothing to show for it.

Writing is such an exercise for me.
I must warm up.
Then work out.
Then, I like to cool down.
Then, I feel amazing.

It's emotional. It's raw. I have to strip away all 47 of my to do lists and close all my social media, and quiet my mind, then the words pour out.
And there's no greater feeling than the words pouring out.

Because when I have to make the words up, it isn't good. It isn't real, it feels forced, and fake and like coffee with Splenda and skim milk. Which used to be good, but now it's not good.

I'd rather have it black, thank you very much.

We're having friends over for lunch today, and I'm very much looking forward to that. But I want to spend the rest of this time clearing out my mind, so that I am back at that place where I have something to write, something to give.

Family Time on the Back Porch

It's rare that we all get out and just enjoy our back porch. 

Sadly, the whole overnight schedule doesn't let us just chill in the daylight hours.

Even Brokaw relaxed a bit. 

No anxiety. Just chill.

Now to hurry and finish this book. 

Independence As A Quadriplegic

It's Not This, It's Me

Let's talk about stress for a minute.

Today I woke up 2 minutes before my alarm, panicking. In my dream, all I wanted to do was to go to CrossFit. But Michael kept calling me back. He had the lawn mower and was trying to figure out a way to mow the lawn. I knew I needed to mow it, so - I set my gym stuff down and started walking the lawn mower to the back yard to mow. Then, when I was pushing the mower, I noticed all these bags hanging on it - the bag I use for work, plus a bunch of reusable grocery bags. That mower was overloaded with bags! I was trying so hard to push it, and then I saw my CrossFit coach go by, and people from the gym were like, "are you coming?" And I started to cry.

Then I woke up, in tears, panicked, and so tired. Like I do every day, I got up and made coffee. But unlike every day, I decided to not go to the gym.

I decided to sit down, watch the news, then come upstairs and write.

Because the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, right?

I'm one of these people who stresses themselves out. Are you familiar with this type?

We fill all of our "free" time with obligations, we have never-ending lists of things that need to be done at work and at home, and given an extra 10 minutes here or there, we'll check those lists to see what we can do as to not "waste" any time.

It's sick, really.

The weird thing is, in the professional world - we are hailed as organized, productive, and lauded for being the people who "get things done."

Well, we do. That's true.

This time last year, I was in the thick of traveling constantly for work - covering the Presidential campaign. I absolutely LOVED it! But, I wasn't home a lot, and when I was, I was so tired, I didn't enjoy spending time savoring life with my husband. All I did was rush around, cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping.

We decided we would get through the election, then re-evaluate. So, the election came and went. And then I was presented with a great job opportunity back in my hometown at a TV station I worked at about 10 years ago, the station I grew up watching.

It was a perfect fit, and everything happened so fast. We moved here and got settled and living at the beach and near family has been great.

But guess what I do?
I work, work, WORK, then rush home and rush around cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping and now I've added to that - going to the gym.

And Michael looks at me like I'm crazy. And I get jealous of him because he gets to work from home, doesn't have all of the responsibilities I have, and he just seems so relaxed. And I don't get it.

Because when I sit down to read a book, or watch TV - you know - relax - for more than like 5 minutes, I fall asleep.

I realized and admitted this weekend that I have resentment over that! That is not good. There were tears, there was forgiveness, and I'm trying a different way.

I'm owning up to the fact that it never was my busy DC job, it wasn't all the travel, it isn't because I am the breadwinner and a caregiver and it isn't because I work an overnight schedule.

It's me.

For a while, everything in my life has been pointing me toward facing this, but I'm finally doing it.

If this is something you struggle with - I recommend Jeff Goins' latest book, "The In-Between," which I finished this weekend (without falling asleep!!) and this message Michael sent me months ago, but I just listened to, by Jack Graham.

I'm tired. Something has to give. It's time to try a different way.

I am Splenda.

I remember one time my friend Ginger told me that when she heard the song, “I Will Praise You in the Storm,” that she thought of me.

Oh, Ginger.

If you only knew.

I don’t praise Him in storm.

I don’t even trust Him.

I’m pretty good at thanking Him during the good times - but being proud of that is like getting a trophy for showing up for team picture day.

I suck, actually.

I kick and scream and pout and I’m passive-aggressive towards my husband, I curse and cry in the car when I’m alone.

Because there are parts of this that I hate.

There are times that I just can’t get past the unfairness.

When that song comes on the radio, I’ll sing along. I may even go full-on Christian and close my eyes, and try really hard to mean it.

“I will praise you in this storm, and I will lift my hands, you are who you are, no matter where I am...”

But, I’m not kidding anyone. Not myself, and certainly not God.

Right now, I am in this season of seeing my faith for what it really is.

Splenda.

Hear me out.

You’re familiar with Splenda, right?

It’s the yellow packet.

The label says “made from sugar, so it tastes like sugar.”

I saw a part of a documentary about this. 

I am not a scientist, but I did pretty well in Dr. Conyers high school chemistry class.

Enough to understand that Sucralose (Splenda) is almost identical to Sucrose (Sugar), except for one little thing - Sucralose is chlorinated. When you glance at the molecular structure, they look identical. You have to look really, really close - maybe even a couple of times - to see that CI in place of OH.

**I now believe that both Splenda and Sugar are evil and make you unhealthy, but that’s beside the point. This is not a story about nutrition, or even chemistry. It’s a spiritual truth.

I’ve been wanting to have a baby for about two years. We all know that hasn’t happened yet, for various reasons.

The number one reason that no one who isn’t hanging out in my heart and in my head doesn’t know is that it’s because I’m afraid.

I am afraid to try.

To really try, consistently. 

I am afraid of trying and it not working, and being heartbroken.

I am afraid of that leading to trouble between me and my husband.

I am afraid of being mad at God.

Because I’ve been there before, and that was no fun.

Recently, our pastor preached one of those messages that slapped me in the face, in a good way.

Here are the points:

1. Jesus accepts you just as you are, but loves you too much to leave you there.
2. Your devotion to Jesus is not dependent upon your circumstances, emotions or cultural trends.
3. You as a member of the church, must be committed to knowing the Word of God and living by it, regardless of circumstances, emotions or cultural trends.
4. You must choose to follow Jesus, to travel down the road of apostasy.
5. Your choice to follow Jesus will be rewarded.

This message forced me to look in the mirror.

To face the fact that even though I look like I believe, act like I believe, and even inspire others to believe... I don’t really believe.

I am Splenda.

Splenda sweetens your coffee, it satisfies your sweet tooth, it even looks like sugar, but it’s not.

It’s so close, but so far away.

I have the flavor of faith, but no real faith.

The good news for me is that that’s okay! It’s never too late to be obedient, to change directions, and to take those little steps of faith that will eventually lead to big steps. See the points Pastor Kyle makes above - it's up to me. Jesus has done/is doing/will forever do His part.

James 1:22: Be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.

Anyone out there dare to join me? To press in and press on until we really believe? Until we really trust God?

I don’t know if I’ll ever get to the point of actually praising Him in the storm. I don’t know if I’ll ever give birth to a baby. But this isn’t about that. This is about being real, and seeking truth and admitting that I’m not in control, that I can’t figure this out in a million Google searches. 

I have a long way to go.

Caplin Warren Brown

Standby for the musings of a very proud Auntie.

I was there, in the waiting room when he was born. We heard the lullaby music over the speaker and wondered, "Does that mean he's here?"

Then, 9-year-old Autumn (baby Caplin's big sister) came running out announcing the news: "He's born!"

And just like that, the world changed.

I sat in the waiting room with my sister, my mom and Brandy's mom. We were all four clenching our phones, waiting for text messages from my brother, and the first pictures of Caplin Warren Brown.

What you see above is one of the first we got.

Caplin was born at 10:23 a.m. Friday, August 2, 2013.
He was 8 lbs 10 oz, and 21 inches of perfection.

He was beautiful, right out the gate.

It hasn't even been a week and a half, and the love and light this guy has added to our family is immeasurable!

He's a blessed little boy. He has a great Mommy, a proud big sister, and a Dad wrapped around his tiny finger with his cute tiny little miniature fingernails.

Watching my mom fall in love as her first time as a grandmother (or "CiCi" as she has named herself) has been so sweet.

And watching my brother as a Dad - he's a natural. This kid's going places.

Now... what do I want to give baby Caplin Warren Brown? A cousin, of course.
One day...