We just don't know yet...

This is quite possibly the worst phrase in the English language. And if I spoke other languages, it would probably suck in those languages too.

My husband has a heart murmur. Carson has a heart murmur. And Logan has a heart murmur. But because Logan's was not discovered until his 2 month well child visit, we got to go to a pediatric cardiologist to have his checked out. And this was a lengthy process. We were told not to worry at this point. We went in and his heart was listened to and blood was drawn. He was labeled with an innocent murmur and we scheduled another appointment for pictures and video to be taken of his heart later.

We went in and this was done... the pictures and video, and then we scheduled another appointment to go over all of the results. Again, don't worry. So really I didn't. I'm a pretty positive person. I believe there is always a time for everything and I had not yet reached the time in which I was supposed to freak out. All the doctors seemed calm and they seemed to have order to this process. So their calm order kept me calm and collected.

Today we went for this follow up. Today I watched as my baby was once again hooked up to this machine that I know does not hurt him but I can't hold him so how can I possibly know that he's actually safe... because as we know in Mommy world, my baby is only safe in my arms. Then we went to another room and in comes the pediatric cardiologist. "I want to show you something Mrs. Green." Thump, thump, thump! That's my heart beating which suddenly seams very much louder and now my brain is working and that calm, collected order I was talking about, well it has flown the coop.

So as my baby lies in his diaper alone on the sterile looking, white table the cardiologist preps to do another ultrasound. (Surely by now we have all realized that I have a very, very active imagination and it sometimes is very detrimental to my mental stability.) "Logan has what we call a Rhabdomyoma." Thump, Thump, Thump. Basically this is a growth on the left ventrical wall of Logan's heart. It is not blocking the valve. And it may go away and we may never have to worry about it again. Or... it can stay there his whole life and he'll have to have it monitored his whole life. Or... it can grow or shift, block the valve and need to be removed. Really, as serious as it all sounds this is not the worst news in the world and really I should not be freaking out and really, really, this is not where it stopped.

Rhabdomyomas are also symptoms of a genetic disorder called Tuberous Sclerosis. Now having done my scary WebMD, Wikipedia and Mayo Clinic website research I also know it is commonly referred to as TSC. This is an ugly, ugly disease. So now we get to go see a geneticist. So now I get to wait until said geneticists office calls me, probably tomorrow. So now is the "We just don't know yet" phase of my week. The cardiologist was highly optomistic that TSC is not in our cards as Logan has not shown any other symptoms. He told me not to worry. He told me not to search the internet... which had he not said I probably would not have done. He told me that until we know more we should just be positive.

That little boy is my baby! I grew him in my body, I loved him before seeing him and in my mommy brain, that is highly over active, I worry that I did something wrong. In my mommy brain I go to all of the places we tell others we would never go: What if I have such a happy baby because God knows I only get him for so long? What if he has this TSC and he will now live with us for the rest of his life? What if because of this TSC I will forever be bound to my home because I'm now "that" woman with "that" child? Have I mentioned that Logan has not actually been diagnosed with TSC? Because he hasn't... Remember... "We just don't know yet..."

And I HATE NOT KNOWING YET!

I work!

I don't get vacation days or sick days or personal days. I work through migraines, stomach bugs and fevers. I'm a maid, a housekeeper, a minor emergency nurse, a maintenance worker, a gardener, a chef (or special order cook depending on the day), a teacher, an interior decorator and an event/ party planner. I repeat myself constantly and on a daily basis am faced with the challenge of never enough time.

I grocery shop and menu plan. I budget and spend. I worry. I worry. I worry. And I care more than one person should.

I try my best to get a shower in everyday. I try my best to look presentable. I try my best to keep everything together.

I don't have a union rep but boy would I love one. Even though, let's be realistic, I can never actually go on strike. I don't get a paycheck or a tax break or aid from our government. Even though I'm solely responsible for two members of the future of our society and culture. There was no licensing exam for my job. No one checked to see if I was qualified. There was no interview process.

I've been entrusted with lives that are not my own and told repeatedly by society that it is important that I take time out for myself. Which I try to do. But that time to myself is usually spent wondering what is going on while I'm not there. My brain never shuts off, my lists are always getting longer and nothing is ever actually finished.

However...

I am supplied with never ending stories and laughter and smiles. Giggles and tickles and playful wrestling. I read and I play and I color and I bake and I eat and I'm brought to tears by the wonder that is the "first" time. The first smile, the first crawl, the first step, the first tooth. The first art project, the first big boy hair cut, the first hug... and most importantly, the first, "I love you too, Mommy."

I get bath-time and play-time and bed-time. I'm amazed at how much two little hands can change in two little years and how just by looking at those hands I knew my oldest wasn't a baby anymore. I change diapers and though lets face it, it's a job I could do without, I'm needed. My existence on this earth is priceless. I'm depended on. Two little men know that no matter where they go or what they do with their lives, their Mommy loves them. Or if they don't know it now, they will some day.

Because all those "things" that I do, I do for them. At no point in my life before children did I contemplate my life with children. And no point did I ever think I could gain so much joy and happiness from the word, Mommy, being spoken by a 1 year old. At no point did I think it was possible for my heart to literally fill and overflow by merely placing a baby in my arms. Before you have children you never wonder what it is like to hold a life you created and brought into this world. And it is impossible to put into words.

Motherhood is hard. It is often thankless. It is also more than often the best job you will ever take on. But make no mistake it is work. But anything in this life that is worth it is more times than not a lot of hard, thankless, work.

Now is the Time

How do you feel about the Mosque being built 600 feet from Ground Zero? I have to be honest, this question has been playing through my mind for weeks now. My initial reaction was, "No, absolutely not!", and then something told me to reconsider my feelings on this. People that I respect, have looked up to, have admired most of my life have a very strong stance against this Mosque. And then there are others that I have the same type of relationship with who say it doesn't matter. So in effort to hash out my feelings and learn more about my personal leaning where this Mosque is concerned I've come here.

I wonder what, if I had the immense pleasure of sitting down with them, Ghandi or Mother Teresa or even (yes, I'll go there) Jesus would say. Would they tell me that as a Christian it is important to stand for my beliefs? (And yes I realize that Ghandi was not a Christian.) That as a Christian what the Muslim believers did that horrible day is a travesty and that my belief in God should allow me the strength and conviction to stand against them in this debate. Or would they tell me that, as a Christian, my job is to love? To forgive? That my job on this earth is to know that I am saved and that my place is secure and that my ability to love all, given to me by divine forgiveness, should be where I turn to in these difficult times?

This has always been my Christian dilemma. I feel many Christians use their faith as a hammer. Something to beat others down with in the name of eternal righteousness. And at the same time I know we are called to bring others to Christ. And if we don't speak and tell the truth as we see it, are we failing in spreading the name of Christ? But I also have this; we are told to love all. This has always stood out to me. Jesus loved all. He taught all. He healed all. He lived a loving, caring and forgiving life. And in a world of so much hate, so much "dieing in the name of...", and so much war, I feel love is my calling.

Now don't misunderstand me, I fail all the time. I can be horribly judgemental of people and it is something I work on daily. But now, in considering this Mosque, I have begun to really wonder about my calling as a Christian. What am I here to do?

I could skip over the big things in the world and say that I'm here to be a good mother, wife and woman. Here to love and here help bring my children to Christ. I could keep it personal and go on with my day to day life as if the world was not in a constant state of war and hate. But that is, unfortunately, selfish.

And then of course I have to take into consideration my very, very strong sense of patriotism to this country. We all know where we were on 9/11. We all know how we felt. I was angered, hurt, extremely emotional. We, as Americans, felt safe. Felt above an attack of that caliber. It happened elsewhere to other people but not to us, here on our sacred soil. We are a young country and I believe, to those of us who have strong convictions towards the USA, that we still see our country as a place that our ancestors fought for. A place that was given to us and with that gift comes a responsibility. A responsibility that we had all begun to take for granted. And when I combine my beliefs, I am told that as a Christian I am to follow the laws of my leaders.

I am what I will call a presidential supporter. I won't always agree, and the man in office may not have received my vote, but I support and respect the decisions made. I have the right to free speech and my opinion. I can support those that are more closely in line with my thinking and I can speak against what I see as detrimental to our country but the president and the office deserve my respect. That is a job that I never wish to hold and the people who run this country are people who have taken on a thankless service. But that is another topic for another day.

With all of the above said... I think that this Mosque is a step in the right direction. We claim as Americans that our country is built on diversity and just as Christians have extremists who use God's name as a weapon, as a tool to spread hatred and violence, so do Muslims. And those Muslim extremists took something from me that day. A sense of safety that my 17 year old self had always known and will never know again. And I will never be able to teach my children or raise them within that safety net I was raised in. I can never blindly wrap myself in that American cloak and walk as if my world can not be once more shattered.

But I can also not judge all Muslim believers on the few that make the headlines. Just as I hope and pray that one day not all Christians will not be judged by the ones who use our belief system as their tool to destroy and claim in Jesus' name. I think it is time to place the focus on love. On forgiveness. I in no way want to be misunderstood as saying it is time to forget about 9/11. It is not and will never be the time to forget. But what is supposed to separate me from those who attack with hatred and violence, is my ability to forgive and move forward. We should rebuild and remember. Pay homage to the lives lost and continue to fight for our freedoms and the freedoms of those less fortunate. We should always wake and know that our safety is a privilege and not a right and that men and women, and in some cases children, have lost their lives to ensure that our freedoms are in tact. I pray that the images of that day are never removed from my television. I want all to remember and know that 9/11 changed us, as a people, as a country.

I also want all to know that we can't use what was done to us that day as an excuse to attack and hurt all Muslims. We can't use 9/11 as a tool to spread blind hatred of a misunderstood community of people. Especially as Christians. Especially since at one time we were that same misunderstood community of people. At what point to we start to spread love? At what point do we put others before us and learn to again walk together in our diversity? At what point, do we as a country stop the spread of hate? I think it is time.

Going, going, gone...

Okay not completely gone but my motivation is drifting away slowly. I'm almost 1 month in and though I feel great I don't really see much of a change and that is frustrating. Beyond frustrating actually. It royally pisses me off. I'm working out 5-6 days a week. That, my friends, is a lot and I look in the mirror and am still just not at all happy. Maybe it's just today but all I can manage to see are the problems, the thing I hope to change. I'm busting my ass here and I would like to see some instant results...

...which I realize is not at all how this works. I'm going for a life long change here and it's going to take time. Blah, blah, blah! Just once I'd like some instant results! I want to wake up tomorrow morning and look in the mirror and see something I like. Yes, if I stood there I could point out the areas I like but I'm first drawn to the ones I don't and by that time my positive thinking has hitched up its skirt and found the nearest exit. And honestly, today, I just didn't feel like chasing that b*tch down.

So instead I drug myself to the gym where I did an hour and 15 minutes of cardio (split up between the stationary bike, the elliptical and the treadmill) and then did 20 minutes of ab work. And in the end I was sweaty, tired, smelly and really just wanted some chocolate. Brownies maybe? Homemade chocolate chip cookies... oooooh, or chocolate cake. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm! Chocolate cake with pecans, maybe a strawberry filling. No, no, a raspberry filling. And when I got home instead of baking anything I fed my boys, got them down for naps and had a very, very large salad with carrots and cucumbers and tomatoes and boiled shrimp. And let's not forget the large glass of water, which makes number 4 for the day.

If I sound bitter it's because I am. I want whipped cream and cheese and bread to be the things that are low in calories. I want ice cream and red meat and cream sauces to be the things I should be focusing on. Why, oh why, could I not have been born a size 2 who eats everything in sight and never gains a frackin' pound?!?!?!?!?!?!

Okay venting complete. So as I hit this wall, I look to Monday which begins Week 5 of 5 Days for 5 Months. It also, is the start of Boot Camp. Stay tuned for my thoughts on this little adventure. But right now? Well, I hear a baby crying...

So far so good...

I'm two weeks into this 5 Days for 5 Months journey I've put myself on. And so far so good. I've lost 1" in my waist but as I said before no scale so who knows weight wise. I feel good, I feel positive, I feel every muscle in my body! And they scream loudly! But the endorphins have kicked in and it's easy to get myself to the gym. I really thought it would be at least a month of me forcing myself and dragging myself to the gym before I started looking forward to it but like I said I'm enjoying myself. I'm averaging an hour of cardio 5 days a week with weight lifting and ab work 3-4 days.

I am sore though and it's a never ending constant sore since I'm using different muscle groups and really pushing myself to do a little more each time. My good friend Monica keeps it interesting by forcing me to use that damned rowing machine... I hate that thing! But I got even by making her get on the stair machine. However my rear end feels like it's been hit by a Mack Truck.

I've never been good at the food thing though and I feel like I've made some real progress. I've doubled my veggie and fruit intake and really watched the carbs. And I've been relying on dark chocolate to get me through the sweet cravings. One, little piece of dark chocolate. I know it's okay to cheat every now and then but I feel like I have to make it a couple of months at least before I can let myself cheat once a week. I have a bad habit of binge eating. Standing at the door of the pantry and just eating cookie after cookie, or standing in the kitchen picking at a hundred different things. I can finish off a family size bag of M'n'M's without even thinking and then I will just feel guilty so I'll eat more. Emotional eater anyone?

Tonight I hit the gym with Monica. Lord, give me strength!

Dreamin'

Picture this: You are laying on the side of a river. Tall grass, birds flying over head, washed in sunlight, puffy "Simpson-esque" clouds floating above you. And blackout! You are being forced into a Hannah Montana costume by Candice Bergen ala Ms. Congeniality and your "boyfriend" is standing beside her telling you that, "you have to agree to do this... everyone is counting on you... don't worry, it will all be over soon".

I'm going to go with the Disney channel is on way to often in my household. I have strange dreams, I always have. I once dreamed I drove my sister, in her old Ford Escort, off the side of a cliff onto a giant trampoline because my niece told me she wanted to fly. My niece was like 3 at the time and I was all of 12 maybe 13.

Pregnant with Carson I used to dream he would crawl out of me, sit on my belly and talk to me. Not about anything important, just that he wanted his bottles warmed up and I was to make sure that all of his blankets were soft and none of his toys were girly. I should have known then I was going to ave a picky child.

And pregnant with Logan? Oh good grief. I gave birth to purple martians who sang show-tunes, I was locked in a bubble with Hillary Clinton while she gave me parenting advice (that might fall into the nightmare category), and my personal fave, Logan is born but is a girl and spend the entire dream telling my wonderful husband Jason, that I don't care if "he" was born female! "His" name is Logan and we already decorated the nursery and "he" would just have to get used to the idea of being a boy!

But the latest one takes the cake. I promise. There I am enjoying a nice peaceful rest on the side of a river and suddenly I'm back stage being forced into costume to go onstage as Hannah Montana. Only backstage looks very similar to the bathroom I had growing up (long, narrow and painted blue with yellow countertops) and the evil manager who is forcing this one me is Candice Bergen as the character she played in Ms. Congeniality. Needless to say, she's the bad guy in this scenario. The "boyfriend" standing by my side throughout looks like one of the Jonas brothers but I'm not really sure which one and he's telling me, "I have to do this"!

So now picture me in a tiny little teeny bopper costume (luckily in my dreams I still look the way I did at 16), semi-rocker chic with lots of hot pink and purple extensions and wrist warmers, walking to the stage crying that I don't know the songs or the dances, that I'm going to make a fool of myself and they can't make me do this! The last thing I remember before I'm shoved on stage into the bright circular spotlight and I finally wake up is this, "Just make up the words! No one will know!"
................................................

Quit laughing! Okay don't but analyze with me. Most of the time I feel like I'm making it up as I go. And most of the time I am. I've never been a parent before, it's not like there is a manual or a rule book or anything. But my biggest fear is that someone will look at me some day and say, "You're a big phony. You don't know what the hell your doing!" So although I'm not really sure what any of the rest of the dream meant I got the ending loud and clear... It's time to relax. To trust myself and just go. In the end there only two people I have to answer to, myself and God. That is quite possibly the best advice Cher ever gave!

And the journey begins...

... The Weight Loss Journey... The Tone-Up Journey... The Just Like What I See in the Mirror Journey... The Less Jiggling Journey... The No More Muffin Top Journey...

I could come up with names for hours for the ridiculousness that is my battle with my self confidence, which is directly related to my battle with my body. I'm not fat, don't think I'm saying that. I'm tall and I'm curvy and I carry weight very well so most of the time people look at me like I'm crazy when I say I want to lose 30 lbs but really... I want to lose 30 lbs!

I say 30 it could be 25, it could be 40, really I wouldn't know. I don't own a scale and I don't intend on buying one. That's the way I like it because I try to look at weight as just a number. A number that doesn't matter as long as I like the way my clothes fit and am relatively happy in a swim suit. I also want to be healthy and fit and active. I want to be able to do everything my boys want me to do with them, be that swimming or hiking or camping or playing soccer or whatever. So as of July 5 I started what I'm calling 5 Days for 5 Months.

For the next 5 months I will workout at least 5 days a week. Today is July 10 and I can honestly say that I did it! Well this week at least. So week 1 down and... (I suck at math)... however many more weeks to go.

I'm working on a plan, a what I'm going to do plan. But so far just lots of Cardio and Pilates. I have a fear of bulking up. I'm not exactly petite... or even close to it really and I'm pretty sure if I put my mind to it I could be a female body builder. And since I have no desire to look like a female version of The Governor of California, I will more than likely stay away from all exercise that involves lots and lots of heavy weights. Toning is the goal here, a semi-flat tummy (I've had babies, so I'm being realistic) and little to no jiggle in the thigh and buttocks area. I'd also like to get rid of that underarm thing... you know what I'm talking about.

So here it is, on the World Wide Web for all to read and hold me accountable. 5 Days for 5 Months... May the force be with me!