Tag Archives: talking

So I run

5 Aug

It’s been 6 months since I’ve written.

Probably even longer since I’ve written anything with 100% honesty in my heart and left it all out here on the page.

It’s been 8 months since I got divorced.

It’s been 1 hour since I decided to not let the fear of who might read what I’ve written stop me from being true to myself and writing what I need to, to cleanse my soul.

Running and writing do that for me.

I get a lot of flack from people for running and working out as much as I do. I run almost every day. Lift a couple of times a week and compete in triathlons.

“Why do you run? Why would you do triathlons? That’s so much work! You must like pain and suffering.”

Maybe I do.

I swim until the muscles in my shoulders and back ache. I ride my bike until my legs and butt burn so bad that I can’t crank the pedals one more turn. I run until the sweat drips from every inch of my skin.  I run until the pain in my heart becomes as numb as my legs.

I run because I don’t know what else to do with my feelings.

I run so that I can drown those feelings with sweat and let the unspoken words loop endlessly around in my brain until I’m too exhausted to speak them.

There are days when I feel like I’ve come so far in the past 8 years since Oli was born. I’ve come miles and miles from where I was 3 years ago.

But sometimes I just have a moment.

Or a day.

Or a week.

Or a month.

Sometimes it feels just like yesterday when I looked at the tiny baby sleeping in the cradle beside me and wondered if I could ever love her enough. If I would ever be enough for her.

I don’t have a problem looking at her now.

I don’t have an issue feeling for her. For accepting her and pushing her and dreaming for her and advocating for her and being her legs and her eyes and her voice and the interpreter between her and the rest of the world. I don’t mind teaching people about her and answering questions and embracing the differences and cherishing the moments.

I run into to trouble when I try to do all of these things while looking at me.

I run into to trouble when my mind merges with my heart and I’m left feeling less than and inadequately equipped to deal with all that comes with being a special needs mother.

So I run.

I run for her, with her, towards her.

And sometimes I run away from her.

I run away from the pain.

I run away from the fear of the future and the unknown.

I run away from the therapists and the doctors and the never-ending appointments.

I run away from the ARD meetings and IEP’s, missed goals, reports of plateaued progress, regression and missed milestones.

I run away from myself.

When I talk about her, when I talk about us, I still feel the need to justify everything. To throw my FINE’s at the world and scream from the top of my lungs WE ARE FINE! DON’T YOU KNOW HOW FINE WE ARE! NO! THOSE ARE NOT TEARS! I HAVE SOMETHING IN MY EYE!

Why do I do that?

What’s so wrong with being not fine?

I still haven’t figured that part out yet. I don’t know what’s wrong with talking about how I feel.

I still haven’t really figured out how to feel how I feel. If that makes any sense at all.

When Oli was born and the pain and despair simply became too much for me to bare, I turned all of my feelings off. It was so much easier to be numb than it was to face another day literally drowning in my fear.

Now 8 years later I’m trying to turn them back on.

It’s harder than you’d think.

So I run.

I run and I run and I run.

The tears melt into sweat and neither can be distinguished once they drip from my nose.

I’ve pounded miles and miles of trail with my little wet feelings littered behind me.

One day, I hope to be able to talk as much as I run.

Until that day…

I’ll run.

I Choose To Call It “Helpfulness”

1 Mar

“No one is ever quite ready; everyone is always caught off guard. Parenthood chooses you. And you open your eyes, look at what you’ve got, say “Oh, my gosh,” and recognize that of all the balls there ever were, this is the one you should not drop. It’s not a question of choice.”

― Marisa de los Santos, Love Walked In

All I have to say today is: Good thing I started a blog when Oli was born and updated it a few times because I have forgotten half of the things that Oli did between the ages of 1 and 2. Stress induced amnesia? Sleep deprivation?

She started talking around the age of 2. She had about 15-20 words back then. She only said one word at a time except on one occasion where she used two. I guess this happened?.. because I blogged about it. True to my absent minded, fog clogged brain self I didn’t mention in the post what that two word sentence was. I have no idea now. That sucks…

She used to say the beginning or the end of a word. For milk she would say “ka” and later “ilk”. For drink she would say “dri”. She did say mamma all the time. It started as “ma-ma-ma” and later became “mom-mom”. Always strung together.

Maybe she got it from Kekoa? That boy never said my name just once and still doesn’t. It’s always “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom.” It doesn’t matter if I answer right away or not. Of course I tell him he sounds like a broken record. Apparently I am no longer allowed to use this terminology with children, per the husband. He told me yesterday “People under the age of 25 have no idea what that even means. You can’t say record, tape, VHS…”

I can say it as long as I want. I can even yell it into a phone and then slam down the receiver!

When did I become old?

What was I talking about?….

Oh yeah, Oli. The main character in my story.

She also started learning to walk around this age. Not walk- walk, but Oli walk which started with me holding her up and moving her legs in a walking like motion.

So…basically it was just me, puppeteering her around the room.

I guess now that I think about it, it was ALL me.

I should describe this part instead of Oli learning to walk as Mommy forcing Oli to learn to walk. I was so impatient. Instead of waiting for the poor girl to do things at her own pace and in her own time I would impose my “helpfulness” on her.

I can only imagine what Oli is thinking when I set out to help her learn something new. Walking… talking… perhaps braille reading?

“Really mom? Why don’t you just go ahead and do that by yourself and come on back down to earth when you’re done. I’ll be here waiting in the land of reality when you get back.”

I chose to pretend that I helped her learn to walk.

Okay, really I didn’t. But I tried. I tried for almost 2 years. When Oli was ready to walk she did. When she was 3 and a half. Despite my deceptive attempts to tell people she was learning to when she was 20 months old. Who did I think I was fooling? If you came over to my house and saw me hunched over, carrying my 2yr old with just her feet dragging on the floor, would you have been convinced that she was walking?

“Look World! I am a genius! I give you—-Oli’s first steps! Just pretend you don’t see me here doing everything for her.”

I can’t help but laugh at my faked enthusiasm, my I-rock-at-this-parent-thing attitude and blatant foolery in my old blog posts.

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