What's that blinding light?

If you're walking or driving around my neighborhood today, please ignore the blinding distraction on the sidewalk that may catch your eye - try to stay on the road as best you can.

It's just me, daring to walk to my son's school in shorts.

...for the first time in five years.

I am still carrying 20 lbs of baby weight, and my legs haven't seen the sun since 1996 when I last dared to show them in public. After they held a town meeting, ruling that I must never allow my pasty-ness to blind drivers like that again, I have safely concealed these thunder thighs in jeans.

Until now. World, welcome to my ghostliness. I am coming out of the closet, on my way to my pre-pregnancy body.

Ready or not, here I come.

Funeral

Yesterday I attended my grandfather's funeral. Despite its Monday morning scheduling, the chapel was packed with people who loved and cherished him, tear-streaked faces and laughter surrounding us.

Each story told was full of humor and laced with grief. Every word spoken included some mention of what an adventurous, loving, daring person he was. His sons and daughter spoke, telling stories that made everyone laugh and leaving their last words of love with their father.

I held it together until the Willie Nelson song "You Were Always on My Mind" was played, and there wasn't a dry eye left in the building.

My grandmother read a poem called "I Am Free," which made me come unraveled, salty mascara tears streaking my face.

I'M FREE

Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free

I'm following the path God has chosen for me.

I took His hand when I heard him call;

I turned my back and left it all.

I could not stay another day,

To laugh, to love, to work or play.

Tasks left undone must stay that way;

I've now found peace at the end of day.

If my parting has left a void,

Then fill it with remembered joys.

A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss;

Oh yes, these things, I too will miss.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow

Look for the sunshine of tomorrow.

My life's been full, I savored much;

Good friends, good times, a loved one's touch.

Perhaps my time seems all too brief;

Don't lengthen your pain with undue grief.

Lift up your heart and peace to thee,

God wanted me now-He set me free

I watched my Grandpa's wife Sandy break down, sobbing for the loss of her love. I wish there were a way to describe what I felt, watching her. I can't ever lose my love. He must not leave this planet before I do. I can never feel what she's feeling.

There are so many things I never knew about my grandpa, and I guess you could say today I'm feeling the regret of someone who never got to know a man who could have been a part of her life.

"I've made some bad choices... but I'm getting better."

My sister called.

My grandpa passed away this morning.


I'm not going to pretend I was close with him. I barely knew him at all. To my knowledge he didn't even know my name. He was, however, an extremely entertaining person, and I think most people know him better as "Wild" Bill Madsen, Utah racing legend. (<-Click the link to hear an interview he did on KFAN.)

My mom spent every day at the hospital with him for months now, taking care of him and making sure he was getting appropriate care. They were giving my mom pretty good news, saying he was healing and they told him he'd be golfing next year.

A month or so ago, lying in his hospital bed, Grandpa said to my mom, "I've made some bad choices... but I'm getting better!" It breaks my heart that he ran out of time. He certainly wasn't ready to leave this world, and I wish I'd known him better before he did.

I wish everyone would put away their grudges and strengthen their bonds with their loved ones before they lose the chance to. You really never know when the end will catch up to you.

Rest in peace, Grandpa. "Wild" Bill is legendary - you won't be forgotten.


Also see: SL Tribune article & William Madsen Obituary

How do you do this??

I am speaking to the mothers who appear to have it all together. The ones who run 3 or 4 or 6 kids everywhere they need to be, keep up with appointments, chase down potty-training 2-year-olds, etc. HOW DO YOU DO THIS??

College + Housework + Kids' birthdays + Husband + Ambition....

What on Earth do I do with it all?

I'll tell you one thing I don't do. Shower daily.
Ok, maybe a few more. Relax. Have time to read more than three pages in my book once a week. The dishes. Write. Paint my toenails. Pluck my eyebrows (ew). Have time to grocery shop.


This week I am:

• Going to class
• Writing three papers
• Setting up appointments to film my presentation
• Attempting to read Beautiful Creatures (a gift from my friend Jenn) in time to go to the book signing!
  
• Painting pictures of my son's favorite characters (Mario, Pokemon, and Charlie Brown) to hang on his wall for his birthday
• Budgeting and buying his other birthday presents
• Calling Workforce Services for the 3,000th time (aka waiting on hold for 2 1/2 hours) because they have dropped our case for the 3,000th time... for no apparent reason
  
• Walking to my son's school and back twice a day (an hour each)
  
• Reading to my kids 20 minutes a day
• Helping Josh do his homework
  
• Volunteering at my kids' schools
• Keeping Max from choking to death because he puts EVERYTHING in his mouth and NEVER stops crawling and climbing!
• Working out and attempting to stop eating like a 400-lb woman
• Selling things online so we can afford the birthday
• Finding Halloween costumes we can afford (and the boys will be willing to wear)
• Maybe even doing some laundry in there somewhere!
  

I know that most of the people I associate with are much busier than this. This list looks like nothing to a lot of women I know....

Which is why I am here, posing the question, HOW DO YOU DO IT? You are definitely my hero.

No, seriously. I'm really asking. HOW?

A call for help

So I have this presentation to do in my Marriage & Family Relations class. It's due November 2nd, so I'm getting started now.

The assignment is to come up with a "creative" way to present the "Benefits of Marriage" to the class. My own perspective is pretty decent, but I think I'll have a much better final product if I can fuse together a lot of different perspectives. So here's my plan...

I'm going to make a video (DVD) comprised of several interviews, etc., from people I know who want to contribute of them talking about (or showing) what they think the benefits of being married are.

If you are willing to help, I would be SO appreciative! Anyone who wants to contribute their thoughts can:

A) Leave me a comment
B) Send me an e-mail (breeamiller@gmail.com)
C) Make a short video and e-mail it to me

YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE MARRIED TO PARTICIPATE! I would love to have all different people, all different ages, all different experiences give their thoughts!

What do YOU think being married does for people that benefits their lives?

It's not my fault.

Are you That Girl who thinks, "I will never let myself look like that when I have kids"?

I was totally that girl. I admit it, I judged other moms who "let themselves go".

I have a secret to tell you. It's not their fault. If you have more than one child (and sometimes even just the one is enough to throw you way off course) - especially if they're in school - I can almost guarantee you haven't had a chance to get 100% dolled up in weeks. When exactly would one do that? I haven't been able to blow dry my hair in months. Makeup? I adore makeup, but I have actually turned into That Mom. You know, the one who goes out of the house with minimal makeup (sometimes even NONE - *GASP!*) for the sake of getting everyone where they need to be when they need to be there.

Who knew one day my priorities would slip so far... Then again, I don't think that's what's happened. I haven't let myself slip, I have intentionally chosen to put my effort into my husband, my kids, and my homework. There's no time left for me, but in the end, I find that I feel more proud of myself and what I accomplish than I ever felt when I spent hours getting ready just for me.

If I were a better writer

At 9 pm I climbed into bed, feeling like I was carrying way too much weight on my shoulders. I couldn't wait to watch an episode of Scrubs and then sink into sleep.

When I turned on the TV, I found football on the Scrubs channel. Football might as well be a snowy channel with no signal, so I turned it to Fox News instead.

Now, you should know I don't watch the news. That's right, never. A lot of people feel like I am denying reality or trying to "shield" myself from the truths of the world... It really bothers some people that I am unwilling to watch or read the news. I am generally seen as naive as a result. It's quite the opposite, actually. I find that I am too aware of the harsh truths about society, and that's what keeps me unable to tolerate having it thrown in my face. My life and the immediate people and events involved are already too much for me, and the painful parts of society tend to affect my ability to cope day-to-day a little too much.

So there I was, changing the channel to Fox News and thinking, "This is a bad idea. I'll hurry and change it." I didn't have quite enough time. Before I had a chance to change the channel, a picture of two beautiful little kids popped up on the screen and I heard the anchor say, "...strangled them to death."

My husband tried to save me. The words, "Honey, change the ch-" had already come out of his mouth, but it was too late. He had to tell me that those children's own mother did that to them.

Two hours of sobbing, hyperventilating, and what felt like a heart attack later, my mom shoved a Lorazepam in my mouth and a glass of water in my hand.

Fifteen seconds of news threw me into the worst panic attack I have ever had.

But this post isn't about what a baby I am.

If I were a better writer, I would be able to describe the feelings I experienced tonight. I would be able to tell you how the air was stolen from my lungs, how my stomach churned and my eyes stung with instant tears. I would be able to tell you how I was sure I would never stop crying for those poor children, how I hysterically sobbed in my husband's (confused) arms, crying, "I don't understand, I don't understand." How could someone do something like that? If I were a decent writer I could explain to you the suffocating feeling of injustice I felt for them.

I don't watch the news because, when I know too much of the truth, I don't want to live in this horrific world at all.

And you know what tomorrow is? That's right, the 9th anniversary of September 11, 2001.

It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to

Yesterday was my 26th birthday.

I have been alive for 26 years.

I am closer to 30 than 20.
I was just getting used to being closer to 20 than 15.... and closer to 25 than 20.

I still feel 15.

You know what you can do if you're having trouble feeling your age? Go back to the amusement park where you spent your summers when you were approx. 15 and spend a day there watching the 15-year-olds make out. They look like 7-year-olds.

Today my second son Asher started preschool. He'll be 5 in three weeks, but he's not quite old enough for Kindergarten, so he's starting preschool instead. It's a weird, lonely feeling having only one baby at home. Asher was my baby, and I'm still not used to him being a "big" kid. He isn't shaped like a toddler anymore, he's got big kid features. He doesn't talk like a baby anymore, he doesn't call me "mommy" or "mama" anymore... and I have a new little baby.

I wish someone had told me when I had my first baby that even if you have subsequent babies, you never stop missing your first baby. When Asher was born I thought it would be great because I missed Baby Josh so much. Turns out Baby Josh was completely different than Baby Asher, so I still miss my Joshy baby. And now that I have my sweet Baby Max, I still miss my Asher Baby.

Asher was born when I was twenty-one years old, and we moved to Kansas when he was five months old. He was a colicky baby who never, ever slept, except when he was nursing (which he did 23 hours a day) until he was 18 months old. He was definitely one of those "the umbilical cord was never cut" babies. I was stubborn and didn't dare sleep with him in my bed, so I stumbled up the stairs every 20 minutes all night long when he would wake up screaming in his crib. There we'd sit, in my grandmother's pink rocking chair, unable to keep our eyes open as I nursed him back to sleep. Each and every time he'd fall asleep in my arms, so I'd stand up as carefully as I could, tip-toe over to his crib, ease him down in, and PRAY with all my might that he'd stay asleep. The moment his head hit the sheets, his eyes popped open and he'd start to wail. It was a personal offense that I wanted to put him down and walk away, and he was relentless with his crying. He'd never give up, so there I was, every night... rocking and nursing, rocking and nursing. I slept sitting up for a year and a half.

I miss my sweet baby. He was a royal pain about sleep, and even during the day he expected to be carried each and every moment... but there never was a sweeter, more loving baby. When he wanted to show you love, he could win your heart with just a look. Even in the depths of my postpartum depression, when I was delirious from not sleeping for weeks on end, he could still make me feel like there was nothing in the world more worthwhile to do. He's still like that. Everyone who meets Asher falls in love with him. He loves to make people laugh and shock people with weird things he says, or scare people by climbing up high and showing them he's "brave enough." He's a daredevil and talks tough, but he's the most loving kid I have ever met. If he loves you, you feel it, and he'll make sure you never forget it.

Now he's off at school, and I'm here wondering what happened to my little squishy-face Ash baby. He's no longer the enormously chubby little boy who causes trouble, he's sitting in a chair with his name on it, listening to a teacher and meeting new friends at school.

It's my birthday (week) and I'll cry if I want to.

To kick a habit you must replace it with another one. Right, Dad?

After my horrific dancing experience Tuesday night, I woke up Wednesday thinking, "Wow! I'm not even sore after all that new movement. Weird." Wednesday night I went to bed thinking, "I am going to DIE." My muscles are killing me. It basically feels like someone is tearing my muscles apart one by one each time I move.

I guess that's what happens when you are entirely dormant for an entire pregnancy & 9 months after the baby's birth (and then a gay man who loves to leap tortures you for an hour and a half).

I said to Husband Wednesday night, "There is no way I'll survive my dance class tomorrow with these sore muscles!" He said, "Drink one of my shakes in the morning. It has everything you need to repair your muscles." (Yes, he really said it like that, just like a commercial. He's cheesy sometimes.)

This morning I got up and drank a Breakfast Essentials, which gave me just as much energy as my morning Frappuccino, and my muscles even feel better. (Still a little achy, but a huge improvement.) I have found my coffee replacement!

Dad always said, "To break a habit you must replace it with another one." He's right, you know. I'm not a fan of my 2:00 pm crash, or the extra calories I'm consuming with coffee, so I'm cutting it out and starting my day with some decent vitamins and stuff.

(I'm no nutrition expert... who knows, it could be just as bad for me, but it's not caffeine, so we're trying it out.)

Will it help me survive another session of Jazz class? Well, we'll have to see about that...

Uh-oh. I'm in for it now.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I am in love with dadgonemad('s writing). I don't read it as often as I'd like, because once I get started I can't stop, and I really don't have time for that kind of distraction. A while back he wrote a fantastic book, which a friend of mine bought for me (and Danny was kind enough to send me a signed copy when he read my blog post about it). Now he's working on his second book, a piece of fiction, and I'm afraid he's challenged all us writers to commit to writing 500 words a day.

That's right, every day. No matter what we're writing, as long as it's written, it counts. The only way to be a writer is to write... right?

So I've committed. Are you in?