What could *possibly* be more important than updating your blog, Kelly?

Once upon a time, there was a lovely little summer storm that swept southeastern Michigan. It brought rain. A lot of rain.

"Kelly, that is a lovely pond near your house."
"Thanks, but it's actually the road, sidewalk, and half my yard after approximately ten minutes of the rain."

One of the few vehicles that didn't stall out while driving through the neighborhood. (It's probably a FORD.) #motorcitylove

"Boy, Kel, with all that action outside, you must have been super worried about your basement, huh?"

"Nope. Not at all. Just this winter we dropped a pretty penny on waterproofing the basement. All that work held up beautifully. However, all the waterproofing in the world is no match for when the SEWER backs up."

If you're wondering if crib mattresses float, the answer is YES.

Also, boxes and bins float, cardboard disintegrates, wood and fabric absorbes... it was like a real life science lesson. Homeschool. Speaking of, to the left is all of our homeschool curriculum.

Our humidifiers = death by water.
There has to be a joke there, somewhere.

Also, sanders and saws and other miscellaneous tools do not like to swim.

And the final verdict? About six inches of sewage.
Thank God for that pump. It worked tirelessly all night and Tuesday dawned bright and early with only a squishy and puddley (totally a word) basement to be had. 

Once the water was gone I could survey the damage...
I stopped counting at $1000 worth of curriculum destroyed.
(For those that know what I'm talking about - on the right is the ENTIRE Answers in Genesis God's Design for Science curriculum. Also lost - two years of My Father's World. The deluxe kits. Ouch.)

On Tuesday night help arrives in the form of eleven strong young men ready to haul out our possessions and do whatever needs to be done.

Seth, John, and Hosanna wash all the sealed but submerged food and drinks that were floating around the basement. Our pantry was downstairs. We saved $70 worth of soy milk, $50 worth of canned/jarred goods, and 20+ unopened gallons of water. We lost anything in cardboard, or anything absorbent.

Salvageable goods begin to take over our home.
(Aren't we blessed to have so many salvageable goods?!)

Destroyed goods go on the right in our garage, salvageable goods on the left.
(pictured (the destroyed goods) = furniture, an amp, MY PLYO BOX)

First day of garbage. I honestly stopped taking pictures at this point except for what we needed for insurance purposes. We have filled to overflowing two bagster dumpsters (most of this was with the drywall, baseboards, doors and other construction debris that accrued from the restoration process) and filled the entire easement with trash. The following week's garbage looked similar. 

Our focus now is on sanitizing the salvageable goods. Every item that touched the water has to be washed with an antimicrobial, washed with clorox, and then thoroughly dried. Anything solid wood needs to go through the same process, but then be re-varnished afterwards. My elliptical survived but needs to be taken completely apart and every surface washed and disinfected. We need a professional to do that.

This has been such an overwhelming undertaking. I came down with a sinus infection and double ear infections after days of sorting/cleaning the wet basement. We started homeschool less than a week after this all happened. (We're doing online school so we didn't have any wiggle room.) We needed new furniture so we had somewhere to sit. I've never had insomnia, but these past two weeks brought many nights that I finally fell asleep at 5:30 a.m., only to have Ezra wake me up at 7:00. Because poop. Or milk. Or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, please.

My Pollyanna Thankfulness List:

*Nothing brings the neighborhood together quite like disaster. Everyone is out on their front lawns chatting it up with whoever is out. People gather to help haul, or share dumpsters, or pass along contractor names. A family down the street that came away relatively unaffected brought us vegan cupcakes. Vegan cupcakes. They are my new favorites for life.

*Welp, the basement has been on my Must Clean Out list for years. This is one way to start/finish that project.

*Antibiotics and iced coffee - did you really think I could go a whole thankfulness list without mentioning iced coffee? It's like you don't even know me. After three days of the antibiotics for my sinus and ears I felt like a new person. And while the melatonin I bought at GNC isn't touching my insomnia, the Quest bars I bought during that same shopping trip are making me deliriously happy.

*Comparatively, we came out pretty okay. We lost a ton of stuff. We have a huge cleanup in front of us. But there are people in Metro Detroit who lost their entire homes. Their homes were moved off the foundations from these floods and are now unsafe and uninhabitable. I belong to a flood recovery group on Facebook and there are people dealing with six feet of water in their homes. I am thankful for just six inches of sewage. (There's a sentence I never thought I'd write.)

*Lifetime Fitness and Kemper - working out has been my sanity. I can forget and just lift and feel accomplished and so much better.

*Friends and Family. You guys. I have no words for how blessed I am. Here is a happy little picture I took with Sister Wife Rose at a wedding Saturday.

Me and Sister Wife Rose = the best kind of trouble.

Happy Friday everyone! Enjoy that weekend!

When you *totally* fall off the wagon. Like, way off. Like, fall off the wagon and then get on another wagon headed straight down Gluttony Avenue.

This is the deal.

There are times it's awesome to be a weight loss blogger. When the scale is in your favor, your "after" pictures get accolades, or when people ask for advice and you feel like you have something helpful to share - it's great to be a weight loss blogger.

But.

There are days moments when you fall completely off the wagon and you feel powerless to stop it. In the back of your brain you think, "I'm going to have to blog this crap," because you can't pretend it didn't happen, and you think about allllllll the people that you are accountable to through your little corner of the internet. Instead of feeling inspired you feel crushed by the accountability and guilty that you may be letting someone down.

A DEFENSE MECHANISM.

But here it is: I had a terrible week, and I ate to cope. I ate a lot. And I ate a lot of foods I never eat. Like, once I ate a piece of leftover pizza while dishing out Chinese food because I couldn't wait the thirty seconds it would take to get fried rice in my pie hole. If you are what you eat then this last weekend I was Birthday Cake wrapped in pizza while wearing Lucky Charms and sweating Sweet and Sour sauce. (A.K.A. Everyone's Best Friend.) (Sorry. I know it's not funny, Kemper.)(But I joke around when I'm uncomfortable.)(IT'S A DEFENSE MECHANISM.)

So, how much did I truly eat? I ate a weight gain of four pounds in three days much. It was so bad that at one point Brian, who has never policed my food (even when I've asked), actually took hold of me by both shoulders, looked me in the eyes and said, "KEL. Snap out of this."

I am so disappointed in myself. I was at 143, so close to my Holy Grail of 140. Now I'm hanging out back at 147. This is literally the story of my life.

I hate excuses. An excuse leaves no room for responsibility. An excuse says, "Look at what happened to me," and not, "Look at the choice I made in response to my circumstance." Excuses cut out any opportunity for growth, and excuses foster weakness. They are a way to say, "Don't worry, you poor thing. It's not your fault. Anyone would have reacted that way."

That's a big fat lie. I am not powerless over my thoughts. I am not held prisoner by my emotions. And *I* am the boss of how I react to difficult situations. Huzzah.

I do believe in reasons. I want to know the reasons behind the choices I make. Knowing these reasons teaches me, and helps to prepare me for handling situations, should they reoccur. And they always do.

So, Reasons I ATEALLTHETHINGS last week:

1. I was discouraged. It can all be boiled down to that. I had some really crappy workouts last week. I felt weak, I felt tired, I felt fat, and I felt like I was sick and tired of working my tush off just to be "normal". (Can I get an Amen from all my FAT MOM sisters out there?!) I don't want to look like Barbie. I don't want to be a figure competitor. I just freaking want to *not* look fluffy. Why do I have to work so hard to accomplish this? (*the world's smallest violin is playing in the background*)

I came home from Wednesday's awful workout to indulge in the worst timed cheat meal in the history of the world. I cheat meal every Wednesday night. In hindsight following the plan was not the best decision this time. Next time I'm discouraged I will reschedule cheat meal. I already know cheat meals for me are a really sensitive thing. The occasional indulgence helps keep me on track, but they also have the potential to usher in a tsunami of binge eating, which is exactly what happened this time. My cheat meal turned into a three day nosh fest.

Then a friend's mom died very unexpectedly Thursday morning. She was only 49. Instead of being all, "Wow, I should look at life as a gift and live it to the fullest," I was like, "What's the freaking point of going to all this trouble to track my macros/deny myself pizza/work at the gym? At the end of the day I'm still fat and I could die at any moment." I didn't feel out of control. I felt defiant. I felt like no matter what I do I'm never there. There seems to be this mythical land where I am no longer the Fat Mom, and I work my heart out and it shows on both the scale and my body. I get momentary glimpses of there in my daily life, and normally those glimpses give me the hope I need to persevere. But feeling so discouraged made me want to RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE. It's like my brain decided to show my body who was boss by eating my rapidly gaining weight in Combos. Because logic.

"Kel, THEHECK is this?"
That, my friends, is a vegan vanilla LEGO cake with
vegan soy buttercream frosting. And it's purple,
per the birthday girl's request. This is what happens
when you try to get fancy because vegan cake
crumbles, my kids are allergic to fondant, and vegan
buttercream refuses to set.

2. Baking. One of my kiddos had her birthday party on Saturday. Since she is one of my sweet "food allergy" kids, I had to bake her cake from scratch. Then I had to make her frosting from scratch. Then I had to decorate her cake. (Which, I'm not going to lie, was a spectacular Pinterest fail.) Then I had to cut and serve cake and ice cream to 15 people. That's a lot of opportunity for bites, licks, and nibbles. (Or, giant slices of cake eaten when self-control finally reaches it's threshold after you've touched cake and ice cream fifteen times.) Next time I'll chew gum while I'm decorating and ask Brian to cut and serve.

3. I was physically in need of some rest and recovery. I needed to pay attention to my body and take some notes from Wednesday's workout. Eventually I did. I took two full rest days (Thursday and Friday) and went light on Saturday. I ended up squatting my 5x5 program, but only did 135 pounds. I lightened my leg press, hamstring curls, and lunges each to about 75%. I messaged Kemper about deloading, and he told me what I needed to do, which was not actually lighten my weight, but decrease my volume.

I actually wrote Kemper a joke about eating a ton of simple carbs being a part of a proper deload and he wrote back "Haha, I don't think so." I sat and looked at his response for five minutes wondering how I could communicate that I was serious and falling the heck apart. But at the end of the day Kemper is not my babysitter. He's not my AA sponsor. I am a grown-@ss woman and cannot cry to my trainer when I'm in a spiral. I can't expect him to drop his life to hold my hand and tell me not to eat crap food. (Although, now that I think of it, gyms really need emergency training sessions and/or hotlines for people in this situation. #milliondollarideaoftheday)(Kemper, you can have that one for BootKemp for free.)(You're welcome.)(Lollipop gift.)

I know - because I've read my share of weight loss blogs - that this is a common post to read, but it's not one I've ever had to write. It is scary, embarrassing, and shameful. And it's not okay. I know what I want. I know my goals. I know the path to get there. I am worth the time, effort, and hardship it will take to get there. It's not fair that I have to work so hard for something that comes naturally to other people, but that's life. Everyone struggles with something. This is my thing.

I feel like I need to announce, "My name is Kelly and I'm three days back on track," or something. Getting out of bed at 5:30 on Sunday morning to go do abs and HIIT was sooooooooo hard. But I did it, and everything else seems to be following suit. On Sunday I planned and prepped my food, and for three days now I've followed/enjoyed the plan. (*Check my new Pinterest board "dem macros doe" for the most amazing Parmesan Meatballs ever.*) Monday's bench day was awesome; I felt really good so I did my normal training plan, and even did 3x6 at 30# per dumbbell for shoulder press. I dropped in on a yoga class on Tuesday. I feel like I'm me again. It's still hard, but I think it always will be.

I survived this one, friends.

Thanks for the accountability, Internet.


Linking up today for Weigh-in Wednesday with Heather, Ash, and Erin.

Sweet dreams are made of cheese ...

It's currently 4:15 Sunday morning and I can't sleep. I woke up half an hour ago from a dream with a racing heart. I was suddenly wide awake, fully alert, with all my senses engaged. It felt almost like I was having a nightmare, but then realized there was none of the terror I associate with bad dreams. Instead, I only felt ... euphoric.

I was dreaming about eating pizza.

That's probably a sign I should partake in that cheat meal Kemper has talked to me about.

So Monday night is my final weigh-in with the man. (Have I mentioned that yet?) I have prepared a list of eleventy-billion questions to ask him in order to squeeze every bit of knowledge from him while he is there in person. I may have spent Saturday night on a double date with both Google and Youtube because apparently I get around I needed a little bit of information to be able to plan my next steps. I'm going to ask him to look things over and see if I'm heading in the right direction.

(Also, I'm going to beg ask nicely if he will consider training me once a month. It's not how he does things, but I bet if we all left a nice comment for Kemper begging asking nicely if he would just think about it, my chances may improve.)(Feel free to comment on this post or on Facebook.)(I'll totally make sure he sees them all.)(For those of you that think I am playing dirty, it's simply because I need Kemper to teach me to clean.) (I'm.dying.)(Because weight lifting joke.)

I have a post coming soon about Lauren's baby shower because that totally happened on Saturday. I'll also update you on the stats from the weigh-in because I know you are on the edge of your seats over that. In the meantime, send this sister some love because Monday is going to be a hard (#firstworldhard) day. Please and thank you.

You thought Cedar Point was the roller coaster capital of the Midwest? That's cute. Welcome to my head.

Don't worry. I bought you a ticket. You get to ride
for free.
You're welcome.

Given the choice, I would totally choose to be a girl. Which is a good thing, you know, since that's what I am. I've always liked that girls are so much more relational than boys, and softer, and they smell nicer more nurturing. On the flip side, though, girls are freaking CRAZY. We are emotional, can worry a molehill into a mountain, and can make ridiculous decisions that sound absolutely rational (in the moment) to our messed up emotions.

I have never felt more like a girl in my whole life than I do this week. It's like I ate Crazy Train Salad for dinner Monday night and have been high ever since. Except, of course, when I'm low. This week has been such a roller coaster.

Hey girl, stretch out those hip flexers.
Squat like a mother.

After my weigh in Monday night Kemper may have implied that he would be leaving Lifetime Fitness soon. My definition of soon meant six months. His definition of soon meant a few more weeks. I honestly couldn't even process that information at the time, so I ignored it and asked him to walk me through regular dead lifts. I have been doing straight leg dead lifts up until now, but I have been faithfully attending the Youtube school of Elliott Hulse, so I hoped that my hip flexors were finally stretched enough to handle regular dead lifts.

Kemper took me into the meathead section (it was packed), and showed me how to set up the bar and weights. Then he walked me through dead lifts. I'm not going to lie - it felt pretty freaking hardcore, once I got over facing the mirror and having my rear end face the rest of the gym. I did a few to get comfortable with the feel of it and Kemper corrected my form. Afterwards I felt like I conquered something huge. I felt indestructible. I WAS THE DEAD LIFT MASTER OF THE WORLD.

Then I got in my car to drive home and lost my marbles because Kemper was leaving soon, and I was scared out of my mind because I'm not ready to lose the training wheels yet.

It was just like this except my glass case of emotion looked like a red Ford Flex.

On Tuesday I got a phone call from a friend who wanted weight loss advice. Our phone call ended with me feeling like, "Hey, maybe I do know what I'm doing here! I can totally do this without Kemper. I am the boss of my choices." Hoorah! Later that evening I talked about proper squat form with a bunch of the teen boys from church who workout together and felt even more sure that I know what I'm doing. KEMPER WHO?! I GOT THIS.

Wednesday morning I went back to the gym and dead lifted all by myself. I had a fantastic workout and then cried like a freaking baby all the way home. Because girl. And fear. And sadness. Brian met me in the kitchen as I was coming home and he was heading into work. He was all, "Are you crying?" and then we talked about Kemper leaving and why it was so upsetting and he was slightly late to work but that's okay because he loves me more than both his job and Taco Bell. (#signsofastrongmarriage)

My greatest high came Wednesday morning. Just as I was still weepy and being super emo, I checked Twitter and this happened:

That's right, Elliott Hulse favorited my tweet. It's pretty much like he publicly acknowledged how much he loves me back and that we are best friends and I should come down to Florida and hang out at Strength Camp that he received the tweet I tagged him in. I called Brian right away and he taught me how to take a screen shot, so I'm almost caught up to the 21st century there.

On Thursday I was feeling all strong about Kemper leaving. I mean, I always knew he wasn't going to be around forever, right? I decided I needed to put a plan in place for my remaining time with Kemper. I got out my calendar to figure out how much time was left in the weight loss challenge, and then realized I didn't know when he was officially gone. Y'all. His last day is one. week. from. today. The challenge is another four weeks. I get one more weigh in with Kemper.

With that realization, I lost my crap.

Of course I decided the best thing was to talk to Kemper and figure out if he could continue to train me after he left. I rehearsed all the important things I wanted to say so that I could do it without being a crybaby nutcase and that plan was carried out in stellar fashion. (Haha, Sike.) Thursday night I met up with him at the gym. He looked terrified slightly apprehensive when I asked if we could talk over by the window because just maybe I had an inkling I was about to unleash the crazy and didn't want to do it in the middle of the lobby of Lifetime Fitness. I mean, I know I'm totally good with an audience, but ain't nobody want to see the mess that is giiiiiirl tears. I got through exactly two sentences of my planned monologue and then snotted all over my face and had to whisper words so I wouldn't hiccup.

It was awesome.

Kemper was all, "Ohmygosh Kelly, don't cry," because he's a totally nice guy and to his credit he didn't wig out much on the outside. Over all it was horribly embarrassing and I left feeling not much better but at the very least I'd gotten to communicate that what Kemper has done in my life has been very meaningful to me.

Now, because it's FRIDAY and I have an amazing weekend scheduled (I am throwing Lauren a baby shower with her sis-in-law!!!!!)(because remember that my bestie is having her first baby?!?!?!) I need to leave you all on an upswing. Good thing something incredible happened at the gym this morning...

I'm pretty sure they will all chip in
and get me one of these for my birthday.
Just to make it official.

Are you ready for this? When I workout early in the morning there is the same group of guys that lift in the meathead section. I go early because those five or six guys are less intimidating than the legions that show up at night, but I still spend my time there being invisible and unwelcome and feeling like an impostor. However, this morning? This morning as I was in position to start my second set of deadlifts? The moment when my body was tensed to lift but I paused and checked my form (like Elliott Hulse taught me to do) I glanced up and caught the eye of the alpha male of the group who was totally watching me and he gave me a bro nod.

Awwwwww, snap.

I'll be drinking my protein shakes with the boyz before I know it.

Heinz 57 (the post where we ketchup)

Seriously. I've been doing stuff and things.

This is how relationships die.

You're plugging along, living life, enjoying the relationships you've be blessed with, and suddenly busyness locks you in a choke hold. Not even fun busyness either, but the time consumption that comes from putting out a dozen little fires daily.

By the time you've survived the day, you lie* in bed at night (*totally correct - I Grammar Girled that mess) thinking of all the things you didn't get to, and communicating with loved ones falls into that category. "Tomorrow," you hazily think as you collapse into blissful unconsciousness.

The problem is that eventually too many "tomorrows" pile up, making the amount of sharing needing to happen grow into a monster sized accumulation of correspondence. This is wholly overwhelming, and cannot be undertaken in five minute bites and chews.

"I can't call because I only have twenty minutes and wouldn't know where even to begin with that amount of time." "This weekend I'll set aside a whole day just to catch up," and Saturday finds you grocery shopping at 5:00 a.m. just because you can't fit it in anywhere else in the entire day. (Hypothetically.)

This is where I find myself with blogging. How can I write a post about my return to running if I haven't even written that I NOW BELONG TO LIFETIME FITNESS?! How can I write about potty training when I haven't finished writing my post on grieving my GRANDfather, which includes the dawn of our potty training saga? How can I speak on dealing with weight gain when I haven't even written about BLACK FRIDAY* and the experiences in the dressing room which were the catalyst for admitting said weight gain?

(*I'm pretty sure we can agree that the Black Friday Recap Post ship has sailed. I mean, I'm pretty flexible about the unwritten blogging rules, (i.e. I make mine up as I go along) but I think a good general rule is to write about something within the same calendar year it happened.)

My brain can't consolidate any of that stuff, I get totally overwhelmed, and I'm left with the mantra (usually said in corpse position)(while under my covers in bed at night)(it's my own personal yoga studio)(#healthnut) "I'll blog tomorrow."

I don't want our relationship to die. So here is my Heinz 57 post. (I briefly thought about writing 57 bullet points of updates but then I had the epiphany of fifty seven bullet points, so I bailed on that plan.)(You're welcome.)

1. Ezra is sloooowly learning to pee in the potty. This was, of course, up until he got sick yesterday. He spent a miserable day dozing on the couch, with frequent breaks to throw up and/or scream for me to hold his hand. His fever has been a pretty consistent 101 degrees, so I'm not too worried. After having to physically carry him to the potty the third time, The Best Mom in the World said, "Forget this", and put him in a diaper. Smartest decision I made all day. (Which says a lot about the rest of the day.)(Or my decision making ability.) He asked, "I have diaper on?" every half an hour or so, effectively giving him the go-ahead to pee while still reclining on the couch, so, under certain standards, it was a pretty great day for him.

2. I had my first post-injury run on Saturday. It was brutal. I'm a hot mess. I'm writing a post called, "Bouncing Back from Injury". (Sike. I don't know what it will be called yet. Probably something sensationalist that really misleads the reader because I'm a creative genius.)

3. Lauren is PREGNANT. My bestie is having her first kid. My oldest will be able to babysit her oldest (in about two years). I'm gonna be an aunt! (A friend-like-a-sister aunt.)

4. My master plan to finally get cable totally backfired. I got Brian hooked on back seasons of The Walking Dead. Because we don't have cable our internet connection is snail like. After watching season 4, episodes 6 and 7 via Brian's iPhone, his data for the month ran out. I thought, "This is it. I'm finally getting cable. We have the mid-season cliffhanger finale left before the show resumes in February. One stinkin' little episode is going to get me cable!" I started daydreaming about House Hunter marathons, the deep clean my kitchen receives after watching Hoarders, and not messing any longer with rabbit ear antenna. Brian crushed my dreams by upgrading his iPhone data plan.

We huddled around his iPhone like fiends and watched the finale all zombie-like. (Yeah, I went there.) The current dilemma is what we do on February 9 when the shows returns.

Unrelated: Is creating a Kickstarter fund to raise money for cable out of the question? Asking for a friend.

I wish I had a fancy way to finish this post, but it's simply that my allocated time to write is gone, so I have to wrap it up. Esther and Ezra just woke up and they are discussing the merits of different methods of vomiting. That's a good place to end for today, don't you think?

Thanks for visiting. Let's do this again soon, OK?

GRANDfather

Words are usually my thing. In person I may have bouts of incoherency, but given time and a keyboard I can string along a sentence or two that adequately communicates the mess in my head. (But only if you include the word "totally". If "totally" was struck from my vocabulary I would be effectively rendered mute.) It is unsettling to stare at a blank screen for so many hours and discover language has failed me.

My Grandfather died on Saturday.

When I was little, The Grandfather took on mythical proportions. I was sure he was a rich business man who intimidated and ruled the whole world. He only furthered this perception by signing all my birthday cards "GRANDfather", because he was decidedly grand. He lived in a "fancy" house and owned a grand piano - two irrefutable symbols of success to an eight year old. He had a sun porch where I watched The Golden Girls and he drove a car that spoke. In 1990. (#baller) ("A door is ajar," to which he would reply, "Kelly! This car is crazy. A door is not a jar; a door is a door!")

When I was a bit older and he retired for the first time, my grandparents moved south and formally introduced me to one of my favorite places on this planet - The Great Smoky Mountains. My Grandfather would drive through the mountains to show off beautiful mountain properties on our way to Gatlinburg, where we would ride the sky tram, buy a personalized airbrush t-shirt, and explore the haunted house, all before piling back into the car to find the first appropriate stop-off on the mountain drive home. He would pull over and I would climb down the embankment and swim in the river with my clothes on. It was freezing, and more importantly felt forbidden and exciting and is one of my favorite memories of my youth.

This pic is saved on my computer under the title
"Tampon Boat with Grandpa".
Also, 1989 was a great year in swimwear.

In Tennessee* my grandparents also bought a boat, which my sister dubbed a "tampon" boat (because vocabulary is hard and sometimes "pontoon" and "tampon" get confused)(holy cow would that be an awkward mistake the other way) and we would take day boating trips on Tellico Lake to Fort Loudoun or to eat dinner buy hand-dipped milkshakes at Calhoun's. He put me at the helm, teaching bow from stern, starboard from port, and how to steer into the waves at the correct angle to avoid pitching or yawing (knowledge I still employ today when I am training in the water and using the kickboard for drills).

You guessed it. "Tampon Boat with
Grandpa 2".

(*Story for free* - Tennessee is also where my seven year old brother announced in a Subway restaurant he was going to live in a condom when he got older. At thirteen years old I was both mortified and tickled such a scandalous thing was said aloud. My mother quickly deduced he meant "condo" - which honestly has much better amenities and is a tad roomier - and set his terminology to right.)

My youth is comprised of memories of my Irish grandfather singing freestyle with a drink in his hand.

"Kelly Sue

 Don't be blue

 Grandpa loves you"

(I come by my lyrical skills honestly.)(He was also a faithful Catholic and to this day my children sometimes pray singing in made-up Latin using their best Gregorian-style Chant - just like Pappy.) 

Above all, I remember my Grandfather loved me. He was interested in my life. He talked with me about God and eternity. He wanted good things for my future. And, most importantly, he made sure I knew all this. What a gift.

Thank you for leaving me with that memory, Grandfather.

Twinsies.

Goodbye, Grandfather.

She's called a Primary Care Physician because she primarily cares about taking your money.

Duuuuuuuuuude.

What. a. week.

I'm sorry I've been so quiet, but honestly, I've been so busy. It has been bananas over here. I've gotten so many emails and Facebook messages wondering how Brian is doing and offering up prayers and encouragement, and I am so thankful for so much support. I have no idea how people do this alone.

"Hhhhhhhhi, Baby. Ohhhhh, my breeeeaaaath is baaad?"

Firstly, I'll bring you up to speed on Brian's condition. (The condition where he is dizzy, not the one where he is super sensitive to smell due to his new meds and is apparently incapable of shutting his mouth about my freaking "garlic breath halitosis".)(Seriously, I get it already.)(I mean, I'm sorry my poor hubs is suffering so and my breath is rank.)(But honestly? California Pizza Kitchen has a frozen white pizza with spinach and garlic that is out of this world.)(Like, divorce worthy.)(Also? I totally went and bought him falafal and chicken shwarma because it was the only thing that sounded appetizing to him, so really, hey Pot, wanna keep talking smack about the Kettle you married?)

Last I blogged, Brian was waiting for an evaluation from a physical therapist who specialized in vestibular rehabilitation. He was evaluated last Thursday evening, and had a Friday morning session to see if they could make any headway, but I was called into his session because Nick the Therapist did not think Brian had Benign Positional Vertigo. He was hesitant to keep treating Brian, mainly because he did not want to waste our time or money unlike our primary care physician who will eventually rue the day she met me. He recommended we go back to our primary care physician and get a referral to see a neurologist and/or an ENT doctor.

This is where crap got real.

We've had a bit of a rough time with our primary care physician (let's call her Dr. G) mainly because she is a horrible person she was hard-pressed to actually spend five minutes with Brian before she handed us some sheets filled with exercises (that she refused to demonstrate) and referred us to physical therapy for a condition Brian doesn't even have. So...we went out on our own.

We found our own PT (Nick) who would see us sooner than mid-November. We finagled a neurology referral from Dr. G's staff in her name, and managed to see a neurologist first thing Monday morning*.

(*This story is amazing. Will you indulge me on a tangent? I'd be ever so obliged. Brian had PT Friday morning at 7:45. (Um, yes I dropped him off and went and ate McDonalds.) I was called in around 8:30 to talk about the next steps. We left around 9:00 with Nick's promise to email Dr. G right away with his report so we could get cracking on the neuro/ENT side of things. We had a referral by 9:30. I sent out a Facebook plea to see if we had any connections in the neurology world. It just so happened that my friend Lina checked her FB while she was sitting in a neurologist's office for an appointment her daughter was supposed to have had the day before, but got rescheduled last minute. She pleaded our case to a compassionate doctor, who in turn got us an appointment Monday morning at 8:45 am. This is usually a 2-3 month process, and we got in the next business day. Whaaaaa?)

Not Dr. G. But I'm pretty sure she looked
like this while talking to my dear, sweet, sick
husband whose wife just wants his normal
sense of smell back so she can eat more
spinach and garlic pizza.

The neurologist turned out to be the best kind of bust; Brian's vertigo doesn't seem to have any neurological cause. His tests all came back clean (!) and the brain doc referred us to the same clinic Dr. G originally referred us to - except not for Benign Positional Vertigo this time.

When Dr. G. got all the paperwork from Brian's neurology appointment as well as his MRI and MRA results she flipped the heck out in the most unprofessional way possible, calling Brian at home and giving him a "stern lecture in an irritated manner" (this is how Brian describes it because he's not the Drama Queen in our relationship) concerning the way her staff dropped the ball and how we should not have done the things we did to ensure Brian had, I don't know, actual medical care.

At the very least, this conversation seemed to light a fire under Dr. G's tush because she (in tandem with the neurology department) tagged us as "expedited" on the University of Michigan Vestibular Clinic waiting list. This clinic has upwards of a year waiting list. Dr. G marked us "urgent" before, and that gave us an appointment mid-November (remember the one we wouldn't wait for?!). I did not hold out much hope even with such a fancy word like "expedited" attached to Brian's name, but apparently I don't speak the magic language of insider medical scheduling, because "expedited" is freaking golden.

We received a phone call that day to schedule Brian's appointments. The clinic requires a series of three appointments of multiple hours of testing before you can even see a doctor. (I'm trusting this makes sense because I have to believe these people know what they are doing.) Our first appointment was scheduled for October 10th, our second the 21st, and the third the 31st. We were scheduled by my current favorite person in the universe, Judy, who promised she was still going to try to get Brian in sooner. Boy, did Judy deliver. She called the very next day to say she found a block of all three appointments for this Friday, and she got Brian an appointment with a doctor next Thursday.

Judy is getting a puppy. Or at least a fancy cup of coffee and some flowers if I ever meet her in person.

I am really thankful.

Right now Brian is better than he was, but that's mainly because he quit taking all the anti-vertigo drugs and his body is learning to compensate. He gets tired very easily. He has started to take short walks down the block once or twice a day, but they are very taxing. He can't drive or watch our little kids (he's okay with Eve and Hosanna), and if he overdoes it he is in bed all day long. He is currently on short-term disability (which is another hilarious post for another day)(and Dr. G actually charged us $20 to fill out our disability paperwork)(which she forgot to sign)(and I had to drive back the next day and get her signature), and I really can't stress how thankful I am to get into this clinic so soon.

I'm still coveting your thoughts and prayers, and a huuuuuuuge thank you to so many of you who have babysat or brought food, and the numbers of offers to be available for anything we need. We are abundantly blessed to know all of you.

Some of the support crew - Sister Wife Rachel, Sister Wife Lyndsay, me, and Sister Wife/Running Partner Extraordinaire Rose - holding me up on Sunday morning

This kid. Seriously.

While I'm talking prayer request (it got all church up in here), I need to drop another request on you all. I planned to have this post ready yesterday, but, you know, life, so while I was going to ask for prayers for my sweet 6 year old nephew who was having brain surgery, I'm now asking prayers for his complete recovery. We are praying he will be moved from ICU to the regular pediatric unit today, and that he will have everything he needs to manage his pain. Keep my sister Cassie and her hubs in your prayers as well. This is one of the hardest things a parent has to endure. Please and thank you.

In Memory: Gavin David Leong

The blog community is so weird.  When you check in with someone everyday through their blog you feel as if you know them.  You feel invested in their lives.  You care about how they are doing.  They become a part of your life without even meeting them.

One of my favorite blogs is called Chasing Rainbows.  It is written by a woman named Kate Leong, and chronicles her daily joys and struggles concerning her life as she raises two boys. Gavin is a five year old "Superhero Child" who fights every day of his life just to be able to live as normally as possible.  Against odds this kid has learned to eat pureed foods, sit up, grasp small objects, and recently has been able to walk holding his parent's hands. Brian is her miracle baby born about a year and a half after Gavin.  He is a smiley little boy who loves his brother and (like a kid after my own heart) had a long phase pointing out street signs whenever he was out walking.

Kate will tell you time and again that Gavin, not her, is the inspiring one.  That he is the one conquering impossible goals and never giving up.  And Gavin is inspiring.  There are times I've struggled on my runs and thought, "Gavin worked harder than this just to grab a marker for spin art.  Suck it up, Buttercup." But as a mom, Kate has transformed the way I look at parenting.  She is a woman who celebrates everything.  Nothing is too small for a homemade sign and a victory dance.  She is a woman who attacks life through a never ending well of positivity. She deals with every situation with grace.  But mostly she has taught me that in a world where success is often measured by outcome, the way to truly succeed at parenting is to love on your babies like there's no tomorrow.   

It's with a very heavy heart that I share that Gavin died yesterday.  It was Kate's birthday.  He had a series of very unexpected seizures and went into cardiac arrest last week.  He held on in the hospital for several days before more seizures caused  permanent brain damage.  Kate and Ed spent a long time cuddling, singing, and talking to their little boy after he was pronounced officially with brain death.  Gavin is on life support as they wait for the transplant teams to come from around the country to harvest his organs to give the gift of life to other people.  Lives will be saved through Gavin's death.  This is a gift of epic proportions.  

Yesterday Kate posted this on her Facebook page:

Ed and I will be announcing our choices for "in lieu of flowers" donations to honor Gavin in a few days, but today is my birthday and this is all about me. I've come up with a special, totally FREE way to honor my sweet son who could inspire the most profound emotion without ever saying a word. I'm asking you to help someone... document it with words and or a photo... and place it on the Chasing Rainbows Facebook Page. Then be sure to check the page often to get inspired by the outpouring of love. Here are some great ideas for you... Find a special needs classroom in your community. These are usually low funded and always looking for donations. Perhaps you have toys your kids don't play with anymore that could be used in the classroom or during therapy. Random crayons that are laying around. I know we always needed rug gripper to place under Gavin's behind when he sat - that's a good need. Do you know a special needs Mom in your neighborhood? Church? School? Tell her you'd like to make dinner for her family. What night would work? Then tell her the only requirement is they have to give a "cheers toast" to Gavin during dinner. Help someone struggling to unload groceries into their car in the rain. Donate clothes to a women's shelter. Check with your local children's hospital for volunteer opportunities - even if it's just for two hours of your life. Save all of your magazines and bring a big stash to your local hospital. You have no idea how helpful that is to parents who spend days, weeks or months (as I did when Gavin was a baby) sitting in their child's hospital room. These are just some ideas... be creative! And think of Gavin when you do it. Share his story with the person you are blessing. Tell them that Gavin Leong changed the world with little acts of courage, determination and a sweet smile... without ever saying a word. And then ask them to pay it forward to honor his legacy. This would be the best birthday gift you could give me. There is no time frame - you could post something today or a year from now or five years from now. Thank you for helping me to honor my amazing little boy. And feel free to share this anywhere you want!

My heart is breaking for Kate and Ed.  They have been a joy and an inspiration to "know" in the blogosphere.  Today I celebrate the life of Gavin David Leong.

In memory.

Nothing says "love" like VD*

I have dreams of being *that* mom; you know, the one who actually does all the crap she pins on Pinterest, whose children have amazing memories of themed breakfasts and color coordinated holiday desserts, but who also gracefully handles normal life with aplomb.

But instead I'm the kind of mom that actually has kids.

However, this year was going to be different.  I had my Valentine's Day game ON.  I picked a Pinterest craft to make for my beloveds:

and even started saving toilet paper rolls like, two weeks ago, which, in my sweet little family of six means I have a collection of about 25 in my immediate possession. (Which also now puts me on the Black Market Hit List for every elementary school art teacher in my vicinity.)  I bought candy with which to fill the bombs, and, because I know the perils of too much junk in the trunk, I also bought some heart pencils and rulers.

I don't even know how it happened but I finagled my way into an invite to a homeschooler party that I wouldn't need to plan at all.  I could just show up with a treat or two and have the kiddos prepared to hand out cards.  Which? I also had the foresight to purchase last week. Cards with stickers and pop out cardboard jewelry.  (Oh my goodness.  I get the chills just thinking about how ahead of the freaking game I was.)

My whole "This Year I Will Be An Awesome Mom" Valentine's Day plan was going so well.

Enter Saturday night.

Kelly: Dude.  I don't feel so good. (The exact wording may have been a bit different because maybe I feel Brian doesn't take me seriously unless it seems I am dying.)(So it probably was more like, "Briiiiiaaaaan.  I feel like I'm gonna diiiieee. Seriously, Babe.  I've never felt so sick in my Whole. Entire. Liiiiiiiiife.  Except that one time in our old house - remember then?  When my limbs were so painful that I couldn't even lift the sheet off the bed and you had to stay home from work because there was no way I could lift two children in and out of cribs let alone be expected to change any diapers? That time was worse.  But thiiiiis is reeeally bad, toooooooo.")(I'm paraphrasing, of course.)

The next few five days were a blur.  A blur of the worst moments of my life.  (Really, Drama Queen?)(Um, yes.)  Because not only did Mama get the FLU FROM HELL (symptoms include high fevers  - averaging 103.5 because we are not underachievers - extreme body/muscle aches, fatigue, chills - and night sweats, score! - sore throat, headache, nausea - maybe I even took a pregnancy test because this wretchedness could not all possibly be just the flu, right? - sinus pain, etc.) but all four kids got it as well.

Brian came home from work most days to discover me cashed out on the pullout couch, covered in four feverish children.  I think we were all whimpering.

I do know this week included copious amounts of television.  And the viewing of the entire "Buddies" puppy movie catalog.  And probably the Spy Kids franchise as well.  We consumed exactly four sleeves of saltine crackers, one and a half gallons of apple juice, and 19 berry flavored Minute Maid juice boxes.  The highlight of the week was undoubtedly this:

Facebook Status:  Thanks to the wretched flu, tonight was my first attempt at dinner in 4 days. About 30 seconds after I realized the Greek yogurt I drizzled all over our Greek pizzas was spoiled, the doorbell rang, and there stood my friend Carrie with homemade chicken noodle soup and warm bread. It was the happiest moment I've had in a long time. I feel so loved :)

Best chicken noodle soup of my life.

So, in conclusion, Next Year I Will Be An Awesome Mom for Valentine's Day.  Unless there is a tornado.  Or something else as equally unplanned and horrifically destructive as this flu. Until then, well, I guess our St. Patrick's Day is gonna be piiiiimp.


*"Nothing says 'love' like VD" is the name of my Valentine's Day board on Pinterest.  It makes you totally want to follow me on Pinterest, amIright?  Good news for you, click on the P over at the top right and you are all set.

How I Became an Ultra-Ironman Triathlete

I should not have put off writing today's post for as long as I have, as it is now late Tuesday night and instead of reveling in my normal hilarity I am sad, sad, sad.

Brian just took the in-laws to the airport. You know, where they will be boarding a plane to Africa.  For a year. (And by that I mean they will be living in Africa for a year, not boarding a plane for a year.)(It's just that my sentence structure was confusing and I didn't want anyone to be misinformed.)(Because here at Sublurban Mama we care about factual and accurate information.)(And avoid redundancies and repeating ourselves.)(Did you like how I said "we" like Sublurban Mama is more than me, a SAHM blogging in my jammies, wondering if Ezra will remember he has a Milky Way Valentine's heart from Grandma in the fridge or if he is still young enough that out of sight means out of mind, and if that is the case I should totally eat it?)

For those who already live far away from family, or just plain don't see yours much, in-laws in Africa for a year will not seem a big deal.  But I'm close with my in-laws, and the kiddos see their grandparents several times a week.  We live 3.1 miles apart (which is an excellent running route, because there's always cold water and a potty half way through)(and a ride home if I wuss out).  This will be an adjustment.  Because honestly, I can't see myself going out for a jog to Malawi anytime soon.  I am an ultrarunner at heart, but I should probably cover more than 6 miles at a time if I'm going to attempt intercontinental running.  Plus there's that whole "ocean" thing.  Although that could be the most intense triathlon ever.

The Ironman Triathlon is a 2.4 mile swim.  The Visit the In-Laws in Malawi Triathlon is about a 4,000 mile swim.  The Ironman follows it's swim with 112 miles on the bike.  My VTILIM Triathlon would have a 3300 mile bike ride.  The run would undoubtedly be the easiest part. The Ironman finishes with a little 26.2 mile marathon, and I think the VTILIM run would be about the same.  Except in a third world nation.  With no support or paved roads.  A trail run marathon.

Actually, my Visit the In-Laws in Malawi Triathlon sounds a lot like what I imagine is an everyday Navy Seal workout.  In fact, with a few minor tweaks (like the rule where you have to carry a weapon and wear camo body paint) I'm pretty sure I should rename this the Navy Seal Triathlon for Hardcore Endurance Athletes that Know Second Place is First Loser and that Pain is Just Weakness Leaving the Body.  It's catchier and more inclusive, don'tcha think?

Hoorah.

To Make You Less Miserable

Anyone can get a haircut, Anne.

On Saturday Sarah and I went to see Les Miserables.  As a former voice major I have spent my fair share of time being emo and performing "On My Own" and "I Dreamed a Dream" to the untold masses that gather to listen to me in my shower and minivan.  And while I do rock out some intense vibrato on the ascending "shame" line of "I Dreamed a Dream", I'll begrudgingly admit that maybe Anne Hathaway performed it a bit more convincingly than I.  Part of it had to be the costuming and makeup, but mostly somewhat slightly it had to do with her vocal chops and acting ability. (Seriously, she was amazing.  Not even ah-may-zing. Just, wow.)

I love Les Miserables because of the message of redemption.  It's a story of grace, and yes, revolution, which excites the warrior in me.  With this remaking I discovered it was possible to form an immediate crush on every dirty French revolutionary that sings (mainly because they are all young and attractive and have nice teeth despite the reality that that probably wasn't so) and also want to adopt a six year old boy who would doubtlessly give my own sweet Esther a run for her money.  I was pleasantly surprised by the performances and cried like a big fat baby through some of the scenes (effectively using my shirt to sop up the mess)(because I was too lazy to reach for the paper towel I brought from the bathroom for that very purpose).  Hugh Jackman was every bit as good as he was said to be, and Russel Crowe was aight.

However.

I came upon a clip.  Thank you, Internets.  I'm calling for an Oscar duel.  An Oscar duet duel, if you will.  Neil Patrick Harris and Jason Segel vs. Hugh Jackman and Russel Crowe.  It's on.

Yep. I love you. In a completely unfunny and nerd-like way.

I do not believe a humor blog should be a soapbox.  But sometimes I am a big fat hypocrite, and today is one of those days. You're welcome.

I post early in the morning, so my Fitness Friday post was published before the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting occurred.  I didn't know about the tragedy until I hopped on Facebook late that afternoon and news about the event was everywhere.

Without the kiddos around, I turned on the television and was just sickened.  Like most people, I immediately thought of my own children, one of whom is five years old and is in kindergarten.  I thought of my mom, a resource room teacher in an elementary school, and my niece and nephew - a first grader and a kindergartner, in the same school with my mom. I thought of Lauren, a second grade teacher with a class full of seven year olds.  These people I love deeply, due to the massacre at Sandy Hook, became potential victims in my mind.

Brian came home early from work, and I met him outside and just cried.  All I could say was, "They were the same age as Esther."

I am heartbroken.

I am terrified.

I am not alone.

The details of this tragedy will unfold over time.  We will learn about the shooter, the victims, the timeline of the events, and amidst all this there will be much speculation.  So much speculation.   Why? How?  What if ... ? There will be blame.  People are scared.  People need a scapegoat.  They need to believe that this will not happen again.  And that's all okay.

And thus begins the process of processing.  Processing our grief, our fear, and our anger.  It is messy.  It can be hurtful.  It can feel like a personal attack.  The temptation to jump into an issues war is great.  But today let us just process, so we can grieve, and ultimately, heal.

Today we show people grace.  We love as Jesus loves.  We let them rant about gun control, mental health, safety in schools, and cast blame wherever they feel best and we forgive them as they process their anger, fear, and grief.  Because there will be a time to address all these things.  There will be a time that we need to come together and find reasonable, non-reactionary solutions to very real problems.  But today is not that day.  Not when our grief is so raw, our fear so heightened, and our anger myopic.

Today I want you all to know what Kaitlin Roig, a first grade teacher and survivor of the Sandy Hook shooting, came to know as the most important need of the human condition.  As she hid her students from the gunman in the hallway she told each of her kids that she loved them.  If these children were to die, she wanted the last thing they heard to be that they are loved.

And so, my dear friends, family, and readers of this silly little blog of mine, please know that you are loved.  I love you. (Even if I don't know you and if we never meet, know that you make my life better because you read my blog, and that matters to me.)(Partly because I'm super prideful and the number of people that read this are important to me, but also because I spend my free time doing this and it blesses me that you spend your free time reading it.)(So yeah, you, you from some town I've never heard of, I love you.)

More importantly, Jesus loves you.  Jesus, who does know what town you are from and also every hair on your head (even the grey ones; your beauty shop tricks ain't foolin' the Lord, y'all) - He loves you, too.

As I do my own processing, I am choosing to love.  (And if this "Jesus loves you" stuff isn't your thing, I pray you will choose love too, because I need some in return.)  God bless you all.