Sunday, November 9, 2014

It Was Just a Batch of Muffins....So Why do I Feel So Happy?

I just caught myself sitting here, at the end of the weekend, wondering where the time went. Four o’clock on Friday afternoon seems like it was just minutes ago.  But yet an entire weekend has come and gone again.  And there are things left on the weekend to-do list that never got a second glance after I wrote them down.

And in my wondering where the time went I began to place blame.  I began to blame the choices that I made with my time on my now almost completely unchecked list.  And it was immediately after this particular thought – “Why did I decide to spend all that time in the kitchen baking muffins this afternoon when I could have been ironing, cleaning, or studying?” – that a far more important thought occurred to me.  

And that thought is this: Why am I beating myself up for accepting the blessings that have so abundantly been given to me?

Here’s what I mean.  And here is where my thoughts have shifted to at the end of a weekend that was wonderful and full of blessings.

I spent time baking muffins for my family because:

I have been blessed with a wonderful family full of healthy tummies that love and appreciate muffins.

I have been blessed with the vision to see the ingredients, the hands to carry out the instructions, the knowledge to understand measurements, and the ability to read the recipe.

I have been blessed with a vehicle in the driveway with gas in the tank so I can drive to the grocery store.  

I have been blessed with a job that puts money in my bank account so I am able to buy ingredients.

I have been blessed to live in a home with a working oven, refrigerator, sink, and dishwasher so that I can bake a recipe.

I have been blessed with the freedom to use my time however I choose.

I have been blessed with a heart and mind that reminds me that when I feel anxious about where the time has gone, I can rest assured that no time tending to the ones I love the most is ever wasted.  And if that means that I did not iron that gigantic stack of wrinkled clothes today, it’s no big deal.  Because while that stack will continue to grow as I make different choices with my time, it will never be as large as the love I have for my boys.  

I spent time baking muffins for my family because I have been abundantly blessed.  And for that I am abundantly grateful.  

Monday, September 15, 2014

I am a Re-Conditioning Battery

About twenty years ago I worked for a cellular company.  Technology was different then and there was a service that we provided on a fairly regular basis: re-conditioning rechargeable batteries.  Some batteries would lose their life long before the device had lost its usefulness so the customer would bring in their battery and the tech would attach it to a device that would re-condition it, improving the life of that battery.  It was basically a continual loop of completely depleting the device, completely charging it, and then starting the process all over again.  It was through this endless, consecutive charge-and-deplete cycle that the battery would basically reclaim most of its original storage capacity.   

Now, if you were to remove a battery partially through the re-conditioning process you would probably see longer battery life, but not see the full potential of that battery.  You would perhaps get 50 percent better than you had before, but by removing it early you would fail to reach 100 percent.  I think about the process of re-conditioning batteries and I cannot help but draw parallels to myself.  

I am a battery in the process of being re-conditioned. 

I am in constant search for the full charge before depletion starts all over again.  I am always looking for things, people, activities, time, anything to allow me a full charge before things, people, activities, time, everything starts depleting my already taxed stores of power. It would seem, at times, that there is no such thing as a full charge.  And even when I think I have accomplished a full recharging, it proves to be only one of a countless partial charges in the process of re-conditioning.  

And the depletion process happens so much more quickly than the charging process.  Even situations that I enter with the thought that they will be rejuvenating, refreshing experiences often turn into just the opposite.

One-sided relationships, poorly attempted and thinly veiled threats, questions asked repeatedly when the answer has already been stated repeatedly, behavior choices of children, behavior choices of adults, and often even my own choices: these are just some of the small things that keep me in the perpetual cycle of re-conditioning.  

Please don’t get me wrong here: I am not complaining.  

Even though there are moments when I feel like I cannot take one more single second of depletion, I find that I actually can.  Even though there are moments when I want to bury my head in the sand, ignore all responsibilities and just rest, I soldier on with slight alterations.  I ignore the laundry for an extra day and instead cuddle up with my boys on the couch.  I skip cooking dinner and offer up ice cream instead because the effort is minimal and the happiness is enormous.  I make a budget that I vowed to stick to and then fail to stick to it because someone needs new shoes, or pants, or lunch, or a haircut, or any number of things that pop up when you are mom to four.

I allow the cycle of depletion and charging to continue for one reason: I am rechargeable.  I was created by a Father who gave me purpose.  I was created by a Father who could have allowed me to be disposable but instead gave me the option to become new again.  I was created by a Father who wants me to deplete all of my love and energy to do my part in making this world a better place.  I was created by a Father who gave more than I can even imagine, His son, ensuring that I would have abundant and beautiful life, followed by an abundant and perfect eternity.   

So, on days like today, when I feel bone-exhausted immediately following the weekend, 
when I feel like a failure for failing to post a blog for two weeks following a promise to write more, when I feel like I can actually hear my pillows whimpering my name, calling me to their fluffy comfort before 7 pm; on days like today I check myself and remember.

I remember that I have purpose.  I remember that I am rechargeable, not disposable.  I remember that I am held in the strong and powerful hands of a Father who loves me and will not let me deplete completely.  There will always be more that requires my energy, and the longer I allow the cycle of re-conditioning to continue I can only gain more power.  I can only fulfill greater pieces of my purpose.  I can only do more of that which I was created to do.  

Oh, trust me.  I am not complaining about that at all.       

Saturday, August 30, 2014

A New School Year Brings a New Opportunity for Gratitude

I feel it is necessary to start this blog post by addressing my lack of writing over the summer.  I find it difficult to find my creativity during the summer: I become uninspired when the heat outside is oppressive, I experience a serious dip in productivity, and to be honest, I become a fairly grumpy person.  (Yes, I am working on that – I know grumpy is not a good look).  It is still hot outside and shows no signs of letting up anytime soon, but I have gone back to work and that has given me the spark I needed to get back to the craft of blog writing. 

And my work is where I want to start.  I work in an elementary school.  And over the past few weeks as we have prepared for students and conquered our first week of school being in session, I have been overwhelmed by the number of things that have popped into my head as ideas for blog posts.  But I want to start with my favorite subject: gratitude.

I have been bombarded in the last few weeks with moments that have brought gratitude bubbling to the surface in my heart.  There are the easy ones: that I have a job, that I work with an amazing group of people, or that I get to be close to my own children throughout the day.  But there are some moments in an elementary school that come at me subtly, quietly, and without any fanfare.  They happen organically and quickly; and they can easily pass me by without an understanding of their power in the moment. 

These are the moments that I reflect on at the end of the day.  These are the moments that I remember when I realize that while I am exhausted, I am not empty.  These are the moments that keep me filled up and ready to pour out all the love and energy that somehow is being replenished without notice. 

It is the second grader who stops every time he sees me to give me a hug.  It is the third grader who replies to my queries with “school is awesome”.  It is the co-workers who smile at 7:15 every morning even though it has been crazy hectic at their house since 4 am.  It is all the kindergarten students who are so excited about learning activities that it shows on their tiny cherub faces.  It is first graders who look so big since the last time I saw them in May.  It is fourth graders who are coming into their own, really stretching their personalities, embracing their last year of elementary school.  It is moms and dads who wear a look of trust and peace on their faces because they know that leaving their children at our school will not only bring to their babies an education from books, but also life skills and love; so much love.  It is the electric atmosphere that occurs when so many talented educators come together to help create a brighter future for hundreds of growing minds. 

It is every single moment that fills my days for which I am grateful.  Because, truth be told, I get so much more from my job than I could ever give to it.  And that fact is not lost on me.  I am filled with gratitude for all those moments and for all the people, grown and growing, that I get to spend my days with.   

It is my intention that my gratitude will be evident in all that I do, for this school year and beyond.  It is my intention that I pay attention to how blessed I am to be where I am and that recognition of my personal blessings will spill over so that I may be a blessing to others.  So, for my first blog post back from hiatus, I really only have one thing to say; and that is THANK YOU!   

Monday, June 16, 2014

Alec Calls it Camp: I Call it a Learning Experience....For Mom

A couple of days ago it was Family Day at the camp that Alec is currently attending.  Before I tell you about Family Day, let me tell you about how the schedule is set up at this camp.  The campers arrive on a Sunday.  The following Saturday is Family Day and then the campers have two more weeks of camp, sans family visits.  All alone with people they have just met.  At least for the new campers, the ten year olds, they are people they have just met. 

When I dropped my oldest child, my first-born son, off at camp it went something like this: he went with his cabin coach to unpack and change clothes while the boys and I waited, he returned in his camp uniform, bouncing across the campground like a spring that has been waiting for an eternity to finally be sprung, he hugged me, looked up and said “bye”.   Um, that’s it?  Seriously? 

This momma had a hard time with this one.  Much like on his first day of kindergarten when he looked over at me, my face full of worried anticipation of the separation tantrum that was to occur in three….two…one……and then this – “Are you still here?”  Yep, I expected that my child, my first-born, who had never even been in daycare, would exhibit at least a small amount of trepidation about his first-ever school day.  I was wrong.  It was foreshadowing: a glimpse into how it would go down when I dropped him off at camp five years later. 

I am not sure why I build these things up in my mind to be so much more than they are ever going to be.  I don’t know why in these particular moments, when I have to release my child, my first-born, to the care of others, I expect that he will rebel or fight to stay with his mommy, or at least freaking whimper.  But he does not.  He goes into new experiences unafraid and without a fight.  He is not an alpha male by any means, but he is not afraid to give things a try either. 

Fast forward to Family Day.  When Alec turned to see me and his brothers standing on the campground, he was instantly in my arms, tears flowing.  His words told me that he was happy to see me; but his eyes betrayed the truth: he wanted to come home; he’d had enough of this camp business and was ready to return to the familiarity of family and long days of arguing with his brothers.  He wanted his mom and he wanted his house and his bed and he wanted his normal routine.  He wanted so much to be back in College Station, back in the familiar reality that requires no courage, where excitement does not wane at the end of the day when there is nothing left to do, where he belongs.

Alec and I made a commitment to this camp: it is an invitation-only camp and by accepting his invitation, Alec took a spot at camp that could have been taken by another boy.  We, together, discussed this many times in the weeks preceding camp, and we, together, decided to make a commitment.  At that moment I know that he wanted more than anything in the world to break his commitment.  He just wanted home.  But that is not how we do things.  That is not who I am raising my son to be. 

I never entertained the idea of letting him come home with me that day and I am so glad that I didn’t.  During my time at Family Day I spoke to the wonderful lady who, along with her husband, runs the camp.  She knew that Alec was feeling homesick and that he had been for several days.  But she made it clear to me that his homesickness was only in his down time.  She made it clear to me that during every other moment of every day, whether he felt sad or not, he put his head down and did what he was supposed to do; he did what the coaches asked, he participated fully in every activity, he was a committed camper.  He was exactly who I am raising my son to be.

It was hard to say goodbye to him when we left the camp that day.  But it was not hard to enjoy the pride I felt in my son and the way that he is showing his character every single day at that camp.  The way he is charging ahead, doing what he committed to do and enjoying it even though he sometimes feels overwhelming homesickness, the way he is handling himself in a difficult situation makes me proud.  And hopefully it makes him proud too.  Hopefully this is an experience that will teach him that even when you temporarily don’t like it anymore, even when it is so much easier to pack up and go home, even when giving up seems like a viable option because your mom is standing there and she could give you a ride home; it is still possible to see things through to the end and to fully honor your commitments. 

That night I got a call from the man who runs that camp with his wife.  He called to let me know that though it was hard for Alec to see us drive away, and there were some tears, Alec had stepped up to the plate, dried his eyes and fully re-engaged in the camp activities, and that he was happy and doing amazing.  He called to thank me for sharing my son with him and his camp; for allowing them the time to get to know Alec and to see what a great kid he is.  He called to commend Alec and to thank me for not pulling him out of camp, for choosing instead to honor our commitment.


The thing is this: my boys never cease to amaze me.  Just when I thought I have Alec all figured out and I know exactly what to expect from him, he pulls a fast one on me.  He exhibits independence that leaves me in awe; he feels sadness so deep that it brings him to tears and then he turns right around and shows what he is truly made of.   My Alec, my child, my first-born; what an amazing young man he is turning out to be.   

Thursday, May 29, 2014

So Many Thoughts and Feels - It's Hard to Keep it Cohesive

Okay, so here comes some more information on the same thought train (sort-of; this one derails a little bit) as the last couple of posts.  In the beginning of the life of this blog I made mention of the fact that I did not know for sure what the purpose of this writing for public consumption exercise was for me.  I just knew then that it would be important.  Well, some of the answers are starting to come out.  And one of those answers is that the blog has been a catalyst for the information-seeking path that I have been on lately regarding my own personality and for the choices that I make in my life.

I am learning more every day and I am sharing here as a way to not only share with readers that may or may not know me and may or may not glean any use from the words, but also as a way to assimilate and process the information that is constantly running through my brain. By taking the time to type it out I am assisting my own processing activity, thereby making all of this knowledge useful and applicable.  Thanks for coming along with me; perhaps together we can sort some things out.  Or you can make the choice to slowly back away from the crazy that can be Nikki; you have free will, I promise I will understand.    

It was this soul searching that reminded me that while I do not believe in giving up on people I also do not believe in giving more of you than another person is willing to accept.  Once you get caught in that unbalanced sort of relationship, I see very little good that can come of it.  So I find myself retracting some earlier statements about the possibility of specific fractured fairy tales coming true.  I find myself with a renewed understanding of the complexities and dangers of hurried relationships.  And I am reminded that a red flag is just a red flag, a little hiccup if you will, until the hiccups keep you up or cause even a restless mind to spin out of control with frustration.  Self-preservation says walk away; so away I walk.  We all put effort and/or energy into those things that we see as a priority and I am too valuable to ever be somebody’s post-script.  

On a related note, I will mention that it is probably a cause for pause when you have entered into a sort of relationship with a new acquaintance that could be considered a sort of dating yet you continue to be drawn to the presence of another.  In simple terms I mean that if you want to date the guy you just met, perhaps you should be sure that there aren't still other guys who cause you to need to catch your breath and/or stare inappropriately at every given opportunity. My energy has definitely been pointed in a very different direction for some time now. Apparently even attractive distractions are not enough for me. I am either going to get what I want or I am going to wait.  I'm cool with that.      

And on another related note, I never said that all of my choices and actions are rational or appropriate in nature; I have only claimed to live honestly and genuinely.  That much I can definitely do; anyone who has ever been around me for more than five minutes or had a personal-in-nature-conversation with me can testify to that much; but rational and appropriate are still in the works.  Or have been discarded as unlikely possibilities.  Or they were never really considered in the first place.  Whatever. 

Oh, and if I am angry or upset I will walk away for a spell.  Please just let me.  It does not mean that I do not wish to communicate or to solve the problem.  It means that the emotional part of me is winning over the logical part of me and I don’t want to say or do something that I cannot defend later.  I don’t like to speak from a place of negative emotion because I find them to be temporary and liars and I would just as soon not entertain negativity like that.  I will always revisit an argument or a discussion when it is appropriate to do so; so long as I have been given an opportunity to think first.  

There was a time when I was told often that drunk people show their true emotions; that given enough alcohol to decrease inhibitions a person would act and speak in a way that is most representative of their true selves and of their true feelings.  Yeah, not so much.  That is just a big old load of wrong.  Drunk people, just like emotionally-charged people may sometimes act out their truest feelings.  But it is far more likely that given sobriety or the chance to process and to calm down, their inhibitions and rational thinking will prevent them from acting in a way that their unaltered minds are smart enough to prevent.  I can act like an idiot whenever I want, I don’t need alcohol or a fight to show you who I “really” am; all that negative emotions and alcohol are ever going to show you is the part of me that I am typically strong enough and smart enough to tame.

Life is a constant battle for everyone to tame the parts of themselves that they do not want to let out of the cage.  This is not being disingenuous or fake; it is being a human adult with consideration, compassion, and courtesy for the others that surround them.  Having parts of ourselves that we have to battle at times is what keeps us on our toes; it is what helps us to determine who we really want to be; and it helps us to show the world the person we are working daily to become.  Winning or losing those battles will help determine your paths and will help prioritize your relationships and it will show you where and how you need to focus your energy.  

I will try very hard not to fight when it is not the time and I will try very hard to present the best me that I can at all times.  But I will not claim to be a constant master of my own emotions. That would be a lie.  But if you ever see me lose it, if you are witness to a tragic moment where my logic takes a dive and lets emotion win; please forgive me.  I am human.  I am logical and I am emotional.  And I am fallible.

But I promise I am still awesome.  Just hang in there, you’ll see. 

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Continue on This Introspective Journey With Me....It Will Explain Some Things

In my last post I talked about how I see all the possibilities in situations and how I tend to fall in love with one particular possibility.  Let me continue here with some more information about the way my brain works.  I have been spending some time trying to understand the complexities of the ways that I feel, think, react, and expect as I go through my daily life.  I have spent time learning about my strengths and about my personality type.  It is all fascinating stuff to me.  And I have stumbled upon some enlightening facts. 


Let’s start with some nuggets of knowledge about Nikki:

I am 50% left-brained and 50% right-brained.  Yep, I am weird.

I am an INFJ on the personality instrument which is based on Jung’s and Briggs-Meyer’s approach to personality.  This particular type is found in 1% to 3% of the population.  Yep, weird again; though I really like the word unique better.

My five greatest strengths (according to one particular indicator) are: Learner, Input, Intellection, Belief, and Connectedness.  This means, in very basic terms, that the process of learning is appealing to me, I like to collect and archive information, I am introspective and I enjoy intellectual conversation, I have unchanging core values that define the purpose of my life, and that I believe in the connectedness of all things, that coincidences are rare, and every occurrence in life has a definite purpose.

Other testing mechanisms have highlighted high levels of empathy, analytical thinking, and strategic planning as strengths that I possess.   

I am equally strong in the linguistic (word smart) and intrapersonal (myself smart) learning styles, followed closely by equally logical (number smart) and interpersonal (people smart).  

And now for some more nuggets that are not based on anything other than my knowledge of myself:

I speak often of my tendency to exhibit contradictory actions and thoughts.  I am always aware of my contradictions, and I am always aware of a logical or an emotional reason for them. 

I do not like surprises.  To me a surprise is a failure on my part to expect a possibility, a failure to pick up on clues that were shown to me through other’s words or actions, or a failure to consider things from a different perspective.  If you manage to surprise me, I will see it as a personal failure and I won’t like it. 

I think.  All. The. Time.  My brain does not stop.  I rarely worry, but I am always thinking.  Always. It is part of what helps me to expect all possibilities and it is part of what causes me to feel some degree of disappointment in reality when it does not meet expectation.

I often feel more deeply for other people’s struggles and triumphs than I do for my own.  I rarely cry about or really celebrate the things that are happening in my life.  But I will shed many a tear over the trials and successes of someone else’s life.  Stories of love and courage hit me deeply, but I find it difficult to apply that sort of intensity to the things that happen in my own life.

I can script conversations perfectly on paper or in my head, but when it comes to verbalizing those exact conversations, I will mess it up every time.  I tend to use a lot of disclaimers because I feel a need to explain myself while simultaneously explaining my opinion or thoughts. Most conversations I have with others leave me feeling like the person I was talking to didn't really get what I was saying and it is because they don’t truly get me.     

When there is something I really want I can be very hesitant to just go for it.  This is especially true in my relationships with other people.  It is not that I have a fear of rejection, because I really don’t.  I have a healthy understanding that not all humans will love or like each other with mutual intensity.  It is more that I am hesitant to have reality break apart my vision of how it could be.  As long as it remains my personal vision I can control it; the minute I allow another person to have input it has changed, for better or for worse.  The part that causes me trepidation is the “for worse” possibility; some visions are just so beautifully crafted that they become hard to let go of.  This is why I can have a crush on one person for months without ever acting on it.  And this is why I can want to cultivate a friendship but not know how exactly to do it.  So if I ever openly seek your attention, please know that it is being sought with a huge helping of courage on my part.  Try not to squash too hard if that is your choice of action.  And try not to over-think my terms of affection; I like the words I love you and I like to use nick names; that’s just Nikki. 

Being half dreamer and half logical thinker is exhausting.  There is a constant logic vs. emotion battle happening inside me.  Sometimes the brain wins and sometimes the heart wins.  When the brain wins, the heart feels ignored and unloved.  When the heart wins, the brain points out all the reasons why the choice is flawed and doomed to fail.  At the same time, my creativity can be highly practical and my practicality can be highly creative, which makes me….weird, or unique, or awesome; yes, it makes me awesome.  That is one of my favorite words so let’s just stick with that one.

I can be obnoxious in my confidence and self-love and still always fight the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I am not doing enough.  I don’t ever struggle with thoughts of not being good enough.  I know I am good enough.  But am I doing enough?  That is the tiny little thorn in my brain that keeps the wheels turning all the time.  It also leads to occasional stagnation because I am so concerned about whether what I am doing is enough that I get bogged down and stop doing at all.  This one is a vicious cycle that I need to spend some more time learning about so that I can address it. 

Now that this post has exceeded its intended word limit, I will stop here and pick back up next time.  By then I am sure my never-ceasing thoughts will have come up with so much more to add.  Until then, dear reader, goodbye and I love you.    

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

You See Puppies. I See Endless Ways to Fall in Love.

So, imagine this with me if you will.  You are presented with a box of puppies.  They are all adorable and precious, have sweet puppy breath, and your heart practically melts at the sight of them.  Here’s what you know: you have the opportunity to spend some time with the puppies so that you can learn their personalities, you will eventually be presented with one of the puppies to keep and love forever, but, and here’s the catch, you will not be able to choose the puppy you keep; it will be chosen for you and you cannot exchange the puppy once it has been given.

So, what do you do?  You hop in the puppy crate and start playing, of course.  You learn that some are face-lickers, some are very rough, some are extremely timid, some are hyper and some sleep the entire time you are trying to connect with them.  While many of the puppies are wonderful and you think they would make excellent companions, some are not gelling with you at all and would never make you happy.

Eventually the inevitable happens: you fall in love with one particular puppy.  That is the puppy for you.  You want it more than all the others, you have already given it a name, and you have visions of days spent in the park and at the lake, wasting the hours running and playing. 

This is dangerous territory.  You fell in love with one, but you have never been guaranteed that one.  There are others that you would like, but you love that one already, and he isn’t even yours yet.  The deal wasn’t to choose the puppy you loved; the deal was to become familiar with the puppies and then someone or something else would make the choice for you. 

What happens if you are presented with the puppy that bites?  Or the puppy that licks your face relentlessly even though you hate it?  Or the puppy that is so hyper you cannot stand it? 

What happens when your dream of frolicking in the park becomes a nightmare of training, obedience classes, special diets, and midnight face-licking sessions?  Or, what happens when you are presented with one of the puppies that you liked, but did not fall in love with?  What happens when reality does not exactly match your desire? 

This is how my mind works.  Every single situation, circumstance, or interaction in my life is a mixed box of puppies.  Except my puppies are possible outcomes and I see them all.  It is one of my strengths: I always imagine every possible outcome so I am rarely shocked at what happens and I am prepared for any possibility.  This is a good thing. 

This is also dangerous territory.  I fall in love every single day, over and over again.  Not with puppies, and not necessarily with people; but with ideas.  I fall in love with one of the hundreds of possible outcomes.  More often than not, my in-love brain will pin more expectation on that one idea than it should.  While I have thought of everything, I have invested in a very small portion of the overall possibilities. 

So, while I am rarely shocked, I am often disappointed.  I do not linger in disappointment, though.  Fortunately, because my brain never stops, I just start the cycle all over again, re-imagining the new possibilities and preparing for the new outcomes, falling in love anew with the plot twist that changed the story. 

This, too, is strength.  There is nothing that has ever brought me down and kept me there.  And there is nothing that has ever surprised me enough to leave me unable to react.  Sometimes it hurts to lose the perfect expectation to the imperfect realities of life, but more often than not, the new possible combinations are more desirable than before the wrench was thrown into the mix.

At the end of the day I will always be in love with something that has yet to happen; I will always have ideas that are boundless in their possibilities; and I will always be prepared to react to any contingency.  It may take a long time for me to fully understand the intricacies of the way this mind of mine works, and that is alright with me.  The way I see it; the way my brain sees it; the possibilities are endless and I will always be in love with something beautiful.


I can live with that.     

Monday, May 19, 2014

There Aren’t Any Intermissions in This Play

There are many different directions a woman’s life can go after divorce.  Some are self-destructive.  Some are lonely.  Some are inspiring.  Some make no sense to anyone but her.  Some include impossible ideals, fairy tales even, of what life will be like some day.  Being who I am, I chose all of the above.  It took a long time for my life to become torn into tiny little pieces, hardly recognizable as belonging to me.  So it only makes sense that it took a long time and many paths to put all of those pieces back together again. 

First there was the self-destructive.  I don’t like to spend a lot of time reminiscing on that particular period of my life.  It was embarrassing, out of control, and frankly quite ridiculous considering the amount of smarts I was blessed with. 

Then there was the lonely.  See, when you hit rock bottom and make changes such as no longer hanging out in bars, you find out that most, if not all of your friends were not really friends; they were just drinking buddies.  Remove the drinking; lose the buddy; which is actually a good thing because I was not distracted from doing the work that I needed to do.   

I call one path inspiring because that was the brain tumor period of my life.  That was when I was unafraid to face a scary thing and I won.  That was when God showed me exactly how much spunk he had built into me and when I finally started figuring out how to harness it and use it for good. 

And there was a period that probably makes no sense to anyone who was not in my shoes.  I felt a strange alone-ness without loneliness.  I felt suspended in the never-ending consequences of my own bad choices.  I was slowly tying up the loose ends of a frayed woman who just wanted to be whole again.  I was slowly polishing the harsh jaded look I had been wearing, patiently trying to rediscover the loving heart that lived underneath.  I was trying to find every last little piece of me, and while I did not want to put myself back together in the form that I once was, I wanted every shred of my life experience available in my heart and in my memory; reminders of how far back from oblivion it is possible to travel. 

During all of these periods I did one thing consistently: I built an imaginary fairy-tale.  (I am totally talking about men here, in case that is not sufficiently implied).  I convinced myself of how things would be and dedicated myself to accepting nothing less than the perfection of my make-believe eventual reality.  Perhaps this was a defense mechanism that worked by setting an impossible standard that could never be met and therefore could never distract me from my path.  Perhaps this was the result of me finally realizing the worth that resides inside this body, heart, and mind of mine.  I am aware that my self-love sometimes borders on (or comes crashing across) a line of obnoxiousness.  I make no apologies.  I have learned that self-love is far better that self-loathing and I will never apologize for who I am now.  And I firmly believe that any person with a significant place in my life should recognize, embrace, and appreciate my awesomeness.   

And now, now that so many different phases have been completed and so many pieces of me have been polished to a brilliant shine, I find that the fairy tale is no longer necessary.  I find that I am okay with the way that things are turning out and the way that things are happening.  I do not need nor do I want a knight in shining armor to come rescue me from whatever evil villain is currently playing opposite me on my stage.  I do not need things to happen exactly the way my imagination scripted it in order to be happy.  All I really need is genuineness, honesty, and faith in the lines.

Whether it is a frog or a prince that is cast opposite me, I will take the script changes as they come, adapting as needed.  And if an exit is needed, I will carefully exit stage left with no looking back.  And if it turns out that I will be on stage with the same co-star for some time to come, I will do so cheerfully, accepting both him and myself as we are; regardless of whether our time on stage consists of forgotten lines and tripping over costumes, or of brilliant performances.       

All of this leads up to this: I recently met a new co-star.  And while we may still be in dress rehearsals, there is a part of me that sees a potential for brilliant performances.  Maybe that is just the romantic in me that wrote fairy tales to begin with.  Maybe it is the result of a true connection.  Maybe it is eternal optimism, which is not such a bad thing.  I don’t yet have all the answers.    

I spoke about this with a friend I love and respect very much.  She calls it not a fairy tale, but a fractured fairy tale.  Hearing those words, and understanding that it may not be what was imagined and may be a little broken apart from the original expectation, it can still be a fairy tale.  After all, authors of compelling stories must be willing to follow the plot line to the end, right?


And I am really looking forward to seeing where this particular plot line takes me.    

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Mother's Day

I have made a choice to refrain from reading the plethora of written words that are out there today about Mother’s Day.  I knew that I wanted to write on the topic and I did not want outside influences to creep into my own words as I pen my thoughts and feelings on the subject of mothers.  

Let’s start at the beginning.  I come from a line of women who are strong, stubborn, beautiful, generous, loyal, and practically unshakable.  I come from a direct line of two women, my Granny and my Mom, who have consistently provided an example of what it means not only to be a woman, but especially what it means to be a mother.

Granny – your loving, giving, and persistent spirit have been a life-long goal to which I have always aspired.  I don’t know if you ever think about your legacy, but I can promise you that it will be one to be proud of.  You have lived your life with a selflessness that is refreshing and beautiful.  Knowing that it is your blood that runs through my veins is an honor that I hold dear to my heart.  On this Mother’s Day I hope that you count your triumphs in the countless ways you have touched, shaped, and loved every person blessed enough to know you.

Mom – I don’t know that there are words in the English language that are adequate to describe the way that I feel about having you as a mother.  There are times that I truly believe that God showed me favor over others by delivering me specially to your womb.  Regardless of any trial that came with being my mom for the past 39 years, you have remained steadfastly the most amazing woman I have ever known.  Your quietly loyal, loving, supportive and understanding approach to life has given me the strength that I have needed to tackle every obstacle that has come my way.  I can look in the mirror today and feel pride at the woman I have become; the credit for that lies considerably in your hands.  You have loved and nurtured me through chaos, bad judgment, pain, joy, failure, and success without ever blinking an eye or wavering in your love.  For that I will be eternally grateful and I will continue to count you as one of the greatest blessings of my life.  

And then there’s me as a mom.  There are a lot of emotions that I feel when I think about my designation as a mother.  The first and most powerful is always gratitude.  I don’t know much about God’s plan for my entire life, but I do know without question that He must really love me to allow me to be the woman that Alec, Chris, Colin, and Nick call Mom.  No other relationship or circumstance in my life will ever compare to the precious blessing that is being their mommy.  

While it is truly the hardest thing I have done or will ever do, it is also the single most rewarding. There is no comparison to the depth of feelings that spring from my heart when interacting with, watching, talking to, listening to, and loving my boys on a daily basis.  I take my responsibilities as a mother seriously and I question myself and my choices often.  Not that I am not confident that I am doing my best, it’s more that I understand the importance of helping to shape such beautiful lives and I want to do the very best that I can.  I want God to look down at the work I am doing here with my boys and I want Him to feel pride in his daughter; I want him to know that through His love I am delivering back to Him four gorgeous souls.  They are only mine for a short time, but they will always be His. 

I have been given a tremendous ability to love.  From people I barely know to those who reside within the same walls, I love many people very deeply and often very quickly.  There could be a million different ways that I could distribute all of my love back into this world.  I am abundantly grateful that one of the ways I get to distribute my love is through four healthy, unique, and amazing little boys.  I hope that I perform my duties in a way that leads them to one day reflect on their mom and feel the way I feel when I reflect on mine.  They may never know that regardless of how much they love me and are thankful for me, it will always pale in comparison to the way I feel about each and every one of them.  But I can promise you this: they will always know that I love them infinitely and unconditionally.  

I am not a perfect mother.  But I feel a perfect love for four magnificent boys.  

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you beautiful ladies out there.  You are doing an incredible job.  

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

I Like to be Random at Times

Hello there reader!  It has been a while, I know.  I am sorry about the lack of posts in the past couple of weeks.  Life has been keeping me crazy busy and every single day, right about the time I can sit and write my eyes tell me no, go to bed.  And I agree instantly. 

Now that some of the craziness has subsided for a minute I thought I should write.  But I don’t really have a topic in mind.  I do, however, have some random thoughts about some of the happenings in this life of mine.  So I will share some random, likely chaotic thoughts with you. 

Some of these thoughts are about situations that, while emotionally important to me, are not my stories to tell.  Those thoughts will seem vague and that is by design.  This is a place for my stories, not anyone else’s.  Others are from situations that are so early in their infancy that there isn’t yet a story to tell.  But there may someday be one.  We will just have to wait and see.   And others are really just random thoughts flying through this brain of mine.  It happens.  Welcome to my world. 

Randomness shall commence in 3…..2……1…….

Please don’t come at me with words, actions, or expressions that convey that you know my secrets.  It is annoying.  You don’t know anything.  Because if you did, you would know that when I am asked a direct question I will always give a direct answer.  Just because you think I have a secret does not mean that it is secretive to me.  I don’t like to lie about who I was, who I am, or who I want to be.  While I may not be proud of everything I have ever done or every choice I have ever made, I am not inclined to lie or hide anything.  I prefer honesty because with honesty there is no need to remember who knows what or how to keep stories straight.  My life is my life.  I will live it how I want.  I will own my mistakes.  And I will be honest; sometimes painfully so.  That is my choice and I stand by it. 

If a man wants to be in your life, he will find a way to be there.  Period.  If you didn’t hear from him it is because he didn’t want to call.  It really is that easy.  I am pretty sure there was a movie made with this exact theme flowing through it.  On a related note, if a man wants to be in your life and you already have a man, either ignore the pursuer or drop the current man before moving forward.  Trust me on this.  Been there, done that.  There is little chance that it will turn out pretty.

Children should never be collateral damage in your poor choices.  I know it happens.  Again, been there, done that….in a way.  There are situations in this life that are so tempting and so hard to walk away from that this one becomes a really tough one because there is always a way to rationalize your choices.  If you want to rationalize, that is up to you.  Just know that children pick up on far more than you may think.  And they are constantly learning from the choices they see adults make. 

When you think you are keeping something from someone you love in order to spare their feelings, you are most likely wrong.  What you really are doing is telling them that you do not fully trust them, you do not feel completely confident in their love, or you are too selfish to own up to the responsibility of your choices.  Quit thinking you know what is best for everyone and just take advantage of the love you are shown and unconditionally given. 

People can change.  People have the ability to adopt completely new mindsets, to make smart choices on a consistent basis, to become the person they always hoped they would be.  Try not to give up on people until it is truly a matter of safety, health, or sanity.  I am living proof that 180s are possible.  If every single person had given up on me the way many did, I do not know if I would be here today, much less be this much better now than I once was. 

I am always going to pay attention to your tone and your word choices.  It is how I am made, it is how I draw conclusions about the things that are said in my presence, and it is not going to change.  I don’t want it to.  I like that I take the time to really process a person’s words and their choice of tone while processing overall interactions.  I probably pick up on more in conversations and interactions than some people do.  And I may or may not overthink every little detail that I pick up.  Either way, I am aware of what is being said and what is left unsaid in most interactions. 

Lastly, not everyone has the ability to ask for love or attention when they really, really need it.  Pay attention to the ones you love.  Pay attention to their actions, their choices, their moods.  Even though they may not always know how to verbalize it, they may be dying inside for the smallest acknowledgement.  Give it to them, even if you are not sure they really need it.  It is always better to err on the side of love than to miss an opportunity to help someone. 

And that, my friends, is the end of this session of randomness.  I hope you enjoyed your moments with my thoughts.  And I really hope there are a few things in there that I am able to expand on at a later time. 

If no one has told you today, You Are Loved!  Remember that.  

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

1,000 and Contradictions

It has been a while since I have written for this blog.  This is partly because my list of things that needs to be accomplished is longer than either the available time or motivation in my life at the moment.  But it is mostly because I noticed that I was close to 1,000 page views on this blog and I was kind of waiting to hit that number before posting again so the post could be about reaching the big 1K mark.  

Well, I am stalled at this moment at 998.  So, I guess this one will be the one that will put me over the top. Insert early celebration dance right here because I know it will happen soon.  That being said, I am choosing to not write about the 1K mark.  I mentioned it.  I am happy about it - thrilled actually, but what else should I say about that?  You get it, now let’s move on.

I would rather spend a moment talking about my never-ending contradictions, my double standards, and my inability at times to remain consistent.  Let me preface this by noting for you that I am not upset about any of this.  Some of this is just who I am and who I will likely always be and some is what I am working on somewhat consistently to make better.    

First topic: Sarcasm.  Oh, sarcasm, my constant companion, you witty little devil you.  There are people out there who simply do not get me.  That’s cool.  Because there are some people, if they did get me the way I usually intend, they would not like me.  Not one bit.  I have a very weak filter on my sarcasm.  I have gotten better as I have aged; trust me, the former bartender me wouldn’t even recognize this version’s ability to tone it down.  But I still have an inability to shut those comments down sometimes before they come flying out of the face hole.  

I am not bothered by this.  Sarcasm, when used correctly, can be quite entertaining and I am not the least bit upset when I can be entertaining.  Sarcasm, however, when used by a nine year old and it is directed at me (Mom), is not – I repeat, is not – entertaining.  It is downright infuriating. Yep, I get it.  Double standard right here – I can speak to my child with biting, though hilarious, sarcasm; but the moment he points that sarcastic mouth of his in my direction I start taking away privileges.  

It is not that I don’t on some level truly appreciate his wit and his ability to wield the sarcasm in a way that will one day probably make me very proud.  It is that he should not consider his mother to be his testing ground.  At least not yet; he needs a few more years on this earth before he can even think it is okay to speak to me in that way.  It is the timing that infuriates me the most I suppose.  And I imagine that the hands of time will even this out long before he learns to shut his face hole when sarcasm is inappropriate; he is, after all, my son.   

While there are probably a million examples of how I have double standards, the sarcasm is probably the best.  Truth be told, it is usually the things that my children do that are most like the things I am the least proud of in myself that bring out the double standards.  Sometimes it is like they are standing there, miniature Nikkis, throwing my imperfections in my face.  They learned them from me, I know.  But it is still my job to try and train it out of them long before my imperfections become their burden to bear for life.  So, yes, there are things that I will say and do that I fully expect them to never say or do.  

And all the while I am inconsistent.  I knew that I would be the very first time I thought it was cute the way Alec told me “no”; I laughed at it, thereby encouraging it, and brought on the learned habit that telling mom no makes her smile and I should do it all the time.  There are many examples of this as well.  Any parent knows that the minute you laugh at something your child does, inappropriate or not, you have just given that behavior power and the validation to be repeated.  It is hard to come back from that under the best circumstances.  It is even harder when you simply cannot help but laugh all the time.  Everything these boys do is funny to me at least once.  The consistency issue comes in when I no longer think it is funny and the wrath of mom comes into play.  

I do not know what logic I use to decide when it will be funny and when it won’t.  I don’t know what criteria exist for what works one day but won’t the next.  Maybe it is my mood.  Maybe it is in direct proportion to how stinking cute the offending child looks while doing it.  Maybe I am just a mess and there is truly no rhyme or reason at all.  No matter where the inconsistencies come from, I am fully aware of the fact that it is unfair to expect these young boys to clairvoyantly anticipate whether I will react with laughter or with anger.  

Like I said, I am working on it; somewhat consistently.  In the meantime, though, at least my children are learning early that people can be difficult.  The tools they will someday need to deal with the whims of their girlfriends, friends, bosses, wives, kids, or whomever they come into contact with, are being learned right now.

You are welcome, boys.  Your Mom’s contradictions, double standards, and inconsistencies are not personality flaws at all; they are teaching tools to prepare you for your future relationships.  

And next time I will teach you all how to spin a personality flaw into a desirable trait.  Or did you already see what I did there? :-)         

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Sometimes the Internet Really Gets to the Mom in Me, Part Two

OK, here we go.   Part Two.  I am writing this in response to the TED Talk mentioned in my previous post (if you didn’t catch that one, scroll down and catch up; I will wait…).

Let’s talk about my reactions.  My first thoughts were about how on earth you teach the sort of leadership that is required to stand up to your peers and call them out on their sexist and violent attitudes.  I started by breaking it down in my mind.  There must first be a foundation of true understanding and belief in right and wrong.  There must exist in the individual a respect and a love for all people, regardless of skin color, income, gender, or any other factor.  The individual must be secure and confident in their own belief systems and in their masculinity; they must be capable of using their voice even when they are not using it to say popular things.  And they must have a faith in their statements that is unshakable by peer pressure.  

So, on to my task: teaching all of this to my four boys.  Right off the bat I feel a sense of being an underdog. I feel a little bit like I have shown up to a knife fight without a knife.  This is due to the fact that, as a woman, I do not have a lot of credibility when it comes to teaching a boy how to be a strong and confident man.  I have never been a man.  I will never be a man.  I am a woman and have a woman’s perspective on everything.  

I have made choices that have led me to this underdog status.  I divorced the boys’ father and then I did not remarry.  I have not provided an in-house example of a good man.  There is no male figure at the head of our dinner table.  The choices that I have made regarding my relationship status have an impact on the raising of my children.  I understand this.  I understand that every choice I make will have some sort of impact on the boys.  I understand that by modeling that it is not necessary to be married or in a romantic relationship to have a happy and fulfilled life, I am also leaving the boys without a convenient male role model. Obviously this is a trade-off that I am comfortable with and I am willing to put in some extra work to make up for it. 

I believe that there is already an understanding of right and wrong in my boys.  There is also a basic love for all, though I can already see where life experiences with a few individuals are coloring the boys’ attitudes towards entire groups of people.  These are things that I can continue to reinforce and teach them without too much stress.

It is the self-confidence and the ability to use one’s voice that has me worried.  One of the boys is full of self-confidence and will over-use his voice right up until he thinks he may upset someone or lose a friend.One of the boys cannot ever find a voice in an intense situation.  One of the boys wrestles with the idea of being a “bad boy” because that designation seems to achieve greater popularity and is consequently more vocal in poor choices than in the ones he knows to be right.  And one of them is so inside his own head that he may or may not even recognize a situation where his voice should be used.  

Four boys, four very different challenges.  While I would love to be able to list a plan of action right here in this blog, the fact is I don’t have one.  I am painfully without a decisive plan of action here.  But, what I do have is the knowledge and belief that this is important.  I feel the responsibility to ensure that these lessons are taught to and learned by all four of my children. I have a strong sense of responsibility to helping them individually build their confidence and to finding the faith in self that will be required to make the choice to speak up when the time comes.

While I struggle with the mounting pressure of teaching my boys how to be men without the inherent credibility that comes with being a man, I will continue to do what I have always done: assess and adjust, while remembering that four different boys very well may require four different approaches.  Not only has this one video reminded me of some important issues in our society that will directly impact my boys as they go through their life, it has reminded me that differentiation is not just for the classroom.

Differentiation is also needed in family management.  We do not all learn the same way at school and we expect educators to take that into consideration when teaching our children.  I have just been reminded that the same goes for the home.  My four boys will have differing ways of assimilating and applying all the information and characteristics that will be required to become good men; it is my job to provide those lessons in whatever way is necessary for them to learn. 

I may temporarily feel like an underdog and I may have failed to bring a knife to the fight, but that does not deter me in my quest to raise outstanding young men.  Because at the very least, I have the knowledge of what is required, I have the determination to relentlessly provide all that I can to my boys, and I have unshakable faith that my Father in Heaven will help me to use my very Nikki way of parenting to provide for the boys’ every need.

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Sometimes the Internet Really Gets to the Mom in Me, Part One

I was first introduced to TED as a graduate student.  While pursuing my degree, there were many assignments given that included the viewing and analysis of education talks on this amazing website  (https://www.ted.com/‎).  What I have discovered since then is that there is a lot more than just the field of education that is addressed in TED Talks.  

One of these talks just hit home with me as the mother of four young boys.  If you have 20 minutes, use them to watch this: http://www.upworthy.com/a-ted-talk-that-might-turn-every-man-who-watches-it-into-a-feminist-its-pretty-fantastic-7?c=ufb3.  It is important, not only for some groups of people, but for all.  If you don’t have 20 minutes, allow me to give a brief recap.

Jackson Katz. Ph.D., talks about the pervasiveness in our society of the idea that gender violence is a women’s issue and how that view is wrong.  It is instead a men’s issue, as well as a women’s issue.  Gender violence (i.e. physical abuse, rape, sexual assault, sexual abuse of children, emotional abuse, etc.) is an issue that we all should be concerned about.  It is also something that can be radically changed in this country through a paradigm shift that moves our way of thinking from victim blaming and silence to leadership and the use of our voices within peer groups to remove the status of perpetrators.  In a nutshell, the idea is that when more people (mostly men) speak out and shut down sexism and violent verbal statements within their peer groups, the sexist loses status, and therefore power, leading to an overall decrease in gender violence. 

It is not possible for me to sufficiently recap these powerful 20 minutes in just a paragraph so I suggest that you spend the time to watch and form your own reactions and opinions.  I did watch it, twice, as of the writing of this post, and I can tell you what my reactions are: First, I have a lot of work to do as a mother; second, I need to seriously consider where I can find the teachable moments with my children so that they will learn these lessons now; and third, I feel a tremendous amount of pressure as a single mom to find a way to instill what it actually means to be a “man” in the hearts and minds of my four young boys.  Because this is important; I am responsible for raising four young boys who will soon be men.  And I am responsible for raising them to be not just men, but good men.

Don’t get me wrong here: my boys have a father and he is a part of their lives.  So when I say I have a responsibility to teach them how to be men it is not because they are without a father. It is because I have no concrete knowledge or control over what or how he teaches them.  As such I approach the responsibility as my own.  In this way I can be sure that I have made a serious effort in my parenting to cover all the bases.  

Before I go into further detail about my reactions to this particular video and topic, allow me to first give you some details about my style of parenting.  I approach parenting in a very Nikki way and it is not what I would call common.  My relationships with my boys are unique to this home and I approach my parenting, or family management to be more accurate, as a team sport.  I may be the coach, but we are all going for the same championship title. 

I have always spoken to my children as if they were older than they are while still considering what their brains are capable of truly understanding.  I include my boys in all family decisions and we talk about and often times vote on all major decisions.  I never speak negatively about any person in the boys’ lives, regardless of my personal opinions; I stand firm in my faith that the boys are quite capable of forming their own opinions of the people in their lives and of choosing their own relationships.  I will step in and help when one of the boys is in a moral struggle that they do not have the strength to overcome alone, but only with their permission and a mutual understanding that work will need to be done to increase their strength for the next time.  I take silliness to the extreme.  I try very hard to endure the noise of a house full of boys, as long as it is fun and cooperative noise.  I require that the boys speak to me with respect and do not fail to call them out when they do not.  

There is no topic of conversation that is off limits in this family and I do not ever lie to my children.  Even when they ask about things I don’t necessarily want to share or things that I am not necessarily proud of, we talk about it regardless.  My children can trust me with the smallest secret or the biggest confession and my love never wavers.  We pray together as a family every night and we talk often about Heaven and Hell and society and poverty and charity, and anything else that we can think of.

I do not allow myself to compare my parenting style or my choices with other parents.  I figured out long ago that those parents are not me and I am not them and we are not raising each other’s children and comparisons are a waste of time.  When something isn’t working, I assess and adjust; simple as that.  I also remember that it is impossible to know what goes on behind the closed door of another family’s home and comparisons would be based on only that which is allowed to be seen and are therefore pointless anyway.      

My personality pervades every action that I take as a mother and my personal experiences color every choice.  I am a little crazy and a lot weird and that is what my family is as well.  I have learned a lot about life in my 38 years, but I have never professed to know it all.  I apologize sincerely for my mistakes and when I promise my boys that I will try harder, there is no emptiness in the promise.  I am fallible and I am human and we sometimes learn our lessons and take life’s punches individually and sometimes as a family.  Life has never thrown a knock-out punch at any of us, and until the pre-determined time of our personal KO’s, it never will.  We believe that with child-like faith and we maintain forward progress at all times.

Where does this all fit in with the video I mentioned above?  Check out the next blog post; this one has run over its allotted time and it is necessary for this one

To Be Continued…..         
      

Thursday, April 3, 2014

This is How I Reminisce....2 Years After Matilda the Brain Tumor

Today is the 2-year anniversary of the craniotomy that evicted Matilda the Tumor from my brain.  I have been thinking about writing about it for a while now and could not decide exactly how I wanted to approach it.  I could talk about all the life lessons that come with facing something so monumental.  Or I could talk about the emotions that happen when you are facing something that could blind, or even kill, you.  Or I could write about the way it affected my boys and about the resilience of children.  Or about the way people have a limitless capacity for love and support that you rarely get to see until you are in a situation like this; because they really do.  

But, I don’t want to do any of that.  I don’t feel especially nostalgic about the tumor and I don’t feel very philosophical today.  But there are some things about the entire experience that I think are interesting for me to share.  So, here goes. (NOTE: There will be sentences here that describe what happens in a craniotomy such as the one that I had.  Squeamish folks should stop now and catch me on the next blog).  

In the beginning stages of the diagnosis process I shared with a neurosurgeon the timetable (about 8 weeks) that I expected for having surgery, recovering, and re-entering my graduate program (I had taken a hiatus from the pursuit of the M. Ed. In order to deal with this hiccup called tumor).  He shared with me that I was overly optimistic and that I may not even be able to balance a checkbook when it was all over and I should expect a much longer timetable.

Bite me.  I don’t like being doubted for what my body or my brain is capable of.  I had surgery on April 3rd and started classes again on June 10th.  That is 9.5 weeks.  Overly optimistic?  I think not.  I was off by a little, but not enough to use ugly language like “overly optimistic”.    

For the 13 months following brain surgery I remained a full time student until on July 8, 2013 I was conferred a Master of Arts, Education.

One of the first things that I was told when I was given the diagnosis was “Do not Google it”.  Like that was going to happen.  People were talking about using a saw to bust into my skull and do some repairs.  No way was I going in to that experience without some prior knowledge.  BIG MISTAKE.   I tried today to go back and find the page I found two years ago that explicitly explained the process; the way my skull would be opened up, the bone flap from my skull that would be removed, the skin flap (in my case my FACE) that would be folded down, and so on.  

I could not find that page and that is probably best.  I found others and the memories aren’t all that awesome.  You don’t want to see it just as much as I should not have wanted to see it back then.  I knew I would be cut along the hairline from ear to ear.  It had never previously occurred to me, however, that my forehead would have to be moved out of the way to perform the operation.  That knowledge is still the only truly disturbing part of it all to me.   

It took 50 staples to close my skull back up when it was all done.  Yeah, I counted them.

Staples do not hurt coming out.  That was a shocker.   

I have an awesome scar just behind my hairline that I can see clear as day every time I look in the mirror. Others, however, have to be really looking for it to notice.  My forehead is misshapen now and it sticks out oddly in two places that it did not before.  So pretty.  

There are two divots in my skull along the scar line from the drains that were put in for surgery. The one on the right side is deeper and not fully closed.  I can press on the very middle of that one and feel tingling at the back of my head.  I think it’s cool.  Other people think it’s weird. Perspective, I guess. 

I had planned to stay with my parents after surgery until I was back on my feet.  It was clear to me on the day of my release from the hospital that the original plan wouldn't be happening.  I went home, to my home, by myself for recovery.  I did my own physical therapy in my living room.  I knew that being coddled through recovery was not an option for a woman who just wanted to be well enough for her kids to come home.  I knew that if I didn't make myself suffer and work through the early stages of recovery on my own, the process would take much longer; that was time without the boys that I was not willing to give away.  

In the entire process, from diagnosis to recovery, there was only one single scary moment. The week after coming home from the hospital a soda froze and exploded in my fridge, dripping down the inside and getting everywhere, finally pooling at the bottom.  I got on the floor to clean it up and found when I was done that I could not stand up.  I was literally stuck in the middle of my kitchen floor, all alone, no phone near me, and no idea what I was going to do.  Those were the moments of panic and fear in the whole process.  While I had not fallen because I sat down voluntarily, I could not get up.  Suddenly LifeAlert commercials weren't funny anymore. Eventually I managed to crawl to a dining chair in the next room and use it to pull and push myself off the floor.  

The reason I could not get up once I sat on the floor is this: the muscles of the body atrophy more quickly than you may think.  And while the surgery was on my brain, my body was sedentary for much longer than the nine hours it took to extract the tumor.  I went into surgery around 6 am on a Tuesday and woke up mid-morning the following Saturday.  I was unconscious, unresponsive, or sedated for four days.  I remember one thing from those four days: my surgeon telling me that he got the entire tumor.  

That’s it.  Four days of my life gone.  And I have one singular memory.  It is surreal and weird when I think about it.  And I still, two years later, am unable to adequately describe with words what that feels like.  To go to sleep near the beginning of the week and wake up at the end of it is crazy.  

There you have it: some of the highlights from the most insane time in my life.  There really is so much more to that chapter in the history of Nikki, but like I said, I’m not feeling very philosophical today.  Today, it’s just the facts.