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I may appear calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside I often feel like a hysterical person running around with my head cut off.   This week has been a perfect example of that.  Out of the blue, without warning, Kamden got sick.  Odd, because he was fine to swim for 6 hours at a party on Sunday.  I guess it is too much to ask for a little I’m-not-feeling-so-good-maybe-i-should-slow-down-and-not-over-do-it attitude from a 10-year old.

Three days of missed school (so far), taking-for-ever-doctor appointment, pharmacy trip, pain medication because I ran out trip, soup making, nursing him better, rubbing his back – all of it sent me into a panic of overwhelm and frustration because I was on deadline this week.  And then….

Lying on the sofa, weak from strep throat, exhausted from the medication and inability to sleep or eat well, Kamden said to me quietly, “I am so glad you are my mom.”

I stopped from rushing his just-in-case-bowl and cold (now warm) towel back into the kitchen and focused on his little sweaty face.  “Really?”  I said.

“Yup.  You always take such good care of me.”  He closed his eyes, then opened them again at half-mast.  “Thank you,” he whispered with love and fell back into his healing slumber.

I stood staring at him.  All of sudden he seemed so little, so vulnerable and innocent.  He seemed 10.  And I was brought back to reality – a reality for which I am eternally grateful that I can be the one who gets to let everything else go and be at home with him when he is sick.  I get to be the one who takes him to the doctor and hold his head as he slumps over, unable to stay awake in those horribly uncomfortable chairs.  He climbs onto my lap for comfort.  Asks me to scratch his back.  Gives himself over to me, completely, to take care of him and nurture him back to health.

I am his Mom.  His safe place.  Where and to whom he can surrender it all and know that he will be taken care of no matter what.  Seeing that in him allows me to surrender my own struggles, my own worries, and know that regardless, all will be taken care of.   In this house of sickness and pain, peace and hope and love prevail.

Growing up, I could never figure out why my parents couldn’t “keep up” with the junk and crap strewn all over the house. As a parent myself, I feel I have done a fairly good job up to this point of maintaining order in my home. The key in that last sentence is “up to this point.” Perhaps it is because the kids are older, life is busier, and spending time with the kids takes priority.

Oh, and then there is the real junk – junk mail. All of that paper – solicitations, catalogs, bulk mail, advertisements, etc., etc., etc., takes up so much space in my mailbox, on my kitchen table, on my desk waiting to be opened just in case it is not junk, and in my life dealing with it all.

According to the Every Monday Matters book, “people will spend 8 months of their lives opening junk mail.” Wow, that irritates me. There is soooo much I’d rather be doing. Sleeping for one.

“100 million trees are needed to produce the annual supply of bulk mail – that’s the equivalent of deforesting the entire Rocky Mountain National Park every four months.” Shocking. I’d offer up other alternatives, but I, and most people I know, have blocked unsolicited junk phone calls, and I am already inundated, marking, and filtering out email spam, so I really have nothing to offer. No junk to offer. How apropos.

What can you do to help save 8 months of your life and quite possibly the rain forests? Ask the companies sending you junk mail to remove your name – this does involve a phone call so make sure your phone number is blocked so you don’t set yourself up for a round of unwanted calls. Write, “Please do not rent or sell my name” anytime you fill ANYTHING out. Contact the credit bureaus and Direct Marketing Associations’ Mail Preference Service and have your name and address removed.

Wouldn’t it be nice to actually discover and open a heartfelt, hand written letter meant just and only for you the next time you visited your mail box? Old fashioned, perhaps, but it is a little thrill these days and I’ll take whatever I can get.

I looked up “divorce” in the dictionary today, having never had it truly defined by anything other than the immense pain that results from it. Here is what the trusty book had to say:

1. To terminate an existing relationship or union : Separate

2. To end marriage; to dissolve the marriage contract

And my personal favorite:

3. SEVERANCE. (Yes, this was in all caps in the trusty book adding to the scariness of it).

Looking up severance, I found what my sixth grade teacher used to count as wrong – defining a word with a derivation of itself:

Severance: the act or process of severing : the state of being severed

So, onward to severing and severed. Is it me, or does it keep sounding more and more violent as we further define it?

Sever – ed – ing: to put or keep apart : divide : to remove (as a part) by or as if by cutting.

And that finally gets to the core of it. Divorce feels like my heart, my chest, my insides are being cut apart and removed bit by bit by a jagged violent knife. It’s not just one severance causing the pain, for me it is a triple whammy. It is finally dealing with the dissolution of my marriage. Realizing, perhaps too late, how great the loss of my committed relationship and our families with another truly is. And the pain I have finally become conscious of that comes into play now that I have finally acknowledged that my kids don’t live with me full time anymore. The loss and the pain that delve into each of those situations are so deep, so intense, that unless you have been through it, unless you have ever allowed yourself to feel what severing truly feels likes and means on an emotional level, then there is no way to comprehend it.

Today, I share my pain and my loss with you. I heard a great quote today, one that I truly believe I was intended to hear and share, and God willing, it is true.

Pain shared is Divided.
Joy shared is Multiplied.

I never thought I’d say this, but I am sooooo looking forward to multiplication tables.

Swaying back and forth in the dark room as the optometrist inspected Kendall’s eye, I alternated between an intense need to make all kinds of bargains with God or run from the room screaming or cry or hold my son’s hand or tell the doctor, “Please hurry up and why is it taking so long!” Struggling with the intense nausea coming over me, it was all I could do not to go to the darkest, worst case scenario.

Yesterday morning, Kendall was hit in the eye with a soccer ball. His right eye. His big beautiful sky blue eye. Evidently, since that incident, there have been intermittent “black curtains” blocking his vision. I was not privy to this information, for whatever reason, until this morning. Until HE was sufficiently freaked out enough about it to BOTHER to tell me, his mother.

How can I help my kids if they won’t tell me what’s going on? And why the silence? Ten days ago, I discovered my other son’s big left toe was severely traumatized and had developed a serious infection. Truly horrifying to look at, I asked him in amazement how long it had been that way. “I dunno,” he said sheepishly, “awhile.”

Awhile. What exactly is “awhile” to a 10 year old or a 13 year-old. Long-enough-for the-toe-to-be-so-painful-as-to-require-an-emergency-visit-to-a-podiatrist-and-have-minor-surgery while? Or, wait-until-I-can’t-see-with-my-right-eye-so-many-times-that-wow-maybe-I-should-mention-something-to-my-mom while?

Children grow up and eventually claim autonomy. They want their privacy. I haven’t seen either of them naked for years. Nor would I want to – I cling to that little baby image in my head to this day and it does not need to be destroyed with body hair and smelly things. But, I have learned my lesson here. As they grow and showcase their responsible selves and what wonderful young men they are becoming, I must remember that they are STILL CHILDREN and they cannot be responsible to fully take care of themselves.

They can be left alone for brief periods. They can cook a meal. They can be responsible for getting their homework done. They know their chores and for the most part, they get the consequences of behavior – both positive and negative. But what they obviously don’t get, because they have no experience with it, is the repercussions of ignoring your health or your body. That, it seems, has been taken for granted.

I am grateful that the toe was able to heal after the minor surgery and 10 days of oral antibiotics. I am grateful that Kendall’s eye seems to be undamaged. I am also grateful that in the span of two weeks they (AND I) are now aware that if the “black curtain” or “floaters” appear in his eye, he needs to let someone know IMMEDIATELY so that we can monitor it and that if there is pain or something odd looking on your body MOM NEEDS TO SEE IT.

I will also now do RANDOM checks on their bodies. Arms, legs, hands, feet, face, scalp, neck, etc. to search for any abnormalities. I have talked to them about how to check their “private” areas and verified that all is being cleaned properly. Not exactly the most delicate or comfortable conversation to have with my kids, but jeez, if I am talking to them about the dangers of sex, that blow jobs are sex, to say to drugs, to act like a young gentleman regardless of what their friends are doing, then I can talk to them about taking care of and maintaining the care of their bodies – and KEEPING THE LINES OF COMMUNICATION OPEN on that subject with me and their Dad.

Make an appointment with your kids so you never have to ask in a panicked, nausea induced state, “It’s been this way for HOW LONG?”

As I sat down to write this, I popped a couple of Dove dark chocolate pieces in my mouth. Little did I know that today’s Every Monday Matters entry is EAT HEALTHY. Well, at least it was dark chocolate, which has some redeeming and healthy qualities, right?

As the obesity rates in our country rise, it is not just the adults we have to be concerned about. If a child is overweight, there is a 79% likelihood that they will be overweight as an adult. Not surprising given that French fries are the most widely eaten vegetable. Honestly, that is like calling Ketchup a fruit, which, I admit, I did for many years when it was the only “fruit” Kamden would eat.

So what can you do to be healthy and help your kids be healthy? I like the analogy of the airplane oxygen mask. In the event of an emergency, put YOUR mask on first, THEN assist your children. The same can be true for healthy habits and healthy bodies. If you are living a healthy lifestyle, eating a rainbow of colorful foods (not the kind out of the colorful packaging, but rather, the raw fruit and vegetable kind), exercising (sorry, the thumb and forefinger exercises on video games DON’T count), and exhibiting a healthy body image, then chances are you will pass all of that along to your children.

Indeed, this is one area where you SET AN EXAMPLE. And that example can make a huge impact on the quality of not only your life, but also the lives of your children and other family members. Need help figuring it out? Browse the information at Nutrition.gov or check out what Good Housekeeping Magazine has to offer so that you and yours do not become one of the 400,000 people who die annually from poor eating habits and laziness.

A Santé! Which is “to your health” in French (the language, not the side of fries).