Each day brings endless unknowns.
Each seizure brings more
anxiety and fear.
He shows his resilience,
He shows his innocence,
Love every moment.
I noticed that my fingers are sore in my right hand. This is the hand I write with , but for some reason the bones in that hand are acting as if the are healing again. Or as if they were broken again and needed to be reset.
It’s very painful. It may be due to my using one finger to type with because the rest of the fingers aren’t in a natural position, like when typing.
All I know is that my right hand cramps up terrible to the point of pain when I have a spoon or knife in that hand. I was making supper for the boys and when I released the knife, putting it down on the counter, I had a pain stab through my hand.
The words and ideas keep jumping in my mind. Sometimes I respond to their demand for acknowledgment. Each time I do, there is a release of joy, purpose, satisfaction for the creativity on the page. I like it. It feels good. My mind forgets the pain in my hand, and I feel redeemed.
|If you want to accomplish something, you will need to steal. Steal minutes and moments here, and there. Don’t stop. Keep stealing so you can feed your needs to accomplish your desires. Be a bitch. Be protective of your desires. Make those boundaries. Remember nothing can be accomplished and success not met when you don’t make your moments important. You are important. Be a thief with your time. Be a thief with your writing. Thievery will make it happen.|
This comes form my portfolio on writing.com . It gives me great pleasure to read this again. It isn’t much in the way of wordage, but it packs a punch. A thief I am when I succeed.
Recent news; the school’s out for summer. What! it’s not May. We usually look forward to May and the finalizing of closing up classrooms and telling friends we have to meet during the summer so that the kiddos keep up the social contact.
Not anymore of the playdates or pool parties or gaming nights, boys form of pajama party.
The past three weeks my teens are on their computers from 10 and until 10 pm. Claims of doing homework and schoolwork get slipped into unwanted tabs along with their screens. When I sneak up to check the screen tabs, there are always more tabs than seems necessary.
“Are you working on your schoolwork?”
“Really? I’m going to check.”
“Okay. I’m doing it!”
“No, really! Why are your teachers calling and writing to me in emails if you were doing it?!”
“I don’t know…They like to bother me.”
This is truly an excuse to join the fifty percent dropouts in the county because Florida is a “right to work” state.
I’d like to think if I took the computer away, it would change them. I’d like to think that this situation is temporary and a miracle vaccine will show up so that there will be no more threat to all human life by sneezing, coughing or touching. But this nightmare to get my sons to realize that this working online is an incentive to make a better show of what they know and turn their grades into something so much more spectacular. They’re thrown off and seem like they’re trying to find a normal in all this.
I get it. I understand they’ve lost all contact with their friends. They don’t have extracurricular activities anymore, not to mention sports. They are upset at what life is throwing at them. It’s war, but there isn’t bloodshed like other wars of the past. Yet, people are dying.
It’s a scary world for them. No wonder they want to play computer games all day. No wonder they want to boost their emotions through cortisol. But the outcome will be harder and abstract until a new normal is established.
Meanwhile, I grab hold of my patience tighter than my tolerance for the hormonal whiplash that arrives every morning. I give them love through the Mom acts of favorite muffins and new activities such as learn a card game, hoping they’ll grab hold of the lifeline they need to swim through these chaotic waters.
Last week, I was contemplating a degree in Creative Writing; an MFA. Today, I’m contemplating the personal experience of my son’s tragic accident of four years ago. My mind spins with constant activity of new goals. New ideas and new projects that want to leap to completion without the drudging of daily plodding. This daily plodding often becomes derailed because of chores and incessant tasks of parenthood. As hard as I try to maintain focus, I always find an email or voicemail, laundry or other chore which fights to overpower my desire to create.
Starting a new project idea or creation is never an issue. My spontaneity is very strong and I can easily arrive at another idea. Creative thinking is my strongest asset. Follow-through is the difficult part. How do I maintain that spark of creativity fire-cracker-ed to keep sparkling with the same energy toward completion?
In September 2017, Writer’s Digest Magazine had an article written by David Corbett. He wrote, “It’s important that you not just write, but finish. Completing a project builds confidence, and confidence silences doubt.” (Corbett, D. 2017, September, p. 29).
How does a person build confidence to daily prod along toward completion? From where will I find the confidence to continue my daily trudging? I found a website to encourage me with confidence. Stratejoy has 12 rules written by Molly Maher. She is a psychologist with a mission to help women trust themselves and realize they have influence and should be proud of it. Her rules, called “The 12 Rules of Inner Confidence” helped me to realize the answer is within myself.
Of the twelve rules, I chose three to use as chunked information. Besides, three is a magic number.
- Be positive. Hold onto your positivity! I need to practice my writing and tell myself I am a writer; and write it every day. Like the Secret, taping the statement to my ceiling along with the latest project name or picture will help me to visualize completion. Daily input of seeing this before I go to sleep and when I awaken each morning will make my inner confidence stronger.
- Hold onto integrity. Ms. Maher states, “Building inner confidence requires being accountable for my actions and reactions; the good and the bad”. Once I accept my weakness to be easily distracted, I’ll be able to keep my guard up and focus!
- Get stubborn! Maher says, “Do things your way.” Just like Sinatra, there’s an influence of style when I can say, I did it my way. My disabled son always, regardless of action, says, “I did it!” There’s something to that.
When I take the first opportunity to act and follow-through, just as I am now with this article, I can feel the assurance and reassurance grow within. If I practice confidence and all the actions that help to make it stronger, it can only grow. Just like practice makes perfect; practice builds confidence and discipline. Each day I practice, each day I succeed; and the spark makes a fire.
Corbett, D. 2017, September, p. 29. Writer’s Digest Magazine. F & W Media, Inc., 10151 Carver Road, Ste. 300, Cincinnati, OH.
Maher, M. 2017. Stratejoy.com/Twelve-rules-of-inner-confidence/
It’s ten minutes before the hour of the time I decided several hours ago to stop my writing and pick back up on the Mommy Bus. After dropping my son off at school over thirty minutes away from home, I realized I struggled with little results in writing production. I committed myself to looking forward to the opportunity to write while he attended school. Thank goodness for public libraries! I carry my portable office and get to sit in a place with minimal distraction. Right? Continue reading
Reflecting on the memories; I’m skipping along the dirt road where the speed limit couldn’t be any more than 5 mph because the bumps, dips, and rocks slowed any vehicle trying to travel faster with terrible shock repairs afterward. The trees seemed tall and grand. The brook talked playfully as the dragonflies dipped and soared around, catching food unseen. The sun would peek through the pines, warming my skin as I climbed the rocks to cross the brook, pretending to be an explorer in a strange land. I loved being outside, the air expanding my lungs and making them feel bigger than the usual breaths in the city.
Every weekend, I stayed with my grandparents, was a treasure to keep and sear in my mind forever. Mom had to work, so Mem and Pep stepped in to keep us safe and captivated in the surroundings they chose to use as their legacy. Like surrogate parents, they taught me and my brother all the responsibilities to share in a family. They loved to be outside. Sun Valley gave them the opportunity to establish solid memories and great times of fun and teaching with the element of laughter whenever warranted.
Campfires were one-of-a-kind because Harvey had a way with fire that called neighbors to come enjoy some fresh popcorn, beer and a game of cards on a chilly nights when the sun went to sleep. Watching him build each fire was like peeking into the process of a highly crafted artist, each stick and log in a specific place so that the oxygen could flow and give the fire its immense breath. How incredible! The colors he could bring out of the fire, made it seem like a rainbow with lots of reds, yellows and orange, then blues, purples and greens as the embers could still kick up a burst if prompted in the right way.
Just like the fire’s smells and colors, the days and nights spent in Sun Valley held our attention and our youth. These memories help me to see how camping and living with Mem and Pep on weekends, or whenever my mom had to work, pulled and formed me to become who I am and the pleasurable moments being outside can do.
My son looks at me from under his glasses as he sets his head all the way back on his lower shoulders. I tilt my head and ask, “Is that comfortable or are you stuck?” He often does this when his medicines are full force or he is tired or bored. Sometimes I see him staring off into space, eyes darting from side to side. Sometimes they go faster, sometimes a steady side to side movement with nothing to focus on. I sit and watch his eyes pick up speed, while the drool comes dripping from his mouth. I pick up the magnet and hold it to the left side of his chest for a few seconds. He coughs and continues to cough for a minute. The Vegas Nerve Stimulator in his chest has sent a message to his brain, stopping the production of Gabba chemicals making the incessant seizures he experiences on a daily basis.
This is my life on a daily basis, with little change except that the seizures may be faster than I am able to combat with the magnet. Many of his seizures are flickers of impulse, a momentary daze, or a tremor in his arm or leg, or a sudden nod of the head for no reason. My nerves are fried; or desensitized by the effect of these seizures that they almost appear to be ticks. Lennox-Gastaut Syndrome is my worst enemy. Yet, I struggle to maintain a battle against the-hardest-to-treat-form of Epilepsy.
Where do I find my strength? My husband continues to shower love and affection on his “baby boy”. When he comes home for lunch or from work, our son drops whatever is happening and spins his wheel chair around or scoots his way across the floor to his Daddy. Joyful, happy vocals come from him as Daddy will sing his favorite song and clap with him.
When my other sons, sit with Lucho on the sofa while I get his seizure medicine so that he doesn’t fall, and I see them playing and sharing time together, I smile, giving thanks that I have children who are loving toward each other. It encourages me to see the positive interactions because I know that not every disabled child has siblings like he does.
When Lucho smiles at me from over his glasses, I feel stronger because his determination to love and be loved is his primary goal, each and every day. I see the angel in him. I see heaven’s extension of grace and glory because he is driven to continue to smile, laugh and play.
As I drove my son to school this morning, my mind began to wander to the memories of two years ago. In a rush, the feeling of a gravel sea tossing and turning us around in a storm pricked my sentiments. I checked my son in the rear view mirror. His smile causing me to imagine the Grace of Angels. My hands held the steering wheel a little tighter as we climbed steadily around and over the bridge that over-hung the Marina to our east. My eyes returned to the road. Taking a deeper breath than usual, I pushed the memories back again.
After passing the area where our accident took place two years ago, my imagination prevailed in creating a stable, normal sense of daily interactions. We are fortunate to be able to continue with our imaginable daily routine. We are fortunate to imagine faith, safety and grace. I have rosaries in my vehicle. My imagination helps me to see the symbol of power of faithful protection. While I am still plagued by the memories of that tempestuous event that nearly destroyed us, my imagination empowers me to strive for tranquility.