These Crazy Errant Trucks

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I advise walking upstairs before deciding whether or not to work out.

Today's a day off, and I lay in bed for some time trying to convince myself to get up and start my workout. When I finally did, upon walking upstairs it was immediately apparent that this girl not only can't work out today but can't even stand for long. If there was a 1-10 health scale of misery, in my pre-fibromyalgia days today would have been a 9 or 10 but in my new fibromyalgia life today's misery ranks at 7. It's a little par for the course. (The fact that I am not also experiencing feelings of sadness and despair plays into this rating. I'll take a healthy mind but sick body any day over the reverse.)

It's ironic I feel this way because just the other day I was pondering this very phenomenon and wondering, "Did that stop happening, or does it continue but I've gotten so used to it I don't notice anymore?" It's significant because this is the first symptom I had of fibromaylagia and it was in the flippant Googling of it that lead to me to the knowledge that despite its humor it's a very real symptom of a very real neuro-immuno-endocrine disorder.

So today I have my answer: Yes, I still wake up feeling like I've been run over by a truck in my sleep.

January 2, 2014

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Just a typical day, came home from work to cheerful greetings from the kids, spent two hours cooking (Spicy Peanut Noodles, a dinner Anneliese requested) and cleaning (the hamster cage and the kids room-- and yes, theoretically they should be doing it themselves, but we're not there yet). Dad was downstairs loudly editing some music, and came up only for a brief kiss and later, to string his guitar before running out the door. The fact that he had work took me by surprise, even though it is always taking me by surprise, so it shouldn't. ("It's on the calendar," he'll say. "It's not on my calendar!" I retort.) We spent the rest of the night watching shows on Netflix, or watching Orion play video games (his favorite part is creating his own worlds), with me answering to repeated calls for drinks of water or to read something on the screen they can't read for themselves yet. Both of the kids literally want to sit on top of me, wherever I am and whatever I'm doing, and for the most part I soak up every minute of this crowded type of affection, recognizing its brevity in my life. We hung Anneliese's beautiful piece of artwork on the living room wall (for want of "real" art) and read books. I made brownies, Anneliese dressed in pajamas with feet that look like bunnies, and we laughed at Orion's lion's mane hair.

It's mom's bedtime now, so it's off to my bedroom to eat brownies in the dark, drink more water, and continue snuggling as we nod off to sleep. While Dad's away, the family does play-- and by play I mean falls asleep together.

Winter Storm #2

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I just drove home in the Snowpocalypse, as some call it. Others, the Blizzard of Oz. It's a "round two" for us, having just come through one of the biggest winter storms we've ever had.

It's was something to see. Although the snow had just begun, businesses were anxiously shutting down and all the chatter was about getting home. Windshield wipers a-go I stared in concentration at the cars and road ahead of me. The snowflakes were dizzying and though it was just the beginning of the storm the snow threatened to obliterate everything.

Once home I could stand and just marvel at the snow. It's like nothing I've ever seen. The snowflakes looked like butterflies, or cotton balls, easily an inch in diameter, minimum. They fall thick and heavy and fast, lining every branch with white.

Symptoms of Fibromyalgia

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I have been miserable every minute of this day. Makes for a long day.

I keep trying to tell myself that it isn't fair for me to call this suffering, in comparison to others' tribulations. But isn't that true of everything? Isn't there always an instance throughout humanity that was worse?

So I remind myself that my life is pretty cushy right now and I have a lot to be thankful for. And I am. But I am still deeply glad to see that it is bedtime. Sleep will give me at least a little break from the pain. Here's hoping I wake to a less insufferable day.

Symptoms of Fibromyalgia

I am just who I intend to be.

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My husband said, "I want you to make our family a priority by being the woman you intend at home." In my head I retorted, "What? Perfect?" And then it hit me. "Perfect" is exactly the woman I have been intending to be. Whatever part of my psyche found that a joke was right on. In just the sixty seconds prior to that thought I had imagined myself as a wife who handles every single episode of being injured with a perfect grace. I had thought of all the meals I needed to plan--perfectly--for weeks in advance, all perfectly balanced, affordable, and appealing to whichever members of my family I happened to be feeding. These meals I would shop for, cook, serve, clean up after, and even have extra frozen as storage for emergencies so that my family would never have a night without a delicious dinner at home.

I mean, really? I--nor any other human--will never deal with every blow with perfect grace. A never-ending stream of perfect dinners is also never going to happen in this world, even for the best of 'em.

So I am far from some of the things I dream of. So what? That's the condition of life. Of being human. I am the woman I intend. I love my family above all else. I never stop examining myself for weaknesses and flaws-- relentlessly I pursue being the best I can be. I grow. I love. I believe. I serve. I am faithful. Even in the face of wrong I strive to do right. I don't give up.

Am I a woman who is always stumbling, always dreaming lofty dreams of loving and serving her husband and children and fellow man in amazing ways but falling short? Well God bless that woman. God bless her! That is a godly woman, and I am proud to be her.

A mother's thoughts

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it was an unusual night in that it was just me and J-- well, not counting the ever-present little ones. But there were no older sisters around to engross me. As with every other precious time in life the evening ended with me wishing I had had more time and had done more. We played each other in Wii Fit, but not as much as I wished. We watched a movie, but I wish it could've been two. We didn't laugh together as much as I had hoped (rather, I didn't laugh enough) and we didn't end up cooking together as I would've liked. But we did tease, joke, and generally hang out. It's kind of strange to think of him similar to the sweet little two year old who snuggled me on the couch tonight. He used to be that boy, and now Ori is. Now he's a twelve year old boy who gets caught in the middle of two teenage sisters and two baby siblings. I think often about how our relationship strained and thinned over the years. I think often of how I wish it were some other way. I wish I knew how to connect with him now.

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