genie of the lamp

I saw a counselor yesterday. *Gasp!* Now many of you may be shocked or even ashamed for me that I would admit that. Going to see a counselor is very taboo, much less admitting  to it.

Some of you might think that counseling is only for the truly messed up. The people you know that you would send to an insane institution if you could. The kind of person you would never ask to dog sit, because there is no telling what you would find when you retuned home.

Door #2 - maybe you think that it is acceptable, just maybe, if you have had a major trauma in your life. And even then, you believe that first-class people don’t share even the most difficult of issues with someone outside the family. That would be wholly inappropriate. *Gasp Again!* You should be able to get through this on your own, you’re a big girl.

Another group of people believe that no one should receive counseling because God is the great counselor, and if you are truly a child of His......well you know the rest. *Gasp! Gasp!*

And still yet we find more nay sayers. And this one’s the kicker. Normal people don’t need counseling. Ruminate over that for a few minutes. N O R M A L    P E O P L E don’t need counseling. Hmmmm......well we all want to be part of that group right? The alternative *Gasp! Gasp Again!* being that group over there, the abnormals. EEEWWWWW........ that is simply not an option.

So we sit and judge, all the while needing counseling ourselves. Some more than others. I, the all amazing, ever impressive, mamumba sheemy jumba genie of the lamp, surmise that everyone could benefit from counseling. *GASP! GASP! GASP!*

Now my yoga training gets to stretch it’s proverbial legs. Close your eyes and imagine a place. A place that feels safe and warm. A comfy place, where you can snuggle deep in your big overstuffed armchair, or you can lie in that sun in your hammock, a breeze blowing lightly on your face. And then you just start talking. No one else making a sound. No judgements. No preconceived notions or prejudices. It is just calm and comfy. At times a voice will ask you questions, to clarify or lead you on your way. No expectations. You can just be.

I saw a counselor yesterday. *GASP!* And I hope many of you did too. Believe me, as all powerful genie of the lamp, I know you need to.

negligence

My momma is here to visit me.

I have 4 days with her.

Which means she is going to get every second of my time.....

and in turn.....

you will get none. 

I apologize in advance for this gross negligence on my part.

I just can’t help myself.

She is my momma.

so sleepy

Finley has a yeast infection which has caused the most amazingly, awfully horrible diaper rash in the history of diaper rashes. She finally reached her breaking point last night around 11. Nothing helped. We had been trying everything we could think of. Cream. Bath. Powder. Vaseline. A combo of all. Next was internet research. Nothing was working. She could not go to sleep. She was giving it the old college try, but just couldn’t get comfy. Charles fought the good fight until 1:30 am. At that point his options came down to - a: call my mom. b: the ER. c: wake me up. He settled on c. Not only was I comatose from my bedtime meds, but I could think of nothing else other than what had already been tried. Pretty much, I was just moral support.

We quickly reverted to our newborn survival schedule. Taking turns, eyes propped open with toothpicks, hands moving at the rate of molasses. The major difference being our poor little baby barely made a noise. Now let me just say, if it had been our more dramatic daughter, the entire neighborhood would have known she was in pain. She would have screamed all night long. Her passion for life just eeks out her pores.

Our sick Finn playing Angry Birds

But not Finn, she’s so mellow. She tried over and over again to go to sleep. Laying quietly with eyes wide open for about 30 min at a time before she called us. We rotated sleeping beside her bed, having her sleeping in her bed alone, letting her sleep with us. Not one thing worked. Finally around 3 or 4 she fell asleep and slept till 6. Ahhhh, sweet relief.

Upon comparing notes in the morning, neither of us could remember much of anything. I do remember a few calls of “mom” from the top of the stairs. I remember accidentally clawing Charles in the face to wake him up. But best of all I remember Finley laying in bed next to me teaching me how to rub her blankie like she does. It was so sweet, she was a very precise teacher, I afraid I wasn’t a very studious student with my eyes barely open.

Now we have finally been to the doctor, waited at the pharmacy, eaten at McDonalds......we even let her keep her paci in her mouth all day long, which we usually reserve for bedtimes. Lots of pampering for our little girl. She fell asleep around noon, just about the same time as........zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

thalia

This is an excerpt from the book "Growing Stronger" by entertainer Thalia. As I read it, I was overwhelmed, I felt like she was recounting my life. Almost every word of her story follows mine, (other than the whole being famous, selling more than 40,000 records, and dancing with President Obama part.) Seriously though, my deep, deep prayer, as you read this, is that it will give you greater understanding into this devastating disease and my journey in particular.

 The Mexican-born entertainer who goes by the single name of “Thalia,” is one of the most famous Spanish-language singers in the world. She’s sold more than 40 million records, has starred in “telenovellas” (soap operas) shown around the world, had a lavish storybook wedding to prominent music executive Tommy Mottola, has sung at the White House and danced with President Obama. In the midst of all of that activity, in 2008, she came down with Lyme disease. Thalia devotes a chapter to the harrowing experience in her recently released memoir, “Growing Stronger.”

The singer started feeling ill near the end of her first pregnancy. After the birth, Thalia’s health really crashed, and she was incapable of caring for her newborn daughter.
Her doctors attributed her symptoms to post-partum depression. Thalia thought something else was going on. “They didn’t care what I said,” she writes. “It was as if I was talking to a wall.”
Nothing her doctors gave her helped at all. “I continued to feel like I had been run over by a truck that had dragged me for a thousand miles, along with a steamroller that had crushed every last bone in my body. I literally thought I was dying.”

Any time she could marshal even the smallest bit of energy, she’d check the internet for information that might help. Eventually, her research brought her to Lyme disease, a condition that was eventually confirmed and treated by Lyme specialists.

She recounts how difficult the treatment was: “I would sweat profusely, soaking my pajamas, the sheets and even the mattress; everything hurt, even my hair, which, by the way, started to fall out. At times it felt as if my head were going to burst, as if there were lead inside of it; my eyes ached in their sockets….the hypersensitivity of my skin was so severe that sometimes I couldn’t even handle the bed sheets.”

Thalia writes that two years of heavy treatment put her “on the road to recovery.” She has changed her lifestyle to incorporate good nutrition, exercise, and stress reduction. She has returned to singing, writing, and other creative pursuits. “I have started to live again.”

my problem

I have a problem. My name is Brooke Fox and I am a Shepherd.

l really had no choice in the matter. It was God’s divine plan. I grew up a Shepherd. I was taught from a very young age that you never EVER pass up a good deal. Sales were created just for Shepherds. 50% off tears at my heart, and 75%, ouch. I don’t care if its a pair of steel toed construction boots, I still have to be dragged away. The $1 section at Target is just cruel. I have to sit on my hands as I go thru there or I end up with $20 worth of stuff and I haven’t even made it into the store! (Those marketing people are S-M-A-R-T smart!) And thrift stores and garage sales, well Charles doesn’t even let me go.

This next part is not for the faint of heart. Viewer discretion IS advised. We are moving on past the wholesome world of good deals into the dark unknown........

When I was little, once a month, late at nite, Dad and a bunch of friends would take all the seats out of the van and go “trash cruisin’.” Yes my friends, trash cruisin’. It was the night before the trash man was coming, and once a month, the trash companies would let you put out anything you wanted to get rid of, and I mean anything. Those pieces were the objective. I was only allowed to go along once or twice - after all - I took up valuable space.

My daddy, circa. 1979

Now, folks, they had reached a whole new level here. Dad and his buddies weren’t looking for good deals. They were out for FREE deals. And a FREE deal people, well that is a whole new bird. Free deals are like candy, stuff as much of it in your mouth as you can and run! I remember trash cruisin’. They would grab the item, drag it into the van and yell, “GO GO,GO,GO!” as my dad pushed the pedal to the medal. Well, now I have found my golden fountain of free deals and I am currently hemorrhaging candy. There is no more room in my system and yet I cannot stop. Just one more piece can’t hurt, eh?

Have you seen “Horton Hears a Who?” The scene where the gorilla sticks bananas in his mouth until one comes out his nose. Yes, that is me. Candy from your nose is painful, but not nearly as painful as passing up a free deal.

Charles literally has to accelerate as we pass things set out by the side of the road. A saggy old couch, a run-down console TV with rabbit ears, a cracked (but definitely still usable) mirror, moldy wooden chairs left to rot..........must I  go on? It’s a problem.

I remember, one year as a surprise for mother’s day, we (minus mom) snuck down to the end of our cul-de-sac in the van - we had disabled the interior lights so they wouldn’t come on when the doors opened, very stealth. I’m sure Dad could feel the tingle of his old trash cruisin’ days. Except this time, I was the driver. He had removed two of the seats, and Josh, Mindy and Dad were all hunched down on the floor. One of our neighbors had left a huge projection TV out by the trash. Ah, sacrilege! So, we snuck down after dark, all in black, ski masks optional. We pulled as close to the TV as we could and as soon as I rolled to a stop they all jumped out and somehow wrangled that huge beast into the van. As I heard those reminiscent cries of “go go go go!” (whispered this time,) I was drawn back to those days of ole. Once trash cruisin’ is in your blood, it’s there to stay.

Back to me and my candy problem. Less than a week ago I discovered the holy grail of free deals! ENT or E Reader News Today. They have bargain books and other such deals, but I only have eyes for one shimmering tab that says “Free Kindle Books.” My mouth actually salivates as I click that tab and see what treasures lie beneath. I have already downloaded over 100 FREE books of which I have read none. I have the candy in my mouth and I am on the run......

My name is Brooke Fox, and I have a problem.

wanted

I want a full-time assistant, no, a chef, no, a nanny, a housekeeper, psychiatrist, chauffeur, nurse .....i don’t know.....you decide.....

I’m looking for someone who can deal with quite an array of emotional, irrational outbursts and other dysfunctions.  From the lowest of the low pity parties to the highest of high diving unattainable dreams, this person will have to be able to seamlessly adapt to my ever changing highs and lows.

This must be someone who can hook up an IV with one hand while driving Robyn to school with the other. This someone should be able to figure out the universal remote while clearing dirty dishes. and simultaneously wiping a poopy bottom (Finn’s, not mine.) Someone who is prepared to eat frozen pizza or nuggets every nite, or to creatively combine leftovers for dinner. This person should enjoy crazy bedtime rituals, daily toy explosions, and spontaneous changes in schedule.

Next, housework is a must, so come prepared. Vacuuming should be a daily chore, oops, I mean pleasure. Spot cleaning the floor is fine (on your hands and knees of course,) but you will soon learn that comes with cat puke, broken crayons, paint, ground in cereal, spills of unknown substances and half chewed pieces of last night’s dinner. Also, the bathrooms. With a boy in the house and the fact that Finley is now potty trained, well, that’s all I need to say on that subject.

  This person will also be expected to do the laundry of someone with OCD. This is not to be taken lightly. The instructions are endless. Sorry. The kitchen, the kitchen is to be feared. Dishes, garbage disposal, disgusting counters and BONUS! a kiddie table.......fun times.                                                      I am also looking for a good listener, an empathetic hugger, a tea maker and drinker, a card game lover. Someone who loves to watch a good movie, over and over and over and over and over and ,yes, over again. An amazing person who loves God, me and my family and has patience, lots of patience.

I can’t pay much, but in return be prepared for lots of hugs, millions of kisses and tons of “I love yous.”  Lots of laughter, tickling and snuggles galore. Appreciation that can never, ever be described. A friendship for a lifetime.

magic pants

For my birthday I got magic pants.

These are no ordinary pants. They are magic - I swear.

My sweet cousin friend Tiffany gave them to me. For 6 weeks they hung on my closet door. I was afraid that the magic might not work on me.

See I had never had great luck with the form fitting yoga pant. I always opted for the looser ones - ones that could hide my greatest flaw - the Hinze haunches. I know, I know what you all are thinking. But not matter what size I am, they are always there, big or small, haunting me. I have accepted the fact that they will always be a part of my life. Now against your protests, let’s move on.

My cousin Tiffany and me

I knew these magic pants were not of the loosey-goosey variety. I had seen them on Tiffany - they were T-I-G-H-T tight. They looked great on her  (the Shepherd side of the family - no haunches.) Plus she is in ri-dic-u-lous shape. Gorgeous.

So for 6 weeks they hung in their little red bag, taunting me. Daring me to try them on. I was too chicken. Charles kept saying, “at least try them on. They were a gift - you should try them.” Now I know, as a man, he had ulterior motives. But still, I could not try them.

Finally, I worked up the nerve. I took that bag - that little bag with it’s taunting face - I tore that bag open, grabbed the pants and pulled them on. This was all done in one swift motion before I could lose my courage. I peaked around the corner of my closet - no one was there. Good. I could face the horror alone. I walked out to the mirror. I could not believe my eyes - the magic did work on me! No visible haunches! Magic indeed!

At Lulu Lemon in DC

 If I could have - I would have skipped around the room, danced and twirled, laughing aloud! Ok, I wouldn’t have done all that - except for the laughing aloud part - which I did, I laughed and laughed and laughed. 6 weeks - I had been missing out on this magic for 6 weeks!!!! What had I been thinking?

So, thank you Tiffany for revolutionizing my life! I wear my magic pants everywhere I go. I am saving up to buy another pair. Thank you Lulu Lemon, even your taunting red bag served it’s purpose.

I will be forever grateful!

the toe

Robyn came home from school with a very, very badly stubbed toe. All was wrong in her little world. She couldn’t walk, talk, laugh, at least not until something fun was going on and she forgot  about it. I have to admit it was quite swollen and I could tell it hurt to move.

Once our resident expert got home from work, everyone got into the action. The suggestions ranged from cutting it off, buying a new one, to taping it to the next toe.

As soon as I suggested it, Finley was sure that was the solution, which she was very vehement about. She walked around telling anyone who would listen “We need to tape it.” I wish I could describe the look of importance on her face, eyes open wide, hands up by her face with fingers splayed to emphasize her point. It’s as if a fire had broken out and no one was listening to her as to how to put it out. This was serious. “We need to tape it!”

When we finally called the trainer, since she has a meet this weekend and we were a little worried it was broken, the solution was to ice it for 15 mins every hour. She was a little suspicious about this form of treatment, but warmed up to it after seeing her throne.

Charles had her set up with a blanket, pillows under her feet, and a movie.....that’s when she asked for popcorn.


It was amazing how quickly she jumped up from her throne when she got a phone call.

Upon the second stubbing as she ran up the stairs that same night, the crying was doubled. A few seconds later, Robyn’s crying modulated to yelling/crying when attention wasn’t received quickly enough. Then Finley started crying because now her toe hurt, and she wanted to get around Robyn who was dramatically sprawled across the stairs. I don’t know, all I know was we were in a world of hurt.

UPDATE:
A few days later, things were back to normal, for the most part. Unless something didn't go her way.......and then the limping and groaning continued.......

my friend, the gap

I lost a great friend this week. This friend had seen me through thick and thin - literally. No matter what size or shape I was in, this friend always loved me and wrapped me in it’s warm embrace. Always encouraged me with it’s fit and fabric. This week the GAP at the mall closed and I actually cried at the end.

The memories are endless. I can still remember when we met. I was rushing to find an outfit to wear for the Easter service at church and even though we had never met, my friend wrapped me in it’s ever loving arms, found me an outfit, and paid me so many compliments that I left full of joy. That was also the night that I met my dear sweet friend Kristen who won my heart when she told me I looked like Sarah Jessica Parker.

Kristen and the rest of the staff, so many of them my friends, would actually carry my babies around the store so that I could try things on. They would take care of Robyn, Zach and Finley so that I could have just a few minutes of peace and time alone. Time to look in the mirror and feel pretty, to put on brand new clothes, clothes that weren’t grabbed from a wrinkled pile, or stained by baby puke over the shoulder.

This GAP was always more than just a store to me. I loved the smell, the bright white walls, the lights, the fitting rooms, the mirrors, but most of all, the clothes. The way the shirts and sweaters were always neatly folded, stacked in perfect little columns, sizes in precise order. The pants and skirts hanging all in a row, like thoroughbred horses standing at attention. Scarves hanging, like a new box of crayons, one color blending perfectly to the next. The round tables with their displays, their assortment of colors that would smile at you as they drew you around the table to converse with each one.

The scent, clean and fresh. When I would bring the clothes home, I admit to you that I would literally stand in my closet alone, holding them to my nose, inhaling the scent that filled me with delight. A smile on my face.  My heart physically filling with joy.

I loved my sweet friend. I mourn this terrible loss. I will not be able to pass that space in the mall without a heavy heart, and just out of sheer loyalty I will hate whatever store they fill it with.

martin luther king, jr.

I am ashamed to admit that I know very little about Martin Luther King, Jr. I know that he was assassinated. I know that he gave a powerful speech called “I have a Dream.” I know that he was an iconic figure in the advancement of civil rights in non-violent ways. (Apology - I plagiarized that last bit)

In looking him up on Wikipedia, I found that I know very little about this man. Unfortunately, until this point, I admit, I never thought much about this day where we celebrate him. I was wrong.

Our daughter Robyn is bi-racial. She prefers the descriptor brown to black. She is the only brown girl in her class and she felt embarrassed when they talked about him in school. She said she pulled her jacket up over her face. That prompted many questions about Martin Luther King, Jr., and who she is as a brown person. And I don’t know the answers. We are going to Barnes and Noble to look at books and learn more about him. Although I feel that I have failed in this area in the past, I do believe this is a really great opportunity to spend time learning and growing together.

Martin Luther King, Jr. was not just a great civil rights activist, but an important piece of our nation’s history. I am excited about this chance for Robyn and I to spend time together and to learn.

oh, farkle

Robyn and I have a new tradition. Everyday, when she gets home from school, we drink IZZIs, eat snacks and play Farkle.

First of all, have you ever had an IZZI? Fruit juice, no preservatives, no added sugars, and bubbles! The closest thing I can get to a soda. Yum! Robyn is now hooked on them. Her fav is blackberry, mine is grapefruit. These drinks are crucial to our tradition. We have a little race to see who drinks more at a time. I always lose at this, getting to the bottom of my bottle first.


Secondly, we eat snacks. Now snacks in the bed is tricky. We tend to leave a lot of crumbs, mainly on Charles’ side of the bed which works out great for me. Snacks range anywhere from cheese puffs and ruffles, to the more distinguished, mixed nuts and today, a baked potato.

And what makes the tradition perfect.....Farkle. Now, if you haven’t heard of Farkle, you have been living under a rock for the past several months, I mean a huge boulder. It is a dice game, AND, advantage mom, Robyn doesn’t even realize we are working on math skills. It’s fun for the whole family, or in this case, just me and Robyn.

It only lasts for about 30 minutes, but I cherish that time together, and I love that she is excited about it and loves it too. You know, smell the roses and embrace the little things. I wonder if we ever would have done this if I hadn’t gotten sick......

wacky wednesday

After a wacky day at school

This week, Finn’s preschool had their first “Wacky Wednesday.” The mission this week was to wear your fav sports team t-shirt or jersey. I mean we are talking 3 year olds here, how many actual jerseys and such can there be?

As soon as I heard the mission, I was on the case. I knew exactly what I wanted her to wear. She was going to look....well.....perfect. You know me, I am nothing if not, hmmmmm, how can I word this - a perfectionist. Perfect is my middle name. Not in the scary “Toddlers and Tiaras” or ”Dance Moms” sort of way, but just in the “I WANT PERFECTION!(I mean, as much as possible)” sort of way. I admit it and wear my badge proudly.

I started with her cheerleading dress that she wore for halloween. And not just the uniform, but the whole 9. The leg warmers, the tights, 2 pigtails, all of it.

Charles, on the other hand, is not a perfectionist.  He would have been content with just not dressing her up at all. But, at my insistence, he agreed to the uniform with jeans under it, no leg warmers, no pigtails, just the uniform and jeans. I, obviously, was not going to give in. He asked Finn, hoping for a vote on his side of the board, but her vote was for tights etc. as well. Two against one - I guess her precious smile pushed him over the edge, because, next thing I knew, he was begrudgingly making his way up he stairs to look for some tights.

Eventually, he did succeed in finding the tights, and with her little leg warmers and pigtails, he couldn’t help but smile. She was adorable. She kept walking around the house exclaiming, “Wacky Wednesday!” of course having no idea what that meant other than the fact that she got to dress up - and, after all, that’s all any girl wants, right? To dress up......

thankful

Oh, the Lord’s been good to me,
and so I thank the Lord,
for giving me the things I need,
the sun, the rain, and the appleseed.
The Lord’s been good to me. Amen.

tantrums

As an adult, the throwing of a class A tantrum is highly frowned upon. Whereas a 3 year old can throw oneself to the floor, scream and thrash, and although acceptable, is quietly whispered among passerby the words “bad” and “ parenting.”

I submit the following.
    1. The 3 year old's tantrum is not always bad parenting,
        a. Bravo to him for not suppressing his emotions - albeit rather embarrassing to the parent.   
     2. The adult tantrum is just part of life.
        a. it’s whether you push it down or let it out that matters.

    3. Every once in a great while the adult form of the 3 year old’s tantrum is acceptable.

Today was my once in a great while.

my kindle cover

For Christmas I got a Kindle from my in-laws. YAY! Love it!!

Since that day, I have been searching from one end of the world to the other for a cover that I like. (Did you know that you can actually do that on the internet - the whole world!) Nothing seemed quite right, and anything that even came close was ex-pen-sive!

The other issue - you may be surprised to learn that I am extremely picky. And shockingly indecisive. I mean seriously, seriously indecisive. Very problematic when shopping, or doing just about anything in one’s life. I am seeking therapy.

Through my exhaustive search, I actually found one that I really wanted - by Kate Spade - $70!

Was I discouraged? Did I consider selling my children to get the money to purchase it? Did I cry when I realized there was no way I could get it?? Only for a split second (I mean I am human after all!)  But above that I AM A SHEPHERD!!!!  I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could make one like it - one even better!

the final creation

The first step was to find a book that was thick, yet small enough. I soon realized a journal would be my best bet. I found one at Ross that was cute, the right size, and BONUS! had a hidden magnetic closure! (Already I had bested the Kate Spade version - hidden magnetic closure - she should have thought that one up!)

from the side

I set out to begin construction. I gutted the journal down to nothing, I mean bare bones, and then I put in all the cool stuff I wanted, and........WAH - LAAAAAA! The exactly wonderful Kindle case of my dreams. I LOVE LOVE LOVE it! And all at a price well within my budget - less than $10.

the inside - padding, bookmark, and the kindle

Eat your heart out Kate Spade!

back on the grid

Back on the grid. Somewhere between the fact that my hands are so shaky it is difficult to type and the disappointment that my progress has been less than progressive has left me a dangling semi-blogger, clocking in only 4 blogs in Nov, and a whopping 3 in Dec. Hopefully that is over. I mean the dangling part. Back on the grid.

The problem with progress is no matter where you go or who you see, the first question is, “So, you’re feeling better, right?” or a hopeful, “How are you feeling?” It’s not your fault. Personally, I too thought things would be quite different by now. But, the ugly truth is, they are not.

I began having seizures again somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I have had 6 since then. Dr. Jemsek continues to search for clear days. Days in which my neurologic functions are clear and I have no symptoms. This happens very rarely, although by this time he would hope to be seeing groups of “clear” days in a row.

This is not to say I don’t have good days. I have good days and I have bad days. Bad days, I don’t get out of bed. Good days, I have about 3 hours of energy before I crash. Sometimes I try to get out of the house during that time, other days I use that time to actually shower and pamper myself. And still other days, I try to pour that energy into my kiddos. Most times it is a frantic mish-mash of the three.



This is the unfortunate un-progress I have to report. That being said, don’t be afraid to ask me how I am when you bump into me at the store, or stop by to see me. Just be prepared for the answer to possibly be less than what you are hoping to hear, or what I am wishing I could communicate.

finn and me

When Finley and I are playing, she has taken to saying certain words with a british accent, especially the word “no.” When we “drive” anywhere, she insists I wear my seatbelt. And she serves us pieces of the nativity (no, I haven’t put my Christmas decos up yet) as our food. For example, when she is asking, “where’s the baby Jesus?” she is really saying, “pass the milk.”

This morning she declared that the name of her baby Patch was now “Carson Carson.” I asked, “her name is Carson Carson?” She was so offended, “no, Carson Carson!” I asked if it was “Carson?” Ugh, finally mom got it, “Yes! Carson Carson!!”

Carson Carson is now going thru some sort of gender difficulties. Sometimes Carson is a she (after all, she is wearing a dress,) and at other times, Carson Carson is referred to as “he.” It is hard to keep up with, but if you use the wrong pronoun, you are in TROUBLE!

Ahhhhhh, motherhood, a joy, and yet a minefield of mysteries.