back up.

I’ve been pretty vocal the past few days about throwing my back out, and I’ve had a lot of advice – from a lot of people.  I completely appreciate it.  Really.  But lots of people were asking the root of my back issues, and so, very briefly, I wanted to explain.  I danced for years, and years, and years…on cement floor.  Oh, it was covered in tile, but all that did was make my tap shoes sound better.  Years of leaping and jete-ing landing on shitty floors did a number on my spine.  Then, about 8 years ago, Steve and I were on our way to meet my now sister-in-law and her then husband for dinner (this is only noteworthy because I like to think about how long ago this was and how much has changed for Kelley and me since this day!).  At the intersection of Oak Street and 55^th Street in Kansas City, a VERY young teen-aged driver on a cell phone ran the red light and crashed directly into the driver’s side door of our brand new Nissan Altima.  I was driving.  I was wearing a seatbelt, but the impact of that wreck sent me sideways into the passenger seat – and knocked my spine into some state of, well… I don’t know any better way to say that the wreck completely jacked up my spine. 

The MRI I had following the wreck showed two severely goofy discs in my spine – the L5 and the S1 – or the lowest two discs near the tailbone.  One of those discs was bulging, and the other was degenerative.  Probably the degenerative disc was a result of the concrete floors from my tappin’ days, and the bulging was a result of that dumb ass teenager on her cell phone.  Regardless, those results were enough to warrant physical therapy and several facet injections – which numbed the nerve endings around the two discs so that it wasn’t as painful when they rubbed up against my muscles and whatever else was hanging out back there around my discs.  Aaaaand…those didn’t work.  I found that yoga helped – really anything that kept my core strong helped my back.  I also found that regular visits to my chiropractor (whom I adore and would recommend to anyone – just ask) helped my spine.  Other than that, I really had no control over it, other than watching how (and who) I lift, and how I bend – which has proven very interesting in my profession.

Fast forward to this past Friday afternoon.  I was getting ready to get on the road to St. Louis to visit Steve’s parents when I went to put on my pants and wham – out when the back.  Which might not have been that big of a deal, but riding in a car for four hours there and back, as well as sleeping on a bed that wasn’t mine, as well as having a coughing and nose blowing fit, and I was a steaming hot mess by Sunday afternoon.  This is where everyone has an opinion: get surgery, get and MRI, get to bed! All of these are valid (and thank you for your concern) but long story short, here is the plan. I saw my chiropractor yesterday – he adjusted me, because part of my issue is that one of my legs is also a bit longer than the other.  I’m a mutant.  He believes that when I bent to put on my pants the other day (why couldn’t this have been a better story, like I was lifting a couch or something?) I tore some of the scar tissue around those discs leaving my nerves and muscles in some sort of battle.  Then, he did some deep tissue massage, which felt terrible and left me with what feels like a bruised ass, but has definitely worked because I can feel my right leg today.  Finally, he used some really fantastic gel on my lower back, which numbed the area for a while.

Tomorrow I go to my general practice doctor (whom I also adore – but, no, this isn’t an advertisement for my medical preferences) and I’m to request a prescription for a cortisone and steroid mix that should take the swelling down in my back.  After a week, I get to see my chiropractor again, and if that hasn’t helped I get to have another MRI and then look into more injections. Whew! Aren’t you glad you asked about my back?

why I write

The National Day on Writing is on October 20th.  I wrote this in honor of that day.  You can read more about it here.

I write because if I didn’t, I would certainly not be here today. I write because it’s the best and cheapest form of therapy out there.  I write because I have something important to say, even if it’s something as simple as, “I’m angry”, or “I’m frustrated” or. “I’m so proud”.  I write because I don’t know how better to express myself, it’s the way I deal with the world around me.  I remember writing pages and pages of letters in high school, it’s probably the first time that I remember feeling like putting pen to paper would solve something.  I wrote to boyfriends, my parents, my friends.  I wrote to heal broken hearts, to soothe my angry soul, to process my parent’s divorce.  I wrote because I thought people might think me crazy if I told them aloud the things that went on in my head. Now, I don’t care what people think of me – I know I’m crazy.  But, now that I’m not an angsty teenager anymore (I’m more like an angsty adult) I still write to process things: my relationships, my marriage, my children, the path I’m on at any given moment. 

I write because one day I want my kids to look back and know that what they said and did mattered to me.  That I wrote down their experiences and I laughed with them and at them and I noticed all the little things that they did.  I write because earlier this week Lucy asked me why kids remember so much and grown ups don’t.  I told her it’s because adults have more years and more memories clogging their brains, but really I write so that I DON’T forget everything that happens – even the little, seemingly unimportant day to day things. 

I write because some days I think if I say the words out loud that I write down on paper, I might curl up and cry.  I write because I’m one of those people who look around me at the grocery store and thinks, “I’m the ONLY ONE who knows what I’m thinking right now.” I think about that a lot – how when I look over at my husband I only see what I see – I will never know what is going on in his head – even if I think I do.  It’s such a lonely thought and so I write because it keeps me from losing my mind.  I write because I’m so busy that writing seems a little like I’m talking to a friend – something I don’t get to do nearly enough anymore. I write because it’s in my DNA.  It’s in the very fiber of my being.  I write because I can't imagine what I would do if I couldn't.

I (still) do.

Today I made myself sit down and write about all the things that I’ve not let myself say in the past few months.  I knew this past weekend, on the eve of this 10^th anniversary of 9/11, that something was wrong with me.  I was entirely more concerned about the state of my family than I was about what that terrible day would bring.  I’m just going to say this: marriage is hard.  Of all the things I wish I had known before I entered into my own marriage – I wish someone had said, “Kate, one day you will wake up and you will find you have lost important connections with the person laying next to you.”  This is not a post about my marriage unraveling.  It’s not – and I assure you that, God forbid that ever happens, I will not be writing about it on my blog.  It’s a post to say, I get it now. I understand that no one tells you those things because if they did, no one would get married. Sort of like if people told you the truth about childbirth, there would be way less children in this world. 

I get it.  Lately, though, I’ve been thinking about marriage.  My own, my parents’, Steve’s parents, the upcoming nuptials of a friend, that of a good friend who is living here in KC while her husband is working in another city for a few months.  And I just need to put it out there that this life that Steve and I have created is the hardest job I’ve ever had.  Recently, I started back teaching after a summer off, I also started grad school, and Steve is still working full time as well as teaching two nights a week at the KC Art Institute.  We also have a home we try to maintain, two young children, a dog…you get the picture. We hardly see each other, and lately we’ve not been very good at making all of the pieces fit in this difficult daily puzzle of our lives.  It’s like you think everything is running smoothly, or at least is at status quo, until reality tells you differently. 

One of the reasons I fell in love with Steve is that, while it might not happen all that often, he has the ability put it all out on the table and let you know how he feels.  I suck at that.  I will bottle up how I feel and get resentful and mean and ugly until I finally blow up.  It’s not a healthy way to live – and it’s not a healthy way to have a relationship.  I’m also really lazy. I’m not going to lie, I am super, super, way lazy – I would rather sit on my ass or keep to myself than do the hard work – including relationship work.  It’s hard to find time to compliment my husband – even if I DO love him and I DO appreciate him, finding times to tell him that is not my strong point.  It goes both ways, for sure, but at the end of the day when people have NEEDED stuff from me all day long, the last thing I think about doing is laying on the compliments.  I would much rather lay on the couch.

I'll also say selfishly that I pretty much hate keeping this house together while other people get to reap the benefits of being with my family - the babysitters, the teachers, the people my husband works with.  I feel like for all the driving, cooking, cleaning, laundry, general problem solving I do, I should get to enjoy the reward of being with my family, but right now, in this time - that just isn't happening.  Instead, other people get to enjoy the energy of my kids and my husband while at the end of each day, my kids are either already in bed when I get home from school, or Steve and I get to do the catch up game instead of really enjoying each other's company.  I hate that other people are getting the best of us, but I digress.

My point is that I’m trying to hold myself more accountable for doing the hard work.   I’m putting out there that I know my married friends are doing the same hard work that we are doing here and I respect you all immensely for it.  I’m not saying that there aren’t amazing things about my marriage – I love the life we have made with each other and with our children.  We started a relationship built upon laughter and we continue to do a lot of that – we are raising two amazing, hilarious little girls, and I think all things considered we do a pretty great job of it.  I also know that the rat race we are in right now is temporary and one day I'm sure I'll miss the hustle and bustle (to an extent!)  I just feel like people don’t like to talk about this and it’s been bothering me. So there. I said it for you.  You’re welcome.  Also, I should probably apologize for throwing my husband under the bus in order to prove my point.  So…I’m sorry, Steve.  See ya tomorrow!

these are a few of my favorite things...

Lately, I’ve had quite a time with anxiety and just feeling down. It’s not something debilitating.  In fact, it’s not even something that I was going to mention.  But today I went to visit my doctor and he made me feel so much better about my health in general that I decided to start writing down all of the things that make me happy.  Once I started thinking of things, I honestly couldn’t stop – what a great exercise, really.  I started by posting them as my Facebook status today, and when the responses from people started to make me laugh, or sigh, or just remember WHY I have such great friends, I just wanted to write more about it.

It’s really the little things, I guess.  I was talking with my Aunt Karen yesterday about how we are always looking for the next big thing to come along. How, even when we have amazing moments (the example we both thought about was sitting on the beach recently) we were still thinking about the next better thing that might happen.  I guess it’s just our American way to think about stuff like this.  So I started focusing about all the little things that I see or hear or smell each day that make me happy.  Things I often look over with the hope that bigger things might be on the horizon. 

I started a list.  I will continue to add to it – it’s simply something to remind me that there is happy all around me. I just need to look more closely…

The smell of sunscreen. Swimming at night.  A great glass of wine.  A snuggly blanket and a good book.  Scoring a new, bestseller at the library before anyone else.  Bright red nail polish.  Ludacris (please don’t ask me why he makes me smile every time I hear him!) Thunderstorms.  Seashells.  Clean sheets.  Getting dressed up for a night out.  Fancy heels.  Finding the perfect swimsuit.  Doritos.  Cheetos.  Long talks on the phone with friends. Long talks anywhere with friends.  Fart jokes.  I stole this one from my cousin Amanda: the phrase, “to the window! To the wall!” – makes me laugh every time.  Bacon.  Hot air balloons.  My writing project friends.  Preschoolers.  Old school R&B music. Full bookshelves.  The Jersey Shore (what?!) Cinnamon toast.  Coffee with real cream.  Black dogs.  Hats, in general.  Bridges – but not being under them, only going across them, I don’t know why.  Bow ties.  Naked baby butts.  Reading out loud to an attentive audience.  Boat rides.  My sister.  Singing out loud – REALLY loudly.  Road trips.  New blue jeans.  Fireflies.

I just realized that I could probably go on with this until I bored each of you to death.  It’s not my intention to do that and I plan to continue with this “project” of sorts.  I hope it inspires you as well. Also? Sadly, maybe? When I check my Google analytics and see that people are actually reading this stuff? That makes me happy, too. Thanks a bunch.

outlasting my tan...

I have a tan.  A real, live suntan.  Those who know me should be stunned by this news.  Also? I got this suntan even without a sunburn…even more stunning, I know.  Vacation this year was really good. Really, really good, and something Steve and I both needed.  It was a whole week of just being lazy: lounging by the pool and lounging on the beach and reading.  I read TWO books in one week.  Ca-ching! It was a week of watching our girls perfect their swimming techniques.  For Lucy, it was just getting back into the groove of swimming again after a long winter.  For Zoe, it was actually learning how to swim without floaties – and she did it!  It was a week of collecting shells and sand dollars and taking early morning walks on the beach to see what washed up while we slept: mostly jellyfish and other weird stuff.  It was a week of Lucy figuring out the southern drawl – and slipping it into conversation at the most perfect moments.  Of Zoe deciding that she and her sister were more alike than different, perhaps signaling a real change in their relationship? Meh, I’m not that starry-eyed.  But, it was nice while it lasted.  I have to say, though, that the part of our trip that has stuck with me, in fact, keeps haunting me, is something that happened in the first two days we were there. 

I am a light sleeper. Thanks, kids!  I’ve never been a very good sleeper (aside from maybe in my late teens and early twenties when I was a lazy fool) and I literally jump up at the slightest sounds.  The second day we were there, I woke up to what I assumed was someone getting lucky in the next condo.  I laid there for a while, thinking, “jeez! 4am is a little early OR late for this squealing, but whatever.” And then I started getting pissed because I realized that it wasn’t someone getting lucky, it was a child screaming bloody f’ing murder.  It took me about an hour, but I got back to sleep. And the next morning, I woke up furious at the parents who thought it was totally fine to let their child scream and cry in the middle of the night.  (I need to say that I was the mom who would go and pick the girls up if they started crying while we were either A: on a trip in someone’s home or in a hotel, or B: ever if I thought they would disturb someone.) I’m all about the child learning to sooth himself, as long as I don’t have to hear it at 4am.  

So, the next day, my family and I were out on the beach and next to us sat a big family with a bigger umbrella.  Under it, was a special needs child.  I don’t know what the child’s story was, but after hearing the child wail uncontrollably when the mother put on his sunscreen, I knew that this was the night-time squealer.  I felt like a giant asshole. I honestly had the wind knocked out of me as I processed what I was feeling the night before (anger) with what I felt at that moment (sadness).  I came home from this vacation with a pretty awesome suntan, that is true.  I also came home from this vacation with the reminder that you never, EVER know what a person’s story is.  Ever.  I was humbled by the experience, and while it was something seemingly simple, it is something that will stick with me much longer than my suntan.

oh, paper. I'm so sorry.

My inlaws recently gave us a gift.  One that I, admittedly, was uncomfortable with.  They gave us a brand new iPad…and even though I fought it, I do love it.  I’m still trying to figure it all out, but I have a confession to make: I downloaded some books. To read.  On iBooks.  There. I said it.  I am reading a book right now on a digital device.  Just typing that makes me feel dirty and scandalous.

I couldn’t help but to see what it was all about.  Really, can you blame me?!  I will say that I feel like I’m having a bit of a tryst.  Maybe more of a ménage trois?  I’m torn.  I love books: the smell of books, the feel of a good heavy book in my hands – the excitement of buying a new book and cracking the spine.  I know. I’m a complete dork, but whatever.  Reading a book on an iPad is just weird.  There is really no other way to describe it – using the touch screen to turn the page seems wrong, but it’s also so easy.  And, I can hardly wait to get to the beach and have not just the three heavy books I will STILL tote with me, but also the 15 others that I’ve downloaded onto the iPad.  You know, just in case I can’t pick the right one to pack.

I know I wrote this about digital readers, but I guess I’m growing and changing with time.  Or else, I’ve just lost my mind.  Either is possible…I’ll keep you posted.

36

This week I had a birthday.  Normally, birthdays sort of bother me.  I spend a lot of time thinking about particular birthdays of the past: the one, at 16, where I hung out in a car until midnight with my sweet friend Amy so we could celebrate our birthdays together (hers is June 12).  The birthday I spent crying about the boy who had broken up with me earlier that day…and that was the one where I was skinny and hot, but also? Who does that? Shame on him. My 21^st, where I wore a shiny gold dress to a club called The Edge and danced in a cage and then fell down half a flight of stairs – drunk on Midori sours…seriously.  The thought makes me simultaneously laugh and throw up in my mouth a little bit.  The one right after I had Lucy where I drank half a beer and thought I would die – I was 30 and remember thinking about how people did BIG things for 30^th birthdays.  That day I mostly felt like a giant boob. My point is that, at 36, I’ve decided to not ever be bothered with that trivial stuff anymore.  I’ve decided this is the year I will take back June 11^th. 

This year has been one of the best years of my life.  Honestly.  I’m not sure if it’s because I’m really happy with my work – I’ve found a happy place in teaching – or if it’s because my children are old enough now that I can stand back a bit and relax and enjoy them more?  I’m not sure.  I don’t know if it’s because I’ve finally decided that this extra 20 pounds is really not that big of a deal.  I just feel like each year gets a little bit better for me, and that all the stuff I worried about when I could fit into that shiny gold dress doesn’t matter at all anymore.  Sure, I’m not that skinny and cute, but I’m also not that skanky and stupid.

I’m hoping that my 36^th year will include more traveling and less whining.  More eating delicious food and drinking really good wine, and less worrying about where those calories are heading.  More time spent with family living far away and less time crying about that family not living in Kansas City anymore.  My 36^th year will be about FINALLY getting started on my masters and not letting the excuse of kids, money or time get in my way.  It’s not a new epiphany…it’s just about finally getting off my own back.  Women are way too hard on themselves and I’m finally seeing some of that.  This year will be about loving myself more and criticizing myself less.  I hope that some of you will hold me to it.