Defying Gravity

Me, at about the age when I was diagnosed with asthma.

 

One night when I was 3 maybe 4, my parents stood in the doorway of my bedroom listening to me as I struggled to breathe.  My mom walked over and pulled up my night shirt to watch my chest.  I was fighting to so hard to take a breath that my mom could count my ribs as I would draw in air.  They were concerned, as any parent would be when you see your child in distress.  I'm sure my father gave me a priesthood blessing before they rushed me to the ER.  

In the ER I was given breathing treatments and they ran some tests.  I was diagnosed with Asthmatic Pneumonia.  I was in the hospital for 3 or 4 days as they pumped me full of antibiotics and gave me breathing treatments to help clear out my lungs.  A respiratory therapist would come and bang on my back throughout the day and I was made to sit under a tent that was full of hot steam.  I'm sure there were practical and healing reasons for these procedures, but I just remember it being pure torture.  There was a nice nurse who taught my mom how to french braid my hair.  Knowing how to french braid hair when you have 5 girls is a pretty important skill.

When I was released from the hospital I was labeled as Asthmatic.  I was given an inhaler and put on preventative medicine.  I was told I had to take it easy with any physical activity and I was watched like a hawk to make sure I didn't overdo it.  When I entered elementary school I gave a note to the PE teacher explaining that I had asthma.  I never had to run the mile and at times I was excused from PE because the activity they were doing was too strenuous for a little girl like me.

Asthma was a serious bummer.  I started to believe that I COULDN'T do things because I was Asthmatic.  People told me I shouldn't run or I might have an asthma attack, so I didn't run.  At a young age I learned that being asthmatic was part of who I was.  As I grew up I allowed my asthma to define me.  It was my go to excuse.  "Oh sorry, I can't play, I have asthma."  "Nope, can't do that, I have asthma."  I also used asthma as a way to get out of school and at times, chores.  Where I failed at faking a fever, I was the master of faking an asthma attack.  I could wheeze my way into going home early from school with the best of them.  As I got older and my sister, Kolette, put me in charge of cleaning the bathroom I knew exactly what chemicals to mix that would trigger an attack and have me resting on my bed in no time.

Pretty much the only physical activity I was encouraged to do was swimming.  Swimming doesn't seem to affect asthmatics as much as other sports.  Lucky for me I LOVED swimming.  I was a little fish.  At least according to Agatha (an Italian girl who lived with us one summer and stalked my brother.  Oh, but that's a whole other post!).  She used to call me "her little fishy"(said with an Italian accent, of course).

Seriously, look at that tan line!  I LIVED in the pool and I had the green hair and tan lines to prove it!

As I've gotten older, the opportunities to practice my preferred form of exercise have gotten less and less.  It's hard to swim laps when A) you have no pool and B) you can't afford a membership to a gym that has a pool and a daycare.  So, in an effort to lose some stubborn baby weight that has made itself right at home (on my hips) and to try to get healthier, I have done something I never thought I was capable of.  I have started running.

I have tried in the past to defy all the odds and become a runner, but almost every time my runs would end with me sitting on the sidewalk, clutching my chest and fighting for air.  I have learned over the years that, because of asthma, I can't run as fast as some people do.  My version of running would probably be considered more of a jog.  But, it's running to me. So, when I decided to give running one last try I did some research and started a program that basically took me from the couch to running a 5k, in 9 weeks.  The program had me walking and running in timed intervals.  My body slowly built up endurance to run for an extended period of time and my lungs slowly adapted.  I learned to regulate my breathing and I found my perfect pace that got my heart rate up, while still allowing me to breathe normally.

I remember the first time I ran for 20 minutes straight.  I ran inside the house and woke up Dave to tell him.  I was so excited!  It was the first time I had ever ran for that long AND I could still breathe.

I run my first 5k tomorrow.  I'm running it with my sister-in-law's.  They will probably be faster than me, but that's okay.  Tomorrow, I am going to become a runner.  Tomorrow, I am going to defy gravity.

  

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes: and leap!

It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try

Kiss me goodbye
I am defying gravity
And you won't bring me down! 

 

I'm through accepting limits
'cause someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try, I'll never know! 

  

                                                      

-Defying Gravity (as sung on Glee) from the musical Wicked

Chores

Chores are a big part of life at our house.  Every day around 4:30 we stop what we're doing and everyone chips in to help pick up and clean the house so it can be presentable before Daddy gets home.  Sometimes the chores are done cheerfully.  Sometimes, like today, not so much.  But either way the jobs get done and that's all I really care about!

I made up the chores one day on the spot when I took a look around the house and noticed all the things that needed to be done.  I got tired of having to do it all myself so I figured out the things my kids could do and then I made encouraged them to do it.

Here's the chores that they have right now. 

Cy & Princess:  Clean their room, pick up the floors in the kitchen, family room, dining room, put away their clothes on laundry day, and brush my hair.

Cy:  Clean off the table, and wipe it down.  Wipe down the bathroom sink. (they can't seem to brush their teeth without getting toothpaste all over the counter.)

Princess:  Sweep the kitchen floor

Beast:  Mess up everything that Princess and Cy are trying to do.

Chore Time at Our Casa!

The Beast even likes to get in on the action!

Princess picking up toys.  First on the list.

Cy wiping down the table.

Princess sweeping and the Beast waiting to walk through her pile.

Cy putting away clothes.

Cy helping Princess finish so they could eat dinner and watch a movie.

Had both kids brush my hair.  The Beast isn't allowed to brush my hair.  The brush is a serious weapon in his hands.  Have added this to the chore list starting today.  What?!?  You know you're just jealous!

Where I'm thinking about putting a chore chart.  I need it to be cute because it's going to be out in the open.  But, it also has to sturdy and Beast proof.  I'm still working on it.

The Beast helping unload the dishwasher.  Ya, we start 'em pretty young. 

 

Faking It

Sorry for the crappy quality, obviously this picture was scanned. I'm the little one on the left.  How do you like those fuchsia pants, and too small for me sweatshirt?  What a great combo!

I'm sick.  When you're a mom being sick sucks.  I remember back in my younger days I used to enjoy being sick.  Being sick meant sleeping all day long, no school, and sympathy from family and friends.  I used to fake being sick to get out of going to school.  I loved school, don't get me wrong, but there were times I hated the kids I went to school with.  In elementary school I had glasses.  I was taller than everyone else.  I was considered one of the smart kids, a teacher's pet.  In the decade of Guess Jeans and LA Gear I wore hand-me-downs, homemade bell bottoms, and LA Gear wannabe's from Payless ShoeSource.  In short, I was a nerd.  Kids can be cruel when you don't fit in and when you don't wear the right clothes and shoes.  So school wasn't always my favorite place to be.

Yet another great example of my nerd status.  I'm sure these clothes were all hand-me-downs from the pretty sister in the striped shirt.  So, we can safely guess that they were at least a decade out of style.  Also, how do you like the coke bottle glasses that TINTED IN THE SUN.  Yes, you read that right my glasses were also sunglasses.  Yep, I was that cool!

Enter:  Faking Sick

Being the youngest of 6 kids it was really hard, if not impossible, to get away with faking sick.  My parents had pretty much seen and heard it all before.  If you were claiming that your stomach hurt, then you'd better have the vomit and/or diarrhea to prove it.  Headaches were not a reason to stay home.  You didn't get to stay home if you had the common cold.  They just sent you to school with a pocket full of toilet paper (the poor man's tissue) and Luden's throat drops (the only redeeming thing about having to go to school with a cold).  Your temperature had to be over 100 if you even expected my parents to look at the thermometer.

I remember well an incident when I was trying to convince my parents that I really was sick.  My stomach was hurting, but I wasn't throwing up and I had no fever.  It was a given that my parents wouldn't believe me if I told them I had a stomachache because I had no symptoms to prove it.  Now, before you think my parents uncaring and callous people, in their defense I really did cry wolf a lot and like the boy in the story, no one believed me when I was telling the truth.  Anyhow, back to the story.  I remember watching TV and seeing a kid hold a thermometer over a light bulb in order to fake a fever.  In desperation I put the thermometer, one of those old school glass ones that were filled with mercury, over the light bulb.  I swear that I held it there forever (it was probably more like 2 minutes) and when I checked it, it was only up 1 degree.  Well, I needed to speed up the process before my parents caught me so I went straight to the greatest source of heat in the house.  The gas stove.  I turned on one of the burners, waited for the flames to ignite, then I put that mercury filled thermometer right into the fire.

Do you know what happens to a mercury filled thermometer when you put it in fire?  Ya, it blows up. My mom heard the pop and came running.  There I was, with a broken thermometer in my hand and tears rolling down my face.  As she took in the scene I saw a smile start to form on her face.  Then she started laughing.  Through my gasping sobs I tried to explain to her that I really didn't feel good and I didn't think she would believe me because I didn't have a fever.  She turned off the burner, took the thermometer out of my hand and gathered me in a gentle hug.  She assured me that she loved me and that she believed me when I was telling her that my stomach hurt.

My accident with the thermometer has gone down in the family history books.  I am past the days of faking sick to try to get out of things.  You can't fake sick and get out of being a mother.  Sick or not, my kids still need to be fed, taken to school, and loved.  In short they need ME.  So, now instead of relishing in the sickness, I dread it.  It's no fun being sick when you're a mom.  No fun at all!