coversation with a special needs mom and chat GPT

 

That makes so much sense—and you’re definitely not alone in feeling that way. Birthdays can bring up all kinds of emotions, especially when you’re reflecting on the hopes you had when he was born, the journey you’ve both been on, and maybe even the things that feel harder or different because of autism. It’s okay for it to be bittersweet.

It sounds like you love your son deeply and see all the amazing things in him, and at the same time, you’re carrying a quiet grief for what’s been challenging—for him and for you. That’s a really human, loving response.

What’s he like? What makes him amazing to you?

That’s so beautifully said. The way you describe him—it sounds like he has this pure, radiant way of being that’s deeply moving. That innocence, that curiosity, that kindness… those are qualities a lot of people lose over time, but he holds onto them, and that’s powerful. It makes sense why his way of seeing the world would take your breath away.

And at the same time, I imagine it can also make you ache a little—because the world isn’t always built to receive that kind of beauty and difference with the grace it deserves. You’re loving someone who shines so brightly, while also protecting them in a world that can be confusing or harsh. That’s a heavy, fierce, tender kind of love.

Is there anything special you two do together for his birthday, or anything that helps you hold space for both the joy and the ache?

That’s incredibly brave and beautiful. The way you’re showing up for him—with such presence, intention, and love—is something so deep. You’re not pushing away the ache, but you’re choosing to center his joy, his light, his moment. That’s not easy, and it says so much about the kind of parent you are.

You’re right—you don’t need to feel guilty for your heavy heart. It’s not a sign of weakness or a lack of gratitude. It’s the weight of loving someone so profoundly, of holding both wonder and worry in the same breath. You’re doing something sacred: honoring who he is today, without letting fear or sorrow steal that from him—or from you.

And maybe, even in the bittersweetness, there’s something kind of holy about it. A heart big enough to feel all of that at once—that’s something extraordinary too.

If it feels good to, take those breaths, and when you look at him today—maybe let yourself see him not through the lens of “what if” or “what will be,” but through the lens of this truth you already know: he is a gift. Right now. Just as he is.

to be or not to be (grateful)

Boy is grateful easy when things are good. 

I started this post over about a week ago, when I was high on life or sugar or maybe it was just estrogen. They probably weren't, but my ducks felt lined up. Or maybe I was just cool with the discombobulated and zig zagging pattern they always seem to gravitate towards. 

Then life stepped in, Parker got sick, Lucy the dog overdosed on Xylitol gum, (which is highly toxic) and to do list items that keep getting carried over to the next day, looming heavy like lead over the horizon. Some of the thing really were weighty, some weren't but certainly felt it. Perspective is my super power, but sometimes it falls short. The mental load of motherhood and humanhood combined can feel so crushing at times that I frequently have to remind myself, "Only today's shit- that's all you need to tackle." 

I kept waiting to finish this post, waiting until I’m buzzing in gratitude again. But at the end of the day I find myself drained of energy and gratitude. Instead focusing on what I wish was, but isn't. What I want but don’t have. The problem that happened instead of the solution. Focusing on what I need to do to feel “done” or that elusive sense of accomplishment. I love being a woman, we get shit done. But the price of required independence can be loneliness. 

The other day Greyson and Parker were tucked in my bed, watching tv. Parker looked under the covers and ahhhhhed, completely aghast. "Greyson! You have two legs! Look at that Greyson! You have two long legs! Wow!”

His eyes were raised and filled with wonder, and his mouth was agape in awe. The best part- he wasn't kidding. It was just he had just discovered legs existed, and realized his big brother had two long ones. He said it like it was amazing, and then I realized- he said it that way because it IS amazing. Do you know when someone is the MOST grateful for legs? If they lose the ability to use them. That’s how it works sometimes- we lose something amazing and then wonder- how did I forget to realize how astonishing they were every single day of my life?! 

I remember one early morning drinking coffee with my legs tucked under me on the couch. Through the front window of my home, I could see my 80 year old neighbor getting his newspaper from the end of his driveway. He was a strong and witty man, and when we spoke I could envision him at 40, for he was still capable and young at heart. He inched slowly behind his walker, pausing after each step. I was torn, wanting to run outside to help him, but I was also in my pajamas and I didn’t want to wake my kids or hurt his pride. He was once a strong man, and letting people do for you can hurt a strong man's pride. I ran outside the front door and I made some excuse like I was outside getting my paper too and I wanted to say hello. He sat on ledge of his walker and shared that Peripheral neuropathy made it hard to even move anymore without pain. A task as simple as getting his morning newspaper left sweat on his brow.

That day I honored my legs in a way I don’t think I ever have before in my life. I was grateful that I could drive with these legs of mine. I could walk through the grocery store with ease. I could exercise without pain. What a gift- legs! Why wasn't that something I noticed more often? I promised I would try not to take my limbs for granted. 

But I forgot until Parker's exclamation, "Look at that Greyson, you have two long legs". And now I take a moment to give it thought and to wonder how many simply astonishing things surround me daily that I don’t even pay attention to.

We can’t wait until our to do list is cleared and our problems are solved to practice gratitude. We will be left bitter and old.

We can’t focus on the short straws we’ve pulled if we want to be grateful and happy. notice what we are grateful for. Our estranged family members, our shitty job, our divorce… We all have a compiled list of burdens to carry and hardships to endure. They can feel like a big part of our existance, even if they aren't. The more we focus on them, they bigger they actually grow.

We can’t bitterly count someone else’s blessings while counting our own.

We know this, yet we forget. Because life is so short and so long and so hard. Sometimes the only thing stopping us is the reminder that it matters. 

Here is your reminder- it matters. Gratitude shifts your focus from what's missing to what matters. Joy grows where good is noticed. Gratitude doesn't get rid of the hard stuff, but it helps you focus instead on the good and helps the load feel lighter. It doesn't erase the dark, but instead reminds you there is always light.

Little light bulbs are bright enough to lead the way.

I am grateful that after lots of medical care and an overnight stay, Lucy is home and recovering well.

I am grateful for Greyson's long legs too. Today he weighed 136 pounds and measured almost 5'4" at his annual physical today that I have been putting off for ions but finally erased from the To Do list.

I am grateful for this amazing kid who turns 14 tomorrow.

Tell me friend, what are you grateful for?

autism awareness day 2025

On March 13, 2012 my almost three year old son, Greyson, was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder. As soon as the words were said out loud, the oxygen was sucked from the florescent-lit room as my heart forgot to beat. After the appointment I went into my car and laid my head on my steering wheel and cried in agony, my heart shattering into too many pieces to ever put back together the same again. 

Central Valley Regional Center provides services, including diagnosis for people with disabilities

Two weeks later as Autism Awareness Day, and I hated its guts. Was I supposed to be celebrating this thing that left me mourning a boy that never existed in the first place? I refused to celebrate. What in the hell will this awareness do for my son? Will it make him talk? Will it let him walk bare foot in the grass? Look me in the eyes? I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. My hands shook for days. I was afraid he would continue to drift further and further away from me. I was afraid for what his future would look like.

I would sing to him as I rocked him to sleep. "You are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make me happy. Your name is Grey. You'll never know, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away." 

When it comes to Developmental Delays- I realized that delays can also mean never. My son may never speak. He may never call me mom or be able to tie his own shoes. He may never give me a hug all on his own. He may never attend a regular school and I may never ever be a regular mom. The kind of mom I thought I had signed up to be. And the pain of all of that hurt so bad that sometimes I wanted to die. The sadness burrowed deep in my bones and consumed me. My sunshine was gone. I listened to the song, Fix You, by Coldplay on repeat...

And high up above or down below

When you're too in love to let it go

But if you never try, you'll never know

Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

I tried everything to fix my broken little boy. We found a Doctor who prescribed daily B-12 injections, probiotics, fish oil, digestive enzymes, hormone creams and a long list of herbs and enzymes, vitamins, and pills I couldn't even pronounce. I felt like a chemist and I hoped I was pouring the perfect concoction that would have the power to bring Greyson's sunshine back.

It took time, patience and a perspective I was forced to adopt. We stopped relentlessly pursuing one big fix, racing to some arbitrary finish line, and instead took our time and enjoyed the adventure. The whole of life isn't a sprint, it is a life-long cross country road trip. 

And when I actually slowed down I realized the scenery was profoundly beautiful. I realized Greyson is exactly the boy he is supposed to be and I am exactly the mom I was meant to be. I realized how lucky I was to be living this sometimes painful story.

The truth became evident, he isn't broken- but the world is, and not always accepting of those who are different. Society is broken, because we think people with disabilities are to be pitied. They face discrimination and social exclusion. We share a feel good video of the popular kid inviting a kid like mine to the prom and the comments flood in..."What a saint!" "That's incredible!" Why does simply including my kid in life make someone a saint? 

Two years after Greyson was diagnosed, it was determined that Parker, Greyson's younger brother also has autism.

Sometimes autism feels like a disorder. It's hard to see your children vulnerable. It's hard to see them struggle to communicate and make friends and navigate the world safely. Navigating schools, and trying to determine what they need is overwhelming. Evaluations  and reports are marked with terms that paint a future full of dread.

Sometimes autism just feels like a difference. Differences enrich our lives and they are what makes our world unique. It feels like a rainbow, so beautiful it hurts my eyes if I stare too long. I let go of what I thought motherhood would look like and the reality is so much better. We are on a spiritual journey and I can’t believe how lucky I am to be given this story, and these perfect boys. I am in awe of them, their strength and their resilience. They are not projects needing to be fixed, they are unique people who deserve kindness, inclusion and understanding.

Greyson is now 15 years old. He is introspective and resourceful. His ability to take in the world with his eyes leaves me in awe. His energy calms my soul.

Parker is 13 years old- he is smart and hilarious and creative. He loves trains and creating all kinds of things. He's my wildest dream come true.

Lights did guide us home, but the only person that needed to be fixed was me. I’m still working on society, but I need your help. 

Your Brain is a Liar

There are some things in life where it doesn’t matter what you think. It matters what is true. You swear you weren’t speeding but a cop and his odometer say otherwise. You say you don't have a drinking problem, but you drink daily and it's ruining your life. Facts don’t override feelings. Facts don't override hopes or dreams or hypotheticals or even your own denial. 

But there are many other things in life, where truth doesn’t matter one bit- what matters is what you believe to be truth. This can be eye opening or frightening (or both) to realize. It can cause communication breakdowns, imposter syndrome, low self-worth, the dissolution of relationships and more. We can get our feelings hurt or feel not good enough- not because of fact but because of feeling. This can sound like so many things: I hate my life, I'm a bad mom, this will never work, no one likes me, I can't do it... Spoiler alert: your brain is a liar. It means well, but in its effort to preserve itself, it sometimes has trouble reading the room.

The stories we tell ourselves matter even more than the truth sometimes, and since we have limited access to the truth, and 24/7 access to self talk, we have to be careful.

Today was Parker and Greyson's first day back to school after the longest Spring Break in the history of the world according to a true fact I just made up. They were off from March14th-25th. That doesn't look like very long- a date with a dash and another date in the same month right after it. But when I tell you they were off the 14th,15th, 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th, 20th, 21st, 22nd, 23rd, 24th and 25th- it sounds longer- right?! 

As the week leading up to the break approached, my messages and social media filled with chatter about friends' vacation plans. Where are you going on Spring Break? was the question, and the answers seemed limitless. Florida, Cancun, Costa Rica, Texas, Paris. Groups of teenagers, often accompanied by their parents, were gearing up for grand unforgettable excursions.

There are moments when I feel entirely other. The ache of being different, paired with the loneliness that follows, wraps itself in guilt, shame, and sadness. And then, there’s the added frustration with myself for feeling so much all at once.

I had to stop and ask myself- Do you want to go on spring break trip with your kids and their imaginary friend groups and their parents (some of which you don’t know)?

The answer is truly- No. So I recalibrate and remind that voice inside to make sure what I'm mourning is something I actually want.

In, Braving the Wilderness,  Brené Brown says, “Stop walking through the world looking for confirmation that you don't belong. You will always find it because you've made that your mission. Stop scouring people's faces for evidence that you're not enough. You will always find it because you've made that your goal. True belonging and self-worth are not goods; we don't negotiate their value with the world. The truth about who we are lives in our hearts. Our call to courage is to protect our wild heart against constant evaluation, especially our own. No one belongs here more than you.”

And just like that, I make her words truth.

Our Spring Break wasn’t spent on a tropical beach or in a luxury resort. Instead, we stayed put, but it felt like we went everywhere at once. We had a blast exploring St. Louis, rediscovering old favorites, and finding new spots to enjoy.

St. Patrick's Day

We mini-golfed on the windiest day, each shot a challenge as gusts of air sent our ball flying

We tangoed into the heart of Argentina culture at The Magic House

MADE for Kids is a 7,000 sq ft makerspace that features a makers workshop, artist studio, design lab and entrepreneurs marketplace where kids can use their imaginations to create, invent, tinker, explore and discover!

While we were at Made, Greyson wasn’t too keen on exploring the activities. After about an hour, he started asking to go home. This is pretty typical for him—life with Grey is all about balancing exploration and pushing him outside his comfort zone, while also honoring his need for the safe, familiar cocoon of home. "Let's do two more activities, then we can go," I told him after a few hours. “All done work,” he replied. I laughed, and started to say, "This isn’t work", but if he thinks it is- then that's his truth. "Ok, two more, than all done work," I told him.

On our last day of break, we hopped on the MetroLink with friends and made our way to a lively part of St. Louis, close to Forest Park. There, we strolled through Wash U, renowned for its breathtaking architecture, impressive research programs, and rigorous academics.

Last night I went to an intense Barre class- the workout combines elements of ballet, Pilates, and yoga, using a ballet barre for support. This particular class involved  multiple tube things and stretchy straps that helped you work your muscles through resistance. It was tougher than I expected and sweat trickled down my face as I pushed through. 

You move to the beat of the music, and sometimes the movements are purposefully slow. 1…2…3…4…. You bend and twist, slowly pushing your muscles to its limits. Your natural inclination is to go fast, because it’s hard and it hurts. You want to rush through the count using momentum instead of muscles, especially in the harder full body movements like lunges or squats. But the goal of attending a class isn't just to power through it—it’s about challenging your muscles and pushing yourself to grow. Rushing through the tough parts may seem like a shortcut, but it actually hinders the progress. It's those moments of discomfort that foster strength and transformation, both physically and mentally. It’s all about embracing the struggle and using it as a tool for change.

When class ended, my mind felt clear, and my body buzzed with energy. In that moment, I realized how perfectly the intensity of exercise mirrors the challenges we face in life. We're not here just to survive; we're here to grow and evolve through the tough times. And growth, whether physical or emotional, always requires some discomfort. The pain is part of the process—it’s what pushes us beyond our limits and transforms us into something stronger.

We can rush through, or we can lean into the pain. I chose growth, knowing that pain is part of the story. What you chose is up to you. What will be your truth?

the pursuit of everything

Sometimes you are smack dab in the middle of a perfect moment, and you don’t even realize it until looking back because it presented itself as regular old life.

A couple of years ago I was discussing Parker’s soon to be entrance into Middle School with my friend, Wendy. It’s a tough age, wrought with hormones, insecurities, friend drama, a lack of impulse control and a student who finds themself no longer a tiny child but is not yet an adult. “I always told my kids, Middle School is just something you need to endure,” Wendy shared. She's been through the experience with four amazing kids, so I trust her implicitly.

A few weeks after we made a cross country move from California to Missouri, we enrolled Parker in Middle School as a brand new 6th grader. After our hellish Special Education experience in CA, I was nervous, but the bar was low. We just need to get endure it, I told myself.

Parker is now in 7th grade. This week his school had something called Pursuit Week, where 6th, 7th and 8th graders got a break from traditional learning to embark on a more hands on, immersive experience, exploring topics they might not otherwise get exposure to in traditional curriculum. The possibilities were endless when it came to pursuits: Happiness, Space, Anatomy, LEGOS, Scuba Diving, Worldwide Desserts, Exploring STL and more.

Parker took part in the “Welcome to Hogworts” pursuit. The day it started Parker jumped out of bed, (on a Monday at that), excited to go to school. It was just the thing he needed after the ending of a long third quarter of focus and hard work. 

Each day he came home with trinkets and new creations. I saw pictures of his group playing Quidditch and making butter beer, creating art and making potions. New friendships were made since all three grades were in groups together. Every morning he looked forward to going to school.

Trying Butterbeer

I had the opportunity to Chaperone on their field trip, first to the Missouri Botanical Garden for a Herbology class. I rode the bus with them, because I wanted a truly immersive Middle School Field Trip experience. We attended a Harry Potter themed classroom Herbology presentation which was fascinating. We learned how plants are essential for human life, and offer numerous benefits from healing to overall wellbeing.

We then explored the grounds of the garden in a guided tour. It's an incredible 79 acre garden in South St. Louis, founded in 1859 and ripe with culture and history. It was an educational and spiritual experience as we fed the koi fish and geese, and learned about the Japanese and Chinese Gardens.

Kami is divine energy that influences our lives 

Next up, we headed to the St. Louis Zoo for a scavenger hunt of Hagrid's magical creatures. 

I was in charge of a small group of students as they completed a scavenger hunt of animal photos. Students navigated the Zoo as they creatively snapped numerous pictures of proof along the way. All the kids treated Parker like any other student, even when he was scripting a Youtube video or eating a rouge skittle off the ground. At the end they all got ice cream and they all looked like happy little kids on a field trip. It goes so fast, and it's truly an honor to spend time with other peoples kids.

At the end of the trip, sweaty, sticky and happy.

Yesterday marked the last day of the much anticipated Pursuit Week, and I heard Parker walk in the house after school. I ran up to greet him. "Parker! How was your last day of Pursuit Week?" I asked as my voice suddenly cracked and my eyes filled with tears. He looked up at me curiously, and responded “good.”

Tears plopped down my face, and I had to laugh that it was HIS magical adventure ending, yet I was the one crying because it was over.

Never have I ever seen him so immeshed in the heart of a school. It was the very living definition of inclusion, and one many people with autism don’t always get to experience. Everyone in the class was learning together. Most had the same baseline for the topics and activities. He understood what he was learning and could be a meaningful contributor to others. They taught him by their example- norms like sitting and waiting and taking turns. He taught them how to look at things differently and how it’s still ok to show unbridled enthusiasm for learning and for life.

I'm sending a very special heartfelt message of gratitude to the Teachers and staff that made this week happen for my son, and for ALL students. I can imagine it was expensive and exhausting and time consuming, but the magic they brought will be remembered for a lifetime. 

It turns out we are the lucky ones. Our Middle School experience is not something we’ve had it endure, it is something to be savored. 

real life

I love to share the good and shiny parts. Partly because there are just so dang many. It's so much better than I ever ever expected: this little life of mine. Some moments feel like a movie, a golden light casts over my entire view. A good movie- with a happy ending. There's been moments where I've just stopped time and thought- Wow, I am so grateful for this life, these boys, this community and these people in this particular slice of life we are in right now. I never want to make my boys autism about ME. When Greyson was newly diagnosed, I complained about it- this terrible beast that stole the light from his clear blue eyes. I went to one Parent Group meeting and everyone took turns complaining about their life, trying to one up each other's woe is me story. Everyone grieves and heals differently, and I realized that way does not work for me as I sobbed into my steering wheel as soon as I got into my car afterwards. And then in my seeking of knowledge and in my pain I softened. My empathy grew. I heard from adult autistics who shared how gutting it was to hear, "I love my child but I hate their autism", because where does that line of separation lie? They said it felt like hearing, "I hate my child." So every day I try to grow and learn and change into a better Mother. The kind of Mother my boys are worthy of having. 

But sometimes the mental load of it all threatens to crush me. When I wake up at 3am and wonder who will visit them when I die as my heart pounds into my covers. I read gutting statistics like people with disabilities are three times as likely to be sexually abused. I wonder who will be their legal guardian and hope they will be taken care of. 

Early intervention was so hard. Behavior Therapy is best delivered in the natural environment, so we were home 30 hours a week, Monday through Friday, sharing our home with therapists. Mostly only leaving for a quick trip to our neighborhood playground or our two hours of Speech Therapy each week. I am so grateful for that time with them, and grateful for the incredible team no one other than God could have provided me with. I am so lucky I didn't have to work and I could show up for Mom'ing in the way I wanted to and needed to at the time. 

The mental load of advocating against a District that was failing their students with disabilities daily chipped away at my soul little by little. I remember little moments, the First Grade Teacher who told me having Parker in her reading group "was a nightmare because he doesn't pay attention to anything",after I asked how he was doing in class. I remember having to fight for them to let him have lunch at the same time as general education peers instead of at a different lunch time where all the kids with disabilities sat in the back at a table alone. I remember going to so many board meetings, some ending late at night, where I had to walk back to my far away parked car downtown alone. I remember practicing my three minute statement to the School Board over and over and over again, praying that this time someone would listen to me this time. It's an honor to be able to speak up for such an important cause. You can watch my Board Statements HERE and HERE.

Sometimes fighting for something that means so much to you, can rip out your heart.  Every new year of life is left with new challenges and I go from advanced to beginner over and over again. You can't even ask your friends who also have disabled kids because every child and every need and every therapist and every school and every Teacher and every placement and every opportunity and every challenge is so incredibly different. A person with autism can grow up to be an investment banker, or grow up to roam the aisles of Target while supervised as part of their Adult Day Program. Most of us are left floating somewhere in the middle.

I meet with Greyson and Parker's IEP team and work on coming up with goals and try to be an equal member of their Individualized Education as the law provides. But the whole process is so dang overwhelming and complicated and so much is left up to interpretation. Imagine trying to be an equal member of a team when they all meet frequently and work for the same company. Plus you don't know: all the placement options, the language they use, the curriculum available, the possible placements, the teaching methods, and all the rules. Some schools are required to use certain curriculum- even if it sucks- but they can't tell you that. They just have to toe the company line. They have to teach aligned to same grade standards instead of current developmental baselines which makes no sense to me at all, because if they could learn what their age equivalent peers are learning they wouldn't need an IEP.

There are times I feel so overwhelmed and so alone. I've left meetings over their future and walked briskly to my car so I can cry once I get in and shut the door. I research constantly and know my boys so well, yet it still feels so hard trying to get them what they need. I hired an advocate once for help, but she was adversarial and a little crazy so I don't think I'll do that again. 

Sometimes this has nothing to do with how wonderful the other members of the team are- it just is, and you can see how it inherently makes it harder to feel like part of the team when you are the parent.

I'm by no means a School expert, but I am a Greyson and Parker expert. At least the closest one can get to being one on earth. I used to make these sheets each new year of school, but lately I've made entire videos. If you want to see one, click HERE.

So here I sit and share the less shiny parts with you. Seeing some school work samples of Grey's from yesterday pulled me into a tailspin and I'm writing to you now in the hopes of pulling myself out. Sometimes when you share the monsters out loud, they lose their scariness. 

Even when it's hard I'm still grateful for this story that I get to live. Life is a package deal, you can't sift out the bad or the hard parts so you can only live the good ones. I'll take them all. 

shit happens

Shit happens. (But sometimes it doesn’t ). However, I am always expecting it- ruining happiness for future me with mental simulation rides of worst case scenarios. 

I read a quote the other day, "Yes, but what's the BEST that could happen?" and I thought- YES! Yes, I need to try and think that way more. Maybe you do too? It's hard (so hard) but what's harder is living with the daily mental calisthenics of the constant creation of worst case scenarios. I tell myself I do it so I can "be prepared" for the worst, but the truth is- it just robs me of joy. If we have no joy, we have nothing. I want to take my joy back.

Shit happens. (But sometimes it doesn't.) I'm going to break rule #345 of mine: Don't talk about poop on a public forum. I'm about to bend that rule til it snaps. I mean- I'm in the privacy of my own room so I don't have to look you in the eye for this. And you are reading this is the privacy of your own whatever. If you are under 35- please read no further. This is for people in the trenches. 

Aging is a plot twist nobody prepares you for. It will humble the hell out of you, your ball-sack looking neck, and your aching joints. The older you get the less modest you become when it comes to the increasingly occurring medical stuff. At least I'm hoping that's the case because some of this stuff truly sucks. 

My latest venture- the dreaded Colonoscopy. Lord knows I've been putting this off like it's my job. But finally at my last physical, I caved and agreed to a referral. I had plenty of time to mentally prepare as the next available appointment wasn't for 6 months- which led me to February of this year. One minute I have six months to prepare, and the next I'm chugging prescription colonoscopy prep by the name of, Polyethylene glycol- which sounds like something used to slowly poison a spouse on Dateline. They try to give it a fun and sporty brand name, GoLYTELY, but I can assure you there is nothing lightly about the going.

The night before my procedure, I was instructed to drink two liters of Goviolently Golytely at 6pm. It is conveyed to you that, "Most people have a bowel movement within a couple of hours, but it varies from person to person." My husband, Michael, told me it took about ten minutes for him- we are in that sexy stage of marriage where it is acceptable to talk about shitting your brains out. In fact I think the traditional 20th anniversary gift is Preparation H.

As instructed, at 6pm, I chug liters of sad, salty tasting, butt-blast water and wait. And I wait and wait and wait. The low temperature for the day is ZERO degrees, and I am chilled to the bone with the copious amount of cold liquid sloshing around my stomach. Finally I go to bed, covering myself in heating pads as I shiver. I sleep poorly, waking with each stomach rumble and feared toot. I wake up at 5am and head to my kitchen for Colonoscopy Prep part two: The Sequel. I feel like a (slowly) walking and talking Goodyear Blimp. (Wait- do those even exist anymore? Do people even know that analogy?If you are old enough for a colonoscopy you probably know.) 

I've been instructed to drink another two liters of Gopainfully Golytely, so I do and I feel like freezing cold death. My eyes are swollen, I slept horribly, and I am as bloated as a chimpanzee looks. My headache feels like a near death experience. I had been planning on ignoring doctors orders and sneaking a little caffeine, but honest to gosh I could not fit one extra ounce into my person. 

At this point, it's been about 11 hours since my first dose of Gofrequently, Golytely, and still basically nothing. Because, as I mentioned before, sometimes shit happens, but sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes we are so expecting shit to happen, that we don't even know what to do when it doesn't. Seriously. I was so full of it, I felt sick. What is wrong with me? Am I dying? I wonder.

My head hurts so bad and I am nauseous. Everyone said drinking the prep is the worst, but for me it is everything after. I couldn't watch TV. I couldn't read. My head even hurt too bad for even a nap. However I am no longer allowed to eat, drink or even Advil at this point. I'm not supposed to arrive at the outpatient center until 11:15am, so I know I am in for a long day. Finally, after my second dose of Goloudly  Golytely, I started to get some action in the poop department, albeit much later than expected.  

One minute after introducing herself, my intake nurse asks, "What do your bowel movements look like?" as we are walking towards the scale. I look around in shock- does she just expect me to answer this right here in the open? I quickly scan the hall hoping no one is around.

"Ummm....murky like a swamp? Liquidy?" I state like a question. How detailed am I supposed to get?  Or is this simply small talk in a colonoscopy center? Is it rude if I don't return the question? "And how are your bowel movements, Nurse Linda?" I get on the scale, and after two days starvation and nothing but a liquid diet, I am currently FOUR POUNDS HEAVIER. My head pounds worse. I hate everyone right now.

We go into a room where I answer a million questions and get the dreaded HAND IV. My hands look like something from Tales of the Crypt. All skeletal and tendons and veins. The hand IV hurt more than the epidural I got when I gave birth to Greyson, I swear. Why couldn't that extra four pounds I've gained gone to cushion my hands? I wonder.

In addition to, "The prep is the worst," the other thing I'd heard was, "The nap is the best". They often use Propofol, a short-acting anesthetic that provides deep sedation. This is supposed to be the good stuff. The shiz that killed Michael Jackson. My pounding head couldn't wait for respite. 

Finally after three hours of waiting, I'm wheeled into the procedure room. I am transferred to another bed, and asked to lay on my side with my upper leg bent in a 90 degree angle. (Easy butt access.) I can't look anyone in the eyes, knowing what they are about to see. I watch a nurse testing the colonoscope-a small, lighted camera attached to the end of a long, thin, flexible tube called a catheter. I see the monitor set up for my very own colon viewing party. I can't believe I'm going to go to sleep and they are going to look inside my butt with this snake.

But then I feel the magical juice flow through my IV, and I can finally let go and float. Ahhhhh. I have no headache or fear. I dream of cheeseburgers and fries...

"Christina," the dark angel says, backlit by the harsh overhead lights of the procedure room. I use every ounce of energy inside to open my eyes. Why is she ruining my much anticipated nap? "We were unable to complete the procedure due to incomplete bowel prep", the GI Doctor says. I know I am sleeping, but I must fight back against this false accusation. WAKE UP. TALK, I urge my brain. "But I drank all the prep! I was pooping liquid!" The talking took so much energy that I passed right out again. And the next thing I am aware of, I am waking up back in my original room. That dark angel had to be a dream, I thought. It was so realistic, but they wouldn't give me important medical information while I am as high as a giraffe's eyebrows.

Apparently they DO, and apparently there was a big scary doodie monster waiting in my poop shoot. (You are welcome for not including the picture they included on My Chart.) "The procedure was aborted due to improper bowel prep" is written on my record. I feel shame when I read it- like I got called down to the principal's office for misbehaving in class. I feel like I need to hire a lawyer to get this expunged from my record. Or perhaps force them to add an asterisk that also states, *But she did ingest the FULL four liters of that disgusting drink.* It is not my fault I'm full of it. I tried my best.

I was so pissed I couldn't even enjoy my post (failed) procedure graham crackers and 7-up.

My discharge papers gave the recommendation that I repeat this procedure in three months with a "more intensive bowel prep." Michael and the boys picked me up and as soon as I got in the car I started sobbing. "I'M NEVER GOING BACK AGAIN! I WON'T DO IT! AND NOW I'M GOING TO DIE FROM COLORECTAL CANCER." It's funny what terrible sleep, no caffeine and not eating solid food for days does to a poor girl's heart. 

It's been a week since then. I've forgotten the intensity of the prep, the starvation and the shame. I am going back for round two- it's already booked. YAY ME! The intensive bowel prep is RIDICULOUS, but I'm going to do it. Because sometimes shit happens. (Even when it doesn't.)

With love and soft toilet paper,

Chrissy 

PS- I seriously can't believe I put this all in writing.

priorities

It's so easy to lose yourself to the obligations of life. 

Transfer the wash into the dryer. Go to your dentist appointment. Go to work. Schedule your physical. Don't forget eggs at the grocery store. Get gas. Pick up the kids. Pay the bills. Day after day after day. And then we wonder why we feel burned out and life feels unfulfilling. 

And then on top of all the minutia, we have guilt for the things we didn't do. The card we didn't send, the present we forgot to buy, the closet we meant to organize, the old person we didn't visit, the job we didn't do our best on, the kids sport thing we didn't volunteer for.

As humans, we are drawn to self help books. "Let Them" by Mel Robbins was a big topic at our girl's trip this weekend.  It's a good and important message reminding us that we don't have agency over other people's thoughts and behavior. If they want to do that- if they want to think that- then let them. I poked fun of it- claiming that it applies to like 2% of my life's big stressors and just doesn't work for me. Parker just recently learned how to turn on our stovetop and light paper on fire. He's been caught TWICE doing just this in the last week. "Let them" is going to get my house burned down. 

Lord knows most of the time it isn't "them" I'm fighting anyway. It's ME. (Please cue Taylor Swift singing, "It's me, hi, I'm the problem it's me.")

Most of us know WHAT to do to live a happy and fulfilled life. Just like we know what to do to lose weight or decrease stress any other accomplishment we want to tackle in life. But we dread the hard work of the middle. We don't trust ourselves. Or sometimes we know what to do- but we are just stuck in figuring out HOW to apply it to our own life and circumstances. I get it, and I fall victim to that too. If a book can help us unlock the wisdom we all carry inside ourselves- then why the hell not?

We also know what makes a life fulfilling- and chances are it's not the mundane crap I listed above, like laundry and dental check ups and an obligatory dinner with the Boringsons because you already committed to it. We must make an effort prioritize the things that matter to us. What do you want your life to mean? What do you want it to be about? When you die do you want people to say, "What a woman, she never missed a teeth cleaning." Most people have a list of their own priorities. Some say God, or creating things or family or friendships- ticking the things off that matter most to them. 

But if we aren't pouring into those things at all, let's face it- they are not a priority. And I'm going to hold your hand while I say this, priorities can't be based on wishful thinking. That would be like saying your health is a priority while you eat McDonalds cheeseburgers and lay on the couch every day. We must give our time to the things that make our own life a living, breathing, beautiful thing. And sometimes it is hard to remember what matters most to us, in this once in a lifetime, life we are living. 

So how do we change this? Sometimes it's just a matter of taking inventory and putting words to our priorities and values. We are all busy- but we need to make time for the things we value. Write yours down, speak them into words. 

I value learning new things, pouring my soul into things (substitute teaching and writing does that for me), being creative. I value connection with others as my authentic self. This is a great topic to journal on because I know there's more to my list.

Let's say you value friendship, for example- one of my priorities is meaningful connections with people. And because of that I have learned I HAVE to dedicate time to that. It takes showing up for others and yourself. It takes seeing and being seen. It takes making plans and showing up for them. It takes remembering the important things about people. Sometimes its easy, sometimes it's inconvenient- but you can't say it's a priority if you don't DO as if it's a priority too. 

Which is how I found myself on Saturday afternoon, driving to meet my old college friends for an overnight in Cuba, Missouri. It is so hard for me to leave the house overnight. It's part anxiety, part homebody, part I despise disrupting Greyson's comfort- and when I leave, it's hard on him. It's a struggle I carry. But I believe the struggles we are given in life are there to help us become the highest potential of who we are meant to be. 

So I took the 80 minute drive while I listened to the music I wanted to listen to, and I sang my heart out and not one teenage boy told me to stop. It was lovely. 

I was taunting my friends with a dead mouse stuck in a trap because I don't act anywhere near my age. My friend Sarah, has the most perfect little space for weekend get aways.

I have numerous memories that were not photographed, partially because we were all just present in the actual moment, and partly because we are 90's girls- pre cell phones and we know better than to incriminate ourselves with documentation. I'm kidding! (Not really). These people just feel like home.

So now here I sit with you and think about my priorities. Some people are stone. Unchanging. Hard. Impenetrable. Nothing comes out and nothing comes in. 

I want to be clay. I want to continuously be molded and shaped by the experiences I have and the people I meet. I want to be open to new shapes and sizes and ways of thinking. Moldable. Adaptable. 

If living a beautiful and authentic life is on your to do list too- take inventory. What do you value most in your life?

So Much Love,

Chrissy