tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70923703403581813942024-02-19T07:43:14.014-06:00The Not-So-Secret Life of a Soccer MomWelcome to my blog! As you can see, my blog is a lot like my thoughts: disjointed and random. It's all here -- the good, bad and the ugly -- as I try to deal with balancing work, home and raising kids while trying to keep my grasp on my own identity as I embark on my new life as a single mom.Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.comBlogger119125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-14611032916410688752014-07-30T15:24:00.000-05:002014-07-30T15:24:31.753-05:00An Open Letter to Doctors<div class="copy-paste-block">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="bqQuoteLink"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"You must stick to your conviction, but be ready to abandon your assumptions."</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="bqQuoteLink"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">~Denis Waitley</span></span><span><br /></span></span></div>
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<span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In response to the visit I had today at the Cleveland Clinic and the doctor who dismissed me. Here are some notes I wish every doctor would read.</span></span></div>
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<span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1) Please listen to me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know my body. I know my capabilities. I have googled every symptom and read every test result to the point I could probably do your job with my eyes closed. I know there is something wrong. Please don't blow me off. If I say there is something wrong, there is something wrong. I don't want meds. I actually avoid them at all costs. So don't assume I am coming into your office after already seeing 4 other doctors because I want you to give me drugs or I just want to miss work. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I worked 13 hours yesterday to make up the time I was going to miss by going to this appointment. My kids had cereal for dinner. I didn't even have time to eat. What time did you get home from the office?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2) Do not waste my time with extra appointments and more tests. I paid a $50 copay for 5 minutes with a cardiologist today. And I'm sure you will bill me extra for the EKG you ran even though I had one done 2 weeks ago with the same results. Instead of doing the recommended ECG test while I was already in your office and took time out of work, you are making me come back in a week to pay another $50 copay and lose more time at work that I will have to make up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">$100 might not seem like so much to you. But do you know what I can do with $100?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Buy groceries for a week for my family of 4</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Buy school supplies for my kids</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Buy all 3 of my kids very needed tennis shoes for school</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Get new brake pads on my truck since that I've needed for over a month</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What will you do with that $100? Take a few colleagues out for dinner? I'm a single mom. I don't have that luxury. I don't mind paying my part between insurance and copays for necessary tests, but you guys are just shooting in the dark and scheduling appointment after appointment just so you can charge that insurance a little more money to pay off that beemer in the parking lot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3) </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Don't assume. I walk into your
office and you see a middle-aged women that is overweight. You naturally
expect that whatever my symptoms are have been caused by the extra
pounds I carry like a scarlet letter stitched upon my clothing. You
only give my records a cursory glance and barely listen to my
responses. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, I am obese by your standards. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, I know this is not the healthiest I can be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes,
I also know that this is the healthiest and fittest I've been my entire
life; extra weight and all. I eat 80% clean. How many of your patients can say that? I have a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. I run. I did a half marathon 3 months ago. And I can't walk up a flight of stairs now. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Guess what, Doc? I was just as heavy 3 months ago. Nothing has changed except now I am sick so it must be the weight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do NOT assume that a person is unhealthy because they are fat. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do NOT assume a person is healthy because they are skinny. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You have to look at the whole picture. And a 5 minute consultation is not going to give you that. I spent $50. The least you can do is spend 15 minutes with me to find out a little bit more about me before you make a diagnosis.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4) Heal me. Don't pacify me. Heal my body and help find the root cause. Teach me from your vast knowledge what I can do to heal myself. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Don't fill my body with poisons that will just give me more symptoms. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5) I am not just a medical record. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Please - see me as a person. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am an Engineer. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am a single mom with 3 beautiful children that depend on her. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am a runner.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am a mixed martial artist.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am a human being. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I need to know what is wrong with me so I can get back to doing all of the above instead of sleeping most of the night on the couch because I am so exhausted from whatever this is. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Please help me be human again.</span><br />
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Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-88537003898440001062014-07-18T15:41:00.005-05:002014-07-18T21:21:25.054-05:00Not In My Backyard<div class="copy-paste-block">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Change will not come if we wait for some
other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for.
We are the change that we seek.</span>" <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">~Barack Obama</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Three minutes. That's all the separated us and the gunshots. I can't remember how many there were. I want to say it was six. Amidst all the chaos and kids scattering, time managed to stop.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> We had nowhere to go. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We were headed to the Sacred Heart Festival - a small Catholic school hometown festival. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My friend only lived two blocks from the school and it was a beautiful summer night, so it only made sense to walk. We </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">had decided to cross at a different light </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and cut through an alleyway behind the small stores lining the main road because of the huge crowds gathering on the next corner. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we made it to the other side of the street, we see a group of at least 30 kids coming our way. "They're just teenagers," I thought. "They won't hurt us. Besides, I have a black belt and I can use it if necessary." Then I heard the noise. That noise you know is not firecrackers only if you went to war or grew up in the hood. I've never been to war. It was a sound I heard many hot summer nights followed by the sounds of sirens or helicopters. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We froze. The group of kids were running in every direction; many of them towards us and up the alley. Was the gunman with them? Were they running from the shots? If we went the wrong way, we could be running right into more gunfire and not away from it. My damned black belt wasn't going to do a thing to defend myself from a bullet. I wish I could say my street smarts kicked in, but I have lived a sheltered life for too long and they have been significantly weakened. So I prayed.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The screeching tires and sirens from a bunch of police cars flooded the air. The teens had all scattered over fences and into the neighborhood backyards. We decided the best thing to do was to head into the festival and be surrounded by people. As we did, we passed three teens with their faces shoved into the asphalt being handcuffed. Patrol cars were speeding down the alleys and side streets looking for more hooligans. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Once inside the school grounds, we knew we were safe. But that on-edge feeling didn't go away for me for the rest of the night. I closely watched every person that walked past to see if they were up to no good, especially if it happened to be a larger group of kids. My maternal, "grew up in the hood and needs to always be on alert" instincts had kicked in and couldn't be shut off so easily now.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As I watched the teens walk back and forth through the festival, I noticed how different it was from when I was a kid. Yes - I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. But there was an innocence that had been long-lost on these kids. They way they dressed and strutted through showed that they garnered their sense of value from a completely different place than we did. </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Or maybe it was that they didn't feel valuable at all. Maybe they have long since lost a sense of purpose and meaning in their lives. I don't know how these kids have grown up. The surroundings aren't that much different than where I did. But life - somehow perhaps life just didn't give them a glimpse of hope of getting out like mine did.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As I reading newspaper articles on this event, I saw many people say stuff like this is why they didn't go to that side of town anymore. Mind you - where this happened is still a beautiful suburb with amazing residents in it. But our city is one of "white-flight", and many have moved further away from downtown to avoid the riff-raff. These "kids" - about 100 of them - had hopped a bus and rode over to start trouble. What people don't realize - although this didn't happen in our town, it did happen in our backyard. It was simply one more bus ride from "our" festivals. One more car ride to "our" malls. 10 more minutes for a drive-by to happen at "our" house or "our" schools.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Moving further away is NOT going to solve the problem. It is not going to keep our kids safe. It is ever so much closer than everyone realizes. And it's not a race issue. It's not a status issue. It's a societial issue. We're all affected. We don't even realize it. Our habits and traditions have changed because of this shift in a sense of purpose. We've stopped going to places and stay home more. We avoid driving through certain parts of town. We don't let our kids go out and play by themselves, let alone ride their bikes to the corner store. This is our backyard people!</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">If we want to stop running, WE need to be the change. We need to be the ones to start making a difference, not only in our own lives, but in our neighborhoods and the ones that we've been avoiding. We need these kids to see that there is so much more out there than what you are wearing today and who you can pop a cap into. That life, even from inside the hood, can be beautiful. That the world is so much bigger than it looks from the city boundaries and so much smaller than it seems from the streets. That these teenage years - as important as they seem - are just a blip in the timeline of our lives. That is - if they make it past them.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So, do something today to initiate change even if it is just sharing this post with others. Pay it forward. A random act of kindness. Cover someone's bill when they don't have enough money. Serve a meal at a soup kitchen. Teach a person to read. I know there are a lot of people that need help outside of this country, but there are so many people living just minutes away from our homes that need help too. Make a difference in one person's life. Show the future that our generation is the one to say "we no longer accept this as our reality!</span>" <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Be the change.</span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-80223079893703375212014-07-10T18:54:00.001-05:002014-07-10T19:08:34.977-05:00Broken Together<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Let your tears touch to the ground, lay your shattered pieces down. And be amazed by how grace can take a broken girl, and put her back together again." ~Matthew West</span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Broken. Fractured, smashed, splintered. Imperfect. Interrupted. Incomplete. It's a word that has nothing but negative connotations tied to it. We don't keep broken things. We throw them away and buy something new and pristine to replace it. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">When it's a person, people don't know what to do. It scares them when you tell them you're broken. They'll tell you you're not broken, you're just bent. You're strong. You'll get through it. God never gives you more than you can handle.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">But, He does. Sometimes he gives you so much that you bend until you can't bend any more. Then you break. And sometimes when you are exceptionally stubborn like me, he breaks you again. Shatters you. So you don't look like you any more. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">For me, this threw</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> me into a major depression - and guess what? I didn't believe in depression. I thought it was just weak people that needed to suck it up. Get back on their feet. Now I know better. I know it's a painfully physical and chemical response that you can't get out of on your own. You don't want to get out of. You can go on - you just don't want to. It skews your viewpoint. You can't feel the warmth of the sun on your face or the hug of a child. It's darkness embodied.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">When you're shattered, it gives you the opportunity for God to fill in the empty spaces. It allows His grace to flood into you where once you might have blocked it's way. It lets new experiences to mold you into a different creature. One that looks more like what God wants you to look like and less like what you want.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">And you're never quite the same. You look like the same person you were. People will say that they're glad you are back to your old self. You're not. You never will be. Some just can't deal with this and walk away. Others come into your life and stay for good. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">So, yeah guys, I'm broken. But I want to make a new definition for this condition. Restored. Filled with grace. Open to new possibilities. Empathatic. Resilient. Different yet still beautiful, possibly more so. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Letting the light shine through the cracks that weren't there before. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Ready to see what God was preparing me for and completely willing to embrace the brokenness that is me. Broken; not bent. Are you broken too? Let's be broken together.</span></div><div><br></div>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-31822122333270711982014-07-05T12:12:00.003-05:002014-07-05T12:16:54.193-05:00That Time I Tried to Kill Myself (By Becoming Healthy)<div class="boxyPaddingBig">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="bqQuoteLink">"While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die."</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> ~Leonardo da Vinci</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSNsQh9h_OUd43hMloH_EqQEhHmav0wvnL_hscCsBFrYV87AV0h3aiWoKRIoxRh-vG3BYiA3KLlGab2zJJ7xEa-wAku_T7uZJs4UR2av7rdLSLCOJJBs-qJdSUvzkgPQZC_R7YbfwFfg/s1600/964021_10201384520401702_927475261_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSNsQh9h_OUd43hMloH_EqQEhHmav0wvnL_hscCsBFrYV87AV0h3aiWoKRIoxRh-vG3BYiA3KLlGab2zJJ7xEa-wAku_T7uZJs4UR2av7rdLSLCOJJBs-qJdSUvzkgPQZC_R7YbfwFfg/s1600/964021_10201384520401702_927475261_o.jpg" height="200" width="148" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Here I am a year after life began again and what do I do? I try to die. And all I really want to do is live life to the fullest. All because I forgot that my body still doesn't know that I am a superhero. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Because I forgot I'm not entirely healthy. I'm not normal - y'all knew that. But I'm not talking mentally. I'm talking physically. I have PCOS, which from what I can tell means that my hormones are screwed up and don't process the same way everyone else does. For me this means I don't have enough progesterone. At my age this can be a good thing guys. It means I am extremely even-tempered most of the time and have a very healthy sex drive. Who cares if I need to be best friends with a pair of tweezers because of the stray hairs that pop up from the extra testosterone? But it also means that my iron can drop significantly and therefore so does my red blood cell count. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">What does that mean as far as my health? Well, running a half-marathon is not an easy feat for anyone, and especially not for someone overweight and with minimal training. But I did it. Got my medal. Felt like crap for a few weeks but then felt invincible after all the swelling and pain disappeared. Still wasn't very motivated to work out and even had this discussion several times with my health coach. We attributed it to my just being busy and distracted.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Then about a month later I took one of my crazy trips - worked all day, drove 15 hours to Tulsa, slept a few hours, conference all day and karaoke at night, a few more hours of sleep, all day conference, a 15-hour ride back, a quick shower and wardrobe change and then to a wedding. Yes - I'm insane. Felt tired for a few days and by Tuesday my iron totally took a nose dive. I just didn't realize it yet until I watched the video of me speaking at the conference. I was completely out of breath. It hit my like a Mack truck. It wasn't exhaustion that was causing my fatigue - it was the fact that my body couldn't process oxygen. I was suffocating by just walking around. After a year of trying to remember how to breathe my body just couldn't do what it was supposed to do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Basically, I fried my adrenal glands. There was simply more healing going on then they were able to handle. What seemed to work before didn't work this time because I piled on thing after thing after thing. There was no time for recovery. And since my body doesn't work like other people's, they simply gave out for a while. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So, we're getting things back on track now. My doctor is taking a very aggressive treatment plan. I have absolutely no intention of dying any time soon - I have waaaaay to much to live for now. Getting healthy has an entirely different look to it for the moment. It's not about pounds or inches or cardio or miles. It's about breaths. It's about those little moments in between one breath and the next. But really - isn't that what life is about anyways?</span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-87773262219695256622014-06-10T13:08:00.002-05:002014-06-10T13:08:33.466-05:00What's up, Chuck?<div class="copy-paste-block">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="bqQuoteLink">"Life
is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them -
that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow
naturally forward in whatever way they like.</span>" ~Lao Tzu</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Second date. I made it to a second date. This one was going to include meeting the kids. Which I had a firm and fast rule about - it wasn't going to happen. Not for a while anyways. For a multitude of reasons: the pain, the confusion, the unknown. And, well, because it's three kids. And the chaos that ensues from that tornado will usually run a guy off faster than a hot knife through butter. (BTW, if you are bored and want a good laugh, check out Funny Southern Sayings <a href="http://hubpages.com/hub/Funny-Southern-Sayings-and-Southern-Expressions">here</a>).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Well, that being said, I broke a few rules. Plus he had a million kids (10 but that's a story for another day). He had already pulled the kid card on me by introducing me to his youngest daughters (and they are so amazingly awesome). So I gave in. It was a moment of weakness - a temporarily lapse of insanity. I said yes to dinner with the kids. My kids. All three of them. I mean - what could possibly go wrong?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Yeah. Well, dinner was good. I was early (and by early I mean 3 minutes. For me, that's a record). His girls had huge smiles on when we came in and so did he. Good sign. We get seated and already Jacob is bouncing around and refusing to sit at our table. Apparently he had Oreos for lunch and nothing else to eat. Pure sugar and food coloring is running through his veins. This bodes well for the rest of the evening...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3f7or_A_xo3pac5snICi3scJKXbLwu1JF4zNp7SAUAQDJ6E7tPI6mouznc0gWC73QJBoW4R8gz0y2NvnkeJn8AxEDgzVyg_1RWkEtrGX8TZdt17sK3NVCVxlGfwnjmejGS_tiGTSGMCA/s1600/beatles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3f7or_A_xo3pac5snICi3scJKXbLwu1JF4zNp7SAUAQDJ6E7tPI6mouznc0gWC73QJBoW4R8gz0y2NvnkeJn8AxEDgzVyg_1RWkEtrGX8TZdt17sK3NVCVxlGfwnjmejGS_tiGTSGMCA/s1600/beatles.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Everyone orders and the girls are hitting it off fabulously. Jacob sits next to Tony and proceeds to bouncing around. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The girls finish their food and ask to go outside because they are cold. I think they were wanting to give us a chance to talk. A few minutes of nice conversation go by and out of the corner of my eye I see four bodies walking along the sidewalk above Tony's head. It totally reminded me of the Beatles from the cover of the Abbey Road album. I'm distracted by the movement behind my date as the girls wave hello to everyone on the main thoroughfare and Jacob catches up and starts rolling down the hill. I make sure Tony doesn't look back - well, because I want a third date. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After a while we walk outside to keep the kids company and they want frozen yogurt. We walk to Menchie's as it's just down the street and it's a beautiful night. Everyone gets some and we chill some more on the patio. Jacob is break dancing #becauseJacob and his girls are telling stories about their dad, trying to embarrass him. It's going well. As well as can be expected with 5 satellites. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I nervously excuse myself to the restroom, knowing he can handle 5 kids, but you know, and barely make it to the door when Brianna frantically runs up to me. I figure Jacob has broken an arm or something. In full Brianna "drama queen" style she tells me that Kiara threw up. Yeah. I really couldn't make this stuff up. I go back out and apparently she had been laughing so hard, she caused all of the contents of not only desert but dinner also to spill not-so-graciously all over the ground. I'm pretty sure at this point the date is over, as are my chances for a third. But he took it in stride, actually laughing at how much I was squirming and the fact that every bit of blood had run out of my face.</span></div>
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<span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So, he said he was going to call me later (which he did). His girls even kidnapped one of mine for a sleepover (I think to ensure that he would have to see me again after all that had happened). He still talked about our plans for this weekend (that's a good sign, right?). Well, as Lao Tzu suggests, here's to spontaneity and just "letting things flow". Because you can't always control the situation (especially when there are 5 kids in the equation) and you never know what will happen next.</span></span></div>
Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-22720097575557942492014-04-28T16:12:00.001-05:002014-04-28T16:12:28.062-05:00The Extra Mile<h5>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"All endeavor calls for the ability to tramp the last mile, shape
the last plan, endure the last hour's toil. The fight to the finish
spirit is the one... characteristic we must posses if we are to face the
future as finishers."</span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> ~<span style="font-weight: normal;">Henry David Thoreau</span></span></span></h5>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">One mile. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">5,280 feet. 1,760 yards. 63,360 inches. 15-20 minutes of your life. Sounds easy enough, right? It's far from impossible for most people. I mean, anyone can do a mile. </span></span></span></h5>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ__48WOsjFPXV8d38grxG-nJ4ox20pzoprFrIK0b0yn0OjwOn7CXEUOLwfmyLeSeQM04ApyFwTGrWs2-uSnf2rkLNUvQN9zRNfoLn3or7QjEpXibahjHektGZumtuJBwsgVdZIPJ2UEk/s1600/IMG_2134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ__48WOsjFPXV8d38grxG-nJ4ox20pzoprFrIK0b0yn0OjwOn7CXEUOLwfmyLeSeQM04ApyFwTGrWs2-uSnf2rkLNUvQN9zRNfoLn3or7QjEpXibahjHektGZumtuJBwsgVdZIPJ2UEk/s1600/IMG_2134.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Unless that mile is at the end of 12.1 others. After already completing 63,888 steps. Then that last mile may as well be a million. Every footfall is an argument with yourself. Testing your will to see if you will give up or go on. Your will gives up long before your body ever will. And you can even push yourself past that point and survive. I know - I did it.</span></span></span></h5>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The medic van followed our group. We were the last ones allowed to finish. About a dozen of us that persevered and didn't give in to the temptation to just ride to the end. It would have been so easy just to do. The van was right there; ice cold Gatorade and a plush seat just waiting to transport me to the finish line. I fought that urge every mile past mile 7. Glanced at that van and just wondered, "what if?"</span></span></span></h5>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">But I wanted that medal. That damned medal. It wasn't much, really. 5.9 oz of some cheap metal painted to look like cowboy boots. But that medal was a symbol for everything I have given up on these past few years - including myself. I couldn't stop now. I just had to keep pressing on. If I got on that van, I would make it to the finish but I wouldn't earn that medal.</span></span></span></h5>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuCZUbkX_yNooJuzp51ezu1ENkL47NJfAeIGQQ1N4qKzPMRIFjBeqNH-Ebu93GdnsCzmxsvDuuDSQDnuDKy62byWuMCffazWAIB6KzV5d7GP9nTKZ53KOyoonMfj3-LSWRqr_JjPA0NSQ/s1600/IMG_2155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuCZUbkX_yNooJuzp51ezu1ENkL47NJfAeIGQQ1N4qKzPMRIFjBeqNH-Ebu93GdnsCzmxsvDuuDSQDnuDKy62byWuMCffazWAIB6KzV5d7GP9nTKZ53KOyoonMfj3-LSWRqr_JjPA0NSQ/s1600/IMG_2155.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Step after step. Houses and buildings became a blur. Each movement forward brought me one step closer to that finish. My new friend Rachel and I taking turns wanting to give up. Our bodies were well past exhaustion. Our will power gone - thank goodness never at the same time or we might still be sitting on the side of the road. We pushed ourselves further than we ever had. Then we pushed some more. Legs cramped. Hands swelled. Muscles twinged and gave out. And yet we still walked.</span></span></span></h5>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">After mile marker 10, the signs disappeared. We wouldn't see another one until 13. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. We had no way of judging exactly how far we had left. So therefore, we had no way to know how much more sweat and soul we would have to leave on the pavement. </span></span></span></h5>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">At 11 1/2, someone told us we only had a mile and a half to go. One mile and some change. Less than 8,000 steps and we could be done. It no longer mattered if we were the last people to cross. It didn't matter that the water tables and musicians had long since packed up and left little behind but some trash. The only thing that mattered to us was crossing that finish line. </span></span></span></h5>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I couldn't even tell you what the scenery looked like during those last miles. I'm still not entirely sure I walked it. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. Every single movement I made was done with the intention of moving in a forwardly direction and reaching the finish line. I took the shortest route possible. I skipped stopping for refreshments so I wouldn't waste any precious steps. I just kept moving. I just did. </span></span></span></h5>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-9LP01EKErMNcp0s_316TMzpP8Otb7OWunwtH2vwNvNTx-gWbBGeHbVpOnPDAVsRaRxzBXeaz5ebhbsNGUbimxD94GukcqjoNUY6xuA-9sfv-DGsycxX97IeavRUvfrF0dFzuT5goNw/s1600/IMG_2153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-9LP01EKErMNcp0s_316TMzpP8Otb7OWunwtH2vwNvNTx-gWbBGeHbVpOnPDAVsRaRxzBXeaz5ebhbsNGUbimxD94GukcqjoNUY6xuA-9sfv-DGsycxX97IeavRUvfrF0dFzuT5goNw/s1600/IMG_2153.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">So, that's how I managed to make it through that extra mile. I never before pondered what that meant. Now I know. It's going when every fiber of your being screams that it's ok to stop. And taking the next step. And the next. And yet another. It's not riding the bus the last few miles to the finish line. It's you becoming battered and bruised and still going forward. And it's you crumbling in a puddle of tears at the end knowing that no matter how many lies you told yourself, you did it. You finally finished. It's sitting on the curb amongst the dirt and trash and weeds and never feeling more amazing and beautiful. Knowing there are still many steps in front of you that you have yet to take and also knowing that there will never be any more important than the ones you just completed. Because you finished. Because if I ever had hope to face the rest of my future, I needed to finish. And I did. </span></span></span></h5>
Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-63877356596910395712014-02-25T01:34:00.001-06:002014-02-25T01:37:45.913-06:00The Lies I've Been Telling The World"I guess sometimes you have to lie to find the truth." ~Scott Westerfeld<div><br></div><div>I've been telling lies. Big ones. Tall, short and plenty of grey ones. With a lot of little white lies sprinkled in between. I meant well, ya know. I never meant to hurt anybody. I think the person I hurt most of all was myself.</div><div><br></div><div>And my son. Because the lies have been about him. And to him. And especially the outside world. I thought I was helping him - protecting him from the judging looks and the well-intentioned advice. But I did more damage than good.</div><div><br></div><div>You see - I've been telling everyone including me that Jacob was normal. That he was just like every other boy but just a little more active. I've been told since he was born that he would grow out of it. Three, four and five passed and he still was the same. Impulsive, hyper, angry but also the sweetest little boy. </div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">He was diagnosed with ADHD. I thought that we had finally found the cause for his behavior and mood swings. The doctor put him on meds and the teachers were happy. The people at church were happy. The nosy condescending women at the stores were happy. Because he was quiet on the medication. Calm and not the least bit impulsive.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But nighttime is hell. When he comes down from the meds he is moody and angry. He can't concentrate on homework. He throws a fit if he doesn't get his way. Not a five minute one, but for hours. He has a persistent streak a mile long. And at the end of the night he throws his arms around me and says "I'm sorry Mommy - I love you."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The truth is - Jacob is not normal. He is the furthest you can get from normal. And he doesn't just have ADHD. There is something more severe going on. Always has been. But because of the lies I told, I didn't push hard enough to get it checked out. The doctors didn't dig deeper because I took the easy way out. The teachers haven't been able to help in the most effective way because they bought into my lies.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Well, this year we were blessed with a teacher that didn't buy in completely. She pushed me to dig. She pushed the guidance counselor and the principal to investigate. So I took Jacob to a neurologist to start testing for learning disabilities. I didn't quite expect the prognosis he was given: Jacob's head size is less than 2nd percentile for his age. He has something called microcephalis and hyperactive sensitivity. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">He's always been small. So I believed in another lie that his head should be proportionate. Because it was small, his brain folded over a little differently when he was growing. So the neural pathways didn't connect in the same ways as everyone else's. It explains the behavior. And mood swings. And temper. And the trouble with learning. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">We still have a lot of testing to go to determine how severe it is and how to plan for the future. We need to figure out what learning disabilities he has and make plans to get him the extra help he needs. But it's a relief to finally be able to come out of the closet and admit that my kid isn't normal. He's not like all the other boys and he never will be.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So, despite wanting a "normal" kid so badly that I would lie to everyone, I got a special needs kid. He takes a lot of extra time, patience and energy to deal with every day. He's smart as a whip when he wants to learn, but he just works on a different operating system. He'll outrun any boy on the field and climb trees better than a monkey can. But at the end of the day, after the tears have been dried, hugs given and prayers said, I can admit that I have a special needs child - and he's one of the most special little boys you will ever meet and I can't wait to see what God has in store for this "special" child!</span></div><div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-49571965524445256542013-12-31T02:07:00.000-06:002013-12-31T02:07:00.235-06:002014 Was An Audacious Year!<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"It's only when we have nothing else to hold onto that we're willing to hold onto something very audacious and scary." ~Sonia Johnson</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">[I borrowed this idea from Dan Pearce's Single Dad Laughing's post <a href="http://www.danoah.com/2011/01/2011-was-amazing.html">here</a> with permission]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I never imagined after the rough year I had in 2013 that 2014 could be so amazing. I mean, it had to be better - once you hit rock bottom, there's only one way to go. But it surpassed even my wildest imagination!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was difficult to start the year off with the pounds I had put back on, but I was bound and determined that I was going to take them off for good this year. I set my goal high - go big or go home, right? - to lose 100 pounds. Well, I beat it by a few and I can't tell you how amazing I feel. I haven't been this small since college. I attribute it to eating clean which was the best lifestyle change I could have ever made.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I also started the year off with a bang in my running. I ran a 5k every other week to train for the half-marathons. My first was in April. I was afraid I wouldn't finish, but I did it in 3 1/2 hours which beat my expectations by 30 minutes. I not only did one Warrior Dash, but two and ran the second half in October. My target was to run 365 miles in 2014, but I blew past that and hit 500. Needless to say I went through several pairs of shoes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I finally got the house finished and rented out. This put us on a great start to getting out of debt. By September my student loans were paid off and I started saving for a down payment on a house. We should finally be in our own early in 2015. I know the kids are going to love that!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After a rocky end to 2013, work has been great! Although I love my job, my blog has taken off to a point that I'm finally bringing in some good income. I finally started on a book that was almost finished by the end of <a href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&ved=0CC8QFjAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fnanowrimo.org%2F&ei=dnTCUpWsNO2MyAHto4HwCw&usg=AFQjCNGZ7lO52lqyl7aWgSv_zvf_z1JwHg&sig2=RQw365RepmjQ8o7dAaSo9Q&bvm=bv.58187178,d.aWc">NaNoWriMo</a></span>. <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm putting on the final touches and I can't wait for y'all to read it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">God placed several things on my heart for this year and one of those was for homeless ministries. I got involved with a great group of people and we have helped countless people get off the streets. My good friend Oscar has been invaluable to showing us the true needs of those living in the cold. My blessings have been more than I ever could have given.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I finally listened and started a children's choir at church. T</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hroug</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">h t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">his, we </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">have </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">had a number of families come to know Jesus. I love to see t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he word of God s</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hine t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hrough t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hese beautiful faces.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of my most c</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">heris</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hed and fun goals t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">his year was to get a Neig</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hbor's Table. I don't </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">have my </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">house yet, but we were able to get a rental wit</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">h a big enoug</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">h yard to put one in. We invited anyone t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hat could come for T</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hanksgiving and C</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hristmas to join us at t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">his amazing table and s</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hare w</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hat community looks like. T</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hose are memories I will never forget!</span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">T</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he kids and I took several vacations t</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">his year. We all went to Texas to visit t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">heir best friend Is</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">h</span><span></span><span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ita and t</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">heir brother Addison. It was great finally meeting Alex and Olivia in person! We swung by Okla</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">homa on t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he way and got to meet up wit</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">h a lot of awesome dreamers. We also went to our favorite place on Eart</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">h - Emerald Isle - wit</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">h our favorite people on Eart</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">h. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I even snuck away for a few trips of my own. T</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he first was to t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he Storyline Conference in San Diego where I got to meet Jon Acuff and Bob Goff in person. These are two of the people who had such an incredible impact on my healing and moving forward. I'm in t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he middle of packing for my second trip - I'm </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">headed to Europe to spend t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he rest of t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he </span>holidays wit</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">h one of my good friends from college.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All in all, I'd </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">have to say it was an amazing year. What a turnaround from depression and rock bottom a year and a half ago. It's incredible t</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">healing God broug</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ht me and t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he life </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he was preparing me for. I can't wait to see w</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hat 2015 </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">has in store!</span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-65580306588370670492013-12-24T18:44:00.002-06:002013-12-24T18:44:48.792-06:00Christmas Dinner for One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS47SPzvk1KmynsPCGVoP0bHz_cRe5Z4CaJwcUfJdW15TlyWhLekbPzQt2ZhhWeS6Z2mz30T7pBNjLHCjjl9pYWQoIU0V-fMM1i-AwI1PJxe2HQ4hb3NPouz-cKS7w0jYdglvKmK8Bsnk/s1600/Dinner+for+one.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS47SPzvk1KmynsPCGVoP0bHz_cRe5Z4CaJwcUfJdW15TlyWhLekbPzQt2ZhhWeS6Z2mz30T7pBNjLHCjjl9pYWQoIU0V-fMM1i-AwI1PJxe2HQ4hb3NPouz-cKS7w0jYdglvKmK8Bsnk/s400/Dinner+for+one.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses." ~Taylor Caldwell</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I realized today that this is the first Christmas Eve I have ever been alone. Truly alone. In my entire life. No last minute shopping. No visiting 10 houses before midnight. No kids trying to peek at presents under the tree. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am sitting here enjoying the ham Wayne's mom sent home with me. I threw together some other stuff I had in the cupboards and poured a glass of wine. I am singing along to Christmas music and catching up on all the well-wishes.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I may be sitting here alone in a quiet apartment with cats resting under the tree, but I'm not really alone. I am spending it I am reveling in amazement at the people God brought into my life. I am looking at dozens upon dozens of cards hanging on my wall from beautiful people all over the world. I am gazing at the handmade ornaments my new friends have made lovingly and sent for an ornament exchange. I see the bottom of the tree void of any boxes. The gifts I received can't be placed in a box or a bag. They can't be bought nor returned. </span></span><br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This year I've received an outpouring of love completely unimaginable. I've been giving the gift of friendship from friends both old and new. I've been given laughter and even a few tears but always with a shoulder to cry on. I have found out that I don't always have to be strong but can be weak and it's still OK. I've even found a little bit of Christmas magic. But most of all, I have found peace. Peace within myself. Peace with my situation. Peace that I can sit here in the quiet and know that I am not alone and I never have been.</span></span><br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So tonight, I toast my glass of wine to you whether you are visiting with family and friends or sitting alone in the quiet like me. I hope that amongst the piles of boxes and wrapping paper you are able to find the gifts that really matter the most! I love you all and I wish you the merriest of Christmases!</span></span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-85903006697400392952013-12-02T22:13:00.000-06:002013-12-02T22:13:24.892-06:00Grieving No More<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="sqq">"The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief -</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="sqq">But the pain of grief is only a shadow</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="sqq">When compared with the pain of never risking love."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="sqq">~Hilary Stanton Zunin</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A friend of mine reminded me it was OK to grieve. But the thing is, I have grieved for over half a year. Most of 2013 wasted trying to get back what I lost. I grieved for a relationship that is no more. The "we" that we were is gone; never to return no matter how many tears I shed or how many hours on my knees I spent praying. I grieved for the person I was. A huge part of me is gone. The part of me that believed in Christmas magic and happily ever after. The person that would watch sappy Hallmark movies with tears in her eyes knowing that I had found my fairy tale and it was even better than the movies. I grieved for the Olan Mills family pictures that would never be. The family cookouts and birthday parties and the white picket fence.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I'm done grieving. I'm not going to spend the last month of this crappy year crying. I don't know that I'm ready to move forward in any way yet, but I can't live in the past any longer. Nothing I can do could bring back my life as I knew it before June. It took something as a new pair of jeans to finally give me the closure I needed. It took someone reminding me that if I didn't forgive, it was one of the worst sins I could commit because God gives me his mercy every day.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I forgave. Wayne for not loving me the way I needed and for walking out of my life. The family members that turned their backs on me when I needed them the most. But most of all - I forgave myself. For putting my heart and soul into a man that threw it away. For not trusting that God had a bigger plan for me and wasn't ready to unveil it yet. For not seeing the precious gifts I had in my children. For not cherishing the absolutely incredible friends I still have and the blessed angels that have come into my life since then. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I don't shed tears for the past anymore. I don't have dreams for the future. What I have is the knowledge of a promise that God will make this all work out in the end. Whether it's because of destiny or just because I plowed away at it until it worked. I can't say I even have hope. But I have prayers. And I know that somehow, someway those are going to get to the big man and He's going to answer in His own way. Until then, I'm going to continue to be still and try to hear whatever message I am supposed to be getting from all of this. And maybe - just maybe - a stray Christmas snowflake will hold just enough Christmas magic to bring the spark back again.</span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-29883329660242784332013-11-17T21:50:00.003-06:002013-11-17T21:50:20.930-06:00It was meant to be...<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Fate is never fair. You are caught in a current much stronger than you
are; struggle against it and you'll drown not just yourself but those
who try to save you. Swim with it. and you'll survive”
<br /> ―
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/150038.Cassandra_Clare">Cassandra Clare</a>,
</span><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1575860">City of Ashes</a></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"</span></i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It was meant to be..." My daughter told me this tonight. If I had a dollar for every time I heard a well-meaning person tell me this, at least half my troubles would disappear.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The first time I really remember hearing it was when I lost the baby. Five years of trying and all my hopes were wrenched out of me along with her body. I always think of her as a girl although I will never know as I was only twelve weeks along. "There was probably something wrong with it, so it's probably for the best" one friend said. "Everything happens for a reason" said another. So many people with such good intentions. Little did they know that every time felt like another stab to my soul. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"God has a purpose, so this is meant to be" </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">said a third. There - they pulled out the God card. This couldn't just be an accident. God caused it to happen so that makes everything OK. Like it would take some of the pain out of the situation somehow if I knew that God wanted me to lose my baby. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Lately I have heard these "words of encouragement" entirely too much since Wayne left. What makes it so much harder for me is knowing that God brought him into my life. Well, that's what we always told each other. If this is true, than God ripped him right out of it as well. I've been struggling with this thought for months. Why would he take him out of my life? Am I being punished for something I did? I must have some really bad karma coming back my way. Is he being punished? I think a large part of my depression stems from just not understanding this. I look for logic in everything and this time there just doesn't seem to be any.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I've been reading a lot of books in my journey to heal and I'm beginning to realize that God probably isn't overly concerned with who I date or marry. I'm not sure He even has a hand in matchmaking at all. I think He essentially wants us to be happy and He wants us to be with a certain type of person so we can do amazing things to glorify Him. If I chose Joe or Tom or Larry, as long as we do what's right and look upwards, God's going to be happy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">If I look at the alternative, it's almost devastating. I mean - if all of this pain was meant to be than God is really, really mad at me. And every single time something bad happens to me I must deserve it. I'm not perfect by any means, but I can't believe that I have been <i>that</i> bad. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So, for now, I'm going to try to convince myself that this year just simply sucked. Not because God wanted it to. Or because I did something wrong. It just did. And someday, hopefully soon, the suckiness will start blowing away and life will get better again. And I do believe God will very much be a part of the good. But not because He thinks I deserve it finally. But because I let Him be. That is the one thing I <i>can</i> control.</span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-45030522724107786932013-10-14T00:20:00.000-05:002013-10-14T09:40:35.019-05:00Faith Revisited<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Faith isn't faith until it's all you're holding on to" ~Patrick Overton</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Y'all know I've had a pretty crappy summer. My fall isn't looking so hot yet either. All of this has made me take a hard look back and evaluate the last three years. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Three years ago I moved from the city I had lived in my entire adult life back home. I quit the job I had for 17 years and I came without a job. I moved with the job market the worst it had been since I graduated from high school to one of the cities with the least amount of potential jobs. I packed up three kids and drove 10 hours away from everything that I knew to a city I could barely remember. I leapt with both feet and no net knowing that God would carry us.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And He did. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was filled with faith</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Until this year. This year, everything we had built up started crashing down. The future we had built was ripped away. Our support system virtually disappeared. Our world as we knew it was turned upside down overnight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've spent the better part of 4 months trying to recover. The first month just trying to find my footing. The second month trying to crawl out of the hole I had fallen so deeply into. The third month just being. Being still. Being patient. Being a mom and an employee and attempting to be a functioning human being. This last month I have tried to heal and figure out where to move forward. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, as I'm trying to put the pieces back together, I'm having a hard time finding the path. Every step I take seems like it's backwards. Doors are slamming in my face left and right. I'm a do-er, and everything I do seems to be fraught with problems. I'm not sure at all if I'm doing this right or even if I should be doing it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've lost my faith.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I moved back, faith was easy. I had my 401k money in the bank. No matter what, we were going to be taken care of. My relationship with my family was good. We had places to go if everything else failed. The future was easy because we believed. We just knew it was all going to turn out OK.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now that we have been let down by people that we never expected to hurt us, faith is much harder to come by. It's so much harder to trust when you expect to be hurt again. It's harder to believe because dreams don't always come true. It's harder to stick your neck out when time and time again you bang your head against another closed door.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I realized yesterday that I am exactly where I need to be right now. God said "Yeah, it was easy to have faith when you had everything. Now I want you to have it when you have lost everything. Show me just how faithful you are." Wow. Yeah. I got that message loud and clear. I have to believe that even if I lose what little we have left, He is still going to take care of us. He will provide, even if it's not what I expect.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, now I will have to test just how much faith I have in God. I will have to completely open myself up to being vulnerable and trust in whatever plans He has for our future. I have to quit trying to be in control and let God take the wheel - He has a much better driving record anyways. I need to go back to that cliff now that my eyes have been opened and I can see just how far away the bottom is and leap again. No safety net. No way to know if He will catch me this time. It's all I have left to hold on to. Well, here I go... </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">P.S. <a href="http://thenot-so-secretlifeofasoccermom.blogspot.com/2010/08/faith.html">This</a> is the original Faith post just over three years ago. </span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-14834830527322889402013-09-30T11:14:00.000-05:002013-09-30T11:14:23.595-05:00Unwanted<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty." ~Mother Theresa</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This
week marks the third anniversary of my divorce. It doesn't quite feel
right to celebrate the ending of a covenant such as that. Granted, it
was necessary and the right move for us, but the thought of this makes
me sad.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yesterday
I saw that a past love changed his status update to engaged. That guy
that was never going to get married again. The one who brought me out
of such a dark time. I'm truly happy for him though. That means he's
healed. He figured out how to finally love himself so he can now love
someone else.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And
last night I listened to the last voicemail I got from Wayne. At the
end of it he said "I love you." Five days later he left. I still can't
figure out how this happened. My love didn't fade - it's still as
strong today as it was four months ago. Broken and battered, but still
there. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But it's unwelcome. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unwanted. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And that makes me feel unwanted. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unwanted.
Ouch. Yeah... a failed marriage. A discarded love. A forgotten heart
simply left behind. They walked away and just left me standing there.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This
takes me back to the nightmare class they called gym. On dodge ball
(AKA the cruelest game ever) day. The worst. The two coolest people
got picked to be team captains. Then they chose their friends: the
popular kids; the athletic ones. They went through the lines and, one
by one, everyone is picked. All I could do was pray that I wouldn't be
last. I mean, I had to be just a little bit better, a little cooler,
than <i>that</i> kid at the end. Every once in a while I ended up being <i>that </i>kid and it sucked.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today I feel like that kid. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm the last one in line. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All the other kids have found a team. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am standing alone on the wall wishing I could fade into the cold cinder blocks. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now I get to <a href="http://jaymcpherson.blogspot.com/2011/10/jesus-juke.html">Jesus-juke</a>
you. Because it's OK that I'm last. It doesn't matter that the cool
kids didn't pick me. I'm not the most popular. I'm not the most
athletic or the prettiest or even the most pulled together (far from
it). But there's one who chose me despite all of this and possibly
because of it. Jesus chose me. He died on the cross for me. He took
every poke of that thorny crown and every swing of the hammer that
forced the nails through his skin. He did all that for me. Because He
loved me that much. How could I let the fact that it didn't work with
these guys take away from all of that? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So,
it doesn't matter that my ex and I couldn't work it out. It doesn't
matter that someone could just walk away. What matters is that the love
I've been given is so much greater than all of this. And the love I
have to give is so much greater than this. And I know that someone very
special is still waiting out there for me. </span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-48933946594678052462013-09-26T22:54:00.000-05:002013-09-26T22:56:08.978-05:00Understanding<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">"The way Signor Brasini stopped, turned to his wife, put his big farmer's hands out and caressed her face. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Pulled
her close to him and kissed her just like in the films. He kissed her
for a long time and then looked at her and smiled… And when I saw all
that, I knew that their way would be my way. Their way, not my
father's...way - their way was how I wanted my life to be. I knew that
someday I would be loved by a man like Brasini. I understood how things
worked and how they didn't work."</span><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">~ Marlena De Blasi <b>“<i>That Summer in Sicily</i>”</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">This is a story of a 9-year-old girl whose cold-hearted father sells her to a rich prince. The prince inquires "</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">How did you manage to emerge from such
hurtful abandonment by your father without growing bitter yourself?"
She answered by telling of an experience she had in the market one day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Well",
you're probably asking yourself, "why is this soccer mom writing about a
little Italian girl?" It goes back to a challenge I was given to tell
who my hero was from growing up. I thought long and hard on this and
realized that I didn't really have a person in my life that I would call
hero. I felt pretty bad about that but realized there had to be
someone or something that motivated me to crawl out of the life I was
born into. Someone that made me believe in something better. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">My
"Brasini" were the characters in my book. Hundreds and probably
thousands of books I kept my nose deeply buried in. Every book in my
school library was polished off. Then I finished every last book at the
public library close to my house. The librarians would save the new
books so that I could read them before anyone else. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">My books were my escape. I lived in Narnia. Then traveled through the universe on a </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">tesseract.
You might find me swinging over a creek in Terabithia or solving
mysteries with Encyclopedia Brown. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">And then as I got older, murder mysteries to solve and then romances where the fair prince would come and steal me away from all of the pain.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But the characters - that was what hooked me. Their normal families doing normal things in a house with a white picket fence. "Their way was how I wanted my life to be." They showed me there was something better. There was no screaming and fighting. No crying mom or worn-out dad. No divorce. No alcoholism. In books I could be anyone. I wasn't a scared, shy little girl who was afraid of her own shadow. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There were no limits as to where I
could go or what I could do.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Or to the kind of life I could have. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I realize now that all of the fiction that I devoured caused me to romanticize every facet of my life: my relationships, my career, and my family. Just as I hid from reality in my books, I chose not to look at the reality of my reality. I wanted to believe in the good. I wanted everything to work out and I guess I thought if I just wished it that way that it would. I mean - it always worked out in the books, right?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">So, just as the books gave me my dreams, I have found a new set of heroes to help me rebuild my reality - a completely amazing community that is helping me to find my dreams and become the person I am meant to be. It took me being broken to see through the fantasy world I had always hoped for into a little bit harsher, more serious world. There is still beauty, but the sun does have to set, the thorns do make me bleed, and the prince may or may not carry me off into the sunset. I am going to have to make it on my own. I am going to have to make adult decisions and I won't always like the consequences. But I have a feeling that the ending of this story is going to be ever so much better than any book I could write...</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #2e2045;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #2e2045;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-55906209878059711112013-09-08T11:39:00.002-05:002013-09-08T22:12:15.971-05:00What I Might Be...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be." ~Lao Tsu</span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is a positive side to being crushed and broken. When your guts are exposed for all of the world to see, you are finally able to start seeing yourself for who you really are. Or aren't in my case.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You see - I was Superwoman. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I could leap tall buildings with a single bound and traverse freeways at high speeds to get to a soccer game without getting a ticket or losing a kid. I ran from one end of town to another because I was an awesome mom. I stayed up until 4 a.m. to make cupcakes so everyone would know what a perfect family we had.</span></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was the fixer. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was the one to make everything better because I was so good at it. I was the strong one. I could face giants with just my slingshot and battle evil Principals to advocate for my children. I was the loyal one. I stuck it out even though the marriage had torn me to shreds and daily stole a little bit more of my soul. Because it was the right thing to do.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was the karate kid.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I earned my blackbelt in my early 40's. I was a ultra-marathon athlete (5k actually) climbing over foreboding obstacles and crawling through the mud. I was the biggest loser who lost 80 pounds in 6 months. I worked out not to get in shape, but because I
didn't want to be the fat bride in the wedding pictures when that finally happened. I spend a small fortune
on clothes and shoes and jewelry so I can look great for a guy because I
am so afraid that he is going to see me for who I really am - a
42-year-old divorced mom with a few more stretch marks than she would
like vegging in shorts and a tank top. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am a fraud. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am not really any of those things - strong, confident, together, Superwoman, fixed. What I am is a scared little girl that has no real idea how to make it in this world. I am fighting by instinct alone, having grown up without any guidelines as to what a normal family is. I don't know how to be a great mom while working 50 hours a week. I am afraid to write what is really on my heart because I am so scared I am going to hurt someone else's feelings - totally disregarding my own.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am afraid.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am still that scared little girl in St. Jerome's playground sitting on the curb afraid to talk to anyone because </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am afraid that no one will really like me when they see who I really am. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am a frazzled, wannabe soccer mom who desperately wants a normal family with a dad and mom and a white picket fence, not a two bedroom apartment in the middle of 1300 other apartments that </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">is a mess because today we had to run to karate, cub scouts, two soccer
games on the other end of town, the grocery store, Wendy's drive -in, parent teacher conferences and then
back to Walgreen's because the girls have a project due tomorrow and
it's already way past their bedtime. So I'll drive across town to meet
you not because I'm so cool but because after all of that, I didn't have
time to wash the dishes or make my bed. </span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am broken.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But now, being broken, all the pieces are laid out before me now like a shattered mirror. I can see every imperfection reflecting back at me. I can still see the good stuff too but I'm able to put them in perspective now. I know all of the pieces are going to be put back together as I heal. It won't be perfect. It might not even be pretty. Not all the pieces will fit just right, so there may be some extra putty holding it there. But I know God will be that putty and if I just give in a be who I am instead of who I want everyone to think I am, it will be ok. I will be ok. And now I get to start seeing just who I might be...</span></div>
Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-50418382476815784632013-08-28T00:36:00.001-05:002013-08-28T00:38:28.079-05:00Found my rose-colored glasses...<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="sqq">“<a class="sqq" href="http://www.blogger.com/null">It's
not what's happening to you now or what has happened in your past that
determines who you become. Rather, it's your decisions about what to focus on, what things mean to you, and what you're going to do about them that will determine your ultimate destiny.</a>”</span> <a class="sqa" href="http://www.blogger.com/null">~Anthony Robbins</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Focus. Today was a difficult day for me. I should have been in a beautiful place with an amazing person having the time of my life. Instead, I got to play soccer mom. Granted, it's one of my favorite jobs in the whole world, but that trip had been "our" trip. At least for the seemingly fairy-taley last two years. But he's gone and is no longer our trip.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I was worried that I wouldn't be able to think of anything else today. I mean, I knew he was going to be there. I knew he was with somebody new. I knew someone else was going to be in his arms and causing his smile. Damn. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But God had other plans for me today. I went to the soccer pictures and saw several of my East Side friends. I went to practice and enjoyed the morning sun on my face and the dew on my feet. I introduced myself to one of the Cub Scout moms. Then, right as we were finished, I happened to strike up a conversation with a truly amazing pair of people. And to think I almost walked away before I could meet them because we had been gone all morning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We talked about everything from ADHD to dating to divorce and found that we had a ton of stuff in common. But most importantly, we talked about God. How He is in our lives and His plans for us. How God should be first in our lives. Our spouses second and kids third. I know it's a hard pill to swallow, but it truly makes sense when you see it in action. David said for the guy to focus on God and the wife to focus on the man. That God on the sixth day sent His Spirit out into the world.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">That's when it hit me. I posted last week that I had misplaced my rose-colored glasses. The glasses aren't glasses at all. It's why I can see the good even though I acknowledge the bad. God is the rose-colored tint. He is the good I want to see despite the ugly. Despite the wrinkles and the scars. God is my pair of glasses and by looking for Him in the world, I will see the beauty that I have always craved. His spirit is the beauty that I see in everyone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It has nothing to do with me only wanting to see the pretty side of things. It's that I want to be closer to God and anything that reminds me of him. From my kids to a sunset to a smile from a stranger. The reason I thought I had misplaced them was because my anger was blinding me to the fact that God was there all the time waiting for me to open my eyes. He hadn't gone anywhere. My pain and anguish just caused me not to be willing to see what was right in front of my eyes. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So today, go look for the beauty. It is everywhere and in everything. Know that the warmth and comfort you gain is the Holy Spirit laying His wings upon you. And me. Because I can finally see and feel what God has been telling me all along: "I'm here and I'm not going away. You just have to look and I'm right there waiting for you." And He is. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-75770164086257268372013-08-15T10:53:00.000-05:002013-08-15T10:53:17.818-05:00Has anyone seen my rose-colored glasses?<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="st">“Rose-colored glasses are never made in bifocals. Nobody wants to read the small print in dreams.” ~Ann Landers</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="st"> Reality. It sucks. Yeah I said it. I have been accused many times of looking through life through rose-colored glasses. It's not that I'm naive (which I am sometimes). It's that I like to focus on the good in people and situations. I don't like to think about the ugly parts of it. Life is too short to dwell on the negative. But being depressed tends to change all that in a very abrupt and painful way. It's like pulling an extremely sticky bandage off of a very open wound and then pouring acid on it. And then putting the old dirty bandage back over it to seal in all the yuck.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="st"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="st"> The great part about depression (as if there can be a great part to being devestated) is that it rips the rose-colored glasses off of you and shoves your face into reality. If you allow it, it will only let you look at the ugly side of things. I say that as if you could have any control at allowing it or not. You don't. You could have the most beautiful sunset on the most beautiful beach in the world sitting with the most amazing people and feel completely numb to it. You almost can't feel the heat from the sun. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="st"> Believe me, I know from experience. Because less than a month ago I was there. On the perfect beach with a perfect sunset with the perfect people. And I was just this side of numb. I had the power of the warm salty ocean crashing against my body yet I could barely feel it. Maybe it's because I put so many walls up so I couldn't feel the pain that it just blocked everything.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="st"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="st"> Life has forced me to take a very harsh look at everything in my life. It's almost like it screamed at me "wake up and take a look around you!" What I see is very much not the perfect little life I thought I had. Or maybe I had but I've lost it. Everything looks different now. Feels different now. I'm back to those shadows I didn't even know existed until I was in the light. Those rose-colored glasses not only skewed my vision but my feelings as well. Now the warmth has been taken away.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="st"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="st"> Or I'm blocking it. Which means I hold the key to my recovery. I'd like to find where I placed those glasses. If I just had those, then everything would be warm and fuzzy. I'm sitting here at my desk with the sunlight filtering in the window yet I'm sitting in the shadows. The sun begins merely a foot or so away from me. I know the light would warm me from the inside out yet I am paralyzed to move towards it. Is it that I can't move or I won't? Isn't that the million dollar question?!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="st"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> So for today, I am looking for the beauty in little things. A pretty sunrise, a gentle wind blowing through the branches, a new melody that piques my curiosity. I can't quite feel them yet and extract the pleasure that I know is there. But I'm looking for them and towards them; trying to ignore the ugliness and putting it behind me. I hope soon I can let it go instead of holding on to it like an anchor. And maybe soon I will find where I misplaced those glasses...</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="st"></span></span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-80478535983299318002013-07-31T08:48:00.000-05:002013-07-31T08:48:22.815-05:00Sometimes you can even see the angels...<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="sqq">“Friends are angels who lift our feet when our own wings have trouble remembering how to fly.” ~Unknown</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">End of the
month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a crappy couple of months it
has been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably the worst I’ve had in
a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least since before the
divorce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a time I don’t even
like to think about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a different person
back then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a different person today
than I was two months ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not sure if
it’s for the better yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
definitely hammered and melted down and reformed several times just as the
brass is here at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was an ugly
mess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still need some polishing, but I’m
getting there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> What a difference a
week has made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Closure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing that I can’t do anything to change
your mind is helping me to move on. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
feel that you were the only one putting any effort into the relationship
(really???) and that I didn’t have enough time for you (single mom with a full
time job???).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I won’t convince you to
change your heart and I can't change my situation. I deserve better than
that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Don’t get me wrong –
I still love you. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
can’t seem to throw that away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m letting it go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Praying a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’ve had help with that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I have some very incredible people in my life. Some old friends who have stuck by me through thick and thin. Some newer that are equally as special to me. And some very new. Beautiful angels placed in my path letting me know God is definitely watching out for me. He wants the best for me and wants me to be happy. And is telling me that this isn't my fault and maybe it's not me who is being punished. Maybe he has much bigger plans for me so I need to change my path. </span>It never ceases to amaze me the messages God
sends and who he sends them through if I am just willing to listen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGVSyeMyPt5ghRS3H8FyFJJ9b0AF_JFn5HgVH5H7xw_ok6f-YDitZBa-eZQ4eWfd_8WADBxoDsrAiuydgLFIfVTkBMHZhLLwQnjiBj0hYHDgDg6HcPt6ncPx-PLAkGJmPYs6nK7YlHzNQ/s1600/999052_10201711826384147_2142944531_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGVSyeMyPt5ghRS3H8FyFJJ9b0AF_JFn5HgVH5H7xw_ok6f-YDitZBa-eZQ4eWfd_8WADBxoDsrAiuydgLFIfVTkBMHZhLLwQnjiBj0hYHDgDg6HcPt6ncPx-PLAkGJmPYs6nK7YlHzNQ/s200/999052_10201711826384147_2142944531_n.jpg" width="120" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Breathe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is what’s on my post-it on my computer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve added patience and listening to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now trust and no expectations = no
disappointment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe my only fault that I expected so much and you weren’t able to deliver on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I’m trying to take it one day at a
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One step at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remembering what is now in indelible ink on my foot so I'll never forget. Not imagine and daydream of how it might
be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just enjoy it for what it is
now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> I’m not able to dream yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need something solid to stand on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I find that, maybe I can look forward
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s still about
today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About making it from break to
break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t even want to plan next week
let alone next month because I’m afraid of what it will hold (or won’t
hold).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I can’t afford to slip
backwards into that darkness again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> For now it’s
repairing my relationship with God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strengthening
my relationship with my children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
have definitely all hurt and grown from this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And repairing my relationship with myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Learning to trust myself again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To have faith in my judgement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To trust that I can love again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even more importantly that I can be loved
again and there are many people out there that love me unconditionally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially when I didn’t love myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Building and rebuilding ties with the beautiful people who have stayed. God has sent many angels to surround me and
protect me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes you can even see
those angels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> So here's a thank you to my angels. You know who you are and I hope you realize how incredibly special you are to me. I will never be able to thank you enough for loving me and standing by me when I couldn't stand myself. For lifting my feet when I couldn't feel my wings. For showing me I could fly again... </span></span></div>
Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-18610852173901901742013-07-31T08:23:00.000-05:002013-07-31T08:23:04.322-05:00Almost time<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="sqq">“You can't change the past, but you can ruin the present by worrying about the future” ~Unknown</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="sqq"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="sqq">Wow. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. Now that I re-read this I'm mad that I didn't realize it was coming. But he did. And now it's done...</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">January 14th. It's almost time. I can feel it now. The end is approaching. I don't know when but it's coming. And I don't think I am dreading it as much as I thought. </span></span><br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love this man. Truly. Deeply. And it will hurt a lot when this happens. But I've learned to love myself. I don't know if this pulls away from getting too close to someone. I know this time I've held back a little. After you've had your heart shattered it's tough to completely open it again. I made the decision not to hold myself back from love. But I don't know if I will ever leave myself that vulnerable again. </span></span><br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can tell that their has been a shift. Phone calls have been more brief. Date nights have been fewer and further between. I know we have both been busy and tired, but we've settled into being an old married couple. He doesn't talk as much about marriage any more and he's the one who brought it up in the first place. </span></span><br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I want to be an old married couple. I just wanted to be married when we got to that point. Now I think it's just comfortable. I don't know if I've been acting different or pulling back because I'm anticipating the end. </span></span><br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm not saying anything though. I don't want to make a problem if there isn't one and I don't want to be the nagging girlfriend. </span></span><br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think the busy "soccer mom" with three kids was more than he bargained for. It sounded good that our kids were closer in age. But his are closer to college and we still have another 10 years before we get there. He is ready to settle down and start preparing for retirement. I'm not there yet. I've got a lot of life left to live.</span></span><br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wonder if trying to get fit has caused this shift. I love the way he looks and I know he is ok with my current shape. But I'm doing this so I can still be active 20-30 years from now. I don't know if he gets that. </span></span><br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I'm still waiting. I won't be posting these until after it happens, so if you are seeing this, the time came and went. </span></span><br />
<span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span> </span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-62086922725824421302013-06-24T14:45:00.000-05:002013-06-25T17:21:35.090-05:00How to Prepare for a Broken Heart<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We often try to prepare ourselves for major events in our lives - graduations, weddings, parenthood, etc. We might condition parts of our bodies such as our brains for learning, our lungs for running a race, our muscles to carry heavy loads. But how does one condition a heart to be broken? </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first thing one must understand is that there are two parts to a broken heart - the physical organ and the shattering of the soul. The organ itself is an amazing object. It draws blood into itself and pumps it back out to every vein in your body. It supplies blood with oxygen and helps to clean out the bad stuff. Without it we would die. Doctors have discovered many ways of repairing this ball of tissue and vessels to keep us alive.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then there's the soul part of it. The mystical thing we tie to this life-giving muscle. The part that separates us from other animals. The part that makes us who we are. The part that actually breaks. The part that doctors can't fix. Only God can repair this half of the puzzle. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We can condition the physical part of the heart by working out. We can prepare ourselves for battle. But the only thing we can do for the soul side is build lots and lots of imaginary walls around it. Walls that keep us from getting hurt (or so we tell ourselves). Walls that keep us from giving all that we are so we don't get hurt (and in the end makes us the cause of our own pain). There's no way to exercise it. No matter how many times we are let down or have our "hearts broken". </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What can you do when you really know you are in for a killer of a broken heart? Our first instinct is to withdraw into ourselves. Hide in our shell and wait for the blast to come. The problem with this tactic is that it shields us from seeing what good might be around us. It's not a one-way mirror. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How about pushing the issue and bringing it to a head so you can deal with it on your own terms? Perhaps a better idea, but only if you are absolutely sure of all of the variables. Did you read all of the signs correctly or are you filling in the blanks from your own fear. If you get this wrong, you have just ended a perfectly good relationship.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Or do you just wait? Wait for the inevitable. Not knowing the time or place, but knowing all of the signs are pointing to that one moment - the moment you know that again you are simply not the right person. All of the time and effort you invested in this relationship is wasted. All of your hopes and dreams thrown away. All of your self-confidence shredded. Because you're not good enough - again. No amount of woman's lib can fix this one. It will be a long time before you can trust the person you are is good enough. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> For me - I'm in between waiting and pushing it forward. I'll know the answer soon enough either way. The ending - no matter what the subject - will always be bittersweet.</span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-447295562513725992013-06-24T14:41:00.002-05:002013-06-24T14:41:59.879-05:00That moment when...<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">(I wrote this March of 2012. I knew then even though I was afraid to say it)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Don't you hate that moment. The moment when you know. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. That it's over. Before they even realize it themselves.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's like you're on the outside looking in. Reading a novel. Knowing what is just around the corner but the characters can't see it. Scanning ahead quickly so you can get past the inevitable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I saw it in your eyes that night after Cub Scouts. It was a tough night. But I walked out of the meeting and just knew. I felt every bit of the frustration you tried to mask. I mean, taking on three kids and an overworked soccer mom is a lot to ask for. I knew at that point it was just too much.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But you stayed. At least together. You left for the night and I broke down in tears. Because I knew. I knew at that moment the tide had shifted. You just didn't realize it yet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Because I love my children more than life itself. And I can't fix them. They are who they are and what they are regardless of my interference. And I am who I am in spite of trying to re-invent myself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And I heard it in your voice today. Well, not today because I won't be posting this blog just yet. Today being March 5th. Just barely less than a year from when we met. But soon it will be yesterday. I'll wait until you figure it out. Until then I'll wait.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Because I know my heart will shatter again when you do. And you will hesitate to tell me because I know you still care. It's just too much. You will tear yourself up inside trying to figure out the right time to tell me. How to tell me without admitting the real reason why.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So for now I will be still. On edge knowing that the time is coming. Never knowing when the words will come spilling out. Writing this now because I can hold back the tears (barely). I won't be able to then. </span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-8289956721388262342012-11-13T09:19:00.002-06:002012-11-13T09:19:45.381-06:00Did you beat yourself up today?<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"The only hard part is the waiting around and getting yourself back up to wrestle another match."</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">~Mike Campbell</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yesterday I forgot my sons' Parent-Teacher conference. Yeah - that was bad enough. But it was the annual 504 review to extend the assistance he receives. And I didn't remember it until 12:30 in the morning. I was still fighting to get Jacob to go to sleep. I had a thought to e-mail his teacher that he would probably be tired and then the sinking feeling hit the pit of my stomach.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">It was a pretty bad Supermom day anyways. Kiara got a D in Science, so I was trying to help her study for her test. When I say study, I mean pulling teeth to convince this child that she didn't know the subject matter as well as she thought. I persevered through attitude and rolled eyes and other pre-teen protests until she flat out fell asleep on the couch. So much for that child.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Child #2 also fell asleep and woke up not only on the wrong side of the bed, she woke up in an altered universe. Hormonal is not even close to describing how Brianna woke up. Poor Jacob. Between the two sisters, he is swimming in Estrogen and attitude!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Went to karate testing. Got my next belt despite the knockouts that happened there. One step away from black belt now. This was the only good thing that happened.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">After karate, I send everyone for showers and bed. That's when the real trouble started. They refused to go to sleep. You can make them go to bed, but you can't make them sleep (at least not legally anyways). After fighting with them for 30 minutes - and they had already gone to sleep later than their normal bedtime - I told them that ice cream after their karate testing the next day was out. Jacob fell out. He threw a fit for another 30 minutes. As I've said before, he has an extreme persistance that could drive Mother Theresa to drink. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I finally made him come downstairs so his sisters (note: Science test tomorrow and already sleep-deprived) could get some rest. He had a look on his face that would melt the coldest of hearts. He said simply "I'm sorry Mommy." And those three words spoke more than you can imagine. It was more than he was just sorry for being up still. He was sorry for having this crappy disease that drives me insane. Sorry for putting me and his sisters through this suffering. Sorry for being who he is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">So, now back to the top of this blog. To beat myself up. I'm sitting on my couch, thinking that I should e-mail his teacher. Holding my child as he holds me just as tightly and we console each other. Because neither one of us will ever be what we should be but so much more than we could ever have expected. And we will continue to fight. And beat ourselves up...</span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-14489116186355658922012-11-07T10:33:00.000-06:002012-11-07T10:33:03.976-06:00I am a doormat<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"There is a
delicate balance of putting yourself last and not being a doormat and thinking
of yourself first and not coming off as selfish, arrogant or bossy. We spend the
majority of our lives attempting to perfect this balance."<br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>—</i></span><i><span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;"> Cindy L. Teachey</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today I have to call a vendor (again) and tell them that their machine is crap and to take it back. I know that's not going to happen because we already paid for the machine. But it's the principal of the matter. We got this machine in, it doesn't do what it's supposed to do consistently and they need to take care of it. Unfortunately I have to prove the machine is broken in order to get someone to make a service call.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And that's where the problem begins. I have to argue our position. I am not a born debater. I'll fight to the death if I think I'm right, but finding the words sometimes becomes a problem. At least until I get so pissed that I can see red. Then I go into full battle mode. Otherwise I shrink back and settle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't know when I became a doormat. Was I born this way or have people beat me down enough in life that took me to this place? The verbal and emotional abuse I endured had to contribute to this condition. But I had to be vulnerable to even start accepting that treatment. And I fall so easily back into that groove. And then I get frustrated at myself for letting it happen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I'm lucky to be in a relationship now with someone who would never treat me as less than an equal. But he's only one person. The world can be a tough place if you can't stand up for yourself. Especially in a man's world like manufacturing. There are some great people out there, but right behind them is another that would steal candy from a baby. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">So, today I am pissed. At the people in my past that have made me more of a doormat than I should be. At the vendor causing me to work through lunch again. Mainly for allowing myself to struggle so much with something that should be cut and dry. </span>Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-76456385694472518892012-08-03T15:00:00.001-05:002012-08-03T15:00:34.216-05:0030 days and counting...oh hell...<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This post title is actually <strike>100</strike> <strike>60</strike> 30 days and counting... but Blogspot won't let me edit font. So much for technology.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">"How soon 'not now' becomes never." ~Martin Luther</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I started writing a blog post around 70 days or so ago. You see, I did a crazy thing. When I say crazy, I mean insane, loco en la cabeza totally nuts kind of thing. I let some really good <strike>fellow cellmates</strike> friends talk me into signing up for a 5K run. No, not just a run - a mud run. A warrior dash. A grueling run at the end of August at the hottest point of the summer through mud and 12 or so obstacles. The same weekend I am moving. And going to a wedding. And picking my kids up in Tennessee. With school starting two days later.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">And of course I am <strike>really in shape</strike> <strike>sort of in shape</strike> a couch potato. Fully prepared for a run. No worries about the tires and ropes and of course the wall. The insurmountable obstacle I have since recruited several friends to <strike>encourage me</strike> <strike>help me up</strike> push my large bottom over. Did I mention the 5K run in the midst of said obstacles?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I'm all gung ho in May about this race. I have 100 days to get fit. Very doable. I start out of the gates strong. I start my C25K (Couch to 5K for you other couch potatoes) running program. I'm eating better. I save a ton of motivational pictures. I order P90X. I am not only going to be fit but I'm going to be ripped. Melt my muffin top and shred my arms. I'll be climbing rock walls in no time. 10K's by Fall and a half marathon in January. I can see the bumper sticker now: 13.1. Yeah me!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Now comes June. I'm still running once or twice a week. I managed to open P90X and see what's inside. Work and summer break for the kids are keeping me busy. I have two months so even though I'm behind, I can still make it. I won't be at the front of the pack but I should at least finish the race. And then the kids go to Tennessee. Wayne and I are working on the house. And I skip a few days of running. And then some more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">And now it's August. I have exactly 24 days to get my butt in shape. I am really in trouble. I watch the videos on their website again for motivation. These are all young college kids that look like they took a stroll through the park or hardened trained runners that do this kind of thing for fun every day. There are no 41-year-old single mom of three kids in spandex and three layers of sports bras to keep from getting a black eye.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I could give up at this point. But I already paid. And I said I was going. Yet if I don't drop out, you may find me at the bottom of the muddy creek. I should just walk away and let somebody in much better shape run this race. But I'm not a quitter. Just a procrastinator. One that will push ahead even when all logic says there is no way in hell this will happen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">So, on August 27th, you will find me lying in a prone position somewhere. Hopefully in my bed and not still in the creek. Sore and bruised beyond tolerable levels. Wondering what the heck possessed me to prove that somewhere inside this not-quite-so-young body is a runner. And hopefully, with a lot of luck and quite a bit of psychosis, proof that I finished a race I never should have entered in the first place.</span><br />
<br />Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7092370340358181394.post-88398033827311358842012-07-30T12:52:00.001-05:002012-07-30T12:52:51.469-05:00So I'm Not A Perfect Mom...<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"There is no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one." ~Jill Churchill</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, I can add the not-so-perfect mom title to my not-so-secret life. The other day</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> started out a bit more stressful than normal. Due to new working hours, I have to be at work at 6:15 so I get up at 5 a.m. Brianna woke up with a belly ache. She walked around for a few minutes and decided it might be gas and she's ok. Just as she's going to bed, Jacob woke up and said his cheek hurts. Since he was sniffling with a stuffy nose, I play nurse and try to clear this up and gave him a warm compress. He eventually fell back to sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And now the dilemma that all working moms (and some dads) go through: do I call in sick and take care of them or are they well enough to go to school and suffer it out? If I stay home, they'll be fine by 9 and want to play the Wii all day. If not, I take a chance that the school nurse will be calling me. And since I have a new job, I am still in my probationary period. Calling off is not an option - at least not a very good one.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Bundle that with the fact that my dad was having double knee surgery the same day. Therefore, half my family was going to be at the hospital including my sister who watches them in the mornings. I made the decision to send them both to school. And I hated myself for that. Knowing that I should be at home snuggling with them instead of at work killed me. I don't think this part ever gets any easier.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I got a phone call at 2:00 that Brianna still wasn't feeling well and asking me to come get her. As if I weren't feeling guilty enough. She only has 45 minutes left of school. By the time I get with my boss and drive over, she will probably only have 10 minutes left. So I decided to stay at work and ask her if she can tough it out. She does but comes home and crashes on the couch as soon as she sits down. And on the up side, they both felt better the next day, so no more guilt trip.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Unfortunately, this is a reality for so many families nowadays. No more June Cleaver. Mom is not waiting in the kitchen with an after school snack and cooking dinner. No pretty dress and stockings (not to mention the coned bras lol). I'm more likely in a tank and shorts, ripping off the godawful underwire the moment I get a chance. Dinner is either drive thru, pizza or Spaghetti-O's if it's a soccer practice/karate/church/Cub Scout night or some microwaved version of a home-cooked meal. Homework is rushed through if not completed at 9 p.m. because they forgot. If there is consistency, it is more like constant chaos and not a flowing and relaxed "play with Eddie Haskell until the street light comes on" kind of evening.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On the positive side of things, I get off of work at 4:00 now, so I get to pick the kids up a bit earlier and feed them a halfway decent meal before we go anywhere now. I kinda sorta get to be "that mom" to some small degree. Looking around at society and how things could be for me as a single mom, I count myself very blessed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I won't be the mom at all of the PTA meetings or walking into school with every hair in place in the perfect suit. I won't be sending in treats for every event, but I will probably stay up until 3 a.m. making cupcakes for their holiday party. I can't attend every in-school during school hours performance, but I'll be there for the important ones. And with a few extra hugs and kisses, I won't be a perfect mom, but hopefully they'll know I did the best I could to be a good mom.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone</span><br />
<br />Michele Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08946744117599266324noreply@blogger.com0