Moonspun Spins

I gripped the handle bars on my bicycle set up in our living room, mentally telling my knee to move, to stretch, to surprise me. I could feel the tears forming. My husband stood beside me, watching, a look of concern on it face. I grunted in frustration as my knee throbbed and didn’t move like I wanted it to. The tears started to fall.

“My love,” RP said tentatively, “What’s wrong?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I sighed, moving my leg back the other way on the bike.

It was the third time I’d said that to my husband that night and while this time it was resigned, the first had been sharp and accusatory. He slipped quietly away leaving me to my ball of frustration and angst.

Later, we lay in bed and he gently asked. “Please tell me what I don’t understand. I’ll listen, not talk. I promise.” His brown eyes softly pleaded.

And so I tried to explain what’s inside me.

Now I could list a whole host of reasons why in the past 7 weeks I am lucky since the staph infection came calling. They range from supportive friends, devoted husband, good health insurance and the fact that it “could have been worse.” And those are important to remember. I’ve tried hard to stay positive knowing that wallowing in pity won’t do a damn thing to heal me.

But it’s lonely in here sometimes. Even though my husband is a 20 year cancer survivor, of his own admission he doesn’t remember much of the pain and always notes he was a 21 year old college student who thought he was invincible anyway. So my attempt to try to relate to him on that level failed.

It’s nearly impossible to explain the well of confusion I’ve felt when trying to figure out how much to push myself. Am I really being a pain wimp or does that really hurt beyond anything I can tolerate? Sure I’ve come leaps and bounds on one level but I still can’t bend my knee more than 90 degrees and can’t walk normally.

I’ve had nurses come to the house when I had my iv line and wound dressings. I’ve had Albert come daily for the past 4 weeks to push and prod my knee towards its normal self. He’s told me jokes, stories and even flirted with me a bit. But even just yesterday, I nearly choked myself with sobs during our physical therapy session. I could blame it on lack of sleep or all kinds of things. But the bottom line was that my knee really, really hurt as he tried to bend it, my leg was shaking with effort and the frustration and loneliness welled up inside me and burst.

Because for all the support, the words of encouragement, the love and the positive thinking, unless you’ve had a similar experience to mine, you just don’t understand. Someone said to me on the phone yesterday that this will someday all be like a bad dream that I won’t really remember. I sure hope so, I thought. Because memories of being in the hospital unable to get out of bed to pee without a nurse lifting my leg and being given yet another pair of slipper socks after since I didn’t quite make it are still fresh in my mind. Because even now, when I am come so far, there are times that no matter what I do with my damn leg I can’t sit or lie down and feel comfortable. Because I am scheduled to go back to work part time next week and I am scared shitless. Because one of the most beautiful Augusts weather-wise has passed by with me just watching from my wingback chair surrounded by medication and papers. Only I can feel those experiences and only I know how crappy it has all been. And so yea, it’s lonely in here.

And so my beloved husband listened as promised as I spilled out my frustrations and loneliness. And then he did all he could do, he said he loved me and he held me  tight.

He is quirky.

He is incredibly intelligent and articulate.

When he smiles at me his face lights up like he is a little kid. His brown eyes sparkle.

He is prone to a bit of impatience when he is in “all business/git ‘er done mode.”

He works too hard.

He still blushes and looks “aw gee” when I tell him he is sexy and handsome.

He is gifted with an ability to talk to anyone about nearly anything. He is open and friendly to everyone he meets.

He is devoted to running in the most basic and simple of ways. He is neither fanatical or lazy. He loves it and lets it fulfill him.

He is a wonderful father.

He faithfully slept near me for weeks because he was lonely in our bed without me.

He did not hide his frustration with my long recovery.

He is a devoted and beloved son.

He makes jokes that border on funny, and sometimes crossover and actually make me laugh.

He’s hardly perfect, but he is perfect for me.

It’s been more than four years since he came into my life. This man of mystery who is in essence so simple, yet I feel I am still finding out more about him everyday. It’s been more than four years since I’ve fallen asleep with his arm tucked around my tummy. This simple gesture and routine makes me feel secure in a way I’d be hard-pressed to describe. It’s been four years since I knew what love really was and all that it could be. None of the excitement has faded, despite our tedious routines and daily life. Exhausted or not, going to bed next to my handsome husband each night puts a huge smile on my face.

And I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.

RP, I love you more than words can say and I am so blessed to be married to you.

Last week I was surrounding by a pile of books and notes. And in between Albert beating the hell out of me and taking naps to recover I was writing my final paper for my latest graduate seminar. Last night RP made all kinds of celebratory noises last night as my hand hovered over the “submit” button to pass in my paper.

You see it wasn’t just the end of another seminar. It was the end of my 5th seminar, which signals the end of my official classroom work. The only thing left for me to do to complete my program is to write my final paper, which is a 50-page paper. I’ve chosen my topic, British Military Chaplains. I’ve gotten my advisor, she and I have corresponded for a few months. I have a small sense of where I am going. All things being normal, I’d be starting the process on Labor Day and be done by Thanksgiving.

But as we know, as of July 15th, my life stopped being normal. Which meant that I was unable to do the research I needed to do in order to be ready to write my capstone paper. It took all I had, especially in the first couple weeks after my infection, to be able to keep up with my basic work in the seminar.  In many ways, it was good for me to have a focus. So that my long days of being virtually unable to move weren’t entirely endless.

Early on, when I was back in the hospital, I knew starting the capstone in paper was beyond my capabilities and thus got approval to delay until the next seminar start, which is in early December.

Now I do have to do background research between now and then, but I’ll be able to do it in a relaxed pace while rebuilding my life. I’ve already decided that I’ll concentrate on it on weeks when I don’t have lil moonspun. Then I can try for some balance.

I am going through the “now what?” experience that happens to me after every seminar. Being so focused on academics for 11 weeks straight and then suddenly to be done it always jarring to my brain. But now I can concentrate on reading things just for pleasure, on rebuilding my life on catching up on my decorating magazines. On getting better as I want to paint our living room this fall.

What now for you?

I was surprised today at the doctor’s when she was pushing my knee around and watching me try to move it and she said she could see me driving next week. For me that still seems like a very long time in the future. But maybe because my sense of time is off.

Two weeks ago, my weekly appointment with my doctor resulted in a permanent removal of any kind of bandages on my knee and she pronounced me ready for in-home physical therapy. That’s when Albert came into my life. I’ve seen him every weekday since when he parks his car across the street and comes in the house to make me swear and cry. In fact, we know that our neighbors are looking out for us because RP saw one on a walk and she told him she’d seen a strange car near our house “several days last week.”

Albert is funny and will tell me stories at the same time he moves my knee cap around and massages behind my knee trying to break up scar tissue behind. When he digs into my flesh it feels like he is giving me an “Indian sunburn” at the same time he is pressing hard in the middle of a bruise. It’s pretty darn painful and I swear and/or cry. But it is necessary. Albert also works with me on straightening and bending my knee and improving everyday. He measures the angle and writes it down everyday.

Since I am still sleeping downstairs in Lil Rp#2’s room on a pull-out couch that is where we do the pt. Albert shuts the door to keep out damn dog, not because she is bad, but because the room is small with the couch pulled out and it is hard for him to move around to torture me. So last week RP came home from a couple meetings and there I am locked in a bedroom with Albert crying. It’s kind of a funny picture if you think about it.

I have come a long way in the past few weeks, but slowly. Now I can get in and out of the house and the car without crying. I can sit forward in the shower and put my right leg in it. I can sit at the table for meals. We even went out to the local pizza place for $10 calzone night Saturday. I don’t need my pain meds every 4 hours, in fact, I only take them as needed. Which is right before Albert comes and sometimes to sleep. It’s been 10 days since the 18 in tube that ran through the veins in my arm to my heart was taken out and now I take oral antibiotics. My knee isn’t super swollen anymore. I’ve managed (albeit carefully) to get naked with my husband.

On the other hand, I can’t move my leg very much by itself. My muscles have gotten very weak and atrophied. I can’t bear weight on it very much yet. Although I do practice by crutching around. I haven’t been up in my room in a month, although Albert says we’ll work on that this week. And it still hurts. Damn infection.

So you’ll forgive me if I haven’t blogged too much. Once Albert became a regular part of my life, the pt sucks up a big part of my energy and it is hard to know what to say without boring you all…..

But once Albert is done with me, I’ll be normal again….hopefully.

Earlier in the day lil moonspun had been hard at working painting. EightofNine had sent her an unfinished jewelry box for her birthday complete with paints and all kind of embellishments. Lil moonspun was thrilled with her mix of aqua, purple and black paint and had hummed while working.

Now her tear streaked face looked at me solemnly. “Mama, can I paint my nails black with the paint from my box?” My heart broke for her, but I gently reminded her that paint is not meant for nails and it would be messy and not last long. She sighed and went into the bathroom, coming back with a dark purple color that Lil Rp#2 had left. “How about this? It’s dark.” I nodded my assent and got to work painting her nails for her.

Thirteen years ago, in 1997, two cats had come into our lives, one of which was Thunder. Of all the cats I lived with over my years living with FFO (and just chronicling them is a post in and of itself), Thunder was the best. He was always happy, mellow. And when lil moonspun made her entrance into the world, was the only one who took a real interest in her. Like he loved her from the start. As she started to crawl and talk, the other cats would scatter. Not Thunder, he’d lay patiently near her and let lil m crawl all over her. He’s always sleep with her and make sure she was ok. For most of his life he was a big cat, roly poly and lovey.

When FFO and split our household, she wasn’t able to keep our cats, so I did. Because it was important for lil moonspun to have them in one house, especially Thunder. About a year and a half ago FFO was able to take them, which was fine with me. Thunder began to lose weight and was recently diagnosed with a thyroid condition, he’d eat and eat and still remained skinny. The vet told FFO a $500 operation might help and she called last week to ask me for money which I don’t have to help. They also told her without the operation he’d still last a couple months.

They were wrong.

For several days this week, I’d talk to a teary FFO on the phone as she’d report Thunder’s condition and I’d have to remind her that there wasn’t anything she could do and it wasn’t her fault. Lil moonspun is with me for weekends and FFO called yesterday to say she didn’t think Thunder was going to make it through the day. This time, she was right.

We were in the middle of watching Charlotte’s Web when she called, told me and then lil moonspun how she’d bathed Thunder twice since he couldn’t get to the litter box, had wrapped him in a towel and laid him outside for a while. It was during the second bath, when she was holding him that he’d gone to sleep and not woken up.

Although Thunder’s loss was expected, lil moonspun immediately burst into tears and after she hung up with FFO, crawled into my lap and just sobbed. (Turns out even with my boo boo knee, there is still enough lap for my lanky 10 year old) And then she wanted to talk about painting her nails dark in mourning and wanted to discuss all of the black clothes she would wear in his honor.

Lil moonspun has lost fish, hamsters and a turtle before, but as she said, “Nothing like a pet so special as Thunder.” Most people have a memory of when a beloved pet died and how heartbreaking it is when you are a kid. Tomorrow they will have a funeral, FFO, her husband and lil moonspun and Baby Leo and bury Thunder in a special mossy section of their backyard. Lil moonspun worked diligently on a note to bury with him. She told Thunder he was the greatest cat she could have ever imagined and wished him well in his next life.

I asked her what his next life would be. “Well mama,” she said, as if I should already know this, “cats have nine lives so he’ll be another cat.” I asked what happened when his 9 lives were up. “Oh, well then he’ll go to animal heaven and God will decide what animal he should be next,” she said, very sure of herself.

Of course, I thought. Of course.

And we never did finish watching Charlotte’s Web, it didn’t seem right.

The actual day of lil moonspun’s birthday, my original surgery date, was a busy one for her. She and Lil Rp #1 were in day four of Girl Scout Day camp and it was the big sleepover they’d been planning for all week. We made cupcakes for all the campers, FFO and Baby Leo went to visit in the afternoon and dinner. And I didn’t have a huge amount of time to consider that my baby was now ten.

We’ve now reached the time in the summer schedule when lil moonspun will spend weekdays with FFO and only weekends with me (this is a new experiment this year). I was reminded of how much I adore my daughter Friday afternoon when RP came home from picking her up. I was laying on the pullout couch that is now my bed until I can get upstairs again. She bounded in the house and climbed right in bed with me, snuggled her leggy ten year old self around my tired, sore and beaten body. First thing Saturday morning she did the same thing, came down from her room shivering (it had reached down to the 40’s overnight) and snuggled with me under the comforter.

FFO and I agreed a from the get-go of parting ways to jointly host lil m’s birthday parties. We alternated homes and then last year started a new tradition of holding it in a neutral place. Our local camp/conference retreat center owned by friends of ours and the place that RP and I got married two years ago is the perfect place. There’s a pool, plenty of space and we get a more than fair price from our friends. This year because of the big ten, we decided to go a step further and add a sleepover in a bunkhouse to the pool party. Lucky for me, both FFO and her husband, weeks ago had expressed interest in staying over, too with the kids. The worked out because it meant that the party could go on without me.

And so it did. RP was super helpful, as always, and picked up the snacks and supplies for the party, brought lil moonspun up to greet her guests at the right time. However, I did go for three hours and I’d say a few milestones were reached. First, I managed, after some maneuvering, to get in and our of our van without a) screaming in pain and b) needing RP to lift my leg in. Second, I crutch-ed further than I have to date. Even if some of it as a bit tricky trying to get to the bonfire area. And more importantly, I felt decent enough to talk and socialize a bit. T’s mom, was there and she and I did alot of holding of Baby Leo so that FFO and her hubby could feed the kids, etc…. RP was always helpful as well, grilling, doing dishes and picking up. The kids seemed to be having a great time, they’d spent several hours in the pool and when we arrived were getting gussied up with glitter, even the two boys.  There were 7 kids there which seemed a manageable group and everyone seemed to be getting along. We left just before dark so I could see to crutch back to the van. I’d love to have been able to stay, but was glad my daughter was having a good time….because that was the point.

At one point when I was holding Leo, I was thinking about how it was ten years ago that I was holding my own baby. A decade since I’d become a mother on a hot steamy summer night. A decade in which my life had changed in numerous, multiple ways. Now my baby had become a gorgeous, spunky, funny young girl. Tall for her age, blond curly hair, ears recently pierced, an amazing mix of innocence and maturity. My daughter, with an infectious giggle and sense of humor, a propensity for smart aleckness, insatiable curiosity and creativity. Now my baby can cook her own lunch, make me scrambled eggs and doesn’t need me to read books aloud to her anymore. Now my baby is ten.

I know that next decade of motherhood has challenges ahead that I can’t even imagine (nor, like driving do I want to necessarily think about  yet). However, I have discovered in big and small ways in the last ten years is that the journey of parenting is what is important. My daughter knows I am there for her, knows she can snuggle me anytime and knows that I’ll always do my best for her. That feels really good.

Happy tenth birthday, lil moonspun……congrats on living your first decade with style!

Until ten days ago, when my life came to a screeching halt, my life was humming along pretty nicely. It took an enormous amount of energy on one level to maintain my job, my full time graduate work and my familly life. But I was doing it. And honestly? I think I was doing a pretty good job of it. We were having a great summer with the kids, I was keeping up with the my school work to the point where I did a paper a week early so as not to worry about it after surgery (good thing) and I was working.

I am someone who believes that things happen for a reason and I’ve yet to figure out why the staph infection decided to spend sometime in my knee cartilage. What was I missing?

Right now I miss my life, my sometimes boring job with a couple colleagues who are true assholes. But honestly? Hearing them fight would be better than the pain I am experiencing in my knee.  I miss the juggle of studying at night and really, I miss having long expanses of time when I can concentrate on something. I miss my bedroom, where I have to been for 10 days. I can’t even consider going up our crazy narrow stairs on crutches. I miss my bed and I miss sleeping with my hubby.

I miss the kitchen and knowing what’s in the fridge, let alone the ability to even pour a glass of water for myself. I miss standing and walking and being able to move my knee without wincing, or crying out in pain.

We went yesterday to see my doctor for the first time since I had gotten out of the hospital. She drained some fluid from my knee (which has been leaking profusely) and we waited there to see if there was still bacteria in my knee. If there had been, I’d have been headed back to the hospital and another surgical washout. THANKfully the tests showed no bacteria, the white blood cell count was where my doctor wanted it to be and so I got a new dressing and got to come home.

Tomorrow a visiting nurse will come change the dressing and RP is doing fine with his IV antibiotic duties in the morning. He has four tubes of liquid to shoot into my arm that take 20 minutes total. The rest of the day I try to pretend there is not a tube sticking out of my arm that runs up my arm and toward my heart.

In the meantime, though, there is that niggly why question swirling around for me. Why has it come to the point that I will wind up pushing off the writing of my master’s thesis paper? I was supposed to start in September and I talked to the associate program director today about not starting until the December start date. As I said to him, all I can concentrate on now is the day to day. Just going to the doctor’s yesterday exhausted me. I can’t jump back into my ife in a few weeks with the same energy. It’s going to take a while. I don’t even know when I am going back to work.

Maybe I’ll never know why and maybe in a few weeks I’ll have an “aha” moments and it will all become clear.

In the meantime, I’ve got to go take a nap. That’s one thing I do well now.

As I sit now, it’s Saturday night and I feel as if my summer has skidded to an abrupt halt having spend the last week+ in crazy pain and 5 of those day in a hospital bed. I am now home, and much be here for at least 11 days while the anti-biotics are given to me via an special IV called a “picline”. It’s actually a pretty fascinating tub that goes in my inner right arm and snack through veins ending close to my heart. Although I can’t think about that too much. I have only a “simple” staph infection which means recovery shouldn’t as terrible as it could. I will tell you from my vantage point that is sure does feel pretty darn crappy.

I was in agonizing pain yesterday when we left the hospital and I had to go to another one to get my picline in. And all of the crying and whining from me and the fact that the fluid on the power steering on our car had leaked out could only have made the ride a special kind of hell for RP. I don’t remember much of anything once we got a home, it was a blur of dozing and drugs.

However, it is lovely to be back in my own home and it is nice not to have someone taking my vitals or poking me every two hours so I can sleep. Now that Lrp #2 is back in Kentucky, RP and I are in her room, which is right next to the bathroom and there is a pullout couch. It was pretty darn comfy for me, last night and so nice to be next to my hubby…even if I can’t turn on my side  yet to snuggle him.

I have found out a couple things from the hospital, which I could have done without. One is the there is nothing lonelier than crying in pain in between pain meds where there is nothing that anyone can do to help you. And two, is that it’s probably the same shitty feeling when your spouse is on the other line listening to you sob and there is nothing THEY can do.

I have two home visitors today, one a nurse who is showing RP how to give me my iv. I am not interested at all….and since he is, they will come out only a few times a week instead of everyday. I also had a visit from a nice physical therapist who had me walk across the room and just looked around the house to make sure I was safe and such. She approved of our sleeping downstairs after looking at the way upstairs.  She was honest that she couldn’t really help me much, but I said I felt that she had jsut by talking to me.

I am hoping that the pain lessens day by day and that my ability to concentrate increases, so I won’t stay behind in my class….even if I can’t work and ahve to stay home, I can do SOMEthing. Even for me, I can only watch so many decorating shows.

I’ve got a moonspun request for all of you….send me a joke….I need a laugh. It can be visual, simple, in the comments of via e-mail. There mores smiles I get, the quicker I am bound to heal, right?

Hope YOUR summer is going fine…..

So I am blogging from a spoit I’d never thought that I would be…..from a hospital bed. My quick recovery knee surgery has turned very south, stunning all of us, my doctor first on the list. I have developed a staph infection in my knee and thus have landed myself in the hospital.

Last Wednesday night life seemed perfect in some ways. It was summer, we were a a baseball game of our beloved team, it was the evening before Lil moonspun’s birthday and the kids were all set for their sleepoever at the girl scout camp they were attending. I had knee surgery. It went well, a few hours later, my huband and I came home from the hospital. I slept, I read. He read and ran. I never used my crutches. Friday I finished reading a Nora Roberts novel, elevated and iced my knee. Before picking up the girls at camp, I was even feeling great enough to coax (it wasn’t hard) my handsome husband into some afternoon sex, took a snuggly nap and headed out. It was all good until I woke up Friday night at 1 am, my knee throbbing so much I couldn’t move it and the pain was making me sob.

After talking to my doctor Saturday morning and essentially spending the weekend zoing and drugged in our living room, we arrived at her office on Monday morning knowing she would be draining it. That felt good. What no one expected was the infection. That was clearly oozing out of my once pristine and watertight dressing. I was kept comfortable and plans were made to admit me to the hospital and another surgery scheduled to “wash it out” at the end of the day once my breakfast was out of my system.

By MOnday night I was “comfortable” in my bed, new dresssings on my knee and complete with an immobilizer.

As I blog is it technically Wednesday, at is is after midnight. At this point I am tentatively scheduled to leave on Friday and knowing two things. One, I will have some kind of iv line in me somewhere to administer antibiotics intravenously. And that it is an unknown when I’ll be able to drive again.

I do know that there are harder things, too. Like seeing the naked worry on my husband’s face this afternoon when my surgeon suggested a possible third surgery to wash it all out again. I do know that he is heartbroken because tomorrow he has to drive Lil RP #1 to the airport now that her summer is in Vermont has ended and that I am frustrated because I can’t be there for him in a way I would normally.

It was chaotic in my room tonight as lilrp1 and RP had come to visit for a half hour before going to one last baseball game and FFO had brought Leo and lil moonspun by as well. Nurses and LNA’s were in and out. I insisted that RP come sit down on the edge of my bed and we shut out the room’s chaos for a few precious seconds, when I tried to acknowledge his worry, remind him I was going to be ok and how much I loved him.

I’ll see him tomorrow as he heads back to the hospital straight from the airport.

I also feel terrible that RP has had to cancel his research trip to DC that he has been planning and working on all summer as part of his research project. How dare my knee get in the way of that!

I am glad that one of the things that has not been too affected is my appetite as the food here is amazing. And the nursing staff is lovely as well.

I have learned things I really never knew about a hospital, having not spend more than one night is one my entire life. First, you never get to sleep for more than a couple hours as someone has to come in and check your vitals, etc.  Thus here I am blogging at midnight watching “The Oprah effect” a show all about getting endorsed by Oprah makes your company successful.

The other thing is that you are in some serious pain if morphine takes a while to kick in against your pain, even on a continuous drip.  I’ve even got a special morphine button I can push when I feel particularly shitty. Like after I have to get up and go to the bathroom. Because right now I can’t move my leg myself at all, let alone without a huge amount of pain.

And the other thing, of course, is the connectivity we  have now. My ability to update my facebook account, blog and e-mail people makes me feel less isolated and telling people less intimidating. I’ve looked at my work e-mail, but not answered any and been in touch with my Great Boss, who, of course, assures me not to worry as I don’t know when I’ll be back.

My plans for tomorrow? Insisting in a shower, trying not to hit the physical therapist with my crutches as she forces me to do stuff and trying to actually read some of my graduate school work.

What of you?

So, I’ve not been the best reader and commenter on all the blogs I love that are in my reader, but I have found that I sneak a few in to relax at night (like now). I was cruising at Looking for My Feet last night reading about Maggie’s weight loss progress and mulling over how cute her feet are (those are your feet, aren’t they??) and then she had to ask us to DO something…but it was an intriguing something.

She said “What I would like to challenge all of you to do this week is this. Find at LEAST 10 things that you like about yourself, and write them down. Blog about them. Tell your spouse or your best friends.
I promise you’ll feel better afterwards. Don’t think about, just do it!”

And then she wrote a great list about herself.

Damn it, Maggie…sigh…ok, fine….

I find that with all of the heavy stuff I read sometimes for my graduate work (like this week is atrocities in the Pacific in World War II, NOT light reading), I need to have something else kicking around in my brain that is less….uh…what’s the right word here…less taxing, less heavy, less about military theory…well you get the point.

However, everytime I thought of something today I realized that they were about my life and not me. Which is a difference. Because my life includes an amazing husband, child and friends, so OF COURSE I like that. But the mission is about me. Ah well, I’ll take the challenge and see what I can come up with.

(Damn it, Maggie!)

1. I like my sarcastic sense of humor. It’s not particularly original, but it’s subtly irreverent and not something I share with everyone in person. But I have my moments where I can be funny.

2. I love how much I love. Meaning for a group of people in various aspects of my life, I really, really love them. Like with my soul.

3. I like my legs. (Maggie said this too) They are strong and despite more weight on the  upper body than I’d like, my legs take me places and look damn good sometimes.

4. I like that I am smart, or above average in intelligence. And I like the responsbility I feel that comes with that. Usually.

5. I like my hair (another one that Maggie said). It’s long and thick and brown and while I could style it better (or at all, really), I tend to have people say nice things about it. And my handsome hubby really likes it, too.

6. I love the new me I feel emerging, especially since meeting RP. The new me tries things, like running races, going to graduate school, taking over University-wide events, and applies for things I’d never have thought possible.

7. I like my convictions. The things I believe in and have opinions on, I embrace wholeheartedly. Especially in relation to lil moonspun.

8. I like the way I have filled out home with wonderful family pictures. They are simple, stylist and cozy and remind me what’s important in life. They make this a family-oriented and cozy place and the time I devote to rearraging or changing them out, is never wasted.

9. I like that I have embraced change in the past 10 years or so because that is how opportunities come your way. It’s freakin’ hard sometimes, but I am a better person because of it.

10. I love that I am able to embrace the safe space my husband has provided for me.  It’s been a lesson in letting go that I sorely needed and still need. And it’s made me able to list my 10 things.

Damn it, Maggie…ok, no…thanks, Maggie….this was a good exercise for me. We should all do it.:-)

Tell me at least ONE thing you like about you in the comments!