Can I have some?

welcome to my blog.

a place to post. a place to eat oreos. a place to vent. a place to heal.

i started this blog so i could use a different outlet besides munching on fattening oreos. as if that has done any good... *mind wanders to oreo package in the house...*

then i realized that oreos can be semi symbolic. if you are are that crazy about oreos that is. which... i am.

eating oreos is therapeutic for me. when i am struggling or when i need a pick me up. they have chocolate. and sugar. both of which help lift my mood. not to mention that i eat them soaked with milk, which is my miracle drink.

i post my posts to not only get stuff out. there may be people who read my blog who have been in the same kind of situations as i have. i hope reading them and knowing that others have gone through things like i have, will be to you what eating oreos does to me.

and yes. i didn't capitalize anything in here. i just felt like it. deal with it.

munch up.

Monday, December 28, 2015

Parenting conundrums

It is interesting to me to see how different my kids are. But at this point in their life, I'm also learning that it's hard to find middle ground with them and their different personalities.

Bug is a very helpful kid. He loves helping, he loves serving, and he just generally loves making people happy. Great qualities that I love in him.

Goof Ball is very independent. Where I practically had to force Bug to learn how to use a spoon, Goof Ball took the spoon out of my hand so he could do it himself (and at an earlier age than I made Bug learn). Another great quality that is good for him to have.

But you can see already where the conflict comes in. Bug wants to help - Goof Ball doesn't want the help. Goof Ball yells that he doesn't want help, Bug cries because he can't help him. And of course, because of Bug's personality, he doesn't let anything drop easily - particularly if it's something that hurt his feelings. Like not being able to help someone. So he'll dwell and brood and cry about it much longer than I have patience for.

I've tried explaining to him that it's great that he loves to help, but if someone doesn't want help, you really can't give it to them. But he just doesn't seem to get that concept. I could try and convince Goof Ball to let Bug help him sometimes, but Goof Ball is just so stubborn that he would probably cry if I tried to do such a thing, and then we have two crying kids in the house for something really ridiculous. You'd think I'd have to deal with tears dealing with not being able to share something or whatever (which I still do, don't get me wrong), but no, I get tears because one kid isn't allowed to help another one.

Another conundrum is grounded in one major problem: Goof Ball hates to lose. Like I mean really despises it. If he feels like he is going to lose, he'll "change the rules" to make it so he will win. Or he'll quit. Or he'll cheat. Or what have you. This is another issue in our home that causes a lot of frustrations on both sides. I've tried explaining to Goof Ball that if he cheats, he lost. That if he always insists on winning, and changes the rules to make his win complete that no one will want to play with him. But no amount of discussion has changed anything. His stubbornness is firm in that regard. He will win. Or he'll quit. End of story. I think this is a good sign that I probably shouldn't ever put him in competitive sports...

Friday, December 11, 2015

Choices -> Consequences

In Bug's literature course, the unit we just finished focused on choices and consequences. Which was probably good, because he seemed rather confused when I asked him what the consequence was when one of the characters made a good choice. He seemed to think that consequences only came with bad choices.

Well, that doesn't really have much to do with the topic of this blog post, but it kind of does at the same time. Because today, Bug made a very very adult choice, and he astonished me to the point of nearly being speechless.

The virtual academy that we enrolled in does daily (often with more than one each day) what they call "class connects." Basically it's kind of like a group Skype call that has tools and other things where the teacher can show a power-point kind of presentation and have basically an online class. Well today when Bug was logged into one of these class connects, I came downstairs and found him playing a game on the internet instead of paying attention. Naturally, I scolded him, and told him that we would probably have to block the website he was playing on. He knew when we installed a blocker program that that was the deal-if he doesn't do his work and plays instead, we'll block the games.

Anyway, he finished out the class connect, as far as I knew, and about fifteen minutes later he came upstairs and talked to me.

"My teacher and I made a deal," he said. And I'm thinking.... what kind of deal? What are you talking about? "She let me color for seven minutes," Bug continued, "as long as I would listen to the recording and send her an email telling her what the class connect was about."

They always do a recording of the class connects for kids who couldn't make it at the scheduled time. At this point, I'm connecting logic together and asked, "Wait, did you tell her that you weren't listening?"

"Yeah," he said.

I didn't tell him to tell her. I didn't say anything that even suggested that he should tell her. In fact, doing such a thing hadn't even come to my mind at all. He chose to do that all on his own, and left me speechless while he continued to talk about what he drew on the class connect program.

He also said, "It made me feel really good. Because the teacher let me color."

I took that to mean that he felt good because he wasn't punished by telling the teacher what had happened. And so, with his good choice, I gave him a good consequence. We didn't block the website he was playing on.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

The Magic of Childhood

Bug is getting to the age where he seems to know (at least sometimes) when I'm making a little fib for Goof Ball. Like one night, Goof Ball was worried about the lights off, and going to bed. I was exhausted, wanting to just plop off to bed myself, but I went in there to kiss and hug him goodnight. And then, without really thinking about what I was saying, said, "And here's a magic kiss to protect you from the monsters." It wasn't anything, really. Just a kiss with more pressure behind it and longer - on his forehead. I told him that when the monsters see that kiss on his head, they'll get scared and run away.

Well even that night, Bug seemed to be in on the joke with me, as it were. I asked Bug if he wanted a magic kiss too, but he kinda smiled and said in a somewhat I-see-what-you-did-there kind of tone of voice, "Nah, I'm good." And as a precautionary measure, I put magic on the door too to protect them with one more layer of made up magic.

There have been other times where Bug has seemed to play along with me when I say things like that, but at the same time, he hasn't let go yet of the magic of Christmas. Or the tooth fairy. Or any other made up magical being that he already believed in. Knowing that he has started to pick up on the little things that I make up to survive another day of parenting, makes me wonder when he'll actually start to question the existence of Santa. I suppose I'll have to start coming up with a believable explanation that hopefully won't hurt his believing, tender little (or perhaps big) heart. Knowing him, so long as I feed it to him well, he'll probably want to play along with it for Goof Ball's sake a few years longer. Maybe even want to help stuff the stockings or something. Who knows?

Tuesday, October 27, 2015


So my little list of the past posts looks rather slim these past few years. Part of that is because people told me to stop talking about certain things on my blog, and part of that is because I realized that really most of my posts were angsty and depressing. But I think I may be finally able to start recording things again. We'll see.

And without further ado:

This year we were surprised when I opened my kitchen blinds in the morning to find balloons already bought and tied to our fence. It was a nice, simple little gesture that warmed my heart. Goof Ball seems to understand more about what this is all about these days. He said, "They're going to heaven," after we sent them off.

Friends and family have called or asked me how I've been doing, and honestly, the answer is just fine. It was a good day, and though depression threatened to overwhelm me during the weeks before Little Angel's birthday, the actual day was fine, and I didn't feel like I was drowning in sorrow and all that like I mentioned two years ago.

Truthfully, I am quite content with my life these days. I looked back at some of my starred emails the other day, and one was an email sent to me years ago from one of my sis-in-laws because of her concern of my constant depressing posts on here. There wasn't a return email that I had sent to her, and I feel slightly bad about that, not sure if I ever did respond to it.

I have a hard time trying to explain the path I've taken to get me where I am now, though not for lack of trying. I've written many pieces about Shorinji Kempo (one of the big reasons why I've been able to have such a miraculous turn around), written pieces about Little Angel, and other issues as well. But still I have a hard time articulating it, and that frustrates me as a person, but even more as a writer. Shouldn't I be better at things like that? Articulating my thoughts through the written word and all that? Why is this so hard?

Perhaps part of it is because it is so close to my heart. It shows my fears, my darkness, the part of me I keep hidden except with my closest friends. Perhaps it's because it has been such a severe turn around. Going from hating myself and mostly depressed to content with who I am and only occasionally depressed. I think a lot of it is that I'm still too close to it and can't see what steps within Shorinji Kempo have gotten me to this point. Maybe it's just all the support I've gotten these past years from wonderful friends who haven't judged me once. Maybe it's something as simple as ... time. Or perhaps it's because once I accepted myself for who I am, and started seeing/believing that I have worth as a person, I've been able to also accept my feelings for what they were and work through them rather than hide them under a thick layer of numbness.

Possibly it's been a combination of all of that. I've gone leaps and bounds from where I was two years ago. Sure the pain is still there, like my previous post mentions. Depression always seems to be a thought away. But I've gained tools to help me keep it at bay. Or at the very least to move forward despite it. To not wallow in it and fall even deeper with blame. If you would have asked me what I expected to get out of studying martial arts before I started, I would not have said all of those things, and though I believe I haven't gotten all of this benefit from just that, I'd still wager that my turnaround started solely because of it. And most of the growth has been directly because of it. I've often said that it's the cheapest and most effective therapy I've ever done.

So ... I guess if you're reading this, thanks for your support and love. I'm doing alright. There is still a bitter-sweet kind of pain, but isn't that kind of the definition of life? I've thrown my temper tantrums, pushed people away in an attempt to protect myself, or just to give myself time to heal. Thanks for your patience through it all. And on that note, here's a happy picture of my adorable superheros:

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Living on a different planet

Someone once told me about an article written about how a mother who loses a child through death lives on a different planet from that point on. Everyone lives on the planet you used to, and you can visit them - but they can't visit you (basically how I took it is not fully understand you) unless they have moved to that planet as well. I kind of liked that idea. And it can be put to any other world shattering situation as well. I don't particularly know why, but I felt like I wanted to let you all know what it feels like to live on that planet.

After nearly 8 years of missing my son, I've come to the conclusion that the pain will always be there. I've just gotten better at hiding it. I may have said that before - it's a good way to explain it. Another good way I've found to try and describe it is like having a scab. There has never really been enough time (maybe there never will be) for the scab to actually heal. Because either I pick at it (particularly around this time of year) or other times other people rip it off, and the pain is roaring at me again. At times when I'm feeling more emotionally stable, the pain is more bitter-sweet than crippling, but it ranges basically one way or the other depending on what I'm already going through in my life at the time.

The simplest things can rip the scab off. Someone asking me how many kids I have. I really really hate that question. I've resorted to different ways of answering depending on the situation. If I never expect to see the person again, I say two without reservation. If I've felt a small connection to them, I'll test them (horrible, I know) and say three. If they say "oh, what are their ages?" I'll answer. Most often from there, the conversation moves and they never have to think about how many I have again. Sometimes instead of saying "three" I'll say, "I've had three." Most often people won't pick up on the strangeness of that sentence. But if they do, I know from there that maybe I could have a close relationship to them. Sometimes when the ages are asked, I say "the oldest is # and the youngest is #" and leave it at that. Truthfully, it depends on how I feel about the person upon meeting them, the circumstances along when I met them, and how I'm feeling at the time. How much pain arrives when the scab is ripped off - bitter-sweet or crippling.


Once at the dentist I had to bring my kids with me. I sat down in the chair as the kids stayed in the lobby and played with legos. The nurse brought them up.

"I didn't know you had kids."

"Yeah," I responded, "I've had three." I hadn't felt much pain at the topic and I responded that way without really thinking. But from that one sentence, I felt the dentist seem to tense up.

The nurse laughed, and before her brain turned on, she said, "Oh? Did you lose one?" (thinking, I'm assuming, that I left him in the car or some other such thing.)

"Yeah," I said.

The tension spiked. The dentist seemed to sit more ridged than normal. She paused. "No, really?"


I'm sure she felt bad, I'm sure that she berated herself for joking about such a thing, but before I had a chance to lighten the mood, the dentist forced my mouth open and the tension hung in the air (both of them more silent than normal) for the rest of the appointment.


Another time in a carpool, the subject of kids came up. I was comfortable with the couple in there with me and I said I had three kids.

The mom said, "I hope the transition to having three kids isn't as bad as people say."

I truthfully don't know if she was pregnant or not, though I think she was, and I knew they had two kids already.

"I wouldn't know," I said.

It was silent as she processed the obvious logic gap. Naturally I had to explain it fully when she tried to talk her way through it. That may have been an example of me ripping off my own scab.


Meeting a friend's playgroup mothers at Village Inn. I was the odd woman out, so obviously they asked about my kids. I didn't think I would ever see any of them again, and I wasn't in the mood. I responded, "Two."

My friend poked me with a knife. I looked at her. "What? I'm not gonna talk about it here."

The women, seeing a subject of gossip basically pounced on me verbally. I shook my head and said, "I'm not talking about it."

I don't know what they thought of me, but they stopped pestering me about how many I have and we moved onto their ages and gender.


There are some varying responses for that. Often, whenever the scab is torn off by someone else, just the question itself can make it happen. Other times I'm mostly expecting it and can prepare for it. It's a common question for meeting someone, so I can usually prepare my heart before hand. But there are other times, times that are somewhat more bitter-sweet rather than crippling. Because they come from my kids.


Bug came home from church last Sunday with a paper chain made with five papers. After a small glance at them, I realized the papers were representing us. In order were Dad on the first chain, Mom the next, then the three boys' names. I picked it up and asked him what it was. He said he made it in class to show that we are all sealed together. I hung it with the other tribute things we have to remember Little Angel.


Along the same lines, Bug came home once with a paper of a family tree. And he included Little Angel in that as well. I have that one hanging on the door. What was pretty adorable about that one was that he had drawn balloons to represent Little Angel rather than faces like he had for the rest of us.


Yesterday I picked up Goof Ball from school early to go to a dentist appointment. We passed by the city graveyard and he astonished me. I can't quite remember how he started because I couldn't quite hear him, but he mentioned all the stones in the ground to show all the people that died. And I was like.... where did he hear that from? I hadn't talked to him about it much, so it really surprised me.

"I wonder how all the people died," he said.

"I don't know."

"Maybe because they stopped eating."

I laughed, because that's a subject of conversation in our house. (Me: "Bug, why do you keep growing! You need to stop that right now!" Bug: "But that means to stop eating, and if I stop eating, then I'll die!" Me: "Well... I wouldn't want that.")

"Maybe," I said. "But sometimes people just die because they got so old."

I hesitated after that, but decided it needed to be said.

"You have an older brother that died, you know."

"Yeah, I told my teacher that."


From here, I had a hard time trying to understand what he was trying to say. But from what I got from it was that he wanted to tell the teacher that his brother died, but he couldn't remember his name, so he didn't. Or something. I couldn't quite get what he was trying to say, so the conversation kind of tapered off.


I know when I plotted out what I wanted to say in this post, and by the time I started writing it I've forgotten how I was actually going to write it. Even though it was only 15-30 mins from idea hatched to execution. Despite that, I hope the point gets across the way I intended it.

A few other quirks that have arisen since that time 8 years ago:

I avoid babies like the plague. It doesn't matter how close I was to someone before they got pregnant or not. It doesn't matter how much I want to get to know them, or bond with them. Once a newborn is in the mix, I avoid them. If this happens to one of my readers, or had happened to people I was friends with in the past that happen upon this post: It isn't/wasn't personal.

It seems like everywhere I go there is a kid around (often a boy) that is the same age that Little Angel would be. My family, my husband's family, one of Bug's best friends... pretty much EVERYwhere I go, they are there. I haven't yet decided if this is a blessing in disguise (that I can "watch" my three boys interacting together) or a curse. I guess it will shift and change depending on my mood.

Family functions are difficult. Not just because of the little boys running around that represent my lost one. But because the knowledge that someone is missing, and will always be missing. This pain doesn't usually appear instantly. A day or two aren't really too bad. But once it gets to near a week or so, I start to remember and realize, and I find I want to always hide. The pain comes sooner if it's a family reunion.

Sometimes the subject around people that know me well turns to death, or babies, or.... something that brings Little Angel to mind again. And then the elephant that no one (including me) wants to talk about appears in the room. When that happens, I would probably usually leave the room. Truthfully, I never know what I want. Whether I want someone to mention it, talk about Little Angel for a little bit, or if I don't want them to talk about it. No way in hell that I'll bring the subject up. Not that any of us would have much to say. Two months of life doesn't really leave much room for reminiscing. This is one aspect of the whole situation that I'm still trying to navigate through. I really don't know when I'd want someone to mention him or not. My mood, I suppose. That's my go to answer for now. I've never had an experience when someone actually started talking about it. Not that I want to dampen the mood with my heartache. That isn't really the point. Little Angel is often one of the first things that comes to my mind when trials are mentioned, or when death is mentioned, or anything relating to my situation is mentioned at all. And when no one else mentions him, or puts an arm around me, or makes any acknowledgement that there is an elephant in the room - it pains me. Maybe I'm the only one unable to move on. I'm the only one who sees the elephant. Unable to ever be okay with the situation. At the same time, I don't want to bring it up. No one wants to bring it up. And so we go on living in our little lives of perceived happiness. I have come to loathe the mask of happiness. Shorinji Kempo has awaken in me the ability to be myself, mask free, in more places than I've ever had in my life. I hate the places where I feel like I have to put that mask back on. Don't get me wrong, I am happy more in this point of my life than I ever believe I was before - thanks once again, to Shorinji Kempo. But I hate feeling like I need to put on a happy face when I really just want to cry. When no one brings up the elephant in the room, then on goes the mask and I have to deal with the pain later. Alone. Again. ("Why don't you go to Pro Boxer?" you may ask? The same reason I don't want to bring the subject up - I don't want to dampen someone else's happiness.)

I suppose that paragraph may need translating. I'm still working through all this myself. I guess from looking through it all, I really do want someone to recognize my pain. But I don't because I don't want to dampen the happiness of others. So I don't say anything, and they don't say anything, and I cry later by myself, or punch my handy punching bag in my garage, or cope with it on my own once again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Now that I think more about it, I have two good friends that are married. Occasionally the husband (we'll call him Sandpaper) will say something rather insensitive. Whether it's related to my childhood pain or Little Angel, he'll say it before thinking about it. Then the elephant appears and we all pause for just the slightest second. That slightest second of realization, of understanding, of remembrance is really all I need. Then the conversation often changes drastically. And I'm always kind of astonished at how I don't feel any pain. I don't have any upset feelings toward Sandpaper for his careless comment. Somehow, just the fact that knowing that the subject and pain wasn't completely ignored, that it came to everyone's mind - just that seems to be just enough for me. We don't have to say anything about it. The conversation shifts and laughter returns.

This is the life of a mother of a dead child. And as I said above, probably very similar to the life of many others who have had life-shattering experiences. Everyone needs love and understanding. Often the worst pain is the hidden pain that very few can see.

Thursday, April 2, 2015

The Haunting of Springett Hall

I know I haven't been posting a lot lately, and I owe a few detailed posts on specific parts of my life that I want to explore more (homeschooling and Shorinji Kempo for example), but for now, this post is a shout out to a good friend of mine.

Remember my catch up post where I talked about NaNoWriMo and how I was able to write a whole novel in a month? Well, my friend, E. B., did that this last year as well. As well as the year before that. She edited and polished her 2013 NaNo novel in the space of one year and then pitched it to a publisher nearly one year later. Another year later, it is coming out to press. I am very pleased to announce the publication of this awesome book, written by an amazing person. I'm really glad that I first started coming to the writer's group that I did because I've been able to meet so many awesome people, and E. B. is no exception. You can see the book on Goodreads, but sadly, we'll have to wait patiently for a little while longer to have it in our hands. I, for one, will be sure to get a copy as soon as possible.

The Haunting of Springett Hall by E.B. Wheeler, available July 14, 2015.

Eighteen-year-old Lucy doesn’t remember how she died or why she’s haunting Springett Hall in Victorian England. One thing is certain: she was trying to fix a terrible mistake—one she must set right before oblivion reclaims her. As she pieces together the mystery of her death, shadows try to drag her into a dark abyss, and she struggles against the commands of a disembodied voice.

None of the living notice Lucy haunting them, except a servant named Philip whose memories are as fragmented as hers. They find evidence they were involved in a necromancer’s scheme to cheat death: a spell that went awry. Lucy also suspects Philip, for whom she’s developing an impossible attraction, may have been one of her enemies.

The more Lucy learns, the less she wants to remember. The necromancer’s work isn’t finished, though, and his influence is consuming the minds and wills of everyone in the house, living and dead. To have any chance of making a happy ending out of their mistakes, Lucy and Philip must face the truth about their past and free the residents of Springett Hall from a curse that reaches beyond death.

Friday, February 20, 2015

Teeth and the losing of them

So I promised pictures of Goof Ball and his first lost tooth experience. So here you go. Better late than never.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

Heart Health

Okay, so good news. I'm pretty certain that the dizzy weak feelings were mainly due to dehydration. When I went to my doctor last Thursday, I had been trying to have lots of water bottles (17 oz each). That Wednesday, I had 2 water bottles. That Thursday, I had four. I was feeling pretty fantastic compared to the last few weeks. I still randomly felt dizzy, but not weak, and just in general lots better. The doctor did mention something that I hadn't thought about, that being inner ear issues. But because of the heart palpitation, he couldn't say for certain that it was the inner ear things. But he decided to advice me to go the inner ear route - get an appointment with an ear/nose/throat person and tell them my story, etc. And then if that fell through, then we could have gone the heart route. I mentioned to him that I was trying more water to see if that would help too and he said to certainly do that - and then if I continued to feel better and better, then I could cancel the ENT appointment. Well... at that point I was pretty certain it was water issues, so I didn't even call to make an appointment with the ENT people. And things have been going relatively smoothly. I still need to consciously basically force myself to drink water, but at least I know that it wasn't anything more serious than that.

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

Almost a year later...

So. I have a few minutes. Let me think about a few highlights to catch up my dedicated readers who've kept checking despite the lack of updates.

I'll go backwards, hoping that will jog my memory.


Not too bad a month. Corner Band started rehearsing again after the Christmas break for the concert in March. I started homeschooling Bug (that deserves a post all unto itself...). I've been trying to find time between all the busyness to revise the novel I wrote in November. I've found that I am much more productive when I can get out of the house, usually to a cafe, to get writing done, but with Bug being home and needing me to help with his school stuff, I can only really do it during the weekend now. Going to church is hard. I still am not quite sure why. I think I'm lying to myself or making up excuses just so I don't have to dig deeper to try and find out exactly what it is about church that is making me uncomfortable there. Sundays are depressing. I come home from church depressed, and that's even after I've already skipped the classes and only went to Sacrament meeting for my calling. Oh, I also lost my assistant conductor, so now I can't take every other month off. Unless, of course, they eventually call another one... my assistant went to a mission in California with her husband. I'll miss them, but I think it's only a year mission. Oh, also, Goof Ball lost his first tooth on the first day of this month/year. I didn't even know it was loose until the party on the 31st, and it was so loose that even a small touch from me made it move nearly out. So I convinced Goof Ball to let me pull it out, and it didn't even take all that much persuasion to get the tooth out*. I'll have to post pictures later.


Was. Hard. So hard, I'm kind of surprised I got through it as "smoothly" as I did. I can't really remember how I've survived December in years past, but I don't remember it being as hard as it was this time 'round. Nearing Little Angel's death date, my mood turned darker and darker. In years past, I don't remember that happening nearly as much. It was more like "oh, it's coming up, isn't it?" but other than random thoughts like that, I didn't brood on it like like I did this year. My only thought as to why it was so hard this time is because of the kicking spree I had the year before on Little Angel's birthday. I didn't feel the need to do it again this year, though I didn't have Shorinji Kempo on his birthday, but I didn't even feel like I needed it. And I think I really only have Kempo to thank for it. It's changed me in ways I didn't even really expect. I'm more relaxed. More comfortable with myself and my life. Well, that may need a post unto itself too. Whatever the case, I think I may be able to safely say, that December 2014 was the darkest December.


This month was fantastic. And I don't say that lightly. Truthfully, any month from October to December (the small lifespan that my son had) is usually just painful. But this year, I dedicated myself to writing. There's this thing called NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) where writers rally together and pledge that they'll write a whole novel in the month of November. That's 50k words. Or to put it in non-writer terms, about 200 pages double space. This is the month where I really realized how beneficial it is for me to get out of the house to write. I wouldn't have been able to do it without my now favorite cafe and their nummy potato soup and endless supply of Dr Pepper. Also, I had told one of the workers there about my goal and every time we ran into each other, I would update him and he would cheer me on. And I'm proud (and not the least bit squirmish) to say that I made it. I wrote a whole novel (plus) in 30 days. I think my final total by the end of the month was around 57k or so. I reached the 50k mark before Thanksgiving, even. Truthfully, the novel's not actually "finished" because the wrap up at the end isn't there. But man, did it feel good to just dedicate myself whole-heartedly to something so monumental. Pretty sure it was one of the first truly overwhelming goals that I've made for myself and actually accomplished it.


Wasn't all that bad. The approach of Little Angel's birthday wasn't something that really depressed or angered me like it had before. I think that's partly attributed to the growth I've had through Shorinji Kempo, and partly attributed to the kicking spree I mentioned above (and below - I'm fairly certain I posted about asking Sensei to let me kick on Little Angel's birthday the year before - 2013). My first theory was that in 2013, I finally allowed myself to actually feel and work through all the pent up anger that Little Angel's death had given me. I literally kicked that pad as hard as I could until I collapsed. This year, I didn't even feel the need for it, though I would have welcomed it. I've never lost the love I have for kicking to get frustrations and other things out (and in fact, I forgot to mention that Pro Boxer got me a punching bag for Christmas. Smiles all around). But this year, like I said, it didn't seem like something I needed. I believe that I faced his birthday not depressed, not angry, maybe sad, but I didn't actually feel the need to cry until I posted the pictures on Bacefook and tried to put my complicated emotions to words.

Little story I want to document: When I went to the store to get the balloons, I ran into Sensei. He had his kids with him, and we chatted for a bit. I told him that I was getting Little Angel's balloons and that we let them fly every year on his birthday, one balloon for each year. After we parted and I got home with the balloons, we had a little text conversation. Sensei lives on higher ground than I do, and he said to let him know when we would let them go and he'd keep an eye out for them with his kids. In the end, he couldn't see them, which I kind of expected, but it was a nice gesture that I appreciated more than I thought I would.


Let's see... things are getting somewhat hazy now. I believe this is the month that I let my nephew stay with us. He's been having a hard time, and we thought we might be able to help him if he stayed with us. So we went through the process, put our trust in the fact that he had been doing better and that we might be able to help him. I also had the hope that if he could just stay with us long enough and go to Shorinji Kempo with me, it would help him like it helped me. It only lasted a few weeks before we had to send him away. I'm being specifically vague, because he's not my child, and even though I have every right to tell my story, I don't want to infringe on my brother's family's story. Suffice it to say that my nephew's actions gave me the worst panic attack I have ever had, which is saying something. I had screamed so hard and loud that I woke Pro Boxer up - he was upstairs, I was downstairs. I screamed so loud that I popped blood vessels around my eyes. In my head, I combined what happened to me as a child with what my nephew did. The combined pain from them both... I was me, but I wasn't me. I was the hurt child inside of me, and nothing Pro Boxer could have done would have released me until my fit was over. Thankfully, and as always, he did what I appreciate the most. He stayed with me and held my hand.

Summer months:

I don't really remember much about them at all. They were summer months that slipped by slowly, and yet too fast at the same time. My parents came back from their mission in the end of .... July? August? I guess I can't even remember that. I think it was July. Other summer recollections I can't *ahem...* recall. Oh! I think it was this summer when Goof Ball started wetting the bed, and just downright not going pee where he's supposed to anymore. We still haven't got him to re-revert into a non wetting the bed kind of kid. And we've kind of given up for a bit, because we were so frustrated that we were moving into shaming him and other not so good things and I decided to take a step back and just deal with it for a bit, or until I thought of something that might help better than other things we've tried. So we're still dealing with that. I'm getting awfully tired of changing his bed sheets and washing them every day.

So there you have it. These days I'm feeling weak and dizzy, and I have suspicions that it is because of my heart and the strange palpitations that I've had all my life. I have an appointment with my doctor coming up, and I actually went to the Instacare last Friday. The general doctor there couldn't tell me anything that I haven't already known. Yes. I know my heartbeat is regular, yet inconsistent (which is what he told me - or relatively close to what he told me). What brought me to the doctor was because I had been feeling dizzy and weak for over a week. He told me that it wasn't exactly ER material, which is what I had been worrying about, but that I should probably try and get the earliest appointment with a cardiologist and also check up with my primary doctor. Well, primary doctor appointment already scheduled, and from whatever he has to say, I'll decide if we need to go the cardiologist route. Pro Boxer (who has a different job now... still at the same place, but different duties, but I haven't been able to come up with a new name for him yet) suspects that maybe I just have some kind of bug or something of the sort. I've been trying my best despite the weakness to eat better, in case that has affected it, as well as water (though I haven't been trying nearly as hard with that ... water.... ick!).

I guess that's all I have to say, and at the very least, I'll try and remember to update ya'll on here after I learn more about heart/health stuffs.