Creating new images

I've recently been reading back over my years of old blogs.  One painstaking realization I've had to make is how much I've complained in the past. Perhaps because my blogs were a safe haven it's the one place I felt like I could open up.  But it's also been this sickness, this injury, this person making me feel horrible for this reason, this life circumstance getting me down.  Now it goes without saying that my life is constantly in its own special ebb and flow of natural chaos.  I'm not sure why I've always felt such a need to vent through my blog to any readers why I've been unfortunate, the details of my chaos, the reasons for my misery, etc.  Maybe there is healing in typing my own words.  More likely I've always had an over need of obtaining sympathy as a means of acceptance.  It's been a chronic attention-getting behavior when I'm feeling lonely, misplaced, or unloved (and with my husband and best friend chronically thousands of miles away those feelings surface themslves more often than not).  Trust me, that's a hard realization to open up my mind to and post for any readers to peruse over.  I've really realized this fault of mine over the past 6 months or so.  It's a habit hard to break honestly.  I catch myself all the time going to post a status about my misfortunes, or ready to post sarcastic remarks to every person or situation which upsets or angers me.  Looking back at my Xanga and Deadjournal blogs my biggest mistake was not holding back, not caring how I made people feel.  In my own mind my feelings were completely validated or people needed to hear how sick or unlucky I'd been.

I have been blessed with an amazing husband who has more patience than any other man I've ever met.  He has tolerated me through my worst and loved me through each complaint, each freak-out, each illness and accident.  He supported me all 42 times I swore I was going into labor, has worried with me each time we've dealt with an illness or injury, and has been full of encouragement every single time I get down on myself or feel overcome with worry, doubt and loneliness.  He has been such a Godly example of compassion and patience to me and is definitely the reason I have kept myself held together at times. 

I think it's hard for many people to understand me and the chaos that trails closely behind.  And I think too many people look at me and see me as a victim of my own circumstances or a bringer of my own misfortune.  They see me and want to know what bad news I have to bring "this time".  Even as I walked into my doctor's office this week he laughed and said "Trisha, Trisha what have you done to yourself this time?" And I think that's become too common of a reaction... people see me and just think of the mess I bring.  I don't want to be that person.  So, the past 6 months has been an evaluation of sorts in working on myself and how I react to situations.  It's true I seem to have a certain streak of bad luck and my own clumsiness is oftentimes the bringer of unforseen accidents.  But I don't want to live as if that's my identity.  I feel that's the persona I've created for myself over the past 10 years.  It's a hard profile to break out of when it's been so meticulously built up.  It's also a comfort blanket to fall back on when things start to get tough.

When Byron and I separated I lost that support in him that enabled my feelings.  He constantly builds me up and while that is an amazing quality in him it also allowed me to continue in those same patterns.  It has taken a lot of prayer, meditation and will to begin breaking through my own shell to figure out why there's so much chaos and how I can react differently to it in the future.

What I've been learning more and more lately is that one of the biggest and most important things I can do to change my own image of myself and the image others have of me is to practice more discernment.  It means me biting my lip when people offend me, it means sucking up my pride when I'm feeling down and lonely and as if people don't care.  It's about me making better choices all around in life.  I suppose I've been a "binge drinker" for a long time in life oftentimes broadcasting things, blogging about things, posting about things, getting angry about things, talking about people when they make me mad (etc. etc. we could all go on couldn't we?) - doing all of these things at the drop of a hat with little regard to how it will affect myself and others in the future because it makes me feel better temporarily. 

It's time that I start building myself up to the person that I know and those who are close to me know that I am.  I want people to look at me and see compassion, strength, humor and integrity; not a weak person always sick, prone to accidents and falling apart at the seams.  And the key person who needs to see those positive traits is myself; for people are only going to see on the surface the same person and image that I've created of myself and believe myself to be. 

It's time I move beyond these three pictures:

And return to and let people see the real person in these pictures....

One hot bird

It was scorching hot yesterday so I set up Madison's pool in concoction with the sprinkler.  Her and Kirby had a blast splashing around and cooling down.  Perhaps a little too much because the pool quickly became much more fun as a mud pit.  Madison was soon caked in mud from head to toe.  After she enjoyed herself a little bit more than I would have liked I disconnected the sprinkler and went to work rinsing her off.  As I did I noticed off in the distance a bird sitting on the edge of the fence watching us.  This really comes as no surprise as the neighborhood is an animal haven.  Squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits, and dozens of types of birds routinely hang out in my backyard.  But this bird was different.  Instead of flying off once it realized it was noticed it hopped down to the ground.  Then it took a few brave steps closer.  I was holding the hose... looking at the bird... and back to the hose again.  It was in the 90's and we're in a neighborhood without ponds or streams.  This bird wanted some water.  It wanted water bad enough that it was willing to overlook it's fear of being safe to get it.  So I switched the hose settings to squirt water further where I wouldn't scare the little guy.  It came about a foot from hitting him.  I expected him to startle and fly off but no, that bird was persistent.  He hopped a few steps closer and proceeded for the next minute or two to practically dance around in the rainy mist surrounding him.  He fluffed his feathers, stretched his head up to the sky, pranced around a bit and thoroughly enjoyed his birdie bath in the cool water.  It drew the attention of several other birds who flitted over to the gate.  My little bird friend flew off to a nearby branch shaking himself off with an air of "you guys saw nothing, I wasn't trusting those humans."

You all know me by now... grabbing life analogies from nature.  This one struck me hard.  How many of us feel the heat of our lives weighing us down, feel the hot sun pressing around us, draining our energy and dehydrating our souls?  We'd do anything for a refreshing rain on our lives to wipe it all away.  Without trying to sound too cliche here we have our own gardener with the water of life ready to pour out on us.  And like many birds we stand back timidly, shy away and take flight.  Why?  Because of fear.  We've been hurt before perhaps.  Or maybe we're too proud.  Perhaps it's because our self-consciousness wins over and we don't want to be seen as "that" bird foolishly dancing in the water God is offering us.  There are a million reasons why and we each have our stories, our fears, our inhibitions.  We don't always trust the gardener.  Sometimes it is really hard to trust and reach out in faith when we feel we've been burned and scorched to our very core.  But here is the truth:

¹³ Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, ¹⁴ but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” John 4:14

Be that little bird in my backyard.  Let your thirst and exhaustion bring you to the reviving waters that will quench your soul again.  Feel free to dance a little too - we all have much to rejoice in! :)

Deployment is real

This one has been a long time coming.  I keep alluding to the "deployment" email that has always been set for some future date.  Well, here it is.  It's been delayed partially because I simply haven't had time to sit down and write and partially because I haven't known how to express my feelings in words.  Seems a bit ironic for me, no?

This whole deployment from the start has been awkward.  And I feel awkward talking about it.  You see, it wasn't "supposed" to happen.  I say "supposed" because I know all things in life happen for a reason and God has His hand all over it, sometimes we just choose some especially long-winded paths.  When Byron and I were separated we had quite the hard time figuring out what was going to happen with the house.  It wasn't selling, we have the mortgage on it and he was scheduled to leave Alaska in December.  Both of us had the least amount of hope in our marriage than any other point and there seemed to be no other decision.  Byron signed to stay in Alaska for another three years for the sake of the house alone.  We couldn't afford to pay on it, didn't want to risk having renters in it while we were out of state and neither one of us would be able to maintain it if a divorce was finalized.  Staying in Alaska was the logical choice for Byron.  That also meant signing onto this current deployment. 

I have a really hard time wondering what people think of me.  I always have.  And it makes it worse knowing what we've gone through in the past year.  The horrible rumors that were spread around, the truths we had to weave through and deal with and the confusion I'm sure we spread to everyone makes me assume everyone is eyeing us suspiciously and perhaps judgementally.  I don't like that feeling.  At all.  So I've kept pretty quiet about the entire situation and tried to keep a smile on my face (do you see a repetitive defense mechanism pattern here yet?) Afterall, we've been through two deployments.  Third times a charm?  And even though Byron and I have still been sorting through the chaos of ourselves we're thrown into another year long separation. 

Honest confession here.  I feel very guilty.  I feel guilty for leaving Alaska.  I feel guilty for taking Madison away from him for a year prior to this deployment.  I feel guilty for not staying and being strong.  I feel guilty for not being there to make sure the house sold and that we were able to move on to the next chapter of our life together.  Guilt will eat away at you and tear you up, strangling you.  I know in my heart-of-hearts I wouldn't have made it up there.  I made a decision that was best for our family at the time without even knowing it.  I physically, mentally, spiritually could not survive up there any longer than I did.  Yet the guilt still lurks around the corner each passing moment. 

So let's deal with reality now.  Byron is on his third deployment, second to Afghanistan.  The separation has become "routine" and we understand how the entire deployment system works.  And that's the very problem right there.  It has become a routine.  Our biggest concern going into this was our relationship not just surviving the year but miraculously coming out stronger.  We were scared for us, for the marriage, for our life.  Somehow in that the facts of deployment somehow evaded me.  He is at war.  And it's dangerous.

One night last week I was struggling to sleep so grabbed up my Kindle Byron had bought me for Mother's Day.  I fell asleep reading and was startled awake at 12:22am by something unknown.  I know it was 12:22am because for some odd reason I was holding my phone in my hand instead of having it on the ledge beside me.  As I went to put it back I got a text message.  It was a random 5 digit number with a dash inbetween.  The message read "Families and friends of 5-1 CAV.  It is with great sorrow that I tell you that on May 15, 3 1-25 soldiers were killed in" and that was it.  The rest of the message cut off.  I started to freak.  As an Army wife we have been briefed repeatedly that we will never be notified of death by any means but in person.  And the other wives generally never find out about someone else's death until the next of kin have been notified.  Two minutes later I got a voicemail.  It was a synthesized voice stating the same thing as the text but this time I got the full message.  3 of our 1-25 soldiers had been killed in action and 2 others severely injured.  Please don't post anything about it on social media networking sites until names are released pending notification of next of kin.  You have got to be kidding me.  No names, no hint at what had happened.  Nothing. Shortly after came the FRG email reiterrating the same message.  And I was left to freak out for the remainder of the evening.  It was a sense of panic that could not be replaced by logic. I knew I would be notified asap if something had happened to Byron but I couldn't believe in my heart that it wasn't him until I got some type of verification.  I spent the entire early hours and next morning in a completely panicked state waiting to hear something, anything.  It wasn't until 4pm that I finally heard from Byron.  Fear paralyzed me as I answered the phone... just seeing the Afghanistan number and not knowing if it was him or not.  When I heard his voice I completely lost it.  I broke down and cried leaving him slightly confused and probably overwhelmed on the other line.  He had no clue I had gotten those emails/texts/calls. 

Surviving the deployment became a lot less relational and a lot more physical.  Afghanistan is a crazy unsafe place.  I have felt this whole time like the guys and especially Byron are untouchable.  It was too soon for anyone to get killed.  They just got there.  These guys know what they're doing.  Excuses just pouring through my head to make the soldiers of 1-25 invincible.  It doesn't work like that in war apparently.  This deployment very quickly took on an entirely different meaning.  It's going to be long and tough. It'll likely try our marriage, test our patience and send me into hysterics more than once. Neither one of us can get through it alone.  I'm so grateful to have a nurturing group of people to help us through it.  But even more I'm grateful to have a firm understanding and find great comfort and peace in the fact that faith, hope and love can get you through anything.  Faith in God, hope in the future and love.  We'll make it.

The Healing Has Begun

I think I've mentioned before that I've blogged for over 10 years now.  Posts spread out across several sites it's been a nurturing sort of therapy for me many times.

Last night I was driving and began thinking of all the events of the past year or two.  It's a whirlwind of memories going through my head.  Two things inparticular have continued to hit me hard.  The miscarriage and Papa dying.  It's so easy to blog about more mundane things, about daily stress and personal opinions.  But it's nearly impossible for me to blog about the things that have hit me right in my innermost core.  There are only two blogs to date regarding the miscarriage, both of them very angry posts.  And not a single blog about Papa.  I wish I could say I played those emotions out in real life but that's not the case.  I internalized all of the pain and hurt and slowly the anger as well, forcing myself to believe I had to keep picking up pieces and move on. They've stayed in a very safe, locked up place for well over a year now.  I'm not sure why I've kept so removed from them.  Self-protection perhaps.  Or maybe the fact that it just hurt way too much to let feelings surface more than necessary.

The morning after I had the miscarriage Byron and I went in for an already scheduled appointment.  It was supposed to be the first appointment where we could listen to the heartbeat.  And yet it had taken a dismal turn the night prior.  The doctor performed an ultrasound and without a sign of apathy on her face stated "You've already passed the product of conception."  Those words stung.  The product of conception.  And that was that.  It wasn't an embryo to her, not a fetus and certainly not a baby.  Simply the product of conception.  I think that was the moment I turned off the switch.  It was my baby, my child... and it was gone and to anyone but Byron and myself it was a sad situation and nothing more.  I think people trying to come up with excuses for God was the worst part.  Perhaps something was physically or mentally wrong with it and God was looking out for me.  That was a common one.  Or people stating that it happens to a lot of women for no known cause, making me a statistic more than anything.  It was easiest to shut everyone out.

Switch gears.  Shortly after my miscarriage Byron's grandpa died.  In a few short years I had grown close to him.  At times we were able to visit we could chat and chat and not run out of things to say.  We exchanged probably hundreds of emails.  And Madison adored him.  After the miscarriage I stopped checking my email completely.  I didn't answer phonecalls.  Wouldn't talk to anyone.  He had emailed several times asking if I was okay and if he had done or said something to upset me.  And of course he hadn't.  I was just trying to survive.  But I never saw those emails.  Christmas night we got the phonecall that he had died suddenly of a heart attack.  I saw the emails from him the following week.  I had obviously never responded.

Fast forward just a bit more.  Papa got rediagnosed with leukemia for the 3rd time. Twice he fought it and against all odds, beat it.  We were blessed with several additional years with him.  But that third time hit hard.  And after just a few short months I got the dreaded phonecall that I needed to get there.  When Byron came to my work and told me how soon I needed to get there I allowed myself to break down for the first time in 3 months.  Right there in the construction area at work I sobbed and choked on my own tears and cried out in anger and sorrow.  And then I pulled it back together.  Well, sort of.

Three major events had crashed down on me.  You can only internalize that stuff for so long.  After returning from Ohio there was a definite strain on mine and Byron's relationship.  PTSD, deployments, all of the events that had just happened.... we were struggling.  And the drama continues from there.  Many stories throughout the past year.  But the constant is that I never began to heal... I never let myself grieve.

About 2 months ago I went to see an endocrinologist for a myriad of health issues I've been having since the miscarriage.  I've seen several doctors and I'm pretty sure at this point I had the routine down.  The miscarriage was mentioned at every visit and I had become callously accustomed to stating it and moving on. 2 pregnancies, 1 live birth, no known cause for miscarriage, next issue please.  But this doctor stopped the breakdown of health issues as soon as I stated the miscarriage.  She looked me right in the eye, took my hand and said "I'm sorry for the loss of your baby, truly I am."  And the floodgates opened.  For whatever reason, whatever amont of sincerity in her voice, whatever emotion I felt at that moment it became okay to grieve.  For my lost child, for Byron's grandpa, for Papa, for the past year and a half of confusion and chaos.  For the first time my anger towards God began to dissipate and was replaced with questions, the begging for answers and requests to allow myself to begin to heal. 

I know that here on Earth I'll never have the answers I want.  I know the past 18 months would have been drastically different had a single one of those three events not happened.  Through every bit of chaos I can now see the blessings that have been poured out as well.  There have been tough days... hard emotions to grapple with. 
As I was driving yesterday I was thinking of all three of them up in Heaven.  I know how special Madison was to both grandpas and how attached she was to them.  And for the first time I was able to find an amazing amount of comfort last night in the fact that my baby, my child was not a product of conception but a child of God with a now everlasting beating heart in Heaven with two amazing great-grandfathers by his or her side.  There will still be hurt.  There will still be pain and angry moments, sadness and sorrow.  But as Matthew West sings "Ohhhh the healing has begun...."

This is the Stuff

It's been an overwhelming week and again I sit down to blog with my mind whirling and buzzing.  Byron left this past week for Afghanistan, his third tour overseas and 2nd one to Afghanistan.  He arrived at his final destination today and is beginning the process of "settling in".  Another blog about all of this deployment stuff another day though :)

I've been tending to blog about chaos and the messiness of our lives a lot.  It's no coincidence because it's what has been on my heart and mind almost constantly.  A constant struggle to overcome it and a constant struggle to rise above it.

I've been dealing with this horrible condition called Benign Paraoxysmal Positional Vertigo. Basically, I'm dizzy.  All the time.  It's a condition where crystals are in your inner ear fluid that are supposed to be stationary on an organ within the ear.  Normally no cause is found.  Many time it goes away on its own but the duration can be weeks.  It is mentally and physically exhausting.  And very, very frustrating.  It's hard to focus for work, hard to try and clean and keep up on housework, hard to take care of Madison and have patience with her.  I fall and trip over my own two feet, drop things all the times, run into things.  I go tomorrow for more testing on my ear and to develop more of a "treatment" plan which basically eliminates coffe, salt and sugar from my diet and entails me running back and forth across rooms with my eyes closed.  Sound fun yet?

So Byon deployed last week.  We have our old realtor sending harassing text messages and emails about what horrible people we are for switching realtors.  There was last minute deployment stuff and then dealing with the adjustment of him being gone.  Madison has been acting out since Byron has left.  This week she cut the dog's hair... and then her own (leaving a good chunk of very short hair on the side of her head), constant spills and messes, new "creative" projects I'm finding she's done while I'm working or cooking or cleaning or passing out from being dizzy :)  At one point she spilled an entire glass of milk on the couch and I literally sat down and cried over spilled milk.  It didn't much matter in the end.  I put the couch cover in the wash Saturday night and we went to my mom's on Sunday.  Came home that evening and the couch was chewed through and destroyed... bits of yellow foam and white stuffing everywhere.  That's been this week.

Today I got to feeling really bogged down and really anxious about how backed up I am on everything... on work, on cleaning, on laundry, on my to-do list.  Ever present in any mom's life (but certainly more in that of a deployed soldier's wife) is the feeling that we are never doing enough, that we won't be able to do enough and therefore leads to an identity and feeling that we will never be enough.  That's a tough pill to swallow.  I got to thinking about it this afternoon.  I put in hours for work this morning, did 2 loads of laundry, caught up on dishes, folded some laundry, bathed Madison, went to the post office (rent check sent, change of address done, military boxes picked up and pictures finally mailed out to family), got the insurance settlement checks deposited at the bank, got gas and car washed, Mother's Day gifts bought, grocery shopping done, groceries put away, car cleaned out, bubbles blown with Madison and chalk drawings complete, quick dinner, 2 more hours of work, cleaned up the living room, fed the dogs, bedtime routine (and got her into her own bed for the first time since Daddy left)  I looked at my list which was only about a third of the way crossed off for the day and felt defeated.  Why couldn't I have done more?  And then it hit me.  I couldn't have.  I did what I could and for today, that was enough.  Each day is enough.

On Sunday I spent a frantic Sunday looking for my phone I had lost the night prior.  I could not miss Byron's call.  Any person who has dealt with a deployment knows you cannot leave your phone.  It is your lifeline.  And when you miss those calls by thirty seconds you curse the voicemail and beg it to call back even though they just called 3 times.  I was frazzled, had missed church by now and was about to go into an anxiety attack when Lynn texted me as I was putting the previously mentioned couch cover in the dryer and I heard it ding.  I had dropped it the night prior between the washer and dryer.  On my way home from my mom's house I was listening to the radio and (prior to finding the couch shredded) I heard this song by Francesca Battistelli, a Christian singer I'd never heard of before.  I loved the sound of the music and the lyrics tell all you need to know!

Francesca Battistelli "This is the Stuff"

I lost my keys in the great unknown
And call me please 'Cuz I can't find my phone

This is the stuff that drives me crazy
This is the stuff that's getting to me lately
In the middle of my little mess
I forget how big I'm blessed
This is the stuff that gets under my skin
But I gotta trust You know exactly what You're doing
It might not be what I would choose
But this is the stuff You use

45 in a 35
Sirens and fines while I'm running behind
Whoa

This is the stuff that drives me crazy
This is the stuff that's getting to me lately
In the middle of my little mess
I forget how big I'm blessed
This is the stuff that gets under my skin
But I gotta trust You know exactly what You're doing
It might not be what I would choose

[ From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/this-is-the-stuff-lyrics-francesca-battistelli.html ]

But this is the stuff You use

So break me of impatience
Conquer my frustrations
I've got a new appreciation
It's not the end of the world
Oh Oh Oh

Cries of a military wife

Today I'm writing with a heavy heart.  I've been waiting for the right moment to blog for awhile now.. several blog topics in queue and ready to be hashed out in words.  And most of them in the evening hours or into the wee hours of the morning.  But today it's a late afternoon blog based on my emotional thought process in trying to comprehend and process a blog I read of someone I don't even know.

Jessica's Suicide Blog is the link if you would like the full story prior to my response. 

In summary, a suffering military wife who chose (and thank God failed) to take her own life.  PTSD, depression, alcohol, affairs, anger, resentment, war... the unfortunate typical life of a military wife suffering to not be a victim and failing miserably. 

I cringe when I hear people talk about people being a victim of their own circumstances, of them being able to prevent their own misery, to eliminate their stress and worries.  If you are that person thinking that of someone try helping them instead.  Be there for them.  Support them.  Love them. 

What rattled me to my core more than her actual blog was the outpouring of response from the blogging community of military wives.  Strangers loving her back to health (she is still hospitalized with a long road of recovery per a post from her parents).  Military wives admitting the SAME feelings of defeat and suicide attempts.  The number of people who have been in her shoes, felt her sorrow and could not find an escape.  In our darkest times and weakest moments we are blinded by any goodness, hope and love surrounding us.  It is nearly impossible to see through the thick fog.  We've all been there haven't we?  We're not victims of our own circumstances.  No.  If we were wise enough to see the light at the end of the tunnel, to solve our own problems, to correct our own attitudes in our most sorrow-filled and worrisome moments don't you think we would have already done it?

Military spouse life is hard.  I don't feel the need to expand upon that in this blog.  Either you get it or you don't.  Support from family and friends is invaluable.  And it is so easy... so so easy to fall into the trap of seeing the people who simply don't care or don't take the time to let you know that they do.  It's easy to sit back and point fingers at the people whose support you need the most who fail to give it.  It's easy to feel overwhelmed by the circumstances and trials along the way.  It's easy to allow our own pretentious human behavior to cloud the many blessings being poured out for us.  And it's even easier for people to watch people suffer through this and sit back and... do nothing. 

Thank you.  Thank you to those of you taking the time to read this.  Thank you to my family and friends who continually show how much they love and care... especially the dedicated few who stood by me and Byron throughout the last year of our separation and desperation of trying to hold our marriage together.  And even more to those of you who did it without judgment.  Thank you to my mom and Dale who took me in without questions asked and helped me get on my feet again.  Thank you to every friend who has heard me out and spent time listening to my frustrations.  A huge special thank you to my life group who has continually supported me, loved me, gotten me laughing every single week and refreshed and renewed my heart without even knowing they were doing it.  To each of you who has taken time to call (sometimes repeatedly when I won't answer the phone or call back!), to write a note, to offer a hand of help, to pray for us, to help us out financially, to care for Madison, to text, to  do something as simple as commenting on Facebook.  You all are invaluable to me.  I hope you all realize the importance you have to me and how the simplest amounts of support are what get me (and have gotten me) through. 

My heartfelt prayers go out to Jessica and her family.  I pray that she makes a full and healthy recovery with the ability to have her vision unclouded to see how special and important she is.  In fact, that's my prayer for every military wife who is struggling with the life of the military getting them down and making them hit rock bottom.  If you feel led Jessica's parents have set up a PO Box for cards and letters of encouragement to be sent to her.

Jessica
P.O. Box 292138
Columbia, SC 29229

Shy

Can anyone reading this imagine me as shy?  You might not believe it but I've come a long, long way.  I used to be painfully shy.  It made me nervous to meet anyone new.  I'd rather die than have to introduce myself to someone I didn't know.  It was like that since childhood.  As I've grown up meeting people has become easier.  When you move as often as we have it becomes a trained ability.  You either meet people in the Army or you suffer.  The hello's are now the easy part and the goodbyes get harder as we go on.  The shy, reserved person I was is much more outgoing and friendly, oftentimes replaced with a person with an odd sense of humor not everyone can always appreciate. 

In elementary school I hardly spoke to anyone.  My reserved nature was content playing on my own, reading on the side or doing my homework while everyone else chatted.  It made me a target and a victim of my own circumstance.  I was relentlessly teased and picked on.  Name calling, bullying, and worse yet the ignoring.  One of my most vivid memories is of 5th grade.  It was near the end of the year and the teacher had said everyone could move their desks wherever and however they wanted.  All of the girls talked in hushed whispers and one by one moved their desks into a circle all together... every single one of them.... leaving me on the opposite side of the room.  Alone.  Their giggles and smug looks of pre-teen contentment have stuck with me for years.

It's no wonder that one of my biggest fear as a mother was having a child that wasn't liked by others or gets picked on.  Or worse yet... painstakingly shy leading to all of the above.  There are moments I have worried as she is completely attached to me.  She goes where I go, I go where she goes, wherever we go we do it together.  Me and that little 4 year old girl have been through a lot.  And knowing how attached she is to me made me begin to worry even more.  I see her play alone and entertain herself even when other kids are around.  At Justin's birthday party several weeks ago all of the kids were running and playing together and there was Madison in Justin's room... content as can be playing by herself.  She enjoys going to the Eagle's Nest, a free daycare at the grocery store but even there I'll sneak peeks and watch her entertaining herself while the other kids play together.  One day I asked her why she didn't play with other kids and she told me "I didn't know their names."  Simple as that.  I explained to her that she can tell them HER name and ask them to play and they could have lots of fun.  So fast forward a week.  I had had a trying day with her, we had been cooped up in the house for three days and it was just time to get out.  I took her up to the McDonalds with a playplace.  And there she started the cycle.  Running through the maze of kids not talking to anyone.  It cleared out, my coffee was dwindling and I was getting ready to leave when a girl about her age came in.  I saw Madison look at me and smile and as if looking for my approval she ran up to the girl.  "Hi, I'm Madison.  I'm 4.  Would you like to play with me?"

They were best buddies for the rest of the night.  When we went to leave Madison asked "Mommy, can she come spend the night?" It did my heart good. She's funny.  She's outgoing.  And she's been blessed by a beautiful face and outgoing personality that no kid in their right mind could ever make fun of.  I adore this little girl and find her inspiring more than she knows.  She has a bright future.  Of course she has to, I'm her mommy :)