It's Been Awhile...

No, those aren't just lyrics from Staind.  It really has been a while... a long while.  Per usual, from the last time I blogged, a lot has changed.  I'm going to stop this "blogging once per year" crap, simply because there's way too much to catch up on!  And also because I'm not really sure anyone reading this would care about the minuscule day-to-day "I get up, work out, get the kids up, get them fed, I shower, we all get in the car, they go to my mom's, I go to work, I leave work, pick Thing 1 and Thing 2 up, we go home, I write when I get a chance, go to bed, wake up, blah blah blah" schedule my life has become.  So, instead of all those mundane tasks we all have, I'll talk about the things that have been on my mind as of late.

First off.  You know that feeling of being completely stuck somehow in your life?  Not that things are horrible, not that you don't see anything on the horizon exciting, it's nothing you can really put your finger on, but you're just... stuck.  That's me.  Right now, at this very moment, I have the undeniable feeling of not being able to keep my head above water, but I'm treading hard enough to keep breathing and pushing toward the surface.  A little dramatic?  Sure thing.  But it's where I'm at.  Actually, to be less dramatic, I feel as though I'm waiting on my life to start.  The universe has been biding its time, waiting to pull the trigger and watching me push toward the moment the gun is going to go off and things will fall into place.  It's like listening to the music your dentist pipes over the phone while you're on hold.  After a while, you start singing along with the song that's on until you forget you're actually waiting for someone to pick up. 

I've been on hold for a while now...

I've been working on this song (working title "Bucket List") calling into question all of the things I want to do, where I want to go, who I want to be.  It was after the first verse of this song came out on paper that I though to myself, "What are the answers to these questions?"  I realized I don't have a bucket list for myself... not at all.  And that jolted me a little.  Have I settled so far into complacency that I don't have aspirations anymore?  No, because I can say, "My life's purpose is to create music and perform music I've created as a way of reaching others the way others have reached me."  But, to some extent, I think that happens to a lot of people and, in so many ways, it's happening to me.  So begins the process of shaking things up to shake myself out of this perpetual funk.

 I should add, this song (working title "Bucket List") was inspired (as cheesy as it sounds, it's true) by a guy I never met, who was three years older than me, who died last month in the avalanche on Everest.  His name was Dan Fredinburg.  Google him- he worked for Google(x), so there's a plethora of info out there- and tell me his life doesn't inspire you to really look at the way you live yours.  His adventures make the ones I had when I was younger look so so tiny, and let me tell you, Canada and Honduras felt anything but tiny!  

Anyway. 

Above all, Dan lived life for his family, friends, and to make a difference on the world at large, tackling environmental problems to social inequality, and he did it with passion I've only felt but have never been free enough to act upon.  While everyone he met and loved is mourning the passing of his giant soul, I don't get the feeling of there being things left unsaid like I often do when someone young dies suddenly.  I've gotten the feeling through his friends/family/social media and the public memorials and tributes paid to Dan he didn't leave anything on the table.  Everyone knew where they stood with him, they all loved him, and they all knew he loved them.  He probably didn't take the time to write out a bucket list and evaluate his life the way I have been because he saw something he wanted to do and made it happen.  I highly doubt Dan Fredinburg took the time to question why he felt stuck- I don't think he ever slowed down enough to get himself there in the first place!

So, I made a promise to myself.  I've decided to live more transparently, more ambitiously, and more assertively.  People who know me might think this is me reaffirming myself, but it's really not.  It's so not.  I so frequently leave things unsaid, I am a master at biting my tongue (or getting too loose with my words when I'm angry), I put others way ahead of myself and feel guilty when I do make time for me, and I do a pretty awesome job of letting those closest to me float away without ever chasing them down to tell them how much they mean to me.  Nate has accused me of being too shut off, of not letting people in out of fear they'll walk away, for being too willing to cut people out of my life if they don't add value to my existence.  The last one I stand by for sure- there is absolutely nothing that interests me in holding onto relationships that don't add value to my life, the relationships that don't nurture my soul and make me a better person while allowing me the opportunity to have an impact on others as well.  That might sound self-serving, and it absolutely is.  But why would I put myself in the company of people who bring me down?  That's just crazy.

On the other hand, you know those people you can't seem to let go of? The people you feel bound to by soul threads, or some weird spiritual magnetic attraction?  The ones never far from your mind and have you wondering what they're doing, or if they ever think of you and wonder what you're doing?  Those people you squeeze time to see, and no matter how long you're together, it's never quite long enough to get your fill?  They're what I think of as soulmates.  I think you can have more than one - I mean, why wouldn't you, right? - and I don't necessarily think they have to be romantic-styles. 

 They're the people who just get you.  They're the people who see deeper into you, looking right past anything you think you're giving away.  They're the people who can communicate with you on a plane far beyond the physical just through eye contact and body language.  They're the person who gets so far into the core of who you are without even trying, it's scary.  It's the person that the thought of never seeing or speaking to again makes your heart ache.  It's the person you can go seven years without seeing in person or even talking to via social media/text message/etc. and when it's time to part ways, you don't want to step outside the moment.  

I have a couple of those.

I finally told my oldest friend/first love/now one of my best friends something last night I should have told him ages ago.  No- literally, ages ago.  We've been friends for 18 years, and I have never told him directly what I told him yesterday.  Here's a little history.  We went through our formative years together, meeting when he was 11 and I was 12.  He's been there through things that were the hardest for me to bear, offering me support when I needed it most, and vice versa.  He holds me accountable when he thinks I'm bullshitting or need to check myself.  We went almost 3 years without talking to one another because of a stupid nothing fight (thank you, Dane Cook!), and it bothered me so much that this piece of myself was missing, it would keep me up at night.  I (finally) badgered him into meeting me to talk it out, aka "get me to shut up and leave him alone."  Score one for me, since not only did we talk it out, our friendship is better than ever.  (Becca: 1, Carl: 0)  

He came over to the house, along with another 'oldie/goodie' friend yesterday.  We were taking turns manning the grill- well, the guys were... I was drinking on the deck and hanging with the kiddos!- and throwing the frisbee around.  My buddy and I were talking, having a heart-to-heart about how we've both felt like we're in a holding pattern.  During the course of this conversation, the opportunity finally presented itself to tell him how he's one of the most important people in my life and always has been.  Not in a romantic way- he's really good friends with Nate, too!- but just as a presence in my life, he's one of the most important.  We've had our ups and downs like every meaningful relationship does, but we always manage to come right back to where we left off.  

My point, through these (somewhat hokey) ramblings is this.  In being stuck, I've been so frustrated I've felt like my head was going to explode.  I've felt a significant lack of words- writer's block, I guess, only it's also applied to spoken words, too- to appropriately convey what I'm thinking/feeling in a way that won't bring judgment or hurt others.  In feeling stuck, I'm learning I'm a lot more complex than I used to be, and my worldview is no longer primarily black and white with a hint of gray... it's a whole pallet consisting primarily of shades of gray.  I am understanding complexities in life don't always require a lot of explanations.  I am noticing how distrustful I am and how tightly I guard my secrets, even from myself.  In being stuck, I am learning how to disengage from the things that take away my passion.  I am learning how to be joyful in spite of uncertainty.  I am living in every moment I can.  In being stuck, I am learning how to embrace the things I can't explain, change, or otherwise influence.  I am learning the beauty of being a tiny observant speck in this massive sprawling universe we live in.  I am learning to walk the path laid out before me, knowing every step is leading somewhere I can't see right now, but that the path is leading to the exact place I'm supposed to be going.

In being stuck, I'm learning how to let go.

As of when I started writing this blog post, I have no title for it.  Here's why.  I'm sitting here studying and listening to the new playlist I just created, called "Boys."  In it are several of the male solo artists and bands fronted by guys that 1.) soothe down my busy mind and 2.) inspire me to write.  Blogs, songs, assignments- doesn't matter. These songs by these guys just make me want to write.  This led me to start thinking (while resting my brain from academic matter for a little bit) about what my true passion is in life.  I just started a new session of classes this past week, and one of my profs kept reiterating over and over that "No matter how much money you make, if you're not happy in what you're doing, follow your passion."  He also kept saying how we should "know what our passions are because that will make us more well-rounded human beings."  Every time he'd say something like that, I'd think to myself "Well I'm really happy I know what my passions are."  But if I'm being honest, it's been a really long time since I've actually actively followed my passions and acted on them.  Being the kind of artsy-fartsy free spirited person I am (no, I'm not saying I'm a dirty hippie), my passions lie in 1.) writing and 2.) music.  All aspects of both of these creative indulgences are what make my life feel filled.  They, aside from my family, are what make my life worth living.

It's funny- I went to college in Tennessee for music business, thinking and feeling creatively fed.  I wanted nothing more than to be a performer, to put my musical skills and talents to good use while singing the words I'd written myself or with friends.  Music biz was a field I could go into that would push me to my limits in hard work but would be rewarding because I'd be doing something in the field of my passions.  I wanted nothing more than to start off in copyright and publishing (and one of my profs had offered me a position as her intern with the intent to hire right out of college) and move into A&R from there, all while hitting artist showcases and gigging out of course.  Then life happened.  I don't regret for a single second starting a family at 22, getting married to my high school sweetheart at 23, or having my son at 24.  I wouldn't trade the life I have now for those late nights in smoky bars, playing for tips.  What I do regret is that I went off track and lost sight of my passions.  When we moved back to Chicago after living outside Nashville, it was like my creative switch got thrown to 'off' and writers block hit hard.  I literally sat looking at a blank journal page in a new journal for hours, trying desperately to grab at any thought that ran through my head that might lead to a song or something that could spur a song's birth.  Nothing.  It was the most frustrating thing ever.  Then I got promoted at work, was logging at least 40 hours/week (if not a few in OT), but being gone for closer to 50-55 hours a week with travel, I was on-call 24/7 both at work and for my kids, I got caught up in being a wife, mother, careerwoman.  And I completely lost my grip on what makes me me.

Here's a little digression.  When I was a little girl, I learned to talk by singing.  My mom was a single parent until I was seven, so I grew up listening to Hall and Oates, Bon Jovi, Whitney Houston, and a slew of other artists of the 80s and early 90s.  We'd put on music and dance around the house for hours when she wasn't working.  I was the epitome of performer, singing into hairbrushes or kitchen utensils, putting on shows whenever someone was around to listen- and even if they weren't.  I can't count the number of times my mom got mad at me for singing at the top of my lungs in the shower or bathroom (hey, it has good acoustics!).  I have never wanted to be anywhere in life but on stage singing for people.  I have never wanted to be anything other than a performer.  My whole high school life revolved around the world of choir and all the ensembles I was involved in, before, during, and after school.  Drama club was thrown in there somewhere too, alongside the 20+ hours a week of taekwondo that I was working in there- before I actually had a paying job.  Then in college, I was in the inaugural year of women's ensemble at Grand Valley State University and one of two freshman in a strictly upper-class group of women.  I took musical theater voice lessons from 7th to 9th grades, then switched in 9th to classical voice and trained in opera until my sophomore year of college.  It's amazing how much of that training I still use now, even though I sing mainly rock/blues music.  Breath control, vocal warmups, all that jazz is still so key to me now, every time I open my mouth.


Anyway.


It sounds so silly to be talking like some teenager with stars in my eyes, wishing for dreams that are unattainable.  But I've had this buzz for at least a year now, and it happens whenever I think seriously about the path my life is supposed to be taking.  I know that a career in communications/HR/management/marketing would be an amazing place to settle in for the rest of my life.  It would provide a secure and stable home for my children, and a solid income to partner with Nate's.  I know all of this, but I can't help feeling like I'm wasting an insane amount of money and a lot of time to pursue a degree that I'm not passionate about.  I don't want to become a shell of a person, one who's really good at my job and makes good money but doesn't go after what I'm really here on this earth for.  I feel like, since my injury, it's taken a long time to get to know and be comfortable with my new reality, and through everything that's hard for me to do physically now, the one thing that remains is music.  I can forget about the frustrations of overcoming Frankenfoot, the pain I'm in almost constantly, the heartbreak over broken dreams that were very real aspirations and very real possibilities when this happened.  I can imagine my life onstage, offstage, writing, raising my kids happy and on the road while performing with two of my favorite guys (Adam and Nate, of course!), living the life I've not only always dreamed of, but wanted for myself. 


Sigh.


On that note, Trace is awake and Rhea never went down for nap, so life is calling... I'll close out with lyrics from one of my favorite songs by Lifehouse:

I cannot stand still.
I can't be this unsturdy.
This cannot be happening.
'Cause I'm waiting for tonight,
Then waiting for tomorrow.
And I'm somewhere in between what is real and just a dream.

New addition to the family

Hey guys!
So you may be thinking I'm expecting from the title of this blog, but no dice! (At least, not until I get my degree done-zo... I don't even mind going into labor as I'm getting my diploma!)  My father-in-law, Nate, his wife Jen, and their two silly kiddos, Rose and Wade, are, as we speak, en route to China to get their beautiful, long-awaited addition to the family: Sarah Grace! They've been waiting five years to adopt. and God has finally gifted them with a precious little miss.  She'll be two two weeks before Trace turns two, so he'll have a playmate who's his aunt, all rolled into one little package.  (Which only makes sense, since Rhea's playmate is her uncle Wade and he's only six months older than she is!)

Sarah's been in a Chinese orphanage since she was an infant and is special needs.  She is missing the lower 1/4 of her arms, so 3/4 of the way down her arms from her elbow joints is where her arms end.  She has no hands.  However, this doesn't seem to be a deterrent for her, at least not from what we've been told.  I'm so excited to meet her and see how she's adapted to having a "disability" that I cannot even imagine living with.  I put disability in quotes because I've found through my own "disability" that I am no less able-bodied... I just have a different normal from most people.

Anyway.

They'll land at 1 am local time in Beijing, which, if I'm not mistaken, is somewhere around 3 pm Beijing time.  From there, they'll tour around Beijing, catch a couple flights en route to Sarah and Hong Kong, which is their final destination in China, then they'll fly out from Hong Kong back to Chicago on 12/14.  Hopefully all goes as planned and there won't be any unexpected surprises in their journey.  We want them home safe and sound before Sarah's birthday on December 21st and Jen's on the 23rd, not to mention Christmas of course!

If anyone is interested in following along on this incredible journey, Jen's set up a blogspot.  Here's the address.

http://hisplanourhope.blogspot.com

I know I'll be frequenting the page in excited anticipation with the kids!  (Rhea, by the way, is so excited to "teach Auntie Baby Sarah how to eat with her feet!"  Silly silly goof!)

Off to do homework now, but please keep our branch of the Klingers in your thoughts and prayers!  I say our branch because there are many from Arizona to Germany.  Now, I think that since we're adding a new member from China, we're set on world domination!  Kidding, kidding.  :)  I'll update when she gets here!

Happy Wednesday!

Living on a Prayer

I just finished reading Anderson Cooper's book Dispatches From the Edge and I have to say that it is literally one of the best books I have ever read.  And I read a lot.  I'm that weird kid who really enjoys reading literary collections that a lot of others find boring as hell or dry as dust.  I love losing myself in storylines, plots, or, in this case, autobiographical experiences.  I love getting into people's  heads and hearing their stories, seeing the world through their eyes, no matter how sad/violent/tragic/exhilarating, etc. their stories may be.  This is one story that will stick with me forever, and here's why.  Anderson throws open wide the windows to his soul, his heart, and his perception of the world.  He allows the reader to live in his thoughts, share in his insecurities, and work through the internal battles that he struggles with.  I can't say why exactly I appreciated his raw approach to life, death, his work, and his family tragedies.  I can only assume it's because I am genuinely intrigued by the human condition.  Sometimes, I'm way too involved and it brings on panic attacks- or just panicky feelings.  I have a somewhat obnoxious habit of being hypersensitive to the plight of others.  I oftentimes find myself inserting myself into situations I hear of, whether they're happy or sad, most of the time without realizing I'm doing it.  It's second nature, and I don't know why.  Maybe it's because of things that I've been through and experienced in my own life, or maybe I'm just weird.  Who knows?  It just seems to be the way I'm hardwired.

Most recently, I've been kept awake by three things: the situation at Penn State, the bullying and terrorizing of children in my siblings' school district (the same district I also went through), and the threat of nuclear war against America.  Yes, I'm completely aware that they are all at completely opposite points of the triangle, but for whatever reason, they are all interconnected in my mind.  Okay, okay. I have to be completely honest here.  I have no idea why the threat of nuclear war is something I find myself worrying about at night, especially since it's been hanging over America since long before I was ever even thought of.  It's so stupid that I sit up and worry about things like this, things that are such huge issues I could never even make a ripple of impact... but I do.  Things like the potential for a devastating pandemic and war don't induce the same heart palpitations as nuclear war does.  Can I control that?  No.  Absolutely not.  I'm slowly starting to realize that there are things in life not worth worrying about because there is nothing I can do to change them.  If widespread global disease breaks out, if nuclear war is initiated anywhere in the world, if a train derails behind the houses across the street and takes out my whole neighborhood in the middle of the night, there is nothing I can do to fix/change/prevent that, just like there is nothing I can do if a rogue asteroid decides to wander its way into Earth's orbit and comes crashing down.  The fear is still there somehow, and I think it really stems from having children.  Once my life became about two little people that are half of my DNA, who are my whole entire world, who I would die to protect, my world's rotational axis changed.  Maybe that, compacted by the fact that I have post-traumatic stress and panic disorders stemming from childhood trauma (more on that later), is why I have random, completely irrational worries.

Anyway.

Time to chime in on Penn State.  When I heard the breaking news report, I thought it was about some random college football scandal.  You know, the football program was taking kickbacks from NFL recruiters to secure certain players on future pro rosters or someone was embezzling money.  Personally, I hate college football- I could never get into it and I don't understand the draw of sitting around watching college football games on TV.  I like going to college football games, but I just never got the whole Big 10 hoorah factor.  Throw on Sunday football, Monday night football, or holiday games or the Super Bowl and I'm all in.  (Go Pack Go!)  So when the details started leaking out, I sat up and took notice.  When the dam broke and the sordid details began pouring out in an unstoppable flood, I couldn't help but seek out the Grand Jury's findings online.  Now I wish I hadn't.  I, like many others out there, was a victim of child sex abuse at the hands of my father.  I don't know when it started- I was really young- but I do recall when it ended.  When I was eight and my father cussed me out on the phone and essentially took himself out of my life completely... that was when all categories of abuse ended.  I remember being terrified to go to bed in my own room at night, and even now, I can recall being woken up in the middle of the night and, sleepy-eyed, seeing a distorted face hovering over me in the dark.  My mom has told me that I didn't want to go in my crib because "Dee Dee" was in there.  Sounds an awful lot like "Daddy" doesn't it?  She couldn't figure out why I was having these horrible nightmares and would wake up to draw pictures of horribly disfigured monsters.  She took me to a family therapist who confirmed her suspicions and agreed that my behavioral patterns were attributed to sexual abuse.  Of course, when my father was confronted with the facts, he denied and pointed the finger at everyone under the sun.  Coming from a man who came to this country illegally, lied about his age to get my mom to marry him to obtain citizenship, denied having affairs with my babysitters, cheating on my mom at out-of-town weddings, ignoring fidelity in general, going on drinking binges, and being arrested for cocaine possession multiple times, his denials came from a petty selfish need to twist the actual truth to fit his "truth."  My parents divorced when I was a year and a half, but up to a certain point, my mom kept taking my father back.  She wanted me to grow up with a father and held out hope that he would stand up and realize that he had a job to do in helping raise me.  That never happened.  Unfortunately, I was still subject to court-ordered visitation (which I never wanted to go to) and overnight visitation (ditto to the former).  When I spent the night at his house with his then-girlfriend Viviana, I found myself locking the door and barricading it with a nightstand or dresser before turning out the lights.  If he was going to try anything, I wanted to be alerted and awake to defend myself.

I made contact with my father again when I was almost twenty-one, and that contact was tainted and short-lived.  I needed answers to the questions from my past, and he was unwilling to discuss anything.  I wanted to know that he'd missed me being a part of his life and that he was ready and willing to nurture a mature relationship with me.  He didn't and he wasn't.  I still struggle with this even now, and it's been almost six years since I last spoke with him.  I have five siblings I will never know, and it makes me sad for him that he will never ever meet or know my children.   I'm not saying I would have ever had my kids around him if things had turned out differently; I could never trust that they'd be safe.  But it hurts that he will never get pictures of them to hang on the wall, and he will never talk to them on the phone.  He knows they exist and he knows I live a half hour away; I talk to everyone else on his side of the family and I know some of them have confronted him.

All I ever wanted was for my father to say he was sorry, explain where his head was at, why he did it, and show that he cared enough about me as a person to attempt to remedy the past.  Instead, I've been left with a gaping hole and the lasting question of "Why?"  Why did an adult, who was charged with the care of a child, HIS child, abuse that power?  What thought passed through his head that said "Hey guy. This is a really great idea!" and why did he go with it?  Sure there are all kinds of temptations in this world, temptations that can have us walking down destructive paths if we let them.  But we all have voices that tell us what is right and wrong.  Even children who have had absentee parents and little to no moral guidance in their upbringing reach the age when they are aware of consequences and the difference between what's right and wrong.  It infuriates me when I hear someone say "Well, I was abused as a child and that's why I am the way I don't respect authority" or "I never had someone teaching me the difference between right and wrong."  I don't buy either one of those reasons as a crutch to lean on when you find yourself in hot water.  There comes a certain point when you have to take accountability for your own actions and the reactions brought on by them.  And I'm sorry, but the sexualization and/or abuse of children, especially through seemingly charitable means as in Jerry Sandusky's case, is NEVER okay.  It is absolutely abhorrent, deviant, Devil-in-human-form to lay hands on a child in an inappropriate manner.

When I read about the rape and brutal sexual assaults that Sandusky committed against these at-risk boys, a piece of my heart broke.  These boys were looking for approval and acceptance from someone they could trust.  They were looking for a positive male role model they could emulate and look up to, someone to fill the void left by a broken home or missing parent.  Instead, they got unwanted advances, brutal rapes, and criminal sexual assault.  For Jerry Sandusky to use his position and authority within Penn State's football program to gain access to innocent, vulnerable boys is absolutely despicable.  I have cried over this while watching news coverage, I got nauseated while reading the Grand Jury's report.  And every single time I hear about someone else who knew, who witnessed the destruction of a child's innocence by this man, I get infuriated.  What has happened to the morality of Americans if anyone can witness an adult man performing oral sex on a ten year old boy he pinned to the wall or the violent rape of different ten year old boy in the locker room showers AND NOT REPORT IT?  Mike McQuerery not only did just that, but he absolutely failed to protect the children by removing them from the situation AND by not going straight to the police!  Instead, he ignored what he saw, talked to his father, and didn't even attempt to find out the names of the boys.  Who does that?!  It is absolutely sickening.  I have no other descriptors aside from that.  These men, every single one of them, is sick.  They need to to never ever be allowed anywhere near another child for the rest of their lives.  The entire Penn State sports organization failed these children, the system failed in bringing down the corruption, the police failed by not moving when presented with actionable knowledge, and the DA failed by not bringing charges.  There is so much dysfunction in this case. Because of their lack of urgency and unwillingness to act, they have impacted and corrupted the course of children's lives forever.

As for the bullying that's been going on, I can't say anything I haven't already said except this.  The people who are in the position to act and make a difference NEED to do so.  They NEED to stand up for students' rights.  They NEED to stand up for my little brothers who have been sexually harassed for the past two years by other students and, until recently, had nothing done about it.  They NEED to stand up for the little girl who was stabbed by another student with a pencil for not allowing them to cheat off her test.  They NEED to provide her protection from students threatening to rape/kill her and her family.  They NEED to provide safety for another girl who was brutally assaulted after being jumped from behind while she was in a passing period.  Nobody realizes the damage that can result from a group of adults who fail to protect the innocents.  It's one thing to be betrayed or failed by a parent, but to have parents who care and aren't being heard by the powers that be who can bring about change is just unacceptable and outrageous.

I look at Rhea and Trace with equal parts awe and wonderment that Nate and I created these two beautiful creatures.  But I also look at them and worry about what the world is going to look like as they're growing up.  Nate and I made the decision that I will homeschool our children, but we can't protect them forever.  We can't shield them from the evils that this world holds and we can't save their innocence indefinitely.  As they grow up, they will encounter the world.  The blinders will fall away and they will struggle with the truths they're going to be confronted with.  They will learn that not every man is as amazing as their daddy is and not every woman cares about her babies the way their mommy does.  They will learn that not everybody is kind and that there are constantly scary things that we can't prevent or change- at least not right away.  I want nothing more for them than to stay as perfectly happy and content as they are right now.  I know that's completely unfeasible, but I can't help but wish for this.

Despite all the negativity that's around us and everything I have been through in my own life, I have committed myself to making sure that my kids know that people are (mostly) good.  There is a lot of beauty in this world for them to experience, and they need to run at opportunity with open eyes, open hearts, and open minds.  I want them to know that, despite everything ugly that happens on a regular basis, they can make a difference by standing up for the underdog; they can turn ugly into beauty.  I want them to know that change starts with one voice and that they need to make theirs heard.  But more than anything, I want them to be fearless.  I want them to explore without boundaries, dream without limits, and love endlessly.  I want them to live their passions and be passionate about their lives.  I want them to know that they can change the world and make a difference in someone's life by simply taking the time to listen to them, observe their surroundings, and not be afraid to say something they see going on that's wrong.  Change doesn't happen if we sit lazily by and expect someone else to take care of a mess we created or walked through.

Sometimes all it takes is one voice.

I really should get better about this

So it's been almost a month since my last blog, and I've recently decided that, as the title of this entry says, I really should get better about this! (How's that for originality?)  I'm back in school and things are picking up since we're already at midterms, so it's been hard for me to steal some time and write.  So if you're reading this, thanks! :)  Anyway.  A lot's been on my mind lately, so here I go!

I (finally) found time to reconnect with one of my most favorite people EVER in the world.  He used to be one of my baristas at one of the dozens of Starbucks stores I managed/co-managed/assistant managed, and, if I'm quite honest, he's one of my all-time favorite baristas ever.  We got along incredibly well, and something about us just clicked.  Come to find out, he's had a really rough year and a half, and I feel so bad that I wasn't around for him during this time.  He came out to his parents and faced a world of persecution from the people who are supposed to love and accept him unconditionally.  And, like all of us have been through, he put his heart and soul into loving someone with everything to his core, only to have all that love thrown back in his face.  That all got me thinking about how close-minded people can be.  There is nothing (well, except if my children took the life of someone else) that would ever make me turn my back on my children.  I may not agree with things they do or the way they choose to live but I would never ever take away my love, affection, or acceptance of them and who they are.  Nate feels the same way.  I'm not saying that if one of my children came to me and said "Mom, I'm gay" that it wouldn't take some adjustment and time for me to reconcile that information with myself, but I believe that we are born with our sexual orientation predetermined.  And can I fault my child for something they didn't choose?  No.  That would be like saying, "Well, you asked to be born with blue eyes and that's just unacceptable.  I wanted you to have green like mine."  Sounds ludicrous, right?  That's because it is.  At least, in my opinion.  So, to my boo- if you're reading this- I know I've already told you this a billion times over, but you are an amazing person.  The trials you've been through will seem like distant memories when you finish school and move on to where/what/who you're supposed to be and be with.  I'm so happy to have you as my beautiful friend, and I will always be here for you.  :)

Next order of business...
(By the way, I'm blogging instead of working on my 12-page midterm that's due on Thursday night.  Some would call that procrastination.  I call it dedication to my craft.  Kinda.)

Have you ever felt like you're just biding your time, waiting for your life to start?  I am in that rut, as far as my professional life is concerned.  I know that I went into finishing my bachelors, knowing that I'm finishing it to finish it.  I have no clue what I want to do after I graduate, except that I'd like to be in HR.  Can I see myself there?  Really see myself there, as my chosen career, for ever and ever?  No.  HELL no.  Do I see myself living in the suburbs of Chicago forever?  Nope.  Do I see myself anywhere in the realm of the business world, corporate or otherwise?  Definitely not.  So what, you may ask, am I doing in school for managerial communications?  Answer: I have no idea.  Short answer: Justifying the almost $60k in student loan debt that I'm carrying around without having a degree, that's what.  I am "investing in my future," whatever that means.  Truth is, I'm a musician.  I write, I sing, I play, I perform.  It's in my blood, it's my dream, and it's the only thing I have EVER seen myself doing, the only thing I have ever WANTED to do.  When I perform with the guys, it's like I walked into my house and the stage is my living room.  It's home.  Even more important, we're good.  We're really good.  Not trying to sound snotty or hoity-toity, and I would never say so with airs about me, but since this is my blog, I'm allowed to speak the truth.  We. Freaking. Rock.  So why am I living in the suburbs of Chicago, finishing my degree at a small liberal arts college in a program that I don't foresee ever being in?  Great question.  I guess it's what grown-ups do, and I've been told a time or two that I should have a backup plan.  Since I'm 26 and married with two small children, I guess that makes me an adult.  Thanks a lot, Responsibility and Sense of Necessity.  You two are the big crashers of my party for big aspirations and plans.  I started to run my brilliant idea by Nathan today and got interrupted by my two little ankle-biters, one of whom was climbing on the dining room table to get to the bag of Halloween autumn mix candy corn.  I've been thinking that, after I graduate (and Adam will beat me to that by almost a year!), I think we should move the family to Nashville, LA, New York, Seattle, or ATL, steal Adam and Michelle and pack them into our moving truck, and get a move on our purpose for being on this earth.  Well, one of our purposes is to spawn adorable children (check x2!) and be really really ridiculously good-looking (duh), but I just have this thing inside that's screaming to me that we're destined for incredible things.  In the meantime, we'll be honing our performance style, adding to our stockpile of original songs, and putting our stamp on the covers we choose to play.  We're pushing ourselves to learn new songs, write new material, nail down harmonies, and be better overall.  I guess that'll have to suffice for now.

In other news...

Tomorrow is mine and Nate's anniversary.  Three years has both flown by and seems like forever at the same time.  Not in a bad way either!  It's that same feeling I get when I realize that I've been out of high school for 8 1/2 years and it feels like forever ago and just yesterday at the same time.  It's not like these have been the easiest three years either.  Started off our marriage with a 10 month old baby girl, miscarried around her first birthday, got pregnant with Trace, delivered him when Rhea was twenty-five months old, then I blew out my foot when he was three and a half months old.  And let's be honest.  The past year and a half has been a period of massive adjustment to a new normal.  I had to realize that my aspirations and determination to hit the 2012/2016 Olympic games for taekwondo were a thing of the past and that I would no longer be able to be the high-performing, cardio-driven athlete that I once was.  The kids have had to adjust to my "wonky foot" (thanks, Rhea) and Nate's had to adjust to me having physical difficulties doing simple things like walking.  I hope that I've been able to provide them all a positive example of the things that can be done when we set our mind to something, though.  I've been incredibly bullheaded about maintaining a rigorous workout schedule, using pilates and P90 (modified when necessary to accommodate said "wonky foot") to maintain flexibility and usage of my foot, as well as losing weight.  I've tried to keep the kids as active as before I was injured so that they don't suffer- even when I'm in excruciating pain.  I've learned to live with a constant pain level of 7-8, as well as the importance of slowing down when my body tells me to.  And I'm doing everything I can to make sure they know that, despite difficulties that seem impossible to overcome, you can always strive to meet and exceed everyone else's expectations to achieve your own goals and dreams.  I've also learned that I'm a lot stronger than I ever gave myself credit for.  I used to pride myself on being physically strong and tough (bruises after tournaments were my physical trophies and just as flaunted as my actual trophies and medals), but I've realized that physical strength and endurance isn't all that matters.  Mental strength and a positive attitude go even further when coupled with indomitable spirit and an unwillingness to quit.  (Indomitable spirit = taekwondo tenant at its best!)  I refuse to give up.  At anything I know is in store for me.  I just have to be patient and steadfast in my knowledge that something way bigger than I can even imagine is waiting just around the corner.  I just have to take care of first things first, and Nate is the person I want by my side.  He is not only my best friend, my confidant, but he is my other half.  Even when we fight (we've gotten really good at that as the kids get older and test our boundaries), we fight knowing that we're still on the same team.  He makes me laugh harder than anyone else on Earth, he infuriates me more than anyone else on Earth, and he makes me smile bigger than anyone else can.  Another "it seems like yesterday" moment is every time I think back to when we first met and I knew he was my person.  I know, I know.  "Love at first sight" sounds cheesy and impossible, and I won't say it was love at first sight.  But it was a knowing at first sight.  He was important and he was going to be even more so in my life in the future.  I just didn't know what role he'd play.  Until we started dating two years later, that is- then I knew.  Everything fell into place within me, and I knew.  So thank you, Nathan, for the best eight and a half years of my life so far.  Thank you for being there for me through everything, for letting me be your person, and for loving me.  I love you!

And now for the wrap up...

The kids are hilarious.  They are my every joy and every headache!  Trace has become quite the chatterbox.  And monkey.  And entertainer.  He is endlessly goofy and always does his silly thing looking out of the corner of his eye for the laugh.  I think he learned that from Rhea.  Just when I thought her personality couldn't be any bigger, she surprises me.  Everything from telling my mom to "Slow down, kiddo!" to asking Nate (at the zoo, while eating lunch next to an African American family) "Hey Dad, what color are we?" to singing to the tune of "Feliz Navidad," "I wanna wish you a Lauren Pittman!" (one of my good friends), and answering my phone to talk to my friend Katie for ten minutes (unbeknownst to me- I was cleaning out a backed up tub drain- or trying to!), she is Miss Personality Plus!  Every day I wake up exhausted from the day before, but excited to see what's up their sleeves for the day.  On the days I do get frustrated with my physical restrictions, I just look at them and think of what I'd be missing if I was still working 40+ hours a week.  Some things that challenge us end up being the biggest gifts.  Thank you, God, for giving me this understanding and for giving me peace when I felt the most anxious.

Okay... it's about that time.  You know?  "That" time where you realize it's time to stop putting off the things you reeeally have to get done?  Yeah... "that" time has come.  Hopefully I'll get to blog it up before next month! But if not, I'll see you in November!  (Whoa- where did 2011 go?!)

Peace!

My 9/11

Well, it's that time of year again... it's an anniversary of "the day of infamy."  Only this year, it's the tenth anniversary and the weight of it is hitting me full force, even moreso than years past.  I think it's because so much has happened while the time has whipped by, and I'm in a completely different place than I was ten years ago.

Ten years ago, I was a junior in high school.  The day had just started, and I was super tired, but strangely awake.  You know that feeling?  I call it hyper-tired.  Anyway, I was heading up the stairs to my second class of the day when a girl I was friends with named Liz came running up to me with this kind of shocked look on her face.  Now, if you knew Liz, you knew that this wasn't standard behavior for her.  She was the kind of pseudo-pessimistic but totally cool girl... looking back, she kind of reminded me of Lisa Loeb in a way.  Similar vibes.  Anyway, I asked what her deal was and she asked me if I'd heard.  "Heard what?" Her response will be forever seared into my mind.  "Dude, we're under attack.  A plane flew into the north tower of the World Trade Center in New York and while the news was showing the hole in the side of the north tower, a plane hit the south tower ON CAMERA."  I don't remember anything after that but running to my class and all of us anxiously awaiting the announcement from our superintendent addressing what was happening on the east coast.  It came about a minute after the final bell rang, and everyone sat shell shocked.  No one said a word, no one moved.  The rest of my classes passed in a blur, up until I got to one of my favorite classes: AP US History with Mr Korfist.  He was super cool and a total straight shooter.  We walked into the room and all the lights were off.  A usually chatty class, we were all trying to figure out what was happening, attempting in our sixteen and seventeen year old minds to make heads or tails of what was unfolding.  He got us all to quiet down, then informed us that we were going to go down to the basement drivers ed classrooms and watch live coverage.  "This, as horrific as it is, is history in the making.  This is your generation's JFK moment."  He was right.  I will forever remember the day that the towers, the Pentagon, and Flight 93 went down and where I was.  In that class, we watched the towers fall live on tv.  In that class, we realized the scope of the events and in that class, devastation began to set in.

On my way to lunch, I saw our police liason, Officer Keller (or Keller as he was known).  He and I had a good rapport, and so I asked him if I could go home.  I just didn't want to be in school, I wanted to be with my family, I was totally freaking out.  He told me that I needed to trust the school and him, and say a prayer for those who were unaccounted for and who were affected directly by what was going on.  The school was on lock down and no one was allowed in or out, no one was allowed to leave, even if their parents called them out, except in extenuating circumstances.  (I found out when I got home that my mom had sat on the phone for over an hour trying to get through to the office, only to be told that she could not come get me and I would not be allowed out of the building until we received confirmation that the city of Chicago was not a target.)  Little did I know at the time that there were about twenty of my fellow students who lost direct family members.  One of them was a boy in my grade who's dad was on staff at my church.  He was on the first plane.


I was supposed to head right from school to work, but I got to work and there was a note on the back doormat that said "Go home Becca.  The company (Starbucks) sent out a memo and had the entire corporation shut down until further notice."  When I got home, I hugged my mom and sobbed my eyes out.  Everything that I'd been seeing all day had been building and once I knew I was in a safe environment, I just fell apart.  I had twin brothers who were ten days old and a little sister who was 2 1/2 and I looked at them, knowing that the world they were going to grow up in was going to be very different from the one I knew up until that morning.

My family home is right in the path of Midway and O'Hare airports, so we constantly have air traffic flying overhead.  The two big-name newspapers are the Chicago Tribune and the Chicago Sun-Times, and they covered everything but always came out in the morning.  On the night of 9/11, two things will forever stick out to me. 1.)  There was no air traffic, the city of Chicago was on blackout and it was eerily dark and silent because of this.  2.)  The Chicago Tribune put out its first ever evening edition, and I remember standing in the driveway with my aunt as the newspaper delivery man drove by, tossing our paper onto the driveway.  As my aunt and I were outside putting American flags up and down our driveway, we happened to look up and see a low-flying military drone aircraft.  The one that kind of looks like a flying tank in the shape of a w?  It was so quiet we almost didn't see/hear it... it was just an out-of-the-blue reminder of what had happened and that our world had changed forever.  When I opened the paper up after getting it out of the bag, the centerfold was filled with various images of people falling out of the buildings.  One of the pictures was of the "falling man."  That image will forever be etched in my mind, as will the others.

I have panic disorder- I've had it for as long as I can remember- and so, after the day's events, there was no way in God's kingdom that I was going to be sleeping in my room all by myself.  I'm okay admitting that as a sixteen year old girl, I was terrified of the dark because of the unknown terrors that were hiding in my mind from watching the television coverage.  So, since my mom was sleeping in the living room with my brothers and recovering from a c-section, and since my dad had to be up for work around 4:30 in the morning, I decided to jump on baby duty.  It gave me a chance to help my mom AND not sleep alone.  Two birds, one stone, that whole thing.

Anyway.  Looking back at 9/11 ten years later, it's easier to reflect on but it's still heartrending.  Every time I learn about someone else who died who was a mother, a father, had children on board the plane or were pregnant, it wrenches my emotional floodgate wide open.  Being a parent myself, I simply cannot imagine knowing that because of the actions of someone else, not only was I going to die and leave my family behind, but thousands of others would too.  I look at my children, even when they're testing the limits of my sanity, and cannot imagine a life without them.  While I know that life without me is going to happen at some point for them (hopefully in the far distant future), I hope it's when I'm 95, a great-great grandma, white-haired, and losing my teeth in my pillowcase. 

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly time flies.  It seems like just yesterday but forever ago all at the same time.  As a country, we've grown stronger as we've grieved, we've rallied behind our troops, even as we've been politically divided.  So, even though 9/11 ripped a hole in our nation's heart, we have come back with a resilience in our hearts and our American spirit has found a way to shine.  We are unbreakable.  Our troops answered the call of duty, and those who had never considered having a military career enlisted to protect this great country we live in.  I will be forever grateful and my heart will always be wide open to those who have fought in any capacity for this country, and I will always be thankful to those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for me, a stranger but an American like them.  So, to those who are still active, thank you for all you do.  I pray for you and your safety every single day.  I pray for your families' strength and courage in your absence.  Finally, I pray for peace of mind, peace of spirit, and peace at heart for everyone affected by the events of September 11th.  Hopefully the next ten years holds more peaceful and healing times ahead.

To the readers out there, please be safe this weekend (as every weekend).  I leave you with a parting thought.  It's so easy to point the finger at those who look like the men who perpetuated the crime.  But the thing is, they're not.  So I urge everyone to remember that we are all American, regardless of where we come from or what we look like.  Let's stand united.

Body Issues

They're part of what being a woman is all about, right?  Today I woke up feeling really bloaty and icky and blase about the day.  I hated my complexion (despite being blemish free), felt like my face was super oily (even after I washed it), and felt like my boobs are ginormo (which they are, but usually I don't feel like they're anchors pulling me to the floor).  You know what I mean?  Those days where, as a woman, you just feel like some kind of urchin of society?  Granted, I hadn't showered yet (huh- still haven't, actually!) and I didn't get some incredible sleep last night (chalk one up to intense leg pain and nightmares from the girlchild), so I guess it would make sense.  But still.  It got me wondering as the day went on (and I felt better), why is it that it's so easy for most women to be completely down on their bodies on any given day?  Is it really human nature, or is it a societal thing?  For me, someone who's always struggled with body image- even when I was a rail thin 125 pounds and 5'8" at 14 years old- I don't think I've ever known what it means to be comfortable in my own skin.  I was recently looking through my high school yearbooks and I ran across a couple full-body shots of me that were taken during choir rehearsals, and I didn't realize how healthy and normal I looked.  I was 150 pounds, had flat, defined abs, and could wear anything I wanted, but for some reason, I remember feeling awkward even then.  And now I find myself wishing that I'd known then what I know now: that I was completely fabulous and had nothing to be self-conscious about in high school.  Or college, for that matter. 

Since my injury, I've been frustrated because I was so used to being able to do hardcore cardio and take weight off really easily.  Now though, I've started tracking caloric intake and doing pilates several times a week for at least 35 minutes a session, and on the days I don't, I find some other way to be as active as my body will let me.  I'm proud to report that I'm up to 90 minutes of walking around at a stretch.  Granted, I have to sit down for at least an hour after being up for 90 minutes, but I'm doing everything I can to push through the pain, both for my own physical well-being and to set a positive example for my highly active children.

Anyway...

I didn't want this to be a woe is me, but if you're a woman and you're reading this, do me a favor.  The next time you feel like crap and you don't like what you see in the mirror, tell yourself that you are beautiful and pick one feature in particular that you really really like.  For me, it's a toss-up between my smile and my eyes.  (My eyes are a pretty cool color if I do say so myself! Thanks Mom!)  Carry that happy feeling when you think of the features you really like about yourself with you throughout the day and let that lift you up.  That's what I did today, and it really turned out to be a great day!  Sure, there were some unpleasant aspects of it (like taking the kids to get lead-tested), but they were champs.  So I figure if they can be such troopers through getting their little fingers pricked and saturating two circles on a paper, then I can be a trooper and think positively about myself, even when I feel like hiding my head in a paper grocery bag and the rest of me in a muumuu.