Bring Home Some Mud

I wish we’d brought swim suits, I thought to myself. Our little boys, their pants hiked up to their knees, were wading in the water.

“Let’s let them dip their toes in,” I had said to Andy just moments earlier.

“Sure, you’re all wearing sandals,” Andy said to me as I was already slipping said sandals off of my feet. Andy took Elijah for a walk along the river. And while I wished for him to dip his toes in too, he gets cold so easily and wouldn’t have enjoyed it.

Why didn’t we plan better? My inner narrative spoke as I watched the boys play. I really wish we had swimsuits.

The boys grabbed rocks and threw them in the water, watching them splash. They kicked the waves. I slowly walked through the water, feeling the sand under my feet. The summer sun was shining high in the sky, making us squint.

All the while my inner narrative kept repeating:

Why didn’t you plan better?
You should’ve brought suits so that they could actually swim. 
Ugh, why don’t we have any suits?

Meanwhile, the boys dug in the sand, pretending to be dogs. They were getting dirty. And, yes, a bit wet. And so as I stood there soaking up the last moments of summer, I told my inner narrative to shut up.

And we played and we splashed and we made memories.

Sometimes you just need bring home some mud on your pants.

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Eleven

Wooo-eeee. Eleven.

Our biggest little is 11 years old. I don't know how that is possible.

The past year has been a challenging one...

Trying to control Elijah's seizures, dealing with behaviors, living life in general.

But, currently? Life is feeling pretty great.

Elijah's had food allergies since he was 8 months old. Over the years, more allergies were added to the list (including dairy, egg, peanut, tree nuts, garlic and onion). But, a couple of weeks ago, we had some more allergy testing done. All of his allergens are now testing negative! He'll be having a peanut challenge at the clinic in November. We've added dairy into his diet and started eggs, too. It feels invigorating to be able to feed Elijah more foods.

(As a side note, both brothers have also have/had allergies. Oliver had a peanut allergy, which he has now outgrown. Theo also has allergies that we hope he also outgrows).

Elijah hasn't had a seizure in several months, which is obviously a relief. We've settled into a new normal where seizures don't consume our constant thoughts. We hope and pray that this continues.

Elijah has been super sweet lately. He likes to clap his hands and loves when we clap with him. He gives hugs, albeit rough-running-into-you-at-full-speed ones (we're working on that). He likes to get into trouble to get attention.

Basically life is pretty awesome. Challenging, yes. But awesome.

We're so thankful for our eleven-year-old.

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Add It To The List: Epilepsy

Elijah has epilepsy.

I don't want to write that sentence, but: there, I said it.

We always knew this day might come, always knew that the s-word (seizures) might once again make an uninvited appearance at our party.

Elijah had seizures after his birth, for two days straight. His little foot and hand, twitching rhythmically.  I was at another hospital - recovering - as Andy sat and watched the monitors blip as our new little baby struggled with the after effects of his birth - Elijah's brain cells dying due to the oxygen deprivation.

Andy, calling me on the phone, crying: "the seizures just won't stop." And me, in my ever naive optimism and separation from the situation: "Andy. It's going to me okay."

Elijah was in a phenobarbital induced coma for his first week and on seizure meds for his first four months.

Elijah, four months

And then we were able to wean him off of the meds. And he's been seizure free for 9 years. Seizures have always been on the back of our mind, but we got more comfortable with time. It didn't consume our thoughts like it once did. We hoped they wouldn't visit again. We were told that every day that passed without seizures, the better the chances that they wouldn't happen again. But, that since Elijah had them once, he'd always be at more risk.

November 2016
Elijah had a seizure right before he got on the bus. It lasted less than a minute (probably a 30 second eternity), but it scared us.

We visited Elijah's neurologist and he gave us two options: medicate or don't medicate. He said it was really up to us. Since it was just one seizure (they consider the birth seizures a different entity), they don't usually recommend medicating. But, if it made us more comfortable, we could start him on seizure meds.

We chose not to medicate.

April 2017
We got a call from Elijah's school. He had a seizure that lasted just under five minutes. Andy and I both rushed to the school from our separate locations. Elijah was awake and acting like himself by the time we got there.

We took him home and contacted our neurologist (seizures don't always constitute an emergency room visit if they've stopped and you have a plan in place). I played t-ball in the yard with Elijah. We had supper. And then Elijah had another seizure, his eyes fixed to the right and pulsating, his body rigid.

We were given two options again: Go pick up meds from our local pharmacy and start him on meds. Or take him in to the hospital to be monitored.

Elijah spent that night in the hospital.

We got into a new normal. The seizures hadn't seemed to bother Elijah.

Elijah and dad, 2017

September 2017
I was sitting in the parking lot of a grocery store ready to tackle my list, when I got a call telling me that Elijah was okay, but that he had another seizure, that it was over five minutes and the paramedics were on their way. I rushed to Elijah's school. Let me tell you this: Nothing can prepare you for pulling up to your child's school, seeing an ambulance, and knowing that ambulance is there for your child.

Nothing.

The somber looks on the school secretaries faces, the principal and everyone I met in the hall was sobering. Elijah was surrounded by his support staff, paramedics, and a police officer when I stepped into his classroom. And I cried. They were all so kind. It was just too much for a mama's heart to take.

Elijah and mom, 2018

Sunday Morning
I went to get Elijah out of bed. He sat in his bed for a couple of minutes before standing up, which isn't unusual. So, in my tired state, I sat down too and closed my eyes. And then I heard Elijah swallowing audibly. I glanced over and sure enough: another seizure. Sitting up in his bed, swallowing over and over, his eyes fixed to the right.

Elijah has been sick for the past week and that has probably lowered his seizure threshold.

And now it's been over a year that the S-word came to be a part of our lives. We're in a place where it doesn't consume our constant thoughts all of the time. It'll always be a worry, but it's just a part of Elijah's story.

It's just one more diagnosis to add to the list.

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Double Digits

It’s become somewhat of a tradition for me to write one blog post a year, on Elijah’s birthday.

So here we are. Hi.

Ten years have passed since Andy and I became parents, ten years since we were thrown into the deep end of parenting without swimming lessons or a floatation device.

I feel like we’re swimming now, even if it means treading water at times.

Elijah, despite difficulties and setbacks, is thriving. He loves his family, school, and his life. His smile is still the widest and greatest smile in the entire world. He’s persistent and patient and loveable. He’s frustrating and instigating and funny.

I find that Elijah is constantly finding new ways to challenge us and keep us on our toes. Just when I think our home is safe – or Elijah-proof – he finds new ways to turn our hair gray. Climbing on top of our shelves, jumping from coffee table to couch, breaking our safety gate, or climbing on the outside of our stair railing. 

Elijah is an important member of our family, our beloved firstborn. How is it possible that a decade has flown by us? And where will the next ten years bring us? I honestly hope it brings us a bit more peace and a smidge more quiet. But, with three boys under our roof, I won’t be holding my breath. I hope it brings us time together to grow as a family; I hope we forge another decade of wonderful memories.  

Thanks for making us parents, Ligee-Lou. Welcome to the double digits, big boy.

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Halfway to Adulthood

Elijah is nine today.* NINE!**

*Apparently I only write blog posts on Elijah's birthday.

**No, I am not shouting no at you in German. Although, I kind of want to. NEIN!

Nine is halfway to adulthood, you guys. We do this one more time and then BAM, Elijah is a full grown man. I'm not ready for halfway to adulthood. And, yet, here we are.

So perhaps it's fitting that his age is no in another language. No, no, no. Nein, nein, nein. Don't grow up just yet. Stay little just a bit longer. 

"He's halfway to adulthood," I said to Andy earlier this week and about lost my mind. It's hard to think of adulthood and all that it entails. Applying for guardianship. Elijah's size and him being bigger than me. And there I go, getting ahead of myself.

Perhaps that's what's so hard about Elijah's birthday. It's this place in-between the past and the future. It's the memory of the day we almost lost him. Past. It's the thought of what is to come. Future. This is the day he was hurt and altered. Past. Every year that passes puts him further behind his peers. Future.

Elijah's birthday is a reminder to live in the present. In the today. I don't want to remember the bad times, the NICU, the seizures. I don't want to worry about the future. I want to live in today. A lesson that's valuable and important on every day. Today is what matters. Today we were surrounded by family who love Elijah and his brothers and parents. Today we have a nine-year-old who is alive and well. Who loves life. Who has the most infectious smile. Who isn't defined by his past or his future. He's just Elijah. And he's awesome.

---

18 
We love you, little (ahem, BIG) dude. Can't wait to see what your next year of living in the present will bring. You, my boy, are a study in living in the present. We could learn a thing or two from you. xoxo, Mom

---

Oh, hey, God's Word says something about it, too...
Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. -Isaiah 43:18
Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. -Matthew 6:34

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Dear Elijah,

You're kind of awesome. But, you already know that.

You've had a raw deal, my little dude. Starting out life with a significant brain injury is a rough place to start. The thing is, though, you've got this thing. Slow and steady wins the race, they say. And you, my boy, just keep on keeping on.

I've never met someone as persistent as you, Elijah. It's both awesome (because you keep going) and terrible (because redirecting you is tough). But, really, never giving up is probably the best thing about you. You don't take no as an answer (that one's tough on your mama and dada), but your determination is inspiring (even if it means you're determined to climb on the dining room table).

You had your parents all to yourself for a long time, didn't you? And then we brought some other little creatures into your life. Just like any big brother, you find your little brothers annoying and obnoxious. But, you love them indeed, don't you? They give you someone to pick on and something more entertaining to watch than your boring parents. Right? You do love them, my boy. They'll be the ones who look out for you and simultaneously drive you crazy... it's just the nature of siblings.

I'm always amazed at how your moods affect me. It's impossible to be sad when you're happy. And it's impossible to be happy when you're sad. Your joy is so infectious. Well, except for this one exception: when you laugh maniacally over breaking something or pushing a brother. Thats just mean, dude.

That smile, though. You probably have the best smile in the entire world.

If only I could live in your body for just one day. I ache to know what it would be like to be you. You experience life differently, that's for sure.

You are the only one who is you and that's pretty incredible.

We love you Elijah James, our sweet little Ligee-Lou.

You're pretty awesome. I'm quite certain you already know that. Just don't let it go to your head, okay?

Love you,
Mommy

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Missed Opportunities

Our two big boys

“More God,” Oliver says as we sit eating lunch together.

“You want me to teach you more about God?,” I ask.

“Uh-huh,” he says, chewing on his sunbutter and jelly sandwich, his eyes wide and expectant.

Moments earlier, Oliver had told me he was sick, his hand clasped over his mouth. “Oliver needa bucket,” he said, his voiced strained.

“You don’t need a bucket,” I replied. “It’s time to eat lunch. Have you ever heard of the story The Boy Who Cried Wolf?”

We’re in the midst of the “Oliver do me-self” stage. We say one thing; he says the opposite. We tell him to do something and he finds a million things to delay his fate. And, he lies sometimes…a developmental (albeit sad) milestone.

Thus led to a conversation about lying as he finally sat down in his chair to eat lunch. “We don’t lie Oliver. God tells us not to and it’s not nice. What if mom told you she was going to buy you a new toy and then she never did buy you that toy? That would be a lie. You wouldn’t like that,” I said, trying to think of an example on the fly. “You shouldn’t tell me you’re sick if you really aren’t sick.”

“Uh-huh,” Oliver says, scrunching his face. And after a short pause: “More God?”

We sit and I explain more of the Ten Commandments, highlighting the ones that apply to him the most right now in his two year old life. No stealing, honoring your parents, remembering the Sabbath Day. I realize that part of the reason he’s asking so many questions is because he’s trying to delay the nap that inevitably comes after lunch.

And as Oliver and I sit in conversation, I think about our sweet eldest son, Elijah, and all the missed opportunities he’s had. I think about the questions he hasn’t been able to ask and the answers I didn’t think to give him. I think about the lies he hasn’t been able to tell and the missed opportunity to learn as a result. The guilt, oh, the guilt.

I wish Elijah could ask me a million annoying questions and I could exasperatedly answer him. How much of his disability is simply a result of missed opportunities: things he wasn’t able to see, textures he wasn’t able to touch, and questions he wasn’t able to ask?

More help, God. I can’t do this parenting thing on my own.

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As It Gets Harder, It Gets Easier

I wrote the following two weeks ago and never hit publish. I don't know why, I think I got distracted and I'm not sure my head is attached to my body these days. Even still, it all rings true...

---

As it gets harder, it almost gets easier.

My memory of a life without kids is distant and so far away. I remember the days of sleeping for twelve hours in a row and watching TV more than I should, but the young gal who did such things seems like a person I do not know. It seems like I've lived in this pattern of sleep and no sleep and wiping and fixing and helping and cooking and serving for an eternity.

And in some ways, it makes it easier.

I've been here before. I've done this a few times. I'm confident in caring for a baby and it doesn't seem hard, but rather nostalgic in some strange way. And, so, while it can feel like there are a lot of children at my house - when really there's only three - it's somehow getting easier while simultaneously getting harder. I'm pulled in so many different directions that it seems like there could be ten children living here and it wouldn't be any harder than it is now (okay, scratch that. I just imagined ten kids in my house and my head almost exploded).

The confidence that comes from being a somewhat-seasoned parent is calming and comforting. I've been at this thing for almost eight years and I have no idea how that even happened. I blinked and the time is gone. Perhaps that is what makes it easier - the realization that this all happens so, so fast. Sure, there are hard days, but soon a new day will come. And that day might be hard too, but it will be hard in a different way and things are never boring.

Just when you think you've got things figured out, you don't. 

And, so, I sit here and try to enjoy it all. Sure, my to-do list is the same list that I had sitting on my counter two weeks ago. Yes, I kind of feel like I'm running a marathon on a treadmill every single day. And it's hard.

But as it gets harder, it somehow gets easier. Perhaps because I cannot remember what easy looks like. And, really, I wouldn't have it any other way.

---

And that do-to list? Yep, still the same one. Things added, things crossed off.

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Outnumbered

This week marks our return to our new normal. Elijah is back to school after winter break, Andy is back to work and my mom (who had helped us for a few weeks) is back home. So, this is my new life...

Monday:
The younger kids are sleeping and Elijah is at school.

I'm truly alone for the first time in several months (because any woman who's ever been pregnant knows that you're never alone when you're carrying a child in your womb).

It's weird, this quiet that envelops the house. The only sound is the thumping of the washing machine, our fish tank, and the occasional squeaks from our new baby sleeping in his bouncy chair.

Oh wait... I'm not really alone, am I? Whatever, it's quiet and that's something.

Tuesday:
I just found out that Elijah's school is cancelled tomorrow because of windchill, which means I will have a seven-year-old with special needs, a two-year-old who's trying to figure out how he fits in this new family, and a newborn to care for on my own. Three kids. How in the world are we going to survive?

Wednesday:
Andy is working from home (in our basement), so if the kids try to kill me he will hear and come to my rescue. At least I hope so.

Andy helps me with lunch (oh how thankful I am for that man).

In the afternoon, Oliver naps and Theo is snuggled to my chest in his baby carrier. I ask Elijah if he wants to help me do laundry. He shakes his head no. I ask if he wants to do the dishes and he emphatically shakes his entire body in a head nod. I gleam with pride as that was an obvious yes and no, something that doesn't always happen with Elijah accurately.

We do the dishes.

And then... (sorry Elijah) the laundry.

Thursday:
There are two baskets of laundry to be folded, more that needs to be washed, and I have no idea what we're going to eat for supper.

But, there's quiet in my house again. Oliver is napping, Elijah is at school and a fussy Theo is finally asleep on my chest. The snow is falling gently out my window and I'm pretty sure I have the best life ever.

After Elijah comes home from school, Elijah (with the help of his PCA - personal care assistant) and Oliver sit at the table and finger paint. I hold Theo and squeeze paint onto Oliver's plate.

"This dolphin. This fish. This dog," Oliver says to me, pointing out globs of paint on his paper. Elijah grabs his paint globs and tries to throw them on the floor. His smile gleams under the paint on his face.

Friday:
Oliver is sitting in my lap while I fold laundry. It's become ever so apparent that he's feeling insecure about his lost status of littlest in the family. Still, he's really grown into his big brother role. He tells me to help Theo when he cries, gives the baby kisses all the time, and puts his hand on his baby brother's cheek and whispers, "sweetie pie."

I melt.

I finish writing this while my youngest two boys sleep and try not to feel guilty for not doing other things.

---

This is our new normal. Apparently our life revolves around laundry.

We're outnumbered now and it's exhausting. I feel like we're running in circles just to keep afloat. It's also completely and totally awesome.

Now I'm off...to fold a basket of laundry.

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Family of Five

On Friday, December 5th, 2014, we welcomed the fifth member of our family.

He arrived at 8:09 am and weighed 8 pounds and 11 ounces. He was 21.5 inches long, the exact same length as both of his older brothers at their births.

We named our little sweetie Theodore Jude. Theodore means God's gift and Jude means praise. We plan on calling the little guy Theo for short.

They let me do skin to skin in the OR, which isn't something I was expecting at all. I didn't have to be separated from my little Theo. It was heavenly.

It was definitely the most peaceful I've ever felt during one of my births. I felt so calm, so serene. Scared, yes, as it's still a surgery, but it was a beautiful experience. Thank you so much for all of your thoughts and prayers. I could feel them.

This little guy is already such a blessing, a gift from God indeed. It will be neat to watch him grow and develop his own place in our family of five.

Big brothers aren't quite sure what to think of their little brother just yet. It'll certainly be an adjustment to share their parents, but I'm already imagining the trouble the three of them will be getting into together. It makes me smile and cringe and smile some more. It feels marvelous to be a family of five.

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This Week

I'm having a baby this week.

A planned c-section is kind of like an eviction date. We're kicking you out, little buckeroo. 

Now, I'm a glass half full kind of gal, but let's face it... I have a complicated relationship with birth. Having your firstborn almost die and watching him live with the lifelong consequences of a birth gone wrong is tough. I don't hear the word "birth" and think sunshine and roses. I wish that I did. But, for someone like me (or Andy), I don't think that will ever be possible. I can rejoice in the beauty of a child's entry into this world, but I'll never be able to see birth the same as I did eight years ago. I can't, not after what we've been through. Our naivety is gone.

And it's okay. My births look different than I once thought they would. This week I'm giving birth for the third time via surgery and it's going to be beautiful.

That doesn't mean I don't have some residual fears and anxiety. I try so hard not to remember Elijah's birth, but facing another birth soon brings back old scars and wounds. The trauma of a difficult birth will never fully leave us, but having had a positive, happy birth with Oliver helps tremendously. I know what a happy birthing experience should be like and that softens hard memories.

And so, I try to push out the past as I focus on our amazing future ahead of us. Soon we will be parents to three little boys. God is so, so good. I know He's looking out for us.

Prayers for an uneventful birth, fast recovery, and health for our newest little boy would be greatly appreciated. He'll be here early Friday morning. I'll keep you all posted.

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Three!

Oh, poor little neglected blog. There is so much you don't know. So many things that have happened in the past several months that haven't been written here in Elijahland. So many changes occurring.

First, there's this:

Yep, our little family is expanding to five - soon, in fact.  December is approaching quickly: 

Soon, we'll have our hands even more full. Oh boy!

These two awesome sons of ours are going to be big brothers to one awesome little bro. 

We're thrilled - and busy with all that life entails. Something tells me things aren't going to be slowing down any time soon. I am totally and completely okay with that. Life is crazy, but it sure is fun. We already love our three boys. 

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First

Today was our firstborn's first day of first grade.

Little brother, Oliver, wanted to be in pictures too, so he got to help hold Elijah's sign.

Oliver wanted to go to school with his big brother. "Oliver school, too," he kept telling me.

I felt nervous today and on edge. It's hard to send your kid to school and trust those who take care of him (especially since he can't tell us what he thinks or feels or how his day went). The first day of first grade was so much easier than the first day of kindergarten, however, and we're pleased that Elijah has the same paras as last year. He's known at his school and they care about him. That means so much.

And, it helps that Elijah LOVES school. He waved goodbye to me before he got out of the van this morning and practically pulled his para into the building.

When Elijah got home, he was all smiles and full of joy and affection. Elijah doesn't usually make all that much noise, but at supper he was babbling so much it was like he was telling us about his day. Oh, how I yearn to be able to understand what he's saying, to get inside that head of his. He's been more verbal lately and we have renewed hope for the development of speech.

It doesn't take words, however, to know that he had a really amazing first day of school. Can't wait to see the changes this year will bring.

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Alive (and Well)

I never intended to take such a long break from blogging (sorry about that).

The last several months have been super busy.

We've been living life to the fullest.

Swimming, camping, fishing and the Fourth of July = lots of summer fun. 

It's a good life.

I have lots of updates, my dear readers (are you still here?).

But, that'll have to wait until the next time.

In the meantime, I wanted to let you all know we are still alive (and well).

And having lots of fun while we're at it. 

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Not a New Debate

When I was a kid, my mom worked for our local devision of The Arc - an organization that advocates for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities. She still works there, actually. As a result, I was around people with disabilities a lot as a kid. I have such fond memories.

Back then, the medical diagnosis was mental retardation (and, yes, this sentence makes me feel really old). These days, if you're not aware, the correct diagnostic term is intellectual disabilities. Mental retardation is an outdated term.

I still remember my mom coming home from work one day and talking about the debate to change verbiage. I remember the conversations we had then about how it wasn't just about the words used, but the attitudes behind it. We talked about how people would find a way to demean and abuse whatever was the new medical diagnosis.

Which brings me to the word retard, a word I have a hard time even typing. It's a demeaning word, something that has been twisted and contorted over time to mean something cruel. It's a word - derived from a medical diagnosis - that was so misused over time that the medical diagnosis itself needed to be changed. Just think about that for a moment. And yet, everyone knows what group of people the word retard is referring to. And everyone knows it's not nice. Whenever the r-word escapes your mouth, you are - intentional or not - making fun of people with intellectual disabilities.

It's disrespectful.
It hurts.
It's not funny.
It makes you sound uninformed and unkind.

As someone who enjoys writing, words matter to me. I implore you to examine the words you use. If the r-word is part of your vocabulary, consider trying to come up with something better. Not only that, examine how you think and feel about people with disabilities. Do you consider them with love and respect? What we say about each other matters.

This isn't a new debate. It is something I've been hearing about my entire life. But, there isn't a debate about this: a whole lot of people are hurt by the r-word.

Don't say it.

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Tomorrow is Spread the Word to End the Word Day.

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A Sweet Memory

I had a memory a few weeks ago. I'm finally taking the time to write it down...

Fairytales do come true - sometimes with baby legs in the face

Andy and I were at a department store. Except this wasn't any normal shopping trip. We were on our way to visit our sweet little Elijah in the NICU. I needed to pick up a few things for my ever changing new mom body. If you must know, I was in dire need of nursing bras. If I hadn't needed something so important, we wouldn't have been shopping instead of visiting our son.

I quickly grabbed a couple of things and longingly looked at the baby clothes as we walked by the infant department on the way out of the store. My hand rested on a blue and white outfit, allowing myself to feel the softness of the fabric between my fingers. I dreamed about dressing our baby boy and taking him home.

Standing there, I recalled months earlier when we'd been in the same store and I saw some cute infant clothes.
"Andy, look at these," I gushed at outfits that were tiny and pastel.
Andy nodded, but didn't admire the cuteness as I did.
"Yep, that one outfit is 20 dollars, Lisa. And the baby will wear it for how long? A month?"
"I wasn't saying we should buy them," I replied. "I was just admiring them. They're soooo cute."
On that day, we left without buying anything for our baby-to-be.

But, on the day we took a detour to on our way to visit our son in the NICU, I held the blue outfit - and all of my dreams - in my hands. Andy took the outfit and it's matching blanket off the rack and out of my hands without a word. He looked at me and I looked at him and we knew each other's thoughts. We were going to buy this outfit for our son. And we did. Then we drove to see our sweet baby and dreamed of the day when he would get to wear it.

Elijah did eventually wear the outfit - probably a total of two times.

It was worth every full-priced penny.

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Writing More

I only wrote 13 posts last year. Thirteen. That's only one a month and it bums me out. Back in 2009, I wrote 114 posts. Those were the days.

It bums me out because I am a writer and I should be writing more.

I write constantly in my head, probably several times a day. I wrote an entire post in my head tonight while making supper - except it's kind of hard to get those thoughts out onto a keyboard when your hands are covered in chicken. Now I have no idea what I was thinking/writing. I write posts often in the shower - except my computer can't get wet and the words fall from my brain and get washed down the drain.

I miss it, though... the sharing that takes place when I make the time to write, when I connect with others through words. Part of me wishes that I could connect a cord to my brain so that these posts I write in my brain would be shared here. Except, no, I don't really wish that. That, my friends, is something out of 1984 and I want no part of it. So, being a writer means I need to get myself to my computer more often. Being a writer means admitting that I am a writer, whether or not I've ever been published. Being a writer means realizing that most people probably don't constantly write essays in their head. I am a writer, even if it's sometimes hard for me to admit it.

It's 2014 and I'm not off to a great start. I should be writing. Not just writing, but writing more.

Someone glue me to my keyboard. Or something.

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Time Flies When You're Having Fun

January

February

March

 April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

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