Dear Hershey

You've got some big paws to fill. I hope you know that. You are attempting to take the place of Hobbes, my first baby, the one who was with me through thick and thin, all my pregnancies, everything. I lost her the day before your sister Kacey was born. And I still miss her ... a lot.

Maybe that's why I kept putting off getting you, saying it wasn't the right time, how nice it was to be able to pick up and leave without making arrangments for a dog. Maybe I wasn't ready to be that vulnerable again.

But I caved. Your dad and sisters and brother talked me into it. And I'm glad I did. You remind me a lot of Hobbes. I love that you've already gotten the hang of snuggling up with me on the bed like Hobbes always did. You're spunky like her, stubborn like her, look like her. Yeah, I think this is going to work out just fine. Welcome to the family.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

By proclamation of Me, I am hearby alerting all who read this blog--or even those who don't, so tell your friends and family--that tomorrow is National "Me" Day.

You see, in my estimation, "me" gets far too little attention these days. I know. I'm spending all day today looking for answers as to why I've been feeling, well, like crap, for the last month or so. Halfway through the day, it occurred to me that it was not O.K. that it had taken me so long to put on the brakes, focus on me and start asking questions. Why is that? Why do we do that?

Well, whatever the reason, it stops tomorrow. Tomorrow is about focusing on our "me"ness. How you choose to honor that is up to you. I am going to treat myself to a big-ass fountain Pepsi, schedule a pedicure, watch whatever TV show I want, cook whatever I want for dinner instead of what my kids will eat, and maybe some other things.

Whatever you decide to do, just do it. Promise me. We deserve it, cause we're awesome.

My Big But

The last few weeks have been a bit rough. The fatigue has been overwhelming--even more so than usual. Every day with this stupid disease is a struggle for me. Days like I've been having make it even more of a struggle. It's very, very easy to hunker down in anger, pity, despair and any other number of moods.

But if there's one thing I've come to learn it's that no matter what mood I throw at my MS it's not going to go away. Being pissed doesn't help. Being sad doesn't help. So I've decided that when I get into those funks to look at the "but." It is my go-to word for when this disease starts to overwhelm me.

For example, every time I feel like this isn't fair, I try to tell myself, "But maybe God allowed this to happen because he knew you were strong enough to handle it and someone else wasn't."

Or, when I get frustated because people just don't "get" it, I try to remember, "But you are surrounded by people who do "get" it. Focus on them."

When my mind starts to wander forward and I worry about things like possibly having to use a wheelchair someday, I stop myself and think, "But then you'll get to jump all the lines at Disney."

O.K., so maybe some of them are a bit far fetched, even though it's hard for my mind not to make those leaps sometimes, but they help keep me in the frame of mind I need to take on this disease day by day.
In short, whenever this disease gets me down, I just try--try being the operative word here--to focus on my big but.

Collateral Damage

As much as I hate having MS, what I hate even more is that everyone around me in some way has it, too. Sure, I'm the one who has to deal with the symptoms and take the shots and have the MRI's, but they're the ones who have to stand by and watch and deal with the fallout of this damn disease. And that makes me feel horrible.

I was reminded of that again this morning. This weekend, the fatigue hit me hard. No matter how much sleep I got, it felt as if I never went to sleep. I should have known this was coming. Too many weeks of doing too much. Too much saying "yes" when I knew I should have said "no." And it came back to bite me in the ass.

And that's where my amazing daughter comes into the picture. Knowing how exhausted I was, she got up at 7:30 with her little sister. She got her dressed, fed her breakfast and kept her occupied. She unloaded and loaded the dishwasher. She matched the socks. She kept her brother and other sister quiet. She let me sleep until 10:30.

She's only 13. She shouldn't have to do that. But she does--all the time, without being asked, without complaining. And it kills me.

When I tell her I'm sorry that she has to deal with this, she simply says, "It's O.K., Mom." But not for me. It will never be O.K. for me. So if you see my little girl, who is so not little in her actions, give her a hug. She deserves it.