punches with the rollin’

Holy smokes, time flies. Life is crazy busy. Luckily, kids are unfazed by our [sometimes] fanatical schedules. They roll with the punches. They feel the joy in life’s journey. They’re content, happy little buggers. I’m learning, from my kids, how important these traits are. They’re always important, but especially now as I prepare for a health snag this fall.

I have two brain aneurysms. Five years ago, they repaired the larger one by filling it with tiny platinum coils. We were told then, there was a 10% chance the coils would compress and further treatment would be needed, but that typically occurs within the first couple of years. After a routine angio-gram in June, five years post-surgery, I found out I was in that lucky 10%. I should play the lottery!

I’ll need a craniotomy [ish, I hate even saying it]. It is not an emergency. We opted to wait until September, when the kids are back in school with more scheduled and routine days, surrounded by the love and prayers of their classmates and teachers. I can’t bear to take their carefree summer away from them. So, we roll…

I have lived so fully these last five years, running a handful of marathons and gobs of other road races, participating in a triathlon, and having another baby. I am sad and shocked. Hopeful and grateful. Scared and weepy. And…trying to roll with the punches.

Truth be told, rolling with the punches is hard for adults. And, I’m a big baby. A cry baby. It’s true. I’m easily moved to tears. Star Spangled Banner. Sniff. Church choir [especially the male choir]. Snivel. Watching my son play baseball. Sob. Watching someone else’s son connect with the ball, turn to his mom, before running, to celebrate with a tooth-gaping grin. Snort. Hearing our eight-year-old daughter, Quinn, exclaim that she “feels like a million bucks,” after finally being invited to play with the girls down the street. Blubber. deb uglem age 38 moorhead stay-at-home mom married mom of 15 and 14 year old twin sons and 12 year old daughter

I’ve been told that crying is a gift… I’m really gifted. On the flip side, I like to laugh, too, especially at myself, which fortunately happens routinely, to balance the tears. I had to laugh at myself, last week, as I replayed our morning, rushing off to my son’s baseball game. Any parent knows, just preparing to leave the house is a task in itself. After changing the baby’s overnight, soggy diaper and wrestling her [literally] into a cute, girly, non-baseball-game-wearing sundress, throwing all three kids in the car, and gingerly speeding through construction, careful not to bump any of the unsuspecting, friendly, sign-holding workers off the road, while rushing from point A to B, I was sweating. Here’s the funny part…I forgot the baby hadn’t eaten breakfast. Not a problem. I have an entire row of Ritz Crackers in my diaper bag, for such emergencies. They weren’t just any crackers: they were multi-grain. I felt [somewhat] better. Mind you, both Quinn and Patrick got warm breakfasts with a protein, a multi-grain and a fruit, when they were Harper’s age. There she sat, with her beautiful sundress draped over the earth, eating her multi-grain breakfast: dirt and Ritz crackers. For just a moment, I felt bad for her, but then I giggled. She’s so fine. She was rolling with the punches and enjoying the game.

In this world of rushing and dashing, a little part of me thinks, “rats, there’s so much time before my surgery.” Time to think. Time to cry. Time to plan. Time to consult. Time to sob. Time to re-think. Time to digest. Time to wring my hands. Time to fret.

Our kids are older. They were babies, five years ago. Things will be much different for them this time. They’ll understand the seriousness of this surgery. They’ll see the scar and remember my shaved head. They’ll ask questions that I know I’ll have to answer. My recovery will be much longer and tougher, for all of us.

I’m not brave. I’m scared. But, I can’t sit and wait to feel brave. The only way to develop courage is to act brave, until I feel brave.

So, with my [pretend] brave face, I watch my babies, and I think, “Alleluia! I have time!” Time to pray. Time to go on long bike rides and picnics with the kids. Time to blare funky music and dance, as a family, in our living room [we’ve got quite the moves]. Time to cuddle. Time to thank God for time to spend with our families. Time to dream BIG. Time for “I love you’s.” Time to tell Drew how lucky I feel that he chose me. Time to map out our crazy, busy future. And, time to write this article to tell my kids how precious they are, and how complete and important they make me feel, and how neat and complex I think each one of them are.

So, whether you’re preparing for a baseball game or a craniotomy, roll with the punches and find the joy in life’s journey.

Kathleen Wrigley is a Philadelphia native, wife to Drew, and mother of three, Quinn, Patrick and Harper, Kathleen is a full-time stay-athome mom who dutifully volunteers. She serves on several community boards & committees, is active in her church, kids’ school, and politics, and runs to sustain her own mental health! Before children, she was Director for Bismarck’s Child Advocacy Center and was a former speech writer.

To read Kathleen’s story from the OTMOM Fall 2008 issue, visit www.onthemindsofmoms.com and go to Past Issues.