What a crazy month September was! Actually, if I’m being honest and totally transparent the past 5 months of my life have been a bit on the crazy side; wild (and I’m not talking wild in a good way!).  My husband and I have labeled this past summer the “Summer of Pain”; present with heaps of physical and emotional pain.  I’m pretty sure I’m being prepped to handle prisoner of war type of pain and torture, let’s hope not, but going with the attitude of “you can never be TOO prepared”.  On May 13th I had surgery number 7 (in three years)! I had to have my latissimus dorsi (a large, triangular back muscle) and a 2″x 6″ section of skin from the right side of my back removed (complete with it’s blood supply) and grafted to my right pectoral region (front chest).  It was by far my most difficult surgery.  Difficult in almost every aspect – mental prep, physical and mental recovery, pain management, chest drains x 4 with staggered removal, 207 staples – yeah that’s A LOT of hardware, even for a veteran chest surgery patient; I think you get the picture.  It was crazy hard.  There was a lot of crying in the closet (my go-to area when I really need to emotionally deal with my life, which, by the way, I want to point out – I need a bigger closet… I’m starting to feel claustrophobic in mine).  The lack of sleep I was getting paired with the constant physical pain I was in really broke me. My courage, strength, toughness and general bad assery that my friends claim are trademark “Britanie” characteristics were scarce (almost MIA) over the summer months. I think they took their own summer vacation!  To add to the crazy, every 2 weeks, starting in early June, I had to go for painful injections.  The pain these injections caused would last about 10 days and then it was time for another round.  My last set of injections were completed on September 6th and I cannot begin to express how glad I am to be done with them!!

Summer happens to be one of my favorite seasons (fall is my other favorite season).  This summer, despite all of it’s difficulty and heartache, seemed to fly by.  We had some firsts (i.e. Jake went to his first overnight camp…yep I cried.  I didn’t even make it to my closet; we drove cross country with Chloe… a few favorite quotes from this crazy adventure – “Teamwork makes the dreamwork!”- mantra we repeated every time we had to unload/reload Chloe and all of her equipment/supplies;  “Hammer down ghost rider!” – encouraging words from a brother;  “It was like Dante’s inferno and the 9 stages of hell!” – my husband’s response when asked how the trip was; camping with cousins at a local provincial park with beach access) and we had some lasts (i.e. “We will NEVER, EVER attempt to drive cross country with Chloe again!” – Kevin Summerhays’ take away from our family adventure; I wrote my final exam and last research paper for a BaSc degree in Public Health).  I’m not sure what is more difficult: the first times or the last times.  Both are bitter sweet to me.

Then we crashed (ungracefully) right into back to school and fall season (transition was more like a skid mark than the smooth, calm, organized that we all strive for). I struggle with the back to school month of September.  I’m emotional because my children are starting new years in school and growing older…growing up.  With each passing year they need me less; my time on the sidelines is increasing.  I know that is a great thing but it is this mom’s double-edged sword.  I struggle to let go even though I know it’s a good thing that they are handling more and becoming more independent.  I struggle to balance just the right dose of help, encouragement, discipline, flexibility, kisses/hugs (which I believe you can NEVER over do) and all the things that are required of me to grow my little humans into positive, value-contributing members of the community in which we live.  I pray every day that my husband and I are giving Jake and Chloe the tools to be lights in the darkness; to find their inner strong and survive.  I don’t want to get to the end, to the parenting “last” and realize my efforts resulted in epic failure.  I think  most parents would agree that is a huge (if not the biggest) fear we are faced with.

I painted a picture of my wild and crazy summer for a reason.  Most people, including those in my inner circle, really have no idea what I have gone through in the past 9 years (our biggest challenge was born nine years ago on Tuesday of next week), let alone 5 months.  I know this is my fault as I am a closet dweller when the mountains arise in my life.  I ask this question to many, “What do you actually know about those you are closest to?” As a culture, we aren’t naturally transparent; in a way we are all closet dwellers.  We hide behind masks and pretend everything is all good, all the time.  I feel, regardless of whether we know what the other person is going through or not, we are called to be more kind; more compassionate; encouragers of love, joy and peace.  We live in a culture that is hyper-critical and super judgemental and women are the worst (or best depending on perspective) for pecking out each other’s eyeballs!  We’re all trying to appear as though we have it all together.  I notice this more once school resumes.  I see moms who have every piece of hair perfectly coifed, make up beautifully applied and wearing a cute (matchy and perfectly accessorized) outfit at morning drop off (and good for you, by the way, I’m so glad you have the time and energy for those morning preparations).  Then there’s me: at least one cheerio in my hair (sometimes a whole colony of cheerios camping like hippies amongst the weedy strands of my hair), an outfit representing at least 3 colors from the ROY G BIV color wheel, and sweaties (because what outfit wouldn’t be complete without sweatpants!).  I feel defeated and a bit ashamed when I see me vs. the vogue mom, but then I look at where I have come from and realize I’m still winning, just in a very different way.  Most nights I have been up at midnight, 2 and 4 but I still get up to make hot breakfast with my kids, pack lunches and sing the Summerhays good morning song (it’s something you need to see to believe people…singing in the morning when you aren’t a morning person – that alone is a miracle!).  Despite not being a morning momma, I love early morning cuddles and squishy, wrinkled skin on my kids faces from a hard night of sleeping.  These are the moments that I cherish (and hope I’m leaving them with lasting memories of a mom who loved with all her heart).  So while we don’t have it all together all the time (not even close) and some of us do have it more together we need to cheer each other on.  We all have cracks under the surface, some close to fracturing.  Take the time to smile, regardless of the outward appearance mom category you are in.  Be kind to one another.  Ask how another person is doing with intentions of really caring not just to provide small talk (and don’t judge a book by its cover…just because someone appears well put together you never know the battle they could be having or the hurt they are trying to overcome underneath the surface).  Be encouraging to one another; be a blessing not a curse!

The past five months (for me, for us) have been filled with a healthy dose of bitter plus a healthy dose of sweet, a lot of encouraging love from my husband and a few close friends, some deep contemplations about giving up, and a lot of determination to survive this crazy season.  Be that one person’s reason to fight on!

 

 

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