I was about 23.

It was a cold night. Below zero. The homeless shelter I worked at was over capacity, we couldn’t accept any more people.

My heart ached. What a failed system. How was this helping?

He was disheveled. Intoxicated. He had a smile I’ll never forget. I had to tell him we were over capacity. I scolded him for not coming in sooner. I offered to get him a cab to somewhere. There was nowhere, really, he told me. He had been kicked out of the other shelter, he didn’t have anywhere.

I took two of our dismal grey blankets. He wrapped them around himself and went to sit on the bench outside. After several minutes, I bundled myself up.

I went outside. And I sat while he slept.

I checked his breathing all night and woke him every hour to come inside and warm up.

That one night? He never forgot. He would thank me everytime he saw me while I was at work, or around town. He came in early every night the rest of the winter, to make sure he had a spot. The city opened an overflow shelter so we didn’t have to turn people away.

I never forgot that night either, and whenever I’m stuck on a selfish feeling I remember it. I snuggle in closer to my husband and remember that one night.

Pastel walls.
Outdated magazines.
A quiet, powerful energy of fear.
Tick.
Tock.
Buzzing of telephones.
Quiet murmuring of receptionists.
Glass windows.
Tick.
Tock.
Fumble with a book.
Listen to music.
Wonder about why she is here. Or him.
Tick
Tock.
Daytime TV, let’s find out if he’s the real father.
Quick bathroom breaks.
Lukewarm water.
Tick.
Tock.
What if scenarios play out in your head.
Tears in the corner of your eyes.
Wondering.
Tick.
Tock.
How much longer.
Startled by every movement.
Knees bump with the person beside you.
Tick.
Tock.
You wish you were anywhere else.
Ponder your to-do list.
Pray even though you don’t pray.
Tick.
Tock.
Jump as the doctor enters the room.
Take a sharp breath in.
Attempt to read their face.
Tick.
Tock.
Good news? Bad News?
Invitation into a family room.
Holding breath.
Tick.
Tock.
She’s alive.
She’s alive.
She’s alive.

I tried to write this blog last night. Instead I stared at the blank computer screen, wrote and erased several so-so topics, and then I gave up. Sometimes inspiration just doesn’t hit.

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I took a walk yesterday with Casey, Stacey, and three dogs. When we were walking back, the light was perfect, just a half hour or so before sunset. The leaves appeared golden, the fallen leaves were crunching beneath my feet, everyone was quiet in their own appreciation of the moment. It’s one of my new favorite mental snapshots.

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This morning I woke up feeling like a zombie. All I want to do is sleep. Instead I have to figure out how to eat and get to the gym and have dinner with friends tonight. All good things. Caffeine will enter the picture soon.

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Speaking of caffeine, it’s just one of the words that I’ve looked up to make sure I was spelling them right in this post. Sometimes words just don’t look right, and I don’t want to look like a spelling fool. (What instantly pops in my head when I say fool? “I pity da fool!” ~Mr. T.)

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I am really enjoying posting daily, but mostly enjoying meeting new people and reading new blogs through this process. Yesterday we got 114 hits on our blog (small for some, but big for us!)

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I want to write a post about infertility and how much I hate it, but I want to write it thoughtfully. I have to keep working on this.

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I like twitter a lot, but sometimes it seems very clique-y. Like I’m in high school again and want everyone to follow me back. It’s a weird phenomenon.

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Last night we played a very fun game with our friends Julie and Justin. It was called “Things” and I highly recommend it if you’re looking for a great party game.

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We’ve decided we’re going to hold an Ugly Christmas Sweater Party! I’m hoping this will inspire me not only to reconnect with friends, but also to make sure my living room gets painted.

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It’s time for lunch here, so I’m going to stop. Hopefully tomorrow will be a more cohesive blog post (yeah, I just looked up cohesive to make sure I will spelling it right).

Have a happy, Sunday!

This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
• Link up your post at all.things.fadra
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

In participating in this blog challenge, there have been a lot of new people visiting our blog! And one thing we reference quite frequently is weight loss, but we’ve never quite told the whole story (because mostly the people reading were our Moms, who know the whole story- hi Moms!)

After graduating (the first time) from college in 2006, I decided to lose weight. I was point blank told that I couldn’t be a kidney donor for my Mom, because of my weight (we later learned I have the same disease she has, but I didn’t know that at the time). This was the turning point that spurred me into action.

I lost 114 pounds in a little over a year.

I have maintained that weight loss (within an 8 pound range) for over three years now.

In August of 2008, I replied to a post on the TODAY show website about “Joy Fit Club” members. This was a club that you could “join” if you’d lost over 100 pounds without surgery. I thought it was an online community. Turns out, it was applying to be ON the TODAY show. And surprisingly? They contacted me back. In a whirlwind week, I was interviewed by phone, did a voice over for my segment, and they flew me out to New York to be on the TODAY show for my weight loss! I also talked them into letting Casey come too, as he had also lost over 100 pounds at the time (he’s lost 160 total, now). It was a surreal trip that lasted 24 hours, but was amazing.

If you have a desire to watch our “segment” from the TODAY you can watch it here:
http://www.dietinspire.com/2008/08/04/success-weight-loss-story-jennifer-barton-lost-114-pounds/

A LOT of people ask how I did it. Unfortunately, I doubt many people like the real answer. Because it isn’t magical. There isn’t a pill. And it doesn’t happen that quickly. Honestly, I researched a very low fat, low carb diet and stayed on a 1,200 calorie per day diet (which I maintain 90% of the time to this day). I exercised at the gym for at least a hour a day 6 days a week. My roomie, Stacey, basically went on the same plan with me (even though she was about 100 pounds soaking wet at the time), but that was so important because I don’t think I would have been able to stick to a plan if she was chowing down on crap right in front of me. Emotional support is SO crucial. Each milestone for me?Amazing. I LOVED going down pants sizes. I started in a size 22/24 pant. It got expensive to go down sizes (thank goodness for Goodwill!) but I’ve finally evened out at a size 8/10 pant size, and size S/M shirt (all depends on the brands, of course…right ladies?).

I continue to have a lot of self image issues (I write about that here that I am working on it). Someday I really do hope to have surgery to remove some of the extra skin that is leftover from losing that significant weight. But nothing is better than having your doctor give you a clean bill of health (other than that pesky kidney disease!) and being able to do things like complete a triathlon with your husband. Even though Casey & I lost the majority of our respective weight before we met each other, it is a strong part of our bond because we keep encouraging each other to stay with it and taking on new challenges together. It is a choice every single time I put food in my mouth. It is a choice every time I go to the gym. Really, weight loss comes down to being aware of each choice you make regarding your body.

If you have any more questions about weight loss, I’d love for you to leave a comment! It’s something I’m passionate about, and would love to talk more about.

November is a month that is historically hard for me. My Grandfather died in November 19 years ago, my grandparent’s anniversary was in November, and I also spent a lot of time with them during November because it’s deer hunting season.

I don’t have a lot of clear memories surrounding the death of my Grandfather. I was 10, and there was a lot of hushed talking, unanswered questions, and I wasn’t allowed to see him in the hospital.

I don’t remember how I found out, but eventually I learned that my Grandfather was an alcoholic and he died from complications related to that.

My Grandmother didn’t like to talk about it, and didn’t want anyone to know because it was a “family” thing. It was a skeleton in our closet.

I don’t know my Grandfather as an alcoholic, because for most of my life he was not actively drinking. After the death of two of his children, I believe he started drinking again. The details for the most part, are unknown to me. I was a child at the time, and I didn’t need to know. I do know that his drinking affected my Mom, and I’m sure his whole family. Although she does not talk badly of him, I know there are reasons that she left her home 2.2 seconds after graduating high school and didn’t look back.

I believe that some issues were resolved when she was an adult, and I do know one of the reasons he quit drinking was because my Mom would not allow him to take my brother in his car because he had been drinking. He stopped by the time that I was born. But, I know there is a lot of hurt within the family that was never resolved because it wasn’t to be talked about or acknowledged as a problem. And then? My two uncles and both grandparents died without resolution. My Mom and her younger brother even now have different perspectives about what happened in their family.

I’m sure that all families have skeletons buried in their family closets. Things that aren’t talked about, that there is a common understanding of silence around. I hope, as we figure out how to have a family of our own, that when the time is right, we can be honest with our children. Encourage them to ask questions, and be able to have (honest, age appropritate) answers. Because kids understand way more than we give them credit for.

And my Grandfather? He was a flawed man (who isn’t?) But he was also a wonderful man. He had a contagious laugh, a mischievous grin, a sarcastic sense of humor, a kind heart, and he could make a mean pancake. I am lucky that I can remember him most this way, even though I now know what the hushed conversations were all about.

How about you, are there skeletons in your family closet?

Fall is in full swing, in fact it may have already swung by us this past weekend.  Nonetheless, I often find myself a little unnerved at least once or twice during the fall.  While having a fall wedding anniversary, a wife with a fall birthday, and some cool fall holidays help a lot, there are a lot of bad things that have happened in the fall.

Fall of last year I had a stroke.  This fall we almost lost Barney.  Every cloud does have a silver lining, I suppose; last fall was also when I began a pretty successful road to recovery, and this fall is the fall in which Barney got better, and didn’t die.

I think my life right now is a silver lining to another bad fall.  The fall of 2007.

In the fall of 2006, I finally moved out of my parents’ house into our current residence (but before I knew Jenn).  I say “finally”, because I turned 28 that summer, but that’s probably another topic for another post.  The point is, I had spent 28 years in a house with at least two other people.  Living alone made me feel good, and grown up, and independant, but it also got very lonely all of a sudden.

I really didn’t have any close friends, and my family isn’t too much for visiting these days, although I did spend some time with my sister and her husband.  But having your sister and brother-in-law as your only friends gets kind of old after awhile.

In January of 2007, I finally decided to lose weight.  I made the choice due to the fact that I was getting older (pushing thirty, yikes!) and I felt maybe it was time to live like a normal, active adult, and not like a lazy, gluttonous, lonely nerd.

The whole weight loss thing has been talked about before in our posts, so I won’t go into a ton of detail.  By March, with my exercise routine in full swing, I decided to admit that there was another missing component to my life besides my health.  I needed a social life, and a girlfriend.

I had never had a girlfriend before (honest), and didn’t really know how to go about it.  I had confided in a coworker, who had helped me get the weight loss ball rolling.  She suggested a dating website, so I tried match.com for a month and got no interest from anybody.  I cancelled my account and kind of put the on-line dating site idea on hold for awhile.

But by late summer/early fall of 2007, I started feeling defeated.  I had lost somewhere in the 70-80 pound range, but I wasn’t really feeling that much better, and I wasn’t any less lonely.  Work was my only life; I was using the gym we have at the office on a daily basis, so I was spending almost all my waking hours during the week at work.  I found myself confiding in my coworker friend more than ever.  My loneliness and frustration with life manifested into anger at stupid things.  I didn’t get invited to some day-long seminar and I rode the elliptical so hard during lunch that I thought I was going to break it.  Ever see one of those go 12 mph?  It makes some noise.

I started getting annoyed at a lot of my coworkers which manifested into me talking badly about them behind their back to my confidant.  I even dropped a “C bomb” about one of them once.  Luckily my confidant told that coworker that I was frustrated with them (not using my exact words, luckily) and I was able to apologize, as did they for the minor incident that set me off (as I recall, this person stepped in and interrupted a conversion once or twice).  I’m still not a big fan of this person, but I regret what I did and I’m glad I was able to get things squared away with them.

As the weeks passed, my anger and despair continued.  I skipped the office Halloween party and sat out in my car with my Darth Vader helmet and cried instead.  I continued to feel like I didn’t belong at the office, in fact I felt like I didn’t really belong anywhere.  I started voicing these sad feelings to my office confidant which turned into 30 minute-plus crying sessions at her desk.  I was hiding in empty conference rooms crying at random times during each day.

It got to the point that my confidant politely told me to “keep it professional” and stop coming to her with my personal problems.  This really made me sad, as I felt that our talks were my only emotional outlet (not that it was helping, looking back).  I am embarrassed by this now.  I broke some professional boundaries.

I was so sad over this, that I cried all evening.  I believe it was a Wednesday night.  I skipped supper and just sat in my room with the TV on and cried.  I felt like my life was a prison of loneliness and depair.

The day after Thanksgiving I woke up after having a dream.  I forget what the dream was, but I think it had something to do with me feeling left out at work.  When I woke up, the idea hit me.  Maybe I should just give up on it all and kill myself.

I looked on-line, and actually found a “pro-suicide” website.  It’s pretty disturbing what kind of crap is on the web.  I thought a little bit about how to do it…I decided to overdose on Tylenol or aspirin or whatever over-the-counter pain meds I used to keep in the house back then, but I never attempted it (I don’t even know if this would work).  In fact I mentioned this to my confidant, who naturally kind of freaked out.  She made me promise that if I was about to do something that I would talk to somebody first.  She kept telling me “Remember your promise.”  She even had me called in with her to our top supervisor’s office so he could apologize if I was feeling left out, and to tell me how well I was doing.

The confidant ended up suggesting a therapist she knew of, and I started seeing him.  I began to improve right off.

At some point over the fall I had found a free dating website called okcupid.com and had decided to give that a shot, although maybe a little half-heartedly.  The weekend of Thanksgiving, when I was at my worst, I got an e-mail from a girl in Westbrook named Jenn.  It all started going uphill from there.

Would I have done it?  I’d like to think I wouldn’t have, and that I have a will to survive that got me talking to someone.  A lot of it is kind of hazy, but looking back now, I must have recieved Jenn’s e-mail before telling anyone, so maybe that inspired me.

Up until now I’ve only told my confidant (who I am keeping nameless, probably obvious by now), my old therapist, Jenn (after 5 months of dating), Sandy, and Stacey (at some point more recently) about any of this.  I mainly kept it secret from my family, so they my parents wouldn’t blame themselves for any of this.  This was just a bad situation, and had nothing to do with them being supportive of my moving out, or upbringing, or anything like that.

That’s probably the hardest blog post I’ll ever write, and it’s one I’ve been putting off for months.  I hope for the next one to be a lot more cheery.

Some days, I have a really hard time being present in my own life.

I work all day long with kids and parents who have a string of worries and feelings. It is my job to listen, to support, to give advice, to brainstorm. But mostly, it is my job to be present. To sit with a person in the moment that they’re in – with them.

This is easier said than done. Have you ever really tried it? Fully focusing on a conversation without thinking about your ever growing to-do list, the fight you had with your spouse, what people are up to on facebook or if you have new e-mail that you need to read?

It’s hard. There are lots of what we therapists call “intrusive thoughts” that steal away our ability to be present, even when we’re really trying.

It’s like a muscle that needs to be exercised, that needs practice on a daily basis. Mindfulness.

Today, I colored a picture of Dino (from The Flinstones) with an 11 year old while we talked about her fears of dying. I read a book with an 8 year old about flexible thinking. I played on the swings with a 6 year old and taught him how to introduce himself to a peer. I introduced a social skills curriculum to a 9 year old and his mother. I had a conversation with someone I supervise. I exercised at the gym. I went to a latin dance class with my husband, and locked eyes with him for a hour.

Today? Today I was present.

And it felt good.

There’s no doubt that I was a lucky child.

Why? Because I never had to eat “fake” maple syrup. In fact, I didn’t even know that there was any other kind of maple syrup in the world until I was a teenager.

My Grandfather and Uncle supplied us with a fresh gallon of maple syrup at Christmas every year that they had made themselves through the hard process of tapping trees, collecting and boiling sap, sugaring off, and sealing the bottle. When I was little, the heavenly stuff came in a tin can with pictures of snow covered trees on it and a log cabin. Quaint Vermont maple syrup at it’s finest.

Every time my Mom made pancakes, we’d pour some of the thick syrup into a measuring cup and heat it in the microwave. It would come out fast onto your pancakes, and before you knew it – you’d be having pancakes with your maple syrup, instead of the other way around.

But maple syrup? Not limited to the breakfast arena in my household. Anything is fair game – pork, ham, even a maple glaze for steak. What can we say? It’s an addiction.

So for my last meal on Earth? I’m not sure, but I know that it would include some maple syrup- the delicious taste wrapped up in the memories of the smell of boiling sap, the sugar shack, cold winter mornings, and my Grandfather.

This post was inspired by the writing prompt for NaBloPoMo, which we are participating in. Click the link to the right for more information! The prompt was “If you knew that whatever you ate next would be your last meal, what would you want it to be?”

It has a walk-in closet in my room. I used to knock on the wall that connected to my brother’s room. Sometimes we used it as code to “talk” to each other. Sometimes we banged when we were mad at each other.

It has blue shag carpeting.

It has a squeaky stair in the middle of the staircase.

It has a window in my bedroom and my parent’s that looks out onto the roof – all the better for climbing out to shovel the roof, and jumping into the pile of snow below.

It has a front stoop perfect for sitting on and watching the neighborhood on summer nights.

It has a patch of lawn that once connected to the neighbor’s lawn. Together they made a perfect kickball field.

It is number 25.

It is down the street from the park where I learned to ride my bike, where I played, where I sat and waxed philosophic among teenage angst with my friends.

It was never locked when we’re out for an evening walk with the dogs.

It has a brook next to the driveway that floods after the snow starts to melt, that I lost many balls to, jumped into to rescue my hula hoops, and walked to the other end of down by Mathewson (when it was dried out in the summer).

It has a rose garden.

It is white, with blue shutters. They used to be black.

It has a spot on the carpet where I stepped on a dead mouse that our cats had brought us as a “present.”

It has a counter that once held the bucket for my lunch money.

It has a living room where I fed my dogs from baby bottles, curled up on bright red bean bags, taught school to my dogs, and set up racing courses for my Barbie cadillac.

It had a tree where we took our “First Day of School” pictures, where I used to sit and read. I cried when it got cut down.

It has a bathroom that I remember taking my first shower in, with a window that you can call down to Mom hanging up clothes on the clothesline if you need her.

It has a bathroom once stocked with bandaids for those accidents that sometimes happen.

It has a kitchen that cooked cinnamon rolls on Sunday mornings, baked numerous birthday cakes, and where I “cooked” my very first meal – it was for my parents on one of their anniversaries. It was also where I was standing when my Mom came through the door to tell us my Gromp had died.

It has a driveway where we had many lawn sales, where I practiced my bike skills, and where I gave many “dog shows” for the neighbors.

It had a crab apple tree in the backyard. I hated picking up the apples before Mom mowed the lawn.

It had a stereo in the living room where I would record from the radio onto tapes, where I played my Mom’s records and sang, where I danced to “Walk Like an Egyptian” with my Dad.

It has a kitchen table that I used to play underneath with my friends (we were spies), where I had birthday dinners, and where we would talk for hours on weekends.

It has a lilac bush that smells amazing in the spring.

It has a million memories – tears, laughter, love, innocence, childhood.

It’s easy to forget how lucky I was, to live in the same house for my childhood. To be blessed with the stablity and security of a home. It did not understand then how hard my parents worked to make sure that we lived in our house, were safe, and warm. Sometimes, in my work with typically very poor children(financially, and often emotionally), I am overcome with how lucky I truly am – to come where I come from.

I have a house, that even when my parents move out of it, will always be my home.

Because every crack and crevice? I’ve explored them. And that house and the people in it? They built me.

(Disclaimer: “The House that Built Me” is a song, by Miranda Lambert).

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month.

We, unfortunately, joined the millions of women and families affected by breast cancer back in 1997 when my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.

I still remember the moment that she came through the door. I was on the phone with Stacey. I was 15. The look in her eyes chilled me to the core. I told Stacey I had to go.

I was sitting on the arm of the couch when she told me, and my Dad that she had cancer. It was one of those moments – when the world seems to come to a halt – and you know that life will never be the same.

And it wasn’t.

I remember writing in my journal the day of her surgery. I remember feeling so mad at the universe. I remember my Dad telling me everything was going to be okay, and I remember snapping back at him not to tell me that because he didn’t know that for sure.

I remember after beginning the chemo treatments, I came downstairs one morning and saw my Mom looking in the mirror, pulling the beautiful black hair out of her head with tears streaming down her face. She was so strong, but I believe this was one of the hardest parts for her.

I remember laying on the floor next to the couch holding a bucket for her, if she needed to throw up after treatments.

I remember going with her to pick out a wig, that she rarely wore because it was uncomfortable and itchy.

I remember my “friends” telling me that I was so lucky because I got out of school early a few times to go to chemo sessions with my Mom.

I remember these same “friends” telling Stacey that I was not much fun anymore, since my Mom got sick.

I remember crying on my bed, feeling so overwhelmed, and my Mom coming in to comfort me. We cried together, and the next day I skipped school, she skipped work and we had a “mental health” day together.

I remember the day that we found out the surgery and chemo had worked. She was cancer free.

I remember the first Susan G. Komen “Race for the Cure” we attended in Vermont. We cried so hard crossing that finish line. My Mom? She was a survivor.

10 years later, I was sent to have a mammogram by my doctor after she felt a lump. Thinking it was no big deal I went to the appointment by myself. I watched my doctor’s jaw drop when she showed me the x-ray. It needed to be bioposied, because “it didn’t look good.” The radiologist hugged me. I have no recollection of the drive away from that hospital back to work. I made it through the office door before I started crying. Amy hugged me, listened to me, and Stacey met me back at home. For an entire weekend I cried, ate chicken wings, and watched Gilmore Girls in my bed. I was terrified. My Mom was terrified. And as I cried to her on the phone that I could not do this, I wasn’t as strong as her, she said one thing to me that I will never forget. “Yes you are, you’re the best part of me.”

As it turned out, I did not have cancer at that time. 4 mammograms, 3 ultrasounds, and 2 biopsies later I was given the diagnosis of fibroendenoma. Harmless. I was one of the lucky ones.

It was soon after that scare, that Stacey and I decided we were going to create a day to celebrate my Mom. Her strength. Her will to survive. All that she had been through. We named it SandyB day. We picked October 30th, because October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. We send pink flowers, and pink presents, and take a day to acknowledge how strong she is for what she has survived. She’s even stronger now. She has been cancer free for many years, each of which I’m grateful for. And every July we have participated in the Race for the Cure to give back and show support, to join with a community of strong men and women who walk and run in rememberance and celebration of their loved ones. Survivors are to be celebrated, and there is no one I know that is more of a survivor than my Mom.

She is beautiful, caring, kind, loving, and incredibly strong. She is everything I want to be when I grow up. She is my hero and in truth, she had it wrong because she is the best part of me.

I love you, Mom – Happy SandyB Day!