Saturday was one of the most precious days of my life.  My husband and I took our girls to the Bronx Zoo and spent the day together.  Perfect weather, loads of fun, and memories I'll cherish for life.

By around 8pm last night I recognized the symptoms.  I was getting a migraine headache and it was going to be a winner.  After 18 hours of fitful sleep and intense pain, here I am semi-conscious writing this blog. 

I am done asking why.

I laid on my sickbed for the first few hours wondering-- why did I get this headache?  Was it something I ate?  Too much stress?  Not enough sleep?  Too much sun?  Not enough water?

I have laid on sickbeds for 22 years wondering the same thing.  And yet, I find myself on the sickbed once again, and I suspect I will find myself there many times again before my life's end.

Sitting at our local park today, I watched as a group of children (my own included) played with a few old strips of yellow caution tape.  Some benches had been painted earlier that day and the tape had been used to prevent parkgoers from sitting on the wet seats.  But the paint had long since dried and I sat and watched as the kids had their fun with the discarded yellow ribbon, playing tug-of-war, fashioning bandanas and headbands and having an all around good time. 

No sooner did I sit back to soak in the sun, than I was bombarded by a fellow park mother, huffing and puffing and gathering up bits of caution tape as she went.  "Do you see what the children are doing with this tape?", she asked.   "Someone could get hurt!   They're tying it around their necks, for goodness sake!   Why isn't anyone stopping them.!!"

Have you heard the latest sensationalized news story?   A 45 year old suburban mom, tired of hearing her 10 and 12 year old daughters fight in the back seat of the family car, made good on her threat to leave her kids on the side of the road in the business district of White Plains, NY.  Thankfully, both children made it home safely; the mother of the children, Madlyn Primoff, is being charged with endangering the welfare of a child.  You can read the full story here.

Public reaction to this woman's behavior has been extremely strong.  I've heard all kinds of suggestions on how she should have dealt with the backseat bickering, coupled with expressions of intense anger regarding how irresponsible her actions were.  Personally, when I first heard the story, one thought ran through my head.  There but for the grace of God go I. 

Lately, I have been fighting what feels like a losing battle.  I am a parent of an 8 year old with a learning disability that effects her social, emotional and academic development.  That's the technical way of saying that life with my little girl is often very, very difficult.

From the moment she wakes up in the morning, until she goes to bed in the evening, much of my day is spent trying to organize my daughters life so that she doesn't become completely overwhelmed.   At this point in her development, she lacks the capacity to do that for herself.  Even the smallest frustration can set my child into a tailspin that will take her hours to recover from, and cause division and pain between the members of our family.   My husband and I are constantly trying to tailor our parenting approach to best suit both of our childrens needs and create the most healthy environment possible for each member of the family.  Some days, it seems like it might be easier to turn water into wine. 

I'm mulling over my belief system lately, specifically as it has to do with the role of prayer in my life.

I've had a lot of amazing things happen to me in the brief time I've been on this earth.  Some have been very, very good and some very, very bad.  Which of these things twere delivered to me by the hand of God?  Which have been the consequence of living in a very fallen world? 

What if, somehow, the steps of my life have been ordained for me from the beginning of time and the role that God has played all along has been that of comforter and keeper?  What if the primary purpose of my prayers have been to connect me to the only source of solace I could ever find and enable me to find meaning in the sometimes meaningless events that have befallen me?     While it seems somewhat irresponsible to adopt the mindset that 'Whatever will be, will be.", it also feels quite freeing, knowing that the God who loves me with an everlasting love appointed my steps before time began.  Even when my personal universe seems to be crumbling, He holds me in His hands and will make things right-- if not in this life, then in the next.    

 ¹ Who has believed our message
       and to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed?

 ² He grew up before him like a tender shoot,
       and like a root out of dry ground.
       He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
       nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.

 ³ He was despised and rejected by men,
       a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering.
       Like one from whom men hide their faces
       he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

 ⁴ Surely he took up our infirmities
       and carried our sorrows,
       yet we considered him stricken by God,
       smitten by him, and afflicted.

I've been sitting as the guest of honor at my very own pity party lately, thinking of all of the ways that life isn't working out the way I've hoped it would.  That is, when I'm not taking Facebook quizzes that tell me Which Molecule I'm Most Like or What Name My Parents Should Have Given Me or What Part of the Digestive Tract I Most Resemble (OK, I made that last one up, but the first ones are true.)

About a foot from where I sit is a small container garden where my daughters and I are making our first attempt at growing our own vegetables.  Sure enough, little sprouts are starting to peek out from the soil.  I was looking at these seedlings after completing my last Facebook quiz (FYI- I should have been named Brooke)  and thinking about my forefathers and how plants like these would have made the difference between life or death for them.  A successful crop meant enough food for the winter.  Enough to sell or trade for the goods needed to make it through another year.  Crop failure would equal death.  For me, it simply means I'll be buying my tomatoes at the Stop and Shop this year. 

Tomorrow, February 6th is National Wear Red Day, a day set apart to raise awareness for heart disease in women.  http://www.goredforwomen.org/  Needless to say, I'll be all decked out in crimson.  How about you?

Obviously, this cause hits very close to home.  Not only am I a woman and a heart attack survivor, I was almost misdiagnosed, in my opinion, due to my age and gender. 

On the morning of January 1st, 2005, I experienced severe chest pain, shortness of breath and tingling in my left arm.  The ambulance came, took my vitals and asked me a few questions.  I was 2 weeks postpartum- had I been unusually stressed or anxious lately? (Yes)  Had I ever have a panic attack?  (Yes)  Did I think I might be having one right now?  (Possibly)  As I answered the paramedics, the tightness in my chest began to subside.  Finally, they asked me the most important questions of all.

I went out with my husband this evening, our first date night in who knows how long.  We were enjoying a leisurely dinner together when we realized that if we didn't hurry, we would miss the movie we were planning to catch.  We quickly paid our bill and set out to begin the 15 minute walk from the restaurant to the theater.   With little time to spare, we began to pick up speed in an effort to be seated before the opening credits. 

Crossing streets, running briskly up and down stairs I could feel it.  Rapid breathing.  Quickened heartbeat.  All within the range of 'normal', I suppose.    But to me, regardless of the circumstances, rapid breathing and a quickened heartbeat will never feel normal.  What the average person experiences during exertion feels like a heart attack to me.   It brings me right back to that awful day, sitting on my bed trying desperately to catch my breath.  It scares the life out of me.

In the past 14 days I've been quite busy.  I've driven my children to and from school eight times.  I've served about a dozen breakfast, lunches and dinners.  I've gone to the grocery store, the pet store, our local Mall, Dunkin' Donuts and a variety of other local businesses.  I've accompanied my kids to two doctors appointments and my dog to one vet appointment.  I'm sure there's more I could add, but I won't bore you.

Four years ago today, I returned home following a 14 day hospital stay.   I look at all that I've been able to cram into this two week span and I can't believe I spent that much time away from my home, my family, my life.  More significantly, I remember tthe uncertainty I came home to.  I had no idea what shape my life would take from that moment on.  I was limited in everything I could do- from sitting in the front seat of a car, to going up and down stairs.   How much  'normal' activity I'd be able to resume was a mystery.   Considering how weak I felt, I wasn't hopeful.