Sometimes when you have so much to say, you find it difficult to say anything at all. That’s where I find myself right now.

I can’t comment on the events in Boston. I still can’t even talk about Sandy Hook. I’m tense every time I let my daughter go to the movies, or drop my kids off at school, or get on an airplane, or now…stand on the sideline of a foot race. These events make a person with anxiety want to stock up on plastic, duct tape, and canned goods and never leave their house again.

I can’t talk about my son right now either; at least not without crying. As if he hasn’t had enough challenges with his body, now we are dealing with challenges of the mind. He gets his OCD and anxiety from me, but he gets his defiance from his dad. Hi, honey! The difference is that my husband is only defiant with me and my son is defiant with authority.

Right now we are lost, floundering in waiting lists, county funding, new doctors, and a teaching staff who has completely lost their patience. I’m sad. I’m angry and hurt by the entire situation. And, I’ve been let down on so many levels and honestly, I don’t feel that I can bear that any more. I wish I could go back in time and put my advocating and fundraising to use elsewhere. Though, let’s be honest, if I had a time-machine I would first go to 1988 and get my skinny body back.

Tonight, I sat here sobbing for the sixth hour straight, with a throbbing headache, wondering why God has chosen this path for me. This week has been heartbreaking.

And that’s when, on cue, the toilet upstairs started overflowing and leaked right through the kitchen ceiling. Because nothing quite says, “Up yours! This week isn’t over yet!” like john water in your fruit basket.

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My 14 year old daughter came into this world 10 weeks early as a 2 lb. 9 oz. preemie; she was on a respirator, aspirated her first bottle of breastmilk, had a cyst in her brain, and spent 5 weeks in the hospital. It was kind of a bumpy start.

When she was 3 years old, her little brother was born. He, too, was a preemie and although he weighed a whole pound more than his big sister, he was very sick. The first few years of his life threw our family into an upheaval that only a family with medical problems can understand. Constant doctor visits, hospital stays, therapy, illnesses, and surgeries are not an easy thing for a young child to comprehend. Little brothers are supposed to be picked-upon, not danced around, gently, being careful not to knock out his IV.

But, through it all, our daughter has found a way to be a typical child…and so much more. Since she was in kindergarten she has played sports; lots of them. She’s been in school musicals, served at church, volunteered for charities, been a tech assistant, lab assistant, and been on the Honor Roll more times than her father and I combined.

You know how sometimes things just fall into place without you making much effort? That’s what happened here. I’ve never had to push her and I’m pretty sure if I had put her at the curb when she was 2 years old, she would have raised herself.

But, now? Now I’m pushing. Much like when a coach sees natural talent in an athlete and trains them for greatness, I’m doing the same thing…with my daughter’s brain.

She is smart. She’s wicked smart. She got the highest scores you could get on standardized tests for math and language. And, after taking a scholar search test, she placed in one of the top spots of her incoming freshman class. She was awarded a partial scholarship and an invitation to test at the next level. I’ve never been in the top 10 of anything in my life. Y’all, I AM PROUD.

So, yes, I’m pushing. If she doesn’t get past this next round that’s okay…REALLY. I don’t want her to feel pressure, but I don’t want her to waste what she has either. She can be anything she wants to be and having the freedom to choose her path is just the kind of empowerment I wish for her. Not everyone can decide between being an entrepreneur or an astrophysicist. Maybe she’ll be both

Do I know what I’m doing? No. Do I have any experience? No. Am I going to do my best to make sure she recognizes the strength she has? Yes.

We don’t know what the future holds, but I am certain of a few things; my daughter is amazing, I have never been more proud and, clearly, no man will ever be good enough for her.

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One of my favorite people on the internet is dying. Like right now. Dawn is in her final stages of a battle with melanoma and all I can think about are her husband and children and, selfishly, that I will never see her face in my Twitter stream again.

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We heard last night that another friend is undergoing chemo, and we added him to the long list of people we know who have fought or are currently fighting this terrible disease. It’s getting old. Really.

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I went to the dentist today. I’m one of those people who loves lying in the dental chair and getting her teeth scraped, but the scrubbing with the thick paste? BLECH. That makes me want to vomit. I have a love/hate thing with the dentist. I would probably love it more if I got laughing gas.

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The dentist said she could tell that I’ve been grinding my teeth again. I’m sure this is a direct result of my weaning off Zoloft. A custom mouth guard would cost me almost $700 out of pocket, so that’s not happening and the thought of upping my meds again to avoid jaw problems makes me sad. Anxiety is a beast.

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I’m crafting a post about how smart my daughter is, but there is a fine line between pride and disbelief at her accomplishments (considering she came into this world as a 2 lb. preemie), and bragging and annoying people. But, wow…am I proud. That post is coming later this week. If I act obnoxious, give me a blog-slap.

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Although my son is almost 11 years old, he’s still just as literal and honest as when he was 5 and told an elderly woman at Target that she needed to buy moisturizer. Lent provided us with ample opportunity for honest conversations and these were a few that I posted on Facebook.

Me: “You need to do some reading.”
My son: “I gave it up for Lent.”

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At church yesterday, my son looked at the wooden plaque labeled, “Hymns” and asked, “Mom, what’s a hymen?”

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Me: “Did you eat a Peep?”
My son: “Yes…actually, I ate five.”

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In addition to the post about my genius-daughter (too much?), later this week there will be a fun (and pretty) giveaway from Kyky’s Treasures! Stay tuned…and if you’ve never had a skin cancer screening, please schedule one. Now.

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Here’s what I could tell you; that my job entails the reading of hundreds of blog posts and articles online every day, and all day Monday I read about the Steubenville rape case. All day. By Monday night I felt like my brain weighed a million pounds and I considered never going online again. Then I remembered that this story would have never been told if it weren’t for a blogger who fell into the roll of investigative journalist. Bloggers rule. I think I’ll stick around.

I could tell you that we spent hours worrying about our nephew yesterday when we found out his Marine unit was involved in a deadly accident in Nevada. We were not one of the families devastated by news that their Marine was killed. Ours is alive, but he will have to deal with the pain of losing his good friends.

Shamelessly stolen from his Facebook photos. I don’t care. I only care that he is alive.

Of course, if I told you about all of that, I’d have to mention that the torture of not knowing whether he was okay took me back to August, 2005 when we waited for word on another nephew who was stationed in Iraq. He, too, is still alive, but he lost even more friends.

I could tell you how I feel guilty for not being a better aunt to them. I should have sent letters and care packages, and I should tell them that we pray for them every day, that we love them, and that I understand what has happened to them means they will never be the same again. Ever. It makes my heart hurt.

I might say that I’ve been worried about my cancer-surviving sister doing well as she reenters the workforce, that I have no idea how we’re going to pay for private school tuition, and that I fell HARD off the juice-fast wagon. I blame the leprechaun.

I could mention that the first day of spring is really just another day of winter, that my husband has lost his ever-loving mind because he’s considering the purchase of a puppy, and that I don’t want to live in my house right now because it’s such a mess.

Or, I could just show you this magazine insert that my son was using as a bookmark until he told me it was “distracting” him.

Clearly, he still like arms.

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