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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Every year, for the past 18 years, my husband has given me an Easter lily. What started out as a sweet offering from him to a (then) co-worker has turned into a tradition in our marriage and it means the world to me. It’s better than Valentine’s Day, because it’s not a romantic gesture we share with the world. It’s just ours.

Ironically, the giving of the Easter lily often follows an argument and there have been at least two years that I had to toss a hint that, hey it’s getting really close to Easter Sunday and I don’t have my plant yet. I’m pretty sure last year’s flower showed up late on Saturday evening. But, that’s okay. Life has a way of sneaking up you like that.

I won’t wax poetic on Lent, spring, renewal, marriage and how the lily symbolizes all of them to me…even though I kind of just did. Instead I’ll tell you that it smells really good and it looks pretty on my mantle.

However, I will say that this kind, little expression of affection; this nod to our shared history, makes me dust off my hands and start anew. I am a sucker for tradition. And margaritas, but that’s a different post.

It is a reminder that under this stack of bills, homework, dog fur, dishes, and my husband’s grouchy exterior, there is something sweet, gentle, and dependable. Just when I feel like I’m getting crushed under the weight of it all, a flower springs forth. It’s like hope in a clay pot. If you could sell it, I think it would be illegal.

Despite the snow on the ground (thanks for NOT listening to me Mother Nature) my hope for you is that you find warmth and kindness in something, anything, like I do my lily.

And if you can’t find either one, just make it an excuse to drink more margaritas.

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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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Since the 60-day Fitness Challenge has ended, I’ve decided that I need a new goal. Sure, I have a 5K coming up, but that’s not until September. According to my trainer, I should be able to run a 10K by then. Though, this is the same guy who thinks it’s perfectly normal for people to be in pain so severe they can’t straighten their arms.

We know I can do the vegan thing. It’s been over a year that I removed animal products from my diet in order to lower my cholesterol without meds.

I’ve been told the next step in my journey to good health (and pretty much the sole reason why I haven’t lost much weight) is giving up wheat. This won’t be easy for me. And, to be clear, removing beer from my diet is not on the table. I’m talking about cereal, bread, tortillas, but not beer. M’kay?

In addition, I’m bored with what I’ve been able to do with fruits and vegetables. It’s time to mix things up, so to speak.

Some people are going to think I’m crazy, and by “some people” I am specifically referring to my husband. But, this juice machine is going to be my new best friend.

If my friends and family think I’m a pain in the butt because I’m a vegan, just wait until I tell them that I’m drinking nothing but juice for the next 10 days! Oh, and water. And, coffee. And, beer. But, other than that…just juice! *cue jazz hands*

The idea behind this challenge is to make sure I’m getting the nutrients I need by infusing my dietary intake with new flavors and combinations and do it at the same time that I’m trying to give up wheat. Maybe I won’t miss it as much that way.

After 10 days, I will continue to drink juice and slowly add in beans, rice, nuts, and oats.

This morning’s breakfast was delicious! Red pepper, carrots, lemon, and grapefruit. Those gritty things at the top of the glass are chia seeds which I added for protein. Sprouted green hair coming out of my head will just be a bonus.

So, wish me luck! I’m going to need it once my husband finds out that I bought a juicer!

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