Has it been a week since I last posted? Wow. Time flies when you’re freaking out.

Let’s review the last seven days, shall we?

* It was really, really hot. Like, go out and water the flowers at 7:30am and come back in looking like you ran through the sprinkler, but it’s-really-just-sweat-hot. I killed four plants last week. Two of mine and two of my neighbor’s. My daughter and I were even tag-teaming the neighbor’s flowers and we still killed them. Call us to watch your house!

* I drank a lot of STRAW-BER-ITAS. Have you had one? Full disclosure: They are a BlogHer ’13 sponsor, but that’s not why I’m telling you how good they are. They’re just really good. So, I drank a lot of them. The end.

yo’. I’ll see you again soon.

* I can’t remember the last time I did the dishes. It’s good to have a 14 year old.

* I went to the doctor for my numb hand and got, what I thought was a steroid shot, but it was in fact Ketamine (an anesthetic). I slept pretty well that night. NOW, I’m on steroids. And, my hand is still numb and I’m kind of raging, but my cheeks are rosy!

* Out of desperation for happy conference feet, I bought a pair of Birkenstocks from Zappos. I’m happy they have free returns.

* My in-laws visited. I love them. A friend of mine lost both of her in-laws in a car accident last week. I can’t imagine the depth of that loss.

* I normally drink apple cider vinegar every day, but lately I’ve just been eating sea-salt and vinegar potato chips instead. To recap, the diet is STRAW-BER-ITAS, potato chips, and steroids.

* My daughter is so competitive that in order to break a record on one of the rides at the church festival (in which you ride in a cage and build momentum to flip over the top) she came home on Friday with the biggest blisters I’ve ever seen. About 17 of them. On Saturday, I did what any good mom would do and taped up her hands ala Rocky so she could take another shot.

* I leave for Chicago in two days and I have roughly 8,000 tasks to complete. If you don’t see me for another week, you’ll know why. Don’t blame Bud Light. It’s only half their fault.

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I knew I had screwed something up the second it happened.

I placed my elbow onto my desk last week and felt a shooting pain from mid-arm to my fingertips. Actually, it was more like I had shocked myself; not so much painful as much as an electrical sensation akin to touching a live current. We live in an old house. That happens frequently.

By the next morning, my ring finger and pinkie were numb, but I worked through it for a few days. After near-complete keyboard rest on Saturday, it was even worse on Sunday.

The sensation is now up my arm, three fingers are numb and my palm feels like it’s waking up after a long rest. When I bend my left elbow I feel a jolt of nerve something that nearly brings me to my knees. It’s like hitting your funny bone times infinity. When I reached back to wash my hair this morning, I felt like there was a toaster in the shower with me.

Pretend you don’t see the stack of papers, the discarded mouse battery, discarded mouse, the book I still haven’t finished, the seed packets, or the dental floss from the piece of apple lodged in my son’s teeth last week. This is about my arm!

It hurts mostly when I bend it or place it on a hard surface, so I’m doing a lot of standing while I type. After a visit to Urgent Care, an anti-inflammatory prescription, some grocery store wrist and elbow braces, and neck pillow under my forearm, this is what I look like. I’m moving a lot like stiff-armed Frankenstein; spilling water, knocking over vases, basically monstrous. So I have that going for me.

This is Cubital Tunnel Syndrome and it’s not pretty. Especially not a week before the biggest event of my work year. But, then again, that’s how I roll.

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It has come to the time of year when it’s not abnormal for me to work 17 hour days; forcing my children to occasionally heat up my coffee, rub my neck as I sit at my desk to keep me awake, then walk on my back when I eventually collapse to the floor. Right now my meals mostly consist of licorice and Oreos and I’ve been wearing the same pants for three days. Enough said.

This is my busy season which means my husband and my mom take over childcare, the dog doesn’t get petted, and when my 14 year old daughter is asked…GASP…to do chores.

Of course, she doesn’t want to do chores, she wants to text, read, go to the pool, go to the movies, have sleepovers, go for bike rides, and sleep in.

And, I let her.

Why? Because this is likely the last summer she’ll have, for the rest of her life, without a job. She still earns money from babysitting and pays her own way on all of the above mentioned excursions, so she’s not getting a completely free ride. Occasionally she does the dishes and cleans the bathrooms, though the cleaning of the toilet by a 14 year old isn’t done nearly as well as it is by a 42 year old. There is an “ew” factor she can’t seem to overcome.

Even though I threatened her with laundry-folding, dinner-cooking, and endless vacuuming during my conference season, I’m really a total sucker for letting a kid be a kid. What do you think? Am I letting her off too easy while the mess piles up around us?

I can’t help but think the clock will soon strike midnight…and I want her to have just one last dance.

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I remember when my husband jumped out of a plane. His mission was to make it to the ground alive and given that he was going to hurl himself through the sky to get there, I didn’t think his goal too lofty.

When he landed, he claimed to have loved the adventure and said that seeing the earth while falling through its atmosphere made him reach a level of consciousness he had never before attained; a level I like to call, “cray-cray”.

I was three months pregnant with our first child and I thought he had lost his mind; thank goodness he had enough sense to have a parachute and an instructor strapped to his back.  Honestly, I probably would have jumped right after him if it had been a year earlier, but there was something about the life-changing event called, “impending motherhood” that had me sure my risk-taking days were over. I’m happy to tell you I was wrong about that.

It took me a few married-with-children years to feel comfortable sticking my neck out though. Maybe it was because we had two premature babies and life itself had become a perilous journey.  I wasn’t wrapped up in making sure my kids would grow to be happy, healthy and well-adjusted, but that they would make it to the next day, or the next hour. Sometimes with my son, I had to focus on getting him to the next minute; rare heart defects will do that to you.

Once we started a family I was no longer the only person in the equation and having two sick kids who depended on my every move turned me into someone who never took chances. Seriously, I wouldn’t even change my hair color.

But, the thing about not taking chances means that you miss out on a lot. You can’t gain life experiences by staying inside your comfort zone, and I spent most of my 30s trying to create a cocoon so cozy that it may as well have been a pair of footie pajamas.

A few years ago I shook off those PJs when I took a leap from a job as a school cook to a self-taught job in social media. I let go of everything to which I had held tight, took leave of familiarity and started a whole new career.

It was scary, and uncertain, and also fantastic, invigorating and one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever done. I would still be working in that hot kitchen if I hadn’t put myself out there, willing to be disappointed by the reaction my forwardness might generate.

I’m not advising willy-nilly. I’m saying that it’s possible to make calculated advances to meet your goals. Sure, that doesn’t sound like much of a gamble, but you can’t move forward without first taking a step. For a lot of people, including me and my husband, that first one was a doozy!

Not every chance you take will pay off, but when you let yourself be vulnerable and open to change, it’s possible that you might find exactly what you were looking for, even if you didn’t realize you were searching.

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