Sensing the weight of mothering

So, being a parent is tough, and I may be biased, but being a mom is especially tough. Moms carry so much of the weight to being these little humans from just a couple of cells to a full-grown, functioning adult—literally, and emotionally. Every one of their successes is our success. Every one of their struggles is our struggle. Every one of their stumbles takes us down with them. We feel innately responsible for every scratch, every social struggle, every perceived fail, and every moment that just doesn’t go according to plan.

All of those feelings can increase exponentially when you are the mom of a child with challenges other kids don’t fight against everyday. As a mom of a child who has very specific and special needs, the knowledge of how hard life is when most things are in your favor, you become acutely aware of every moment and situation that goes poorly. It’s disheartening when you come to learn that many of your child's struggles have a definite source, and that things you have done along the way may not have made things worse, but they haven’t exactly made things better.

My daughter is amazing. She is so smart, so funny, so imaginative, and so talented. When I watch her at her very best, it is like watching some amazing feat of sorcery. She is a  magic I often can’t believe is a part of my life. She dances. She makes up songs. She creates puppy families out of stuffed animals, and at the end of last week, her teacher told me she led several of her friends in a puppy training academy.

Every time I witness or hear something so special and amazing about my daughter, it nearly makes me cry. Seeing her succeed at being happy, while outwardly succeeding in the eyes of others fills me with joy.

Most people don’t see anything unusual about my daughter, and most of the time, there isn’t anything to see. But about a year and a half ago, I started to notice something that wasn’t there before. If I took her to our local children’s museum and there were a large number of other families or children there, she would become visibly anxious. As the noise level increased, I could see her become hesitant about playing, somewhat aimless and without direction, and a little more difficult to guide. I filed the observation away, somehow suspecting that it might be important later, especially if it continued. At nearly the same time, her tantrums escalated. We’d had the moments at Target when she would lie down on the floor and refuse to cooperate. We’d had the moments when you just have to leave places because she was overtired, or just disinterested in grown up activities. What we hadn’t experienced was a child who would become violent, aggressive and out of control. We hadn’t dealt with a kid who almost literally had to be pinned down to keep her from hitting, kicking, biting, scratching and throwing things.

She had struggled, off and on through her first year of preschool. I started to feel that at the rate we were going, I might be able to paper her bedroom walls with all of the behavior reports I was signing, because she couldn’t be calm, sit still, be less disruptive, or less all the things she was. Things came to a head near the end of the year when she began hitting her teachers. It was a rough year, but I didn’t know enough to know that What was happening wasn’t strictly “bad behavior”. And as a modern parent, trying not to get too caught up or wound up about things that were “normal”, I started to believe that maybe the expectations for her were just too high.

Her teacher and school recommended play therapy, and we agreed to a work watch, wait and see approach to the situation. Her ability to return for the next year would be dependent on getting these behaviors under control. When we couldn’t get her started with play therapy right away, her teacher suggested having her evaluated for occupational therapy. As she went back with one of the therapists for her evaluation, I filled out page after page of questions about her behavior, her ability to perform basic self-care tasks, her responses to sound, light, taste, touch, smell and other stimuli.

I knew she was hypersensitive to many of the things in the questions, but at the time, she was too functional to meet the requirements for occupational therapy. I filed the experience away, still believing all of this might be important later.

It was a busy summer of weekly play therapy appointments, reading assignments for us, and digging into dramatic changes in how we interacted with her. She would do a little better, and then do a little worse again. She would go a week or two without trying to hit me, and then she would seem to suddenly lose her mind. During all of these aggressive episodes, she would laugh, and act like a crazy person.

I knew not to take any of it personally, but even on my best day, she could push me to my breaking point. I constantly felt like I just wanted to run away. I would start out each day, resolving not to let her wear me down. And by the end of most days, I was fraying at the edges.

By the end of July, I knew she wouldn’t be ready to return to her school. Her good days were still too inconsistent, and her behavior was still too unpredictable. She wasn’t having a lot of success with potty training either, but the truth is, her other issues were so big, I just couldn’t fight that battle at the same time.

From the end of July to December, I continued to read more books, try new strategies, put together calm down kits, and even had one-on-one therapy sessions to address some of my own reactions to her behavioral outbursts. I felt stronger. I felt more capable. I wasn’t getting as upset when these events would happen. And I thought she was doing much better, too.

We decided to reach out to her school, and take a risk. We talked about her progress, strategies, plans, and how much she wanted to come back. We all believed she could do it. We all believed that we had realistic expectations, and were willing to roll with some punches, because we knew there would be punches.

Within two weeks of starting back, and two extremely unpredictable and disruptive behavioral outbursts, I knew she was done. I knew giving it more time wasn’t going to help. And I resigned myself to the reality that I had a child who could not succeed as things were in that moment. We lost an important family friendship, and I found myself withdrawing with her even more. I felt I had to protect other people and kids from what she might unexpectedly do.

It was very isolating. And as I recently read in another blog, I felt pretty alone, and as though I didn’t have a place to belong among other moms. Sadly, I watched my daughter become more and more lonely, and isolated as well. Some of our worst episodes revolves around her not having friends to play with, and being lonely. I knew she needed social interaction, but I was afraid of any situation that didn’t include me being right there to intervene.

By the beginning of the summer, I was really thinking about what next year would look like. I could not imagine any situation in which she would be ready to go to kindergarten, and yet I was terrified to try another preschool situation. I cautiously decided to try a couple of days of summer camp at the same facility that had performed her original occupational therapy evaluation.

It did not go well. On her third day, I picked her up just in time to watch as she jumped off a chair she had intentionally urinated on, and then run across the room, taking every stitch of her clothing off. At this point, all of my hope was gone. The only glimmer was that one of the therapists had noticed my daughter having some sensory issues, and had asked if I would be open to having her re-evaluated. Her play therapist had actually suggested the idea near that time, and we just hadn’t had a chance to look into it again.

She had her second evaluation the day before the urination episode. When the therapist returned my call offering to pay for the chair, she reassured me that the only thing anyone had thought was that they were glad it hadn’t been their kid. By the way, she qualified for occupational therapy, and we could start right away.

I was relieved. What I had noticed a year earlier truly was important. I was still afraid to leave her there, but the therapist shed a few tears with me, hugged me, and told me that they had seen just  about everything a kid could throw at them, and it would be fine. Within a month, she also qualified for speech therapy, and physical therapy.

I still didn’t fully understand the struggles my daughter had been dealing with. It was just two weeks ago, when a therapist talked to me about putting her in a full body sensory sack, and how quickly it helped her de-escalate. That was the moment I finally got it. That was the moment that validated my instinct that the other moments I had filed away were just as important as they had felt.

And now, even as I know more about what she needs, I am already feeling less alone, and more empowered to help her. It’s tough. Days of gathering and filling out  the paperwork or supplemental insurance to help cover therapy when our regular insurance cuts us off, and dealing with some of her more difficult sensory needs offers a steep learning curve, and the opportunity to remember the importance of a sense of humor. Try searching chewable massager on Amazon and sifting through the results, without thinking of “the Red Room.” Yeah, that “red room”.

I carried her for forty weeks, and I will carry her forever. Even at the hardest moments, she is worth the weight.

Raising a glass to a wee bit of diddly eye

So, over the last twenty-two years or so, Irish and Celtic roots music have been an important part of my life. I remember the early days of watching “Riverdance”, and listening to The Corrs and Loreena McKennitt with my husband while we both got ready for work in the morning. It seemed that a modernized version of Celtic culture had become petty trendy at the time. While it wasn’t unusual for me to pick up new music at bookstores or online, I never imagined it would turn into standing in line at merchandise tables to buy CDs from newly discovered bands at Irish festivals, but it did, and I  have even followed certain festival favorites to other venues and events.

When I had an opportunity to attend the Kansas City Irish Festival over this past weekend, it was to see a few of those bands again, and one for probably the last time.

The world of Irish and Celtic roots music can best be described in the same way geologists describe layers of rock—in terms of strata.

Without question, there is a top layer of Irish music that is fairly well-known to most everyone. Bands like U2, iconic performers like Van Morrison, and the Chieftains often come to mind, and maybe very close beneath that layer are Snow Patrol and The Cranberries. Recent newcomers, the Script, Three Door Cinema Club and Kodaline remind us hardcore Irish music fans that just as the country we so dearly love and feel connected to is constantly evolving, its music scene is as well.

Rock and pop bands from Ireland bring something to the table that is familiar, and easy to tap into from almost any vantage point, but unless you dig in, or happen to be culturally engaged with it, the other strata of Irish and Celtic roots music might be easy to miss. And that would be a shame.

On our most recent trip to Ireland, we sat down in our hotel’s restaurant after spending the day recovering from travel, and I remember my husband asking what was up in town that night. Our server, who was probably in her early twenties, told us that one of the local pubs was likely to have a band performing some “diddly eye” music.

“Diddly eye” isn’t exactly a complimentary description of traditional Irish music, but it certainly follows the natural current of the young finding the old tedious and quaint. As the old, a couple of pints over an hour or so of traditional music seemed a good way to settle into our trip—but we were “too cool” to admit that to our server.

I have no doubt that diddly eye music is pervasive enough in the tourist spots of Ireland to warrant the figurative eye roll the term depicts. But the truth is, those of us who dig into traditional Irish music—or “trad” seek so much more than an evening’s entertainment. I would argue that we are seeking to deepen our connection to a culture, spirit, and land to which we either have an ancestral, or spiritual claim. We need to be transported to the musical space that connects us to local ceilis of the past, or to the long lost voices of the land before anyone else’s culture invaded.

We need that connection so much, that we seek it out at home as well.

My first introduction to the combination of contemporary and traditional Irish music was the band founded by the Corrs family. The blend of accessible pop, traditional fiddle, melodic vocals, and booming drums informed me that something preciously ancient could easily marry something new, and both might be made even be the better for it.

Soon after that, I was listening to my local National Public Radio station, when I heard a local Celtic rock band talking about the release of their new album “Pass It Down”. I quickly fell in love with the sentimental ballad “Love of the Century”. After hearing them talk about, and play their music, I wanted to see them perform live. On a rainy Kansas City night, we ended up at an Elders Hoolie in the parking lot of the Record Bar.

There was an unbelievable energy and joy in that tent. Let’s just say that my husband and I got swept away by a couple of exuberant folks in the crowd, and before we could say “no thank you”, we were locked arms with these strangers, and doing our best to keep up.

In the years that followed, they were the foundation of the Celtic music scene in Kansas City, and they were the reason to attend Irish Fest in Kansas City, and Weston, Missouri. Over the years, I discovered new Celtic bands with which to connect. In many of those cases, the music was more modern, and sometimes more youthfully packaged. I grew to like the contemporary side of the Celtic tradition the Elders had drawn  me to so much, that I often skipped their set.

I was amazed at how far these bands traveled to play our festival. Bands from Scotland, Ireland, Nova Scotia—all wanting to be a part of the Irish Fest tapestry, both in Kansas City, and all over the world. The lines often blurred, because Celtic roots are like those of an ancient oak. They stretch out in all different directions, and pick up something new as they grow. From Irish trad, to Appalachian bluegrass, Celtic Rock, and so many niches in between, the genre can barely be defined, because it has become so joyfully inclusive. Sometimes, you may not even realize you’re hearing Celtic roots music.

The Celts may only claim seven nations, but their true reach is infinite in all directions. It reaches lands far and wide, and ears and hearts near and far.

Like a dutiful parishioner, I knew that I “should” see The Elders at the Kansas City Irish Fest one last time—for old time’s sake, because it was the right thing to do, because I “owed ‘em” that.

One last song!

For two hours, they reminded me of a truth that their music had originally taught me—you are always welcome to your roots. You are always welcome to your spiritual home—especially in the world of Celtic music, because the Celtic spirit, and all of the music informed by it just aren’t things from which you ever truly stray.

Violence against women: Race, ethnicity, and religion are not the problem

So, I don’t know why, but it seems like so many things I have seen in social media about women lately have really made me angry. There’s a bizarre whirlpool of ideas being tossed about where women, sexual autonomy, body image, and relationships with men are concerned. There are so many messages being put out into the public landscape that the core issue seems to be getting lost.

As women, we think of ourselves as equals. We believe that we have a right to an equal shot in the world. No more. No less. But there are plenty of messages being sent out everyday that tell a very different story.

I noticed a couple of posts by a popular women’s page on Facebook that truly made me cringe. Both were about what women needed to do with their appearance in order to attract men. The sad thing? The same page probably posted some bullshit essay about women’s empowerment and independence on the same day.

On an almost daily basis, I see posts about incidents in which women have had near misses with overly pursuant men, or have been assaulted by men they knew and thought they could trust. These posts usually talk about how we need to do something about rape culture, and teach men that unless a woman enthusiastically responds “yes” to their advances, or sexual overtures, they need to back the fuck off.

And yet, there’s still a general tone deafness about the idea that women shouldn’t bear the brunt of teaching those preying upon them not to prey upon them. It seems like we all learn what the word “no” means from a pretty early age. I cannot even begin to count the number of times in a day that I tell my four-year-old daughter “no”. I can’t imagine the parent of a four-year-old boy wouldn’t say the same.

But here we still are. Here we still are talking about men who don’t know how to take “no” for an answer when it comes from a woman. And here we still are, telling women how to attract the attention of men. Are we crazy?

How many times in the case of sexual assault is the question about what the woman was wearing still considered legitimate? How many times in the case of sexual violence is the woman blamed because she responded to her attacker in too friendly a manner, and somehow led him to believe she was willing?

On the one hand, we need to learn what it takes to be attractive enough to get a man’s attention, on the other, if that man decides to rape or kill us because we don’t want to have sex with him, it might be our fault. If we attract a man, and discover that he’s just not a good match, we are a “bitch” or a “tease” if we don’t let him have sex with us. If we get raped, or we do like him enough to have sex with him, and we get pregnant, we are somehow more responsible for that unplanned pregnancy than he is. Literally no matter the circumstances, as soon as a man ejaculates inside us—everything else is our responsibility—our fault—and we are not supposed to have a choice from that point on.

The disconnect is maddening.

Another infuriating reality? Unless our attacker’s skin color is brown, he’s probably not going to face real consequences, and we are probably not ever going to get justice. And right now, if he is brown, an orange man is going to exploit that crime to fit a dishonest and hate-filled narrative that seeks to keep his followers continuously distracted from reality.

The old trope of the brown man attacking the white woman because he is a “savage” is about so much more than the brown man being a savage. It’s about the perceived ownership of the woman. When your property has been sullied or damaged by a brown man, it is treated as the equivalent of someone putting a dent in your car. From that point forward, the wreck is listed on the title. Or if as a woman you get pregnant without being properly “purchased” you are a “lemon”.

The brown man—the savage—must be punished. The damaged property cannot be resold. But somehow, the white rapist or murderer was a fine and upstanding human until something in him just snapped, or until that woman taunted him with a pleasant smile or too much cleavage, only to dash his hopes and leave him with blue balls.

Here’s the thing—it doesn’t matter what country or color the violence comes from. As a victim, it doesn’t matter what color or nationality you are—granted, if you’re brown, you probably know that reporting being assaulted is about as useful as trying to fill a bucket with a hole. It isn’t the country or color that defines the attack—it’s the evil, and it’s the sense of male entitlement. It’s the idea that your body is not yours, and your protest is meaningless.

When I was about 15, I had a boyfriend. We had written a few raunchy teenage “love notes” back and forth to each other. We hadn’t acted on any of the things in those notes. But my stepfather happened upon one of them, read it, and offered to show me some of the things I seemed to be curious about. He worked nights, and slept during the day. While my mom was at work, and my sister was down at the neighbor’s playing, he pulled me into bed with him where he was wearing nothing, and I froze, and tried over and over to get away—for hours. From there, his hands always seemed to find their way up my shirt when we were alone. I started wearing a bra to bed, because he would visit my room when he got home from work in the wee hours of the morning. I don’t want to talk about the other things. He started to monitor all of my phone calls, control all of my outings away from the house, my clothing, my hair, and even spied on me while I was at school.

He decided when I was sixteen, and would soon be getting my drivers license that he would legally adopt me so I would have his last name. His excuse was that it would just make things “easier”. He also insisted that my first name be legally changed from my given name of “Sammi” to Samantha. It was a more proper name than the one my unrefined teenage mother had given me. At this point, he “showed” me things I had seemed curious about almost everyday. And when those adoption papers were signed, and my name was changed, I belonged to him. I was his property. He was entitled to me.

He was white. He beat my mother. He had guns. I was a terrified child, who genuinely believed he would kill everyone in our house. And when I finally got released from his ownership, he received no punishment, and I was disowned. I was damaged property. I was either lying, or to blame.

Violence and sexual crime against women is not about violence or sex. It’s not about the physical pleasure derived from the act. It’s about the power and control over another human being, whom you feel entitled to use and/or destroy. It’s about owning something you consider to be an object—a vessel or a target.

And our society as a whole reinforces that belief in almost every way.

Our patriarchal religions reinforce the idea of the man as head of the household, and that women are supposed to submit to their authority. It may be that the idea of a man being the protector and spiritual leader is put forth in scripture, and religious texts, but men have so often accepted this as authority and power over us. Our legal system seeks to deprive women of the right to own their sexuality and their bodies. Lawmakers seek to make contraceptives and reproductive choice less accessible for women, while at the same time taking no action against men owning and controlling what they do sexually at all. Men are allowed to seek the pleasures of sex inside or outside of marriage with no consequences. And if they are physically unable to seek that pleasure, they can easily access medical treatment to assist them—no judgment, no hindrance, no strings.

Women, on the other hand, are castigated for having sex outside of marriage. Women are trash if they become pregnant outside of marriage. Women are considered frigid and unfriendly if they don’t smile or if they aren’t responsive, even to men they do not know. Women are frequently blamed for men raping them. They were someplace they should not have been. They were drinking. They were wearing revealing clothing. They smiled at the man from across the room. They said “no”, but the man didn’t believe it, and she didn’t fight him off, or clamp her legs shut.

The truth? We don’t have an immigration problem. We don’t have a problem of skin color, religious background, or nationality causing one man to be more violent than another. We don’t have a problem with women being overly promiscuous, confusing to men, indecisive about not wanting sex, or just being regretful and looking for someone to pin it on.

What we do have is a pervasive problem with men who believe that women are somehow theirs. We have a problem with men deciding it’s their right to take what they want—even if that means they destroy what they are taking. We have a problem with men believing that masculinity means they aire in control of the women in their orbit. We have a problem with men who don’t like hearing the word “no” or hearing that we don’t want them, or want to submit to them.

We have a problem with men who believe that any connection with a woman—even a fleeting glance—is a transaction. It’s a transaction, and that woman is now his possession—his property. That’s the actual problem.

Partnering with your pet in fitness

When starting a fitness routine, it’s great motivation to have a friend with which to partner. It’s much easier to keep going when you don’t have to go it alone. For some of us, that friend runs on four legs.

Very often, our pets become our best friends, and even our family. When it comes to playtime, and fitness, they can also be enthusiastic partners, helping us to feel like going out for that walk or run when we might feel like staying in and watching a movie. And let’s face it, our furry friends are hardly ever too busy for us, or have a job to go to.

With all of that being said, our pets need to be prepared for fitness as well. We need to make sure that our routine works for them, because they usually won’t let us know they’re having trouble until something really significant is wrong. As a registered veterinary technician, I’ve seen many health issues that could impact our pets and how well they are able to be part of our exercise plans.

A lot of focus on four-legged fitness partners naturally “goes to the dogs”. Cats tend to be a little more “free spirited” about walking on a leash, or jogging in the park. They often prefer a nice boxing match with a laser light. And your iguana? Well, he may not wanna. So, if your non-traditional four-legged friend wants to somehow participate in your routine, you probably need more species specific guidelines from your veterinarian. Where information is applicable to dogs and cats, it will be included in this piece.

In preparing our pets for our fitness routine, we need to consider multiple factors, including age, body condition, breed, location, and weather.

It may seem counterintuitive that running with our young dog could be a problem. After all, who is healthier than the average Labrador retriever puppy? With our juvenile canine friends, the concern with too much shock-absorbing exercise is that growing and maturing bones and joints are more prone to injury and damage. It might be fine for you to go out and run that 5K, but our puppies’ bones and joints need a little more babying.

Even young adult dogs with joint disorders such as hip dysplasia may have an increased chance of injury, or arthritic issues and changes when they put on too many miles. One of the more common injuries in young, active dogs is a torn anterior cruciate ligament—that’s a torn ACL for football enthusiasts. The cruciate ligament is like a rubber band that stretches over the knee to help keep everything in its place. When torn, this kind of injury can be repaired with surgery, but it might be costly. And foregoing surgery for the injury can lead to lifelong arthritic issues. Dogs who tear one cruciate ligament are at greater risk for tearing the other.

If we aren’t always thinking about monitoring activity level for our young and growing pets, most of us know that our elderly dogs can have arthritis. The right amount of exercise can keep the muscles around arthritic joints strong and healthy, reducing the risk of injury. At the same time, we need to be aware of even subtle changes in mobility, and waning enthusiasm, or tiring more quickly with exercise. When we notice those changes, it’s important to partner with our dog’s veterinarian to develop strategies for managing our senior pet’s health and comfort.When we carry more weight, exercise is more difficult. In the beginning, we need to build our fitness level. You have to respect your current fitness level, and work to achieve your long-term goals. The same is true for our overweight and obese pets. And sadly, just like us, a large percentage of our furry friends—both canine and feline—are either overweight or obese. Along with increasing activity incrementally, it’s important to watch for signs of fatigue, exercise intolerance and injuries. It’s also a great idea to visit your pet’s veterinarian to discuss weight loss goals, time frames for both short and long term weight loss, and dietary changes.

Some of our furry fitness partners may have several challenges when they start a new exercise routine. In addition to age and body condition, breed can greatly impact our dogs’ ability to keep up. Our brachycephalic—or smushed face—breeds can have a lot more trouble moving air during normal activity. That difficulty can increase greatly during exercise, and then again in hot weather. Dogs like pugs, English bulldogs, shih tzus, and Boston terriers are among those breeds that are more prone to heat exhaustion, and heat stroke. If you are unsure if your dog falls into the brachycephalic family of breeds, ask your veterinarian, and be sure to discuss the risks of exercise, and what signs to look for to determine if your dog is having trouble. When in doubt, wait the heat out.

Other breeds of dog, and breed types, may also have underlying risks when exercising. In some small breeds, like the chihuahua and Pomeranian, a luxating patella, or slipping knee-cap can be a very painful issue. The knee-cap can slide out of place during activity, and can be quite painful until it slips back. Surgical repair can help with this genetic defect. Our low and long-backed dogs, like the dachshund, have an increased risk of spinal cord injury, which can result in paralysis. Carrying extra weight can increase that risk. Surgical intervention is the best treatment for this injury.

And weather and location can play big roles in the success or failure of our pets’ participation in our fitness routine.

Heat can increase the risk of heat exhaustion and heat stroke in all pets, because they are not able to thermoregulate through sweating as we can. It’s important also to note that shaving some breeds down to help them stay cool may strip them of the built-in layer of insulation they have to protect them from temperature extremes, and even sunburn.

Along with heat comes a nuisance for all of us—bugs. Who hasn’t been hit in the face by a zooming bug while on a bike ride or run? And while most of us wouldn’t intentionally snack on these flying pests, their mid-air collisions with our huffing and puffing mouths can leave us caught off-guard. But as unpleasant as these experiences may be for us, other things that come along with bugs are more than a simple nuisance for our pets, and if our fitness routines take us outside, their exposure to these bugs increases.

Depending somewhat on location, one of the number one bug related health risks to our pets in warm weather and climates is the mosquito. As humans, most of us are familiar with malaria and West Nile, but it’s also important to be aware of heartworm disease in our dogs, and even our indoor cats. Mosquitoes carry the heartworm larvae, bite our pets, and transmit the larvae into the bloodstream. The adult worms make their home in the heart—hence the name. In many parts of North America, there is a year-round risk of mosquito-transmitted heartworm disease. In our dogs, symptoms can include coughing, exercise intolerance, collapse, and sudden death. In our cats, there may be no visible symptoms at all, except death. There are many methods of heartworm prevention available for both dogs and cats. Your veterinarian can help you make the best choice.

Tick-borne diseases are becoming a greater issue for humans and pets alike. Lyme and Erlichia are two common tick-borne diseases that impact our pets., as well as Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. With changes in our climate, the prevalence of these diseases is changing. These diseases are being seen with more frequency in locations where they were at one time a more transient occurrence. There are a lot of new, and advanced methods for helping our pets avoid becoming the victim of tick-borne disease. The best place to start is with your veterinarian.

And what would summer bug season be without fleas? Fleas just aren’t very much fun, but for our pets, they too can be more than a nuisance. Fleas carry tapeworms, which live in the intestinal tract. Our pets usually don’t show us a lot of outward signs of infection, but they aren’t harmless. They are sometimes seen when our pets pass a bowel movement. In most cases, we discover parts of the worms in the area around their tail.

Tapeworms are gross, but another flea-related health issue is no less troublesome for our pets. Some of our pets are extremely allergic to the biting flea. This can lead to some very itchy skin, and potentially some very serious skin infections—often referred to as “hot spots.” The itch is relentless, and can keep your pet—and you—up all night. The “hot spots” such scratching and itching can instigate are painful, and require medical attention.

In the battle against mosquitoes, ticks, fleas, your number one resource is your veterinarian. He or she can tell you about the prevalence of the diseases they carry in your area, and what the peak seasons are for concern. As our climate is changing, the traditional concept of “flea and tick season” is becoming a thing of the past. Many of our pets need prevention all year, and in some cases, especially preventing heartworm disease, prevention is much less costly than treatment.

And one of the most important things to remember about flea, tick, mosquito, and heartworm 
prevention is that one size does not fit all! Products intended for dogs only  must never be used for cats. In some cases, this mistake can be deadly. In the case of heartworm prevention, certain breeds of dog may be sensitive to certain ingredients. Heartworm prevention is a by prescription-only medication, and cannot be sold over-the-counter. So, your veterinarian will prescribe a product that is safe and effective for your pet.

In the summer and winter time, we need to be aware of the surfaces on which we walk and run. We have the luxury of choosing our own footwear, but for pets, one size fits all. Hot pavement can burn and abrade our pets’ footpads. Sidewalks and roadways treated to prevent icing, or to melt it away can also cause injury and damage to our pets’ feet. Some pets will learn to wear booties, but staying off of potentially dangerous surfaces may be the best preventative. It’s true that humans and their pets share a unique bond. Whether your pet cheers you on with their fins  from a bowl of water, or runs right along side you, the most important thing for both of you is safety and preparation, because once you know your pet’s fitness strategy, that special bond can grow stronger, and you are both in for a lot of great fun!

Pity Party—table for one. Where is that oxygen mask?

So, sometimes the universe throws you a day from hell. Sometimes, it throws you a cold, a child with a cold, a husband with a cold, and intense feelings of frustration, failure, and defeat. Deep down, you’re not upset about the day. You’re just worn down to the very last bit of yourself, and it feels like everything in your life is still trying to shave off another sliver.

I know everyone has bad days, and I know that frustrating times come and go. But today, I felt an “uncle” creeping up to the surface. I felt a moment of surrender, and I found myself sobbing over the kitchen sink as I rinsed ketchup and ranch out of the compartments of my daughter’s lunch plate.

She hasn’t shown any interest in eating anything besides fish sticks, macaroni and cheese, and yogurt for most of the last week. I know she’ll diversify her food choices again in a bit, but it’s just one thing on the list of things that are making me feel almost powerless this week.

I decided to take a stand over the weekend. I fight, plead, bribe, and beg her just to pick up the toys on the floor, because the constant battle of trying to keep up with that means I am not taking care of putting away much else. My declaration? I would not pick up even one thing for her for a week, nor would I let her have any sugary sweets until she did it herself.

It isn’t working. She just wails and howls when she asks for a sweet and I remind her of my ultimatum.

As she woke up at around seven this morning, she asked for a cookie, and she hit me in the face when it said it was too early. Everything went downhill from there.

When you’re sick, every little struggle feels amplified. This day and this week have been really loud. Having recently learned that I am prediabetic, I have found myself fighting to make even small changes to get back on the right track. I know that I have to make big changes, but quite honestly, I have allowed everyone and everything around me to become such an emergency that I know the only way I can make a start is to just start wherever I can.

I have allowed trying to maintain my own self-control with my daughter’s unpredictable behavior to steal my inner calm—the part that focuses on keeping my own emotional head above water. I have allowed other stressors in life to steal the voice inside that knows I should say “This all means I could get really sick. For a little bit, I have to put more of myself first.”

And this damn cold! And my damn body! And my damn feelings!

I started cutting and cutting, being more cognizant and aware of everything I was doing. Even after one week, I saw positive momentum. And then, without any change in how much effort I was making, that momentum swung right back the other direction. I tried to tell myself that it didn’t mean anything. I tried to tell myself my body’s defenses were kicking in, and giving a protest against me trying to change my habits. But that same voice everyone has inside of them that felt so pleased with the positive direction from the week before, was crestfallen and didn’t give a shit that it was just my body saying “Hey, wait a minute. What are you doing”?

And then, another shoe dropped. I felt just a little stuffy, but was running on my treadmill, and feeling better than usual. So, I kept running, because the slip in momentum my body had thrown at me needed to understand it wasn’t going to win out over my reasoning and logic about the situation.

By the next morning, two out three of us in the house had developed a nasty end of summer cold, and by end of that day, we all had it.

At this point, it might be reasonable to ask why a stupid little cold has to matter, and throw me into such an emotional and physical tailspin. But you see, it’s not the cold, it’s all the little things that seem to swirl around me in a low level hurricane all the time. This cold, my body laughing at me while I ate ice cream and wished there was a real Dr. Pepper in the house instead of diet, and my emotional meltdown over the kitchen sink are just the visible manifestations of the hurricane no one else usually gets to see.

As always, I could see the scene from the movie “Circle of Friends,” when Benny gets passed over by Jack at the dance, and stuffs chocolate in her mouth as she fights back tears.

“Ah, go on Benny. Ruin yourself”, she says.

And that’s how it feels. It feels like defeat. It feels like failure. It feels like everything else around me is grabbing and tearing at me, so what difference does it make? What difference can it possibly make that I can’t keep on track?

A friend reminded me that in the airport safety instructions, they always tell you when the oxygen mask falls, you need to put it on your face first, and then help those around you. You can’t pour from an empty cup. You can’t give what you don’t have.

This all sounds sensible. It sounds like common sense. But none of it works when it feels like life is grabbing the oxygen mask away from you before you can even reach for it.

And so, that’s how the little things get you. They chip away at your defenses and your strength a little at a time, and one bad moment turns into a bad day, a bad week, a bad time. You once again tell yourself that when things settle down with everyone else's struggles, you will be able to focus on taking care of yourself. And until you can do that, you have to plug the holes of your sinking ship with anything you can find, and hope that those plugs don’t somehow manage to make those holes too big to repair.

Add to all of those stupid feelings the knowledge that somewhere in the world, someone would give anything to have your “problems”, and you spiral back down to that place you always come back to—trying to push what you’re feeling down, because you don’t want to bother anyone else with things you should be strong enough to deal with on your own as a grown-ass woman.

And so,  the cycle continues. From the outside of things, we often wonder what leads seemingly happy people with seemingly perfect lives to make seemingly unthinkable choices. The reality? Nothing is black and white when it comes to how we feel, or how we deal with those feelings.

No, I’m not on the verge of making any dramatically awful choices about my tomorrows, but I understand how small things grow and become bigger to us than they would be to anyone else. I understand why people don’t reach out when they are struggling. No one likes to admit that the little things are too big for them.

Parenting, personal peace, and politics.

So, I know that I talk a lot about, write a lot about, and get fired up about politics, social injustices, and everything associated with those things. I also know that there are probably people who just don’t want to hear it anymore, ignore it, or even just avoid me.

I understand. We may disagree, and I might feel that it’s so vital to the greater good that we should all care at a high level. But I truly do get that not everyone shares that feeling.

One of the reasons I often feel compelled to share my views is because in a lot of ways, it’s one of the few things I can do. I have been passionate about politics and making the world a better place since I was in third grade. Activism is a hands on, contact sport. It requires the ability to participate, help organize, and lend a hand. I’m not as able to do those things as I often wish I was. That frequently leaves me in the position of Internet warrior—signing petitions, sending emails, occasionally turning up at gatherings or marches, and making tiny donations to causes that truly help the people I see being marginalized, forgotten, or harmed.

Another reason is because even though it raises my ire, and there’s only so much I can actually do to effect change, it’s at least a subject I can wrap my head around. It’s an outlet for so many frustrations that I feel myself battling on much more personal levels.

I always thought that I would be teaching my daughter about empathy, kindness, equality, our role in the web of life, and our shared humanity. Obviously, I knew that I would be teaching her about these things in different ways, and at different stages. I thought that when I was going to a march or a gathering of some sort, I would be taking her along, and modeling the behaviors, values, and ideals that her father and I think are so important.

But I can’t take her with me. Not even when an event is not likely to last a long time. I love her. She’s the center of my life now, and she is my greatest challenge.

Since just before she turned three, our daughter has given us what feels like an endless roller coaster ride of ups and downs. She started having more frequent and substantial meltdowns that often lead to aggressive behavior, and other behaviors that astound us.

She throws things with intent to harm or destroy. She hits. She kicks. She name calls. She even very recently started threatening to pee during these episodes, and on two occasions, she has actually followed through. She frequently laughs during these episodes, which is almost worse than anything else about them. Today, she threw a hairbrush across the room and hit me so hard on the bridge of the nose that I won’t be surprised if I wake up with a black eye tomorrow.

I feel myself tense up, and tighten up, just thinking about leaving her with anyone. What will shedo when I’m not there? Will this situation go as badly as the last one? My husband and I have not had an evening or even an hour away from her in over six months.

She will will be a rockstar. 

I can’t take her to marches or gatherings, because if she strays, gets into mischief, or does something unsafe or inappropriate, I cannot be certain that I won’t have to drag her away—hitting, kicking, screaming, and now peeing. When I tell her to stop a behavior, she frequently ignores me, or looks straight through me. It makes me even more concerned that I might not be able to keep her safe. And so, I am an Internet warrior for justice, because I cannot be an active participant in all of the ways I would like to be.

I have spent hours reading, researching, brainstorming, and changing the ways I do things to more effectively parent. I have tried charts, rewards, timeouts, time ins, choices, consequences, love, logic, and even spanking. She’s been in play therapy for over a year, we talked to a psychologist, and she just qualified and started occupational therapy. This week, she qualified for speech therapy.

I spend a lot of my time feeling frustrated, inadequate, tired, overwhelmed, and stressed. The only thing that I have ever done that compares is working veterinary emergency, where I often felt I didn’t know enough, wasn’t skilled enough, and wasn’t even physically strong and fit enough to be of help to my colleagues, or my patients.

I know every parent feels like they fail at times. I feel it multiple times a day—everyday.

Her difficulty with self-regulation, and emotional regulation triggers my own issues with self-regulation, and emotional regulation. I’ve gotten some amazing professional, and medical help, but there are moments when I still blow it. 

I knew that parenting wasn’t a walk in the park. I just didn’t anticipate the kinds of hard that this last year or so has brought. I never imagined that I would be icing my nose because my four-year-old intentionally harmed me. I never imagined I would be seriously considering homeschooling her, because I am so uncertain that she can manage the social and behavioral expectations of a classroom.

I never want to seem to be complaining, or to be anything but delighted that she is here. We wanted her desperately. We struggled desperately to have her. We love her desperately. She is the most important thing in our world. There is nothing she needs that we won’t try to do for her.

I know she’s going to be alright. I know we are all going to be alright. And I know that all of the glimmers of joy, happiness, and amazingness I see in her are going to win out over the current madness.

So, yeah, I find myself looking for outlets—things about which I can be outspoken and opinionated. I cannot unleash about everything that I feel about my personal struggles each day. So, I give myself permission to breathe fire about everything else in the world that is out of balance, because so little in my own days feels balanced.