I spent Friday night with 30 teenage girls at an overnight retreat through a local church. My husband laughed when I said I was going to a slumber party, but then he realized I was serious when I packed a sleeping bag and pillow.

I’m not entirely sure what drug I was on last fall when I volunteered to facilitate this retreat, but it must have been a good one. I work with teenagers everyday, so I feel like I am somewhat connected to their world. I watch many of the same TV shows, listen to their music and try to stay in touch with what’s hot and what’s not. I was not at all prepared for what was in store.

Girls are complicated. And they are loud. VERY loud. I thought a 5 year old boy was loud, but I had never spent the night with 30 teenage girls.

Most of our discussions and activities were centered around what it meant to be a “real” woman. We talked a lot about the culture, media, respecting ourselves and others, body image, etc…. And then they taught me a lot about their world. I am seriously concerned about what type of injuries their fingers will have in a few years. The texting was out of control! If you have something to say then just call the person. Otherwise it’s not that important.

I was blindsided by a few of their comments. One young girl didn’t see the problem with parents getting their daughter plastic surgery for her high school graduation.

“If it makes her feel better about herself, who cares.”

My point of view was what kind of message that was sending their daughter? She’s not good enough the way she is?

“They must love her enough to tell her she needs to fix something.”

That exchange right there is the whole reason I agreed to do this retreat. It was a great learning experience. There are some things I’ll change the next time around:
*No Mountain Dew after midnight.
*When they enter they’ll be leaving their phones in a box.
*I’ll bring some ear plugs.

I spent last week with a guest speaker my work brought in to speak at several area schools. My job was basically to chauffeur him from place to place and be sure and pick up his Starbucks coffee each morning. Hey, this is what I spent 5 years in college for! I’m sure my parents are proud.

I listened to the same presentation to teens 12 times in four days and each time I picked up on something different. Thankfully, he was a handsome 6 foot 9 previous basketball player and wasn’t hard to look at. He had a unique story, but in a reality many of us have stories we just don’t know it.

At one part of his talk he spoke about how we all have this banner above our heads that says, “Please put up with me. I’m trying.” The first few times I ignored that part of the presentation, then it kind of sunk in.

Yesterday, was not one of my finest parenting moments. I’m not going to explain what happened, because quite honestly I’m ashamed of my behavior. It was one of those moments I hope doesn’t define me in his eyes. I have a few of those from my father - memories of the way he reacted. It kills my heart to think Ethan would ever believe I parent out of anything but love.

The day before I got some unexpected news regarding my infected ankle and although it doesn’t require surgery (right now), the new plan is for me to carry around a 20 pound wound vac that will be sucking out the bad stuff 24/7 for the next 2-3 weeks. For now I’ll have this tube connected from my ankle to a machine in a bag that I’ll carry around. All I need is more baggage.

I’ll admit I’m overwhelmed and feeling very broken. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, in every sense. I came home late last night from a work event having not eaten all day and preformed my saran wrap ritual. Once I stepped in the shower I broke down. All the stress and worry and guilt just hit me.

I’m most certainly not perfect in any light and I am not the brave person everyone believes I am. Standing in the shower last night I remembered what the banner we all have over our heads. Please put up with me. I’m trying.

I’m trying to be a good mom. I’m trying to keep everyone happy. I’m trying to remember all that my husband does for me and not focus on what he doesn’t do right. I’m trying to keep up with my work. I’m trying to accept help and be thankful that it’s there. I’m trying to be in good spirits and remember that everything happens for a reason. I’m trying to believe that there will be an end to all of this. I’m trying.

But everyone else is trying as well and I need to remember that.

On a lighter note, Props & Pans is giving away some beautiful items from Tomo & Edie. We recently reviewed their new line of Japanese hair accessories and last month their baby kimono. You can head over and see the items for yourself, then choose which you’d like to win!

Dear Father-in-law,

I realize I owe you a certain amount of respect and I think I’ve given you that over the years. Especially during the phone conversations that I sometimes endure, where we recap your weather. I only said a few curse words when I came home last year to find 960 lbs. of rubber in my driveway. The fact that I stared at those rubber animals for many, many months and was still willing to spend a week with you over the 4th of July says a lot. Considering you wouldn’t turn your air-conditioning on during that week of 90 degree weather and that I still answer the phone when you call, says even more!

Given that you are my husband’s father and the grandfather of my son, I am willing to overlook the memory of driving 6 hours by myself to a family wedding where you tried to seat me 2 rows behind an adopted brother you just met. I don’t even hold a grudge. But I have already changed my will to include where you will sit at my funeral, should I happen to die before you.

I admit that I’m still chuckling over you asking our 5 year old to be a paul bearer a few months ago. Sorry, can’t help that one. But for the most part you and I get along pretty well. We have a give and take relationship. I give you a lot of room to talk and you take it.

Here is where I draw the line though. Don’t call me for the first time since I was hospitalized with a serious infection (a month ago) and complain about having arthroscopic knee surgery this week. I’ve been down that road a few times and my best advice is that it could be worse.

I realize we all have our own cross to bear and some are heavier than others. I truly get that, because my struggles are my own and cannot be measured against someone else’s.

However, calling and bitching to me about how worried you are that you won’t make it and you will be off work 3 days, just about pushed me over the top. It doesn’t help that I visited the infectious disease doctor today only to find out that my PICC line will not be coming out for two more weeks, because the infection is far from gone. I’m still running a fever off and on which isn’t a good sign. Remember that car accident where I lost my spleen? Well, infections don’t heal well without a strong immune system (which I do not have).

My medical experts are concerned about the screw in my heel and believe since that is the site of my pain, it may need to be removed. That would be surgery #29 I’m now facing.

But let’s not talk about me, let’s talk about you. Shall we?

Yesterday, we found out what exactly happened in the Blue Sticky Tack Fiasco of 2008 with Ethan. His teacher could hardly form the sentences between the laughs to explain. Ethan took a poster down off the wall and then decided to see if the sticky tack would hold his head to the wall. That is why it was all in his bangs around the forehead.

His rationalization was that if it held up a poster, it might hold his head to the wall. When we asked him about it last night, he acknowledged his experiment and admitted failure.

“Don’t try it though, because my head weighed too much to stick and your head is bigger than mine!”

Have you ever had one of those days where you come home so exhausted that you’re just done. Well I’m well done. Someone take me off the grill. I spent all day listening to presentations given to teenagers on making good decisions.

At home I was greeted by a little boy who had this in the front of his hair.

For the record Ethan, this was not a good decision.

Somehow during nap time the blue sticky tack fell off the wall and into his hair! Can you believe that? We tried to comb it out, wash it out, grease it up with butter, everything…then two rather tired, frazzled parents just cut it out. (Ok, I did the cutting while Nate was downstairs doing laundry.) After a little scissor action it was apparent that we would have to shave his head.

Thus began the five year old drama - “I don’t want to be bald! Don’t cut all my hair off it won’t grow back! You’re trying to kill me!”

After the buzz he reached up and felt his head and said, “I feel like dad.” Yes son, he did contribute some sperm to your genetic make-up. You may have hair like him, but you got the drama from your mama!