Back to work...

I'm starting a job.

(It still doesn't seem quite real.)

I'M. STARTING. A. JOB!!

And I am absolutely, positively, feel-it-in-my-bones,

terrified.

My career as a stay at home parent is quickly coming to an end. I am excited to begin this new chapter in my life; after all, I've been pondering it (to death) since I left the workforce, lo those many years ago. But I'm also, in equal measure, scared out of my wits.

Those aforementioned many years are a big part of my (current) neuroses. It has been nine and a half years since I left the 'bring home the bacon' part of me back in DC. When I left, we didn't have smartphones or social media (MySpace doesn't count, right?). I left my last office with my résumé on a -- I kid you not -- floppy disk. So much has changed in the modern workplace and I am petrified that I'll be hopelessly behind the times.

And, in addition to all the new-fangled, techno-stuff, what if that brain I had back in 2005 has become irretrievably slushy from years of under-use? What if they ask me important, grown-up, work-y questions and all I can say is, "Uhh, Phineas and Ferb? Chicken nuggets? Oh, I know -- LEGO!" I also have no specific experience in the position I've accepted. Having worked in and around nonprofits, I know what grant writers basically do (and I bought 'Grant Writing For Dummies.' Seriously.) but, I have never done it myself. What if I completely stink at it? Yikes.

Also, the last time I had a J-O-B,  I was mommy to just one little, tiny, baby boy. I didn't need to worry too much about work-life balance. As much as I wanted to spend time with my child, let's face it - when they're super little, they are okay with you working late a couple of nights. My mommy guilt to the contrary, he probably didn't even notice. Now, however, they're old enough to be bummed out if I can't take them to Taekwondo lessons or someone else picks them up from school. They have had 9 years of my undivided attention (the little one's entire life) now they won't. Granted, my new job is extremely flexible, part-time, and mostly virtual; but it will be taking a bit of my obsession focus away from them. Can I really do that?

Sadly, there's SO much more about which to panic (I am an affirmed worst-case scenario woman): This is my first job since my stroke - will that be a factor? What if I am way older than everyone else working there? What if they hate my shoes? Et cetera, et cetera...

But I want this.

I want this bad. And no amount of self-doubts, insecurities, or loony misgivings are going to stop me. My comfort zone is TOO comfy and my rut is getting too deep. I need this. I may be a basket case in anticipation of Tuesday, but I'm also electrified. I'm gonna do it, and it's gonna be great. Right. Right? I hope.

Here goes nothing :-)

A Letter to My Oldest Son

Dear Big Guy,

I know you're having a rough time right now.

Over the last week or so, you've confessed to me that you're having a hard time finding 'your place' among your classmates. The boys and girls in school have started to act differently than in years past; they're at the beginning stages of creating the social hierarchy that will last throughout the rest of your school years.

In Kindergarten, and first grade, everyone was friends with everyone.  As they grew older, kids started to gravitate toward other kids with similar interests, on the same sports teams, etc., and that's perfectly normal, but everyone was still friendly with all their classmates. 

Now, as you are finding out, everything has changed.

Instead of kids just being kids, it's starting to be important to become 'cool.'

And for you, my darling son, that isn't important. You don't care about cool. You care about doing what makes you happy. About following your own path. About being yourself. And what you don't realize is that although the other kids don't find that 'cool' now, that is EXACTLY what is going to make you cool for the rest of your life.

Yes, your classmates seem to be a little ahead of you socially, but in reality? They are far, FAR behind you.  In their hurry to grow up, they may leave stuff behind they like because it's not cool. They may forgo the simple pleasure of playing pirates or tag or just running for no reason, even though they may not necessarily want to. The great thing about you?? If you like it, you're gonna do it and no one is going to tell you not to.

How incredibly brave is that?

The things that make you, YOU (your incredibly kind heart, your empathy, your desire to do what's right, your ability to be your own person - and so much more!) are what's going to be cool!
It might be hard to imagine right now, but when you guys look back, no one is going to remember or be proud of acting nonchalant in the 4th grade. But, my dear son, YOU will look back and say, I was always an individual! I always treated people fairly and with kindness! And I was always, always true to myself.

You will look back and you will be proud. Just as proud of yourself as we are, and always will be.

Love you,
Mommy

Lesson Learned.

While we try to teach our children all about life,
Our children teach us what life is all about.
~Angela Schwindt

Today, Big Guy's school held a Cross Country run for all 4-6th grade students. And this coming Saturday, there will be a similar event for all students in the entire school district. Improbably, BG is totally stoked for both. Now, if you've read this blog previously, you know that my dear, sweet boy is not exactly the most athletic child...lovable? Of course. Hilarious? Absolutely. Sweet, fun, and genuinely kind-hearted? Without a doubt. But, athletic? Notsomuch. But, today, my not-so-athletic kid taught me a little something about sportsmanship, and character.

During the race, as expected, the boys who are footballers, baseball players, basketball players, etc. pulled out in front. As BG fell further behind, my heart sank. Like any mother, I would walk over hot coals if it meant protecting my son from embarrassment or sadness. As my friends' sons crossed the finish line (one even placing first!), I cast an anxious eye towards BG, bracing myself for his disappointment as he ran far behind. But, to my amazement and fierce pride, my boy wasn't running with a discouraged slump in his shoulders - his head was up, and he was going HARD!

My baby knew he was at the back of the pack, but he was running like he was in first place. He was working so unbelievably hard; but still occasionally slowing to keep an encouraging eye out for his friend who was even further behind. He was determined, persistent and absolutely AWESOME. Even though running has never been his thing, giving up has never been, either.

I worry constantly about my boy. I want to protect him from every single thing that could possibly hurt him. But, there comes a time when he has to try things outside the comfort zone I have created for him. And even when it's hard, maybe disappointing and super scary (for both of us!) -- it seems we have raised the kind of little boy who is determined to try. The fear of failing is nothing in the face of fierce determination. 

And that is what my 9 year-old keeps teaching me every single day. 

My son didn't win the race, but he finished and he never quit. My husband and I were so proud of him that 'proud' isn't even a strong enough word. And most important of all, he was proud of himself. He wasn't tentative or timid. He was brave and glorious -- and I want to be just like him.

Embrace the Balance.

My Little Guy was formally diagnosed with ADHD. We were prepared for the diagnosis, and to be honest, didn't really expect anything else to come out of our pediatrician's mouth. The next steps -- creating a treatment plan of action -- were where the difficult decision lay. Or so I expected.

Pre-diagnosis, my husband and I had thought we'd never put one of our sons on medication for 'behavior issues.' We both were guilty of being sadly ignorant of  ADHD realities, and also both adhered strictly to the 'boys will be boys' philosophy.  We believed that there were certain traits that all boys have, and that parents grossly over-medicated just because they didn't want to deal with a willful, exuberant child. (In hindsight, I could just kick myself for making such ignorant judgements. Especially now as I am experiencing firsthand how much those judgements hurt).

But, medication is exactly what our doctor recommended.  And in spite of our initial apprehension (and misguided opinions), we followed his advice.

I have heard personal stories and read countless articles about drug therapy since ADHD came into our lives.  How choosing to medicate is a really tough a decision; one article about how meds are SO bad for your child, and then the next tells you how meds are the only thing that works -- every parent and doctor (and unfortunately, random woman in the grocery store) has an opinion on the good or evil of ADHD meds. I was prepared for a long, drawn-out decision-making process, filled with lists of pros and cons, and hours of mulling it over.  But, in reality, once our doctor made his recommendations, I knew almost immediately it was the right thing to do for our family.

There are many reasons why choosing medical science to help our son was the path we chose.  1.) We trust our pediatrician; he's been the boys' doctor since the day they were born.  2.) The effects of the medication are not cumulative and completely reversible; if we change our minds, we can take him off the meds right away.  3.) Drug therapy doesn't have to be long term; if as a child, he needs medication to succeed in school (academically AND socially) so be it -- he has far more options for modeling his life to deal with ADHD as an adult.

But looking back now, I know I was always at peace with the decision to medicate, certainly for the reasons above, but also because of who I am -- a believer in technology, science and modern medicine.

When I was 18, I was diagnosed with Osteo-Rheumatoid Arthritis. It was an enormous struggle and an incredibly tough road at first. But, I was able to live my life and meet my goals and do the things I'd always dreamed about because I found the right medication that stopped the pain and let me experience life. When I was 32, I had a stroke. Although I don't like to necessarily think about it, I almost died.  But I didn't. I had surgery to remove part of my cerebellum that was possible thanks to medical science. I am a prime example of what medical technology and advancements can do -- it made me who I am.  Because of it, I still AM.

We have come a long way from using leeches and doctors not washing their hands before procedures and having polio and dying from illnesses that could be cured by a simple antibiotic. Modern medicine has done amazing things for physical conditions, from easily treating what were once fatal diseases to providing veterans with prosthetic limbs. Why isn't science as widely accepted as a way to treat mental disorders? I mean, if it's within my power to give my boy's 'race car brain' even a little bit of the relief I feel when taking my arthritis meds, isn't it worth a shot?

Of course, I am absolutely not saying there isn't a place for holistic treatment of illness. (We have begun our son in play therapy to address his ADHD in addition to his medication.) I also try to eat as 'cleanly' as possible and think a person's diet is better the more natural and chemical-free it is. (We have restricted the dyes and nitrites in my son's food.)  I definitely believe in the healing power of Mother Nature -- but to be sure, I believe in the strength of science as well.

We as humans (and part of nature) have developed the capacity for inventing miracles that help us (sometimes even save us).

Embrace the balance.

Guilt Is A Four Letter Word

Ahh, guilt.  Along with regret, one of the most useless, futile and absurd of all human emotions.  And yet, almost all of us feel it at one time or another, to varying degrees.  Currently, I am experiencing guilt-overload, and it is crushing.

I've always been a guilty person. (No, not THAT kind of guilty!) I am a people-pleaser.  I want everyone around me to be happy, and to like me.  I feel so bad if anyone is put out, inconvenienced or upset. That has meant conflict avoidance (even when confrontation was really what was necessary) and some bottling up of emotion. Totally unhealthy.  But the guilt I've been experiencing lately is even worse -- Parent Guilt. The most intense of all the guilts, in my opinion.

Ever since my husband and I were told of my Little Guy's potential (probable) ADHD, our lives have really changed. I've, of course, being a mom, have scoured the Internet doing research. We've been a lot more patient with him, knowing a lot of his behaviors he just can't help.  But along with changes in our family life, there has also been guilt piling up on me.

I feel guilty...
about the expectations I had for my children.  My husband and I were always part of the sports-related crowd.  I was a cheerleader, he played lacrosse and soccer. We had friends growing up and were always part of a fun group of friends.  I always expected my children to be the same.  But, neither of them are athletes, and both are a little young for their age...especially my Little Guy.  His teacher has noticed he has some problems relating to the other kids, which is a hallmark of ADHD. I feel guilty sometimes that he struggles with friendship. I wish it were easier for him. I feel guilty that I sometimes wish they were what I'd imagined them to be.

I feel guilty...
about the kind of mother I am.  Is my Little Guy's ADHD caused by something I did? Did I let him watch to much television? Do I fail in making sure he has the best nutrition? Did I expose him to some toxin in his bottles, toys, anything? What did I do wrong??

I feel guilty...
about talking to people about ADHD. Sometimes, it feels like all my conversations, regardless of where they started, come back around to it.  I don't want to be someone that no one wants to talk to because THIS is all they talk about (hello? People pleaser!!).  So instead, I just find myself retreating into myself...and bottling emotions.

I feel guilty...
about being so worried.  I have friends with children who are struggling with issues that are way bigger than ADHD. There are lots of people who suffer from ADHD; where do I get off being so consumed?  There are so many people out there with far more consequential, even life-threatening, concerns for their kids.  This is nothing compared to what others have to endure.

I feel guilty...
about my Big Guy. Dealing with an ADHD child requires a ton of patience and temper-control (one of the first things I read about it was the importance of remaining positive).  What patience and responsiveness can I possibly have left over for my Big Guy? Is he left wondering why all of our attention is directed his brother's way? We've explained the situation to him and he understands what's going on, but he's only 9. He's just a kid, too and even though he understands, it has to be impossible for him not to feel a little neglected.

I feel guilty...
about what choices we are going to make.  There are so many routes to take as far as treatment. Therapies, medications, diets -- so much to decide.  What if I choose poorly? I run all the possibilities in my head constantly, and I know I'll second guess everything we do. I feel more and more like a child instead of a parent...aren't the grown-ups supposed to decide and tell us what to do? Oh, I AM the grown-up? Well, it sure as hell doesn't feel like it; I am too scared and uncertain.

So, there it is. Logically, I know feeling guilty about all of the above (and more) a.) doesn't change anything, b.) might be a little ridiculous, and c.) doesn't do anyone any good.  But I still do. Writing all this down does help; I can see in black and white how silly and pointless some of this is. I know I need to (wo)man up and stop catering to the stupid, illogical guilt. My energies need to be focused solely on helping my sons (both of them) through this.

I'm trying.

It's Been One Week Since You Looked at Me...

Happy Valentine's Day!

I've been very lucky to experience a lot of love over the past seven days.

It's been one week since we first heard those little letters that have thrown our world into upheaval.

"ADHD."

The past week, I've been scouring the Internet, reading books, trying to absorb every little piece of information I can get my hands on. Some has been helpful, some has not. Some has been scary, some comforting. But the most helpful thing I've found is putting aside the experts' words, and finally opening up to my friends. I should have known this from the beginning; my most valuable resource, for information and support, are the people around me (after all, they're in my life for a reason!). Just talking about what is going on has been amazing - hearing related experiences from friends, empathy from other parents, reassurances from our doctor and our teachers. My  "Never Say Die!" perspective on life is firmly back in place.

But one thing that was temporarily lost in my week-long whirlwind of information-absorption (and I can't stand myself for this) has been my little angel.

Little Guy has no clue whats going on. He doesn't know what 'ADHD' is. His world hasn't changed a bit...but, I'm so afraid he can feel me looking at him differently. And (I can't stand myself for this -- even more) I think I have been. But, today, he was in a great mood. He flashed a lot of typical LG smiles.  He asked me to be his Valentine. We played Snoopy for a while. Then we played Cup of Doom (something his fantastic imagination created). All of which was quintessential HIM. And it it was like a lightening flash in my brain.  Yes, I'd been (albeit subconsciously) looking at him differently. HOW STUPID. This is MY BABY. No matter what he 'has,' no matter what he needs, no matter what changes are ahead in our adventure -- we'll always face them together.  And he will always be able to rely on his mommy, no matter what. He's always going to be the little tow-headed angel  who completed our family. I feel like the worst mother in world for losing sight of this for even for one second. But I'll do my best not to forget again.

So, happy Valentines Day...it has been an emotional rollercoaster of a week. But I think the love has pushed the fear to the backburner (for now) where it belongs. Here's wishing you the kind of love that sees you through when you need help, and fills your heart with the deepest comfort and fiercest happiness!

But...I Don't Do Fear!

 "If there is one thing which I would banish from the earth, it is fear." 

-- Henry Ford

Yesterday, I read a blog post entitled, '10 Facts on Motherhood.' It struck me, (and other readers, judging by the comments), that while the truths she listed were entirely accurate, they also seemed counter-intuitive. Not that they didn't all apply (they absolutely do), but as an inclusive list, they seem to preclude one another. But as much as the list was accurate, the seeming contradiction is accurate, too. Wisdom and incompetence, resentfulness and joy, anger and appreciation -- yes, they are all felt deeply and simultaneously by mommies. Sometimes, all of them make an appearance in the space of only an hour.

My latest 'strengthener' (some may call them obstacles, but I've had so many of them that I refuse to characterize them that way) is a glaring example of this kind conflict in my own personality. On Thursday, my husband and I met with a team of educators from the elementary school my boys attend. We had this meeting scheduled for a while, and knew it was regarding our Little Guy's focus issues and his seeming inability to pay attention in school. I honestly wasn't that concerned about it. We had had the same meeting two years earlier for our older son. It was literally the exact same meeting -- the exact same team of our principal, the occupational therapist, the guidance counselor, the IST teacher and our first grade teacher and the exact same problems. Or so we thought.

Our previous meeting went a lot differently.

Big Guy got a sticker chart, with rewards for focusing in class each day. And the principal even said, 'Hes a first grade boy. If we're having this meeting in 5th grade, then there's a problem.' That was that, and by the next year it was fine. But, this time, the women's faces were much more serious. There was no 'he's just a little boy' dismissal. They had a different opinion. They felt we should have our Little Guy evaluated by our pediatrician for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD).

If you've read this blog before, you know I pride myself on my tenacity.  I live by the words perseverance, positivity and purpose. Not to toot my own horn, but I've been through a lot, health-wise. And I've come out the other side stronger, better, clearer. The arthritis, my stroke, all of it -- I've faced it as bravely as I could.  But here's where my conflict is. Now? I am scared.

Oh, how easy I find it to tell my arthritis brethren, "Just do it! Be brave! No excuses!" And here I am, shrinking and humbled by the possibility of ADHD for my boy. There are so many questions and so much information out there. How will this effect his education? Making friends? What are our treatment options? What are we going to do??  I am overwhelmed and frightened. I just want to grab my son, hide under the bed and squeeze him and not let go.

I am shaken and afraid, and we don't even have a diagnosis yet.

I have spent the last few days alternating between my stalwart self, and saying, "Bring. It. On. You don't know who you're messing with!" But in the next minute, I'm terrified for him. Am I going to choose the right path for him to succeed? Is he going to struggle throughout his life?  I don't know how I feel, but I do know I HATE being afraid. It's just not who I am.

Logically, I know two things. 1.) We don't have an official label of 'ADHD' yet, so I am definitely getting ahead of myself. And 2.) ADHD is NOT the worst thing a parent could have to deal with, and I'm learning there are positives that come from a brain that is wired a bit differently.

So for now, I'm holding tight to my logic, and trying to keep the resolute part of me at the forefront. I know that's what I need to do, and what my sweet son needs most from his mama right now.  As I look at his beautiful face and infectious smile, it's a little easier to believe that everything is going to be okay.

You're Not the Boss of Me...

My 40th birthday is (all too quickly) drawing near.  Although I am not one to be too bothered with age or getting older, it's human nature to look back and reflect as you approach a milestone.  As I ponder my life, my choices and challenges, my friends and my fate; everything is touched in some way by one thing: arthritis.

I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid and Osteo-arthritis at the age of 17, so I've spent my entire adult existence dealing with this uninvited companion. But, although it's been life-altering, I have done everything in my power over the past 23 years to put myself in the driver's seat when it comes to my health. And a huge factor in controlling this disease is EXERCISE.

WAIT!! Before you groan and quickly move onto cute cat photos or snarky memes, let me quickly reassure you that I am NOT one of those lunatic, exercise-obsessed, perfect body people (although, I do know and love many of them, and honestly admire their dedication and awesome figures).  I am YOU.  If you are an RA/OA sufferer, I totally get it. I have been in your shoes and I have felt your pain. Working out is not in my blood, it's not something that comes easily, and it doesn't feel natural to me all the time.  But, it is something I strive every day to do, not to look good (although that is something I consider...I do own up to a bit of vanity!), I have to do it. I MUST do it.  I won't be able to run errands, chase my boys or even walk if I don't force myself to haul these creaky joints to the gym as much as I can.

The effectiveness of exercise as a treatment for rheumatoid disease is well-documented.  It works for a variety of reasons, like strengthening the muscles surrounding the joints so the joints themselves aren't doing all the work. Range of motion, which in my case, severely suffered in the early years of my diagnosis is increased by regular exercise.  And although I have always found this to be counterintuitive in theory, I've experienced its truth in practice: exercise really does fight off the fatigue that is always accompanied by RA. In fact, the Arthritis Foundation has even spearheaded a nationwide movement called 'Let's Move Together!' to motivate our community to utilize exercise to combat rheumatoid disease.

Obviously, this is all very easy for me to say; after all, I've been eating, sleeping, loving and living with this disease for over 20 years. My RA/OA and I know each other very well and I am used to it.  It's different for anyone who has been recently diagnosed, or even those who've been hanging with arthritis for a while now and haven't found the right path for managing it.  I can hear you all right now -- 'I am in pain and this crazy lady expects me to get on the treadmill?? Not on your life!'  I don't blame you! Not at all. Like I said, I AM you, and I was in the very same spot.  There was a time when I couldn't even walk from the car to my doctor's office without help.  There have been times when I've needed a wheelchair.  There have been times a'plenty that I couldn't do something I wanted.  But that's not how I wanted to live. That's not who I wanted to be.

So I started small.  In the beginning, short walks were all I could do.  I was the only 20-year old in an aqua-aerobics class with 20 silver-haired retirees. But it was a start. And we all have to start somewhere.  And today, I spend at least three days a week at Planet Fitness, and two on my elliptical trainer at home. I am in the best shape of my life.  Because if I wasn't, I know I'd be in the worst.

For certain, I still have my bad days.  There are days when I get up and the last thing in the world I want to do is exercise.  My knees hurt and I am so tired, both from this stupid disease and life in general. But, instead of wallowing, I get up, and I get going.  And you can, too.  I know it's scary and hard and painful.  But it is what it is; but we are what we are.  And that is people who can take arthritis by the throat, and let it know just who's in charge of our lives - WE ARE!

 What I am trying to say is that it WILL get better. You CAN do it.  Join a gym.  Join Let's Move Together and take advantage of the support system it offers. Sign up for yoga class.  Message me anytime if you need to vent.  Take control. Be the boss of you. In taking charge, I promise you will find your determination, positivity, and dignity. We can do this...you and me, one step at a time.

Desperately Seeking...Something?

When I first created this blog, I was happily entrenched in my life as a stay-at-home mother. I had my hands full taking care of the boys, the house, my family in general.  But even then, I could see something out in the distance. A little glimmer of something, just out of reach and not quite discernible, but I knew it was there.  As the years have come and gone, that flicker of purpose got closer and closer.  And although the time has passed and I am still not quite sure what 'it' is -- here I am today, ready to reach out and grab it.

My sons have gone from small preschoolers who need their mommy for almost everything to big, independent boys who attend school. All day. Every day.  Without me. This fall, when the school year started and they were both finally there all day, that something out on the horizon started to poke at me.  I started thinking about the woman I used to be.  Now, don't get me wrong.  Choosing to stay home and raise my boys was the most valuable and important decision I ever made, and I would never change it, even if I could.  But, being a wife and mother was not something I'd always aspired to.  I had different goals and dreams as I grew up, and although they have been on the backburner for a while, they have never gone away.  Changed, evolved and metamorphosed, maybe; but never forgotten.

And now is the time to revive them.  Now, I am ready.

But here's the kicker -- all that change, evolution and metamorphosis?  Instead of wanting to start right back where I left off in the political arena, I am completely lost as to what I want to do NOW.  I don't mean to say that my past-life occupation wasn't important, or that I didn't believe in what I was doing, because I definitely did.  I believed in the issues I worked on and the people I worked for, almost to a fault (sometimes my passion did get the better of me!).  It's just now, my priorities have changed. It's hard to have two children, spend a significant time out of the workforce and reach the age of 40 without that happening.  My mission now is to take my changed priorities, meld them with my professional experience and find the perfect recipe for purpose.

So, what am I looking for then?  What are the ingredients that must be included to result in my desperately sought-after purpose? Well, though I may adjust for taste as the months go by and our family needs change, these are the core components:

• Balance.  My boys have never been to daycare.  They have never had anyone besides my husband or me have to pinch hit if they're sick. As I have said, their well-being and happiness are paramount to me.  I would love to find an employer who understands this, and embraces it. I truly believe that employees are happier, more productive and more satisfied in their work if they aren't constantly plagued by thoughts of what-ifs. What if my child gets sick? What if the boss penalizes me for asking for a flexible schedule on soccer game days?  Just knowing my employer 'gets it' would make all the difference for me in choosing to go back to work.
• Service.  Obviously, a factor in my returning to professional life is contributing to my family's economic well-being. But this is one thing that has not changed during my professional hiatus: I need for my work to be in service to others in some way.  In order for it to be meaningful for me, my industry has to help someone, somewhere who needs it.  I am drawn to non-profits and their mission to do good. As much as I adore the finer things in life, I have never worked just to make a buck.
• Patience.  I have been out of the workforce for a longtime.  And while I have tried to impose some of my former skills on to my current reality, it isn't quite the same. I have no doubt that once I am employed again, it will take me hardly any time to get right back into the groove and learn the ropes.  Hardly any time...but SOME time.  It's a different working world than the one I left behind, and I do realize it will require some adaptations and a learning curve.  Although I am quite confident I can not only do it, but excel at it, my ideal employer would acknowledge this adjustment and work with me.
• The 'Click.'   Not to belabor the point, but it has been a few years since I had a boss over the age of eight. At this stage in my game, it matters more to me what a potential employer's purpose is than specifically what I'd be doing within the organization. I want to connect, to click with it; I want to feel passion for its mission. I realize my resume gap will necessitate a certain degree of starting at the bottom. Again. But I don't mind. I am perfectly willing to pay my dues all over again -- answering phones or some administrative duties in the beginning. If the potential for advancement is there, and I'm contributing to the overall success of the organization, I can do what I'm needed to do. Ideally, I will find a position that will utilize my talents from past positions to become a real asset to my employer.  

Not much to ask, huh? :)

So, I continue on my path toward gainful, meaningful, and balanced employment. I am learning more about myself and my aspirations every day, and with every cover letter I write.  And although the process is taking longer than I would have predicted, I persevere.  I know it'll be worth the wait.

Redefining Compromise: Finding A Place to Belong

Compromise: [kom-pruh-mayhz] N. A settlement of differences by reciprocal modification of demands

When I became a mother, one of the most surprising (and to be honest, challenging) traits I had to quickly embrace was flexibility.  When it's just you, and even after you're married for the most part, you live life according to what fits you. In my pre-child existence, I had a vision of what I wanted my life to be: what was important to me and what I believed. When children come into your life, compromise obviously becomes necessary, and indeed vital.  And when they're small, there are the obvious adjustments to your lifestyle - sleeping patterns, social life, etc. But as they grow older, compromise becomes deeper, more meaningful. Not only is flexibility demanded in how you live your life, but also in how you grow as a person.

My oldest son is an amazing child. He is quirky and hilarious, loving and empathetic. He has an imagination the size of the moon, and gives the best hugs in the world. But, my Big Guy also marches to the beat of his very own, distinctly unique, slightly awkward, drummer. And, although he has played soccer for four years now, I don't think that drummer plays a samba beat.

Now, if you know my husband and me, or have read this blog before, or have any sort of acquaintance with us at all, you know that we are obsessed with soccer is a lifeblood in our family unit.  But just recently, my Big Guy has admitted to us that he has only continued playing to please us. Looking back, it was fairly evident. He wasn't the goal-scorer or even the most determined defender. My son just doesn't have an aggressive bone in his body. While some boys his age thrive on competition, Big Guy doesn't see winning as the be-all, end-all. He just wants to run and learn and be a kid.

My dear, sweet boy isn't a soccer player. Talk about deviating from the vision...and the need for compromise.

The Big Guy is only 8 and although he hasn't found a passion for any 'traditional' sport, that doesn't necessarily mean he never will. Maybe his coordination and drive will mature along with him. He takes swim lessons and really enjoys it.  Perhaps he will want to continue with swimming beyond just instruction, but time will tell. But for now, it has to be hard for him, seeing his classmates and peers playing and excelling at soccer, baseball, basketball, you name it. And we certainly aren't going to be another source of pressure, pushing him to do something that doesn't (and may never) feel natural or fun for him.

Where to go from here? As parents, of course we are intent on finding something for my son that makes him happy. A place to explore his world. Somewhere that offers him a place to develop his own personality and grow at his own pace. An environment in which his seemingly endless compassion can blossom in service to others. A  place where he, wacky drummer and all, can flourish. Somewhere he fits.

And this is where it gets hard.

The place where he can find what he is seeking might be the Boy Scouts of America.

Compromise: [kom-pruh-mayz] V. To make a dishonorable or shameful concession.

 
Simple human rights for the LBGT community is something I have enormously strong feelings about.  I can't wrap my mind around the fact that this has ever been, and especially that it is STILL an issue. People are people in my book, and why would who they love matter to me? The more love in the world the better.  So it bewilders me that people want to restrict rights, discriminate and crucify (well, it seems that way!) It is the year 2012, right?

So herein lies the dilemma. The Boy Scouts of America deny membership to openly gay individuals. I swore up and down, from the time my first ultrasound showed I was carrying a boy, that he would never, EVER be part of such a discriminatory organization. I haven't exactly been reserved about sharing how I feel, either.

And yet, here we are. Can I get past this? Am I selling out? Because that's exactly what it feels like. I have struggled internally and prayed, I have solicited opinions, and discussed this ad nauseum with anyone willing to listen. Because while I want to teach both my sons the value of a compromise (N), I am also afraid of teaching them to compromise (V).

It's bottom line time. I like to think of myself as a person whose convictions are rock solid. But I also know myself as a mother whose first priority is and always will be her children - their heath, well-being and their happiness. When it comes right down to it, I have to do what is best for my child. If the Boy Scouts are the ones who will help my son find his place in this world, so be it. But should the Scouts become a long-term fixture in our lives, make no mistake -  someday I will have taught him to believe so strongly in what is right and human and decent, that he will use the character-building and leadership skills they teach him to affect change within their own organization. And work from the inside out to bring the Scouts into the future without prejudice.

It's been a long journey of soul-searching...from admitting to ourselves that our son is not exactly what we'd envisioned, but is perfect nonetheless; to realizing what our duties as parents are, and fulfilling them in spite of having to alter our approach to society's issues.

Compromise. If my son has found a place to belong, we've done it right.

Happy Anniversary...

I am celebrating a very special anniversary today. It has been seven years for me...and my brain.

Seven years ago, on July 14, 2005, I suffered from cerebral infarction. (Also known as the big, bad 'S' word - STROKE.)  Needless to say, it rocked me, and my family, to the core.  It was an incredibly frightening, uncertain, out-of-control time for all of us.  But, more and more, it has started to seem like it was all a bad dream.

As my brain and I move further and further away from IT, I can't help but becoming increasingly incredulous that it happened at all.  Could that have been me?  Was I really the one laying in ICU? Nah, couldn't be!! I work out religiously! I care for two rambunctious, active little boys every day! There's no way I could have been the broken, helpless girl in that hospital seven years ago. It just doesn't seem possible.

But, as my brain and I are discovering, we must remember.  We have to think about IT.  As I said, I was scared out of my wits (or unconscious) during that period in July seven years ago.  But there are so many things I learned from IT that we, my brain and I, have to always hold on to.

Life is short.  I had a conversation just yesterday with my father about this very thing.  During IT, it became perfectly clear that it was imperative to make the most of every single second you have.  Not only should you spend your time doing what you love, but making time for those you love, too.  It's almost criminal to think that you'll always have time to do that at some point down the line...unfortunately, you just may not.

As adults, we all have to do things that aren't the most fun, or that we don't necessarily want to.  That's just reality.  But, my healed brain and I are here to tell you - you've got to get your priorities straight.  Don't worry about bigger cars, bigger houses, shinier jewelry - worry about making sure that everyone who counts knows that you love them. Because you tell them, and you show them.

Seven years is a long time.  So while IT may become fuzzy memories (and I am pretty glad about that, to tell you the truth), I will always strive to live the lessons it taught me, each and every day. And because of that, I am not a victim of a stroke...I will always be a stroke survivor.

Happy seven years of surviving and thriving, Brain! :)

Time to Jingle!

It's that time of year again!! Time for the annual Jingle Bell 5K Run/Walk for Arthritis. This will only be my second year participating, and I am very excited :)

I last walked in 2009, just 8 weeks after I had my second hip replacement surgery. My doctors and therapists said that I would have no problem walking a 5K in that amount of time post-op. But considering the fact that when I had my first hip replaced in 2011, I was using a walker for a good two and half months, I was skeptical!

It was great incentive to work really hard in physical therapy, though.

I walked with a cane decorated like a candy cane, it started to snow less than half way through, and I came in second to last. But I didn't care - it was an amazing experience. My friends came out to support me (some of whom I hadn't seen in years, and some who had to drive an hour in the snowy weather!), I raised a pretty good amount of money for the Arthritis Foundation, and... I MADE IT!

This year, I expect the walk will garner some of the same emotions -- friendship, good will, accomplishment, help and hope. But, I hope I can at least finish 3rd to last this time! ;)

Please visit my fundraising page to donate to this great cause!

Ten Years Ago.

Ten years. I can hardly believe that it has been ten years. That day is so firmly entrenched in memory, in excruciating detail, that it's almost impossible to think that a decade has passed.

It's hard for me to think about today's anniversary. Every year is difficult, but the "10 Years" label has been especially poignant. Part of it is the realization that my children will never know the innocence of the pre-9/11 world. Part of it is knowing that there are still those out there that wish to harm our country. Most of it is inexplicable. The anniversary brings out its usual swirl of emotions; they are all just particularly sharp today.

I haven't watched any of the documentaries or specials about the anniversary of the attacks. I haven't wanted to. I can't. But today, as part of my reflection and my healing process, I plan to watch one with my children. Up until now, I have never spoken to them about it. I know it's an important historical event, but I have wanted to shield them from it. I never wanted them to come away from a conversation about it feeling unsafe. But I think it's time.

I think it's time for them to hear about the heroes in the New York Police Department and Fire Department. It's time for them to learn about the brave men and women on Flight 93, who probably saved their mother's life. It's time for them to learn about the feeling our country had in the days and weeks following the attacks - a time of togetherness, cooperation, and spirit that I never thought I'd see.

I hope that passing along my memory of September 11, 2001 to my children will bring about some understanding for them, and a degree of closure for me. I want this day to not only be about mourning lives lost. Today is a day to celebrate heroism and be proud to be an American.

For my account of the events that took place on that Tuesday, click here.

NINETEEN!!!

Today, with a draw at Ewood Road (the home of Blackburn Rovers), Manchester United secured enough points to claim the title of Premier League Champions! We have topped the league a record-breaking NINETEEN times, toppling the previous record of 18 titles, held by Liverpool. Although the trophy won't officially be bestowed on the boys until next weekend at Old Trafford, today definitely saw some celebrations! Here are some of my favorite pictures:

Thanks to Daniel Burdett for these firsthand photos:
From Nani's Twitter:

...and Rio Ferdinand's Twitter:

And of course, my most favorite photo (perhaps of all-time, among those not of my own kids):

GLORY, GLORY MAN UNITED!!

A little something recently posted on my Facebook Young Stroke Survivors group. I wish I had this six years ago! An amazing piece that really breaks it down after a life-changing event like a stroke...

I'm glad to see that you are awake! This is your brain talking. I had to find some way to communicate with you. I feel like I barely survived WWIII and am still not quite all in one piece. That's why I need you. I need you to take care of me.

As time passes and you and I feel better and better, people, even doctors, will tell you that we are fine, "it's time to get on with life." That sounds good to me and probably even better to you. But before you go rushing back out into that big wide world, I need you to listen to me, really listen. Don't shut me out. Don't tune me out. When I'm getting into trouble I'll need your help more than I ever have before.

I know that you want to believe that we are going to be the same. I'll do my best to make that happen. The problem is that too many people in our situation get impatient and try to rush the healing process; or when their brains can't fully recover they deny it and, instead of adapting, they force their brains to function in ways they are no longer able too. Some people even push their brains until they seize, and worse... I'm scared. I'm afraid that you will do that to me. If you don't accept me I am lost. We both will be lost.

How can I tell you how much I need you now? I need you to accept me as I am today... not for what I used to be, or what I might be in the future. So many people are so busy looking at what their brains used to do, as if past accomplishments were a magical yardstick to measure present success or failures, that they fail to see how far their brains have come. It's as if here is shame, or guilt, in being injured. Silly, huh?

Please don't be embarrassed or feel guilt, or shame, because of me. We are okay. We have made it this far. If you work with me we can make it even further. I can't say how far. I won't make any false promises. I can only promise you this, that I will do my best.

What I need you to do is this: because neither of us knows how badly I've been hurt (things are still a little foggy for me), or how much I will recover, or how quickly, please go s-l-o-w-l-y when you start back trying to resume your life. If I give you a headache, or make you sick to your stomach, or make you unusually irritable, or confused, or disoriented, or afraid, or make you feel that you are overdoing it, I'm trying to get your attention in the only way I can. Stop and listen to me.

I get exhausted easily since being hurt, and cannot succeed when overworked. I want to succeed as much as you do. I want to be as well as I can be, but I need to do it at a different pace than I could before I got hurt. Help me to help us by paying attention and heeding the messages I send to you.

I will do my part to do my very best to get us back on our feet. I am a little worried though that if I am not exactly the same... you will reject me and may even want to kill us. Other people have wanted to kill their brains, and some people have succeeded. I don't want to die, and I don't want you to die.

I want us to live, and breath and be, even if being is not the same as it was. Different may be better. It may be harder too, but I don't want you to give up. Don't give up on me. Don't give up on yourself. Our time here isn't through yet. There are things that I want to do and I want to try, even if trying has to be done in a different way. It isn't easy. I have to work very hard, much harder, and I know that you do too. I see people scoff, and misunderstand. I don't care. What I do care about is that you understand how hard I am working and how much I want to be as good as I can be, but I need you to take good care of us, as well as you can do that.

Don't be ashamed of me. We are alive. We are still here. I want the chance to try to show you what we are made of. I want to show you the things that are really important in life. We have been given another chance to be better, to learn what is really important. When it is finally time for our final exit I would like to look back and feel good about what we made of us and out of everything that made up our life, including this injury. I cannot do it without you. I cannot do it if you hate me for the way being injured has affected me and our life together. Please try not to be bitter in grief. That would crush me.

Please don't reject me. There is little I can do without you, without your determination to not give up. Take good care of us and of yourself. I need you very much, especially now.

Love,
Your Wounded Brain

--Rosie Shread

Justice

"Tonight, I can report to the American people and to the world that the United States has conducted an operation that killed Osama bin Laden, the leader of al Qaeda, and a terrorist who’s responsible for the murder of thousands of innocent men, women, and children."

Last night was a typical Sunday night for me. Ten o'clock rolled around and I headed upstairs to bed. And, as per usual, I checked my Twitter account one more time before I settled into sleep. I started reading tweets about President Obama addressing the nation about a 'national security issue' imminently. And it wasn't about Khadafi. My heart started to pound - I was nervous. But why?

I turned on Wolf Blitzer on CNN and watched as the various journalists discussed what the information to be shared could possibly be. They were very careful at first to preface their statements with the 'unconfirmed' label. But finally, John King stopped all the tapdancing around the subject: Osama bin Laden is dead.

As I sat in my bed, alone in a quiet house, I surprised myself. I wept. Uncontrollably. It was a shock to me how many emotions were swirling around in my head and heart. Here we are, almost ten years later and I'm significantly removed from my old life in Washington, DC - geographically and substantively; literally and figuratively. It was jarring how much it still affected me. I felt like I had had a weight on my chest for ten years that I didn't even know about. And it had finally been lifted.

The death of Osama bin Laden will never bring back the 3,000 Americans that perished on September 11, 2001 of course. But, I truly hope that their families will feel some small bit of justice and possibly closure due to this triumph. The United States military and our allies around the world have lost brave men and women in this fight, and although we will always mourn their loss, perhaps their families can take some comfort in the fact that their sacrifice was not in vain.

It's been a painful ten years. Sure, we've all moved on. We had to. We've gone about our lives; marrying, working, having children. We've tucked September 11th in the back of our mind and threw ourselves into the healing process. But, we have never forgotten. The news of the death of bin Laden conjures images of the most painful day in our national psyche. But it also brings with it the ability for us to close the chapter. Now, with a small measure of relief, and an indelible vigilance that was born on 9/11, we can start to look forward toward the future.

"Let us remember that we can do these things not just because of wealth or power, but because of who we are: one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

They're Coming to America!

By now, everyone has heard that Manchester United will be doing a pre-season summer tour in the United States of America, July 13-30. Similarly, I'm sure everyone has heard by now my squeals of excitement and pure joy!

This summer, United will be visiting Boston, Seattle, Chicago, New York, and Washington, DC. We plan on seeing our beloved club in New York, where they will be taking on the MLS All-Stars, and we are taking the boys to the match in Washington, DC. The match in DC will truly be an experience of a lifetime for all of us. Manchester United will be taking on the famed football club from Spain - FC Barcelona.

Red Bull Arena, actually in New Jersey, is the aptly-named home of the New York Red Bulls of the MLS. My husband and I will be attending this match on our own. It's kind of a foregone conclusion that David Beckham will chosen as an MLS All-Star. It will be very interesting to see him playing against his boyhood and former team! (He didn't play for the All-Stars during last summer's tour due to an Achilles injury.) Like our trip to Manchester earlier this year, it will be an amazing trip for my husband and me. Doing what we love the most - watching United - together. The red of United is all the romance we need in this marriage!

Almost everything I've read about the United match versus Barcelona has used the adjective "mouth-watering." And it most certainly is. These two powerhouse football clubs are arguably the most famous and successful teams in the entire world. They have played each other before, sure, and will (hopefully) be meeting again in the final of the Champions League in Wembley. But we in America have never been witness to the meeting of two football giants such as this. For our sons, attending this match (even at such a young age) is something that they will always remember. An experience that will never be matched -- until they get to Old Trafford, that is.

Roll on, Summer 2011!

Get Well Soon, Stu!

Stuart Holden, midfielder for the United States Men's National Team and Bolton Wanderers sustained a pretty serious injury during the match Saturday with my Manchester United. Unfortunately, he will be unable to play football for six months after a tackle by United's Jonny Evans (who saw a red card and was ejected from the match.)

I am an enormous fan of Stu Holden, and he won't be able to contribute to the USMNT's campaign for the Gold Cup. I am gutted for Stu, but I know I speak for all of my fellow United supporters in wishing Stu the best, and the speediest possible recovery.

Love you, Stu!

Manchester is My Heaven Pt III: The Football Club We Love - City Derby

I didn't cry.

After months of build-up and years of yearning, I didn't cry. I really and truly expected the tears to begin flowing as I caught my first caught glimpse of the home of my beloved football club, Old Trafford. But, as we drove up to the ground, as excited as I was, my eyes stayed dry.

As we walked up to Old Trafford, it was all a bit surreal. Was I really here? After seeing these famous sights on television for so long, was I actually close enough to touch it? Emotions were running rampant through me - excitement, awe, amazement - but I still didn't cry.

We arrived to the ground early enough to walk around and soak in the atmosphere. We were taking the tour in a few days, but nothing compares to Old Trafford on match day - especially when our opponents are Manchester City. The energy and anticipation emanating from the fans give the ground a lifeblood that you can feel pulsing all around you. Vibrancy and passion is in the very air there, and I have never felt anything like it before.

We wandered around a bit with our friends and saw the famous hallmarks of Old Trafford...the Trinity Statue, the Munich clock and memorial. We perused the stalls outside and I bought a scarf. Finally, it was the moment I'd been waiting for ...waiting for what seemed like my entire life. It was time to go in. We went through the little doors, through the tunnel and out into heaven. And still, as I actually entered the Theatre of Dreams, I didn't cry.

We sat in our seats in the South Stand, drinking up every last drop of the spirit of our surroundings. We gaped at the fabled Stretford End, and we gazed at the player's tunnel that would soon see our beloved club enter the pitch. I sat imagining all that this place had seen, and the history that lived within the seats, the walls, the people. It's hard to really describe what I felt. I was overwhelmed, I was overjoyed, and I couldn't believe it was all happening. To me, I was the luckiest girl in the world.

The players began to emerge from the tunnel for warm-ups. First our keepers, then the rest of the team. To see them out there, nonchalantly stretching and preparing, I was hard-pressed not to squeal in excitement. I was here!!! They were here!!! I closed my eyes and tried to preserve every facet of this memory in my head - the sights, the smells, the sounds. The excited fans, red seats and green grass; the aroma of pies and the whiff of chill in the air; and the roar of the crowd every time a player waved or clapped to the stands. I was in a dream - a living, breathing, heart-pounding dream. I should have wept with enormity of it all. But I didn't.

Finally, it was match time. It couldn't come soon enough as I was ready to burst! The players started coming out of the tunnel, led by our Captain Nemanja Vidic. Then came Edwin Van der Sar, Paul Scholes, John O'Shea, Wayne Rooney, Darren Fletcher, Chris Smalling, Ryan Giggs, Anderson, Patrice Evra, and Nani. Our team for the battle against Manchester City. They assembled in front of the dugouts, and then the moment came. The moment when all of the emotions I had inside finally broke free and the tears began. The moment I saw him walk on to the pitch. The moment I saw Sir Alex Ferguson.

And then the match began.

If I could only use one word to describe watching a match in person at Old Trafford it would be breathtaking. The cheers and chants from the Stretford End (and elsewhere, too, but they always started there!), the beautiful game being played on the pitch, the pure exhilaration of it all. It was everything I'd imagined it to be and so much more. We cheered and groaned alongside our 60,000 closest friends and I felt an incredible sense of belonging to Manchester United.

I include the word 'groan' but I should also add 'sigh with relief' to that. Manchester City created quite a few dangerous chances in the beginning part of the match and I found myself holding my breath many times. This was certainly not the City of earlier in the season that never attacked, only defended their goal from us like their very honor was housed there! But that didn't matter. Just before the half, it was Nani's left foot that made Old Trafford erupt into exuberant cheers and cries of joy! To be that close to it, to actually watch from only yards away was a moment of pure elation. I will never forget it.

Halftime came and went and the boys were back again. Everyone was jubilant, and the atmosphere was definitely one of celebration. We were ahead and playing to win. Unfortunately, City newbie Edin Dzeko, by way of Silva's back, leveled in the 68th minute. I think it was a shock to the boys in red. It was unexpected, and actually quite flattering to the game City had been playing. All that was running through my mind was that, if we lost, none of my friends would let me come back to Manchester again!

But then it came. THAT goal. It came from very humble beginnings, really. It was the 78th minute, and time was running out. As United marched down the field toward City's goal, it seemed our boys would be frustrated again as a cross from Nani hit a City player, Zabeleta, and sailed high, seemingly aimless, in to the box. The next few seconds were in slow motion for me. As I was watching the opposite goal from the South Stand, I saw Rooney's overhead kick by the millisecond. Tick, tick, tick - SMASH!!!! I stood, open-mouthed and in shock until I was swept up in the celebration by my husband and the fans seated around me. That image of Rooney (my son's hero, of course) has been burned into my brain so vividly that I can close my eyes and see it like it was two minutes ago. It was without a doubt the greatest goal Wayne Rooney has ever scored, and we were there to witness it.

As United went on to win the match 2-1, I already knew we had seen something special. On top of the pure bliss of just being at this sacred place, we had seen history in the making. And Manchester United had made sure that day was unforgettable, not just for us, but for the whole world.

Manchester Is My Heaven Pt II: People We Met

This visit to England had plenty of 'new' aspects to it...new area visited, first time visit to Old Trafford; we even flew into a new airport! But one of the things that had made this trip 'new,' was also largely what made it so special. Our friends.

Through Twitter, I have been lucky enough to 'meet' supporters of Manchester United from around the world. My Twitter friends hail from India, Singapore, Portugal, Australia, Indonsesia, Ireland (and of course, England), just to name a few! After talking with some of them for almost a year, I was finally going to get to see the real, live them. It's a bit difficult to describe how significant and unique this is. When you to talk to someone so much, almost every single day, you can't help but feel incredibly connected to them. Even if it's only via computer. For me, it's still a little startling (in a good way!) how close I am to my friends who are thousands of miles away.

As I describe my friends, I'll use their Twitter handles - to protect the innocent, of course! ;)

After we completely destroyed City (ahem), we made our way to the Trinity Statue in front of Old Trafford to meet some of our amazing Twitter friends. After some initial hugging and "I can't believe it's!!" we made our way to Sam Platts' Pub. I have to admit, it felt a little silly introducing myself as 'Red Mama!' But as I matched up user names with real names and Twit-personalities with faces, all the sheepish grins and awkwardness disappeared. I hugged every one of my darling 'tweeps' with the wholehearted joy of embracing a long lost friend.

There was RATompkins, one of my favorites on Twitter. He's always the first one to say good morning, never shies away from his own opinion, and has a wicked sense of humor. And did I mention he loves Star Wars and Harry Potter, too? I could kick myself for not spending more time with him, but I am very happy that I at least got a hug from my favorite chef.

DoronSolomon came up to Manchester from London with yolkie_ and MrsYolkie. Poor Doron, on crutches from a recent surgery. (Although he might have considered himself lucky; I restrained myself from too much hugging because I didn't want to knock him over!) The Yolkies have recently gotten married in our mutual favorite place, Walt Disney World. The Mrs and I share a love of cupcakes and all things Disney. She loves America as much as I love England, so it might have happened that we were born in the wrong place! After our many wonderful chats, it was so good to finally meet her! She was as beautiful as she is nice. As for her husband, he is the founder of 7 Cantonas and False10 websites. Another one I didn't get to talk to as much as I would have liked, but he and my husband discussed football from one end to the other! I think they had a great time trading perspectives on the beautiful game.

There was another Orlando enthusiast in our crowd that evening, none other than PhilGatt. Loving, hard-working, down-to-earth husband, father, and United fan - I have truly enjoyed getting to know him through Twitter, and it was amazing to get to meet him in person. And, exactly as I had imagined, he had a wonderful, infectious smile. He had lost his voice shouting for United at the match, which just goes to show he works as hard at being a United fan as he does for everything else he does. :)

As I was chatting, a wonderful, exuberant blonde came up to me, "Hi! I'm Ellie!!" Known as 16Ellie on Twitter, this lady was full of energy and Manchester United enthusiasm. It was impossible not to be the same around her! She also introduced me to Almanuman, a tall, distinguished gentleman with a very welcoming manner. They both conveyed a great sense of belonging to this Yank girl.

And then there was HappyHero. Where can I begin with this guy? Only one way -- Winkbang! (sorry, little inside joke, there.) And that pretty much sums this one up. Anytime he and I are on Twitter at the same time, you can be sure I am laughing. His quick wit is a sure-fire way to make you LOL. ;) But behind this funny guy lurks a heart of gold. During my ticket fiasco, he offered me his, and his kindness is something I will never forget. Thankfully, I didn't have to rob him of seeing the spectacular Rooney bicycle kick, but I was incredibly touched no matter.

They always say "small world," or "6 degrees of separation," positing that we're all connected in some way. This was never more evident than when we met Manutdot. First of all, let me say, this guy was the only one who was nothing like I'd imagined!! For some reason, I had darker hair and not as tall in my head. But, he was definitely as nice in person as he is on Twitter. He actually contacted United to put our names in the match program(me) as first time visitors to Old Trafford from the States! What an incredible keepsake. After the match as we were talking, we came to find out that he not only works for the same company as my husband's best friend from university, but he actually knows him!! Small, small world! We went to college in the one of the smallest states in the Union, the University of Delaware. To travel all the way to England, happen to meet a friend from Twitter, who happens to work with our friend? Total shock. And to say we got along well with Darren is an understatement. I (and especially my husband) really enjoyed his company, and we hope to see him every time we visit Manchester, and of course, if he ever travels to the States.

Meeting TreacleTart99 and Moscow21508 was like opening a gift that you didn't know you were getting, and it turns out to be exactly what you wanted. I wasn't sure what their plans were, and hoped they'd make it to the 'tweetup.' She might be surprised to learn this, but after becoming her friend on Twitter, I was a bit in awe of Treacs. She was just so funny and confident - it sounds cheesy, but I thought she was really cool! And when I met her in person, she was exactly the same. And, of course, completely genuine and kind as well. Moscow was the same. Funnily enough, during the match they took a photograph of the stand we were sitting in. They had no idea where our seats were, but after working it out looking at my pictures, they have a shot of us in the stands! Another fantastic memento of our trip to Old Trafford. We were extremely grateful to have met them both and spent time with them. Laughing and getting to know the two of them was a highlight of our trip.

I don't even know where to begin with SparklyDevil and Luzhniki2008. Because of them, this trip felt less like a tourist's journey and more like coming home to visit family. We have become indescribably close during my time on Twitter, discussing everything and anything under the sun. Our likes and dislikes are so similar and we are so like-minded in our values and priorities - I really mean the word when I call them family. They made us feel that way, nothing less. From dinners, to playing chauffeur and tour guide, the experience of having these two share their city with us was nothing less than magnificent. I know I have used a lot of superlatives in this post, but I don't know of any to describe how authentic, generous and kind-hearted these two people are. My gratitude for having them in my life (now and always) knows no bounds.

And, of course, last but certainly not least, we met Mike and Damon. Mike is SomersetReds' dad, and he and Damon met us outside Old Trafford to give us tickets to the match. Not only were they bestowing on us something akin to a golden ticket, but they seemed genuinely happy to be helping us. After giving us the tickets, Mike gave me an incredibly sweet smooch on the cheek and said how nice it was to meet me. I loved him :)

Going to Manchester is intrinsically momentous for a Red. But going to Manchester and having the pleasure and honor of meeting these people made the whole experience that much more special. You all have become so much more than names on a computer screen. Thank you for making our trip one we will never forget.

We can't forget to mention Blissbubbley, Spursboy, and the artist formerly known as MsMozza. We didn't catch up with them this time around, but you can bet I'm making sure of it next time we're in Manchester!