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.