T.C. Slonaker's Blog, page 4

Why I Really Like My Legs

I really like my legs.

Such a scandalous statement, isn't it? I mean, how bold and self-centered can I be, right? Hopefully, by the end of this post, you will be saying the same thing.

I'm not saying I stare in the mirror, posing to admire the beautiful appendages that they are. I'm not even especially wild about the shape of them or how they look.

Legs are so much more than that.

Lately I have been noticing the power in my legs. I don't feel it when I am running mile after mile, and I don't feel it much on a slow jog. When I run, I think my brain just says, "Move faster than normal." Or if I am on the treadmill, it says, "Keep up so you don't fall."

But I do feel it when I sprint. I'm not sure of the exact code my brain needs to use, but I become aware of my quadriceps lifting my legs to a precise height in a specific allotment of time. The code reaching my legs is a warm rush of adrenaline that exits the muscles almost as soon as it goes in. The waves splash through like waves in confined quarters, back and forth, until I stop. At that point, the adrenaline turns to lactic acid. And while that is more of a "freezing-up" feeling, I am proud that I know how to get it moving on through. I don't have to do anything; it just happens.

The result is a body that can move fast, and stronger, powerful legs.

Sometimes, after a load of exercise, the legs hurt. It's really more of a soreness, and it does go away. But I'm glad for the soreness. I'm glad that my legs have feeling. I'm glad to feel the weight of my children when they sit on my lap, even when some of them are too big to sit there anymore. I'm also glad to feel my favorite cat purring when she curls up in that lap for a siesta. 

I've rarely noticed such things before, but I think about it more each time I hear from a friend of mine who has multiple sclerosis. 

She had a rough summer dealing with her disease. Living in a bi-level house, she had to plan her day around the trips she would make to the kitchen, bathroom, or laundry. Going down the steps to leave her house was a big deal, and heaven help this poor mom if she did too much and wore herself out. Now, she was able to find a device that helps her to think less about her walking, and enables her movement greatly. It has made a huge difference in her outlook.

The use of her legs, just to walk, is life-giving.

This weekend, my legs are going to get a workout like they've never had before, as I ride with my husband (on our anniversary) in the MS 150. It will be a challenge, as we ride for 5-6 hours through New Jersey, and back the next morning. I'll get to see if 40 years of standard use can be put to a higher test. I'm excited to see what they can do, because I don't doubt I will finish. Our bodies, when in full working order, can do a lot more than we often challenge them to do. I think it would be wise to test those limits once in a while.

To participate in this ride, we had to raise support for the MS Society -a group who helped my friend pay for a portion of her device in order to improve her quality of life. Of course, the main focus of this group is to find a cure and stop the suffering of those with multiple sclerosis, and I pray they do.

For those who gave in support of my ride, thank you, and may you be blessed.

My legs do such wonderful things for me. If something ever happens to me rendering me unable to use my legs, I wouldn't resent those people I saw using their legs as I once did. What would upset me would be seeing someone with perfectly capable legs...

Who chose not to use them.

What Percent of a Person is Good?

Statistics was my favorite subject in college. For some reason, numbers and odds and predictability all came alive to me then. So now, I love to think in terms of tangible absolutes. Measurement is as good as fact for me.

Let's measure ourselves, shall we?

Recently, I have been involved in a discussion in one of my Goodreads groups about the virtue of mankind. We all varied in what we believed about how much evil could be found in an individual human being. Let's look at some evidence and get out our scales.

Case #1
There are the terrorists in some sects of Islam whose sickening deeds have been blasted through the news lately. Men who decapitate children for the purpose of scaring others or use them as shields to protect themselves are 100% evil.

Not to defend their actions AT ALL, but let me throw in this caveat. Those men think they are doing exactly what their god is telling them to do. In their minds, they are holy men. 

Case #2
How about a person of the opposite extreme. There is a woman who is a missionary in a third world country. She lives with nothing more than what she needs to survive and she doesn't complain about it! From the moment she wakes until the closing of her tired eyes at night, she helps the people in her poor community. She farms with them; she serves them food; she shows them how to care for themselves.

Can we all concede to give this woman a 100% good for her selflessness?

Case #3
Now, let's look at an average person who is not a participant in mass genocide or a pre-cannonized saint. 

Since I may not know you, I will be the guinea pig and put my life up for examination. 

You might be able to consider me a "good" person. I attend church every Sunday (and not just because I work there.) I even come on days that are not Sunday. I pray every day and read my Bible when I can. I don't cheat on my husband or beat my children. I floss my teeth. I don't kill spiders. I even do nice things for strangers periodically.

I'm not perfect. I have lied. (Perhaps in the above paragraph? You'll never know.) I am greedy; I am selfish; I have said things I should not have. 

But more good than bad, right? Great! So what would you give me? 50% good? Nah, how about 90% good? (I always strive for A's.)

Here are my questions: 
How did you come up with your answer? and 
How are you qualified to give it?

Hmm. OK, so maybe good and evil must be determined on an individual basis. If we use different people to judge - I mean measure! - a man's actions, it could give us different readings. Your 50% rating might be my 90% rating. It all depends on the standard we use.

We need to use one reliable measurement instrument. There is only One standard, one absolute we can use. Since the goal of doing good is so we can see God and be with Him in heaven, we must use Him as the standard.

We know that God is 100% good. (The word "good" was actually derived from the word "God.") So where does that leave the rest of us, in my opinion? Here's where I came down in my Goodreads discussion: I believe that there is no good whatsoever in a person. 

0% good. Every single person.

Wow, that's harsh, isn't it? Too harsh, right? It would be akin to saying that we are no better, no more righteous a human being than one of the terrorists I described above. And if it were true, we would be completely unlovable by a perfect, 100% holy God. I mean, why would God create a purely evil being and choose to love him?

Well, first of all, how are we supposed to know why God does anything? ("As the heavens are higher than the earth, so my ways are higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:9)

But secondly, that's exactly the point. God is not picking and choosing people to love based on what they do. Where would He draw the line? The Bible doesn't say, "Thou shalt complete forty good deeds in thine lifetime. Only then shall I grant thee welcome into My kingdom." 

Nope. Instead it says, "Be holy as I am holy." (I Peter 1:16, as well as 5 other similar references.)

And how is God holy? Completely. There is no imperfection in Him. (Matthew 5:48) THAT is the standard we have to live up to. Do any of us meet that standard? No. Even that missionary woman from Case #2 has committed at least one sin in her lifetime. She is less than 100% good.

For ALL have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. (Romans 3:23, emphasis mine)

Furthermore, I propose that if you have ever committed any sin, you are completely sinful. Just as a little yeast works its way through a whole batch of dough, a little sin makes a person sinful.  (Galations 5:9)

God is a God of absolutes. It's all or nothing. (How about that for making statistics easy?) If there were anything good in us, if there were any way to make good on our own, what would stop us from being completely good, all on our own? 

If that were the case, we would have no need for a Savior. We could get ourselves to heaven and He would not have needed to die on a cross for us.

But He did die on a cross for us. He laid down his perfection to be seen by the Father as our complete imperfection, so that we could in turn pick up His perfection in the Father's eyes.

We can't be full of His perfection unless we are empty of everything that is ours. We must be nothing good so that we have room for his 100% goodness.

God only takes 100% goodness into his home.  Since we can make 100% on our own, He offers it to us freely. I accept! 100% has always been my favorite percent.



T.C. Slonaker writes Christian fantasy novels to point others to Jesus. Read more about her Angelmen series HERE. Please share!

The Cross Didn't Save You

In the year 1255 A.D., the body of a little boy named Hugh was found discarded in a well in England. The boy had been tortured and eventually crucified, possibly as a sacrifice by his kidnapper. Little Hugh was given the status of sainthood by the Catholic church.

Sad as his story is, the death on the cross of Little Saint Hugh did not redeem you from the Father's wrath.

During the Third Servile War, somewhere around 72 B.C., about 120,000 slaves revolted against the Republic of Rome. Many died in the war, but about 6,000 of the survivors were taken prisoner and put to death on crosses, along a road leading to Rome to warn others of the consequence of such actions against the government.

Not one or even all of those 6,000 deaths on crosses saved you from the penalty of your sins.

In 33 A.D., a Man who was broken and bruised took painful steps up the hill at Golgatha. Onlookers yelled and spat; some cried. Following the climb, the man- who was not really a man  once you take off His skin- was nailed onto a cross.

What Jesus did was amazing. It could never be replicated because there will never again be a man to walk the earth who has no sin.

The cross, however, did nothing but take its part in Jesus's killing.

People will continue to die on crosses. It is rare; but it can be found in some areas of the Middle East as a form of capital punishment (most often imposed for religious descentions). 

Death on a cross does not propitiate you from the punishment you deserve for the sins you have committed. To say such a thing would be akin to thanking the oven for the dinner you just ate.

I have several pretty cross necklaces. I wear them as a demonstration to others of what I stand for. I love when people ask why I wear them. It's an opening to talk about my faith. But those necklaces are not as dear to me as what they represent. 

The cross is a symbol, not a reminder. I don't need a reminder of a means of torture suffered by many in Roman times.

It wasn't the cross. It was the Sacrifice given at the cross that saved you. It was the God-Man that delivered you. It was His Love that redeemed you. 



For more about my Christian beliefs, please read the "Beliefs" section on this page under "About T.C. Slonaker." Or click here.

For more information on my Christian fantasy novels in the Angelmen series, click here. 

Why Daddies Make Better Coaches Than Mommies

Before anyone attacks me for being anti-feminist here, I do agree that moms most CERTAINLY CAN do whatever coaching she would like. As a matter of fact, a lot of single moms don't have much choice, and I tip my hat to them.

But it's a lot harder for us.


I bit off more than I could chew by volunteering this year as a softball coach. I'm not even the head coach, mind you, but I now see why this is a Daddy job more than a Mommy job. 


It's not the actual coaching that's hard. I love the sport, and have played more years of my life than I have not. I have 2 degrees in elementary education and experience teaching, so I'm not afraid of the kids, either. 

I know the sport and I know kids, what could be more perfect, right?

That was your question if you are a man. If you're a woman, you probably already know the problem. 

The problem is the same problem we have with everything else. It's One. More. Thing.


I see why the daughters of the only "Mom-coach" I ever had growing up never had their hair in pigtails. My daughter's hair was often a mess this season. More than once I brought the child to the game and asked the older sister of a teammate to do her hair for me. Because honestly? It was a huge success for me if I could get her in the car with her uniform and cleats on. (There were days I threw in the towel and had her do some of that IN the car. Because coaches have to be on time, no exceptions.)

Moms are the ones in charge of the hair, the uniform, and the shoes. Have you seen the dads who had to do the daughters' hair? You have, and you gave him grace. Moms don't get that grace. It's our job.

What we SHOULD be doing is: hair, clothes, shoes, HAND-OFF. Hand the child off to the dad so he can take it from there and teach them how to play.


You may have thought that since I am a stay-at-home mom, it would be much easier for me to pull this new position off. I thought so too. The problem is that the coaching doesn't happen during the day when the kids are at school and the hubby is at work. That would have made it much easier. Nope, games and practices all occur at the same time everything else happens - the very minute (sometimes before) that everyone gets home.

Dinner becomes the next issue. Moms must have a meal ready for everyone. Sometimes, we have to be at the field before our husbands are home from work. So dinner needs to be prepared to be eaten in shifts. We've eaten sometimes at 4:30. We are training our kids to be old people.

Again, how nice would it be to just feed them and hand them off?


Coaching means you are in charge of equipment. It's never light. In our league, we have to get out out bases and line the field. The bases are heavy. I'm not a weakling, but I can only carry one base at a time. Most men I see carry two. I'm the kind of person who will dislocate a shoulder to get more groceries in the house in one trip, so seeing the men juggle bases like that makes me envious. 

Oh, and at the end of the game? We have to drag a metal grate around the field behind a riding mower. I managed to get away without having to drive that thing... until the last away game. After I learned how to get it moving, things were fine until it ran out of gas... at the bottom of the hill. I literally could not push it back to the top. At least I could stand and look pathetic until 2 dads from a neighboring game came over with pity and finished it up for me. That's right. Dads. 

Yes, I am in need of your strength, men.


Speaking of strength, how about toughness? Dads are in charge of teaching kids to "tough it out." Moms are in charge of cuddling. What happens when kids get hurt on the field? The coach tells the player to "Suck it up and get back out there," right? Not if you're the mom. 

There was one instance last week when my 7-year-old little girl, playing pitcher at the time, took a hard line drive to the shin. I ran right out to the mound and stopped. What now? I wanted to pick her up and carry her off the field, applying ice and doing all the other first aid I knew. But I had to get back in the field and finish coaching the team. It was my kid, so I couldn't hand her off to her mom for TLC, so I had to coach. "Aww, Sweetie, that was a tough one, huh? Doesn't hurt too badly, though, does it? I think you're okay to keep playing, what do you say?"

She sniffed away her tears, nodded, and we all clapped to commend her bravery. Thankfully, it really DIDN'T hurt too badly and didn't even leave a mark.


OK, so there definitely are advantages to having a mom as a coach. I had to teach one girl how to discreetly change her shirt in the plain light of day. Only a mom can do that. And you know my softball bag has everything in that Pinterest has taught me I would need to fight bugs and ticks. Also, when the young ones aren't standing in the right position, I can pick them up and just put them where they need to be.

Then of course, there are the hugs. Sadly, in this day, society won't let daddies hug other people's daughters. But they are still little girls. There may be no crying in baseball, but there's a little bit in softball, and the girls need a little TLC sometimes.

So, in retrospect, maybe I should re-title this post, "It's Hard for Moms to Coach, But Here's Why We're Still Going to Do It."

Because when my daughter asks, "Will you be there for me?" and I can say, "You bet," it's worth it.

Why I Do What I Do

I wanted to sell Tastefully Simple products. 

It seemed so easy - get your friends together for a party and eat snacks. They buy products, happily, and I come away having made (from what I hear) in the neighborhood of $200 or so. 

For having a party with my friends, calling it work, and putting in about 4 hours worth of work. (If you call that work.)*

For a time, I was a substitute teacher in my kids' elementary school. You want to talk about a great job? My kids go to a great school, and I know many of their friends. They were young when I did this, too, so I was more of a celebrity than an embarrassment when I stepped foot into the classroom. Kids were eager to help me through the day and enjoyed a break from normal routine. I made no plans, did no grading, and was still treated like a professional. Plus, I walked away with about a hundred dollars for a day's visit.

I didn't keep with subbing. Instead, I chose to lock myself away from people, put in hours upon hours daily for up to about 8 months, to write, edit, beg a publisher to contract me, and try to market my product.

My last quarterly royalty check for that effort was $5.63. (If you take away marketing costs I put in, we are way down in the red.)

So, let's sum up the efforts possible, shall we?
1. Sell food products - earn an average of $200 for a day.
2. Substitute teach - earn about $100 in a day
3. Write a book - earn what comes out to $0.01 per day

So why do I do it?

It isn't a job. I write for several reasons.

1. To improve

Writing is a skill. And yes, the inner geek in me can never stop learning. When my editor gave me back my first set of edits, my jaw almost hit the floor. How could a former English teacher write so poorly? By the end of the second book, though, I was thrilled with how much better she had made me.

Just like a runner who sets goals to eventually run a marathon, I want to also give my craft the best I've got.


2. Because I can't not write

(See how far I have to go in improving my writing?)

Do you ever get so inspired by a book or a movie that you think, "Wow, I want to come up with something like that!" Or maybe you've been so mad at the ending of a book or movie, that you re-wrote it in your head. Writers do that too. We even do it with everyday life. "He shouldn't have said that to me. He was supposed to say this..."

It's how you know you were meant to write.


3. Because I have a message

Some people just write to write, but most of us have something to say. For me, it's the desire to show an example of God's love through fiction. Since I feel so strongly about young adults and teens (my target audience) learning about how much He cares, I've made my message my mission.



If you believe in what I write, or if you would like to support me (the same way you would support your friends who sell Tastefully Simple, Scentsy, Thirty-One, or any of those other fun party products), here's what you can do:


1. Check out my books

Right now, only the first 2 books in my series are out, but if you're patient, you will eventually see 8 of them. You can find out more about them here, on my website. Look up at the menu bar and check out the "Books" section or the "About the Angelmen Series" under "The Angelmen Series." If you still have questions, go ahead and contact me with them! I'll tell you anything you want to know - even how you might be able to read my books for free if you need to "test the waters." 


2. Recommend them to whom you might know who would like them

You know how the other product-sellers are reminding you that their products make good gifts? Well, teachers like books too. And so do moms, sisters, birthday people, nurses, bus drivers, and so on. 

Maybe you took a look at my book section and realized this isn't the kind of book you like to read. But you know you know someone (we ALL know someone) who reads everything they can get their hands on.

My books came about especially because I saw lots of kids reading books with themes that were a little too, ahem, mature for them. I really wanted to provide a safe, CLEAN, alternative that was still interesting and exciting. Sometimes the characters might find themselves in worldly situations, but they will show integrity though it. If you know kids who need something like that, guide them here.


3. Review the books on Amazon and/or Goodreads, if you have read them.

What's this? You've read my books, but still want to help? Well, some Tastefully Simple consultants (especially those who know my friends) can make their living by going around the same circle of party people. But for those of us who sell products that are less consumable, we need to rely on new customers. And we only have so many friends, so we have to get word spread all around.

Amazon is a tricky little species. They love to recommend related products to their customers to get more revenue themselves. How do they know what to recommend? They see what's popular. They only know what's popular by people TELLING them they like it. If you rate my books or even just write a sentence or two about what you thought about it, Amazon will turn their head and pay attention. They will then give other people a chance to see what they think. It makes sense to me. I only want to read books that someone else has said they thought were good.


OK, here's your chance. (The full-out shameless promotion.) Since I have your attention now, I'm going to lead you to the Amazon links for my books, where I invite you to do any of the above. I'll just tell you now how much I appreciate even the fact that you have read through this whole long post. Everything you do beyond that is greatly appreciated as well. 

Amity of the Angelmen
Asher of the Angelmen

Who knows? Maybe someday you can tell your friends that you helped this author go from making a penny a day to a dollar a day. 


"... and she has me to thank."

Thank you!




*By the way, I mean absolutely no disrespect to those who sell products. It DOES sound fun, even though I know there's a lot more to it than just partying.

Azaleas and Motherhood

I sit here looking out my window at my garden, and I remember.

I remember when I looked out my window on April 7, 2002. (It's in my pregnancy journal.) It was a Saturday, and I was in my second trimester with my first baby.  In those days, I was convinced I was fragile and shouldn't lift a finger.

My husband was outside, moving dirt around to start a garden in front of our house. Our house hadn't been built more than a year ago, so he basically followed the dirt lines left by the construction/landscaping crew. 

I knew the dirt wasn't very good, and I didn't have the first inkling about how to make something grow anyway. After a trip to Home Depot, stupidly asking no questions, I chose to begin with 2 azalea bushes and 2 rhododendrons.

One rhododendron died almost on contact with the dirt. I really have no idea why one grew and the other did not. The azaleas fared better. I learned later that azaleas love the acidy soil that is plentiful around our house.

That summer, I gave birth to our first child. It's a good thing azaleas are perennial, because I did not have time to fuss over flowers. Time passed and I bore two more children while the azaleas faithfully returned each year to mark the end of April/beginning of May. Since two of my babies were born in April, there were a few years that I didn't even notice the blooms.

But a funny thing happened when the kids all made it to school age. I bought a recliner and put it in the living room by the window so I could do my writing with a beautiful view. For about a week or two each year, my window would be filled with plentiful pink flowers.

I rarely get to look out the window at them. Beginning of May is softball season, soccer season, concert season, Mother's Day, and a couple of birthdays.

As I write this, it's spring again, so just the other day, I looked out my window to see the azaleas blooming before I headed out to a 4th grade concert. The flowers were a blur. It's tough to see clearly through tears in my eyes. 

You see, the last time my azaleas were blooming, I was on my way to a special "tea" to celebrate the end of my youngest's year in kindergarten. And now, all of a sudden, I am going out to celebrate my middle child's last few days in elementary school.

My children age like there's nothing to it. (I guess there really isn't, as far as they can see.) But the azaleas come back just the same every year. I will look out my window in just a few years to see the same azaleas, only they will be in the background of my oldest's prom pictures. Same flowers that struggled to come out just before she was born. But the child in the foreground is different.

Looking at the pretty pinks is becoming harder and harder. They announce the close of another school year. But they are the anchor of anything static in my ever-changing family. 

The kids are growing, and I love that. It's just going to come as a shock one day to look out the window at the azaleas and not have to run to an end of the year concert. I won't know what to do, but at least I will have the azaleas there to look at.

Welcome to May. I will be looking out my window to see azaleas coming and going again, bowing away to give the limelight to the rhododendrons. Soon the rhododendrons will pass, too, so the butterfly bush can carry the summer. 

But I won't forget the beautiful blooms from early spring. Even though they only lasted a few weeks. I know they will be back again in a year. It won't look exactly the same - nothing is ever the same - but they will be there. The kids inside the house guarded by the flowers will be much different, I'm sure. But, for now, they are still there as well.

So, good bye, for today, azaleas. I have a concert to go to. I don't have any time this year to see how you've grown. But your time will come, as my Lord wills it. I will be back to you before we know it.

Keeping My Sanity

I just finished a week where my husband was away on business, we had three softball games, two softball practices, one soccer practice, a field trip to chaperone, a viewing to attend, and a therapy appointment to keep with my 3 kids. 

Maybe I should say, I "survived" the week?

Some of you are old pros. (I don't mean "old," I mean "veteran.") You look at my list and say, "Ha! I see your games, practices, and appointments, and I RAISE you music lessons, concerts, swim lessons... etc. AND I'm a single parent. Check and mate!"

It's not a contest. We're all busy. We all know what we can handle. We also all know when we are pushed to the limit. 

Last week, I was pushed.

I received advice beforehand like, 
"Don't worry about the house."
"Put Papa John on speed dial."
"Invest in paper plates." (That, I already do.)

But you know what? If I left my house a mess, I think I would have gone crazy. Leaving dishes in the sink would have nagged me to the thinking that the meal isn't "really" over. There will be more work. Because... I can leave them there for a day, but at some point, those dishes will need to be done.

I vacuumed every day, as I normally do. Part of the reason I do that is so I can pick up the clutter on the floor. I may have felt like I didn't have time for this, but it is always possible to squeeze 10 minutes out somewhere. 

And then I had the sanity of having no visual clutter on the floor. (Instead, I had piles of clutter on tables. I could ignore looking at that for a few days, but at least I could walk and not step on toys.)

Remember, this is me, not you. You may only vacuum every 2 weeks, because that's all that's needed at your house. Or you can deal with a dirty floor. But maybe you need to weed your garden every day. My garden will not be weeded this year. Sorry if that makes you cringe.

You have your thing and I have mine. We have our routines to keep our sanity. When we keep our routines, our lives are tricked into thinking we've got this. We can handle whatever is thrown at us and still look normal. (Even if normal is just a setting on the dryer.)

I survived the week. Thanks to the prayers I received, God gave me the strength I needed to take it by the nape of the neck and throw it down. Now, we're on to a new week. It's going to be just as busy, but now at least, my husband is back. And my floors are picked up.

Yeah. I've got this. (Thanks, God!)

40 Things I Have Learned in 40 Years

In honor of having lived 40 years now, let me save you younger ones some of the hassle. Older ones, feel free to leave more in the comments!

1. Yes, you CAN have too many tee shirts.

2. You never regret going out for a run

3. It is never wrong to show love

4.  Love is something you do, not how you feel.

5. Bake often, but not on hot days.  Save those for ice cream

6.  Give your husband something to be proud of.

7. At a restaurant, don't be afraid to go with what you always get.  You will know you will like it.

8. Prepare all of your end-of-life plans before it becomes essential (funeral, will, etc.).  It will make it so much easier on the ones you leave behind.

9.  Never procrastinate.  Getting the necessary done now, which leaves more time later for the fun.

10.  Take any opportunity you can to go to the beach.  But never alone.

11. Shopping: never buy on impulse.  If you happen upon something you have needed, and it is a better price than you have seen, get it.  But if it was not something on your list, think first, don't buy.  If you are still thinking about it later, go back for it.

12. Kids need down time.  Let them have as much as they can tolerate without being bored.  They will have to be structured soon enough.

13. Every time you go upstairs, take with you something that belongs up there.

14. Mess first, clean later.  Sounds obvious.  But don't scrub counters before you bake.  This also goes for vacuuming AFTER, not before playgroup comes over.

15. Let machines do as much work as possible.  They don't complain as much.

16. Sometimes it is better to forego things like having yard sales and participating in consignments because having more time is better than having more money.

17. Eat ice cream for breakfast. There isn't any reason not to.

18. Choosing a movie? Go with the comedy. If you laugh even once it's less disappointing than a movie you don't understand or sleep through.

19. Hold your child when he is sick no matter how old he is.

20. Have at least one tradition at birthdays. It will make everyone look forward to it. For my July birthday daughter, it's water balloons.

21. Shiny is good. Sparkly is better.

22. Good is fine.

23. Don't skip dessert.

24. Cereal for dinner sometimes makes everyone happy.

25. Get a large iced coffee, take out the ice and keep in the fridge what you don't drink.

26. Invest in lots of command hooks. Bring them on vacation and hang everything up.

27. You cannot have too many organizers.

28. Flowers are pretty, but roses from the grocery store aren't any less special than the flower store's.

29. Always have a list of places you want to go/ things you want to do when you suddenly find that you do not have your kids for an hour. Make another list for longer periods of time. Don't let that time slip away!

30. Read the book first and then watch the movie. It will make more sense. Especially Gone with the Wind.

31. No caffeine after 4pm. Go to bed when you're tired. It's better for your body than forcing yourself to stay awake.

32. Water is the only thing worth drinking for the sake of drinking. (Special treats are different. But make those worth it.)

33. If you have a book in your head, write it! Work through it after you write it to make it good. And then make it better.

34. Never waste time with TV if there's something better that can be done. Never waste time, period. Always have a plan.

35. Time DOES indeed pass. People DO change.

36. Sports are fun and they get you going. And since you never know how any given match up will go, it's never the same game twice. Play, if you can.

37. Be careful about what makes you cry early in your marriage. It will be remembered For.Ever.

38. Sometimes even things that were good will have "run their course" at some point.

39. Don't hang on to stuff. Really. It's just stuff.

40. I know that in another 10 years, most of this list will be obsolete and laughable. And I will have so much more to add, but not nearly as much as when I am 80!

What It Feels Like to Run When You Have Asthma

May is National Asthma and Allergies Awareness Month.

May 6 is World Asthma Day.

And so, today, I would like to help those who do not have asthma understand a bit what it feels like to struggle breathing.

Here's What happens:

You know what it feels like when you need to cough, right? You NEED it. You feel that little wiggle of pheylgm and an incurable urge to expel it.

When you have asthma, you do, indeed, produce extra mucus, but your throat is so tightly constricted, you can't force it up. And yet, your brain tells you that you need to cough, so you cough. The cough further inflames your airway, causing it to swell, and giving a tighter grip of your muscles around your throat. Which, then again, makes you want to cough to open the airway. The cough forces out a large amount of air from your body, leaving it with very little left. Since your airway is swollen nearly shut, you can't get more air in. Your brain realizes there is not a good balance of good air to bad air in your body, which makes you panic. When you panic, you naturally produce a spike of cortisol. What does that hormone make you want? More oxygen. What happens when you can't deliver it? More panic. Do you see the loop here?


So, that's what's happening. Here's what it feels like:

Warm, humid days are the worst.
The humidity drapes itself over my body like a wet blanket for the first mile.  It's tangible; I can feel the weight of the air. Then, the blanket sinks deeper, through my skin, and laces seem to appear in the heavy wool of the blanket which cinches tightly, strangling my never-prepared lungs.

Imagine a small child sitting on your chest. You know your lungs are big enough to still breathe and get in the air you need, but because of the child pushing down on your chest, they don't have the room for the air. Your lungs are not stronger than the child. Asthma is that child. 

Your body does everything it can to get air in. So, you start by breathing in through your nose. You breathe heavily- you can never get enough- and so your nostrils begin to burn from the friction of the in-and-out quickness of the air.

Next, you breathe through mouth. After some experience, you know that this will burn worse. You can take in more air through your mouth, quicker. But it does not get where it needs to go. There seems to be a hole in your throat, so the air that comes in never makes it to your lungs.

Panic. You need air. Even your eyes widen, as if you could pull in air through the gaps in your eye lids. You can't think about anything else. If you are moving, you have to stop moving. You have to stop everything else your body is doing to focus on getting air.  

And you are unsuccessful.


How long does it last?

An inhaler gets the oxygen in, so there is help immediately. But it burns going down. The burn lasts in your throat for hours. Also, the medicine leads you (or me anyway) to get get jitters that also last for a while. (This is because the medicine is a stimulant. I get the same affect from coffee.)

What now?

I could quit running. Asthma has made me hate it anyway. But I know the overall health benefits of running make it so that I almost can't give it up. So, I use my stop-gap measures to keep this problem under control the best I can. I go on the treadmill inside (where there is no pollen or humidity) or choose another exercise on days that summer has thrown me its worst. I never really get into a good rhythm. 

I will never stop wondering if I would be able to truly love to run if I could actually breathe. 

Seeing Color

Sometimes I feel like Forrest Gump - going through life seeing the details and missing the big picture.

I have seen the pieces of chocolate in life's box, but I have not always known how they got in the box.

Here's my almost 40 years of life- as a Euro-American from the suburbs of Philly - as it relates to how I have seen race.*


1. Childhood: What's the Difference?

I grew up not seeing black and white. That was most likely because I only had white to see. My classes in school were almost always limited to about one black person any given year. (The word "African-American" was not in vogue for a few years into my school experience.)

There was a black family that lived next door to us. We knew them about as well as we knew the white family that lived there before them. I didn't know what what the mom or dad did for a living or what it took to get to the house next door to us. It didn't matter to me. Shinita was my friend in my mind and I saw her in every way my equal. 

Noble thinking, huh? Actually, I now see it as very self-absorbed. I knew what I thought, but I never knew what she thought. I never knew the terror she might have faced starting in a predominantly white school. I had no idea from where she came. I still don't.

My thought was that black people COULD attend my school. Segregation was illegal. I figured that most just CHOSE not to.

I probably believed that for the first 30 years of my life.


2. Teen/Young Adult: What's the Big Deal?

In the '90s, I felt like I was drowning in "race relations." The college I attended was also predominantly white, though there were more people of color on campus.

I had a class on African-American literature. (I had to take it because it was the only honors class that fit my requirement.) There were 12 students in my class (taught by a white professor). Two of the students were black. We read 10 books that semester and then discussed them. Books that "chronicled the black movement in America." Tragic stories, like The Color Purple and others. I wrote papers that received A's because I knew what the right answers were. Slavery is wrong, segregation is wrong. (And I was a good enough writer to pull it off.) 

However, I skipped going every other class because I feared the discussion. I felt badly for the 2 black students that were constantly singled out, not knowing that maybe they wanted a chance to tell their story too.

I cried at the books I read, not because it happened to black people, but because it happened to people. I figured it could have happened to anyone. 

There was an organization on campus called Building Bridges. It was a group of students and faculty who stepped into some of our classes to explain how they felt and answered any of our questions. To this day, I could not tell you what color skin the presenters had. 

But I had no trouble telling them how I felt - We are all the same, so why can't we just act all the same?

They tried to compare their experience and a need for Affirmative Action to a basketball game where white people had been spotted 60 points, and we needed to step aside to let the black people catch up. (poor example, but it stuck with me.)

I countered that I should not be punished for the sins of my great-, great- grandparents.

Still, I only saw my life - my job opportunities, my future. I didn't see how there was a lack of what I took for granted available for others.

You would have thought I would have gotten a clue about present-time inequality when I found out that the KKK had "rallies" in the town where I attended church. Or even when a black member of my church explained how he had been treated in his hometown. In the 1990's.

Still, I didn't know. I assumed that there were a handful of poorly-educated racists around who said what they felt. I assumed they would get in trouble if they stepped out too far. 

I assumed the law would protect the innocent.

What I didn't know was how the presence of racism commanded fear in the lives of the innocent. Black people, who had been given their freedom many years ago were not free to live where they wanted and do as they pleased. 

I was chose to be blind to it all.


3. Age (almost) 40: What Else Am I Missing?

I guess it really hit me last year. I saw the movie, "The Help." 

My jaw dropped. People could actually be handed down through someone's will? Slavery was over. How was that possible? The entire movie opened up my eyes and flabbergasted me that such events could take place in the 1960's. 

Throughout school, I had learned about slavery, the Civil War, emancipation, and even the Civil Rights Movement. I could tell you all the prominent players and dates related to each of those events. Heck, I even had to teach it to 3rd graders when I student taught.

But I was missing a few years- those between emancipation and Civil Rights. That was about a hundred years. I also never heard anything more after the death of Robert Kennedy. 

I read Gone with the Wind. From it, I learned that though white leaders did what was certainly in the best interest of blacks by freeing them from slavery, nothing was done for them after that.

I had no idea.

Then I saw The Butler - unintentionally. I heard it was a good movie, and had an idea that the main characters were black, but I didn't really know what the movie was about. After seeing it, I was completely baffled that the black and white double standard in life persisted even through the '80s. 

Yes, it was a perfect example of how I walked through life, ignoring how the others felt and lived.

(Please feel free to engage me in a discussion about this movie. I loved it.)

It was only recently that I was taught how the Bible explains race. That we are all one people - one great big group of sinners still loved by God. 

I can't tell you that I am so much more enlightened now. All I can say now is that I know that I don't even know how much I don't know.

Maybe that brings me back to where I started. Maybe I can go back to believing what I did when I was little - that there is no difference between people of different skin colors. Or there is all difference, but not between races. Between individuals.

I can still believe that. Only now I need to understand that not everyone sees it that way and it is a view worth fighting for. 

I encourage comments from every here - especially about your experience as it pertains to race relations.



*Note: This post regards my experience learning about African-Americans in the U.S. I am trying to learn more about the Asian-American experience in our country as well. I am trying to learn what I can about how Japanese-Americans were treated during and after WWII. I still have much to learn also about native Americans and Latin Americans as well.