Author: Allie P.

It would be nice if I had found my sea legs

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it, Personal Favorites
Sunset at Lake Norman
Red skies at night, sailors delight. Red skies at morning, sailors take warning

Growing up, my dad would occasionally take us out sailing on a nearby lake. There were days the water was as still as glass and the wind refused to fill the sails. On those days we would bake above deck while the boat inched along at a snail’s pace. We could cool off by hopping in the water, but for the most part, those trips were rather boring. We could have swum just as easily at the shore. Other days, the wind would gust. The boat would heave up and down as well as from side to side. On those days, I would worry that we might capsize at any moment, or that I might lose my lunch.

I was taught to look out at the horizon as a way to combat seasickness.

Seasickness is caused by your brain not being able to find equilibrium due to the motion of the vessel. However as much as you rock from side to side, the horizon remains flat and motionless. It provides your brain with a mental anchor point. By keeping your eyes focused on the distance your body is able to subconsciously anticipate where you will be as the boat moves through the water. This can be the difference between enjoying the ride and turning a lovely shade of green.

Several years ago, I heard a song by a band called the Immaculate Machine entitled “C’mon Sea Legs.” The singer is basically giving himself a pep talk throughout the entire song, begging his legs to adjust to the sway of the boat. I particularly like the refrain:

C’mon sea legs, pull yourself together
you’re gonna have to learn to like the rockin of waves
whatever, c’mon now it’s not meant to be easy
but you’re not gonna spend your life bein’ sick over the side

The past week, I’ve experienced a number of up and downs. I was one of several presenters asked to speak in front of eighty people who had come from various points around the globe. Leading up to the event my stomach twisted. I forgot several lines from my prepared script, but what I did remember hit home. I ended my speech to applause, and several attendees approached me later with their compliments on a job well done.

Then I received my manuscript back from my editor. I wanted his honest assessment, and I got it. To say he thinks it needs some more work is an understatement. Based on his recommendations, I am going to have to re-write a significant portion of it, an undertaking that is daunting. A part of me wants to bury the entire manuscript in a drawer and move on to a new idea. A part of me wants to give up altogether.

We are all faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disguised as impossible situations. — Charles Swindoll

I have to remember that calm seas are boring, and destinations don’t get any closer without a little wind to help push along the way.

I have to stay above deck and keep my eyes on the horizon. I am going have learn to like the rockin of the waves. I have to accept the lows as well as the highs in pursuit of my dream.

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Take a step back to better leap forward

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it
America's Worst Driver
Open auditions every rainy day!

Yesterday we were hit with heavy rains during the evening commute. Around here, rain like that somehow seems to always cause the driving public along my commute to forget basic driving rules. Thanks to the traffic, I was running several minutes late when I pulled into my first stop and collected kiddo number one. By the time I arrived at the toddler’s day care I was even later.

We had barely entered the toddler’s room when kiddo announced that he was hungry. Loudly. I must not have acknowledged his pronouncement to his satisfaction, as he repeated this breaking news story. Not to be outdone, his brother added his voice to the mix. Time was officially not on my side.

Somehow I was able to calm the boys. I was likely even more anxious to get home than the boys were. The hunger beast which had replaced kiddo number one was only going to be put off for so long. As we made our way to the car, I couldn’t help but notice that a truck had parked beside my car while we had been inside, and that it was taking up more than its fair share of the roadway.

As I started to back out of my spot, I noticed that there was no clearance between me and the truck. I was trapped in my parking space. The rain was still coming down in buckets. The driver was nowhere to be seen. My boys were still hungry. I suppose I could have taken my chances with the boys. I could have turned the car off, hoping the truck’s driver would soon re-emerge. A person parking that badly surely couldn’t be planning to stay long. I could have stormed back inside demanding that its owner drop whatever he or she was doing to move the truck now, but that would have meant dragging the boys along with me too. Shudder.

Instead I shifted my gears and drove forward. I adjusted my steering wheel, and backed up again. I repeated these steps two or three more times. Finally, I managed to create enough of a gap between our vehicles to continue out of the parking spot without losing my side mirror. Freed we made our way home where the hubby met us with dinner preparations already in progress.

Goals are achieved by taking baby steps. However the path you take to get there is rarely straight and clear. Sometimes those baby steps have to be taken in the opposite direction. While it may feel like a set back, these steps are occasionally necessary to ensure we have enough space to make a course correction. Those small set backs, while frustrating, and time-consuming, might be all that prevents a larger, more serious delay such as a collision with a ill-parked truck.

Sometimes a step back is the only way to leap forward.

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No thanks required

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

2013-3-28-MarineCorpsMarathon

The weather is finally beginning to transition from the scalding heat of summer into more comfortable temperatures, and at my house that means that running season has once again begun. The hubby’s more casual runs have taken on a more desperate urgency as he trains to participate once again in the Marine Corp Marathon.

He’s run a few marathons before, but last year was his first time attending this particular event. The boys and I traveled with him to our nation’s capital to offer our support with plans to cheer him on along with thousands of other spectators.

The bombing in Boston had understandably made everyone a wee bit nervous and it was going to be nearly impossible to get anywhere near the course except by foot. Knowing that I was going to be in charge of wrangling both of our boys by myself all the way from the hotel to the finish line I had borrowed a double stroller. It unfortunately had a semi-broken wheel, a fact that I didn’t immediately recognize until we were already in DC. I chose to make do with what we had. My hubby wasn’t going to be the only one getting a workout that weekend.

The day before the big race, we had gone to check in with the officials and pick up the hubby’s race number. Security was in force and there were several lines you had to stand in. We actually stood in one line for close to ten minutes only to realize that it was a line to buy race related merchandise and had nothing what so ever to do with picking up the official bib and tracker.

We had managed to pick up most everything, but there was one more line required on the other side of the street. The boys by this point were starting to go a little stir crazy. I told the hubby to go ahead, that we’d catch up. Without the unwieldy stroller, he would make better time. He did, disappearing into the crowd.

I began making my way out, only to realize that the exit I had gone through took me out on top of a large staircase with no handicap accessible ramp. Going back in the way I came wasn’t an option, security check points wouldn’t allow it. I inched our way towards the first stair, stopping the stroller at the edge. I circled around to the front to ask my elder son to get up and walk down the steps so that I would be free to carry his brother. He decided this was a good time to be uncooperative.

I heard a voice over my shoulder ask if I needed help. I muttered an automatic negative response. I would be okay, I told myself, and returned my attention to my eldest son, who continued to show no signs of behaving. I must not have been very convincing. Suddenly hands appeared from every direction lifting the stroller and my sons up. Within a blink we were down at the bottom. I glanced around. Based on the number of hands, there had to have been at least four people, but they were gone before the words, thank you, had even left my mouth. I never even truly saw their faces.

I thought to myself, what just happened!?!

Then it hit me. I was surrounded by Marines.

Marine Corp Memorial Iwo Jima with Washington ...
Marine Corp Memorial Iwo Jima and finish line of the MCM distance (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have been very fortunate to never once been in a position to see Marines in action first hand. At least not when it mattered. So perhaps I might be excused for being surprised. However I realized then that I should not have expected anything else. These were people trained to overcome resistance, execute their mission with maximum speed and efficiency, and leave no one behind. Even more amazingly they were expected to do all of these things each day without thanks.

I will admit that my ego needs feeding. I crave acknowledgement of good work. I will perform a little victory dance after a job well done. I think to myself I’ve earned my praise, I deserve it, when the majority of my work consists of taping some keys at a computer. To be reminded that there are people who risk far more, requiring far less is extremely humbling.

I may not always agree with the when and how they are deployed, but I am grateful everyday that there are people like that out there. If one of my random helpers from last year’s race stumbles upon this post and remembers the lady with the double stroller on top of the stairs trying to do too much on her own, please accept my most sincere thanks even if you didn’t think it was required. You are inspiring.

A person’s a person no matter how small

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

When my eldest son was still in diapers, I had the brilliant idea to take him on an airplane trip to visit my sister. He was adorable at that age (still is – whoops! I mean handsome), but there is something about being crammed together in a tiny metallic cylinder thousands of miles above ground with no hope of escape for several hours that makes any child appear more monster than cherub.

Even as a parent, I’ve been there a number of times myself. You see harried looking parent coming towards your gate with their baby in tow and all you can think is please be on the next flight. Please!


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I did my homework well in advance. I planned our strategy. I would hold off giving him a drink until we were in the process of taking off. That way he would be swallowing his milk while his ears adjusted to the change in pressure. I would book a flight as close to his nap time as possible. His natural body rhythm combined with a full belly would help ensure that he would sleep all the way to our destination. I would also book a flight time that was least likely to be utilized by the business commuter set.

He was too young to be distracted by video games, but on the chance sleep didn’t come easy, I had a few relatively silent toys packed in my carry on for emergency distraction. It didn’t matter that they weren’t any of his favorite toys. If they were the only toys around, surely he would give them a try. Right? All these preparations were designed to decrease the likelihood that other passengers would have to listen to the less attractive use of my son’s vocal chords.

When we arrived at the airport and began check in, the ticket clerk looked at my husband and I, the baby, and over our shoulders as if looking for some missing third party.

“The child is traveling with you?” she asked.

“Yep. It’s his first flight,” the hubby and I responded. Duh.

She stared at us. I began to sweat.  I didn’t understand why she was looking at us like we had just landed from Mars.

“He needs a ticket.”

I was positive that kids under two could ride for free if they didn’t need a seat. I’d read it several times on the airline’s website. My son wasn’t even one. “He’s going to ride on my lap.” I responded lamely. What was she not getting?

“All passengers are required to have a ticket. Even lap children. He is a person too.” She ran her fingers over the keyboard and poof out spit a ticket with a $0 balance.

I thought I had anticipated everything, except that I’d neglected little detail, and wound up unintentionally marginalizing my child.

As she handed us the ticket, she repeated, “he’s a person too.” It reminded me of the Dr. Seuss book, Horton Hears a Who, and the story’s call to action:

“Don’t give up! I believe in you all.
A person’s a person, no matter how small!
And you very small persons will not have to die
If you make yourselves heard! So come on, now, and TRY!”

The Scottish referendum on whether or not they would like to stay a member of the United Kingdom is likely over by the time you read this. I have no vested interest in either outcome. But I’ve been utterly fascinated by the process. There may have been attempts to shush them, soothe them, or limit their exposure, but one way or another the Scottish people have made their voices heard. And they’ve done it without violence. They’ve done it without their complaints being hijacked, derailed, or otherwise lost in the noise of lesser issues.

More of my best laid plans fell to the wayside during that particular flight. He made sure I knew the consequences of taking his normal good behavior for granted. My son’s first flight has thus far been his only flight. However those are stories for another day.

Today’s story belongs to Scotland, no matter how they choose to write it. May all our voices carry so clearly.


Embed from Getty Images

Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

Harder_Better_Faster_Stronger_by_momentscomic

As I picked up my toddler from day care, his teacher approached me positively beaming. “He attempted to climb out of his bed today at nap time,” she explained with a big grin. Though he sleeps in a big boy bed at home, his bed at day care is one of those portable cribs. To my eyes, there is a fairly significant drop from the railing to the floor below. For many care givers, reporting that a child in their care is putting themselves into a potentially harmful situation isn’t something to be excited about. At least it isn’t something to be positively excited about.

But my little lord tyrant has always had a way of redefining expectations.

In an earlier post, I wrote about how my son has hypermobility and how difficult it was for him to catch up to his peers in terms of motor skills. If that challenge hadn’t been bad enough, according to his last several check-ups, it is likely he’ll inherit his height from my side of the gene pool. Poor thing. My height hasn’t been considered average since before the 1900s. The crib wall comes up to his shoulders. Therefore if he is able to successful pull his entire body weight over that height it is an impressive achievement, even if earns a few new bruises as a trophy.

We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We can make him better than he was. Better...stronger...faster.
We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We can make him better than he was. Better…stronger…faster.

The conversation reminded me about the multiple weeks we spent with the physical therapist. Once he achieved walking, each follow up appointment started by placing him on a baby treadmill. His therapist explained to me that in order to build up muscle mass in his legs, he had to first tire them out. He had to make his muscles strain and suffer in order to build up their strength. The phrase no pain, no gain, came to mind.

Pain is a funny thing. It warns us when there is something the matter so that changes can be made before more permanent damage is done. Without the sensation of pain, you might not realize that you need to remove your hand from a hot pan on the stove. If we are lucky, an unexplained pain can send us to the doctor before a tumor becomes un-treatable. While pain is something most of us would like to avoid, it is a necessary component to continued health.

Pain can also be the world’s best teacher. If we never experienced hurt, and life’s other lows, we would never truly be able to fully appreciate their opposites. If we never pushed ourselves to our limits, we would never fully learn the extent of our capabilities.

I’ve begun work on my third novel. With each project the task has become increasingly more difficult. I am in the process of making a few edits to An Uncertain Faith, and plan to be releasing a new edition in the coming months. Additionally I still have to finalize the cover design for the second project and begin rolling out its release. Finding the time to fit in the writing of a third novel, a sequel, is no easy feat.

But in someways writing the third is significantly easier than writing my first two books. It is a sequel. I know these characters and their setting. I know what it takes to pull their story from my mind and put it to paper. I can plan my schedule accordingly and have given myself a much longer runway. I may at times feel like I am straining myself, trying to do so much, but it’s made my determination to succeed that much stronger.

If I am asking my toddler continue to push himself, the least I can do is to do the same.