#i had a meltdown during work last week like an actual ugly crying meltdown

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Forget Me Not (10/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: angst, mentions of sex and cheating

A/N: It’s shorter than usual but it sets up the next chapter 👀

Also, huuuuuge thanks to @ficsnroses​ for reading this over as well as being super supportive when I was having a mini meltdown while writing this :)) !!  

Anyways, hope you all enjoy!

Part 9

Eyes fluttering open and adjusting to the blinding daylight, Keanu almost didn’t recognize the white ceiling above. Gaze fixed on the crown molding, there was a small, yet discernable patch of grey in one corner, a soreness to his eyes. A light chuckle then escaped him, remembering when he repainted the room a year ago and had accidentally left the mark up there. He had promised to fix it, several times actually, but life got so hectic that he eventually forgot, and it was left neglected to this day.

Surrounded by the dark blue duvet he’d received as part of a house-warming gift years ago, the last time Keanu slept on this heavenly cloud of a mattress was the night you came home from the hospital. He’d gotten quite used to the smaller bed in the guest room, and waking up in this one was nearly unfamiliar to him. Shifting slightly, he stopped abruptly when he heard a soft moan to his left, feeling the warmth of another body pressed against him moving before the sheets settled again.

Turning to lie on his back, a sigh fell from Keanu’s lips at the sight of you curled up and facing the other wall. You were still in deep-sleep with one hand under your cheek, your hair spilled over the pillow, and your bare skin set aglow by the midday sun. The blankets barely covered your nude body from his eyes, and even after five years, it never failed to take his breath away.

You were beautiful, simply stunning, and utterly mesmerizing. Only a fool would choose to glance the other way when it came to you.

Mind drifting back to the night prior, the corners of Keanu’s mouth curled upwards into a soft smile. He thought about the tender way the two of you made love for hours, only falling asleep when dawn finally crept up, painting the skies outside a rosy hue. It was sweet and gentle, and Keanu hoped it was special for you, knowing it would be your first time with him. Though it had been an impulsive decision on his part, his heart swelled at the image of you experiencing pure bliss, something he had painfully longed to see again after months without doing so.

Waking up next to you felt like a dream to him, a place of endless peace and tranquility, one where the weight of his faults amounted next to nothing. For a moment, Keanu wished that it could stay this way; no guilt, secrets, and lies. Just you and him, home in your own perfect haven where the ugly past neither mattered nor existed. If he could, he would stay wrapped up in your arms forever, relishing the warmth and love he once took for granted.

But Molly’s ultimatum reminded Keanu that his world would soon fall apart. She had given him seven days to tell you the truth. Well, six now after he lost his chance last night. Even though that was generous of her, it wasn’t enough time for him to say goodbye. By this time next week, whether it be through Keanu or Molly, you would know of everything. Your heart had been broken too many times in past relationships, and he was sure that you would never forgive him for doing the same.

Keanu’s wandering thoughts ceased when you stirred awake beside him, letting out a yawn as you stretched out your limbs. Your eyes opened slowly, and after blinking a few times, you glanced at him with a tired yet bright and shining smile. Rolling onto your side, you rested your head on his bare chest, your fingers lightly skimming over the expanse, lazily drawing circles on his skin. His arm quickly came around your shoulders, pulling you close before gingerly kissing your temple then burying his nose into your hair.

“Good morning,” you mumbled softly, looking up at Keanu with your sparkling eyes.

“It’s the afternoon, baby,” he spoke, his voice thick with sleep yet filled with affection. “We slept through half the day already.”

“Well, we did have a very late night. It’s pretty understandable, don’t you think?” You giggled sweetly, nuzzling deeper into Keanu’s side. “So, about last night…”

He saw you bite your bottom lip, your gaze falling as if you’re pondering what to say next. A breath hitched in his throat as he silently studied your features. Keanu has never had someone so precious encased in his arms. Even with your hair mussed and eyes bleary, he still adored your natural state of beauty greatly.

“What about last night?” He questioned, genuinely curious.

A smile broke through your lips as you glanced back up at him. “It was perfect. I don’t know what else to say other than it was perfect. You are perfect.”

“I’m glad that you think so,” Keanu simply returned, slightly chuckling at the end as he craned his neck down to kiss you. “You’re perfect, too. So beautiful, and you feel so good.”

He couldn’t help himself. Keanu softly nudged you to lie back while he hovered above you, kissing a path down the column of your neck. He released a small groan when your nimble fingers tangled tightly in his dark hair, tugging them gently as your body arched upwards. You were craving more, and Keanu was willing to give you his all, realizing this would be one of the final instances that he could.

For a brief second, you stared deeply into his eyes, and that’s when he noticed the tears shimmering in them.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, purely concerned as he watched you quickly wipe away the wetness.

“Nothing,” you brushed off, your words coming out as a broken whisper. Keanu looked at you solemnly, placing his hand on one side of your face and stroking your cheekbone delicately with his thumb.

He hated seeing you cry.

“Y/N…”

“I’m not crying because I’m sad,” you finally reveal with a shake of your head and a tender smile. “I’m crying because this is everything that I’ve wanted. After Eric, I really believed that I would never find someone who loves me the way you do. I didn’t even think I could ever trust another person with my heart again, but then you came into my life.”

Keanu remained quiet, his body still on top of yours, but he held his weight with his elbows. His curtain of hair hid the sorrow and pain in his eyes until you reached up, brushing back the locks away from his face. He knew all about Eric and the emotional harm he had done to you, especially during the last few months of your relationship. He swore he would never hurt you the way Eric had, but he did.

“When I caught him with that woman the first time, it made me feel like I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, or smart enough. I wasn’t enough for him that he strayed away, and found somebody else better than me. And for a while, I thought it was my fault. I loved him too much to let him go, even though I was blaming myself for things that I shouldn’t have had.”

“You’re more than enough, darling,” Keanu intoned softly, intertwining his hand with yours and giving it a light, reassuring squeeze. “He didn’t deserve you.”

Neither did he.

“I realize that later on when I left, but the pain didn’t disappear until you showed up,” you added, sighing. “It’s only been months since I’ve known you Ke, or at least, that’s how it seems like because of the amnesia. But you make me feel like I’m everything. You make me feel so loved and so beautiful…”

Gently, you pushed Keanu to lie down before swinging one leg over to straddle his hips. He started to notice the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, a wave of regret washing over him after hearing your words. You trusted him, loved him, saw him as the man you dreamed and longed for when in reality, he’s not.

Not anymore.

“If I end up not gaining my memories back,” you murmured as your mouth ghosted over his jaw, teasingly, “I’ll be content with the ones I already have with you.”

This time, it was Keanu trying to fight back his own tears. He’d deeply miss these intimate moments shared only between the two of you. He’d miss the softness of your lips and the warmth of your breath against his skin. He’d miss the sound of your voice, the way your laugh instantly brightens up the room and how your breathless moans made him feel desirable. He’d miss every curve of your body and every perfect imperfection on your skin. He’d miss hearing his name slip through your lips as you cry out in pleasure with him holding you close.

The end was drawing near, and nothing would ever prepare him enough for that moment. Six more days, and it’s over.

He would then miss it all.

---

“Y/N? Hello?”

You jolted slightly in your seat, seeing Molly waving her hand in front of your face to grab your attention. In the midst of your weekend brunch, you had gotten lost in your thoughts that were mainly of Keanu. Truth be told, you were lovestruck by him, even more so after the night you finally made love. Memories of it often flooded your mind, reminding you of how caring and attentive Keanu was, and how amazing it all felt being with him.

You never knew love could feel like this.

“Sorry,” you spoke once you snapped out of your daydreaming, which has lately become a regular occurrence. “What were you saying?”

Molly chuckled, shaking her head. “I was asking how work was going.”

“It’s going great, actually,” you beamed excitedly. “We’re prepping for that big fashion shoot in Japan next month. I’m still nervous about going, but it’s one of those opportunities that I’d be crazy to pass up.”

“Well, you should definitely go. Not only is it a great addition to your portfolio, it’ll also be a nice sightseeing trip, too,” Molly encouraged. “I’ve been to Japan a couple of times for work and let me tell you, it’s absolutely gorgeous there. From the culture to the food, I wish I could go back and experience it all over again.”

“I was actually thinking of asking Keanu if he wanted to go with me,” you shared, a soft smile appearing on your face. “I figured it’d be a fun trip for the two of us and escape LA for a little while. As far as I know, he doesn’t have anything important scheduled during that time. Plus, he’s going to be busy doing a movie next year, and we want to spend as much time together before that happens.”

Molly’s grin fell, her mouth pulling into a tight line. “I mean, it’s up to you if you want to invite him or not.”

Your brows furrowed at the strange shift in her demeanor. “Yeah, I’ll talk to Ke when I get home later.”

“How is he, though?” Molly inquired. You noticed very recently how tense she got every time you mentioned Keanu, and at this point, it was becoming worrisome. Did she know something that you didn’t?

“He’s good. Honestly, he’s doing great—we’re doing great.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Y/N. Truly.”

You reached for the glass of water on the table, taking a few quick sips before sighing. “I told Ke I love him.”

Molly’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly, and you heard a short gasp. “You did?”

“Yes,” you confirmed with a single nod. “I told him the night of his birthday, and… and we slept together.”

“Oh,” she could only say, her shoulders dropping, and her blue eyes flickering away from your gaze. “T-That’s… wow. I-I can’t believe he did that.”

“What do you mean?” You probed, cocking your head to the side.

Molly glanced back up at you, her muscles rigid, and the taut expression on her face bringing you concern. “He’s never going to tell you. He can’t let you go.”

Her voice was low and alarming, and you almost didn’t catch it. “Tell me what?”

A sense of dread began to spread as you waited for an answer. Molly swallowed thickly, the air in the small cafe you were seated in felt heavy, and it made you uncomfortable. You didn’t want to think of the worse. In fact, you didn’t want to believe that what she had to say could be bad. You had shared the last piece of yourself to Keanu, but with the way your friend was acting, you started doubting your decision.

“Molly, what is it?!”

Salty tears began to prick your eyes the longer you sat there, not knowing. Your heart thumped heavily against your chest as panic continued to gnaw at your guts while your mind did its best to keep you calm.

Keanu was a good person; he could do no wrong. He loved you. He could never hurt you.

But what if he did? What if he did more than what he told you?

“Y/N,” Molly sighed, her hands reaching across the table to hold your clammy ones. “I’m sorry that I have to tell you this, but after what you’ve done, I don’t think Keanu is ever going to come clean.”

“What did he do?” You questioned, feeling your heart shatter into a million pieces. “Please, Molly. Just say it.”

“Keanu’s not the man you think he is...” she stated carefully, scared of your reaction.

The following words coming out of Molly were unbelievable at first. You didn’t want to accept that there was any truth in them. It didn’t seem right that Keanu was capable of doing such a thing, but even though she couldn’t explain in detail what had happened, deep down, you could feel it.

Memories of the timeline before the accident didn’t come back to you, but you remembered something else from the night that changed everything...

Red-hot, searing anger.

---

Dark clouds began to fill up the entire sky above LA as the city braced for another storm. Keanu peered through the drapes to see small water droplets falling from above. The rain wasn’t heavy yet, though it still worried him while knowing you could be driving somewhere out there. He had called you just recently and asked if he could pick you up, only to learn that you were already on your way home.

It was Saturday, and usually, the two of you would go out on a date, but because of the poor weather, you decided to have a quiet evening indoors. Keanu had planned to surprise you with a movie night, one of your favorite things to do with him. The tv was already set-up, and the buttered popcorn was cooling off back in the kitchen. All he was waiting for now was you, and you’d be here any minute soon.

Taking a seat on the couch, Keanu then let a deep breath out as he checked the time on his watch, the roaring sound of thunder suddenly disrupting the silence. He could hear the rain starting to pick up, and through the parted curtains, he noticed the trees swaying wildly from the strong winds blowing outside of the house. The scene out there was unsettling, and he could only hope that you make it back safe and sound.

Moments later, the keys jingling outside of the nearby door alerted Keanu of your presence, and he quickly got up from the sofa and unlocked the door for you. Swinging it open, he welcomed you with a relieved smile breaking over his face, which disappeared in a split-second after seeing how you glowered at him.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted light-heartedly, though your expression remained. “I’m happy you got home—”

“Don’t,” you sternly interjected, raising your pointer finger in front of him. “Don’t you dare.”

Keanu watched in trepidation when you pushed passed him and stalked into the house, the rain dripping from your wet clothes pooling at your feet as you lingered in the foyer.

“I-Is everything okay?” He stuttered out, though he already had a feeling of what this could all be.

But how did you find out?

Molly.

“No,” you muttered bitterly. “You know damn well that everything’s not okay.”

“I don’t understand,” Keanu lied, once again feigning ignorance even though there was no point in doing so anymore. “Sweetheart, let’s get you dried off first. You’re shivering, you’re going to catch a cold.”

“Stop it, Keanu. Just drop the act!”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, letting the tears fall freely down from your eyes. Keanu cautiously approached you, his fear finally unfolding in front of him, and there was no way around it this time.

“Y/N, I need you to calm down…”

“No,” you shot back angrily. “I need you to tell me everything, Keanu. What exactly happened between us?”

Keanu froze, his chest tightening at your simple yet difficult request. He wasn’t ready to do it today, but he had no other choice.

There was no more avoiding, no more lying, and no more hiding.

This was it.

This was the end.

This was the goodbye Keanu dreaded. The long, dreaded goodbye to the woman he loved.

Part 11

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer​ @fanficsrusz​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @awessomness​ @meetmeinthematinee​ @ringa-starr​ @ficsnroses​ @iworshipkeanureeves​ @keandrews​ @greenmanalishi​ @feminine-machinegun​ @thehumanistsdiary​ @lussdew​ @rdjloverxxx​ @flaminasteroid​ @danceoftwowolves​ @ravenpuff02 @wheretheriversrunintothesea​ @allie1804-fan

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves imagine

[jukemaid]

in case anyone needs an example of a wimpy sick weenie person being physically stronger than every single anti-masker to use against your family during the inevitable holiday get together they made into a political event more literally than usual:

as yall know i have many health problems both physical and mental. i have ptsd, a misaligned spine, and just fucked up lower body joints and all of which take daily management and medical care and professional assistance to keep in check.

i have to plan ahead to go out anywhere because i need to have a safety plan for if i have my ptsd triggered while out in a public place (which happened literally twice in the last three weeks and resulted in a full ugly crying meltdown both times, the latter of which at the location which was IMMEASURABLY HUMILIATING), and make sure i have my knee braces and times set so i don’t push myself too hard and fuck up my back to the point where i need to rest all day. and this is every day, for everything i do

i’m in physical therapy currently and as you can probably guess, everyone there wears a mask. the people who need pt are older, physical frail, recovering from injuries, you name it. everyone there is high risk and everyone there wears a mask with zero issue. we wear one through all work and exercises. there’s not a single peep from anyone about the masks and we don’t care if every single person is vaccinated; we wear the damn mask the entire time we’re in the building.

there’s an exercise i do where i drape myself front-first over a yoga ball and hold that position for 30 seconds. my full weight is pressed to my chest and stomach, and as you can imagine there’s a lot of discomfort. while it doesn’t restrict my breathing entirely, the pressure is enough that my brain becomes convinced i can’t breathe and i have to regulate my breathing to keep myself from getting weird

and i do this while wearing a mask. and have zero issue. my breathing is somewhat restricted to the point where i find it necessary to take measured breaths to keep myself calm, and i wear a mask the whole time. the mask doesn’t affect my breathing at all and just makes me smell my own breath

remember earlier when i mentioned i had my ptsd triggered twice in a public place? i was wearing a mask both of those times. i was able to use my learned coping tools and do the exact same breathing methods with no issue while wearing the mask. i ugly cried in a full on panic attack while wearing the mask, and the only annoyance was my tears getting into it. and smelling my own breath

a sickly little disabled traumatized man that these people are cool with dying bc we were already sick anyway can have a full ptsd-induced panic attack and willingly pressure my chest and stomach all while wearing a mask and having zero issue

anti-maskers are weak. they’re weak, thin-skinned, egotistical little babies who are determined to be victims all the while the rest of us with actual problems live our lives bc a mask is a fucking stupid thing to spend our energy over and doesn’t affect us in any way shape or form, and we know what it’s like to suffer enough to refuse risking someone else knowing it too. weak. weak weak weak

#full offense and also fuck you

[matildainmotion]

Extreme Times, Transitions and Your Extreme Powers for 2021

This time last year I wrote a piece entitled ‘An Encouraging Blog about Despair’ – this was in early January, before the pandemic. My son loves that moment in a story when someone says, “Well, at least things can’t get any worse,” and then, right on cue, a whole lot of worse-ness happens. This year I am not going to attempt to be encouraging – I think we need something else, to match the gravity and uncertainty of the times, that recognises all the worse-ness that has happened. But what? Right now I am not sure. Let me see if I can write my way to find it.

The thing that has saved my sanity through the year has been the working on and writing of a novel. It has kept me sane but also driven me mad, but at least it has been my madness, of my own making as opposed to the world’s. It has been astonishingly difficult. Often, I have felt more articulate about the toughness of the process, than about the story I am trying to tell. The images I have used to describe it have included marathon running, mountaineering, white-water rafting and tightrope walking. I am struck by the extremity of these metaphors. I have done none of these things in real life, and yet I have had a visceral sense of their accuracy. Most of my writing has taken place where I am now, crouched on the children’s bedroom floor. I do not look like I am engaged in anything wild or dangerous, but I like the idea that both my making and my mothering – activities that are often seen as domestic, docile – are in fact extreme sports. 

Photo credit: Viola Depcik, as part of the online exhibition: Portraits in Motherhood and Making during lockdown.

For now, I have come off the mountain of the book. Come January I will set about editing it – an attempt to turn the manuscript into something someone might actually want to read. This morning, I am in a moment of transition. What to write in the dark bedroom, before the children wake? Christmas wish lists and new year’s resolutions are the traditional seasonal texts, but I notice I have two counter impulses to these – two very different lists I want to write. 

The first is not a wish list, but a list of the unwished-for. A backwards-looking list of some of the worse-ness of the year, not as a plea for sympathy, empathy, not out of a need to confess, or because I am looking for advice, but because it feels important to name it. In these last months, on those precious trips out of the house, I have had many two-metres-apart exchanges of the “How are you doing?” kind. “Okay. We’re surviving,” I reply, and then come away, with my groceries in hand, my mask hanging round my neck, feeling desolate, surprised that I should feel it so deeply, when I was not expecting any more from the exchange. I think it is because I want to lay bare the utter ugliness of the year, like when you pull the fridge out and expose the amazing accumulation of dirt underneath. I know that we have been lucky, so when I list some of our un-wished for times, I do it in full recognition that others have had it worse, much worse. 

Here is a selection of my unwished-for list:

Easter – everyone in the house either shouting or crying or both. Still ill. My husband and son red in the face. My mother and daughter, white. 

Then the times – more than one -when my son, who is on the autistic spectrum, needed a play fight, to channel the aggression he displays when he feels threatened (and a threat may be as slight as a joke he did not understand, a small change of plan). I offer to fight him, and as I face him, hold his wrists, the energy in his body, but also in mine, is far from playful. 

A recent one - a double meltdown – my daughter screaming whilst we are Xmas shopping because she and I cannot remember something I said three days ago about her and a bauble she was hanging on the tree. Meanwhile it is raining. She is refusing to wear a coat. She runs away from me, up the pavement, beside a busy road, whilst my son, who cannot bear loud noise, lays down on the concrete and puts his hands over his ears. I am caught between the two of them – one on the run, the other on the ground. Masked people watching me, the rain coming down, the dark coming on. 

Three in the morning and no one is screaming or sobbing but me – the children are sleeping peacefully, and I am not. 

There is an edge to this – it is allowed to be hard, but it feels dangerous to expose the difficult details. It has not all been like this, but I do not want to sweep these times aside and hurry on. So I set them down, one by one, on the page. Then I can begin list number two. 

This is a list not of changes I resolve to make in the new year, but ones that came on their own, and are ongoing, unresolved. A list of the transitions already underway. Because these arrive unbidden, this is a list of the moments when I understood that change is happening:

When I find I cannot read the instructions on the side of the ‘stuffing mix’ and I realise I need reading glasses. 

When my period is two weeks late one month, and two weeks early the next. The skin on my eyelids grows dry. I read this too can be a symptom of the perimenopause.

When my daughter is at last weening (shhhh, don’t tell her, or she will object) and her favourite game is to play at being a ‘dumb baby’ who cannot remember where its mummy’s boobies are. She runs about the room, looking behind bookshelves and under covers, until eventually the baby realises that the boobies and the milk are on its mother’s chest. She does not want the milk now, she wants to play at being the silly baby, because she is turning into such a competent ‘medium big girl’ (her current definition of her size).

When my mother (granny) no longer wants to cook meals for us, but would rather that I cook for her. 

When my son starts to grow a greater awareness of his separateness to me and I find him in tears one night because earlier in the day he heard The Beatles song “She’s Leaving Home” and grew afraid that this might happen to him – that he would leave one day, leaving only a note behind.

When my husband and I realise we are going to need to move again, find somewhere we both want to be, to settle, where we can grow older.

When the children wait for snow, go out keen to find the ice on top of puddles to crack and splinter, but the winter stays mild, wet. 

And then there is the ‘transition period’ the whole of the UK is supposed to be undergoing, moving out of the EU, whether we like it or not. Lorries, stationary, but in long lines of transit, waiting to cross the border. And then there are the transitions- endless- from one tier to another to try to control the virus. 

I think of others’ transitions too, of friends, and friends of friends: people waiting for a baby to be born; waiting for a loved one to recover, or die; transitions of age, gender, status. 

What to do in response to these unchosen changes? I almost admire my daughter’s wish to fight them. Her maxim is not ‘to keep calm and carry on,’ but rather to keep screaming, whilst being carried. I am impressed by the volume of rage in her four-year-old frame as she attempts to stop things:

“You have to stop the car now,” she cries from the back seat, when we are in the middle of the road, “Right now. You have to do it. You have to, you have to, you have to…Mummy stop! Now! You have to stop!” It is a work-out of the will that can go on for hours and which leaves us both exhausted. It is extreme, and it makes me think back to the extreme metaphors for which I found myself reaching in trying to describe my writing process with the novel. 

I counsel her in acceptance, but I recognise my own desire to scream against the times, to stop the world. Perhaps I need to flip things round - to harness the power of the scream, even as I accept the ways things are. Often I think of acceptance as passive, equanimity as cool and quiet. But I am not sure balance, as figured in this way, is the right metaphor for our times. The feat of balancing required now is that done by the tightrope walker, cliff face climber, white-water rafter – an athletic equanimity, a muscular form of acceptance that takes all our might, all our will. 

Maybe it is time to reclaim the male image of the superhero. I like the way in the film of The Incredibles, the superheroic is recognised as a form of divergence from the norm, a daring difference, how the super ability can become a disability if the surrounding culture judges it as such. The image helps me to see my differences as potential superpowers. 

A third and final list then comes to mind, a forwards-looking one, that might support me through the transitions of this time, and on into 2021 – a list of my extreme powers. If it comes to needing to grow food, hunt, light fires – wilderness survival skills – I will be useless, but I can do the following:

I can survive on little sleep. 

I can hold onto the thread of a creative project or conversation through multiple interupptions and across many days.

I can imagine disaster, very fast, in almost any situation.

I can mother two intense children, both often awake till midnight.

I can name the elephant in any room. 

I can write a novel in the hour per day when my children are watching TV (this is a slight exaggeration - when school was happening I had a little more time, but on a list like this you are allowed to exaggerate). 

That’s it for now. I do not think we need to know or understand how our superpowers, our athletic abilities, can be put to good use. I do not think it is our job to calculate this, but rather only to keep in training. Ready. Skills honed. And also to notice, name and honour one another’s skills. I think I should write a list of my children’s superpowers too. As I write this, the children have woken and my husband is now showing my daughter the trailer for the latest Wonder Woman movie. My daughter likes her outfits, especially the golden bracelets. A glittering dress sense will be on my daughter’s list of wondrous powers. 

The other day my husband shared with me a quote, from a Hopi leader in the year 2000, which seems relevant to my three lists as 2021 begins:

“There is a river flowing now very fast.  It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.  They will try to hold on to the shore…..The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above water.  And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate.”

Writing a novel has felt like white water rafting, but actually being alive right now feels like that too. This year I offer, not encouragement amidst despair, but something more extreme - a call to arms, to your arms, my arms, arms that can carry children, stir soups, make stories - superhero arms strong enough, not to grip, but to let go of the shore. Mid river as we are, I want to celebrate each other’s extreme, extraordinary abilities. So, tell me your lists: the list of things you did not wish for, the list of changes underway, unresolved, and then the list of the superpowers you are hiding, honing, as we are swept along. What powers, however ordinary, bizarre, or seemingly superfluous, do you have to offer?

[destiel-love-forever]

Hi! you’re absolutely incredible I saw your recent work in the age play verse and I loved it! it made me think of a possible little Sam and Daddy Gabriel scenario revolving around his hair lol. Little Sam and little dean are playing and dean makes fun of his hair and when Sam and Gabe get home he cries and asks Gabe to cut his hair so dean would love him again. Daddy Gabe and Uncle Cas talk on the phone dean gets punished, sam’s hair is safe and the boys hug it out and dean apologizes.

Thank you SO SO SO much for this. I had a crazy week last week, and it was made worse by being cut off my internet, so I loved having this prompt as one of my things to write <3 

Read below or on AO3: Playdates & Arguments

Playdate & Arguments

“Pow pow!” Sammy yells, pretending to be the bad guy while superhero Dean takes him down. He always gets stuck being the bad guy, because Dean thinks Sammy would ruin his pretty red cape. Sammy promises he won’t, but Dean’s older, so he gets to choose.

“Psh psshhhh!” Dean makes little noises as he moves his hands, pretending to use his superhero laser powers. “You dead bad guy!”

Sammy falls to the ground, because when Dean says he’s dead, Sammy doesn’t ever argue. Sammy never argues with Dean. Dean always knows best. Well, no… Sammy’s daddy Gabriel knows best, but when on their own, Dean is the boss. He’s older, getting to wear pull-ups, drink from sippy cups instead of bottles, and watch Scooby Doo even though Sam isn’t allowed to.

“I bored,” Dean declares. “We play new game.”

“Yes! Yes!” Sammy jumps in the air, clapping his little hands in excitement. “We pway bwocks? Dee, pwease, oh, Dee pweeeeeeeasse we pway bwocks?”

“Blocks is borin’. We play new game. Daddy lemme watch princess movie. We play rescue da princess.”

“But - but,” Sammy sucks in a shaky breath, lips wobbling. He doesn’t want to play rescue the princess. That doesn’t sound fun at all.

“Come on, Sammy. No be a baby! I no play wiff babies!”

Sammy pulls himself together immediately, sniffling as he wipes at his tears. “Sowwy, Dee. I be big boy. We cans pway save da pwincess.”

“You go over dere! Preten’ yous in a biiiiiig tower, ‘n a dragon is gonna eats you!” Dean pushes Sammy toward the couch, then sets down Sammy’s stuffed pink elephant named Ellie on the floor, indicating that she’s the dragon in this scenario. Sammy doesn’t like that Ellie has to be the mean dragon. Ellie is not bad! She’s good. She makes Sammy happy. Sammy isn’t sure he can pretend, but he will try really really hard. “Oskay, Sammy. You stay dere, ‘n I be da prince comin’ save you!”

Sammy sticks out his bottom lip. “I no wanna be da pwincess… I a pwince!”

“No, you da princess.”

“I a pwince. My daddy say so. He caww me his wittwe pwince!”

“Your daddy wrong! You a princess cuz you looks like a girl!”

Sammy’s eyes well up with tears as he balls up his fists in frustration. “No I don’!”

“Yes you do! Your hair is like da princess in da movie. It too long for a boy. So you da princess. Princess Sammy.” Dean says that last part in a sing-songy voice that is clearly teasing Sammy.

“I no wike dat! Stop stop stop! I no wook wike a pwincess! I wook wike a pwince!” Sam feels his little chest quake as he begins to openly cry.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Stop bein’ a baby! It your fault you look like girls. If you no have stupid ugly hair, you could be da prince, but you a princess.”

“I not!” Sam yells, stomping his feet as he cries harder.

“You is! Or I no play wid you ever ever again!”

“Boys!” Castiel yells from the other room, making them both freeze. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but say sorry and come eat!”

Dean hurries away from the crybaby, not apologizing. Sammy stays back a minute, frantically wiping at his cheeks and nose, hating himself. He already looks like a girl because of his hair. Dean will just make fun of him more if he’s crying like a girl baby .

At least Sammy’s daddy shows up before he’s finished his snack, saving Sammy from actually having to be the princess. Next time they play, Sammy will be the prince. He just has to figure out how.

-----

Sammy thinks long and hard during his ride home, sucking fiercely on his pacifier and clinging to Ellie as he sits strapped down in his carseat. One of the three things in the whole entire big world Sammy could never ever lose is Dean, and Dean hates him now! He thinks Sammy’s hair is ugly, and makes him look like a princess. He knew being a princess was a bad thing, too, because of the way Dean said it. Sammy has played princess dress up before, with Dean in fact, but today was different. Sammy doesn’t know why. It doesn’t matter.

Sammy knows what he has to do.

The second his daddy has him in the house, setting him on the bench in the foyer to take his shoes off for him, Sammy asks, “Daddy…. Wiww you cuts my haiw?”

Working on the velcro strips of Sammy’s shoe, Gabriel shakes his head and laughs softly, “Buddy, you would be so sad. You love your hair.”

“But - but,” Sammy sucks in a breath that shudders and shakes before giving into a watery sob. “I hates my haiw!”

Gabriel stops immediately, only one shoe off of his boy. He cups Sammy’s face, confused when he finds big tears rolling down it. “Baby boy, calm down. What’s going on?”

“I no baby boy!” Sammy cries, balling his fists and kicking his feet. “I big boy! I hates my haiw! You gotta cuts it now! Wanna wook exac - ac- exac- tiwwy wike Dean!”

“Sammy, buddy, you love your hair. Why would you want to suddenly get rid of it?”

“No wuv! No no no! Hates!”

Gabriel scoops his little boy up, not caring that one foot is covered in a sock and the other has a shoe dangling on it still. When they get to Sammy’s nursery, Gabriel heads to the rocking chair. There’s a blanket there that he pulls over Sammy, his arms tightening around the boy to make him lay down and relax. Since Sammy spat out his paci earlier during his meltdown, Gabriel reaches over for another one and pops it in his mouth. Sammy looks up at him with the biggest, roundest eyes in that way that makes Gabriel feel like he’s Sammy’s whole world.

It’s by far the greatest feeling in existence.

And Gabriel would know. He’s spent his entire life indulging in great feelings.

“Alright now, little prince. Just calm d-”

“No!” Sammy grabs his paci and yanks it out. “I no wittwe pwince! I stupid pwincess! ‘N my haiw ugwy! ‘N - ‘n - ‘n,” Sammy sucks in a gulp of air, then continues to sob barely intelligible words, “Dee Dee gonna hatesmewiffugwy haiw. Needs to cuts it owbepwincessinstpwince! Pwease, daddy. Pwease!”

Gabriel looks at his little one in shock, understanding enough to know what’s going on now. “Sammy, honey, did Dean tease you about your hair today?”

Rubbing a tight fist against his eye, Sammy nods and sniffles.

“Oh, baby. That was very mean, and he is naughty for doing that. Especially since my little prince’s hair is so so beautiful. Daddy loves to play with your long, pretty, soft strands. Don’t you like when daddy does that, baby? You always smile and get sleepy when daddy does that.”

More sniffles. Then a timid, “Yeah… Sammy wike haiw pwayed wiff. Feew good.”

“See? And sometimes you like to put bows in your hair to match your pretty outfits. If we cut it, you can’t do that either.”

“No… dat twue.”

“Don’t let Dean teasing you make you do something that will just make you more sad, baby boy.”

Sammy starts crying again, though this time it’s subdued. “But - but I jus’ wants Dee to wuv me again! Cuz I wuv him wots wots wots, ‘n me supew sad he no wike me no mowe.”

“What were you two doing when he said this to you?”

“Pwayin’ save da pwincess. I da pwincess cuz my ugwy haiw. I say no, but he say he no pway wiff me!”

Gabriel nods, starting to understand the situation fully. “Dean just said those things because he wanted to get his way. He wanted to play the prince, so he lied.”

“No, Dee no wie! Wyin’ bad!”

“Everyone makes mistakes and does bad things, little prince. Even Dean. Even daddy.” Sam gasps, making Gabriel chuckle. “I bet Dean doesn’t hate you or your hair at all. I bet he was just being stubborn and wanted to get his way.”

Sammy cautiously grabs his paci again, his fingers wrapping around it nice and tight. He lays on his daddy’s chest, resting his cheek on daddy’s shoulder. He nuzzles his nose into the soft skin of his daddy’s neck and wiggles closer to him. Sighing happily at the familiar scent, Sammy lets himself relax. Dean might be bigger than him, but daddy always know best, even more than Dean. Daddy must be right. Dean is pretty stubborn. He’s heard Uncle Cas say that lots, and it’s usually while Dean is getting in trouble.”

“Oskay daddy,” Sammy whispers, coming to a decision. “We no cuts my haiw.”

“Good. Daddy is proud of you for staying true to what you want, and not letting Dean change your mind.”

That was a lot of words, and the concept is too big for Sammy’s little brain. All he heard is his daddy is proud, and Sammy knows that daddy being proud is really really good. He smacks a loud kiss on his daddy’s cheek before cuddling in closer to him.

“I takes nap now. T’s been quite da day,” Sammy informs him before sticking the paci in his mouth and closing his eyes.

Gabriel has to fight not to laugh at how fucking adorable his little baby is in his arms. Especially when he says things exactly like Gabriel does. Gabriel is always saying ‘it’s been quite the day’, usually to convince him to eat, or nap, or take a bath, or relax.

Once Sammy is asleep, Gabriel gently places him in his crib and kisses his forehead. Then he dials his brother. Castiel answers on the third ring.

“Hey, Gabe. You forget something here?”

“No. It’s about Dean.” Gabriel frowns. He loves his nephew, and hates the idea of getting him in trouble, but Sammy will always come first, and Dean broke Sammy’s little heart today. That’s not okay. “We need to talk.”

----

Dean stands in front of his daddy, hands anxiously pulling at the shirt covering his belly. His little lips are wobbling, and his cheeks are flushed and covered in tears. Castiel looks down at him with a stern frown, trying hard not to let his emotions get in the way right now. His little one needs to be punished, no matter how sad or how cute he looks.

“So, is what Sammy saying true? Did you say all those mean things?”

“I - I,” Dean stops, trying to breathe to calm himself down like his daddy taught him. It just adds fuel to his sob though, making it loud and watery as it escapes his little pink lips. “I sowwy! I sowwy!”

Castiel frowns. “Yes, well, you will be.”

When Castiel picks his boy up and puts him on his hip, heading to his bedroom, Dean starts to wail. He kicks and punches, begging Castiel in hysterics. When they are sitting on Castiel’s bed, bedroom door locked so Dean can’t run, Castiel puts Dean on his feet. “Now, you are going to get five spanks for how mean you were to Sammy. Five more for the tantrum you just threw, because you know kicking and hitting is very naughty.”

Dean doesn’t try to argue. Castiel’s not sure if he could. The boy is crying far too hard.

“Now, come here baby boy.” Dean looks up at Castiel through tear soaked eyelashes, carefully shuffling forward. When Castiel picks him up and lays him over his lap, belly down and little bum up, Dean’s self-preservation kicks in.

“P-pwease! Pw-pwe-pease pease pease daddy! No! NO spanks!”

“Hush, or you’ll get even more,” Castiel warns, using his daddy voice as he tugs Dean’s elastic waist jeans and mickey mouse pull up down to his knees. His pull up is wet, as it usually is when his little one gets upset like this, but Castiel will just clean it up later.

Dean is quiet now, his tiny body trembling as he sucks on his thumb.

That doesn’t last long. After Castiel brings his hand down with the first harsh smack, the sobbing begins.

Dean hates spankings. Hates hates hates them. He likes his daddy giving him kisses and smiling at him. He likes cuddles and hugs. Not spankings. Not daddy’s angry face. Dean hates making his daddy upset. He hates disappointing him.

He hates how his little bum burns and aches as his daddy keeps spanking him.

He hates that he hurt Sammy’s feelings so badly.

He hates spankings, but he hates the rest so much more, and that’s why he cries so hard he can barely breathe.

“Shhh, little one. Just two more,” Castiel whispers, rubbing a palm over the boy’s bright pink bum. He can see his handprint on Dean’s left cheek, and he hates that, but even as a little boy Dean Winhcester has an obnoxiously high pain tolerance. Castiel learned early he can’t just give the boy a few tiny swats. They aren’t effective. Dean cries, sure, but then within an hour he forgets.

Dean never forgets now.

The boy squirms and sobs for the last two, little fists clenched around the bunched up fabric of Castiel’s pants.

Relief floods Dean when it’s all over. His daddy picks him up and lays him on the big bed. He slips a thumb into his mouth, sucking furiously. Every movement makes his little bum’s owies hurt worse, so he stays extra extra still. He doesn’t even complain when his daddy starts to change him like he’s a baby. He just winces around his thumb, sucking it harder when the baby wipe brushes over his sore bum. Dean usually gets so embarrassed during this. He’s a big boy now. Daddy potty trained him. Accidents are so scary, and they make him super duper anxious and sad. But right now he has too much to be upset about. The accident is the least of his worries.

Once powdered, a new pull-up in place, Castiel hands Dean a paci and his huge stuffed bumble bee. He leaves the boy on the bed while he goes to change his pants that got some pee on them. Castiel throws both his pants as well as Dean’s into the wash, then returns to his bedroom.

Dean sniffles and makes grabby hands at his daddy, clearly not liking that his daddy left. Castiel scoops him up and carries him out of the room. As he walks down the hall, Castiel peppers dozens of kisses on his damp cheeks. His little one doesn’t giggle or smile, but he does finally stop crying.

“Daddy is going to make you a little snack, and get you some juice. When I’m in the kitchen, you will stand in the corner. When daddy comes back, you’re all done being punished.”

“But - but I gots my spanks!” Dean whines.

“Yes, but you were very upset and distracted during that. Now I want you to think about why you got in trouble, and what you’re going to say to Sammy to make him feel better.”

Dean looks down at the floor, bowed legs turning in even further as he touches his toes to each other. He fiddles with his stuffed bumble bee, sucking his paci hard and fast. His daddy picks him up and carries him to a corner of the living room where Dean can take peeks and see his daddy in the kitchen. That helps Dean relax a little. He has a very hard time trusting that his daddy won't leave him. Especially when he’s been naughty.

Going to the kitchen, Castiel collects Dean’s favorite pink sippy cup and pours apple juice into it. He rummages in the cabinets before giving up and heading to the fridge. He always wants Dean to eat something healthy and little after punishments. Just enough to help settle him. Once Castiel grabs a strawberry go-gurt, he heads back to the living room.

His little one behaves well. Even though Castiel knows Dean is aware his daddy is back in the room, Dean continues to stand in the corner, Dean’s pull-up covered bum facing him. Dean still has his paci in, cheeks bright red and covered in tears, nose all stuffy. He has his bumble bee tight in his arms, up against his chest high so his face is against Dean’s neck.

“Alright, baby. All done,” Castiel announces, walking over and picking the boy up. He carries him to the couch, then settles with him in his lap. Dean takes the juice when it’s offered, shaky hand removing his paci so he can drink. He chugs half of it before putting it in his lap and making little grabby hands for the go-gurt.

Once Dean’s little belly is all full, and his crying has stopped, his daddy cleans his face. Daddy pops his paci back in and helps him get comfortable with his bumble bee. This time when daddy kisses him, Dean squirms and smiles. Then he buries his face in his daddy’s neck and nuzzles him, not caring when his paci keeps bumping and getting in the way. When he settles in his daddy’s arms, feeling very sleepy but very loved, his daddy brushes his hair from his forehead and whispers, “I love you so much, Dean. So so much. No matter how much trouble you get in, always remember that daddy is here. Daddy will never ever leave you. He loves you big lots, okay?”

Dean nods and mumbles through his paci, “Me wuv daddy big wots too.”

With a smile, Castiel kisses the top of Dean’s head. That’s all the little one needs before drifting off to sleep. Castiel puts his head back against the couch and closes his own eyes, exhausted. It’s been quite the day.

-----

Dean and Sammy’s playdate is four days later. When Dean comes over with his daddy, he sheepishly peeks up at Sammy and mumbles, “‘M sorry for hurtin’ you feelin’s ‘n sayin’ all dose mean tings. I no mean dem. I wuv your hair!”

Already over this argument, Sammy just smiles wide and throws his arms around Dean, squeezing him extra hard. “It’s ‘kay. I still wuvs you!”

Hand in hand, the two go running off to the playroom. Dean lets Sam be the superhero AND the prince. They’re going to be best friends forever.

[chelrose]

Let me tell you, this past week has been a scene out of a bad movie where the main plot is to showcase how unlucky of a human bean I am. 

You know what though, I’m trying to be grateful that it wasn’t worse than it was. 

Between last Tuesday evening and Wednesday, my sweet Gideon managed to get outside. Now, I have two kitties. Albus and Gideon. 

Albus, was named after Professor Dumbledore, obvi. He is grey and white, 5.5 years, with a glorious mane and flowing long hair that is nothing less than high maintenance. He’ s an attention whore that likes to bite at hair, and assert his dominance over his much younger companion/brother/lover. Albus is more likely to be the one to make a great escape, it’s not his first rodeo outside and he thinks that grass is the coolest thing in the world. 

Gideon, is 1.5years old, training to be a ninja, and a master of camouflage. His full name is Jon ‘Gideon’ Snow, named after the King of the North and Gideon from Criminal Minds.  He is sleek, black, with a black nose, and only one tiny white patch on his tummy. During his time with us, he has shown his independence, and protectiveness. Like his Momma, he’s a little anxiety baby with some sensory issues. He doesn’t like to be held, but would be very pleased to be two feet away, in the best position to see everything to protect his family. 

I don’t know what happened, he may have been hiding out as my roomie babysat, high energy overwhelms him, he’s very skittish. It was normal for him to keep it low key while baby was here. I respect that.  During the day of Wednesday, my mirror fell to the bathroom floor. He likes to sleep on the bathroom rug, so this could have scared him enough to try to escape. 

I wish I knew the answer, so I could figure out what happened to him. 

The chaos and utter defeat I felt after realizing he was missing was beyond me. I felt weak, and pathetic. I was responsible for this living being and I failed him. I started to call dispatch, animal control, the humane association, online local groups, people were sharing and looking out for my little black kitty. 

I was compulsively and obsessively searching for him. Walking outside in freezing weather, just determined to find him. Tracking paw prints that I had no idea if they were actually his or not. 

Knowing to put his litter box outside, I also kept fresh water, food, and his favorite blankets outside in case he made his way home. I wanted this sweet little lovebug of mine to know that I missed him, that I wanted him home. 

I went out multiple times around the block, shaking his favorite squeak toy, and calling his name, stopping in the snow so I could hear if he was crying out. I couldn’t walk doing it, the snow was too loud as I walked. Crunching and muffling out quiet noises. 

He was gone for about a week, and I had some suspicions he was near, I just couldn’t find him. There were paw prints everywhere, some dog, some possibly cat, some possibly a swollen paw. 

I was laying on my head, with the window open in the middle of winter to listen for him. I knew if he thought I was near, he would cry if he heard me, or try to follow my voice home. 

I thought I heard something, but it was probably Albus, I kept thinking to myself. Trying not to get my hopes up. It was so cold, if he hadn’t been found or stolen, he was out in the bitter cold and I was loosing any hope that I had been desperately holding onto. 

My depression was pretty bad, and my attitude was dwindling to straight bitch. I wouldn’t have wanted to be my friend with the mood swings I was having. Shoutout to the homies dealing with my difficult ass, I’m trying to handle myself better. 

I wasn’t taking care of myself, worse than before he went missing, which was already pretty poorly. I was tormenting myself with thoughts of the worst. 

Thanks Anxiety! *fist bumps anxiety*

Monday took a turn for the worse when I was so ready to go to therapy but didn’t have enough gas to make it there and back. I called the clinic I receive treatment at and they told me if I could make it there (30 minutes away), I could get a gas card to help me get home from their clinic. 

“Fuck it,” I said to myself. I got in my car and started to drive. I shit you not, I was not even five minutes away when I ran out of gas. My estimate was just shy of what Lorelei, my jeep-jeep, could travel with the amount of gas we had been working with. 

My phone was at 9%, I didn’t have a jacket, no money for gas, and about two seconds away from an emotional meltdown on a highway five minutes away from my therapist. 

When I heard her voice on the phone, she helped me rationalize that I was okay to call my mom or Grandpa. They would help me. She had no idea how spot on it felt when she said,  “When It rains it pours.” 

It just feels like it never ends, my string of bad luck seems so out of this world. But that’s okay, because with bad luck, you learn who in your world is truly there for you. 

My beautiful mother and gorgeous sister came to my rescue, and my Saint of a grandmother does everything she can to help me. My grandfather helps me have a safe vehicle to travel to and from my appointments and drive safer in an SUV. With the crazy amount of snow we get here in Northern Wisconsin, I cherish everything they do for me. 

When I got home, I was exhausted and pissy. Sulking in my room like a hormonal teenager. That was when I made plans to go get a friend to hang out with instead of sitting in my own puddle of self loathing. 

Well, I went out the front door to go pick up a friend on Monday night, and on a whim I grabbed Gideon’s squeak toy as I was walking out the door. I stopped on the front porch, and shook his toy, calling his name shortly after, “Gideon!”

“Rrrrheeeeoowwww.” 

I froze. Listened to make sure that it wasn’t Albus behind the door crying because I left him inside. I shook the toy and again, “Rrrrrrheeeow.”

Slowly I turned, and prayed that I wasn’t hearing things. There he was, staring at me, crying, in his box with his favorite items. I scooped my sweet, freezing cold baby boy up and brought him inside. 

Guys, I ugly cried holding him in my arm in a towel. His poor back paws have sores and they were swollen from the cold. It’s been two days, and I’ve cleaned the wounds with cat friendly products and advice from my Vet-in-training pal on how to care for him to bring him back to health. 

While I am concerned, I do not think he has anything life threatening. I think that given time he is going to heal. The paw does not smell rotten, it is healing, and he is slowly gaining back his energy. 

I am stressed due to the financial issues that may occur for vet bills I cannot afford. I hope that I can be successful in helping him get back to full health without complication. I don’t know what I’m going to do to afford it, but I’ll figure it out. :) He comes first. 

Real talk, though.

When we were up in my room, and I was rocking him in my arm, quietly crying and just showering him with love. He looked at me and his eyes watered. I felt this deep look of love and trust and joy. He knew he was finally safe when he was in my arms and it was the most overwhelmingly sweet moment I’ve ever had with him. He’s generally not very affectionate, preferring to show his love at a distance. 

I am so incredibly grateful that he is home and now recovering. My two cats are so important to my mental health and I just pray that I do not have to ever lose them to something other than old age. 

The lesson I took away from this week is perception and gratitude can turn bad luck into a learning experience and a story to share. 

I hope you’re all having a much more agreeable week than I am!  

ily silly <3 

Dean Winchester photobombed our family photo. XD

#writing #my writing #story #story of the week #lit #literature #kitty #cat #gratitude #grateful #unlucky #luck #gideon #albus #my week #blog #blogger #lifestyle #my life #wtf #fml #crazy days

[jenhikes]

The Pistol Ultra Run - 100 Miles

The ultramarathon.  Not many people know what one is.  In fact, very few people tend to even know the distance of a marathon.  When people ask me what an ultramarathon is, I let them know it's any distance longer than a marathon, anywhere from about 30-100 miles (sometimes even up in the 200's these days!)  Now that I'm no longer running for hours at a time most of the week and my body is starting to feel more like it should, I am able to reflect on what it's like to complete 100 miles in less than a day and a half.  

Prerace -

The mini expo for this race is always the day before the race and I rode out there with some friends of mine to pick up our bibs and our swag.  The swag this year was great - a running duffel bag with a separate shoe compartment (which holds 2 pairs of my smaller shoes!), one of those towel/seat cover things that you can use to keep your car clean during a smelly run, a free pair of Injinji socks for the 100K and 100 milers, and then a "choose your own swag" table where you could get stickers, koozies, chocolate, chapstick, etc.  There was an option to buy a hoodie, tech shirt, and then, of course, they had the Pistol Store where you could buy other various merch - pint glasses, stickers, shirts leftover from previous years, etc.  Another fun option was the gear swap table, where you could leave and take things as you pleased.  I got a really awesome Pearl Izumi cycling shirt.  

Morning of - 

I was planning to wake up at 5 a.m. to have time to get ready and get picked up by my friends so I went to bed early the night before.  Unfortunately, I woke up at 4 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep.  Since I was about to be awake until easily 2-3 p.m. the NEXT DAY I wasn't super happy about this.  I got picked up at 5:45 and we got to the race before 7 a.m.  Since this race allows you to crew out of your vehicle, we wanted to get there early enough for a good parking spot minimal distance from the actual course.  Panera Bread supplied free bagels to the runners so I was able to eat before the race.  Obviously, we took some photos before the start!  The 50K runners start 5 minutes before the 100K and 100 mile runners just to thin out the crowds a bit.  The 50K runners take off and we line up at the start.  Before I know it, months of training are now about to start working for me!

Miles 10-30 - 

The first 50K of this race was great.  I ran the 50K distance last year and it didn't feel too difficult.  I ran with two other friends for most of these miles and we chatted and kept attempting to slow our pace as to keep our legs fresh.  When you're used to running a certain speed and you're slowing yourself down by nearly 2 minutes per mile it can be really hard to keep yourself in check.  Other than our first 10 mile lap, we began walking all the includes as well.  Saving energy is so important when you know you have 24 more hours on your feet!  The morning started off gray and misty, but the sun shone brightly throughout the afternoon and during the third lap of my race the heat started to beat me up.  Thankfully, the aid stations had popsicles and ice, so that was extremely helpful!

Miles 30-60 - 

The friend I came to the race with was battling nausea all morning due to the heat.  Several times I went on ahead to let him try to rest up.  By the end of lap 4 though, he was feeling rough.  I changed my shoes at the end of this lap and headed back out, trying to keep his mind off his stomach.  On lap 5 is when the weather started to turn.  It was around dinner time for most folks when the winds started to shift and the air had that thunderstorm smell.  By the end of lap 5, we were dealing with heavy rain, thunder, and lightning.  In fact, lightning struck the sidewalk at the school near the start line when we were only about a quarter mile away!  It was at this time my friend's stomach really was beating him up and he decided to take a break, so I went on alone. Lap 6 was slower for me, but I was walking at a really great pace in the 16-minute mile range.  Of course, the darkness was starting to set in and the 50 milers, who started at 8 p.m. (at the 12-hour mark) were now out on the course.   Now, the 50 milers start this late to give the 100-mile runners someone else to see out there in the dark.  For me, this was so incredibly defeating.  These runners with their fresh legs were powering past me while I was feeling sore and tired from the hot day followed by the nasty storm.  I came in to mile 60 and I was definitely not in the best head space. 

Miles 60-70 - 

These 10 miles get a paragraph all their own.  This is where I fell apart.  Since the rain had definitely stopped and the course dried out, I decided to put on my thicker-soled shoes for the padding.  When I went to change shoes, I didn't have the socks I thought I packed for these laps and I had a mini meltdown.  Then, when I went to put the shoes on, my feet had swollen so much that they physically hurt to walk in.  As I passed through the start line to head out for lap 7 I had a text from my two friends asking where I was.  I answered I was crying and changing my shoes.  They told me to cry it out and get moving.  Progress was slow to the aid station 2.5ish miles away.  When I saw my friends there they had decided to stop at 100K (they were half a lap behind me), but they were going to help me finish.  I broke down ugly crying and they told me exactly what I  needed to do to finish before the cutoff.  I cried a little more and they pushed me out of the aid station.  The next 4 miles were the most painful thing I've ever done and I was barely walking 2 mph at this point.  I was crying.  I've never felt that much pain.  At Woody's aid station, about 4.5 miles from the start point, I had been on this lap for 2 full hours (when it usually only takes me 3 to walk the full 10) and I cried some more.  The volunteers asked me what hurt and when I told them they let me know that it was COMPLETELY NORMAL at this point in the race to feel this way.  They talked me down and told me, again, how to get through the laps.  I walked another mile before sitting down on a curb because I couldn't take another step.  At this point, I knew NoKey was coming in about an hour, but I was going to quit.  The best 'trail angel' I ever met comes into my race at this point.  Rebecca, the volunteer course monitor, asked me if she should call the RD so I could quit.  I cried and asked her to help me off the ground, which she did.  She walked with me back to the aid station 2.5 miles from the start line.  We talked the whole way, and when she left me at the aid station she triple-checked with me that NoKey was coming.  I gave her his description and told her he was headed my way when he got here.  The folks at the aid station fed me ibuprofen, two go-gurts, and offered to let me warm up.  After sitting for 10 minutes or so, I stumbled away.  I later learned the volunteers were super worried and thought they shouldn't have let me walk.  NoKey met me about 1.25 miles from the start line and walked me up the hill.  By then, my ibuprofen had kicked in and I was ready to head out for another lap.  

Miles 70-90 - 

With the worst behind me, my friend who wasn't feeling well came out and walked with me for about 10 minutes.  He reiterated I should keep going, gave me a strategy, and told me I could do it.  I hugged him and NoKey and told NoKey to come find me in 3 hours.  I did miles 70-80 in 2 hours and 50 minutes, and I even managed to shuffle-run a little.  When I got back to the aid station, the volunteer who basically thought I died was shocked.  "HOLY HELL!" He said when he saw me booking through.  Everyone was super excited and it gave me renewed energy.  When I was getting ready to head back out for miles 80-90 I had slowed down a bit and I was at a mere crawl when it came to walking up the now monumental hills on the back half of the course.  The sun came up during this time as well and now I was worried I'd run out of time.  When I met up with NoKey again to walk up the hill to the start line, I told him to go in and get me a pacer for my final lap.  He told me he'd do the whole lap with me, all 10 miles, despite being in his sandals.  As I shuffled through the start line for the final time, the RD told me to keep moving and I'd be fine.  The volunteers at the start all cheered for me and told me I could do it.  

Miles 90-100 - 

The final lap was super, SUPER emotional for me.  I felt like I was hardly moving, but NoKey told me I was moving really well.  In retrospect, I honestly was moving better than most everyone still out on the course at this point.  It didn't feel like it at the time, that's for sure!  When I was headed back in for my last 5 miles my swollen feet were throbbing and my quads were killing me, but NoKey never lets me stop moving.  As we neared the aid station for the final time, the volunteers all congratulated me and the crying started again.  The hill going up to the high school felt like it would never end.  The final half mile, I was able to pick up my pace to a gentle run, and I rounded the corner to the finish line with arms raised, tears streaming, and legs that refused to quit.  My final time was somewhere around 28:40:00 (I'm not sure right now, as the race results need to be verified still).  My body and my mind were in total shock that the months of hard work finally could end.  

Post Race - 

I was ushered inside by a volunteer, and as I was making it inside I see Rebecca, my trail angel, who had come back to the race because she had forgotten her bag.  I thanked her and hugged her, crying of course, letting her know how much she helped me in the middle of the night.  I went inside to collect my belt buckle and finisher hat only to be told I was 2nd in my age group.  I also got a coffee mug and a giant bag of chocolate!  I took my finisher photo and the photographer had NoKey come take a photo with me since he was my "crew" for the final difficult miles.  I grabbed some food and cried with some of the other participants as well. I threw on a pair of slippers for the ride home.  I got home and showered and fell into bed for a well-deserved 5-hour nap.  

The Days After - 

My feet are so swollen they burn after I wake up on Monday.  I've got busted blood vessels in my right foot and three of the biggest blisters I've ever seen (which I equate to the swelling more than anything else).  I was fortunate enough to use a hot tub, get a chiropractor adjustment, and get a sports massage on Monday afternoon.  Monday night I'm even able to walk my dog, albeit in a pair of flip flops since my feet can't fit into regular shoes.  By Tuesday, I've got normal shoes on, the blisters are drying out, the swelling is nearly gone, and I'm able to spend about an hour at a time on my feet before getting worn out.  Three days out, I'm doing even better.  I'd say I'm only about as sore as I would be from running a really hard marathon or technical trail for around 15 miles.  

The Race Itself - 

For those wondering about The Pistol Ultra, I absolutely recommend this race despite all the pain I endured during it this year!  This was my first ever ultra distance when I ran the 50K last year and I knew I wanted to use it again for my attempt to go 100 miles.  The aid stations, volunteers, and general experience CANNOT be beaten. The fact that you really only need to carry a minimal amount of fluids and really no food because of the nature of the course and placement of the aid stations really takes a lot of stress out of the planning. This is an urban ultra, so it's on pavement the entire time.  It's really tough on the body.  There's grass right next to the pavement though, so you can get some relief when you need it.  Because you're doing out-and-back "loops" on the greenway, you really get to know your other participants and there were so many people cheering for you every time you saw them.  There was so much encouragement from the participants themselves, as well as the volunteers.  If it hadn't been for the middle of the night Woody's crew and Rebecca on her bike I very well may not have finished this race.  It's the support like this that makes the race what it is.  

So, I'm only a few days out from Pistol and I can safely say I'm still not ready to say I'd ever do another 100-miler again.  I am willing to take on the Double Barrel challenge next year (the 50K and 50-mile race for a total of 82 miles, with a few hours of break time in between).  The 100-mile race really brought me to a whole other level of endurance I've never experienced before, even with doing multiple thru hikes!  I'm already planning my return trip next year.  

Would you ever consider doing 100 miles at a time?  Have you ever run an ultramarathon?  What is the furthest distance you've traveled on foot in a day?

#ultra #ultra running #ultramarathon #Pistol #The Pistol Ultra #running life

[motherandlawyer]

Hanger and Mental Leaps

My kids get irrationally hangry. It’s not worth it getting to the stage where hanger raises it’s ugly head. Meltdown central. However, sometimes they get hangry when they have had their 3 pm snack and decide that dinner should be served 15 minutes earlier that day. Kids just eat so much. They would snack all day if they could. Our shopping bill has increased since being in lockdown. The amount of fruit and “snacks” like rice cakes, etc they consume, is phenomenal. I would say where do they put it, but they do not stop. They are actual maniacs. It is true what they tell you, boys are completely different to girls (in general). My boys wrestle each other, climb the furniture, jump off tables. My youngest actually launched himself out of the cot a couple of weeks ago and has a black eye. He then climbed the sofa the following day and fell off the arm onto a toy and popped his nose. It’s never ending.

Whilst I wrote about my youngest getting his black eye, the mummy guilt was less, but it’s still there. He did this because I left him to cry. Not for that long mind, but he really does not like being left on his own. I felt like s*** for leaving him when I knew he had done this before. I got desperate, but I felt so bad as a mother, as he could have seriously injured himself, or worse. My tenacious little (ahem, big) warrior. He used to make himself vomit by putting his fingers down his throat. He used to “self-soothe” at around the 6/7 months mark, but he went backwards approaching one and now we have a full on tenacious toddler tyrant. I have to sit on the chair next to his cot and sometimes I hold his hand or stroke his back if he is being difficult.

Then the tyrant entered leap 10 (The Wonder Weeks) on Friday and he has been surgically attached to me at times. Crying a lot more and having massive mood swings, like a teenager. Do I hear terrible twos? I suppose it will be here before we know it. His sleep was awful for four nights. He woke up before I went to bed and wouldn’t go back down unless he was lying in bed with me and I couldn’t seem to leave without him waking up?! So I eventually gave up as it wasn’t like I was going to get any downtime and I was tired anyway! Last night was better, but he still came in for a cuddle, but later. He then sleeps like a log. Well, I say log, he moves around the bed and often kicks me in the face. I am still getting more sleep than getting up constantly and sitting by his cot until he does (or doesn’t) go back to sleep. Once this mental leap is over, I will need to do some gentle training. It will be so crap and I expect I will end up letting him cry again until he makes himself sick or somersaults out of the cot. Sounds good.

The little one has gone back to nursery one full day and he was screaming his little head off when I did the drop off. Grabbing onto my top for dear life. Mummy guilt alert. Apparently he settled fine and I know he will be OK and I do need to get back to some normality. Whatever that is! I am just stuck in that limbo between stay-at-home mum/teacher and business owner. My industry has suffered, but there are some bits I still need to do. It is starting to pick up again, which is great, but the recluse inside me wants to be the stay-at-home mum. My mental health would not thank me. I am not a very patient person. I love my kids, but I would like some balance again. Trying to do work with even the youngest around was not efficient. My mental health has taken a nose-dive, as has many people’s during the pandemic. So the screaming and top grabbing is going to be worth it. I think.

As for hanger. My kids certainly do get hangry, but so do I. I am much better than them, but today I feel hangry. I am intermittent fasting today and I also did a HIIT session first thing. I am looking forward to lunch. My hubby started it a while back and when I was pregnant with my youngest I thought he was mad. He does it until 5 pm on some occasions. I.e. he doesn’t eat from dinner in the evening and I just don’t get how he does it. I aim for 16/8. So you eat in an 8 hour window only e.g. 12-8 pm. It works for me and I do not do it everyday. We both do it for the mental (and other) health benefits, but I also like the fat burning element. It means I can indulge at times without gaining weight and I lost the remainder of the baby weight too. It can be hard-going, particularly if you exercise in the morning. It’s a challenge. 

My mood has been all over for the past week. I need to get a control over my consumption of alcohol and refined sugar. I want to be healthier and go back to the pre-lockdown days. I basically abstained so that I can consume what I want at the weekend. My hubby and I have pizza and chicken wings most Thursdays as a well-deserved treat for being so good Mon-Wed. We both did the intermittent fasting and didn’t have alcohol. I avoided refined sugar as much as I could. The problem during lockdown was, we continued this Thursday celebration trend, but haven’t necessarily abstained. We have infrequently, and I think this affects my mental health. I like to take control of my consumption. I am not one of those that feels better after a chocolate binge. I need balance. This is likely what I also need with the children and my work. I will appreciate both more, if I have a balance. 

#hangry #toddlertyrant #intermittentfasting #hiit #mentalhealth #anxiety #depression #mentalleaps #leap10

[kjchester-blog]

Ugly Parenting

A Life of ugly parenting

 It happened today. I lost my mind over a pop tart. I had just finished cleaning up the kitchen from breakfast. I went to the store late last night to make sure I had bacon, potatoes, biscuits, and milk. I was so excited to make a nice breakfast on a Sunday morning with my little man. Of course, everything suddenly looked “disgusting” to him and he didn’t want it. I cleaned up and was cleaning my room when I got that dreaded question. “Mom, can I have a pop tart?” Of course I did the typical “are you kidding me, you didn’t eat your breakfast. It’s your fault you’re hungry.” Then I continued cleaning. I walk into the living room and there’s my son… with a pop tart. That’s when I snapped. I don’t remember what I yelled at him now, but I remember throwing the lotion I had in my hand against the wall. The biggest thing I remember though… how big his eyes got. It’s still haunting me. He went outside on the patio to play and I went back to my  room to cry. It wasn’t just a little cry, it’s the “ugly” cry. I couldn’t believe I had just acted like that, over a pop tart. Of course that’s not the “big picture.” But to my son, it was. For me, it was the last straw for weeks of anxiety I’ve been trying to conquer on my own. He was over it in about 5 minutes, but it still bothers me.

           Parenting is hard, but single parenting is pure ugly. Of course there are times when it’s amazing. I never want to take away from that. My life as a single parent this year has flipped my world around it seems. I’ve always been a single mom, so it should be easy, right? I thought it was okay actually. I had a plan in place. I felt secure. Then things changed. My career I had been with for 10 years was no longer my security blanket. I had to take a new path. That’s scary! I was in my last semester of college before transferring to the university. I was ready to finally be putting my dreams into place. Then things changed. That was no longer the path for me. Of course with changes like that comes schedule, financial, and babysitter anxiety battles. And that’s what caused my ugly parenting moments to spark.

Wondering what I mean by ugly parenting? Ugly parenting consists of going to a restaurant and eating your food as fast as possible (probably cave-woman style) because you know your kid is going to want your food, even though they have their own. Ugly parenting is sitting in your closet crying because you’re looking at your college books you’ve purchased and thinking of the many times you’ve tried going back and having to quit again. Ugly parenting is calling out of work because your kid is sick, but you’re still feeling guilty for not being there and stressing about money now. Ugly parenting is stressing about finances. How am I going to afford rent, babysitter, utilities, food, and gas… and of course my kid wants to go do something fun, like Peter Piper. How do you explain to your 7 year old that you have to be very careful about spending money. The ugliest of parenting though, isn’t those things. It’s the anxiety. You have no control over it. When it hits, it hits hard. It has no mercy. See, I wasn’t upset about my son wanting a pop tart. Hell, I wanted a pop tart too. It was the weeks of anxiety of stressing about finances, school, jobs, and a million other things. Ugly parenting is when the anxiety strikes and you take it out on your child, the one person you love most in this world. I had a couple calls during my meltdown time in my room, but I didn’t feel “worthy” enough to talk to anyone. I was the worst person. Ugly parenting is letting the anxiety demons keep us down.

           Ugly single parenting is also wondering if you’re supposed to do it alone forever. Will you ever have someone to share your amazing and ugly parenting moments with. It’s hard to date. During your ugly moments, you know you “deserve” to be alone. How would anybody in their “right” mind want to get involved with that mess? We always hear that the right person won’t mind. But nobody believes that during moments of ugly parenting.

           Nobody wants to talk about ugly parenting. We all share the amazing, great, and positive stories of parenting. I thinks that’s a big reason why some of us have such a hard time when the hard times hit. We shut down and shut everyone out. It’s the moments in the grocery store when the kids are going crazy and mom is about to cry, that I see another parent hits the ugly parenting stage. It’s that moment I know I’m not the only one struggling. I want others to know they aren’t either. I’ll always be here if anyone needs to go through their “ugly parenting” stage in a judge-free zone.  I can guarantee every parent (single or not) goes through it. We don’t have to suffer alone. We can battle it together. I’ve heard many times, “it takes a village.” That’s a village I want to be a part of.

 -Katy Chester