One measely step.

On March 18th, I was playing pickleball with some other moms from the kids' school. One of my favorite activities. I had also signed up for an adult soccer league to start in a couple weeks. I had been slowly and lightly been reintroducing regular exercise into my life, as I wanted to avoid a soccer injury. Funny. For the first time in my life, I was being cognizant of the fact that I'm now 35, overweight, out of shape and too competitive for my own good (well, I've always known that part) as opposed to feeling invincible and 20. In the last year, I'd cut out drinking other than for social events, and I'd minimally reduced my caffeine and caloric intake. I had been, albeit at a snails pace, feeling healthier and healthier. I wouldn't say my efforts were overly impressive nor commendable by any stretch of the imagination, but the trend was in the right direction.

Yes, the, day before was not my best day (health conscious-wise...fun-wise = different story), because it was March 17th. St. Patrick's day. A Saturday as well. I spent the whole day standing in wedges and drinking beverages. I have no doubt I aggravated my feet and ankles in those shoes and left my body dehydrated and tight. In hindsight, I do remember waking up and having difficulty walking due to foot pain, but I easily ignored the discomfort. When I got dressed for pickleball, I selected a super-old pair of tennis shoes, because I felt they were still my most supportive for a court sport. As I continued to get ready for my ride to arrive, I helped Matt scurry the kids out the door for dinner at his parents. The whole time, I felt tempted to call the ride off. To tell them that instead I am spending the evening with my family. As Matt started the car, I went so far as to run up to the door and have him roll down the window. I asked, "Should I just come with you guys and skip pickleball? I kind of want to be with you all." He shrugged and said, "No, just go have fun." For the first time, ever, I just wasn't so sure it would be fun. I couldn't explain the feeling then, but I wonder now if it was dread?

Did I know my body wasn't ready for this kind of beating? Did I ignore signs of exhaustion and inflammation all day? Then again, I've been in waaaayyy worse condition before. I say I drank all day, but it really was not in excess. As I walked on the courts, I said something about being cold, and one of my closest friends says, "What? You are never cold". It's true. I did heed some of these feelings, and decided I wasn't going to go gang-busters. I wasn't going to drink. I was simply going to play and enjoy myself as well as the company and relax while it wasn't my turn on the court.

Then, when I was on the court, waiting to return a serve, during my 3rd game of the night. The ball came at me, slightly to my right and I had taken what I would describe as a longish lunge/leap type step in that direction. Except, the most bizarre and traumatizing event then took place. All in less than a split second. It seemed as though my left heel was not following my step, and that a large, heavy metal weight had fallen from the ceiling and landed directly onto the back of my ankle creating a very audible crashing sound and the pain you'd expect from getting a crowbar into your achilles, or a gunshot. As I swung my head around to look behind me, trying to find the source of this sensation, I scanned the room. Why was everyone going on as if nothing happened? Did no one else hear the thunderous crash? Such brief confusion; the ceiling intact, players all playing, nothing awry. But, also as my head was turning back, I was completing my step off and my left foot was about to land in front of me...and that was when the entire situation came to a flooding realization...

"FUUUCCCCKKKK!" I screamed, as my left foot stepped down, and I quickly lifted it back up, hopping on my right. Now, the other players stopped play looked my direction. Guess, they heard that. "I just snapped my achilles tendon. Oh my god, I just snapped my achilles tendon. It's gone. Fuck. It's gone." I am muttering aloud as I'm hopping to a pole. What I'm not saying aloud, but is flashing through my head is, "I don't have time for this. This is a real injury. This requires surgery and no weight bearing and time off work and physical therapy and a long time away from sports and being active and not playing in the TOPS (parent) tournament at school and pain and so much work for my husband. Oh my gosh, so much work for Matt. I have 5 kids."

As I get out of my head, I look up to see I'm surrounded by the friends I came with, and their somewhat stunned expressions. I instantly become nauseous, and my ears are ringing and I'm getting tunnel vision. All signs of pre-syncope (almost fainting) for me. I tell them, "I have to lay down, I'm going to throw up." I try to figure out the best way down and opt to go to my knees first and roll over. Everyone wants to help, but no one really knows what to do...and it dawns on me. I'm the doctor. Normally, I'd take charge and tell everyone what to do in this situation. So, I start barking orders. "I need ice and a wrap, do they have an ace bandage? And bring me that Advil I saw on the table. Oh man, I'm going to throw up. Also, my phone is on the table. I want to text Matt." I'm still on the edge of consciousness as all this is happening. In my memory, it felt like I was watching through a looking glass and someone else was asking for these things. I lay there and just let Whitney, an RN and Katie, a PT, ice and wrap my foot.

Next, I hobble to the car leaning heavily on 2 people. After lots of back and forth as to the best course of action, I opt for my mother's. She has a boot and crutches and no small children running around and bothering me. On the drive I text my ER and Ortho friends. We decide I can make it through the night and just get in to see the Ankle guy in the morning. I hang with my mom for a bit, she eventually gets me home, well after the kid's bedtime. I arrange for the nanny to arrive early and my mom to get the boys to school so we can get to the 7:45 appointment. I am horrible at crutches. Getting up to bed was simply miserable. Getting anywhere was miserable. Matt helps me get into pajamas, helps me ice and elevate my foot in bed. I can tell, he knows as well as I do that this is our future for the next few weeks. That is when I finally cry. Not from pain or discomfort. But from anger and pity and perhaps, even, a little guilt.

I know it might shock everyone to hear this, but I enjoy being busy. I don't typically sit down, except during the very specific hours of after 8:30pm and periodic short moments through the day. When trying to describe my energy, one of the diagnostic criteria for ADHD comes to mind, "Often on the move, as it propelled by a motor." I've guessed my "motor" to actually be a mixture of OCD, competitiveness and anxiety...but maybe I simply have ADHD. Who knows. Whatever the stem, it's who I am and how I've always been. Our house, our relationship, our (my) way of life depends on this motor. This puts undo stress on our families, our friends, our nanny and, of course, Matt most of all.

Matt and I have determined my current level of functioning to be that of a 3 to 4 year old. I'm able to eat my own food if a plate is made for me, dress myself if clothing is brought to me, and wipe my own a$$. That's pretty much the extent of it. I know this is ever so temporary. Just a few weeks of absolutely no weight-bearing. A few more weeks after that continuing to use crutches and a scooter. And then months of a boot and physical therapy. Our previous life will slowly come back, week after week, month after month, and in a year, I'll be playing pickleball again like a champ. Regaining my post as Number 1. But for now, it still hits me pretty hard, every so often, at how truly worthless I am at the moment...and how exhausting Matt's life currently is. One measly step.

7 and 13.

"When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew." -William Shakespeare

Thirteen years ago, on February 8th, I rushed out of swim practice in order to get to St. Teresa's High school before the end of the basketball game.  These games had recently become a fun hang out for some of my friends, but more importantly, a certain group of Rockhurst guys were known to show up more and more frequently.  I remember arriving about 3/4th's of the way thru the game.  I remember walking up to the bleachers, and glancing down, scanning the crowd to look for a certain person.  I remember spotting him easily and quickly, as he was the only one with a giant fro of curly, dishwater blonde hair (my least favorite color - because it's not a color - but I'll consider looking past this minor flaw) sitting amongst our friends.  Though more often then not, he had found me first. I remember as our gazes met, my heart bounding out of my chest and that pang of happy, nervous energy.  I had just been swimming for 3 hours, but never did my heart get a better work out, than that first moment I set eyes on Matt after days apart.  His lips form a small grin, can't let the excitement be too obvious, but his eyes give him away, he is over-joyed to see me.

This particular night, a few of us drove to Winstead's for dinner.  Matt offers to drive me, and take me back to my car at STA after dinner.  I nervously agree.  I am always slightly anxious around him.  Or is it just my heart continuing to go berserk?  We finish dinner, and head back to the school.  Once in the parking lot, we sit in his Galant.  Niether one of us really want to say "goodbye" just yet.  He reaches in the back seat, and pulls out a single rose.  He hands it to me, and asks me to be his girlfriend (I wish I could remember the exact wording here, but that left my memory, long, long ago).  I smile, I hesitate, (it's so very hard for me to let emotions get the better of me), I really can't believe this is happening, though I am so happy it has.  I am guessing I said, "yes". We then kiss for the first time. Such an awkward, awkward kiss.  Yet the most wonderful kiss that has ever been, and ever will be.  I am hooked.  Every logical fiber in me says, "this is dumb, we are Seniors and going to be 10 hours apart in a few short months, don't even start."  But, it was over before it begun, and we both knew it.

I have long wanted to write about this day. Not sure why. Unless I develop Alzheimer's or a dementia, I will never, ever forget this night, the events, the emotions.  Maybe so that my children, grandchildren, family can understand how much we loved each other from the start. Seems like that would be a fun thing know.  I tried so hard not to make this sound like a couple paragraphs cut and pasted from some silly, romance novel...but that attempt failed.  Love is mushy.  Love is illogical. Love influences us to make decisions we would not otherwise make.  Love helps us accept.  Love allows us to be blind to "flaws". Or not care about them anyway.

I have decided that I will just never understand whether Matt just said 'yah' or 'nah'.  I used to wish he would just say 'yes' or 'no', so it would be clear, but now I just choose the answer that suits my purpose (hoping he will learn someday to enunciate - he hasn't.) Perhaps he does it, because he knows I will likely do whatever I want anyway.  Though visitors may notice our multiple, burnt out bulbs, I have FINALLY, after almost 8 years of living with the man, grown accustomed to having "mood lighting" throughout the house at all times.  I know what you may be thinking, "why don't you just change the bulbs, women can do that too", but apparently, I cannot be trusted to purchase the right bulbs, or I might spend too much money on them, or they won't be efficient enough, or the right white, or something along those lines...I'm not really sure.  All I know is, we need a lot of lights bulbs.  Seven to be exact.  I try my best to build in nap time for Matt on the weekends, and just get over that 2-3 hours of productivity will be wasted.  I have come to realize that our thresholds for what constitutes a diaper that needs changing, is very different.  Same goes with, for how long dog poop or pee can be left on the carpet.  Matt likes to relax first, pick up later.  I cannot relax if things aren't tidied.  We've agreed to disagree on this one.  I leave shoes everywhere, he leaves socks, as well as other various pieces of clothing.  He likes to hug, touch, kiss, etc throughout the day.  I am far too busy for all of that, and he is often hindering my ability to get from point A to point B quickly.

These "flaws" of which I speak, are mere annoyances.  They, in absolutely no way, affect the way I feel about my Matt.  They are fleeting instances, that have become almost comical.  You know those arguments?  The ones that leave you feeling slightly ill to your stomach.  Unfinished.  That perhaps even change how you felt about someone?  Well, we have never had one of those. Perhaps it is because we understand one another so completely, we can always see the other's perspective.  Perhaps it is because our values, ideals, traditions, opinions, just match that well.  Perhaps it's because we are both extremely reasonable people with very appropriate expectations, or even a lack of expectation.  Perhaps it is simply respect.  Perhaps it is any number of things, but we do know it's not for lack of temper.  Mostly, I think we don't argue, because we love.

"He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."  -Emily Bronte

Wood.

Our 5th wedding anniversary was absolutely nothing like I dreamed it would be. Now, I don't generally get mushy. I don't celebrate Valentine's day. I don't really get overly sentimental about too many things. But for some reason, my wedding anniversary is extremely meaningful. Matt and I got married on the 10th of February in 2007, we started dating on the 8th of February way back in 2001. This time of year comes around prompting me to reflect and look back at all the happiness, love and beauty meeting one person has added to my life. It gives me an excuse to have one night, alone, with my biggest, oldest and favorite boy.

When we met our wedding photographers, over 5 years ago, I already started planning, in my head, a little 5 year anniversary photo shoot. I thought I might get a hotel for a night, have some old, crazy looking tux or suit from a thrift shop waiting for Matt to change into. I would have found a dress, gotten my hair and make-up done, and we could go out around town and take "trash the dress" type pictures for our anniversary! But, as it turns out, when you are 9 months pregnant with your 3rd child while in residency, the time, motivation, and desire to be photographed has disappeared. In fact, I was so busy obsessing about how miserable I am, and just barely able to take things day by day, that I didn't even get Matt a gift. Nothing. Not even a card. I did set up a sitter for the night. So, I guess, technically, I gave us dinner (though, he paid.)So, I went on with my horrid work day. Filled with having to do more than just sit. I had to try my hardest to put a smile on my face while interacting with co-workers and patients, when all I really wanted to do was cry. All my patients showed up in clinic, which never happens, which means I am insanely busy. People kept asking me "how are you", and as I have expressed before, I have a hard time lying, so after a long exasperated, obviously annoyed with the question sigh, I would say, "oh, fine." Most of the time they didn't believe that response and got the message to discontinue conversation...but a few wanted details. So, I listed off all the reasons I am not currently fine, to which the most common response was, "just a couple more weeks." Great, thanks for the comfort.

So, finally, I get in the car to head home. I just start crying. I get home, to an empty house, and continue crying. I am waiting on Matt to finish meeting with a potential wedding photography client, and trying to get my act together. But it's not working. I am not hungry. I am never hungry anymore. So my lovely, relaxed, gourmet, usually wine-filled dinner is not even something to look forward to this year. Matt gets home, understands my situation and feelings without me having to explain my tears, and happily suggests a place for dinner.

We drive to Oak 63, and have to wait in the car for a few minutes while I try to pull myself together and stop crying long enough to look reasonable. But as soon as we get in the restaurant, and I sit on the hard wooden chair, and can't scoot up to the table, I can feel tears brimming at my eyelids. Matt looks up and says, "Oh great, this looks awesome." And I can't help but laugh. Here I am, obviously pregnant, a few days before Valentine's day, on a Friday night, out to a nice dinner with a man, and I am crying...no other explanation than he is leaving me!

The evening continues and despite my embarrassing show at the restaurant there is a moment during dinner when Matt just looks me in the eye and says, "There is just something about the combination of good food and good music...with you, that makes me really happy". And I just smiled. No more crying. Just smiles from that point on. I mean, how can you pity yourself, or your situation after that statement? I have more support from one person, than most people do from an entire family or community. Anniversary, a success.

Food and Flowers

As per usual, I stick to the traditional wedding anniversary gifts, and sent Matt a food basket with some of his favorite cookies, and some strawberries and champagne to celebrate our 4th anniversary!

Matt, on the other hand, and with no complaint from me, NEVER goes traditional (the only years I am hoping he strays from this pattern are 25th, 30th, 50th, 60th and 75th, I will gladly accept silver, gold and diamonds.) This year, he surprised me with a trip to South Padre Island, planned for April 1st-5th! Included in this trip is a horseback ride, on the beach, at sunset. Check that one off the bucket list! Matt hinted at this trip earlier in the week by laminating little pictures of the resort, as well as things we would be doing on our vacation and left them about the house. Brock kept messing with these cards, and I even found one in his lunchbox from school. The only conclusion I could reach is that Brock had taken these from school. Perhaps, even stolen them.So, on the Wednesday before our anniversary we celebrated our anniversary by going to Bella Napoli for dinner. Dinner turned out to be absolutely wonderful, and relaxing. Due to the freezing weather, and the fact that is was Wednesday, the place was relatively empty. The thing I love about anniversary dinners is that you are allowed to go all out. I ordered whatever wine I wanted, whatever dish, and I got a dessert. The cook had some rabbit, and convinced us to try it - excellent. Then, Matt handed me an envelope. I opened it to find...4 laminated cards! What a clever fellow. Here I am, blaming my son for stealing at age 2, convinced he has Conduct disorder, and it's my wonderful hubby.

My only complaint? That the trip was scheduled for April 1st, and not February 11th.

Erin And Matt

After 10 years, an entire decade, I think I am allowed to brag a bit about how wonderful my life with Matt has been. To the outsider, what is most noticeable in this video, is our constant weight gain, but to me I notice absolute, pure, uninterrupted love.*

Click on the link to see the pictures larger, if you would like.

Ten Years from matt o on Vimeo. *WARNING: NEARLY 13 MINUTES LONG!

Shock of all shockers, I am no romantic. I am definitely not convinced that there is "one true love" for every person; maybe there are a good dozen people out there that could fit that description. But I can tell you this: Matt is the caramel to my espresso. At this point, I have been waiting 10 years, to the day, for our relationship to begin getting "difficult". You can ask Matt. Literally, since day one, I randomly ask him things like, "So, when am I going to stop liking you?" or "Why don't you get on my nerves?" or "Why do I like you?"

Our relationship has been easy. Natural. We both just prefer each other's company over anyone elses. We are both extremely honest, blunt, stable individuals, so our expectations have always been known, and they just so happen to match. Perfectly. We harbor no delusions, and don't wish for change. We are happy as we are. This isn't to say we don't have goals, or aspirations, or welcome change, we just react to it similarly.

When giving advice on relationships or marriage, I often avoid using my own as an example, because I truly believe it is one of a kind. When we began dating, oh so long ago, I vividly remember telling Matt we wouldn't work out because he agreed with me too often. I enjoy a good disagreement every now and then. He adapted, and now we have no problem creating "heated discussions". In fact, you will rarely witness us compliment one another. Our public displays of affection approach zero. And we don't whisper sweet nothings, ever. Yet, we are never happier than when we are together.

The other day, a thought occured to me. I love my two babies so much, it is painful. I mean painful. I want to squeeze and kiss them every moment they are within reach. I could write and talk about them constantly (and do.) I cannot even begin to imagine a life without them. But, every so often, I very much welcome a break from them. Perhaps, even look forward to it. And who do I immediately want to spend that break with? Matt. The only other boy in my life that I see and interact with day in, day out (Tater does not count, he's weird.) Matt is THE ONLY person I NEVER need a break from. (In fact, often I prefer him to myself.) And I need not write another word...that statement says it all.

Leather

For our 3rd anniversary, we basically did 3 things (and didn't spend a penny - if you don't count gifts). What a coincidink! On the actual night of our anniversary, the 10th, we exchanged gifts before heading to Jasper's for dinner. I, in keeping with the "traditional" 3rd anniversary gift, gave Matt a pair of leather Puma tennis shoes. He gave me a 5th generation 8GB iPod Nano. He always out-gifts me!! [But I absolutely don't mind.] Dinner was paid for by a Christmas gift certificate from the MO'Laughlin's, therefore, we went all out...bottle of nice wine, salads, fancy entrees, and the rarest item of all, individual desserts. All quite excellent examples of Italian cuisine.
The next event on the schedule was dinner on Saturday the 13th at Oak63 - a Southern French Bistro. We got a free 4 course meal, and all the wine our little hearts desired in exchange for Matt's photography services. They had a Cellist; beautiful. We tried pâté for the first time; okay. And had the best Filet Mignon ever; amazing. Not to mention I got a glorified hot fudge sundae made with Foo's custard dessert! Mmmm. I also decided that night that I am quitting school to become a food critic - they get to eat like this on a regular basis!?

We then moved on from dinner to our hotel room at the Sheraton on the Plaza. This I won at a silent auction almost a year ago, so I guess I did pay for it at one time, but it felt free, and it was a steal. We had a nice relaxing night, without the concern of baby, woke up when we felt like it, and ate the brunch included with our stay. We then arrived home just in time to give our cowboy pajama'd son a kiss before he took a 2 hour nap.

Thanks to all the grandparents who made these events possible. I cannot even describe how nice it is to leave for the evening and not have to worry one bit about the safety of well-being of your child.

Cotton

When Matt and I began dating over 8 years ago, everyday seemed to be an improvement on the one before it. I felt nothing but increasing love and admiration, so naturally, as an eternal skeptic, I spent the first few years wondering when I would wake up and the pendulum would have begun to swing the other way. I finally gave up on this notion, and accepted the fact that I had found my infinity. And then we got married. Techniquely, cotton is the appropriate gift for a 2nd wedding anniversary, but I will always accept horses! Matt got me a couple of tickets to go see the Lipizzaner Stallions - who to take? As for my gift to Matt, it doesn't exactly qualify either because it is a pair of Simples made of hemp - inside marked "Granola not included".

Two years ago, yesterday, did Matt and I think we would be going to dinner and a movie while our little boy was with the sitter (grandma & grandpa O)? Kind of. We decided one year ago to go for it. Isn't it strange? We knew Brock would exist, even long before his conception. I am constantly in awe of the idea of procreation. Even as a med student, I still can't quite grasp how something this complex, real and alive came from nothing. We were once nothing.

Now we are a family.

Heathen No More

What better way for Matt and I to celebrate our 8 year dating anniversary than to save our child from purgatory? Brock received the sacrament of Baptism on February 8th at Visitation Church. It turned out to be a day filled with tradition. Visitation is where my 2 brothers and nephew were baptized and where Matt and I were married, as well as my grandparents. Brock was baptized by the priest that baptized Matt and married his parents. And the award for most impressive trans-generational item goes to the baptismal gown! So, if you are wondering why we put our only son in a dress and bonnet, here's why. We figured out that this garment dates back at least 90 years, if not more. It was worn by Matt (and all his brothers and cousins, minus 2), his mother, and his grandfather. As for the bonnet, it is an Irish tradition, and it becomes a handkerchief to be worn on Brock's wedding day - if he has one.

I say "if he has one" only because after this blessed day, it seems Brock may be destined to priesthood for two reasons. The first: in a photo taken during the ceremony, all people look normal, except Brock, who is completely illuminated, glowing if you will. The explaination could be that he was the only one dressed entirely in white, and also the only one small enough for his full body to be in a sun spot, but I prefer the holy-er of the two options. The second: he was fussing throughout the entire procedure, except when he was being directly looked at or touched by the priest. Coincidence?
The day ended with a reception at our house. We discovered our houses's maximum occupancy to be roughly 40 people. Thank goodness a good handful of people decided to skip out on the tastey food and drinks, I am not sure where we would have put even 2 more individuals. (We will begin accepting applications now for an invitation to his 1st birthday party...)

One Year Went too Fast

For our first wedding anniversary, Matt and I went to the new restaurant: Michael Smith. Mmmm, that s*#t was good! We got "Braised Rabbit" for an appetizer - who would have thought I'd ever eat rabbit...not me. Had champaigne, grouper, 8 hour pork roast, 7-layer chocolate cake and a butterscotch tiramisu. To die for, all of it.

Oh, and don't worry, although Brennan destroyed the top tier of our wedding cake because he insisted on carrying it from the reception, despite being completely inebriated, we got a replacement. And it, too, was wonderful.