Balance

I am the oldest of four children, three girls and a boy.  My siblings and my parents live in Kentucky, so I don’t get to see them as often as I’d like.  Yet, we are all extremely close, particularly my sisters and I.  We come from very strong stock, and my sisters are amazing women.  They both work and have young children.  I think they let me go through parenthood first to see if I’d survive before having kids of their own. My youngest sister Stacey, works from home for an insurance company, dealing with the aftermath of catastrophic weather. She has a 6 year old son Garrett, who is a human tornado.  There’s no other word for him.  He is mass in constant motion.  Inquisitive, determined, inquisitive, loving, and did I mention inquisitive?  Lesser humans would buckle under the pressure of such a ball of energy, but we’re talking about my sister.  Did I mention she’s amazing?

For the moment, Stacey is, in essence, a single parent.  Her husband, a former Marine, is working as a government contractor fulfilling a year long assignment in Afghanistan.  He’s been home for just a few days in the interim.  She has become both mom and dad, good cop and bad cop, lawn mower, dish washer, homework checker, house repairman, cook, laundress, and all the other things that go into running a home and family. 

With the recent hurricane, she found herself working crazy hours to deal with all the claims as a result of the storm.  Recently, she made the comment that she loves her job, but could do without another storm this season, as she hates being torn between her child and her job.  It got me thinking…what is balance, and how do we find it?

We’ve convinced ourselves as women that we can have it all.  We can indeed, as long as you’re realistic in your definition of “it all”.  There will be moments that you’ll miss, but there will be bills that are paid.  It’s a trade-off.  There will also be moments that you get to treasure, because perhaps you passed up that big promotion that involved extensive travel.  It all comes down to finding a balance, and more importantly, being okay with it.  I work full time, my children know without a doubt that I love them.  There are football games that I miss after school, but my son knows the minute he gets in the car when I pick him up, that I will want to know every detail, every play, even if they lost.  And I’d like to know the name of the cute cheerleader making goo-goo eyes at him. There are times I get to see the last few minutes of the game, and I love those moments, even if he’s not on the field.  I try to make one on one time for each of my kids each week, even if it’s just sitting on the couch catching up on school events or a silly TV show.  It doesn’t always happen, and I’m okay with that.  I know that if the schedules are to crazy, we have next week to make it up.

My sister worries about not being there for everything.  With her husband gone, there are going to be times that she’s not.  But I see my nephew look at her with adoration, or stop what he’s doing to just run to her and claim his hugs, and I know that he feels safe in her love.  I know she cries sometimes when she’s frustrated or tired, but I know she also lets Garrett know it’s okay to be sad or upset.   I see how she juggles 25 spinning plates to make sure she’s at his t-ball games, or lets him take her to dinner with a gift card from Daddy, and I know that when he’s older, he’ll understand what a strong woman looks like.  She looks like my sister.  She looks like all of us striving for the best, but knowing sometimes that all we have is “our” best.  We need to trust that’s enough.

Karen Cluxton lives in Hatfield, PA, and has three teenagers – Halle 16, Owen 14, and Grace 13. Between shuttling kids to soccer, baseball and physical therapy, she trains in Mixed Martial Arts.

I Remember

“September 11th, 2001. For as high as our national debt is today, we owe much more to the men and women who were in the towers, on the planes, and in the Pentagon that fateful morning. We must never forget, and move forward as a nation. For as long as we’re here, they haven’t won. Always remember.”

I read this today on Facebook. It was the status update of my fifteen year old son. I asked him where he got the quote, and he looked at me as if the question was absurd: “It’s my own. I was thinking about it this morning.”

He’s quite a kid. Although he was only five when the attacks happened, he has been keenly aware that had his dad been scheduled for a different route that day, our lives would have been torn apart like the families of the three thousand victims of 9/11. My ex-husband is a commercial airline pilot, on international routes. He was scheduled to fly that day out of Newark.

I was leaving the doctors office that morning, when word of the first plane came over the radio. I remember thinking, it must have been a Cessna, following instruments only, and there must have been a malfunction. I got to work in time to see the second plane hit, as the entire staff huddled around the television. And then there was a third, and a fourth. I received a frantic phone call from the guidance counselor at the elementary school, needing to know if my then husband was flying. I told her I wasn’t sure where he was, and called her back ten minutes later when I heard from him. He was on his way to the airport when he received the call that all flights had been cancelled. She assured me there would be no discussion of the events at the school that day, so that my kids could come home and we could talk to them how we saw fit.

We spent the next several days in a state of shock, glued to the TV, trying to figure out how the world had become such an insidious place. Because of their father’s job and their young age, we told the kids the basics. There was an explosion in the towers, and at the Pentagon, and the towers had fallen. When they asked a few days later how the explosion happened, we told them as much as they wanted to know. When flight ops resumed, we did our best to reassure them that daddy would be okay. He called at every layover, even just to leave a message telling them what time it was, and where he was. He woke them up in the middle of the night when he got home, so they could go back to sleep knowing he was safe.

In the ten years that have passed, we have divorced, and we each have remarried. We have fought, laughed, fought some more, found neutral ground, but raised our kids the best we could in what for us is still uchartered territory. Today, I am thankful for the fights, the stress, and the commonality we strive to find, for the sake of my children. I listened to the families read the names of the victims this morning, and wonder how their lives would be different had that day not happened. I wonder if there were unspoken words, unresolved conflicts, or unreached dreams. I cried with the children who read the names of the mothers they don’t remember, and the fathers they never knew.

I watched my son watch a young man his own age reading his father’s name, and I cried as my son bowed his head to pray. Then I bowed my own and joined him. Love fiercely. Live with purpose. Never miss an opportunity to let someone know they matter. And always remember.

Karen Cluxton lives in Hatfield, PA, and has three teenagers – Halle 16, Owen 14, and Grace 13. Between shuttling kids to soccer, baseball and physical therapy, she trains in Mixed Martial Arts.

"Letting Go" …The worst part of raising a special needs child is knowing that you won’t live forever

The worst part of raising a special needs child is knowing that you won’t live forever. Grace, despite her disabilities, has the expectations of a normal life span, as do I. Unfortunately, we began the journey 32 years apart. I have tried for the last 14 years to ignore the fact that I’m getting older. The new aches and pains are ordered to leave my body, because I have too much to do. Carrying her upstairs, in and out of the tub, as well as in and out of bed can leave my joints and back aching, but I work hard to keep myself as healthy as possible in order to take care of her myself for as long as I possibly can.

Last week, my rose colored view of my own immortality came to a screeching halt. We had an interview/evaluation at the HMS school. (hmsschool.com) HMS is an amazing school specifically for children with Cerebral Palsy. The programs are fantastic, and she will have so many resources available to her. If all goes as planned, she’ll be starting in September. During the evaluation as we were discussing the socialization curriculum, the director told us that they encouraged organized sleepovers at the school. It is a residential facility as well, and children come from all over the country to attend. Grace will be in a day program. My first thought was “Absolutely not.” I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud. Nancy, the director, looked at me and said “Why not?” Well, because she’s only 14, and I’m not comfortable with someone else tucking her in, and what if she’s scared, and, and, and….. “She’s 14” she said. “She should have the same experiences ‘normal’ kids have, with girls her age, in a surrounding she’s familiar with. And, her aid will be with her, whom she’ll trust, as will you.” Yeah, whatever. I must have had a dazed and glazed look on my face, since Nancy just smiled and took my hand and said “It’s okay. We’ll revisit it at a later date.” Again, yeah, whatever.

Then we moved on the the educational curriculum. Part of Grace’s IEP (individualized education plan) deals with transition from school into the adult world. Knowing where to shop for items, how to ask for directions, how to identify and use money, who to call for specific situations, etc. Nancy said one of the items that will be covered was teaching Grace how to interview caretakers. Dazed and glazed again, I said “Well that’s my job, why would she need to do that?” Nancy said very matter-of-factly, “Because you aren’t going to live forever. She needs to know how to interview someone in order to hire somebody she feels comfortable with bathing her, changing her, and helping her with her day to day needs.” Boom. There it was. The 98 mile an hour fastball I’d been preparing for was replaced for a slow, lobbing curveball. I must have looked like I’d been hit by a truck, but Nancy, I’m sure, has given this speech before and gave me a few minutes to let her words sink in.

I’ve been so focused on what she needs today, this week, this year….that I haven’t spent time thinking about what she’s going to need 50 years from now. Yes, I’ve planned financially, and planned as to who will be her guardian…but the normal day to day happenings? I guess I just assumed I’d be around forever in a Tuck Everlasting sort of way. It’s time to let go of my superhero status, and slowly begin to accept that I am seriously, just a mere mortal.

We’ll start with considering a sleepover.

Karen Cluxton lives in Hatfield, PA, and has three teenagers – Halle 16, Owen 14, and Grace 13. Between shuttling kids to soccer, baseball and physical therapy, she trains in Mixed Martial

Shoe Shopping with a Child Who Can’t Use Her Feet

It is what it is. Grace is in a wheelchair, due to cerebral palsy. However, she is quickly approaching 14, and full of surprises. Yesterday, we had a full day to ourselves. The boys were out fishing, Halle was at her boyfriends graduation party, so Grace and I planned an entire day together, just doing whatever sounded good. The wedding is in just a little over two weeks, and she is my bridesmaid. Halle is my maid of honor. Grace had picked a very pretty yellow dress, and we needed shoes. Normally, she wears DAFOS, which are stiff, plastic braces to keep her ankles at a precise 90 degree angle. There are very few shoes other than sneakers that are small enough (she only wears a size 13) that come wide enough to fit over the braces. For the wedding, she wanted to wear pretty shoes without the braces. I’m okay with that.

Off to the mall we go. After 20 minutes looking for a handicap spot to accommodate the wheelchair lift in the van, we finally found one. I could launch into a long diatribe about the insanity of handicap spaces being used by people who don’t want to walk far in the rain, who don’t want to carry their merchandise too far from the store, or just don’t care. But, if you know me, you’ve heard it. If you don’t know me, I’d rather you continue to think of me as a kind, genteel Southern gal. At least for now. 😉

Long story short, Grace and I had a fabulous day eating food that was really bad for us, watching her race the security guard on his Segway, (his mama raised him right…what a great kid!) and finding the perfect sparkly princess shoes for her. Traffic at Montgomery Mall has some terrific deals on very cute shoes. And, their sales staff is amazing. Grace found a pair of silver, blingy sandals, and she tried them on. Her wheelchair combined with her physical issues, make it difficult for her to see the shoes she tries on. Up until just a year or so ago, she was perfectly fine letting me pick her shoes. Not now. She’s almost 14. So, the sparkly shoes looked great on her feet, she just had no idea how they looked. Leah, the young girl helping us suggested I try on the same pair, since they sell quite a few styles in mother/daughter sizes. Problem solved. I tried them on, Grace squealed in delight, and the day was a huge success. Mother/Daughter manicures followed, and off we went after a very successful day.

It seems that whenever we go out in public, children are fascinated by Grace and her tricked out candy-apple-red power chair. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard a child say “Mom, why does she have that chair? What’s wrong with her?” And as many times as I’ve heard that, I’ve heard moms reply, “Don’t stare, it’s not polite.” While I LOVE that moms are sensitive to what might be an uncomfortable moment, what I’d like to tell you is this: It’s okay. Grace and I both know she’s in a wheelchair. And your child is staring at that chair because, well, it’s a freakin’ awesome chair! She drives with head controls, and to a child it’s a pretty darn cool thing to be able to do. If your child has questions, it’s okay. We’re used to it, and Grace will pretty much answer anything a kid asks her. I for one would much rather your child come up and ask Grace why she can’t walk, than for a child to think it’s wrong to wonder. Your kids are Grace’s life long peers, and I guarantee you they could learn from each other. So if you see us out and about, and your little one has a question, have them introduce themselves. You’d be amazed at the conversations that might follow.

Karen Cluxton lives in Hatfield, PA, and has three teenagers – Halle 16, Owen 14, and Grace 13. Between shuttling kids to soccer, baseball and physical therapy, she trains in Mixed Martial Arts.

A Broken Marriage Doesn’t Have to Mean a Broken Child

When you get married, you buy a wedding planning book that tells you step by step, how to organize your wedding. When you get pregnant, you buy What to Expect When You’re Expecting, or another such guide to help you navigate those nine months. Then when your child is born, you refer to the rest of the What to Expect series through infancy and the toddler years. Then one day, the life you’ve planned is completely unrecognizable, and the issue of divorce appears, wreaking havoc in your home. The guidebooks for divorce are scant in comparison to the others, and finding your way through the emotional, financial, and sometimes physical turmoil can be a very difficult journey not just for you, but for your children as well.

Let’s be honest, no one goes into a marriage planning for a divorce. However, considering the divorce rate in America for first marriages is approximately 41%, all of us have been affected either directly, or peripherally with our family members or close friends. The emotional roller coaster can be overwhelming to you and your spouse, but if handled badly, can be devastating to children. It will never be “easy” for a child to go through a parent’s divorce, but there are tools you can use to ensure the best possible outcome given the circumstances for your kids.


First and foremost, seek a good marriage counselor before making any decisions. Define the issues, and figure out if there are solutions. Solutions require change, on both parts. Both parties have to be willing and committed to restoring the marriage in order for it to work. If the decision is made to proceed with the divorce, consider remaining in counseling to figure out how to best co-parent. For me, remaining in counseling for quite some time after the decision to divorce was made allowed me to see who I was designed to be, rather than who I had been allowed to be. It also gave me an outlet for my frustrations, so that I didn’t share them with my kids intentionally or unintentionally.

Children are not the reason parents divorce. They need to know that from the very beginning, and it needs to be reinforced over and over again. They need to know that no matter what happens, they are loved beyond measure, and will be safe and well cared for. It might be different aesthetically, but your love for them doesn’t change. They will wonder if they are to blame. Your most important job is to nip that idea right away, and continue to do so.

No matter what their age, your kids are not your friends in this situation. I can’t stress this enough. Children don’t need to know what he did, what she did, what she said, what he said, etc. And they will ask “why”. A million times. And the answer for me has always been, “Sometimes grown ups make hard decisions that don’t make sense to you. Sometimes they don’t make sense to us. The best we can do is just figure out the ‘what’ questions instead of the ‘why’.” (Which usually started an entire litany of “what” questions!)

Money issues are between parents and parents only. Don’t get your kids involved in money issues, child support issues, etc. Child support is designed to help provide for your children: mortgage, medical care, food, clothing, activities. Don’t get into the habit of saying “I can’t afford it because your dad doesn’t give me enough money.”, or conversely, “I can’t afford it because I give your mom so much money.” A simple “We can’t do that right now.” is enough.

Avoid speaking negatively about your ex-spouse in front of your children. You’re angry, you’re hurt, and you’re in some cases blindsided. However, this person that you’re so upset with is also your child’s parent, and your child loves them dearly. It’s very confusing for a kid to hear negative things about one parent from another. By doing so, you are setting yourself up for disaster. And when a child comes home and complains about the other parent, in your mind you’re saying “Yup, same issues I had.” But your job is to let your child figure out their own relationship with their parent by themselves, and support them in doing so. (Now, this being said, in instances of abuse, alcoholism and or drug use, or other safety concerns, different measures need to be taken.) My kids have heard over and over again, (and would have heard it were we still married) is “Your dad loves you the best way he knows how. It may not be the way you want him to love you, but you can either stay upset because he won’t change, or you can accept who he is and forge the best relationship you can. You have the same choices with me. Your parents are your parents, and have different personalities than you. Make the most of what you have with us.”

It’s not easy, it’s not ideal, and each family situation is different. But how you proceed on the journey is what is going to determine whether your kids will bear the weight of your decisions in a way that will deny them the opportunity to grow, or face the challenge successfully and develop good, healthy attitudes about family and relationships. The failure of my marriage does not dictate my children’s emotional well being. What does, is my ability to separate the conflict with their dad from the fact that he helped me create these three wonders.

Karen Cluxton lives in Hatfield, PA, and has three teenagers – Halle 16, Owen 14, and Grace 13. Between shuttling kids to soccer, baseball and physical therapy, she trains in Mixed Martial Arts.

All Gave Some, Some Gave All

Heading into Memorial Day Weekend, I’m in full swing packing for the beach. It’s the first glimpse of summer, and I’m heading to Assateague National Park with four kids to camp on the beach. Yep, by myself. Well, kinda. Ted’s working, but our crew of over 50 people have been renting the same campsites for years. The kids know going in that this weekend, they have 20 mothers, and each of us has the same right to ground them if they misbehave. Hasn’t happened yet because they’re too busy having fun. We set up the tents, eat, set up a food court, eat, hit the beach, eat, roast marshmallows around the campfire, eat, and watch the ponies. Somewhere in between all that fun, we eat. It’s the same core group of friends I’ve had since moving to Pennsylvania. Some I see all the time, some only this weekend each year. Life takes us all over, but we manage to find our way back for our Memorial Day weekend beach gala.

The patriarch of our little band of vagabonds is Poppy Ron. He is my best friends’ father in law, and opened his arms to my family and welcomed us into his. That’s his way. There’s always enough love to go around, and he thrives on family. He strongly resembles Captain Morgan, and is a true renaissance man. He’s an artist, he’s a philosopher, he’s a poet, expert in botany…and a Vietnam Veteran. He is my reminder that this weekend is not only about three day weekends, picnics, beach trips and family gatherings, but about remembering those who sacrificed all to ensure our freedom.

Poppy Ron has lost more friends and brothers in arms than he’ll admit. He carries their memories in his heart and soul, wounded in ways I can’t even begin to imagine. He’s not the only one. Most of us have heard our fathers’ and grandfathers’ stories about “their” war, and some of us were lucky enough to hear them from our fathers and grandfathers first hand. Others relied on only the retelling from those who made it home. Our children will hear stories from their mothers and grandmothers as well, hopefully first hand. Those stories are our link to our past, and to our future. There will always be conflict, and there will always be Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines who will go where they’re told, do what they’re told, without question, for reasons they might not understand, nor agree with. Some of them will come home to camp on the beach with their children and grandchildren. Some will be remembered at family gatherings instead. Let’s hope none of them vanish into obscurity. They deserve so much more.

On my way down, I will stop at the familiar rest stop, whether I need to or not. The VFW sells poppies there. I buy them in honor of those who are no longer with us, and for Poppy Ron. He’d be rather uncomfortable if he knew that, I’m sure. But sometimes, even the patriarch has to let us say “Thank You” in whatever way we can. And for his brothers who are no longer here, my prayer is that they know how much I appreciate them.

Karen Cluxton lives in Hatfield, PA, and has three teenagers – Halle 16, Owen 14, and Grace 13. Between shuttling kids to soccer, baseball and physical therapy, she trains in Mixed Martial Arts.

Keeping Our Children Safe

I had a different blog ready to go for today, until news of the death last night of 9 year old Skylar Kauffman made the rounds on the media. She was playing outside her apartment complex, and didn’t return for dinner. Her body was found in a dumpster at 12:30 this morning, having been raped and beaten. A 25 year old man has been arrested and is being held without bond. She fought until the very end.

I am heartbroken, angry, sad and outraged. I did not know her, but that really doesn’t matter. She was a child, and now a mother is grieving and shattered, and a young life was taken too soon.

Helplessness is prevalent in a situation like this, and today’s blog is all I can do to make it go away – for myself, and maybe for you too.

For the last 7 years, I have been certified as a WomanSafe presenter, teaching Rape Prevention and Women’s Self Defense to local girls and women. Ten years ago, one in ten women/girls were the victim of an attack or an attempted attack. Today the number is one in three. There are some things you can do to protect yourself, and your daughters.

First and foremost, do not ignore your intuition. It’s given to you for a reason, and just like a muscle, if you don’t exercise it, it will atrophy and become useless. Listen to that voice that tells you something is not right – whether it be a person or a situation. Teach your children to listen to that voice as well.

Be aware of your surroundings. I know as moms, we sometimes get tunnel vision in parking lots, playgrounds, etc., focusing only on our kids. Be aware of everyone and everything around you.

Let your children know that they are not being rude if they run away from someone that makes them feel uncomfortable. I would rather someone thinks my child rude than to have to deal with them being attacked. The same goes for us as adults. I don’t care if someone thinks I’m rude, or in some cases, completely out of my mind. As long as I can go home safely to take care of my kids, I don’t care what anyone thinks.

Know who your children are playing with. Get to know the parents of the kids. In most rape situations, especially with children, the attacker is someone known to the child.

If your child comes to you and relates an incident that has scared them, or makes them uncomfortable, stay calm, and let them talk about it. Ask them questions that they can answer, and move on from there.

Talk openly and honestly about good touch/bad touch, at whatever level your child can understand. Pedophiles work from a position of trust they have gained through manipulation. Instill in your children that no one has a right to touch them in a way that makes them feel uncomfortable.

As women, we have weapons everywhere that we don’t even know about. Go through your purse, and you’ll be amazed at what you can use. Pens, keys, nail files, even day planners can be used. And if your purse is like mine, nice and heavy, it makes an excellent weapon. Think David and Goliath. Describing how to use these items can be a bit graphic, so if you have specific questions about anything in this blog, email me at maven727@gmail.com. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have.

You also have natural weapons – fingernails, the palm of your hand, knees, elbows, and your voice. The palm of your hand to the base of the nose in an upward thrust is extremely effective, as is a knee to the groin, elbow to the jaw, or fingernails to the eye. There are many martial arts schools that can teach you and your child how to use these weapons in a way that is not threatening.

Someone commented today that “Evil is winning.” No my friends, it is not. Every time a parent is ridiculed for being over protective, and continues to BE over protective, (is there such a thing?) evil slinks away to a corner and weakens just a little. Every time a lesson is learned from tragedy, evil shrinks a little more. If society can still feel shock and disgust from something like this, evil stops laughing. I refuse to believe there isn’t more good in the world than evil.

Hug your children. Protect them. Teach them to protect themselves. And pray for Skylar’s family. They’re going to need all the love, support and prayers they can get to survive the darkness that lies before them.

Karen Cluxton lives in Hatfield, PA, and has three teenagers – Halle 16, Owen 14, and Grace 13. Between shuttling kids to soccer, baseball and physical therapy, she trains in Mixed Martial Arts.

Something Old, Something New…

Remember when you were young and in love, planning a wedding? Remember how you fretted every little detail? Remember how you wondered if you should have just eloped, and when you happened to wonder that very thought out loud, your fiance just looked at you with that brief instant of hope in his eyes? Yeah, imagine doing that at 45, with 3 teenagers.

At 25, I hadn’t planned on ever having a second wedding. Who does? Even after my divorce, I was not looking for a relationship, much less a groom. But life has a funny way of interrupting the plans you’ve made, and you can either fight it, or go with it. I went with it, and am planning a summer garden wedding in the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

Ted, my fiance, grew up with my best friend, and while he has never been married and has no children of his own, he adores my kids. He’s laid back, quiet, and peaceful, and loves me where I’m at unconditionally. More about that and his introduction to the family in a later post.

My extended family has been vacationing in the Outer Banks (OBX) for 14 years. Ted has been coming with us for the last 5. Last year, we thought it would be a great idea to invite his family down for a week this summer, and have the wedding there. It’s one of my favorite places in the country, and a beach wedding would be fantastic! We decided on the Elizabethan Gardens on Roanoke Island. (www.elizabethangardens.org) The gardens were gorgeous, shaded, on the sound, and perfect for us. Perfect! Location – done. Then it hit me…how much I had to do in a relatively short period of time!

First things first. After I convinced Ted that me wearing a coconut bra and grass skirt while he wore a Speedo was NOT going to happen, it was time to dress shop. I actually went home to Kentucky to do this, since I’d never been able to go wedding dress shopping with my mom and sisters the first time due to our locations. Off we went, with my pre-conceived notions as to what was appropriate for me as a “bride of a certain age”. I needed something that I felt beautiful in, that didn’t look like something my grandmother would feel beautiful in, yet not something a 20 year old would wear. I am officially middle-aged…there are RULES!! Somehow, I’d convince myself that I should wear something that was simple, with straight lines, and certainly not a veil. I’d downloaded pictures of several dresses, and took them with me. My consultant brought each of them out, but none of them was “it”. I felt like I was trying to turn a mother-of-the-bride dress into a wedding dress. Something was off. I had one more picture in my bag, and the consultant saw it and asked if we’d already pulled it. I said “No, I brought it because I’m not familiar with the fabric, but it looks light, and if there are other dresses in that fabric, they might work.” The fabric was faille. Faille? Heck, that’s what my oldest did on her permit test the first time, right? Ask me what 14 oz boxing gloves are, I can tell you. Ask me what a Modified Ankle Foot Orthotic is, I can tell you. Ask me about indoor cleats, I can tell you. What the heck is “faille”?

My consultant just smiled, and said “Trust me, this picture does the dress no justice. I think we jut might have found something.” She pulled the dress, and I looked at it on the hanger with a “no-way” feeling. It had a train, it had beadwork, it was sleeveless. She asked me “What’s going through your head?” I said “I’m not sure it’s age appropriate.” She said, “Darlin’, hot pants and go go boots are not age appropriate. This is a wedding dress, you’re planning a wedding. Worry about what feels comfortable on you, and what you feel beautiful in. Nothing else matters.” So, I bit my lower lip, and disappeared into the dressing room…and when I put the dress on, I cried. It was perfect. My mom thought it as perfect. My sisters thought it was perfect. My picky 17 year old daughter thought it was perfect. And then my consultant put a short veil on, and I felt like a bride.

So the bottom line is, I’m 45. Being with this man makes me feel 20. There’s not set rules for “age-appropriateness”. Life is full of sweet surprises. Sweet…sweet…sweet….holy cow, I don’t have a cake yet!! 😉

Karen Cluxton lives in Hatfield, PA, and has three teenagers – Halle 16, Owen 14, and Grace 13. Between shuttling kids to soccer, baseball and physical therapy, she trains in Mixed Martial Arts.

Grace Under Pressure

The worst feeling in the world is helplessness when your child is in pain. Grace is now six weeks post-op, and doing remarkably well. However, we’re at the point where nerves are feeling sensation again, and her discomfort level is a bit increased. Okay, alot increased. Add to that, she is depressed. It’s a normal side effect of her surgery and medication, and at her follow up Monday the decision was made that the best way to tackle it was to send her back to school as soon as possible. Tuesday morning, off she went. Her classmates were thrilled to see her, with tears, hugs, and a certain amount of fear.

Perspective is everything. To a class of special needs children, simple things become huge concerns. Would she be the same Grace? Would her “new body” change who she was? Can she accept hugs? These “children” are teenagers, with the pure, honest love of little children. No strings attached, no expectations, no conditions, just unadulterated joy at having their classmate back. I left her class that day worrying a little less. Kind of.

Nights are still difficult. She can’t find a comfortable position, and wakes up often to ask for her legs to be stretched. She cries. My heart breaks. I stretch her legs. It hurts. My heart breaks more. I hate that she has to go through this, and I hate that I’m the one who made the decision. Second guessing becomes your first instinct in the middle of the night when it’s dark. Shadows loom on the wall and in your mind, and suddenly you’re surrounded by your worst fears. When you’re a child, those shadows are the monster in the closet. As an adult, they’re the elephant in the room. “Did I do the right thing?”

As parents, we all ask that, over and over. And the answer isn’t always the one we want to hear. Asking yourself in the middle of the night when it’s dark and you’re surrounded by shadows, is never the best time. Wait until morning. Bathed in light, the shadows disappear, and the monsters recede. We do the best we can with what we have, and make the best decisions possible. That’s all we can ask of ourselves.

Grace gets up in the morning and eventually smiles, laughs, moves her new body, and says “I feel a little better today.” Sometimes she even forgets she’s had such invasive surgery. But the elephant never forgets, and will ask the question over and over again. My job is the wrangle the elephant. Sometimes it works, and well, you know the rest. But it’s okay, and totally normal, and extremely frustrating, and all part of the parenthood journey. If this is your journey, meet me at the next rest stop. I can stay for a few minutes – just long enough to recharge. Then it’s time to hit the road, and see where it takes us, because it’s never about the destination…it’s about how you get there.

Karen Cluxton lives in Hatfield, PA, and has three teenagers – Halle 16, Owen 14, and Grace 13. Between shuttling kids to soccer, baseball and physical therapy, she trains in Mixed Martial Arts.

"Princess Haley" by Montco Mom Karen

Just a quick update on Grace…she’s doing fabulous! The surgery was a life changing event, and she’s continuing to heal and get stronger. I’ve spent so much time focusing on her needs, and I realized that I needed to focus on my other two children now that Grace was on the final stretch of her healing process. It couldn’t have happened at a better time…Haley announced she was asked to the prom.

“Announced” is an understatement. She shrieked, giggled and jumped around, which is quite out of character for my oldest princess. She’s been a princess since she was 2, and I even find her referring to herself in the 3rd person as “The Princess”.

With prom right around the corner (less than three weeks!!!) it was time to do some serious dress shopping. So, yesterday, we met one of Haley’s friends and her mom at the King of Prussia Mall. Note to moms: when you take your teenage daughter prom-dress shopping at the King of Prussia Mall, wear comfortable shoes, not cute boots with heels. Lesson learned after traversing the path from the Court to the Plaza and back again…4 times.

So, how do you make it a good experience instead of a stressful one? Make a plan. Talk to your daughter, and answer the following questions:

What is your budget?
What style of dress are you looking for? (Closely followed by “What style of dress do you agree on?”
What stores do you want to visit?

Then map out your game plan. I was pleasantly surprised that Haley was concerned about budget and modesty, without me having to say anything first. We started at JC Penney, where they had some very pretty dresses, but not what she was looking for. She wanted to look elegant, but did not want a ball gown. We moved on to several other stores, and visited one that specialized in formal wear. It was a zoo. It was hot and crowded, and there was a 30 minute wait for a dressing room. Once Haley had her selections in the dressing room, only one of the four dresses wasn’t ripped. Disappointing, to be sure. I suggested Nordstroms, and she hesitated thinking it would be out of our budget. But I had already looked on their website, and was stunned at how reasonable their dresses were.

Let me just say, their customer service is second to none. We pulled several dresses, and Haley humored me by trying on something that she didn’t like on the hanger. Of course, at 45 I know that things look different on than they do on the hanger. She soon learned the lesson, as she fell in love with the dress.

Before she made a final decision, she wanted to visit one more place, and the salesgirl offered to hold the dress for her, telling her if she bought it on impulse because she felt rushed, she’d regret it. My feet weren’t very happy at that moment, but off we went, only to return for the dress at Nordstroms. And then, lo and behold….THE dress appeared on the rack, where it had not been the first time we were there. It was exactly what she was looking for, and fit her like a glove. Salmon pink, elegantly cut, and completely flattering to her figure. Beautiful sequin and bead detailing, and when she put it on, she was no longer my soccer playing, headstrong, argumentative child. She was a poised, elegant, lovely young woman. I caught my breath, tried to hold back a tear, and saw my daughter all grown up.

I kept thinking about when she was a baby, a toddler, a preschooler, and all the years through her life. The goal was always to raise her into a self-assured confident young lady. I think I’ve done that, but I’d give anything to go back a few years, and just have that time to spend. She’ll be off to college soon, and it’s bittersweet.

Savor the moments, Mommies. It really does pass in the blink of an eye.

Karen Cluxton lives in Hatfield, PA, and has three teenagers – Halle 16, Owen 14, and Grace 13. Between shuttling kids to soccer, baseball and physical therapy, she trains in Mixed Martial Arts.