The Long and Winding Royal Road

It was a simple text from my husband that alerted me to the news.

‘King Charles,’ it read.

 

I immediately knew what had happened.

 

I was at work and I immediately did a Google search. I saw the CNN headline “Queen Elizabeth Dies at 96”. I told my coworker then sat in shock for a moment. I couldn’t even process what was happening. So many thoughts were running through my head. I never knew a time before Queen Elizabeth and now there was a new king - a man who had been preparing for just this very moment for decades. 

 

As a long-time Anglophile, I have been watching the British royal family since I was a little girl. I liked fairy tales and I liked the idea of kings and queens, princes and princesses, crowns and castles. But the story of the House of Windsor was real as opposed to the make believe, happily ever after, Cinderella stories. But when I was little, I didn’t know all the drama that went on behind the scenes. (And were we ever in for a wild ride as the relationship between Charles and Diana unfolded over the years!)

 

As the afternoon of September 8th went on, I received texts and emails from my children, who knew I would take the news hard. It was thoughtful how they were looking out for me. I talked to my mom who is also a royal watcher. Her thoughts went straight to Camilla, Charles's wife of 17 years. What would her role be? Would we really have to call her queen?

It was hard for thoughts not to stray to what could have been. What if Charles and Diana could have stuck it out? What if Diana hadn’t died in that tragic car crash? What would it have been like at this moment for the world to have her as Great Britain's queen?

 

I have to take a moment and point out that for many people, including my husband, they couldn’t care less. “This doesn’t even affect us,” he says. My husband has been rolling his eyes for a few weeks now since Queen Elizabeth died. 

 

He couldn’t understand my desire to watch the coverage of King Charles becoming the official monarch and not wanting to miss the funeral of the queen. During the past couple of weeks, I have been surprised to find out just how much my husband doesn’t know about the royal family. (Maybe if he had watched the Netflix series The Crown three times, like I did,  he would be better equipped?)

 

My fascination with the royal family was so deep as a pre-teen, I made a scrap book when the former prince  came to Pittsburgh back in March of 1988. You know I had it bad if I turned one of my sticker books into this keepsake from his two day visit. (I was 12 at the time and Charles was 39 years old and quite the looker in my opinion.) I removed each scratch and sniff, hologram and puffy sticker to make room for pages of newspaper clippings telling the tale of his trip. 

 

He visited Steel Valley High School all those years ago and spent a total of 15 minutes in the school to tour their “Office of the Future” classroom. The school received funds to help revamp their business education curriculum and better prepare students for entering the job market. According to The Daily News clippings that line my scrapbook, the Steel Valley Marching Band played for the future king as he exited a Rolls Royce in front of the school. (I was so jealous of those kids!)

Charles visited the Mon Valley as part of his Remaking Cities Conference. This area, recovering from the decline of the steel industry, was a place rife with new possibilities. My favorite quote from one of the speeches he gave, during his visit, included the line, “ Let’s show the skeptics what can be achieved.” I think if King Charles ever makes his way back to Pittsburgh, he will be proud of what has become of the Steel City and encourage us to keep going. We now have amazing green space and the city has become known for its medical and technological industries. 

Now here we are, 34 years after that visit, and Charles is a king. As has been the case during the course of his lifetime he continues to be overshadowed by others - first his mother, then Diana, and now his son, William. Many people would prefer William as king with his lovely young family in tow. But Charles deserves his time in the spotlight for however long he is allowed. He has had years to fantasize about what kind of king he would be and now we get to sit back and watch.

 

So King Charles, the words you used many years ago seem aptly fitting now. 

Show the skeptics what you can achieve. 

 

 

Great Expectations

 

We don't know how good we had it.

I say that to my husband whenever we see a baby.

Those little ones are so unaware of all of the love and effort that are going into taking care of them. They sit in their stroller/car seat without a care in the world and won't remember much of the best time of their lives.

I say the best time because there are no worries. No awareness of the pain and suffering that is going on around them. Babies M.O. is basically sleep, eat, poop. That's it. There is no - pay bills, go to work, clean the house. Sleep, eat, poop. All the good stuff.

Don't get me wrong. There are good parts of other stages of life. But babies, they have it pretty darn good.

Since we don't remember when we were babies, we definitely don't remember the time before we were born - when our arrival was anxiously awaited.

I was the first grandchild on my father's side. I was the first of what would end up being seven grandchildren. But the first, well, we're kind of special. I always knew this because I had a nickname. My grandmother called me Sweetie. She never called me Kristen. Her daughter, my Aunt Sandy, never calls me Kristen. Always Sweetie.

Another thing...my second sibling. Well, he got a nickname too only because of his relationship to me. My grandma called him Brother. He was in fact my brother but grandma was the only one who called him that.

My specialness was never lost on me but was recently reaffirmed.  My mom has been going through boxes/drawers of things at her house. Over the past year, I have been given letters I wrote while I was in college, awards I received in high school and even my kindergarten class photo. These things are all nice to add to my personal collection but only finalize the fact that my parents will not be erecting a Kristen Keleschenyi Museum any time soon.

Recently, I was given something I am amazed still exists. It was a card sent to my mother, from her mother-in-law, congratulating her on her pregnancy. My mom and dad were practically newlyweds, married in March of 1973 and expecting their first child by August of 1974. They were living in an apartment, had just started out on their new life as husband and wife, not even a year into it, and were now preparing to start a family.

I personally would have been very nervous about becoming a mom so soon after starting a new marriage but it appears everybody was excited about this little baby that was about to enter the scene.

"We certainly will be proud of our grandchild," my grandmother wrote 49 years ago. Heck, I hadn't even done anything yet and they knew they were going to be proud.

It was pretty amazing to read the cover "To A Lovely Mother To Be". I wondered what it must have been like for my parents finding out they were expecting and not knowing what the future would hold. I guess it was similar to what my husband and I experienced when we were expecting the first time around. We were so happy and anxious to meet our little one. We couldn't wait to be parents. It was a role both my husband and I knew we were destined for. I know it is a role my parents treasure and their grandchildren have been their greatest joy in their retirement years.

I was 12 when my Grandpap Bishop passed away and I was 22 when my Grandma Bishop passed away. I had not a doubt they were proud of me and their other grandchildren. (My grandmother had the newspaper clippings to prove it!) I wish she could have met my husband and her great-grandchildren, especially my daughter who was born eight years to the day my grandmother passed away.

When you are almost 50 and thinking about what you have left to accomplish, it is humbling to think of a time when you hadn't accomplished anything and were already loved no matter what. It is nice to think of the nurturing environment I was born into and I am truly grateful to know my parents are still providing that environment years later, and not just for me, but for my kids and my sister's kids.

 

The next time I see a baby, I'm not going to look at him or her through my eyes. I am going to look at that little one from the perspective of those who awaited that little one's arrival with hope and anticipation and remember my grandparents who couldn't wait to meet me. I hope all of these years later, I am continuing to make them proud and maybe even allowing them, in a special way, to catch a glimpse of themselves and the legacy they left behind. 

*My blog is featured each week in the On My Mind column in The Valley Mirror Newspaper. The paper covers the Steel Valley and Woodland Hills communities.*

You Say It's Your What???

 

Things like this normally hit me hard.

Milestone birthdays for my kids usually get the waterworks flowing. Double digits, thirteen, sixteen, eighteen but this particular one is unchartered territory.

The big 2-0!

First, I don't know how this is even possible. Where did the time go? How did our first born go from being the most easy-going baby you could ask for to a young man who will soon emancipate himself from our home and start his very own journey. In the blink of an eye, I tell you, it all happened.

My feelings are mostly of shock and disbelief. Do I look old enough to have a 20-year-old? Who am I kidding? I sure do! I've got the recently dyed grays and whites to prove it. I can barely get the words about his milestone birthday, when the subject comes up, but the reality sets in quick and it is like a punch in the gut.

Ugh....

Sometimes it is hard to remember the little boy he was. The things I remember most are his voracious appetite for reading, his great taste in music and his curiosity about the world around him. Not much has changed, although the reading part has decreased thanks to the iPhone, but you can add that as he has matured, he has cultivated an amazing sense of humor which is the envy of his father and I.

I am not sure what my expectations were for my first child once he arrived on the scene. The little baby who entered this world a week early. (His lack of promptness now makes his entrance twenty years ago quite surprising.) I could never have imagined the journey this shy little boy would take us on which began with reading before age 4, an extended potty training, and a painful adjustment to kindergarten.

He eventually ditched the pull-ups, made friends in school and then took an interest in joining an eastern European song and dance group. He started taking cello lessons and had orchestra concerts.

He was co-salutatorian of his senior class during the pandemic and then he was accepted into the longest running live stage production group in the country, The Tamburitzans (formerly associated with Duquesne University), and has spent the last year traveling across the U.S.performing with them.

I know this is just the beginning. It is exciting, sad and scary all at the same time. Just like the way I felt unprepared to become a parent in the first place, that is how I feel with this next chapter about to start. No one prepares you for the letting go or for the worry you experience each time there is something new and unexpected thrown at you.

My son goes away for weeks at a time now. His college communicates solely with him. He makes big decisions on his own. He is fighting each day for his independence and I know his wings are ready to fly. But am I ready to let go?

I don't have immediate memories of my 20th birthday but I can guess how I must have been feeling: optimistic, happy yet anxious about what path I should choose for my career. My son is feeling these now as well. All we can do is encourage him every step of the way to not let fear dictate what he should set his sights on.

I am thankful for the people who have come into his life and have helped guide him along the way. Yes, I am his mother but I cannot take sole credit for the person he is today. He has had great teachers, great friends and a loving family that have been there for him for the first two decades of his life. I know there will be others to help guide him during the next leg of his journey and I am hopeful they will be as awesome as the first cast.

It is hard to put into words all of the things you wish for your children. Obviously, you want them to be safe and healthy but I also want my son to find his passion. Find his happiness. Life is too short to have an ordinary life. In his first two decades he has been anything but ordinary and he is soon going to have complete control of the reins.

Am I nervous? Yes, I am. But is he ready? Yes, he is.

Happy 20th birthday to my first born. May he continue to bless the world with talents and may his journey be everything he wishes for and more.

 

The Unpredictable Teacher Effect

It is strange the way life comes full circle sometimes. 

When moments like this strike you've got to wonder if this was the way it was meant to be all along. 

 It was 1980 when this woman first came into my life. She was my first-grade teacher and to be honest, I couldn't have asked for a better one. She was everything a six-year-old could want in a teacher. Sr. Carol was kind, gentle, pretty, fun and of course very smart. She made me look forward to going to school, made me excited to learn and influenced my thoughts on what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Yep. I wanted to be a nun and I wanted to be a teacher.

I loved to go home each day and play school. But, what little girl didn't? I would imitate Sr. Carol's teaching style and recreate the lessons taught each day. 

Although I loved school, first grade was a tough time for me. I started full-day school just a few months after my sister was born. My mom was at home giving her attention to the new baby and I was jealous. I didn't quite know how to express my feelings so I guess I was looking for validation at school. 

Sr. Carol noticed I was in need of some extra encouragement and support and even took the time to point this out to my mom. My mom was doing the best she could, raising three kids, but the talk with Sr. Carol was a little wake up call. I needed some extra mommy time too. 

When I first started attending St. Nicholas School in McKeesport, the Sisters of the Order of St. Basil the Great, from Uniontown, Pennsylvania, made up the teaching staff for 1st through 8th grade. By the time I graduated from 8th grade, the students were taught mostly by lay teachers with two nuns from another order based in Warren, Ohio. 

The number of vocations to the sisterhood had started to decline and the Basilian sisters could no longer commit to the number of nuns necessary to staff my school. 

But even though the Sisters of St. Basil were no longer teaching at St. Nicholas, I still managed to see Sr. Carol each year during their annual Pilgrimage in Uniontown. 

Each Labor Day weekend, the sisters welcome the public to enjoy a prayerful experience on the grounds of their monastery, which by the way is the largest annual gathering of Byzantine Catholics in the United States. Sr. Carol is always very busy during this particular weekend but my mom and I would seek her out just for a few minutes to spend time with my beloved first-grade teacher. 

Fast forward to 2012, my church was assigned a new priest. As he started to acclimate to our parish, a familiar face started showing up to events. It was none other than Sr. Carol. She and my parish priest were very good friends with a history that predated my meeting her in 1980. What a small world indeed. 

During her priest friend's time serving my parish, it was nice for her to get reacquainted with my parents and to also meet my children. Seeing her more than once a year was especially nice since it didn't involve an hour ride to Uniontown and it allowed for more time to talk and catch up.

Although we have had more time together over the past couple of years, I have never really taken the time to tell Sr. Carol what a great influence she was on me growing up. Despite a few twists and turns, my life came full circle and I ended up working in a school teaching kids. I also have been teaching Sunday school for the past 12 years. I hope that her gentle, kind and fun ways are something I emulated with the students I have worked with. 

Now I know what it means to have a job where you might never see the fruits of your labor.  When you work with kids you don’t always see how you have made a difference in their lives. Most days working in education is a thankless job but hopefully, one day, I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing, my efforts helped a little one during their formative years. 

My priest recently retired, so I may end up back to the once-a-year visits with Sr. Carol in Uniontown but I am ever so grateful for this time to have her more present in my life and especially thankful for the wonderful start she gave me so many years ago.

Sr. Carol and I this past April.

*My blog is published each week in a column called 'On My Mind' in The Valley Mirror Newspaper which covers the Woodland Hills and Steel Valley communities. *

Hoop Dreams

Robert Parish, Kevin McHale, Larry Bird.

These names might not mean a lot to you. And maybe only one stands out, but the fact I remember these guys at all is a bit impressive. They were members of the Boston Celtics basketball team in 1984/85.

I didn’t care about basketball, baseball or football growing up but my brother and dad did. Sports were a huge part of my youth and some things I just kind of absorbed like the names Robert Parish, Kevin McHale and Larry Bird. 

My brother played sports in his sleep. He was an all year-round athlete and for every season there was a sport. His favorite baseball player - Roberto Clemente. His favorite football player - local boy Dan Marino. His favorite basketball player - Larry Bird. 

To be honest, basketball is my least favorite sport. It's the one I understand the least and the one that, to me, is the least exciting unless I’m watching the movie Hoosiers for the 19th time. I don’t have many memories of watching my brother play basketball but for the past couple years I’ve been watching my youngest play. 

It has been a difficult journey for my 11-year-old because for one thing he is tiny. He hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet but he plays like he is 7 feet tall. Game after game he takes chance after chance. He defends like the basketball is made of gold. He takes shots that his little body cannot possibly propel into the hoop. 

But he never seems tired of trying. And one day, he will have the height to back up his heart and drive. This year has been his best for basketball. He plays on a team with kids who do not go to his school. Most of the kids are involved in other basketball related activities and most of them are taller. 

When the season started, he was a stranger. It took a while for the team to accept him and it was a bit frustrating at first. No one wanted to pass the ball to the tiny, new kid. But as the weeks went on the boys started to gel. 

The tallest and most skilled kid on the team took a liking to my son. They look like Tom and Jerry on the court and when my kiddo gets a head rub, slap on the arm or the two share a joke it is beyond heartwarming. I know how much my son has longed to be accepted and when you play in a league that is not affiliated with your school, it sometimes takes longer for others to come around. 

This season, thanks to my son’s “big brother” the team has been undefeated. There had been only one game that put the boys to the test until this past Sunday. We knew it would be a different kind of game since our star player would not be playing due to injury. We kind of expected a loss since their go to was gone. But it ended up being the game of the season. 

These boys played their hearts out and really rose to the challenge. They had to depend on each other not just a quick rebound plunked in with ease. This game was exciting, thrilling, exasperating, redemptive and all the adjectives one can conjure. My son could have won the game if he made a final foul shot but it wasn’t meant to be. 

The tie was broken by the visiting team after a three-minute overtime. The loss did not bother me at all. It was the game of a lifetime, in my eyes, and they left everything they had on the court. 

My husband played basketball as a kid and ended his career early when the power of peer pressure and other fun activities got in the way. His love of the sport has been rekindled watching his youngest pick up where he left off. It has been nice to see the two watch videos before the games and talk strategy. 

I didn’t think anything could rival the emotion and tunnel vision which occurs when my husband watches the Steelers play. Well, honey, youth basketball is where it’s at for the player once known as Sweetness. Will the progeny of Sweetness make a name for himself like Robert Parish, Kevin McHale or Larry Bird?

Who knows. Someone has some growing to do first.

*My blog is featured in the weekly column 'On My Mind' in The Valley Mirror Newspaper. The publication covers the Steel Valley and Woodland Hills communities. *

Be His

It seems crazy that a tradition which dates back centuries still exists. For a middle-aged married lady, such as myself, it is not that big a deal anymore. But for a youngster, who has never had a valentine outside of the family, this February has been a big deal. 

A few weeks ago, after school, my youngest told me he had a Valentine and a date to the in-school Valentine's Dance. He was pretty excited when he told me the news. A girl in his grade, who was too shy to ask him personally, had a mutual friend of theirs do the honors. 

He said yes. 

He had never mentioned this girl before so I wondered why he was so quick to agree. He explained, “Because she asked.”

Ok, I thought. Pretty benign - a normal 5th grade romance. I tried to make it seem like I was super cool with the whole thing. I even avoided bringing up the topic for fear I would add fuel to the fire. 

Last week, however, he asked if I wanted to see who this mystery girl was. I said of course. I have cafeteria duty in the morning and since he sometimes comes in for breakfast, he said he could point her out. He came over to me to let me know he would be walking past her and for me to pay attention. 

Of course, right at that moment, two 2nd graders spilled their chocolate milk and I was on clean up duty. I was frantically trying to pay attention to my son while cleaning up the milk when all of a sudden things got real. 

With my own eyes, I saw my 11-year-old son put his arms around a girl who was sitting at a table. I caught the eyes of the mutual friend who played cupid and I could tell she was just as surprised as me. It was almost as if the wind had been knocked out of me and I had been electrocuted at the same time. 

I didn’t know what to feel or how to feel and I couldn’t stop the scene from playing over and over in my head. Where had my little boy gone? Why was he hugging a girl I did not know? How did this advance so fast?

I asked him on the way home from school, when they got to the hugging stage. 

He said, “Today.”

I said, “Today was the first time you hugged her? Why?”

He said he didn’t know but “apparently she liked it because every time she saw me after that SHE hugged me.”

Woah, woah, woah. I thought. There is way too much hugging here. But I guess if she is initiating it too, he is not coming on too strong. 

You see this is new territory for me. He’s my youngest. My two older children have been focused on their careers and haven’t really made time to date. It figures my youngest would throw me headfirst into the world of kid romances. 

I was lamenting to my oldest about the situation and I asked him, “What would make your brother go up to a girl and hug her from behind?”

His reply? “We see dad do that to you all the time.”

Yes, it is true. My husband will come up to me while I’m doing dishes or straightening up the house and put his arms around me and lean his head into mine. I guess if our kid is going to be “learning the moves” it is pretty safe to be picking up “dad moves”.

I know my son can be very thoughtful and I know he is going to make this Valentine’s Day special for his “gal”. His idea is to find out her favorite snack and buy it for her from the cafeteria snack shack. I like where my kid’s head is at. Simple and sweet.

The good thing about the situation it is confined to school. The dance was during the school day, Valentine’s Day will be celebrated at school, and these kids see each other only between class periods. This kind of relationship is perfect for me to get my feet wet in the waters of middle school romance.

Of course, I had to ask an important question. He had been my valentine for the past 11 years. I asked sheepishly, “What about me? Who’s going to be my valentine?”

He replied incredulously, “Dad - it’s in the books since you got married.”

Well, I hope I get something from the snack shack. In case anyone asks, I like Cool Ranch Doritos.

KIT

“To a nice girl I met this year in band.” 

“To a very smart girl I met in Algebra I.”

“Psych-woman extraordinaire. You sit in the first seat in the first row because (this is my hypothesis) you are so cool.”

These are actual yearbook quotes from my junior year of high school. 

I’ve become nostalgic recently because this year marks 30 years since I graduated from high school. My other three yearbooks are packed away in the attic but for some reason the book from 1991 has rested quietly on a bookshelf in my basement. I brought the yearbook up recently and my children turned the pages with wonder and curiosity. The comments came fast and furious.

“Awe mom, you are so pretty.”

“I can’t believe he wrote THAT in your yearbook!”

“Show me the guys you dated.”

It’s funny because I came across one entry, from a classmate who I remain close with to this day, about a funny incident in French class. She commented, “thirty years from now this will not make any sense to you.”

It has been 30 years and, lucky for me, time hasn’t erased the humor of that particular moment when I was supposed to be paying attention but was arguing with a cute classmate only to be put on the spot by the teacher. 

Some of the people who signed my yearbook, I vaguely remember. Some of the people I remember very well. 

This yearbook has particular sentimentality since it came out after I had endured a tough breakup. This ex signed the very last page in a cryptic way alluding to how he was soon going to ask a friend of mine out. I remember pouring over his words, looking for some hidden meaning. Anything to make sense of why he dumped me. 

Reading over his words I am reminded of this moment in time and the pain and confusion that came along with it. But looking back with eyes that have seen and experienced quite a bit in 30 years, I can now see how insignificant this breakup really was, how I am better off with the way things turned out and how happy I am that high school was but a brief time in my life. 

Currently, at my kids’ high school, the yearbooks come out after the school year is over. I guess the publishing company does this so they can include up to date photos from the prom and graduation for the seniors. 

But having those photos is a tradeoff. It eliminates a chance to allow classmates to make a permanent footprint in their story, with ink and innocence, and to have a record of funny moments, impressions, and requests to K-I-T keep in touch. (I came across so many phone numbers in my yearbook, I'm half tempted to call and see who picks up.)

These books are a precious time capsule that nothing can replace. I am sorry my kids will not have that same experience when they flip through their high school yearbooks. But now, 30 years after the fact, these precious entries remind me of a self-conscious girl trying to discover who she really is. It reminds me of the “kids” who helped make high school bearable and for the humor that made every day worthwhile. 

High school was hard for me because I came in basically as a stranger. I had attended Catholic school for eight years prior and had to start over in grade 9. Only two of my classmates were making the same public-school transition and, in a freshman class of 300, I didn’t see them that much. 

There were a couple kids I knew from participating in “shop” classes (wood, metal, cooking, and sewing) at the nearby public middle school which helped slightly boost my list of familiar faces when entering freshman year. 

I went from wearing a uniform every day to trying to find my sense of style. I went from listening to the Beatles constantly to discovering alternative music and I went from being a solo musician to being part of a band. I was a work in progress on a long and winding road but I think I turned out ok. 

The only thing I would change about my high school self is I would have liked to have more confidence. This is something that came with time but I look at my 17-year-old daughter today and see how bold and self-assured she is and I know things would have been a bit easier for me if I had just one fourth of her attitude. But maybe, just maybe, my trials and tribulations paved the way for an easier ride for my younger generation.

Looking back on 30 years, I am filled mostly with gratitude for the four-year experience. The pages of my yearbook indicate there was more good than bad and surviving high school made me realize I could survive anything. 

But the thing that stands out the most, are the people that accompanied me on that journey, who signed my yearbook pages, and who in their own special way helped create the person I am today. 

Thank you, Class of 92!

*My blog is featured in the "On My Mind" column each week in The Valley Mirror. This publication covers the Steel Valley and Woodland Hills communities.*

You Gotta Love Yourself

I gave up.

I simply stopped trying and it was easier than I thought it would be. One day turned into two then three. One week passed by then one month turned into three. 

I have been exercising regularly since probably 2015. At first, I tried running. Then I joined my local gym. Then I got a bike. I was trying to find the perfect fit for me and, no matter the activity, I was able to get at least three days a week in.  It wasn’t until I started with the bike that I felt like I found my “it”. I love riding my bike. I like the connection to nature when I am on a trail. I like the nostalgic feeling of being on a bike. 

My bike came about during the lockdown in 2020 and it became a family affair. I got all the kids' bikes repaired and we went out a couple times a week together. We took advantage of the former Eastland Mall site before construction began on the future Amazon warehouse. On the weekends we would go to either the Boston Trail or Great Allegheny Passage in McKeesport. 

Eventually, life got back to hectic and the only one still on the bike was me. But recently, little road blocks started popping up. First, I lost Eastland as a place to ride. This was a huge set back since it was so close and within minutes I could be out pedaling. A few weeks later, when I went back to work after summer break, my job became more demanding than I was accustomed to. Then I had some health issues to deal with. 

I kept thinking, “I’ll get to it tomorrow.” Then it became, “I’ll start back next week.” It transitioned to, “I just don’t have time anymore.” 

I gave up.

Exercising for me was always first and foremost about mental health and stress relief. Maintaining a healthy weight was a nice side effect but the clarity and tension reduction, that was the real benefit for me. It kind of surprised me that I didn’t put forth more of an effort to keep my routine. 

It was New Year’s Eve when I really started reflecting on changes I wanted to make in 2022. I wanted to feel better. I knew things had to change but I didn’t know just how to do it. Going to the gym at 5 a.m. doesn’t work for me anymore. I cannot get to the bike trail after work since we have less daylight.

I did some research and I purchased something called a stationary bike stand. It seemed like the perfect solution. I could attach it to my bike and the stand keeps it still so you can ride inside. Yes! Problem solved. 

It came in three days and my husband put the new contraption together. My idea was to ride in the morning when everyone was still asleep. Unfortunately, the bike ended up sounding like a buzzsaw when it was on the stand. It was so loud. I tried to make it work but I couldn’t justify waking everyone in the house up just so I could get some exercise. 

Back to the drawing board. 

A few years ago, my mom bought me a Fitbit. If you saw my Fitbit you would think it was from the 80s. There is no digital face to reveal step count, heart rate or time of day. It’s a black thin band with a series of five dots that light up as you move closer to reaching your step goal. 

My husband made fun of me because he has one of the newer versions and he advised me to just buy a less 'fossil like' activity tracker. Although I would like a new one, my old one works just fine and I can download all the information to my phone. Resurrecting this Fitbit has been a life changer.

I try to get to work early in the morning to give me some time to ease into the day before the students arrive. Since I bring my son to school, he normally sits in my classroom while I read emails or drink a cup of tea. Every now and then he would ask me to take a walk with him around the building before the bell would ring. 

The new year prompted me to prioritize “self-care” time and now he and I take a daily 15-minute brisk walk around the school. This walk has turned into my new exercise, until the weather changes, and I can get back on my bike. This will be week three for the brisk walks and I can tell they are making a difference. Paired with the number of steps I take around the school during the work day, reaching my daily step goal has not been a problem.

When you are constantly caring for others, you must take care of yourself. I lost sight of that and I kind of lost myself. Don't let this happen to you. Find something that you like to do and make it a priority to do it. Get creative and make it work. You will not be sorry.