Category Archives: Raising a teenager

Hope and Joy meet on Miracle Street for this CF Mom

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Shelby jumps for joy.

I believe in miracles, I really do.

I know that I’ve been blessed with more than my share in my 47 years. I am beyond excited at the possibility of another miracle touching down in my life. Not even two weeks ago, when Shelby and I ventured to Baltimore for her regular three-month checkup at the Johns’ Hopkins Cystic Fibrosis Center, our family received incredibly good news.

Shelby, our college-bound 18-year-old, is eligible to begin taking Kalydeco, the new FDA-approved CF drug that does something no other CF drug before has done: it targets the CTFR protein (the underlying cause of CF), not just the symptoms of CF. For the six years since her diagnosis, my husband and I have operated on the knowledge that Shelby had the F508Delta mutation, the most common CF mutation. Not until I sat in that office chair, an arm’s length away from our doctor, did I realize the magnitude of his news. No, Shelby has G551D, the rare mutation that Kalydeco targets, the gene that only 4% of 30,000 CF patients have. And Shelby not only has one copy of this rare gene–she has two, something only .0004% of the CF population exhibits.

Two hours ago, our direct-mail pharmacy called to tell us that Shelby’s first 30-day supply of Kalydeco arrives tomorrow. This drug could represent the early stages of a super-sized miracle. Perhaps one day, CF truly will stand for CURE FOUND. Today, for me, it stands for CONSTANT FAITH.

This coming Sunday, May 6, our family will walk in our local Great Strides Walk to Cure Cystic Fibrosis–Megan’s Walk, we call it here locally, in remembrance of a friend and neighbor, Megan, who at 15 lost her battle with CF. If you can support the ever-hopeful search for a cure, please visit my walk page and make a donation. At the very least, keep the faith. Hope and joy are plentiful; miracles happen daily. Open our arms wide and receive them.

Be blessed–and be a blessing,

Martha, LoudounCrazyMom

Letter #8 of 52: Being 12 is Be-You-tiful

Since love grows within you, so beauty grows. For love is the beauty of the soul. –Saint Augustine

Raise your hand if you’d trade your perfect-fitting, designer-label jeans to be 25 again?

What about 18? Could I convince you to step backwards for 24 hours to be a newly minted adult once more?

Now, give me a show of hands if you’d willingly leap into the body of a 12-year-old tomorrow. Not so fast, eh?

My beautiful daughter, Cady, fourth of our five, celebrated her 12th birthday on February 24. It was a fast-paced, fun-filled night. The archetypal middle-school celebration with cheesy rounds of pizza and bowls bursting with gummy bears, M&Ms, and Twizzlers. There were squeals and shouts as the girls challenged one another to Just Dance 3 showdowns. And scampering feet treading rambunctiously up and down our basement stairs.

Megan applies eye shadow to Cady's lids.

Cady, Megan, and the birthday beauties show off their Mary Kay-enhanced natural glows.

Happy Birthday to our beautiful 12-year-old!

Perhaps best of all, there was another mom here, my Mary Kay consultant, Megan Bennett, whose makeup expertise was the highlight of the night. Ten girls, fresh-faced and naturally beautiful, sat wide-eyed and listened as the cosmetics queen bequeathed her skin care know-how during a one-hour makeover session. It was pure preteen bliss.

But as all veteran 12-year-olds can attest, being 12 isn’t exactly easy.

Being 12 is being humiliated by every word or sound uttered by your completely embarrassing parents.

Being 12 is feeling awkward, like nothing fits properly. The legs are too long. The skin randomly erupts with imperfections. The hair is too curly or too straight or too short or too long.

Being 12 is wanting to believe all those amazing things your parents and teachers say about you, but listening instead to the voice of self-doubt blubbering on endlessly in your brain.

Being 12 is never feeling good enough. Or fast enough. Or smart enough. Or popular enough. Or beautiful enough.

Being 12 isn’t easy. Which is why Letter #8 of 52 went to my beautiful, taller-than-average, fleet-footed, creative writing, basketball-and-soccer-playing 12-year-old, Cady. My Cady (pronounced Kay-dee), named after Elizabeth Cady Stanton (writer, mother of seven, and famed suffragist), doesn’t know how incredible she is at 12, when her world seems impossibly challenging. But I do.

Being YOU, at any age, is beautiful. I am proud of who you are, Cady my Lady, and of who you will become.

Being a kid in this hurry-up-and-grow-up world is ridiculously difficult.

Click above for this week's inspirational tune: "A More Beautiful You" by Johnny Diaz

We Moms (and Dads) need to take a few minutes to tell our mini-mes that they are BEAUTIFUL, and that we adore them exactly as they are–even while they roll their eye-shadowed eyes in tween exasperation. Eventually, say by the fashionably mature age of 47, the voice of Truth will prevail (most of the time).

Be blessed…and be a blessing.

Martha, LoudounCrazyMom

Cady's lipstick-shaped cake--in hot pink and lime green--was an easy evening undertaking. Cady made two cakes. Mom cut the shapes, and Cady iced to perfection.

Letters #5 & #6: To the Beautiful People

The King is enthralled by your beauty; honor him for He is your Lord.  Psalm 45:11

Bryan in the recovery room (yes, he gave his approval for this post).

CNN chatters in the background. The elevator doors open and close periodically. There is a constant hum from the nearby vending machine, the sound broken only by the occasional voice.

I am sitting in the surgical center waiting area. My middle child, Bryan, 14, was rolled into the surgical suite about an hour ago. I kissed that handsome kid’s forehead, and let the two surgical nurses whisk him away for two hours of sinus surgery.

It isn’t often that I am given two hours to do nothing more than sit. Most days, I am on my feet from before sunrise to long after sunset. Someone’s schedule—either mine or a child’s—dictates nearly every waking hour. Except for today.

I’ve read People magazine from front to back.

I scrolled leisurely through my emails.

I wrote two handwritten letters—each composed expressly for beautiful people.

And now, I’m typing away on my husband’s MacBook Pro, oblivious to the quiet activity that envelops me.

The pages of People were filled with the world’s beautiful most people. Heidi Klum. Kate Middleton. Angelina Jolie. Emphasis on the world’s, as in the media-hyped, society-defined, PhotoShop-enhanced beautiful people.

Truly beautiful people don’t necessarily wear makeup, or a size two. They might wear surgical scrubs and a comforting smile as they wheel a nervous 14-year-old away from his worried mom.

Beautiful people light up a room, usually unbeknownst to them. They pour out their love of life, and of others, with an emotional charge that could power Manhattan.

Beautiful people get in their car and drive three hours—not realizing until two hours into the trip what their exact destination will be–to comfort a disintegrating best friend whose hospitalized daughter has just been diagnosed with cystic fibrosis.

Beautiful people lift you up with praise, challenge you to adjust your point of view, acknowledge your pain, and listen without questioning.  Beautiful people give generously, of their time, their wisdom, their encouragement. Beautiful people know what’s important—faith, hope and love. And they know what isn’t: the superficial fodder that obstructs our vision into the soul of another.

Handwritten letters #5 and #6 go to two beautiful people—my college roommate and beloved friend, Cathy, the one who jumped into her car and found me crumbling in a hospital hallway. And the other is written to my eldest daughter, Shelby, who loves me, organizes me, encourages me, challenges me, and motivates me. My 18-year-old girl is a whirlwind of energy and generosity—in spite of that damned cystic fibrosis diagnosis.

Beautiful people check me out at Wegmans, Kohls, and Rite Aid. They take my drive-thru order at Chick-Fil-A or McDonalds. Beautiful people answer phones, fix cars or furnaces, or teach children. They steal away for a night out to celebrate 27+ years of friendship. Beautiful, gentile, patient, uplifting people are all around me. And today, I see them not in the pages of People or Us, but in the pre-op room. Lynette. And in the recovery room. Erin. And in the neighborhood, getting my youngest son off the bus while I sat in a surgery recovery room. Christina.

Thank God for the beautiful people.

Be blessed—and be a blessing,

Martha, LoudounCrazyMom

Click for this week's inspirational tune:"Beautiful" by Mercy Me.

Day 32. Tender love is the secret.

Words of encouragement. God, do I need those. Especially today, frustrated by the hoops I’m having to jump through to get my daughter, Shelby, in for an endoscopy. Life is already difficult enough when you live and breathe every moment with cystic fibrosis. Why do the insurance companies and doctors’ offices twist the knot in my stomach even tighter? Deep breath, Martha.

So I get home today, and my daily reminder from God is waiting in my inbox. It is perfectly written, and perfectly timed. God knows just how to reach each of us, where we are at any particular moment in time. It’s a song on the radio. A phone call from a friend. A smile from a stranger. The last-minute doctor’s appointment that opens up when you’ve given up all hope. God’s steadfast love rushes in with what we humans call “a God moment.”

Maybe you need a God moment today, and every day from here forward. Sign up for Reminders from God, a little sustenance from heaven to pull you through, encourage you, love you.

Reminders from God

Reminder from God - Day 32 

“Tender Love is the secret. Love those who you are training, Love those who work with you. Love those who serve you.”

Letter #4 of 52: Sweet Child of Mine

We love because He first loved us. 1 John 4:19

Cullen

At three, he spent endless hours on our Naperville, Illinois, basement floor, meticulously constructing elaborate Lego vehicles.

At seven, he collapsed into unexpected tears when his sugar-cube igloo–a first-grade project–refused to take the shape he envisioned.

At ten, he stoically listened as we shared his big sister’s life-altering diagnosis, knowing full well he, too, would have to be tested for cystic fibrosis.

At eleven, he spent 12 consecutive days away from home, having the time of his life at Summer’s Best Two Weeks camp. I limped through, missing him terribly. (This summer, four of our five will head to SB2W--our youngest, Sean, for the first time.)

At fourteen, he evaded human contact, disappearing into his bedroom for hours, his teenage body hijacked by hormones, growth spurts, and mood swings.

Now sixteen, he fascinates me with his computer acumen, the ease in which he navigates the worldwide web and its universe of possibilities. He is bright, witty, artistic, athletic, well-mannered, and is a die-hard fan of Christian rapper, Lecrae. He engages in conversations again, and says “yes” far more often than “no.” My boy has returned, and he is moving closer to manhood with each passing day. That’s heartening, but it tugs at my heartstrings, too.

Letter #4, a store-bought card with my handwritten message, is this mother’s love letter to the eldest of her three amazing, equally adored sons.

All they need is love. Love is all they need.

Tell a child you love them today. Write it down, so when you’re not present to tell them, your handwritten letter will be.

I am a mother of five–so in the weeks ahead, I will compose letters to ALL of my cherished children. (Got that, Cullen, Shelby, Bryan, Cady and Sean? ;) )

Be blessed–and be a blessing!

Martha, Loudoun Crazy Mom

Click for this week's inspirational tune: "This is the Stuff" by Francesca Battistelli