Jumpin' Off the Edge

--> I am thankful for my hero. My son, aka Badass MOFO.   A man who chose a profession which took him halfway around the world to protect others, knowing the potential harm to him. This is the second year in a row we will not be celebrating the holidays with him with us. Yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way. This morning I ran a 5K. The worst one I have run all year. My time was super slow. I have had a nasty cold the last couple of weeks. You know the one…achy muscles, stuffed nose, coughing from deep within, and an overall feeling a fatigue. As if the cold wasn't enough, somewhere around mile two something happened to my hamstring. It was about then that Sean first crept into my head. Unbeknownst to him, he kept me running.   At the finish of the race, I made a beeline for massage table. Talk about pain! I did. I talked about it while dancing the Macarena with Sana and Patti. I talked about it when Tony told me about my time (horrible!). I talked about it d

Every night before I head to bed, I check facebook. I like to read about what my friends and family are up to. Last night’s posts were about partying, being in love, and good times. And then I read: To All Tomahawk Soldiers and Family Members, The Department of Defense released the name of our 13 Nov fatality this evening. Staff Sgt. Rayvon Battle Jr., 25, of Rocky Mount, N.C., died Nov. 13, in Kandahar Province, Afghanistan. He was assigned to the 38th Engineer Company, 4th Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 2nd Infantry Division, Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Wash. My heart skipped a beat or two. My stomach fell. For Staff Sgt Rayvon Battle, Jr. was not only from the state I now call home, he was also from my son’s company. I have been trying to write this entry for quite some time. I can’t seem to find the words to express what is going on for me right now.   Many were wounded. Is my son one of them? This war has been going on for ten years. In the past, when he

--> A trail of campaign signs guides the way to the entrance while sounds of last minute reminders of the better candidate ring through the air. There is something magical about voting on Election Day, which is probably why I avoided early voting.   Excitement builds as I walk into the school gym and make my way to the check-in table. Frustration and disenchantment with politics forgotten.             “Name?”             “Mandie Robertson-Victor.” I see her flip to the R’s and realize my name is not there. “Maybe it is under Mandie Victor,” I suggested hopefully. I know I was registered. I did it when I got my North Carolina driver’s license.             “No. There is nothing here.”             My heart sank. I needed to vote. It was my right. A right that women fought for all those years ago. A right that so many died for. A right that gave me the ability to show my patriotism.             “You can go over to the HELP table. They have the computers over there