Summer 2018 Craziness

We've had a wonderful summer, and for the first time in a long while, nobody is headed to school this fall!!! FREEDOM!!!!

Matt is 2.5 (+) years old!!!! We've been doing this whole parenting thing for 32 months with arguable and varying amounts of success...if success is growing, learning new things and not having any catastrophic injuries due to our negligence...

I was organizing my storage areas and came across my baby book.  When I was Matt's age, I was fluent in English and potty-trained.  Matt's not.  Matt has plenty of words and uses them in sentences...when it pleases him.  Most of the time he still rocks a Swedish Chef dialect "Bork, Bork, Bork"  He's so expressive though...I wonder where he gets that from.  His little arms stretch out wide to his side and throws his head back as he says "Oh, NO!!!" It's pretty funny... His biggest language breakthrough is prepositions.  With, here, at, for...they are very useful words. 

Occasionally he says something complete new and in English.  Like the other night he said, "It is nighttime," clear as a bell, and my reaction is "Who even are you?"  He randomly says complete sentences, but they are usually lies.  He told me, "I can read".  To this day, I've never seen him read more than a few letters...He's also mastered the art of manipulation.  He'll Swedish chef through a few words and then you'll try to clarify a word you thought you heard that was English.  For example, Matt might say "Berfen choo doma?" To which I will respond, "Did you say donut?" Matt will respond, "OK", as if it was my idea...

He has managed to regress on the potty training thing.  He used to sit on his toddler sized potty for us, but now he refuses. He still flushes for us, sometimes.  Occasionally he'll throw in some extra toilet paper for good measure.  He has no desire, curiosity, concern, or interest in using a potty, and no compunction about going in his diapers.  I let him try the naked weekend and made it 1.5 hours.  After watching him pee in his booster seat and then sit in a puddle with no signs of distress, I thought, 'this is not the time.'  His babysitter is sort of getting him in a routine, and he sits on the potty for a sticker for HER.  He has even peed a few times in it for her - probably an accident...  If I offer him a sticker he yells, "No, no NO!" like I'm about waterboard him.  He fights like trying to put a cat in the tub if you hold him over his toddler potty or the potty with an adaptor.  He does not want stickers or M&Ms.  He does not want our blood money, apparently... Matt has decided that the potty is where toddlers go to die...

We definitely have 'why is my child crying' moments almost everyday.  And of course, being the awesome parents we are, we just laugh.  Like the other night he had a battery operated candle and was trying to get Emma, our golden retriever, to "blow" it out.  He was very frustrated.  He was also very frustrated when Emma wouldn't drink on command.

He's still so stinking cute, though.  He can be cute and cuddly and loves to snuggle with us in bed in the evening while he winds down before going to bed in his room.   The "I love Mommy"s and the "I Love Da-da"s are just blissful.  He's still in his crib as he hasn't offered to climb out.  We'll take the breaks where we can get 'em!  He sleeps through 4 of 5 nights/week at this point, but if he could get out of his crib, I'm sure we'd be back to newborn level purgatory. Suffice it to say, I'm in no rush to put him in a toddler bed. 

He randomonly eats a couple times a week whether he needs to or not.  Amazingly, by his two year-old appointment that was a couple months late, he was 50%ile for height.  It is a new family record.  Neither BJ or I have ever seen that stat, and since his borrowed genetic material was also my height, I'm going to guess the record still holds.  Like any toddler he's randomly picky.  BJ and I strive not to make a big deal about it.  We could make more of an effort, to keep him hungrier for food by taking away some of his meal replacement shakes, but when we've tried that he's starving at 2:00am, and I feel like we deserve to sleep and he's not being harmed.  He'll eat when he's hungry, which is ultimately what we as humans should be doing anyway.

Now that I am working full-time again, and Matt will be 3 next fall, we wanted to officially institutionalize him full-time.  We are basically applying to the prep school of preschools because I love it, one. Two, it actually has better hours than most daycares for not a significant difference in cost, and three, it is only a mile from my office. It is daunting applying for preschools, however.  Matt had quite the application to fill out, and he did not seem very enthused about the process.  He did not really offer to help me with any of it.  I'm doubting his commitment. We have to do a campus visit, AND depending on how that goes, he will have to do an hour long interview by himself.  On his application, he was asked, "What is his favorite book?".  I asked him to go pick out a book because he does have a few go-tos, as any young child does.  He brought me "Everyone Poops".  While I appreciate his honesty, Matt does not seem to understand the importance of self-promotion.  Obviously, for his "interview", I have concerns. 

He still remains the biggest blessing in our life, and we are still so thankful for this little miracle.  I am seriously super thankful for every diaper I get to change, every great emotional upset I have to attend, and, of course, all of the poop books I have to read to him. 

Matt Facts:

Wt. 27lbs
Clothing size - 24mos
Fave Toy - Lightening McQueen aka Lyin' MaQuee
Fave Food- "Peetza" at least that is the most requested.
Fave Beverage - Soup-man Ju.  Which is Instant Carnation Breakfast mixed up in a shaker with a Superman logo.
Fave Animals - I-sores aka "Dinosaurs"
Fave Show- Alien Monkey... Amazon Prime...look it up for yourself...it's Japanese...that's all I can say
New Skills: Counts to 10, walks on a low beam, spider crawls across preschool uneven bars, back extension rolls on a wedge because that's how he does backward rolls (I'm a little proud).
Fave Movie:  J/K...as if he'd hold still to watch an entire movie!!!
Fave Book:  Goodnight, Gorilla (Thanks, Dolly!), Where the Wild Things Are, and...Everyone Poops...apparently *SIGH*
Fave Song:  Baby Shark...funny enough, I do not feel the same.
Life skills: None...He remains incontinent, illiterate, mostly non-English speaking, single, unemployed and not attending school.  Also he still lives with his parents. He did allow me to complete his application, like I'm some kind of helicopter parent...but with the everyone poops answer, he may be trying to sabotage this effort.  It remains to be seen...
Future Career:  Ice Cream Scooper...so for as much as he refuses to eat ice cream, he sure talks about it a lot...

A Short Story about a Little TB

DISCLAIMER:  This blog contains no medical advice, just an innocent nurse turned nurse pracitioner's experience and opinion.  It is not to be used in lieu of seeing an ACTUAL provider if you believe you have symptoms of tuberculosis or have been diagnosed as having TB or latent TB...now on with the story...

Once Upon A Time...

There was a young[ish], possibly pregnant RN, who over the course of one summer had multiple patients with so-called "latent TB" assigned to her.  Apparently someone, patient or family member, perhaps was not as latent as they thought they were. Anywhoslebees that's really of little matter...although, infectious disease experts say that it takes 6 hours of contact within 6 feet to contract TB and said nurse has no memory of being that close to anyone for that long...I digress...

Anyway, 2 years later, this nurse had approximately 1.25 job offers as a new graduate NP, and was going through the new employee pomp and circumstance which includes that ever pesky TB skin test.  Four hours after receiving the TB test, this nurse cannot even see where the bleb had been placed.  She bee-bopped along, but noticed the morning of the day she was to have her test read that her arm had a quarter-sized hot pink weal on it..."Meh" she thought, "it's just my fair skin."

By the time she arrived at the clinic to have her test read by the nurse who administered it to her, she had a large indurated area that was larger than a quarter and red to purple and a little scaly like her skin was having a reaction to it.  To put herself at ease, 'Maybe it's a skin allergy to the vehicle and not a positive test'... However, the visit was converted from lab only to a problem visit and three hours later plus a co-pay, she got to leave after having a chest x-ray and a Quantiferon TB test drawn.  

And lo-after she has accepted a position as an APRN, she has indeed, been diagnosed as having latent TB.  There was shock, despair, an extreme unclean feeling, being reported to the health department, a few crazy phone calls including one to her child's pediatrician thinking 'I've broken my child and he's going to die of TB any second', and a trip to the local health department to turn herself in - Typhoid Mary style.   

Let's Pause and Go Back to Nursing school for a minute...

TB is a contagious and possibly fatal disease that can affect any part of the body, but usually lungs, kidneys, and brain.  Healthcare workers are considered an at-risk population, and according to my nursing and nurse practitioner schooling, latent TB folks should get treated for TB by taking either a 9 or 4 month treatment regimen to prevent developing active disease.  Literally that's about as deep as we went...so flash forward a couple of years...and her thoughts may or may not have included

'I have TB'

'Oh, God! I'm contaminated...my house is contaminated...my child is contaminated...MY DOG*!!! (Her spouse was just going to have to deal with it, apparently)

'I've been breastfeeding and probably have all but killed my child'

'I'm not going to be able to work while I get treated'

'Will I convert to active TB if I decide to have another child?'
'What if I am exposed again?'

*Yes, TB is a reverse zoonotic disease meaning you can give it to your dog. How and why someone someone would remember this when in distress would take a heap of psychoanalysis that, much like latent TB treatment, is just not worth pursuing at this time. *SPOILER ALERT*

So after talking to the super nice nurse with the CDC who...well let's back up again...

So she goes to the local health department where the local CDC office for Communicable Diseases shares a space with the STD clinic.  After several minutes of convincing herself to use the door knob to enter said office she went to the receptionist window where she was asked if she was the patient that had called three times [Maybe...] and "gently" reminded that she did not have to say her name.  She was handed a piece of paper assigning her the identity of "Patient 0".  She responds, "I hardly think I'm patient zero"...Receptionist responds by kindly rolling her eyes and saying, "That's an O"..."Oh," she says...  She then stands in a corner for several minutes, but then decides to sit in a chair because at this point pubic lice is the least fatal of her potential problems on this particular day.

After not responding to the gentle calling of "Oh...Oh...Oh...” the receptionist that was so warm and friendly used her finger to say "That's her!" 'Oh, me!' thought our young heroine of this story...she bravely stood up and walked in for her TB consult, at least I'm sure that's what the other 20 some people in the waiting room thought...[Actually it was more like...'Please strike me dead, right here, I'm ready']

This visit turns out to be very informative...The young[ish] nurse practitioner learned things like only 10% of people with latent TB go on to develop active TB.  If you get pregnant you only have 10% chance of developing active TB.  If you sleep next to someone with active TB when you have latent TB...you have a...you guessed it...10% chance of converting to active TB, yourself.  If you treat your latent TB your chances are reduced to 2.8% which is encouragingly rounded up to an 8% reduction, but by my math is closer to a 7% reduction in chance....and also, that's if you take your meds correctly for 4 months or 9 months.  Also, having worked and continuing to work in healthcare, they encourage you to do the 4 month course of treatment because it covers "most" drug-resistant strains, however that particular drug binds to your hormone receptors, rendering your IUD, contraceptive pill, or HRT useless...which might be more or less important for someone with ovarian insufficiency, hypothetically-speaking of course...not to mention the other side effects like, oh, numbness and tingling a little liver damage, nausea...but don't worry, it's usually not a problem [Note: no numbers of side effect rates were offered by someone how touts 8% as game-changing...] 

So being the brave, strong, used-to-identify-as-healthy heroine she is[was?] this particular young[ish] woman made up her mind to just continue her life with the option to revisit treatment if hormonal support became less crucial to her lifestyle.  One important thing she did ask was, "How will I know if my TB becomes active?" To which the infectious disease nurse responded, "Oh, well, we don't do yearly x-rays anymore, if that's what you’re asking, because we don't want to give you cancer.  We base the diagnosis off your symptoms.  Those would be extreme fatigue, feeling unwell, night sweats, coughing up blood and fevers."  To which our heroine replied, "So basically when anyone who has ever read a Charles Dicken's novel can diagnose me with TB, I'll know I have active TB." The infectious disease nurse laughed and said, "Exactly!"

So she has gone on to live her merry little life until she got her first chest cold.  Her co-workers, a few friends, and even her mother may or may not have referred to her as "Typhoid Mary", attempted to order N-95 respirators for the office, and asked if she knew if this was "it".  The funny thing is, she won't really know if this is it, until it is...IT...  

There was no real point to this blog, other than to rant. Honestly, I had no idea what it was like to live with an infectious disease [and I still don't], but now, as a latent TB survivor...at least until I'm not...I can say that it's mostly irrelevant.  Also, if we ever meet at the STI clinic, I promise I won't wave hello like the people I saw in the waiting room...

Peace, Love, and Consumption,

MK

Knox County Health Department TB Carrier #626

Matt is 2!

Matt turned 2 officially in the middle of January, but I would say he turned two behaviorally at 15 mos.  Honestly, though, I love his silly self at two, but I laugh a lot, so maybe that's wrong.  He's just totally adorable, not that I am biased or anything.

I really am enjoying two.  I understand, well, I empathize that most of the things he fusses about are because he can't communicate well enough yet.  I don't like being told no, nor do I appreciate someone trying to cut my nails without my consent. So I can come from a place of understanding.   I mean, there is still the occasional I'm completely happy until mom showed me the wrong "caw" and now I am emotionally devastated moment.  That's when I just laugh...poor kid.  I can't help myself...but it's hysterical.

He continues to learn 4-5 words a day it seems...but in Matthewese which is basically consonants are optional.  Like dump truck is duh truh.  Tow truh, however is tow truck.  It's very subtle and you have to pay attention 😂.  Basically listening to Matt say words is like playing Wheel of Fortune, which he would probably pronounce "whee ah toon".  He says most all sounds...so I don't have a single concern about speech or hearing.  He does spend a lot of time still jibber-jabbering stuff.  He talks to himself and laughs at his own jokes, which is only slightly disturbing...I mean it's still kinda cute and none of the pets have been harmed...

Oh, he thinks he is hilarious.  He called BJ Ho-Ho for a couple weeks.  He started calling me Mi-Mi which is his grandmother...I didn't appreciate it...and he just throws his head back and belly laughs when he does it. *SIGH*  So funny...

I still honestly cannot imagine my life without this little goober.  He's been such a blessing.  I honestly can't think of a single time in the last two years that I have been sad for more than a fleeting moment, and it's usually because I feel torn between spending time on work/school or him.  He is simply a living symbol of joy to me.  His belly laughs (which are my absolute favorite sound in the world), determination, and sweet nature...we got more than we ever deserved in this kid. If this is terrible, I love it!   Did I mention he was adorable, too?

I officially graduated with my MSN, passed boards, and start my doctorate program next month while job hunting.  It's a barrel of fun, but I'm looking forward to warmer weather (Ahem..., anytime now...) and some more time with Matt-Matt in the interim.  BJ is happily (busily) working at UT and teaching college courses as an adjunct, and enjoying his new hobby of carpentry...or as I like to say...an excuse to buy new tools...

Peace, Love, and Twoiest of Twos,

Mary Katherine

Matt facts at 25 mos...

Height:  2 ft 10 in 48%ile (OMG!!! Thanks Carnation Instant Breakfast!)
Weight:  25 lbs 1 oz 12%ile
Cuteness factor:  11/10
Fave Toy:  Hot wheels caws,
Addictions:  "iPah"
Favorite Activity:  Jumping
Favorite word: No
Relationship Status:  Single
Toilet training:  Completely incontinent
Education:  None
Residence:  Home with parents (We don't have a basement, so he occupies a bedroom).

Hell Hath No Fury

Why Hell hath No Fury…

If you follow gymnastics (and even possibly if you don't at this point) you may have heard of the atrocious case against Lawrence “Larry” Nassar.  Under the guise of team physician he sexually abused over 140 girls – gymnasts as well as other female athletes who sought his care. It is horrifying and disgusting, but it is not shocking.

If you are shocked, you are naïve.  Child abuse scandals from the Catholic church to the atrocities of Penn State permeated our media, yet people like Larry Nassar still continue to prey on victims for years before being discovered. Chances are that you know an adult who was the victim of childhood sexual abuse.  According to RAINN, 1 in 9 girls and 1 in 53 boys have been the victims of childhood sexual abuse. Trust me, you know someone.

Don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s just gymnastics.  This doesn’t just go away when the media coverage dies down.  It happens multiple times a day to multiple children.  As more youth sports go the way of gymnastics, swimming, tae kwon do (just to name a few) with demanding specialization at earlier ages, traveling for competitions, and longer seasons, more sports make themselves attractive to would-be sexual predators. I challenge you to Google search any youth sport and sexual abuse.  I daresay you will find more than one actual account of a prosecuted case against a professional member of that sport.

Did you try it?  Are you angry yet?

I am currently a professional member of USA Gymnastics.  I hold a “Safety Certification” as well as a “SafeSport” certification. From this I learned about not tampering with equipment because it voids your warranty and your liability insurance will not cover you.  From Safesport, I know to never be alone with a child athlete.  From the SafeSport pamphlet USAG gave me last spring, I learned that it is a responsibility of the minor child to never be alone with a coach…because minors have so much say in the affairs of the adults in their lives.

I want to share with you my experience NOT because I need validation and definitely not for pity, but I need you to understand how pervasive it is in our society.  What it looks like when it isn’t happening to international elites at a remote camp in Texas. What it looks like when it is your child because I easily could have been your child. I need you to know my perspective so you can know why you should be so angry, too. Because I am furious…

I am furious that this is still happening.

I am furious that this is not a unique case, not surprising, and not even shocking.

I was victimized by a professional member of USA Gymnastics who was also “safety certified”.  He was prosecuted for multiple counts of sexual battery by an authority figure and served time nearly 15 years ago. And I am furious.

I am furious that after hours and hours wasted, USA Gymnastics failed to even respond to my parents multiple requests for information even for USAG to just tell them they had none.

I am furious that to protect themselves then President Bob Colarossi had the “Permanently Ineligible Member” list withheld from their professional publication because the coaches who were supposed to be added (Don Peters and Steven Elliott) had national notoriety.

-       It took the pressure of national news coverage from ABC’s 20/20 to get them to publish the list. 

I am furious that so many good people I know, who are professionals and teach the sport with so much love and passion, have had their good reputations tarnished by the inactions of USA Gymnastics over so many years. How dare they!

I am furious that USA Gymnastics received concerns about coaches, enough to place them on “probation”, but would not alert authorities or even other club owners.  They enabled more children to be put at risk and abused. What good did this do?

I am furious that another precious child was victimized because I was too afraid to speak up.

I am furious that still today, children are afraid to speak up.

-       What has changed in 15 years?  Obviously, not enough!

I am furious that my grooming began when I was 11 years old.

-       I was proselytized to, lectured and made to feel poorly for the denomination my parents chose to raise me in.

-       I was praised for saying I believed things, spiritually, that aligned with my abuser’s belief systems even when my parents did not endorse nor instill in me those beliefs.

I am furious that I was made to be afraid for so long.

-       I was told constantly how it would be my fault if my abuser lost everything.
-    I was told repeatedly he would be saved, but my actions as a woman could not be forgiven.  I did not even know what my actions were at the time. 

-       I was reminded how hurt and shamed my father would be if he found out.

-       I was told repeatedly that my parents would kick me out of my house if they found out.

-       I was told repeatedly that all he had to do was get me pregnant and I would be forced to live with him.  In fact I prayed I could not get pregnant.  So when over 10 years later I desperately wanted a child and could not conceive, you cannot even begin to know how many wounds were reopened.

I am furious that he took advantage of my innocence and naivety. 

I am furious that my coach bragged about using techniques he supposedly learned from the Karolyi’s. 

-       He pitted my teammates and I against each other and worse he made us feel worthless by ignoring us for days and up to weeks at a time.

-       I am still at a loss by the time he strong armed me into the corrugated side of the gym hard enough to knock trophies over and got away with it in a gym full of people because he could.

I am furious from the emotional abuse I endured at the hands of my coach that enabled me to be groomed and preyed upon.

-       I was told I was going to Hell, repeatedly.

-       I was told that my soul was worthless, and I was doomed.

-       My abuser said he was the only person in the world who could care about me.

I am furious with how he ruined my confidence in my gymnastics and then myself.

-       I would learn a new skill and he would talk about how dangerous it was and how he would never let his child do it.

I am furious at how he made everyone believe I was emotionally unstable as if that was my desired state and not entirely his fault.

I am furious that while he was abusing me, he was grooming the parents of the next generation.

I am furious that my comfort was knowing that I would be coached for at least a couple of days after I was abused.

I am furious at how isolated he made me feel and in turn how isolated I became.

-       He pushed most of my same age peers out of the gym.

-       He repeatedly told me he was the only one who understood me, and the only person that loved my condemned soul.

I am furious for the wedge he drove between my mother and me.

-       Always taking my side in arguments when I truly was being a petulant adolescent

-       Exaggerating things my mother said about my gymnastics or worse, my life.

-       Inserting himself as a “hero” figure.

I am furious that he victimized my parents by grooming and taking advantage or their trust.

-       He employed my brother

-       He gave my parents gifts and frequently sought their advice.

I am furious that he had the audacity to buy land next door to my childhood home.

I am furious that he rented a house just down the street from me.

I am furious that he stalked me after I tried to quit gymnastics.

-       The one and only time I cut school early was to drive home earlier than usual because I knew he would be waiting for me to drive by his house.

I am furious that I couldn't tell my mom why I wanted to quit. 

I am furious that he came to my school and was permitted to leave a note.

-       I was not safe anywhere.

I am furious that I was made to feel ashamed for the actions he took.

-       I was told people would call me names and my reputation would be tarnished.

-       I was told it would not have happened if I had not wanted it to happen.

I am furious that I was victim-shamed.

-       I was shamed for “not knowing better.”

-       I was made to feel small by the investigator who told me how little 4 and 5 years olds had no problem giving statements.  As if a young child understands shame and embarrassment or the incredible amount of energy I had spent making people think everything was okay for so many years.

-       I was shamed by people who told me their daughters would have punched their abuser in the face.

-       I was shamed by a healthcare provider who said my shorts were too short.

-       I was shamed by the rumors that I was some kind of jail-bait, whore.

I am furious because the points directly above proved my abuser right.  I was shamed and my parents were hurt.

I am furious for the constant self-doubt I am ever cursed with because of my abuse.

I am furious that people said I was ruined or damaged goods and worse when they thought they were being sympathetic by saying so.

I am furious that my abuser made me question if my life was worth living.

I am furious at how many years I spent being afraid of men.

I am furious that statutes of limitations worked against myself and the other victim increasing our ages and lessening the seriousness of our case.

I am furious that my abuser was too big a coward to face either a trial or enter a plea of guilty instead of no contest.

I am furious at the Courts and the Judges who do not take the time to read investigative reports to even know what is going on with the case before accepting a plea deal.

-       The judge in my case knew my father, yet had no idea why he or my family were in his court that day in spite of the fact a lengthy investigation and psychological testing had been done on my abuser which indicated he was a risk to abuse again.

I am furious that my abuser was allowed back into gyms and around little girls by the courts.

I am furious that I spent longer in counseling than my abuser spent in jail for 19 counts of sexual battery.

I am furious that I have had to work at least three times harder for the accomplishments I do have because of this experience.

I am furious for the years of my life I was too affected by this to enjoy.

I am furious that people think that my situation was unique.

It is not.

They groom, they isolate, they abuse, they repeat. 

That child who loses her luster for her sport…

The kid who doesn’t want to go to his practice anymore…

The kid who never fully recovers from seemingly minor injuries…

…or the kid who is injured all the time from mechanical compulsion rather than focused effort.

The coach that is there constantly.

The coach that interferes with your parenting.

The coach that tells you your kid is “special”.

The coach that is overly involved in your child’s life.

As the mother of a 2 year old, I’ve not yet experienced putting my child in a competitive sport, but I hope that I will be vigilant enough to see the warning signs, to listen to my gut that I suppressed for so long.  I hope that my parenting is not fear-based but rather experience-based.  I hope that the grooming behaviors and a predator telling me my child is special, that if I sign him up for privates, or send him to a special camp that I am discouraged to attend raise hairs. I hope my pride does not get in the way of protecting my child. 

I plan to teach my child what sexual abuse is. What he should do if anyone touches him.  It’s a conversation I am not sure all of my peers are comfortable having with their children.  But how can they know they are being abused if they do not know what abuse is?

As parents we need to demand a change of culture. Demand that children are believed and in environments that are safe.  We must promote a culture by raising children who are well-versed with their bodies and who understand adults should not ask them to keep secrets that make them feel ashamed. We want our children to feel empowered to disclose things that make them feel uncomfortable.

No child should have to experience abuse.  No parent should have to pay for their child to be abused.  No gym owner should have to question whether they are getting all the information they need from the governing body of their sport when making hiring decisions. 

I want other survivors to know there is absolutely nothing that can stop you from living the life you pictured before your abuse.  You are stronger and every single bit as worthy as you were before the abuse/assault happened. There will even be a time in your life when months go by that you don’t think about your abuse.  You owe yourself every chance you would have given yourself before.  So allow yourself to go on.  Allow yourself to succeed.

I want to sincerely thank my husband, best friend, and parents for their unwavering support.  I also want to deeply thank those people, especially those with whom I’ve crossed paths in the gymnastics community for being caring, supportive and giving me a peace with the sport I fell in love with as a child. There are far too many of you to name, but my Ursinus family and my Tennessee Gymnastics family are worth noting.

And I want predators to know that "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

Mary Katherine Roberts