the duo does the du(athlon)!

by Alison Qualter Berna

When I met Allison 9 years ago in a baby music class with our twins, I knew she had something special, something that I wanted to attach myself to, a friendship that I wanted to foster and cultivate. She was smart and beautiful, kind and outgoing, all at the same time. What impressed me the most was how she looked at and cared for her twin baby boys.

alison qualter berna and allison schlanger take a duathlon selfie 

In 9 years, nothing has wavered from that first impression. Allison continues to be one of the best moms I know, raising three equally smart and beautiful, kind and outgoing young boys. As a business partner, she is a force to work with - the ideas that come out of her head are creative and endless, and I sometimes take for granted how lucky I am to work with someone who simply just “gets it done.”

In the long list of things that impress me about Allison, this past weekend stands out as one of my favorites.

Last spring, Allison signed us up for a duathlon in Central Park, a 2 mile run, 12 mile bike ride, 2 mile run race. This was something that I knew intimidated her, and yet she pressed the registration button knowing that she would have to find the time to train. Setting a goal is one of the best ways to motivate us all, and Allison set her goal with me in mind. We would do this challenge together.

This past Sunday, we completed the duathlon and not only rocked it, we had so much fun doing it!

alison and allison crossing the finish line

As we crossed the finish line and our 6 kids ran up to us, I remember feeling proud of myself, but even more for my closest friend. She overcame her nerves and her fear of the unknown, and she prioritized herself in a month when work and school are incredibly time consuming. 

the berna and schlanger kids greet their moms

As she hugged her 3 gorgeous boys, I saw that she was role modeling for them in a way she may not even realize. They were so happy for their mom, and I was too.

They saw her make the time to train and exercise this month, they saw her overcome her anxiety, facing this unknown, and they saw her cross that finish line with a giant smile of accomplishment. 

Later that day we were already looking up other duathlon races, and I can’t wait to take on the next one with her!

Ari Schlanger (age 9) wrote a blog about his cousin.

by Ari Schlanger (9 years old)

Hi. My name is Ari Schlanger. I am 9 years old. I wrote a blog about my cousin Andy who has diabetes. I hope you will read it....

Last year, when my cousin Andy was 6, she got type 1 diabetes. She turned 7 yesterday. Andy has a very nice personality and is always willing to have fun and play. If you saw her you would not be able to tell she has diabetes because she is always enjoying herself. Even though she has to get blood tests and shots every two hours during the day and at night – she is always in a good mood and everyone loves her. During the shot taking and blood testing she has the same expression on her face that she had before diabetes. She is so used to them that right now I am thinking that she is the bravest person I know.

Andy being very brave (my hero).

This is our second year doing the JDRF Walk To Cure Diabetes. My brothers, Sam and Dov, and I are also doing a raffle for a one year membership to apple seeds to raise money for the walk. I hope you consider buying a raffle ticket. You can donate any amount you want. At the walk, Sam, Dov, Andy and I will pick the names of the winners. We will call you and tell you if you are a lucky winner. You can buy a ticket at any of the apple seeds’ front desks. You can also donate to Andy’s JDRF Warrior Princesses (and Princes) page and we will add your name for you.

http://www2.jdrf.org/site/TR?team_id=150554&fr_id=3900&pg=team

I hope you will choose to help Andy and all the other children with diabetes. Thank you for reading my blog.

Me and Andy taking a dip.

When the Mask Falls Off

by Wendy Bradford

Last night, I received an email, and then a note outside my apartment door. Each made me a little weepy and a whole lot grateful to know even in the ugliest moments when all the masks come off, I am not alone.

But I will back up to yesterday morning.

            

My son, Henry, has a double ear infection and has to take antibiotics for the next two weeks. We were on day two; the night before had been a bought of screaming, begging, threatening, promising, crying, cursing, and finally my wrestling him to the ground and squirting the chalky pineapple-ish liquid through his clenched teeth. My apartment floors, rugs, and walls are covered in hardened white spots like a post-modern painting gone wrong.

            

Yesterday morning’s dose was not any better. And my husband and I were trying, at the same time, to get the three kids ready for school. When I say we were a mess, I am leaving out the animal sounds, the throwing of toys, and my husband calling me “demonic.”  A “mess” would have been way preferable to what we were.

            

Finally, bit by bit, Henry downed his tiny dosage and I wiped off all the excess from his hair, face, hands, and feet.

            

We grabbed backpacks, tossed shoes into the hallway, and the five of us were on our way to school.

            

When we got into the elevator, I pressed the button for the lobby floor, and—of course—Henry freaked out. I will never learn. Henry grabbed his glasses off his head, screamed at the top of his lungs, and snapped his frames so that one of the lenses fell to the elevator floor.

            

There were two other families on the elevator with us. My family already looked as if we’d traveled 48 hours without rest or water to make it onto that elevator.

            

I had not one thought or ounce of self control left.

“DAMMIT!” I screamed when I saw Henry had broken his glasses.

There were three children who were not mine in the elevator, along with the three that are, and two other mothers, neither of whom I know well.

I spent the day—even though that is far from the worst thing I have said in public or private in front of children—feeling ashamed. As a mother of three who spends a great deal of time alone with my children, shame, guilt, and regret are not unfamiliar to me. But it isn't often I have to apologize to children other than my own for losing my barely-cool-to-begin-with.

When we were back in our apartment in the evening, after another dose was fought over, covering me, and finally in Henry’s stomach, I sent an email to one of the mothers. I left a note outside the other mother’s door. I apologized to both and to their children for getting upset and using that word (which is not such a big deal in my apartment obviously, but I imagine other people are teaching their kids better values) in front of their children.

The one mother emailed back to tell me not to worry about it, of course. The other left a note of understanding and empathy. Both told me I wasn't alone.

Motherhood creates wells of vulnerability. At least it has for me. I am often not the person or mother I want to be in a given moment. Sometimes I can’t even pretend to be nice or patient or even normal. There is nothing more human or merciful than to see the worst in another person and to be able to say, “You’re okay.” Even or especially when the behavior was not; I wish I hadn't screamed in the elevator. I wish I wouldn't yell the way I do at my kids a lot of the time. Perhaps there are things you do that you that feel horrible about, and are working to change. Maybe you are embarrassed, like me, when your mask falls off. If we can remove the shame from the behaviors we need to fix, and know that people are supporting and standing with us, it is much easier to move forward and show our faces.