About Me:

Aloha! I'm Wendy Kennar. I'm the mother of a seven-year-old son and a wife living in Los Angeles. I was a public school teacher for twelve years until a chronic medical condition made it necessary to leave my teaching career.

I've always been described as "quiet" - really, I'm just biting my tongue. I've got lots to say, and lots of thoughts to share, I just prefer to write them. That's the purpose of this blog. Each Wednesday, I post a personal essay offering my observations and thoughts.

A few fun facts about me: I've wanted to be a writer since second grade, when my teacher, Mrs. Jones, made me a "book" with a yellow construction paper cover. I have never learned to whistle, have always preferred sunflowers to roses, and have spent my life living within the same zip code.

Through the years, my writing has been published in the Los Angeles Times, Christian Science Monitor, United Teacher, GreenPrints, L.A. Parent, DivineCaroline.com, RoleReboot.org, XOJane, and Brain, Child Magazine. Additionally, my personal essays have been included in several anthologies, including: The Barefoot Review, Beyond the Diaper Bag, Lessons From My Parents, Write for Light, Being a Grown-Up: A User's Manual for the Real World, Ka-Pow!, How Writing Can Get You Through Tough Times, Breath and Shadow, The Grey Wolfe Storybook, and Sisters Born, Sisters Found.
I am a regular contributor at MomsLA.com, and you can also find me at Goodreads.

Thanks for stopping by and reading my blog. Feel free to comment and share my blog with others!

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Popping Pills, Crunching Cucumbers

   For almost two years now, my son has known that Mommy’s legs have boo-boos.  He knows Mommy has to call the doctor.  He knows Mommy goes to the doctor.  He knows that sometimes Mommy comes home from the doctor feeling tired, with a big band-aid on her arm.  And, as the years go by, he has seen the number of prescription bottles grow.  Mommy has many medicines to take.

   It’s a part of our life.  I try not to make it the forefront of our life, but it’s there.  And the other night during dinner, Ryan showed me just how much he’s aware of my medical condition.

   Ryan was eating cucumber salad, bite-size pieces of cucumber he was picking up with his fingers.  Ryan took a bite, then reached for a sip of his milk.  He told me he had to take his medicine.  Like Mommy.  He did this several times.  A bite of cucumber, a swallow of milk to wash it down.

   Innocently enough, my son had me in tears.

   Things could be worse.  I know that.  I am able to drive, to pick up my son (most days).  I can dance (somewhat).  I can do a floor-size puzzle and play a game of tickle and squish.

   But, things could be so much better.  I can’t take Ryan for walks like I used to do.  I can’t get up easily after completing our floor-size puzzle.  And I never know when a bout of pain will hit, leaving me writhing and crying in agony.

   I used to look at my life as B.R. and A.R.  Before Ryan and After Ryan.  I still do.  But there’s a new equation to add to the mix.

   B.J. and A.J.  Before July 2010 and After July 2010.  That’s when this medical journey began.  That’s when the fates made sure I knew I was vulnerable. 

   It’s a continuous journey, trying to live with an autoimmune disease that is still not under control.  

   And while I’m struggling with the pain and the uncertainty, I’ve got my son to remind me that we’re in it together - cucumber salad medicine and all.


  1. Honey,
    We will make it through this trying time and you will feel like yourself again! I Love You with all of my heart! I am looking forward to our Spring Break time together!
    Love, Paul

  2. Ryan is truly a REMARKABLE child, and he loves you so much.He has a wonderful imagination.It kills me to see you having to deal with so much pain and so many doctor's and medications.I pray everyday that you will soon be pain free.With all that you are going through it amazes me how you still keep up your blog each week.I love you and I am so very proud of you.I am thankful to have you as my daughter and friend.

  3. You have accomplished so much in your life. I am sorry about your medical condition, I have prayed that the pain will end. I am very proud of you and your son.

    Love, Dad