Speed

Yesterday, as promised, I was not a fire hog. Nope, we kept busy all day. The kids had their list and I had mine.

We didn't overdo it - I mean, it is Christmas break, after all! It's just that we weren't lazy.

I restarted P90X, and all my muscles are feeling it today! But what a wonderful feeling that is - to be achy and worn out from activity. Proving to yourself you're a living human being and that you're using all the parts you've got. Since being able to resume physical activity in July, I've been playing tennis 3 times a week, and walking regularly, but I was missing the strength training. And running.

Running. Yes, I really missed that. I'm not the fastest in these here parts; nor do I go the farthest distance (my longest achievement is a half-marathon), but it wasn't until running was missing from my life that I realized how much I want to get it back.

I do have to be careful, though. With 2 hip fractures in recent history, I am at risk for for more. The doctor and I have discussed this. I can definitely run again, but if I fracture my hip one more time, we're skipping the whole use-crutches-to-keep-the-weight-off-and-wait-till-it-heals approach and going straight for surgery. Pins may be the only way I can hold myself together.

Yesterday, it was time - time to resume running. My friend and I have a plan to gradually work up to greater distances. Key word: gradually. For now, we do 3 minutes of walking to 1 minute of running. But we'll work up to a majority of running, with scheduled walk breaks. Despite our slow and cautious start, I haven't felt this physically exhilarated in a long time! The intermittent speed felt great. My muscles, bones, joints, and breathing felt right. I was full of energy and enthusiasm and didn't want it to end.

I may never run farther than a half-marathon, despite having the more ambitious full marathon on my bucket list. Perhaps sticking to the 10k distance is the more prudent choice. Whatever my body tells me my limit is, I'll have to accept.

But for now, I'll take my one minute at a time, with a smile on my face and a lightness in my step.

Rejuvenated

Has it really been since November 6 that I've written an entry in this blog?

Didn't mean to let so much time pass.

I guess I really did reach my limit back in the fall. As I've continued to add challenges and occupations to my life - all good things! - other things have unintentionally fallen by the wayside. Like this blog, evidently.

But yesterday, I spent the day sprawled on the family room floor, in front of a nice warm fire, just doing nothing. NOTHING. That's something new. And that's all I was capable of.

Usually I feel guilty or restless if I just sit for a while in the middle of the day. Usually I feel more satisfied when I'm tackling that To Do list.

But some days, the best way to move forward is to stop and stay still. And it was glorious! I spent a couple hours in late morning sledding with the family - kids and adults alike - over at our new property. Afterward, we made lunch of leftovers (nice and easy), and then I promptly planted myself in front of the fireplace. Took a nap, read some of my new book, played around with my new laptop, chit-chatted with the kids as they passed through the room. But all from that spot. I did get up to eat the scrumptious beef stew my husband made - and then I promptly returned to my warm and cozy spot.

Today, of course, I'm back to The List. (I've even created one for the kids, and they're not even out of bed yet.) Rejuvenated from my lazy day yesterday, my list looks to me more like an Accomplishments List than a Chores List. After all, I wouldn't be able to handle two days of nothingness. I'm ready to tackle the revisions to the house plan, some tasks for my new business, some household organizational projects, a fresh start to P90X (bursitis after 2 weeks the last time I started it - but that's another story), and Day 1 of my new running plan with my friend. Maybe we'll fit some more sledding in there, too. Or a movie tonight. It all sounds good to me today!

Whether you're on break from work or school during this week between Christmas and New Year's, or back to the office after a holiday spent with family, I hope your day is off to a great start, too!

Goldilocks

We've "found" our architect!

Granted, it's merely the first of many (many, many, many, many...) decisions that we will make in the coming year as we build our new home. But, as the first big decision, it sets the tone for those to come.

The interview process was very enlightening for me. We chose architect candidates only from among those recommended by friends who had recently built custom homes and who were very pleased with the process and the outcome. So they all were highly competent, experienced professionals - none were selected simply by choosing a name out of the phone book.

Therefore, I felt they would all be so similar that it would be difficult to choose one. But, like the story of Goldilocks, it became clear that one was "just right." For us.

We spent about 2 hours with each architect. They all came to our house. We talked for a while, then took them to the new property so they could see the features of the terrain. The interviews were time-consuming but necessary and valuable.

Unexpectedly, we noticed one important and telling difference among the architects, and we noticed it within the first few minutes of meeting them: Whether they were "me-oriented" or "you-oriented."

For example, one of the architects didn't really ask about how we live, what we're looking for in a home, or what we dislike about our current home. He primarily discussed what he has done and can do. Not that it's wrong to confidently assert your own skills. After all, it's an interview process and we need to know what each architect can do. But it was too much about him.

Another was on the far other extreme. The first thing he said, after the pleasantries of greeting one another, was: "So, show me around your house. I want to know what you like or dislike about this house and what you want to do differently with your next house. Tell me how you actually live." I think my husband and I both fell in love with this guy right on the spot! He wasn't here just to toot his own horn, but to help us create a new home that's perfect for us. It was all about us.

Our Goldilocks, however, was a hybrid of Mr Me and Mr You. While we may not have fallen passionately in love with the guy at first handshake, we felt a connection that would serve us through the long-term process of building our home. He, too, wanted to know how we live, and what we want, and then showed us what he's done for others. But he also said this: "It's impossible to have a relationship with anyone over a long period of time without ever getting mad. You may be upset with me over an element of your project at some point. That's to be expected. But communicate with me, and we'll fix it so that you have the house you want."

Isn't this a fundamental difference among people we meet in all walks of life? Some are simply more "me-oriented," which can make "you" feel left out of the relationship. Some are clearly "you-oriented," but as delirious as the attention can make you feel, it may make you wonder what will happen to the relationship with you hit a snag and the passion fades? The lasting, more satisfying relationships are those built on mutual admiration and enthusiasm for one another, yet that acknowledge that there will be bumps in the road of life. It's how we navigate those bumps that determines the the longevity of and satisfaction with a relationship.

So glad we've found our Goldilocks architect! Next step: finding our Goldilocks builder...

So That's Where My Limit Is

All I wanted to do was add a new exercise regime into my schedule to kick it up a notch.

I've been reticent to return to my prior level of workouts since my injury in late February, and I'm tired of feeling not-so-toned since then. (And yes, you're right - that injury should be old news by  now. But it didn't heal picture-perfectly, so when I finally got clearance in early July to exercise again, the doctor stipulated I ease into my favorite pursuits. I'm back to tennis full-strength. But not running yet - just speed-walking a couple days a week. And I miss strength training.) I'm ready for more.

The program I want to do would be a great way to throw me back into the intense workout habit: P90X. It requires a 60-90 minute strenuous workout 7 days a week, for 90 days.

But I've just reached the awful conclusion that I I've hit my limit! There's no room in my schedule to add a 7- to 10.5-hour commitment to my week, without removing something else.

And I don't have anything else I can remove right now. My two biggest endeavors are (1) building the new house and (2) starting my new business. That's on top of working part-time for my husband's business, running the household, and managing the kids' schedules. And playing tennis.

I mean, I'm already getting up at 5:30 am. By 9:00/9:30 pm, when the kids finally go to bed, I'm exhausted.

{ s i g h }

I guess I have to face the fact that I can't do everything I want to do.

Or maybe I can squeeze it in every other day. Let me take another look at my schedule... 

Almost to the Day

On October 29, 1998, we closed on the house we currently live in. The movers came the very next day, October 30, carrying everything we owned.

Twelve years later almost to the day, on October 21, 2010, we closed on our new property. Yet there are no movers this time around. Not yet, anyway. We won't be ready to move until about a year from now.

It may have taken us 14 years to find our home - yes, this is what we'd been looking for all along, even before purchasing the house we live in now - but we've finally found it. When we heard this place was on the market, my husband and I didn't even need to discuss it. We both knew. We were going to buy this place. When the kids found out about it, there was no hesitation: they wanted to know how soon we could move. When we finally took the dog over after closing, he ran and ran and ran, stopping periodically to sniff the air or explore something on the ground. And when he ran back to us, I swear that dog had a smile on his face.

So it's unanimous: all 5 humans, and 1 canine, love our new home. And even though we have much work ahead in razing the existing home and building a new one before we can move, it does feel like home to us. It's where we belong. It's where we were meant to be all along. It isn't really a choice for us - it is destiny.

Where Did That Come From?

As a young girl, I was not competitive. I loved gymnastics, but did not choose to compete on a team. Same with swimming. I just liked the sports for fun and self-improvement.

In school, I earned good grades, and enjoyed the access those grades gave me to accelerated and AP courses, but I didn't feel compelled to compete for elite status. I just liked learning.

My measure of success has always come from doing more and learning more than before, and enjoying the process of growth. I compete against myself, not against others.

So it feels strange to me, now that I'm in my forties, to feel competitive. And I like this competitive drive! Except when I lose. Because then it really ticks me off. That's new, too.

Take tennis, for example. Having picked up the sport later in life, I'm not exactly great at it. But I'm addicted to it. I love it. I could play it every day and still want more. Last year, my first year on a team, I had a dismal record. Oh, it felt awful. This year, my record is considerably better. And the two matches I've lost so far were quite close. (Yeah, they still have to go in the "L" column, but it makes me feel better to tell you we weren't just clobbered.) I found that losing those matches got to me in a way that losing has never gotten to me before. I mean, I was really in a funk the rest of the day. Not an attractive trait at all. But caring so much about the losses caused me to think through how I play and make adjustments for the next match. So the passion - though negative - serves a useful purpose.

Now I'm preparing to open my business. True, I'm opening later than anticipated. (I'd initially planned to open now - in October 2010. But I couldn't find the right location in time, and I realized I could use some mentoring, so I postponed the opening until March 2011. It's better to start right than to start early.) But I don't consider the postponement to be a failure - just a change of plans. With any business, an owner needs to be able to adjust to present circumstances, so I consider this early decision as part of my training.

Already, I'm finding that competitive drive is very real with this business. In doing my research, I've talked with several business owners with shops of similar size and target market to my own, though with a different product mix. I have been surprised to find that some of them don't care if they make money. One told me it was her "hobby." Well, I like hobbies too (tennis, anyone?), and she's certainly entitled to run her business as a hobby. But I won't! No - I plan to make money. To pull customers away from the existing Cincinnati-area businesses in my market, toward my own. I don't just want success. I expect it. Yes - I expect to enjoy myself, too. For sure. But let's face it, business ownership is really hard work. I want to see a nice payday as a reward for all those long hours.

So I don't know where this latent competitiveness came from. But I hope it's here to stay.

Best Laid Plans... And Changed Plans

I'm in the thick of it with three tweens.

Back when tweendom was a far-off pipe dream, and I was drowning in the life of mothering three babies, then three toddlers, replete with diapers, naptimes, therapies, dirty clothes, dirty dishes, and a dirty house, the moms of older kids told me to "enjoy this time while they're young!" because "just wait until they get older - then life gets crazy!"

Huh? Life was already crazy. Surely, once the Age of Reason hits, my three kids would be easy! and fun! and cool!

And they are indeed fun and cool. But easy? Yes and no. As any parent of tweens knows, it's true you no longer need to feed, bathe, and change the kids. They've definitely mastered those tasks. But now we have negotiations (because, you see, they can talk in complete sentences now - and they've turned their finely-honed skills of argument and persuasion on you), opinions (about what to have for dinner, what to do with their time, what clothes to wear, what you do with your time, what you wear, what you say, etc.), and a social life.

It's par for the course. They're supposed to grow up, move on, look outward, think for themselves, socialize with peers. They're doing exactly what they're supposed to do, and exactly what we want them to do.

Ahhh, but here's the rub: At the ripe old ages of 12-3/4 and 11-1/2, they can't drive yet.

That's where I come in. I'm the chauffeur.

So this weekend was our typically busy weekend. I did a lot for my kids: hosted a sleepover for the twins, took my son clothes shopping (because, you know, when your 12-year-old boy who hates shopping tells you that he needs a few things, you drop everything and head to the mall!), did heaping loads of laundry, spent 2 hours ironing that laundry, took the girls to their riding lessons (that alone took a big chunk of the afternoon), took the girls to get haircuts, hosted friends (OK, that wasn't for the kids - that was for us, and it was so lovely to sit and sip wine with friends), and nagged - oops: "managed" - homework time and piano practice.

But what I really wanted to do this weekend, just for me, was attend the Kitchen and Bath show at the convention center downtown. Today was the last day of the event, and the only day it would fit in our schedule. We'll be building a new house in the coming year, and since it's been 12 years since we moved into this house, I'm in need of up-to-date ideas for the new place.

I even showered early and dressed all spiffy, even though it's Sunday and I usually get up early but hang out in my PJs at least until mid-morning, if not noon, on Sundays.

But, bless her heart, my sweet girl taught me to slow down and appreciate the more important things in life. She accomplished this by passing out right after I came downstairs, dressed and ready to go. The poor thing had been sitting on a counter stool in the kitchen. When I turned to look at her, I saw her hitting the hardwood floor (still not sure if that was her shoulder or her head that I heard). When we rolled her over, she didn't respond immediately. Instead, we were horrified to see her eyes rolling back in her head, her body limp and unresponsive.

When she came to, she had a headache (who wouldn't?) and was clearly disoriented and upset. This particular girl of mine doesn't cry or yell in a crisis: she becomes mute. We examined her body for cuts, bruises, or breaks, and found none. With effort, we got her to speak a few words and discovered the headache and a pretty bad stomachache from the trauma.

Eventually, after she'd been settled on the sofa with orange juice, Tylenol, and the remote control, most of the family members moved on with their plans. My husband and son headed to the football game for which they had tickets. The twin headed to a friend's house. I stayed home with my daughter. There's no place else I wanted to be at that moment.

After about three hours of lying around, she finally started to speak again. And she ate. A few minutes later, she got up from the couch and changed her clothes. The headache and stomachache were gone. I imagine she'll be a little stiff and sore tomorrow, but thankfully she's not seriously hurt.

The Kitchen and Bath show? I missed it. But despite the change in plans, I've had an unexpectedly enjoyable day hanging out with my daughter. While she recovered, I relaxed too. I haven't driven anyone anywhere. I've been here, all day, chillaxing (as my son would say).

Even though I was looking forward to going to that show, my daughter's fainting spell put life in perspective: We'll be able to design the new house despite the fact I did not get to see and touch those tiles and faucets and countertops at the show. There's more to life than kitchens and baths.

Much more, like: the health of my family, spending quiet time with my child, and the restorative powers of a Sunday afternoon nap.

What Kind of Guy?

As you know, yesterday I published a text message I received from my husband while I was away last weekend, and asked for your interpretation of it. In case you missed it, this is the message:

"What time are you back today? The kitchen is a mess"

One might interpret this message to mean that the kitchen is a mess, and that my husband wanted to know when I'd be back to clean it up.

If you know my husband, you know that he just wanted to know how much time he had to get the kitchen cleaned up before I got home! He would never deliberately leave a big mess just for me to clean up. Especially a mess that was made on his watch.

But, if you know my husband, you also know that he's got a great sense of humor and a keen sense for the nuances of language. He composed the message with deliberate vagueness to provoke me. Of course, knowing him all too well, I didn't fall for it. Humored, yes. Provoked, no.

So I knew the kitchen would be cleaned up when I got home. But what I hadn't expected was the degree to which he did the job. The kitchen actually sparkled and shined! Such a lovely way to walk in the door.

And to top it all off, he told me that the kids had spontaneously decided to chip in with the household chores that morning. My son did several loads of wash without being asked to, and the girls tidied up the house so I wouldn't arrive home to things out of place.

Yes, time away is good for us all. It makes us realize how much we appreciate the loved ones from whom we're separated.

Maybe I should go away more often...

Provocative

The text message read:

"What time are you back today? The kitchen is a mess"

Hmmm... How would you interpret this message?

{Shamelessly soliciting your interpretations today - mine to follow tomorrow!}

His Lesson

If you have a tween boy, you know what a Ripstik is. In fact, you probably have one. But for those of you who are scratching your heads, picture a curvy skateboard, split in the center. The front and back boards are mounted on a bar and supported by inline skate-style wheels, enabling them to pivot independently. It's very wobbly and there are no handlebars.

Doesn't sound easy? You're right, it's not. I've tried it. After 30 minutes of practice and approximately 100 attempts, I could finally go about 20 feet without falling off. And it wasn't a pretty sight - arms flailing, I looked like I was going to lose my balance and crack my head at any moment. But the kids make it look soooo easy. My son has had his for nearly 3 years now, and he can go long distances, while multi-tasking(!), without falling off.

Until this week. While rushing home to meet a curfew, he found himself off-balance, causing the Ripstik to shoot out from under him. Instinctively, he put his hands out to break his fall. Instead, he broke his wrist.

Fortunately, it is a pretty "good" break - a simple fracture of his radius that will heal fine.

Some people have asked if I'm going to allow my son to ride his Ripstik again. It's not safe, they say, and his fall proves it.

But how do kids gain experience and test their limits if they're overly protected? I think it's so healthy - indeed, necessary - to make mistakes, in order to learn from them. My son told me that the reason he was careless was because he'd stayed too long at his friend's house, causing him to rush home to meet the curfew. He concluded, on his own, that staying those few extra minutes wasn't worth the short-term pain and long-term inconvenience it caused (he broke his dominant wrist, and the cast he'll wear for the next several weeks extends out to his fingers - so yes, it's mighty inconvenient for him).


Since he's just a few years away from driving, I extended our conversation to include visualizing him as a teenager in danger of missing curfew, but instead of riding a Ripstik, he's driving a car. This week's experience enabled him to see how a similar mistake, but involving a car, could result in a far more serious outcome.

He'll always remember this accident.

It's a reminder that he's not invincible.

And we all need reminding of that once in a while.

After a Break

The thing is, I really meant I was done when I said I was done. But, in retrospect, perhaps I was just burned out and needed a break.

Yet I missed writing this blog.

So I'm back - however, it's "limited back." Although I missed writing this blog, and felt pulled to return to it, my time for it is scarce still. Actually, probably scarcer than before. So I'm setting low expectations for myself: I might write only a couple of times per month, and if I exceed expectations, then I can celebrate. If not, I won't beat myself up about it.

I think of my departure from and return to this blog as using a break to discover what matters. Just like white space on a page, recesses in one's life serve a valuable purpose: to provide a rest, to organize ideas, and to direct attention.

So here I am.

I don't know where you are, or if you're still with me after a long separation. But if you are, I hope to hear from you as I share my thoughts, my joys, my struggles with you in the blogosphere.

More to come...

Run Its Course

When I first started this blog, it served these purposes for me:

(1) It was a vehicle for me to express my thoughts, in a format that required me to edit & polish a little more than I would a private journal

(2) It allowed me to find and develop my writing voice

(3) It forced me to step out of my comfort zone by opening my life to others - to strangers

(4) It was fun!

After nearly two years of this truly enjoyable endeavor, I'm ready to find a new outlet. In fact, I've already found it. Recently, my creative and intellectual reserves have been focused on starting a business that I plan to open in several months. Given the time requirements for my new business, I need to pare down my other pursuits. Except for my marriage, my family, and my home - which all ground me and provide the love and comfort I need to feel confident in pursuing my own interests - my other endeavors tend to run a rather short course.

In other words, when things get comfortable, I seek a new challenge.

Maybe I get bored with the status quo? Maybe I crave a little chaos in my life? I believe I need stability at my core, yet novelty in the way I express myself.

So I'm going to open this store in the fall, and with it will come a huge transition for our family, some chaos too, unpredictability, and excitement. In three years, when the store has jumped some hurdles and it's running predictably, I'll probably need a new excitement: so maybe I'll open a second, even a third location. Maybe I'll branch off into another niche, with an entirely new market. Maybe I'll write a book about my experiences. Something will come to me then. But for now, I just know that this is what I need to do.

So this will be my second-to-last posting. Thank you for reading and for being interested in the life of this stay-at-home mom of three in Cincinnati. Knowing that you're out there, reading my words, following along as I play this game of life, has meant more to me than you'll know.

And yes, I said second-to-last. I know some of you are curious about my new business, and I'd love to share the details with everyone! When the time is right, I will make one final post to spill the beans.

Thank you again for taking such a kind interest in this blog. I wish you all well as you continue in your own Game of Life!

Stuck

Occasionally I overthink something that really does not warrant the expense of so much energy and time. Then I get stuck. And it drives me crazy.

My husband and I are going to Cape Cod for a weekend getaway without the kids in a few months. The location was easy to decide, as we're piggy-backing off a business trip he has in Boston. And it was fairly easy to rule out particular hotels that didn't seem right for us. Finally, I narrowed it down to two bed-and-breakfasts that we both liked. But then I couldn't decide between them. I was stuck.

{You may have noticed the pronoun "I" used frequently here. That's because, although we work out what trips we're going to take together for the most part, I'm the one who plans the details. It works for us.}

When this happens, typically I just set aside my research and come back to it another time. During the intervening days or weeks, my brain stealthily works out all angles of the problem and when the time comes, I can make a decision easily.

But every time I pulled out my B&B research, I still couldn't decide. Then I'd put it away again. This really shouldn't have been such a big decision.

Last night I got out my research again. And I realized that the reason I couldn't decide is that these two B&Bs are just a block apart from one another, offer the same features, have nearly the same appearance, have received excellent reviews from Travelocity reviewers, and are in the same price range. So location, features, reputation, and price are not differentiating factors. Therefore, it really doesn't matter which one we choose, since we'll have virtually the same experience at either one.

Why don't I just save myself the brainpower and do eenie-meenie-miney-mo?

And now - Unstuck!

My Stupid Mouth

I can sympathize with John Mayer in "My Stupid Mouth": Sometimes I say the wrong thing at the wrong time or to the wrong person, resulting in my own humiliation as I try to explain that, no, that's not what I meant.

It's entirely unintentional. I'm not the type to "stir the pot" just to get people riled up. Some people think that's exhilarating, but it makes me anxious. I would never, ever, say purposefully something catty or unkind or misleading to hurt someone or cause chaos. And I generally don't like to draw attention to myself; negative attention would be a big no-no for me. So I certainly do not try to make these verbal faux pas. It's just that sometimes I forget to actually think before I speak.

At least twice in the last week I've stuck my foot in my mouth. Harmless stuff, all things considered, but oh-so-annoying. In one instance, a simple re-read of my e-mail message would have caught the mistake. Doh! {slaps forehead}

As I've mentioned in previous posts, through the years I have learned to laugh at myself. And I will. After I remove my foot from my mouth and use it to kick myself.

As my daughters and I packed our bags this morning for an overnight girls' getaway/shopping trip that we're taking after school today, my son appeared to be nearly as excited as the girls.

"What do you think Dad and I are going to do today?" he asked.

"Well, even though we'll be gone, it's still a school night for you. I imagine you'll do homework and practice your piano and eat dinner, just like always."

"No, I mean what fun stuff?"

That's when it hit me that the little getaways that we take in various combinations (girls only, mother/son, guys only, parents only, etc) offer just as much reprieve for those staying home as for those going away. Let's be honest: we all like time apart from one another to give us experiences that are different from ordinary. Afterward, it's just as much fun to get back together again, share our stories, and appreciate our nuclear family.

Someday my daughters and son might process all this. But for today, his message was clear: "Don't let the door hit you on your way out!"

Not So Distant Future

Last night at dinner, my sixth-grade son brought up college. Obviously, it's too soon to know exactly what he wants to study and exactly where he wants to go. But it's not too soon to start thinking about it.

His ideas about where he'd like to live and what career he'd like to pursue are roughly in line with what we think he'd prefer. For example, we're all in agreement that he'll never become a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer. They don't hold the least interest for him.

But it's obvious to anyone he's ever met that he would excel at sales. He could likely become a successful architect, too, if only he could learn to like math. (He can do the math; he just doesn't like to. It's the design component that attracts him to architecture.) He will likely become an entrepreneur - probably even several times in his life. He has a vision of the type of lifestyle he'd like to have.

Oh, and he'd like to go to school far, far away from Ohio. Preferably near a beach. And a big city.

Given these rough parameters, I googled UCLA while we waited for our dinner to arrive. Yikes! In my mind, I was thinking "UCLA = state school = low-cost tuition." But of course, we don't actually live in California, so nonresident rates apply.

We assured him that we'd be checking out other, less expensive options, as well.

Meanwhile, as I was doing some quick-and-dirty research on top entrepreneurial undergraduate programs after we got home, one of my daughters approached and asked about a teaching program she'd heard about. Like her brother, she seems to have a good sense for what field she'd like to pursue. I would agree with her assessment that she'd be happy in the teaching and/or language arts realm. I would also agree with her that she'll prefer to go to college nearby, so she can come home frequently. When she named the program, she asked, "Isn't that supposed to be the best place to go to become a Montessori teacher? I want to go there." I googled it. The best? Maybe, maybe not. Definitely excellent. Even though it's in-state, it's pricey. Perhaps a second-best school will suffice?

It's not a question of whether or not the kids will go to college. Or whether we'll provide it for them - that final transition between dependence on and independence from their parents. Of course we've saved and will be prepared; it's just that we didn't have a firm grasp on the current cost of college. (The last time we estimated college costs was when working with a financial planner before our son was born. But that estimate is not relevant these days.) With college only six years away, it was a good exercise in updating our expectations with current figures.

And my son asked me, just yesterday, why I plan to keep my car for so many years...

One Night

I thought he was a ladies' man. After all, he'd dated all the other single young women in the office, except for me. But to be fair, I wasn't "available" when I worked there. And it was not a large company.

I left for other pursuits. Via a complicated, circuitous route, I left that job and the city, only to find myself in the same city and at the same company one year later. This time, I wouldn't be around for long. I was delivering a two-day training workshop as a consultant.

That's when I saw him again. This time, I was available, enjoying a life of freedom, flirtations, and brief romances. {Well, maybe it wasn't quite as exciting as I just made it seem, but I was free.} I fully expected him to ask me out. He'd better have asked me out! With the reputation I'd given him in my mind, I knew there had to be something very wrong with me if he didn't.

Sixteen years ago tonight, we had our first date.

I thought it would be an only date. Just the fact that he asked me out satisfied me. I didn't know if we actually had anything in common. And anyway, I was moving to another city the following week. A long-distance relationship wasn't part of the plan.

The thing is - it was magical! And he was - wow! One date turned into two, then three in a row. By Monday, I was in an agonizing giddy state. I couldn't concentrate on work. I couldn't hold down a bite to eat. I felt nauseated. And I knew. 

I knew I wasn't sick. But No! This couldn't be happening. According to my plan, I had three to five more years of those flirtations and brief romances ahead of me. Love was not in the plan for the near future. Not at all.

But when I closed my eyes, he was all I saw. When I tried to work, my mind instead replayed every intoxicating moment of our three days. My stomach flipped and flopped whenever I thought of him. He was everything. I was a goner.

And the rest, as they say, is history. Our beautiful history.

1 Mile

Today is Day #8 off crutches. I'm progressing quite nicely through physical therapy. And looking forward to my final MRI next week, optimistic that it will show my femur has completely healed.

I've got muscle soreness from resuming exercise, but no pain. That is a very good sign.

My PT told me I can walk 1 mile, or do 15 minutes on the elliptical or bicycle. Not all three on the same day. Pretty piddly workout. Yet I've taken so many steps backward in the last 7-1/2 weeks that this one baby step forward feels like a giant leap to me.

The temperature is a cool 50 degrees but the sun has the sky to itself, making for a cheery  morning. And perfect walking conditions.

It hasn't escaped my attention that today, the day of my first 1-mile walk in a looooong time, 26,000 men and women are running the race of their lives: the Boston Marathon. "Run a marathon" (I would have been happy with any marathon) is still listed as #4 on my bucket list. Up until a couple of months ago, it was a goal that felt doable. Now? Not so much.

Sometimes it takes big challenges to appreciate the little successes. After 6 weeks of walking using my arms, and watching from the chair on my front porch the runners/walkers/bicyclists speedily go by, powered by their legs, I really am thrilled to be out on the streets with them again.

I might be slower than they, and I might not go as far. But I'm out there. Lovin' my baby steps.

Worth the Pain

We parents often hope to shield our children from pain and suffering. At least, from pain and suffering that can be anticipated and prevented.

Sometimes, however, that pain is a necessary side effect of a treatment that will actually help the child. That's when things get complicated. We want to help, but we don't want to hurt while helping.

Recently, I've felt particularly grateful for two difficult decisions my husband and I have made for our children. 

Prickly Pain
We live in the Ohio Valley, home to many pollen allergy sufferers. The airborne pollens become trapped in the valley, wreaking havoc on those of us with allergies to them. The "typical" range for pollen counts in this area, averaged throughout the year, is 0-20. This week last year, the pollen count was 142. This week - right now - the pollen count is nearly 2000. Yes, you read that right: two thousand. 

Our son, now 12, has suffered from spring allergies (pollen, etc) since the age of 2. His symptoms are the typical miserable ones: runny nose, sneezing, itchy eyes, hives, fatigue. After years of treating these symptoms with a medley of Zyrtec, Benadryl, eye drops, and nasal sprays, we made the decision last fall to begin immunotherapy with him. In essence, this involves regular visits to the allergist (weekly at first, then tapering off a bit, for two or three years) to receive injections of the substance to which he is allergic. Over time, the body stops reacting to the substance. In my son's case, that means that his body will stop reacting when it senses pollens, and he'll feel better in the springtime.

This is his first spring since his treatment began. And he's flying through the season, even with this higher-than-usual pollen count! Is this even the same kid? No runny nose, no itchy eyes, no hives whatsoever, no fatigue. It's clear he's feeling good, and I love seeing him enjoying the springtime like he never has before. I think he would say that the brief pain of weekly shots is definitely a worthwhile expense. 

Can You Hear Me Now?
One of our daughters has been deaf since birth (or shortly thereafter). She does not sign, however; thanks to the miracle of medical technology, she hears and speaks. Of course, we are reminded all too often that her hearing is only as good as the devices on her ears. When she was little, her hearing was "borderline." Relative to her hearing loss, that means that it was severe enough that she needed the most powerful hearing aids available on the market to amplify sounds loudly enough for her to detect and discriminate among most speech sounds. Yet it was not profound enough to medically qualify her for a cochlear implant. A cochlear implant, in contrast to a hearing aid, does not merely amplify residual hearing. Rather, it bypasses the ear altogether, sending auditory signals via the auditory nerve directly to the brain, where the electric signals are interpreted as sounds.

At age 4, our daughter's base hearing level went from bad to worse in one ear. It was heartbreaking to see her struggle as this occurred, yet the loss then qualified her for a cochlear implant. People - especially hearing people - who are not familiar with the "Deaf vs deaf" culture wars may not realize that the cochlear implant is a subject of heated debate among two camps: the people who feel the surgical implantation of children with this medical device is akin to child abuse, and the people who feel that it's a medical intervention that helps children function in their hearing world. My husband and I are members of the latter camp.

Still, it was with a heavy heart that we sent our baby into surgery. That "baby" was 4-1/2 years old and missed her hearing; was frustrated; told us she couldn't hear right and wanted that fixed. But even so, we knew there were risks involved, and that she had a tough row to hoe in the coming months as she would recover from surgery and adjust to hearing sounds differently.

It was one of the best decisions we've ever made.

That girl is a cochlear implant success story! She loves it. With that ear, she hears in the "normal" range for one-on-one conversation and the "mild" range in noisy situations. Because she hears speech sounds at all frequencies, she learned how to speak them too, so her speech is normal. 

{Note: I wanted to post some pictures of our little trooper as she prepared for and recovered from surgery. But the pics were taken in the pre-digital days (at least, for us) seven years ago. And my scanner flaked out today. So if you're interested in pics of our cutie-pie, check back in a few days!} 


We're not the only ones with stories like these to tell. I can think of dozens of other parents I know who have made similar difficult decisions: ones that cause their children short-term pain but that yield long-term benefits.

Do you have a story to tell? 

Atrophy & Rebuilding

The balls of my feet and my toes feel it.

My right calf muscle feels it.

My right knee feels it - especially when going down the stairs.

My right hamstring feels it, too.

Saturday morning, I gave up one crutch. Sunday evening, I gave up the other.

Today, I'm walking on my own two feet again.

Six-and-a-half weeks on crutches due to a stress fracture in my right hip caused all the muscles in my right leg to atrophy. The last time I was on crutches, for the same injury in my left hip, I actually measured the circumference of my legs. After five weeks on crutches, the unused leg became softer and measurably smaller than its counterpart. At that time, the circumferential difference between my calves was 1/2 inch and between my thighs was 1-1/4 inches.

This time, although I could feel and see the difference, I didn't bother to measure. I knew I wouldn't like what I learned anyway.

Even though it's so disheartening to see taut muscles become soft, and the shape of my body change for the worse, as I rebuild my strength, at least I have prior experience from which to draw. I have no doubt the right leg muscles will become strong, capable, and more shapely once again. {Well, maybe not as shapely as when I was 17, but good enough for 40.}

Today I took my first step (figuratively, and practically literally) toward rebuilding those muscles: I had my first physical therapy session this morning. Yes, my muscles ache now. But that's par for the course. Although I'm still in a bit of disbelief that simply walking can cause muscle fatigue, even though I ran a half-marathon just months ago, I somewhat welcome the soreness because it tells me that both legs are successfully working again. (Yet the hip itself doesn't feel any pain, so that's the important matter.)

I don't know how long it will be until I can jog again, but my therapist had very encouraging words for me. She thinks I can get back into the gym in about two weeks for strength training. For cardio, I will likely be cleared to use the elliptical machine and bicycle soon, as well. My predicted return to tennis appears to be May. Running is not in the near future, but is not ruled out for later.

But I shouldn't get too far ahead of myself. Today, I'm starting to rebuild those leg muscles so I'll be able to do the things I used to do. And reminding myself: I did it once; I can do it again.

Hey Buddy, I'm Up Here

Some people don't look others in the eye.

Talking to someone who has an indirect gaze is distracting for me. But I try to let it go, not make a big deal of it.

When I talk to others, I look them in the eye. Unless they have very dark sunglasses on. Then my gaze falls to their lips as they speak. I can't help it - it's just another sign of my imperfection. I guess I just can't look "toward" the eyes. I need to actually see them.

I realize that looking directly at others doesn't come naturally, especially to some children. One of my daughters, in fact, doesn't do it. I keep trying to train her to look in my eyes when we have a conversation, but it clearly makes her uncomfortable. She still looks left or right. As she gets older, and gains confidence in herself, I think she'll be able to handle the direct gaze.

{And looking someone in the eyes is considered disrespectful in some cultures. So if this applies to you, you're exempt. We're cool.}

But if you're an American adult, I expect you to look me in the eyes. And if you're a man who can't look me in the eyes, the situation goes beyond annoying and straight to creepy.

Take the guy who came to the house to give me an estimate on a project, for example. He was very polite and professional in many other ways. Except for his gaze.

Unlike my daughter, he didn't look left or right. He looked down. But not all the way down to my feet. No, his gaze stopped at chest level.

To give him the benefit of the doubt, I think he probably does this with everyone, man or woman. He came across as a man who lacks self-confidence. Still, having this man looking at my chest when talking with me just made me feel icky. I so badly wanted to reach out, grab his chin, and physically lift up his head.

Wanted to. But didn't.

Maybe I should have demonstrated how it feels to be started at "there" by staring even further south when looking at him?

Nah, he probably would have interpreted it as an invitation.

{Shudder}

Judging a Book by Its Cover

It's been a busy week, with catching up on various items that were neglected the previous three weeks. I apologize to my loyal readers that blogging hasn't made it to the top of my priority list this week. But I'll share a thought that came to mind this morning...

During the past six weeks, people - strangers I meet during my daily activities - see my crutches and make comments or ask questions. It's friendly small talk, with the crutches providing a natural conversation starter. But what's interesting to me is that I've noticed that most of these conversations involve the other person making an assumption about my injury. Usually they assume I'm hurt in the same place and manner as they've had a past injury. They proceed tell me their stories, and we share a little moment together.

{In case you're curious, nobody ever assumes it's a hip injury. It's always a foot, ankle, or knee injury in their minds...}

It makes me wonder: when in my life do I make assumptions about other people? True, our brains are wired to make connections between new information we observe and old, stored information. Therefore, it's very natural that we humans draw conclusions about new people we meet based on our prior experiences. As a fellow human, I know I do this.

With small talk such as inquiring about someone's injury, assumptions are harmless.

But what about when it's about big things? Like assumptions about someone's character and values based on some visible characteristic of his or her appearance? Generally, I try to be fair and wait to make judgments about new people I meet. But if I'm honest with myself, I must admit that sometimes I don't give them the time. Sometimes I make snap decisions based on drawing a connection between a new person and other people who look or act similar to him/her that I've known. At times, this quick judgment actually works in the new acquaintance's favor; at other times, of course, it does not.

I've never professed to be perfect, and I don't expect the people around me to be, either. We're all on this earth to survive, grow, and experience inner transformation. The first twenty or so years of my life were mainly about the necessarily-selfish tasks of physical and mental survival and growth. The next twenty presented many opportunities for transformation through blissful and painful experiences, and everything in between. As I enter the third phase of life, I know I will continue to gain such experiences. But in addition, I feel acutely aware of an increased ability to internalize and learn from experiences, and to make myself a better person in order to enjoy my life and have satisfying mutual relationships with the people in it.

Oh yeah - and I can laugh at myself now when I screw up. Seems silly, but I appreciate that it's a very important life skill that I lacked those first twenty-plus years!

So, the next time I meet someone new, I'm going to be extra-conscious of how I form my impression of him or her. Because the story of a person is so much more complex than her or his cover.

Dry Run

My three-week stretch of having kids on Spring Break is coming to a close.

The practice of enrolling our children in the "right school for them," has, in our case, resulted in our children never attending the same single school: they're always spread out among two or three schools in any given year. This practice has yielded academic advantages for the kids, as they each receive the education that suits their learning style, needs, interests, etc. The drawback, of course, is that they rarely have the same days off! With some exceptions, like Winter Break and some federal holidays (Memorial Day & Labor Day come to mind), the rest (teacher in-service days, conference days, Spring Break, and we-couldn't-think-of-a-good-reason-so-we-made-one-up days) are different among the schools.

For Spring Break, my son had two weeks off, and my daughters had one week off immediately following his.

Some might be tempted to complain about having kids home on break for three consecutive weeks. {Who me? Okay, maybe I've succumbed to that temptation a couple times in the past... But not these days.} We made the choice to put them in different schools, and for good reasons other than when their breaks occur. And although having different breaks precludes us from going away as a family, it allows me to spend time with the children separately.

Over my son's break, we took a four-day trip to New York City. Another day, we drove to Georgetown, Kentucky, to tour the Toyota plant there. Both are trips that my daughters would not have appreciated. When we weren't traveling, and he wasn't hanging out with friends, we enjoyed our time together.

Over my daughters' break, we didn't go far, but we took a day trip to Columbus, Ohio, to visit COSI. We went shopping. We saw some friends we hadn't seen in a while. We enjoyed our girl time together.

In both cases, we spent so much concentrated time together, with few outside obligations and lots of fun activities, that we seem to have renewed our relationships. We're happy and relaxed, and that's so important for a family.

BUT - and there had to be a but somewhere - as fun as the last three weeks have been, I have not been oblivious to that critter, named To Do List, that lurks quietly in the background and grows a little more each day.

Instead of being frustrated by my reduced productivity these last weeks, I simply consider it a dry run for summertime. We'll have twelve weeks in which my time is not only my own: it's theirs, too. That means that some of my projects and priorities will simmer on the back burner until the end of August.

And that's okay. For those twelve weeks, my priorities will once again be the three little people we brought into this world many years ago and who will be with us for only a few more.

But in the meantime, come 8:00 a.m. Monday, I'd better get crackin'. April and May will fly by faster than I realize. Then my dry run will be but a fond memory - and I'd better be ready for the real thing, starting June 2!

Too Soon?

Is it too early to start thinking about my daughters' weddings?

You see, I've just discovered BonBonerie. Their cakes are truly works of art. AND they taste oh, so good. {Yes, I know they've been a Cincinnati staple for a long, long time, but for me they're new!}

Yes, this is a very scrumptious discovery, but I'm in no rush. Let's hope the girls don't discover their future spouses for another 15, 20 years. In the meantime, we'll need some more birthday cakes...

Over What?

I'm thinking about my post from yesterday, specifically about the long list of friends (myself included) who have suffered injuries over the last few months...

Are we overachievers?

 

Or overdoers?

It's interesting that we're all women.

Have you read the article that came out this week about the level and length of exercise that middle-age women need in order to maintain their health and weight? Even before the article was published, we knew intuitively that a few minutes of exercise here and there wouldn't help us maintain our fitness goals. And so maybe we push ourselves a little too hard. Yet one could argue that pushing yourself to achieve goals provides not only the physical rewards, but also psychological ones: It makes us feel good all over.

Until we get hurt. Then we feel bad.

So where's the happy medium? That's what I'm pondering now. Any thoughts?

Life Cycles

It's good to know that life's events come in cycles, because if I thought that the current phase we're in would last forever, I'd feel very despondent.

{Talking about personal life here... As for our current political environment, I'm not even going to go there, but there are plenty of political bloggers who are happy to oblige. Feel free to insert your own political opinions into this metaphor if you'd like.}

But, thankfully, experience has taught me that it won't last forever. When life is at its worst, that's the time to celebrate, for it means that things will surely improve. That's just the way cycles work.

Starting in the fall, and continuing into these wee early days of spring, many of my friends have sustained serious injuries. Not life-threatening, but serious enough to put their lives off-kilter. Take me, for example. Tomorrow will mark 4 weeks on crutches - I'm almost halfway done! {Note the sarcasm there.} Yet again I have sustained a stress fracture of the femoral neck. It's the same injury I had 1-1/2 years ago, but in the other hip. This time around, I completely broke down in despair in the first two days after receiving the diagnosis, but in the weeks following, I've actually coped better overall than the first time: I know that if I keep my weight off that leg, it will heal on its own.

My friend, however, wasn't so fortunate. Her stress fracture was not diagnosed until it fractured all the way through, requiring immediate surgery on Tuesday. Now she's got three screws in her leg. Another friend tore her calf muscle, requiring a boot and crutches for at least six weeks this winter. Another is still recovering from rotator cuff surgery in December. One broke her hand in a bloody fall on the ice last month. Yet another sees knee surgery in her near future - she's hoping the knee will hold up until the tennis league playoffs.

But we injured ones should thank our lucky stars. Because over the winter, we've known 3 friends and acquaintances who have been diagnosed with cancer. So sad - but even sadder that one of them is a child, and this is his second bout with the dreadful disease. A fourth is undergoing testing on the suspicion that his cancer from many years ago has returned. A neighbor lost her husband, without warning, due to a heart attack. In addition, the beloved pet dogs of two of our friends have passed away this winter from cancer. Though not human, they were very much a part of their families' lives and their passing has left a void.

In addition to the injuries and diseases we've encountered this winter, we've known many friends and neighbors who have been hit hard by the economic downturn - their jobs lost, their businesses struggling - and suddenly they're forced to reallocate resources and juggle priorities. The psychological malaise of such struggles is felt even more painfully than the physical discomfort from, say, a fractured hip.

To add insult to injury, we have had to endure these physical and economic downturns in the literal dark and cold of winter.

Yet the changing of seasons has always been a perfect analogy for life itself. For in all cycles, one phase gradually and surely gives way to the next. Just as our days become more light-filled, warmer, and colorful, so will our outlook on life. Injuries will heal. We have faith that those who struggle for their lives will find the inner strength and medical interventions that enable them to emerge victorious! New jobs will be found, money will be made. Babies will be born. Yes, even tournaments will be won.

This was a long, hard winter. In spring, we may still struggle, but perhaps with greater hope for the future. Nature reminds us that life never stays the same; the dreary gives way to the joyful. The grass becomes greener each day, emerging from dormancy to soften the ground we walk on, and the buds on the trees emit sweet fragrance to stimulate our winter-stifled olfactory sense, and the flowers bloom, revealing the palette of colors that brighten our landscape and our outlook.

We may have to make some adjustments to our path, but the light ahead of us will show us the way. Together, we will leave the dark behind.

Stored

My husband pointed out: something is wrong when we need a storage room to hold our storage containers. They're empty.

It happened like this: our family grew, and along with it grew the number of toys, supplies, and "stuff." We needed storage bins to keep all that stuff in its place.

Then we redid the laundry room and the pantry with permanent shelving and cabinetry. With the kids getting older, we've also gotten rid of the little-kid toys, with all their thousands of associated little pieces that needed to be sorted and stored. We just don't need all those plastic containers anymore.

As I got rid of the stuff inside them, I chucked all the containers in here. Now I can't walk in the utility room anymore!

Goodwill, here I come...

All Over Again

This is a love story. Not one of romantic love, but one of parental love.

Once upon a time, twelve years ago, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. I was in awe and I fell in love with him from the moment I laid eyes on him. He was perfect.

And then he became not-so-perfect-all-the-time because, well, he started to grow and develop his own personality and challenge his parents and fight with his sisters and express his own opinions and exercise his independence. My love for him has never been at risk, but that feeling of awe sometimes is.

Because he's not perfect, and neither am I, we misunderstand one another at times.

But this weekend, a wonderful thing happened. My son and I spent four days alone together in New York City. We saw the sights that he was interested in. I followed him in and out of stores that caught his eye. We ate burgers and pizza, his favorite items on any menu. We talked. We laughed.











What we did NOT do was worry about homework or chores or eating a well-balanced meal or any of our other everyday concerns. We just enjoyed each other's company, chatted about whatever came to mind, and hung out.

In the process, I regained that feeling of awe for him. Despite the really miserable, rainy weather, this kid did not even hint at a complaint. I realized that his lack of concern for having things preplanned and organized and just-so (a characteristic that I do not appreciate when it appears as lack of motivation to complete homework on time or to get his dirty laundry in the hamper) also enables him to enjoy life without having to rearrange it to suit a preconceived notion. He can just "be," taking in his surroundings and appreciating where he is in his life right now.

He looks a lot like me, but his personality, strengths, and interests are very different from my own. In our everyday world at home, the differences between us can cause disconnection. For both of us. But when I watched him - the real him - while on our trip, I could appreciate that his creativity, intuition, people skills, interest in anything novel, openness to new experiences, and adaptability to new situations are truly awesome characteristics. I really wouldn't want him to trade them for anything in the world. They set him apart from me and from others, and he will experience much success in his life, no matter what his report card says in 6th grade or how clean his room is.

Yes, I fell in love with my perfectly imperfect boy all over again last weekend. And I think he likes me, too.

Blankie

I just sent my daughters off to school - with tears welling up in one of the girls.

Since last evening, she's been in a near-constant melancholic and tearful state because I'm leaving today. I'll be gone only for a few days. {I'm taking her brother with me - you'd think she'd be happy!} And her twin and father will be here with her during that time. Yet she's overwhelmed by the fact that I'll be gone.

My other two are perfectly comfortable when I leave town - with a sibling, with their father, with friends. But this child acts devastated, like a piece of her is being forcibly removed and she's not sure she'll ever get it back. I am her security blanket. And when I go, I am taking her blankie away.

Of course, I always return. Her mind knows that. But her heart is in a wretched state of agony.

And it's hard for me to leave her when she's so deeply saddened, especially knowing I'm the cause of it. Yet I know I'm not doing anything wrong. Overall, she's not left out - I take trips with the whole family, and with the twins alone for some "girl time." But it's important to also go away with my husband (after all, without "us" there wouldn't be "them"). And with friends. And sometimes with their brother for some mother/son bonding time.

In the case of traveling with my son, it's especially essential now. He's entering a stage of his life in which peers are increasingly influential, and we - my husband and I - need to maintain a close relationship with him so he'll trust and listen to us when the waters he navigates become rough. My husband and son take an annual trip to the wilderness with the rest of the guys in our family, allowing them time away from friends, women, technology, and other distractions so they can have quality experiences together. Likewise, I look for opportunities to spend time with my son, away from certain distractions. We need this time to have fun together, without my nagging him about chores and homework, allowing spontaneous conversation to shed light on each other's perspective. This is not wrong.

But she feels like it is.

So now my excitement for leaving {just six more hours!} is tempered by her despair.

But maybe this is the time she'll learn to feel secure without her blankie.