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!