It's fine. We're fine.

How am I?

Hmm, I have no idea what day we’re on. Or what day of the week it is. At the beginning of the quarantine, I figured it would last a long time, and I thought it would be better for my psyche not to count them. Because if you’re counting, you have expectations for how far you count. Right? I didn’t want to disappoint myself by having to go longer than an expected endpoint. I don’t know how long we’ve been home. It feels like a lifetime. But it’s fine. We’re all fine.

In the grand scheme of things, we’re the lucky ones. BestestHusband’s company was the epicenter of spread here in Boston. But he never had a fever, none of the classic symptoms. He found out after the fact that he was exposed to people who were confirmed to have Covid-19. He probably should have been contacted and told to self-quarantine, but never was. We looked into it, as my job has me entering assisted living facilities, often multiple in the same day. But they didn’t have enough tests to test him, especially as he wasn’t obviously ill. The kind nurse on the phone and my own bosses agreed that it would be wise for me to self-quarantine until the incubation period was over. It’s fine. The 14 day incubation period passed without any of us getting sick. I only missed one day of work. And then the assisted living facilities stopped letting us in to see patients. So my work has mostly dried up. But Brian’s still employed, so we can pay the bills. Neither of us has been laid off yet. We’re fine.

We’re luckier than a lot of our friends and neighbors. So many people working in healthcare have gotten sick from their patients. Friends, neighbors, they were all healthcare providers, and all survived. One didn’t work in healthcare, he recovered, too. The same can’t be said for a sweet older lady at my church. I really wish we could have had a nice memorial service for her at church. She was an inspiration and longtime volunteer. She deserves a really nice service. But it’s fine. I’m sure we’ll do one when society opens up again. Anyway, my home care agency was rationing hand sanitizer and face masks. We didn’t have any N95 masks for a while. But luckily, the owner of the local football team sent his plane over to China to get us some masks. And I think Israel was supposed to send us some, too. So now we have masks! It’s fine! But they’re not really considered trustworthy to fully protect us from Covid-19, so we wear a surgical mask over them when we work. We have to wear them for 3 visits before we can get a new one. And they count them out and distribute them weekly to match our caseload. Our infection control policies seem to change every week, every time we can actually get our hands on more personal protective equipment (PPE). It makes me wonder if the “safety recommendations” are actually what they think will keep us the most safe? Or if they’re just the best we can manage given the limited supply of PPE? But it’s fine. The equipment is coming just in time, as we’re getting more Covid-positive people discharged from the hospital into home care.  I don’t see that many patients right now, so I’m not really concerned about getting my family sick. I’m more concerned about actually picking up germs from patients and passing them to the other patients. Or coming in contact with an asymptomatic carrier and accidentally spreading the germs to my very vulnerable patients. But it’s fine. We’re fine.

We’re lucky because we have a free-standing house. And a yard. We can enter and exit without wondering how many other people have touched our doorknob and whether or not they wash their hands. Our friends living in the large condo building with the new baby don’t have that comfort. And we don’t have any family members that are emergency responders or ER employees. We don’t worry about what germs hitchhiked a ride home on uniforms or scrubs. And if we did, we just put in a new door in the basement that would allow someone to walk in a separate door, put clothes immediately in the laundry, and then sleep in the basement without worrying about infecting anyone else. We’re pretty isolated. And insulated. We’re fine. On sunny days, we can play in the yard or go outside in the neighborhood. We’re fortunate enough to live in a neighborhood with broad and quiet enough streets that people can be outside and still stay more than 6 feet away. So we’re very lucky. Too bad this spring has been very rainy and cool, generally 20 degrees below average. The sun is lovely when it’s out, very strong and warm. But the wind is generally strong and bitter. So it’s a bit of a disappointment going outside. The girls seem to think it’s some kind of torture and whine when I make them go out for recess. I can’t really blame them. My motivation to run is directly related to the weather outside. Mostly we just want to stay inside under the covers and look at screens. But we’re fine.

We’re lucky that we have good healthcare coverage. I struggle every winter with seasonal affect disorder (SAD) and have been trying different strategies to stay functional when the sun goes away and I struggle to stay warm in our drafty old house. I tried acupuncture this year instead of medications. It was working pretty well. Possibly because the house had new insulation and an HVAC system, and the winter wasn’t as bitterly cold as winters past. I made it through February break without needing medical intervention. And then ongoing dreariness took its toll. And then the quarantine started. It’s fine. I’m taking two medications together, both to help my mood and to cancel out each other’s undesirable side effects. It’s working pretty well. Especially considering my previous coping mechanisms – work, ability to go to the gym, going places by myself, getting together with friends – aren’t really viable options right now. I know I’m not alone. I don’t know a mom who’s not struggling right now. Most of us weren’t prepared to stay home 24/7 and homeschool without any breaks. I wonder what the eventual mental health fallout will be. I assume it will be massive. But I’m fine. We’re fine.

We’ve saved a lot of money on gas. Since I’m not driving around seeing so many patients and I’m not rushing kids to after-school activities, I don’t drive much. And gas got a lot cheaper! On top of it all, we had a windy spring storm that sent a branch from a neighbor’s tree careening off of our slate roof and directly onto our minivan. The sunroof was completely shattered, and we don’t have a functional garage. So we covered it with a tarp and took it to the collision shop the next day. We avoided water damage in the heavy storm, which was good. But the branch did a lot of damage to the van, and needed extensive repairs. So we’ve been without a vehicle for the last three weeks. They’re repairing and repainting so many of the body panels that we decided to just have the bumpers replaced, too. So for the price of our $950 deductible and an extra $1500 we’ll have a brand-new-looking seven year old van! BestestHusband believes in self-insuring whenever possible, so we didn’t have rental replacement coverage. But since we’re not allowed to go anywhere and I don’t have much work, it’s totally worked out in our favor. My neighbor has allowed me to borrow her vehicle one day per week, and I can do all of my shopping after seeing my one patient. We’ve gotten by just fine without the rental! Renting a minivan for three weeks would have cost as much as all of the car repairs. So I figure we’re getting a pretty good deal on it all, thanks to the timing. It’s fine. It will be nice to go for a drive again. I think we’ll get the van back on Friday. We’re fine.

I’ve had the chance to really expand my cooking skills. In January, we started a kitchen renovation, with significant plumbing and electrical projects. So our kitchen is totally gutted, and multiple parts of the house are work zones. Then everything shut down in March, including building projects. Our contractor was supposed to stop working per regulations. He has medically vulnerable people in his family, so he loaded them all up and took them to the Cape. I certainly can’t blame him for that. So my dining room will continue to be my kitchen for the foreseeable future. With the dogs underfoot constantly. And kids running through to get to the playroom. I’ve expanded what I can accomplish with an Instant Pot, toaster, and microwave. Did you know you can bake bread and brownies in an Instant Pot? They didn’t burn in there like they did on the grill. Now that it’s a little warmer, I’ve been experimenting with baking on the grill. Given the side-burner, I’ve made entire meals on the grill, including couscous and brownies! I haven’t quite figured out how to cook a frozen pizza without burning the bottom. But I’ll keep trying. I’ve resumed making sourdough. That works much better on the grill than the brownies did. The interplay of outside temperature, wind, rain, and inside grill temps is something I haven’t quite mastered yet. But I’ll keep trying. After making that tuna fish jello mold, my family is more appreciative of my usual cooking. And with no chance to get my kitchen built any time soon, I’ll have plenty of time to master cooking on the grill. It’s fine. Did you know that my kids can consume an entire loaf of bread and a gallon of milk in a day? I’m really tired of washing dishes in my basement laundry sink. We’re fine.

The kids are doing pretty well. The youngest never has a chance to get lonely, and always has playmates around. Her slightly older sister enjoys taking charge of their play, and the youngest is pretty willing to follow her specific directions. Most of the time. The oldest two have become closer, mostly in mutual frustration with their slightly-younger sister. When the older three are doing online school, the youngest gets her own tablet time. It’s all educational, so it’s fine. Right? We’re co-contagioning with our neighbor friends, so we get the four year olds together a few times a week as a little preschool co-op. So they can fight with each other instead of their own siblings. It’s a nice change of pace. Especially for the siblings. But we’re lucky. We have that yard outside, with the swing set and sand box and sidewalk chalk and all sorts of other toys. It’s a good place for all of the running and kicking and throwing and screaming they want to do inside. School is going well. Our urban school district hit the ground running with learning opportunities for the kids, and online learning has been going on from the beginning. They were much more organized than the ritzy suburban districts, and were dispensing laptops and food right away. We’ve been so proud of our teachers. It felt like September again at first, trying to figure out how to make all of the pieces fit. But it worked out fine. And then the state made final decisions about the school year and districts had to figure out how to take attendance and do school more like they did at school and now we have 31 separate zoom meetings to track in the week. Seriously. 31. That doesn’t even include gymnastics workouts. We have September all over again this week. The kids need constant help to try to get to all of their zoom meetings. But it’s fine. Their art teacher is amazing and has an art therapy background, which is really helpful right now. She’s been encouraging the kids to express their feelings in their artwork. I’ve been seeing a lot of tears in the girls’ drawings. At least the older girls. They say they’re fine. They don’t really want to try to arrange socially-distant interactions with friends or call them. They say that school at home is working out ok. They’re fine. They don’t need a lot of zoom chats with friends. They’d rather just get their work done. The insomnia from one of them isn’t that different from her night-owl tendencies. She’s been a lot harder to get out of bed in the mornings. But she still makes it to 9:30 meetings. She’s fine. We’re fine.

I mean, I know how really lucky we are. We’re not losing our jobs or our home. We have nice neighbors with standing orders to get us milk whenever they go to the store. We have our co-contagioning friends to share childcare and cooking burdens. And booze. I didn’t use to drink wine every night. I certainly never bought it by the box before all of this happened. But it’s fine, right? Isn’t everyone self-medicating a bit these days? What is an introvert with four talkative kids supposed to do when she’s cooped up at home 24/7 with no end in sight? With no kitchen and no car and down to one bathroom and a dog that now has to be carried outside (and what’s the final straw that will force us to pull the plug?) and an antagonistic child with a promising career as a lawyer and a spring that doesn’t want to seem to really come and no will power or initiation to do the smart helpful things like running instead of drinking and no ability to keep track of anything but the barest minimums… and constant, constant chaos?

It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine.

I’m sure that very soon our country will have the necessary resources to provide PPE to all of the healthcare providers that need it and enough tests to test everyone and enough understanding of Covid-19 to make rational choices about balancing everyone’s health and safety with the need for society to continue in some tolerable form. It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.

How are you?

Indecent Exposure

We had some friends over to watch the Superbowl on Sunday. They had no heat in their house, and we have no oven. They heated their house with our dinner in their oven, and came to enjoy it at our wonderfully warm house. Win-win. Our beloved Patriots weren't playing this year, so we couldn't lose. Please pass the nachos and chicken fingers. Anyone need another beer?

I'd like to stop talking about the halftime show. It was a huge, bright, loud production, as halftime shows are expected to be. The performers were fabulously talented, and put together a memorable show. 

I didn't like all of it. I'm ok with moving on and not talking about the show. 

But what I'm really having a hard time moving on from is the conversation surrounding me not liking the show. And people making assertions about my motives. No, no one has written an article saying, "Joy, you're a horrible person for not liking the show. And you could stand to lose a few pounds."
No, nothing like that. But they have said things like "You white women need to stop policing brown bodies." And, "you hypocrites are fine with everything else on tv, why are you getting upset about this?" And, "If you as a mother are criticizing another woman in front of your daughters, then you are the problem."

This is what I'm having a hard time moving on from. 
Because I have criticized some decisions made in the performance, I am a racist Puritan who wants to wipe out Latinx culture. Also, I'm fine with all sorts of other questionable stuff, so I need to stfu about this performance.

It's really hard to go in depth on my views in a Facebook post, so I'll write it up here, instead.
Michelle, thanks for posing a detailed question to me so I could attempt a detailed answer here. And it helps me get to the heart my discomfort.

"So, my question to folks who responded so strongly to this performance - if it truly is SOLELY about hypersexualization of our culture - where is the proportionate outrage about the cheerleader outfits and dances that are on those fields EVERY week, about men who very obviously grab and handle their junk all the freaking time in public and in performance, about Dancing with the Stars which is billed as "family" entertainment, about the toddler/child pageant industry, about child dance competitions, about the fact that we can only find "booty" shorts in the girls section of stores? I mean, the crotch grab was Michael Jackson's *thing* and no one bats an eye at that. Where was the proportionate outrage of the hypersexualization of our culture from white women about movies like Magic Mike? So is it just women who aren't allowed to be sexy?

Historically, both women's songs and performances have had overtly sexual themes or movements. I don't get why folks are suddenly shocked that their performances were sexy?"


I think all of the things you mentioned are inappropriate. You just haven't heard me talk about it yet. 

I'd like to chalk it up to the gradually boiling frog phenomenon. The hypersexualization of our culture has been steady, but gradual. The cheerleader outfits have been getting tinier in small increments over time. The routines have been getting sultrier over time. We don't watch them. 

The Dancing with the Stars costumes have been getting more scanty over the seasons. We stopped watching. I didn't announce it with a fanfare. We just stopped watching. I loved the artistry of the dancers, and was in awe of how good of teachers they were to get their partners dancing so well. But I thought the outfits were inappropriate and made the focus too much on the dancers' bodies, not their skills. 

We don't participate in the pageant industry. I believe it teaches girls the wrong things about their worth. One of my girls really wants to get into modeling. I've said no. I really don't want them to think about their appearance all the time. Plenty of mothers have guided their daughters successfully through those industries. I just don't want to take on that challenge. 

If my children did dance, and the costumes or dances were too sultry, I'd say no. If the coach of my daughter's gymnastic team included some sultry moves in a floor routine, I'd say no. I don't post fanfare things on Facebook protesting these things, I just don't participate. If the gymnastics or dance issue became a bit deal, sure you'd hear about it on Facebook. But it hasn't presented itself as something I've had a public conflict with yet.

We shop at places that have longer shorts. You can choose the inseam length you prefer. I don't let my girls wear booty shorts. I don't let them wear leggings without a tunic or skirt covering their backside. You don't hear me saying "cover your bum" multiple times a week, but my girls do. Not because I think their bums are shameful. But they're children, and I want them to dress like children. Men will be ogling my oldest's daughter's arse soon enough. And yes, plenty of moms are complaining about the ubiquity of booty shorts in children's sections. Don't get me started on string bikinis for grade schoolers. 

I do bat my eye at male performers and athletes grabbing their crotches. I think it's crude. Adam Levine? Yes, I thought his shirtlessness was unnecessary, too. 

I didn't go see Magic Mike. Not my thing. I saw the previews, knew what the movie was about, and chose not to spend my money there. Again, no fanfare. Just voting with my dollars. I also skipped the whole 50 Shades stuff. No thanks. 

Yes, I know that women with a great deal of talent have a tendency to hypersexualize their performances, and I think it's a shame. That's why I was disappointed about J Lo's performance. She is amazing, and age-defying, and gravity defying, and an icon. She is a successful and ground-breaking businesswoman, and deserves our respect for so many reasons. 

And that's why I thought her crude hypersexualized performance was a let-down. She doesn't need to be so sexual to get our attention. She has our attention. Without the carefully positioned camera catching the crotch shot. 

People keep asking why J Lo's pole dancing was so offensive when Cirque does it, too. Well, despite the attempts to normalize pole dancing by Cirque de Soleil and thousands of pole dancing classes marketed to upper middle class women, pole dancing is at heart a performance attempting to titillate its viewers. Yes, she did a movie about strippers, and got good at pole dancing. Like I said, she's a talented and hard-working performer. I'm sure she's very good at it. People keep insisting that pole dancing is empowering. I don't understand it, but I'll take their word for it. They're keeping their pole-dancing teachers in business, and I applaud the entrepreneurship happening there. If it makes things more fun in the bedroom, then good for them. But let's be honest. Pole dancing was always about sexual arousal. 

So after a lot of frustrated ruminating and a late-night conversation with BestestHusband, I think I've reduced the issue to its element. At least, for me. It all comes down to sex. 

Well, duh.  

But what I'm saying is that this is a small example in the big topic of sex and how I'm raising my girls to view sex and how I'm seeing just HOW MUCH IN CONFLICT I am with the rest of modern American culture. I thought I was pretty mainstream. Oh, now I know I'm not. 

My girls are rapidly approaching puberty. Their bodies are starting to change, and people will soon start to look at them as sexual beings because EVERYTHING about American culture is painting everyone in shades of sultriness. Mostly-naked women in advertisements. Booty shorts on tweens. Scanty dance costumes on little girls. "Come hither" looks in pageants. Sex in every adult tv show and movie. One degree at a time, the waters are being heated around our children, and they are being boiled into sexualized beings before they can physically or emotionally handle sex.

Again, duh. This is no surprise. 
But why aren't we complaining about it more?
Well... that's what I've been doing this week.
Should I go get a trumpet? 

My real conflict with the sex in culture is that everything I want to teach my girls about sex is contradicted in American culture. I think sex is an amazingly enjoyable thing to do in an intimate partnership, and it's a private, bond-building element of a relationship. I don't actually expect anyone outside of my religion to believe that it should stay within a marriage. But it's an idea people might also want to consider...

American culture is instead showing our girls that they should market their sexual selves to everyone, all the time. Sexualized behavior is what gets you attention, and can even make you famous. It's such a commonplace thing to do that it doesn't even really matter that much. It's just fun, and you can do whatever you want. OWN your sexuality! Reveal your true self! If it doesn't have sex, it's not really entertaining. 

I don't want cheap sexualization for my girls. I don't want it for anyone else's girls, either. 

When asked why I required a skirt over her leggings recently, I told my oldest, "Your body is slowly starting to look like a woman's body, and men like to look at women's bodies. Do you want people to notice your body? Or your great ideas?" "Oh, ok." She ran off to find an oversized sweatshirt to wear. The day might come where she'll prefer to be objectified instead. I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get there...

Do we want our daughters to be noticed for their asses? Or for the businesses and charities they start? For the great book plots they're dreaming up? The way they stand up for the quieter kids in their classes?

Yes, I want my daughters to eventually enjoy really great sex. But I want people to think more about their accomplishments and humanity than how great they'd be in bed. And with modern culture painting sensuality on top of everything, I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle. Yes, I know they're still young. But not for much longer. 

So J Lo, you're amazing. I kept pointing out to my girls during your performance how strong and talented you are. You deserve respect for everything you've accomplished in your career. You deserve every penny you earn, because you work really hard for it. It's no surprise that Latinx fans are enraged that "white women" like me aren't worshiping your performance. Because you truly are special. But your daughter is the same age as mine. And unlike me, you actually have the power to change the culture that she's growing up in.

The Secret Society of Christmas Magic Keepers

Today I told Kid #2 that Santa wasn't real.

She took it reasonably well. And she's certainly old enough to know the truth. She's 10. She's a very thoughtful and introspective 10 year old. She questions things and thinks deeply about things.
She's started asking a lot of questions about Jesus, and specific questions in response to things she hears in the Bible. It leads to a lot of interesting and fun conversations. But last week the conversation taught me that she's evaluating the truth of Jesus and the truth of Santa as equally important truths. 

Uh-oh.

So time to fess up.
I took her to Starbucks for a hot chocolate date. We found a table in the back, with one person working on a laptop nearby. But quiet, away from the hubbub.

"You're getting older, and you're becoming a very thoughtful person. I want you to always know you can ask us questions, and I want you to trust that we're going to tell you the truth. So I have to tell you the truth about something."

I told her that her dad and I were the magical gift givers known as Santa. 
"YOU gave us the boxes of sugary cereal and said we didn't have to share them?!?!"
"Yeah, wasn't that fun? I figured you wouldn't suspect me, because I'd make you share."

She thought through some of her other Santa presents and asked how we did it. I shared my secrets.
I told her that we kept up the Santa act because it was magical and fun. And we all need a little magic in our lives.
"Now that you know the truth, you are part of the Secret Society of Christmas Magic Keepers." (Please don't ruin this for your younger sisters! Or other kids on the bus!) 

We talked about how grownups are responsible for creating magic, and helping other grownups, too. Like the family we sponsored with gifts through a food pantry. The parent didn't have the money to be Santa, so we donated to help her create the Santa magic for her kids.

She expressed some sadness about the magic of Santa not being real. We talked about thinking instead about how great it is that grownups all over the world worked together to keep the magic going. She said she wanted to be a part of it.

Then she started thinking again. 
"What about that old guy who gave money so that the poor girl could get married?" 
"Saint Nicholas? He's absolutely real. He's a historical figure. But flying reindeer? That's made up." That made sense to her.

We talked about not blowing the Santa cover, and about dealing with punks on the bus who try to ruin Santa for younger kids. She has a plan for how she'll handle it. She's excited to keep it going for Kids 3 and 4.

But then I fessed up about the Tooth Fairy. And the Easter Bunny. And the Switch Witch.
That made her sad.

She's struggling right now with what she believes in. She said she's afraid that she'll stop believing in Jesus, too. I told her that I just turned her world upside down, and it's ok to feel unsure about everything. That she should keep asking questions whenever she had them.

The guy working on his laptop nearby? He was the store manager. When Kid #2 went to the bathroom, he leaned over and handed me two gift cards. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. It was really sweet. I have to admit that I teared up a little. Here, good luck!"

I thanked him and told him that I would be back tomorrow to use them. 
With Kid #1 who needed the same talk.

Someday Was This Weekend

The impossible happened.
I hoped it would happen Someday, but I didn't realize it would happen this year. It all happened this weekend. 
It was better than I imagined it could be.

I took a trip to Texas to meet my birth mom.

She didn't know I was coming. 
Her husband did. Her 3 daughters did. They planned the whole thing. They even offered to buy my ticket. Two of the daughters picked me up from the airport. With large pink signs and luminous grins, they waited at the bottom of the escalator for me. They showered me with hugs, flowers, and treats. And we took pictures. 

I have sisters.

We sat up way past midnight talking. The next morning was the big reveal. There were video cameras. And a few nerves. They were all at the house, and I knocked on the door. She was surprised when I walked in. We had chatted before on Facebook, sending messages and emails. We had Facetimed, with all of my family barging in past their bedtimes. She knew who I was. There were hugs. And tears. A lot of them. 

The family had another surprise in store, a big birthday party later in the day. So not only did I have the chance to meet her and her family, I had the chance to meet extended family and long-time friends. There were more hugs. And more tears. And more pictures. 

What do you do to get to know your family?
We talked a lot. And ate a lot. And laughed a lot. 
I learned that I share blood with a group of the nicest, most loving people you could ever hope to meet. They're extremely close. And hilarious. 
They're the kind of family you find in the happy ending of sappy movies. 
But this isn't a sappy movie.
This is my life. 
And I'm a bit in awe. And completely overwhelmed. In only the best of ways. 

I'm still floating a bit. A bit disoriented, actually. 
I was prepared for a lot. But I don't think I ever expected it would be so great. 

What They Will Remember?

I spend an odd amount of time thinking about the memories that I might be helping my children form.

We moved to this house in this neighborhood with the anticipation of forming certain memories:  the freedom of being able to walk to places with friends long before the freedom of driving; the open feel of the unfenced yards, with the invitation to cut through to play with friends; the wind in their clothes as they swing on the neighbor's swooping tree swing. Is this what they will remember? 
Will they remember the dazzling multihued sunsets, silhouetting the tower of St. Theresa's down the street? Will they hear a joyful peal of church bells and think, "Yay! A wedding!" Will they hear the strains of a bagpipe and mourn another police officer or fire fighter is being laid to rest? Are they imprinting the gracefully aging victorian homes with their stately trees and hydrangea-blossomed flower beds as image of "home"?

In my work with elders losing their memory, I know that these early memories will be the last ones they'll be allowed to keep. The smell of a word-burning fireplace, of bread out of the oven, of chicken soup on the stove - these could be the smells that comfort and soothe when words can't. 

Will they remember being humbled by the overwhelming size of the redwoods in California? Will they internalize the broad flat expanse of highways in Texas? Will they remember exultantly standing at the tops of mountains in New Hampshire? Or will the more mundane daily events of making beds, pouring cereal, and sitting down to dinner dominate their minds?

Will they remember that the Thanksgiving table can always stretch to accommodate a few more? That homemade food is love, and love is to be shared? Will they remember and ask themselves, "Is there a nicer way to say that?" At work and in community life, will they ask themselves, "What am I doing to make this situation better?"

Will they remember that I tell them, "On good days and on bad days, I always love you."? Will they remember that "There is nothing you can do that will make me stop loving you."? Will they remember and believe "There is no mistake too big for God to forgive."? Will they remember that "Nothing can separate you from the love of God."?

Will they remember that they are precious and loved? 

Many days I fear that they will mostly remember the bad stuff - my short temper, their sisters' tendencies toward squabbles, the boring chores and household demands. I guess I really don't have control over what their brains imprint and bring up 80 years from now. Can you affect the process by trying to make the good outweigh the bad? If you curate an environment of pleasant experience, can you inoculate the brain from storing the bad?

Excuse me while I go worry myself to sleep...

Whiteout

A while back, my Mum gave me a packet of documents. "Here's your adoption paperwork. They gave us the originals instead of the copies by mistake. I noticed the whiteout is flaking off. You can read your last name."

Mum and Dad were clearing a lot of stuff out of the house. We had a lot of life going on here. Moving, new jobs, another kid on the way... There was a lot going on. But I looked. And yes, there was the name. I put the papers away. There was a lot going on. I wasn't completely ready to do anything about it. It required energy. And emotional space. And I just didn't have any.

I had taken baby steps over the years to find my birth mom. I had a counseling session with an adoption specialist; this is a prerequisite for many match services and registries. I looked online to figure out which registries I might be on. It didn't seem very straightforward. And it wasn't free, either. It seemed like a big undertaking. It was scary. So it didn't go very far.

But the internet goes everywhere. With a name, a city, and some search engines, you can find out a lot. Add social media, and the path becomes much more clear. 

And finally, one day, I had the energy and need to take the leap. I sent out a letter. And the letter found its intended target. 

So what now? I'm not sure where it will go.

But I got to say thanks. My birth mother chose life. I'm grateful. My husband is grateful. My parents are grateful. My children would be, if they knew how common the other choice is. And I daresay my friends are happy with the decision she made. My patients, too... Choices like that have quite a ripple effect. The results are bigger than the decision-maker can ever know.

And the choice to put the original medical record, the one with the whiteout over my birth name, instead of the copy, into the packet of adoption paperwork? That choice has had a ripple effect, too.

Springtime

I stopped in a little flower shop on the way home from work today to buy a birthday gift for my Dearest Friend. When I asked her to babysit my girls for a few hours earlier in the week, it hadn't occurred to me that it was her birthday today. 

Dang.

But my short commute through the commercial square of the neighboring town offered an opportunity to visit a new store and shop locally. And, as many times as I've driven through Dedham Square, I haven't actually stopped in any of the businesses. I remedied that today.

I was chatting up the store owner as she wrapped up an adorable mini orchid (honestly, Dearest Friend, if she had two of those plants, we'd have matching plants right now...). The shop decor was quaint, and the plants were displayed on what looked like antique chests, dressers, and other lovely pieces of antique furniture. The small drawered piece immediately behind me caught my eye. 

I've recently been struck with a burning desire to overhaul the entryway of our house. So I've purchased a used trunk that doubles as a bench (to hold the jumble of bags previously dumped on the floor), and a new rug. I'm still in the market for a few rows of coathooks and a doormat, but I have some solid leads. The one thing I'm struggling to find is a small piece of furniture to put in a small space, that can hold mail and other small things that need easily-accessible public storage (spare keys? stamps?). But I saw a perfect candidate for the job, right behind me in that flower shop. I asked her where she found the furniture in her shop, and explained my burning need to decorate, now that Spring has solidly arrived, and I felt like I was awake again. "Yes, Spring. It's when we all come back to life." 

She said this so matter-of-factly. But she was so right. I immediately felt better thinking that other people have felt asleep, mentally comatose. The cognitive fog has weighed heavily on me the last chilly month. But now I do feel like I'm coming back to life. 

I've felt creative bursts of energy that have led me to buy fabric. To make pillows to go on the previously mentioned chest, as well as the used double glider that now sits on my porch. I have decorating vision for the first time in the almost 2 years we've owned our house. 

It feels so good to look past of the daily grind of chaos, grime, and neediness that make up my daily life. I vaguely remember feeling creative. Once upon a time, I made BestestHusband an ENTIRE SET of pajamas. That he still wears today. It seems like so long ago. Ok, it was our first year of marriage. But now I remember what it feels like. And it feels good. 

Is it a shift of hormones after weaning LittleFritter? The lifting of the winter blues? I don't know. But I'm so thankful for it. It gives me hope that my brain will someday contain more ideas not related to diapering, meals, laundry processing, and squabble mediation. Someday.

So the lady in the shop mentioned that the previous owner was an antique collector. She got everything from him. Thankfully, my local Texas expat friends have planned a trip to an antique mall next month. Armed with my measuring tape and their design skills, I'm sure I can find something to fill that spot in our entryway. But in the meantime, it's exciting to think about coming back to life even more. And I'm so overwhelmingly thankful for this feeling of hope. It's nice to be awake.