The Locket

We had a great visit recently from BestestHusband's cousin and her family. Her two teenaged sons were interested in seeing some New England schools, her husband wanted to see some of his cousins, and the whole family wanted to take in the sights that the opposite coast had to offer. 

They were great to get to know, and were amazing house guests. It was such a joy to have them. But Lynda brought one gift that is more special than the girls understand. 

MeToo's middle name came from her Great Grandmother. She missed meeting her by a few weeks. BestestHusband was unable to attend his grandmother's funeral because of a looming due date. So we honored her by giving her name to MeToo. Interestingly, they have the same initials. 

Great Grandma had a locket with her initials on it. Inside was a picture of the little girl she lost. 

We learned that the picture was taken a month before her death. She had just started walking. You can see that adorable "wobble toddle" stance in the picture. She wasn't even a year old yet. When they took the picture, they had no idea she would get sick and die just a few weeks later. 

Some people say that measles is "just a rash." If that's true, why did BestestHusband lose an aunt? If measles is "no big deal", why did this little girl die? The older sister, BestestHusband's aunt, was about 5 years old. She caught measles too, and wasn't allowed to attend her own sister's funeral. But thankfully she survived to pass the story down to the rest of us. 

There are people who say that the MMR vaccine (measles, mumps, and rubella) is dangerous. But our family has stories on both sides that say that the real danger is from the diseases it protects us from. I've heard people say "I've never heard of anyone dying from measles. The vaccine isn't that important." But I'm pretty sure Great Grandma and BestestHusband's surviving aunt would disagree. 

Thanks 2014, it's been nice to know ya!

Disclaimer:  Yes, this post will serve as our family Christmas card, a much-needed blog update, and the final blog post of the year. Yes, you can call it "lame", if you'd like. I prefer "efficient". And if you're a family member looking for our Christmas card and haven't read my blog before, check out the "Cast of Characters" page down to the right. I've given the girls all pseudonyms to ensure plausible deniability when they're older. But I'm sure you can figure it out.

2014 was a year of ups and downs, as they all tend to be. We worked. We played. We traveled a bit. But we are all healthy and together at the end of the year, so I call it an overall win. We truly do have much to be thankful for. As I've written before, we are rich. No, we don't have our dream house yet. No, we haven't won the lottery. But we have a comfortable snug home with heat that we can turn up in the winter. We have warm clothes to go play outside in. We have more food than we should probably eat. We have a high-quality and safe school to send our girls to. We have loving parents and siblings that live too far away. We have a loving family of close friends that live a bit nearer. We have friends and family scattered across the nation that pray for us, cheer us on, and bring smiles to our days. We are rich.

And the rest? Well, we're working on a little concept called "contentment".

The girls are just getting bigger and better every day:

HeyMama is 6. She loves to read, loves to do math, and says she wants to be a scientist when she grows up. And no, BestestHusband didn't tell her to say that. But he might be a bit proud... She started playing the piano, and is quite diligent about practicing. She gave a short concert of Christmas music at our friends' house on Christmas Day, and is anxious for lessons to start up again in the new year. She enjoys gymnastics more than ever, and can frequently be found hanging upside down or jumping from things. And she is the most perceptive, doting, and sweet big sister a baby sister could ever hope for. And she likes to talk. A lot. I'm still trying to find a way to bottle her energy. Or just find a mute button.

MeToo is 5. She loves to do whatever her older sister is doing. So she's into reading, math, and maybe being a scientist too. Or a unicorn trainer. Or a dance teacher. We might need to start dance lessons first... She is a child of wide-eyed wonder, finding magic in the most mundane of tasks. "Mama! Come look! I pooped a 7!" And she was right, it really did look like a 7. Other letters and shapes eventually followed. MeToo will interrupt dinner with, "Guess what! I'm having a dream inside my head RIGHT NOW!" She's full of fun ideas and whimsy. She's currently lobbying us to trade her to a neighboring family so she can have a brother.

LittleDebbie morphed into HurricaneDebbie, and is typically a Category 5. At 16 months old, she is already the strongest personality in the household, and that's really saying something... She has quickly learned to communicate her wishes, and this week has decided to do that via sentences:  "I need milk!", "I need Uppa!", "I need Daddy!" She has also learned quickly how to climb up to the top bunk, rock standing in the rocking chair, retrieve things from the middle of the dining room table, let herself out the door to outside, and undo an hour's worth of cleaning and organization in 2 minutes. According to BestestHusband, she is a living example of the Second Law of Thermodynamics. And she makes me want to drink. Good thing she's so dang charming and cute...

The dogs continue to add love, fur, and noise to our household. They have become skilled opportunists, seizing on the chance for a belly rub any time one of us sits or leans over to the floor. They even demand belly rubs from the girls. And you know what? It works. It's sweet to see them develop relationships with the girls, and see the girls take more responsibility in their care.

BestestHusband started a new job at a tech company downstairs from his previous job. What's a guy with a PhD in Chemical Engineering and a background in discovering oncology drugs doing working at a tech company? Something Very Different from what he did before. But he still has the same bike commute. (Some call being a one-car family being "cheap", again I like to call combining a commute and exercise as "efficient".) In his spare time he plays the role of SuperDad, stalks Boston real estate for our future house, tends a good-sized garden, makes out-of-this-world mexican sauces, and helps reign in the chaos that has become our household norm.

I'm still doing many of the same things as last year. I work per diem at local rehab hospitals a few days per week. I shepherd the girls to and from the bus stop. I try to keep up with a kamikaze toddler. I started running again this past year, mostly to improve my patience level. And I started baking sourdough bread. And at the end of the day, when the house has been destroyed by my kamikaze toddler and my patience has been destroyed by everyone else, I at least have something tasty to show for my time.

So if you're in the area, stop by for a slice of fresh bread and a glass of wine I'll be ready to pour. We have a guest bedroom, and plenty of mayhem to share. We are truly blessed by what we have, but are pretty much constantly exhausted by it. And we look forward to a new year of exhaustion, love, joy, tedium, exasperation, and blessings in 2015.

With love,
The Bundles Of Joy Family

Checking In

We're still here. We're actually all doing quite well. We're having a great summer, and we're quite busy. I'm not the type of person who likes to keep us running all day, so this busyness is a bit exhausting and disorienting to me. And it causes me to curl up in a ball and not blog. Or make phone calls. Or emails. But really, we're fine, I promise.

We had a great vacation to see BestestHusband's extended family. The girls had a blast with their cousins. And I had some quality time with my sister-in-law comparing notes and trying to navigate the world of being married to men from BestestHusband's family. (It's a pleasure and a conundrum, all at the same time.) And we ate a lot of good food. And drank a lot of beverages. And spent a lot of time on a lake. And it was grand.

Then we came home and I got a visit from an old college friend, and got to meet her two kids. There were 5 kids aged 5 and under in the house. It was pandemonium. And a cacophony. But fun. We even made a visit to the art museum, which was a fun adventure. I mean, where else should you take 5 young children? But my girls can't wait to go back. Well, maybe HeyMama can't wait. MeToo was upset that there was no toy room like the science museum. 

Then we took the older girls to Tanglewood. There's nothing more magical than listening to the Boston Symphony play music you grew up loving and playing, while sitting under the stars and drinking wine. Unless it's doing that while snuggling a cold bored 4 year old in your lap. (As an aside, when planning a fancy picnic, read all ingredients carefully. The "fancy lemon drink" I bought for the girls was a lemon shandy. I assumed it was like a lime ricky. Shandy, ricky, whatever. I did not learn until we opened them at the picnic that a shandy has alcohol in it. Trader Joe's did not do me any favors by featuring these bright yellow cans at the end of the aisle, away from the rest of the beer. Thanks a lot, TJ's.)

Then I hosted a few friends for an evening of facials while BestestHusband and the big girls watched the Lego Movie at our local park. Now the girls want to watch it again when our friends' housing association plays it again this week. I guess at least I'll get to watch it. With great skin.

Somewhere in all of that BestestHusband and I celebrated our 9th anniversary. One night in his hometown, we actually snuck out after kid bedtime, went to a bar on the waterfront, and enjoyed uninterrupted conversation while ordering cocktails that perplexed the bartender. (Unfortunately, it wasn't that difficult. Expectations for a great evening out change after 3 kids). We discussed the next year of our marriage. I'm greatly looking forward to all that it might hold. 

And then there's the daily grind. We go to the gym. We go to playgrounds. We go to the library. We meet up with friends. We wait for the baby to finish napping. We go to the farmer's market and have everyone ask to pet the dogs. And ask if all 3 girls are mine. And ask if we're trying for a boy next. (the answer's no!) And choose produce based on color. (We got purple carrots!) And then get cookie treats and face-painting.

And somehow the summer is racing by. Wow. I'm not sure how. There's so much we still need to do!!!

So forgive me if I've been a bit distant. My goal is to blog more often, even if the posts are shorter. 

See you soon!

Someday

I’ve always known that I was adopted. I was told at an early age, so early that I don’t remember not knowing it. And adoption was spoken of so positively and matter-of-factly that the knowledge was never something that bothered me. I thought of it occasionally throughout the years. I’d been told that my mother was 18 when she had me. I occasionally calculated how old my birth parents would be, and occasionally looked at people the same age, wondering if I would recognize them on the street. In my self-absorbed moments of teen angst, I wondered why someone would “just give me away”. But when rational thought returned, I realized that was just silly. I had a pretty fortunate life, and I knew that I was very-much loved. My senior year, I contemplated what it would be like to be pregnant and dealing with the decision my birth mother had faced. I gained a full appreciation for it in college when classmates spoke of abortions. I was not a statistic. I was not discarded. I truly was loved.

Over the years, I’ve always spoken of my adoption openly. When someone asked if I’d ever try to find my biological parents, my answer was always, “Yes, Someday.”

I was raised by two wonderful parents. They always told me that they would support me if I tried to locate my birth parents Someday. I was a good student. I loved music and learned to play the French Horn. I played handbells at church. I was active in my church youth group. I had great friends there and at school. They knew I was adopted, but didn’t think much of it, especially since I looked and sounded so much like my adoptive parents. We spoke occasionally of what it would be like to find my birth parents Someday. But my life was pretty fine, pretty complete. There was no reason to go looking for something I didn’t miss.

I got scholarships to go off to college. I left Houston for Boston, and eventually stayed here to work. When I decided I was ready to go back to Texas, go to grad school, meet my Prince Charming, and start my “real life”, I met my reason to come back to Boston. I finished school, married BestestHusband, and started my career as a Speech Language Pathologist . We traveled. We bought a house. We got dogs. Then we got pregnant. We have 3 girls and 2 dogs. If this isn’t “real life”, I’m not sure what is!

Finding my birth parents was always something I’d do Someday. I was always too busy doing something else. I was training for a race. Or working and commuting too much. Or doing too much at church. Or not sleeping enough. Or taking care of too many babies. Or something. There was plenty of time for Someday to happen.

And then a few months ago, friends who’ve always known I was adopted started asking the same question: “Have you ever thought of finding your birth mother?” My answer was still the same, “Yes, Someday.” Having LittleDebbie brought up the issue, as well. She looks like a combo of my BestestHusband and me. HeyMama looks very much like BestestHusband's aunt. But MeToo – she didn’t really look like either of us. BestestHusband’s family is extensive. Genes surface and resurface in that gene pool across generations and time zones. MeToo does not resemble anyone in that gene pool. She favors me. But she doesn’t really look like me. She must look like the people that I come from. But who do I come from? Who do I look like? I was discussing the matter with a friend who encouraged me to reconsider the notion of Someday. Her estranged father had died suddenly the week before. She had hoped to reconcile Someday. But that door closed suddenly before she had the chance. And it can’t be re-opened. Someday doesn’t always happen.

So my Someday is now. I’m filling out the paperwork. I’m working with a social worker to start the process. I’m beginning the journey to find my birth parents. Maybe they’re fine with the door being closed. Maybe they’ve always wanted to find me Someday, too. But I’ll never know until I try to find them.

What I Know About Pastors

A few weeks ago, I had the honor of joining my parents and their congregation to celebrate my Dad's retirement from the ministry. And then I was asked to say a few words. I can't say just a few. So this is the speech I gave:

Good afternoon. My name is Joy, and as you’ve all probably figured out, I’m Pastor’s daughter. I was quite nervous when I was first asked to be a speaker this afternoon. I’ve never given a speech like this before. How am I qualified to do this?

And then I realized that I’ve known this pastor for all of my life. And I spent the first 18 years of it living with him. So I’m here to share with you what I learned from growing up with him as my dad:

#1: Pastors are people too

Let me tell you a little secret about pastors. They like BBQ. They don’t like lima beans. They like steak. They don’t like salmon patties. They like country music. And camping. And listening to the Beach Boys on long road trips. They like watching football. They like playing golf. And going hunting. And woodworking. And having a nice green lawn when they live in a place that gets more rain than San Angelo. Ok, so maybe these are all specific to my dad. But that’s just it. Pastors are all people underneath the funny white tab collar. Pastors have wives. And kids. And parents. And siblings. And friends. And neighbors. They have many people outside of the congregation who are important to them and need them and love them.

They get sad. And angry. And happy. And embarrassed. And proud. And frustrated. And overjoyed. And tired. And emotionally drained. But you’ll find many people in a church who don’t see this side of the pastor.

They see someone on Sundays who can pray really well and knows his Bible. They see a guy who may sing a little off key and a little too loud in church. They don’t see the guy who might meet his daughter’s high-school date while still in his underwear and bathrobe. You know, I’m not sure there was another date after that incident… Perhaps that was all part of the plan… They don’t see the guy who mortifies his daughter by making fart and booger jokes at the dinner table. They don’t see the guy who led the Cotton-Eyed-Joe at his daughter’s wedding reception. With a glass of wine in his hand. He didn’t spill any wine, by the way. They don’t see they guy who plays “PawPaw Monster” with his grandkids and should probably get a chiropractic adjustment after every visit with them because he spends so much time roughhousing. I have this notion that it takes him at least a week to recover from a week-long visit to Boston. Maybe even two. Can anyone comment on this? They don’t see the guy who every day checks the weather of a city 2000 miles away so he can feel a little bit closer to his girls. When you hire a pastor, you’re hiring a person. They bring a lot of personal quirks to the job.

#2:  The job is bigger than its job description

The second thing I learned is that the job of being a pastor is much bigger than any job description could ever cover. I know other pastors’ kids. We compare notes. And despite having very different congregations all across the US, the job is pretty much the same. There are the basics, of course. Pastors write sermons. Pastors lead Bible studies. Pastors lead worship services. Pastors visit the sick. Pastors visit shut-ins. Pastors visit with anyone who has a reason to need visiting. And there is a very long list of reasons that people might need to be visited! Pastors lead new-member and confirmation classes. Pastors perform weddings. And baptisms. And funerals. Pastors attend Elders meetings. Pastors attend council meetings. Pastors attend a LOT of meetings.

Rare is the person who truly believes that pastors only work on Sundays. But most people don’t stop to think of the things that happen on the other days of the week. Most Elder and Council meetings occur when the pastor’s family is eating dinner. Or when the kids are being put to bed. While pre-marital counseling can happen during office hours, weddings usually happen on Saturdays, a day that is usually considered a pastor’s day off. While most baptisms happen on Sunday mornings, emergency baptisms can’t wait to be scheduled for Sundays. Funerals can’t wait, either. A crisis can happen in the congregation at any time. Crises don’t respect office hours, vacations, or even a pastor’s basic need for sleep. Pastors’ kids all know that a 3am phone call is rarely a wrong number. And it’s never good news.

And we kids all agreed that people expect a lot from pastors. Pastors should know anything related to the Bible, liturgy, religious publications, or anything “churchy” better than anyone else in the world. Well, except for other pastors… They should be more patient than anyone else. They should be more wise than anyone else. They should sing better. They should be more friendly. Church attendance should noticeably go up when they take the reins. And weekly offerings, too. Their wives should be nicer. And their children should be better-behaved.

Pastors get called upon to help with all types of counseling. Mediation. Budgeting. Behavior management of rebellious children. Feeding and clothing the homeless. And they sometimes help fill in for absent fathers. I recall overhearing a single mother and her teen daughter approach my dad to provide his opinion on whether or not the daughter should be allowed to get additional piercings. I think it was just for extra holes in her ears… The mother and daughter agreed that his opinion would have the final say on the matter. Dad, did you ever tell them about the different piercings I got after I moved out of the house? I’m not sure if that information would have helped settle the debate or not…

And at the very least, a pastor is expected to provide a top-notch mealtime prayer on demand at any house he’s dining at. Dad, does that ever get tiring?

The job is SO big that it even expands to include the rest of the pastor’s family. Some congregations are subtle, but some will outright ask for the pastor’s wife’s qualifications. Does she play an instrument? Organ or even guitar for leading Sunday School opening would be nice… Will she cook for the homebound? Teach Sunday School? Lead the LWML? Be a one-woman Altar Guild? Sew new paraments? Run the church office? Scrub the church toilets? You know, I wish I was making that last one up, but my friend’s father’s congregation was in for a rude awakening when her mom declined the job of church janitor.

Despite the fact that she’s emotionally and physically supporting her husband as he performs his ever-expanding  job and doing the family dinners and bedtimes while he’s at evening meetings, a pastor’s wife is often expected to have her own jobs within the church. Oh, it’s ok to have a job outside of the home, like being a teacher or a nurse or secretary. Modern life often requires 2 incomes. But it shouldn’t get in the way of her job as a pastor’s wife.

Children also have a role. Those well-behaved children should be active in the youth group. They should sing in the children’s choir. Or play an instrument at services, if they can’t sing. They should have perfect attendance at Sunday School. And babysit, when they’re old enough. Ok, so maybe this one kind of worked in my favor….

Needless to say, being a pastor is NOT a 9-5 job. You can’t leave it at the office when you go home at night. It permeates the discussions at the dinner table. It provides a robust, if tame, social life.  It dictates family vacations and family routines. It is not a job. It is a calling and a lifestyle.

#3:  It might just be the best job in the world

But as an adult, I’ve learned that it might just be the best job in the world. You can’t be outsourced to India. (Although you could be sent there as a missionary if you’d like…) You can’t be replaced by a robot. While your income could be affected by the economy, people will always need your services. You’re not trying to meet monthly goals to make a lot of money for some overpaid CEO. No, your CEO is God. And you’re in the business of saving souls.

In our church, we talk a lot about our “church family”. We are all brothers and sisters in Christ. But we also grow together to be an earthly family that takes care of one another. As an adult, I’ve experienced the joy that comes from the baptism of a child in this family. I’ve experienced the joy of witnessing a marriage of two people I care about. I’ve felt the grief of hugging a friend who has just lost a child.

A pastor is the leader of this large, sometimes dysfunctional, family. His job is to pray for his family, rejoice with his family, cry with his family. His job is to cheer for the church’s athletes. Get hugs from the Sunday school kids. Bless new marriages. Cradle tiny babies. Hold hands and give hugs in moments of sorrow. And sit at hospital bedsides, sharing prayers and words of encouragement. His job is to be involved in the lives of his congregations, for richer or poor, in sickness and health.

Being a pastor means that you never have to wonder if what you do matters. You shake hands and move hearts. You accompany people through their earthly lives as you guide them towards eternal life in Christ. And I can’t think of a more important job than that.

A few words of advice

As you look for a new pastor, I hope you’ll keep a few things in mind. I still have the podium here, so I’m going to dispense some unasked-for advice. I’m a mom. I’ve been working on honing this skill. Any pastor you consider is a person. He has strengths and challenges. These may or may not match up to your job description. Oh, and your job description is only a small fraction of the real job description. Don’t plan to interview the pastor’s wife unless you plan to pay her. If she wants to run the Sunday School program or lead handbells, she’ll let you know. Know that any pastor you hire is going to pray for you, each and every one of you, regularly. Know that your burdens weigh on his heart, and your joys brighten his day. Know that he needs your prayers as much as you need his. And whatever you do, don’t try to replace my Dad. He’s irreplaceable.

Thank you.

What's Your Excuse?

It's been a few weeks since I checked in. What's my excuse? Well, there was a birthday party for MeToo and a gravity-defying cake to construct… There was a holiday with visiting in-laws and a lot of food to prepare… And mostly, there was just life. Life feels a bit overwhelming right now. It's all good stuff, but I'm overwhelmed all the same. 

It was a Facebook post that stirred me to blog today. A childhood classmate of mine commented on something and I kind of spewed a lot of pent-up opinion back. I stepped up on my soapbox at perhaps an inappropriate time. Well Jennifer, I apologize that I used your status update to vent my annoyance at Maria Kang. I know, she's old news. And you were finding encouragement from her to do something you wanted to do. I completely undermined that. And I'm very sorry. 
So I'm going to make matters worse and more ridiculous by expounding on why her meme got under my skin this morning.

When her picture first started circulating on FB, my initial reaction was "Wow, she looks great! Good for her!" I had just given birth to LittleDebbie and did not look anything like she does. And then I started to think about the line "What's your excuse?" I tried to think of ways that those words could be uttered kindly. Perhaps as a tease? She doesn't know me well enough to tease me. Perhaps as a challenge? Perhaps as a taunt? A challenge can come in kinder terms, like "I can do it, and so can you!" I couldn't help but decide that it was a taunt to anyone who didn't look like her. But I brushed it off. I don't feel the need to look like her, so it didn't bother me. Thankfully, other people do see her commentary as encouragement, as can be found in the comments of her website and blog. She really is encouraging people to change for the better, and I commend her for that. She has travelled a long and rocky road of eating disorders and personal challenges to get to where she is today. I applaud her for what she's done for herself. After reading her blog and a few articles, I have a vague understanding of why she is what she is and why she says what she says.

So I'm going to take her seriously for a moment and answer her question.

I don't look like her because it's not my priority to look like her. 

Once upon a time, I looked something vaguely similar to her. I was a lightweight rower in college. And after college I ran and completed a marathon. I worked out 2-4 hours per day, 6 days per week. I was in my early 20's. Rowing was my sport and my social life. It was all-consuming. I was in great shape. I looked great. (I didn't appreciate it back then, but I just looked at a photo album recently and saw pictures of myself. I appreciate it now.) I ate well and exercised a lot and was very healthy. Other than a few part-time jobs and a double-major class load, it was all I needed to do in life. 

To look like that again, I would need to:

• Work out 2-3 hours per day, 6 days per week for 6 months to a year. After that, I would need to work out 1-2 hours per day, 5 days per week to maintain it. 
• I would need to reduce my current calorie intake significantly.
• Go back to physical therapy to rebalance my pelvic girdle to keep myself from getting injured from all of the exercise.
• Do a lot of intensive core exercises to cure my diastasis to keep myself from getting injured from all of the exercise.
• Stop nursing my baby and switch her to formula so that the reduced calorie intake and increased demands on my body didn't reduce her food supply. 
• Probably hire a babysitter a few hours per week to watch the kids when my husband has too much work to do to watch the kids while I go to the gym. 
• Get custom orthotics made to manage my shifting arches and reduce knee and back pain when I exercise. (I'm actually in the process of doing this now. Yikes! They're pricey!)

As a result:

• I would look awesome.
• I would be in great shape and have more energy.
• We'd have less money to spend on other things.
• My children would see much less of me.
• My husband would see much less of me.
• I'd have more difficulty keeping up with household demands and would likely want to hire a cleaning lady. Which would take more money away from other things. 
• I'd have less time to volunteer at church, HeyMama's school, and MeToo's preschool. 
• My life, and consequently my family's life, would revolve around my need to exercise.

I do know mothers who exercise this much. In general, it seems like exercise is both their job and their hobby. They do both well, and seem to enjoy them. I applaud them. They look great, they seem to have a great balance in their lives (well, at least as FB will lead me to believe), and all is well. I know moms who exercise this much to manage health issues, such as depression and neurologic disorders. Again, I think that this is wonderful. Exercise is a healthy thing, and if it can replace pills to manage medical problems, I think that's fantastic. It's a win-win, if you ask me. 

But I am not that person. It is not fun to me. It is not my job. It is not something that alleviates other miseries in my life. It is something I must do more of to be healthier. It is something I tolerate. It takes away time from other things I'd rather be doing. (Yet I try to do it anyway). I remember once reading an article in Runner's World about a man who never missed a day of running in 30 years. He was older, which made it even more impressive. And then it talked about how he had missed graduations and birthdays, and his children "understood" because that was just who he was. But even if his children "understood" that dad couldn't be there for their birthday party because he had a race to run, did it make them feel good that running was more important than they were? The article has haunted me ever since. It's good for parents to have hobbies, to have interests, to have passions. But the article made me sad for his children. Exercise is good. It should have a place in everyone's life. But it didn't seem to me that it should be of higher priority than one's own children. I vowed then that it never would be in mine.

That said, I agree with Maria Kang about what a sad epidemic obesity is. She speaks out loudly about the dangers of obesity. I've absolutely seen them while working in healthcare. Obesity can set off a cascade of nasty problems: diabetes with all of it's complications (neuropathy, blindness, strokes), heart disease, wounds that won't heal. It's ugly. And I agree with her that the level of obesity in children is horrifying and a bad omen for our society's future. But there's a difference between being in good cardiovascular shape and looking like her. Someone can be far from obese and actually in good cardiac shape without having her chiseled physique. They're not the enemy. And I suspect that most of the people hearing her message are actually in that group. 

I hate to sound like someone who went to a liberal university, but I did and I'm going to make this statement anyway:  Obesity is a class issue. That at least seems true in Boston. We're an overall very fit and healthy city. This is helped greatly by the fact that we're a young city with many students and professionals. We're also a city with a high level of income. We can afford to exercise. Ok, so some exercise is free, like walking or running. And yes, a lot of that happens in Boston. Living in a densely packed neighborhood with public transportation allows many opportunities to leave the car at home and head out on your feet. This low-level exercise adds up. But the exercise required to look like Maria costs time. A lot of time. This time is more precious when you're working multiple jobs and caring for multiple kids. Have you priced a jogging stroller lately? Or tried to get your young children out for a brisk walk without one? How exactly is that single mother barely scraping by going to get out for her intensive cardio workouts? Who's going to babysit for her to get it done? Maria is lucky to live in a world where she truly believes that everyone has the same resources and opportunities to do what she does. Some people truly do have good excuses not to exercise like she does. And I don't think it's a coincidence that the women with the best physiques in Boston seem to cluster in certain neighborhoods - the ones with more Starbucks and less gun violence.

I promise that I'll stop ranting soon, but I want to turn the tables on her original challenge for a moment. Her challenge assumes that everyone shares her goal of optimal fitness. I agree with those who say that her challenge only carries power if you actually do feel like you should be physically fit, and if not, it's not offensive. Perhaps my offense does come from some deep-seated guilt for not looking like I did at age 20 now that I'm 36. But I'll make some similar statements and see how they fly:

• I always feed my family home-cooked meals. Even when I work overtime. What's your excuse?
• We're a one income family, but we still manage to pay cash for our cars, save regularly for retirement, college, and a rainy day, and we give a percentage of income to charity. What's your excuse?
• We only eat organic and local, even in the winter. What's your excuse?
• I work, but still grind my own flour and bake my own bread. What's your excuse?
• My kids are 3 and 4, but they always clean their own rooms without help. What's your excuse?
• My baby's been sleeping through the night since he was 8 weeks old. Yours is 8 months old. What's your excuse?
• We both work, but still have our baby in cloth diapers and make our own baby food from scratch. What's your excuse?

These comparisons can be made about anything that anyone does, in a constant one-upmanship. Do some of them sound ridiculous to you? I can assure you that they don't seem ridiculous to the person saying (or hopefully just thinking) it. Even if they don't offend you, certainly you can agree that the sanctimonious tone is unhelpful?

So, Maria Kang, I applaud what you've overcome in your life. I applaud what you're trying to do for public health in America. I applaud you for turning a passion into a career and opportunity for celebrity. Bravo for encouraging so many people to work harder at becoming more fit. But please consider that not everyone has your life, and not everyone has your priorities. And please consider keeping your sanctimony to yourself.

Thanks,
A mom who will only prioritize being in decent shape, at least until her children need less of her time.


PS. Here's the gravity-defying cake. Thanks to BestestHusband's parents for managing dinner and childcare while I worked on it.

Yes, It's Been a Long Time

So it's been almost a month since I last posted here. Yeah, that's a long time, even for me. 
But it's been a busy month. I worked a lot of overtime. BestestHusband traveled. My parents visited for a week. We've been shopping for a larger family car. And bunk beds for big sisters. And I'm almost 7 months pregnant, and constantly either peeing or wanting to take a nap. Or occasionally napping. 

Ok, whine whine whine. Yes, I'm full of excuses. I'd prefer to call them "explanations."

But we're fine. All healthy and happy. Well, mostly happy. Except when someone's using the red and pink pens and someone else really wants them and then whining and crying ensues. Or when someone's using the red tricycle and someone else really wants it and then whining and crying ensues. (Note to self. It's time to buy a bicycle for a certain someone. Ok, maybe 2.)

The tragedy a month ago has caused a great deal of grief. I think many of us here in Boston are still grieving the attack on our city. But other griefs have come along to burden our hearts. Like a monster tornado that ripped a 17 mile gash through a city's suburbs, leveling a school and killing the children hiding inside it.

The world is full of grief. But also full of joy. Death happens. Then life happens. On the same day, we can hear about both funerals and births. We look at flags at half mast to honor those that died protecting our country, then spend an evening on the patio with family, reveling in the joys of our freedom. BestestHusband told the girls the other day that church would be the place of some of their greatest joys and greatest sorrows. Ours has been the site of our wedding and the baptisms of our 2 children, yet the funerals of friends and friends' children. But mostly a routine of nondescript weeks in-between. You need both grief and joy to fully appreciate the hum-drum-ness of daily life. The happy medium is actually pretty nice.

So I'll try to focus a bit more on little joys this week, the ones that add a bit of spice to the blessed hum-drum-ness. I certainly have spent enough time discussing the grief. 

Have a great week!

Ensuring Our Family's Health and Safety, Part 1

I need to start out by apologizing to Jessica Brown Wilson. 
Jessica's one of my old classmates who knew me when I had permed hair, braces, and overly-large glasses. She was always significantly more stylish than I was, to say the least. She grew up to be a mother of two beautiful daughters and a successful lawyer. And she's still significantly more stylish than I am.

I jumped down her throat via Facebook the other day for re-posting something. Something that pushed one of my buttons, villainizing the pharmaceutical industry. (That's a topic for another post someday). The re-post was about using diet choices to keep us healthy and fight cancer vs. relying on traditional cancer treatments. It described current cancer treatments as "barbaric". It's actually correct. BestestHusband spends the vast majority of his waking hours trying to figure out a way to improve upon our current cancer therapeutics. He has described the treatments as "barbaric" before. The re-post offhandedly referred to the providers of current cancer treatments as "parasites". That's the part I jumped down her throat about. I hear it too often. But I should have known better to think that she would aim that arrow herself.

So I apologize for publicly jumping down your throat, Jessica. You feel strongly about finding ways to provide for the health and safety of your family. I do too. I think most of us do. And it's just so hard these days.

There's a lot of information out there, but there's also a lot of bad information. I laughed when I heard a dietician friend say that she liked Dr. Oz for job security. She had a lifetime of work ahead of her, correcting the misinformation he spewed to her clients every afternoon on network television. A fellow mom told about her PhD boss being pressured by the Dr. Oz show to promote one diet over another, even when the data did NOT support it. There are hundreds of websites devoted to special diets to improve health. You could fill dozens of bookshelves with the writings of "authorities" on the topic. But how do you separate the help from the hype?

There's a lot of chatter on my online mommy forum about different things to look for and avoid.

• Look for a wide variety of fresh produce to provide a wide range of nutrients and antioxidants.
• Avoid imported produce, because the fuel used to ship them pollutes the environment, and they have inferior nutrients in them.
• Look for locally-grown produce to support local farmers.
• Avoid produce grown in soil containing lead. (ahem, that's most of New England, thanks to years of inhabitants painting their homes with lead paint)
• Avoid simple carbohydrates, they cause sugar spikes that leave you hungry shortly after you eat. 
• Look for whole grains instead, as they provide fiber and satiety.
• Avoid grains, because gluten is bad for you.
• Avoid grains, because our Neanderthal ancestors didn't eat them.
• Look for meats, because our Neanderthal ancestors thrived on them.
• Avoid red meats, because they're bad for your heart. 
• Look for low-fat dairy products for protein and calcium.
• Avoid low-fat dairy, it's full of other additives.
• Look for full-fat dairy, it promotes longer satiety.
• Avoid all dairy. We're the only species that drinks mild past infanthood.

Hmmm... So I asked my online mommy forum to give their resources (preferably evidence-based) to support the diets that they choose for their families. The people who were typically the most vocal about diet were oddly silent, and one even admitted to choosing her family's diet based on word-of-mouth (ie. fads and trends). The ones that did speak up all referred to the same websites:

• http://www.westonaprice.org
• http://www.hsph.harvard.edu/nutritionsource/

I haven't had the chance to really pore through the websites and read all of the research links. But at first glance, the info is similar to what my dietitian friends told me when I quizzed them on the topic:  eat a wide variety of foods. But my dietitians added another thing:  eat together as a family.

This last item calls to mind an article written by a former raw diet evangelist. She and her husband were local promoters of a raw diet as part of a healthy lifestyle. Until she noticed that her 15 month old twins were developmentally behind their peers. She immediately began providing cooked foods for her infants and other children. In addition to her infants (who started to toddle once they could actually ABSORB the nutrients from their food with their still-developing digestive systems) catching up developmentally, she observed another type of "catching up":  her family began eating meals together. And meals became an important social part of their day, bonding them together as a family. 

Where is this ramble going? Good question. Food and diet is such a complex thing. We don't yet fully understand everything about the foods we put in our body. There's little evidence that one food, ingested or avoided, will make-or-break our health. But there is a lot of evidence that a variety of foods, especially whole foods (single ingredient items, not PopTarts), combine well for our health. And importantly, sharing good food with friends and family can be good for our psychological and emotional health.

Stay tuned for Part 2, where I ramble about other reasons that providing for the health and safety of our families is difficult. 

The Day I Put On A Funny Hat And Look Like A Doofus

Let Holy Week begin! This past Sunday, Palm Sunday, began Holy Week, the week leading up to Easter. At our church, that was the day we joined together with our preschool and hosted an Easter Egg Hunt that we invited the community to. So I celebrated the occasion, now known as "The Day I Put On A Funny Hat And Looked Like A Doofus". Attendees were encouraged to wear Easter Bonnets, so the girls and I wore the biggest flowery hats we could manage. And the girls wanted to wear their Easter finest, so we were really all decked out.

We started out inside the church. Pastor gave a short talk, and the children sang two songs they'd been practicing. Then I introduced the plan for the hunt. And then the Easter Bunny arrived. He led us down the street to the Comm Ave Mall, a large grassy area that's part of the Emerald Necklace. Our egg hiders scattered them out pretty well. We had areas designated for different ages so that the big kids didn't plow down the toddlers. It actually worked out pretty well. Everyone got tons of eggs, which they exchanged for tons of prizes, and then they gorged themselves on sugar.

It was pretty spectacular to see our church family step up and volunteer for the event, and things just kinda happened when they needed to. For the most part.

BestestHusband took some spectacular pictures of adorable children outside on a sunny day. But you know I don't like to post pictures of the girls (must allow for some plausible deniability someday)

and, I'd like to protect the future plausibility of my friends' children, as well. So instead, you're stuck with generic shots of kids outside. And me in a giant pink hat. Enjoy!

I'm giving instructions about the hunt. And making a kinda scary face.

Still talking. Now looking really scary.

Here I am yelling. Like the snow in the background? Good thing we didn't hide white eggs.

Now I'm yelling and pointing. Geez, could I manage to take one flattering picture? 

Lots of happy hunters finding eggs in the receding snow.

The bigger kids covered a lot of ground, and covered it quickly.

We'll ignore the topics of why I manage to look like such a doofus, and why on earth there's still snow on the ground the week before Easter. The Texan in me finds that to be horrifically wrong. But God apparently approved of our hunt, because He gave us 50 degree weather to hunt eggs in. I'll just focus on that part and give thanks.

Lucky Dogs

We hosted one of BestestHusband's co-workers and her family for dinner tonight, and boy, was it a great night. 

BestestHusband attempted a Julia Childs recipe for boeuf bourguinon. Not only did he attempt it, he succeeded. It was fantastic. And I didn't cook a bit of it.

The visiting family brought their 4 year old and 14 month old girls. Our girls were over-the-moon excited about having a playmate. And they really did have a fantastic time together. They played very well, especially considering MeToo didn't get much of a nap. But the shrieking and giggling was loud and non-stop. I consider that a success, as far as 4 year old playdates go.

The girls sat at the little table, and the grownups got to chat at the big table. We really like the co-worker and her husband, and it really was nice to sit and catch up. And when the kids needed supervision in the girls' room, we all relocated to the rug, and continued the chat. Peepee accidents, wine glasses, toddlers, dogs, nudists, and toys are all part of the fun when you get families together. Normal hospitality flies out the windows when a group of little girls gets together, and apologies become unnecessary.

Our guests brought a salted caramel apple pie for dessert, with ice cream, and cookies for the girls. Heavenly. And I didn't cook a bit of it.

Our dogs served as doggie ambassadors to a dog-nervous 4 year old. They were on their best, most charming behavior. And the visiting 4 year old did very well too, actually petting and kissing them at the end of the night.

We changed 3 out of the 4 girls into jammies, and read a group bedtime story before parting ways. It really was a win-win for us all. It was a novel story for our guest, and a quicker way of getting our overly-amped girls closer to bedtime. It was perfect.

And our lucky dogs? They got to clear off the plates of two under-appreciative preschoolers. The dogs got their own plates of boeuf bourguinon. There was a lot of wine in that sauce. Should be interesting...

I hope your weekend is full of small pleasures, and I hope you get to be a lucky dog, too.

The Holiday Letter I Never Sent

Epiphany Joy to you and your family!

The holiday season is drawing to a close, and BestestHusband is taking down the Christmas tree as we speak. We hope that yours, like ours, has been full of family, friends, quivering hopeful anticipation (“Look, there’s another gift under the tree!”), and celebration. We’ve all eaten too many goodies, enjoyed family traditions, and spent much-needed time with people that we care about.

The 12^th day of Christmas, while now associated with “12 drummers drumming” actually kicks off the traditional celebration of Epiphany, when we celebrate the Magi, or Wise Men, visiting the Christ child. Many think there were 3 wise men, although the Bible never gives them a number. But we do know that they came from very far away, searching for their new king.

The story of the Magi in the book of Matthew is one that describes a “leap of faith”. They saw a star that was supposed to foretell the birth of a great king. They followed that star until they found him. What a leap of faith! They had no confirmation that the king was really there. There was nobody on Facebook to “like” the prophecy of the star. How were they sure that this was THE star at THE right time? The travel itinerary was a bit uncertain. “Follow a star.” They had no confirmed flights, no travel insurance in case of sandstorm. The travel was dangerous. No state troopers were around to keep bandits off the road. There was no AAA to call in case a camel broke a leg. There were tricky politics involved. Herod wanted to use them as spies in order to assassinate the newborn king. Yet they followed that star until they found him, and even though they found him in humble circumstances, they worshiped him as king, and lavished him with exotic gifts.

As we look forward to 2013, it’s likely that we too will face many decisions requiring a leap of faith. This will be the year that HeyMama starts school, and in Boston, that involves a lottery process, or perhaps even the beginning of private school. Where HeyMama goes to school will affect where MeToo goes to preschool. That will affect where and when Joy works, and could hasten career changes. This could affect if we stay where we live, or look for greener yards elsewhere. The stock market could impact BestestHusband’s job, and whether or not we can afford greener yards elsewhere. There is much that is uncertain. But thanks to Christmas, there is much that we can count on. We place our faith in a God that loves us enough to send his Son to us in human form to save us from our sinful nature. The daily events and conditions of our lives will change, but our faith can rest on the unwavering love of Christ. And with that in mind, we can take our leaps of faith, with a calm confidence in our future.

We pray that your 2013 is full of peace, love, and joy. We pray that your leaps of faith this year are as richly rewarded as the Magi’s were.

With love,

BestestHusband, Joy, HeyMama, and MeToo

Kolaches in Boston

It's quite difficult to find kolaches in Boston. I looked online. All I could find were people talking about how difficult they were to find here. So sometimes, one must take matters into one's own hands.

Growing up in Texas, kolaches were a big deal. Grandma made them for special occasions. And there were some bakeries here and there that we'd stop at to get some. It was high praise for a bakery if my dad declared, "those are some gooooood kolaches!"

So, while recently flipping through the Homesick Texan cookbook, I stumbled on a recipe for kolaches. They looked just like I'd remembered. So I had to try making them myself. 

While I remember them being made with prune filling, I opted to buy premade cans of apricot and raspberry. I wasn't so sure about mixing preschoolers with prunes...

And here's the result.

I used bread flour, as I'd somehow run out of all-purpose flour, so they ended up being huge! They were at least twice as wide as I remembered them. But they were good. They're more doughy than sweet, although the filling is quite sweet. They're best when fresh, so I distributed them among friends to avoid eating 12 tablespoons of butter in 2 days. But I'll be making them again soon. 

We're still trying to figure out what our family traditions will be around the holidays. So far, they consist of getting together with friends at Thanksgiving and me working the day after Thanksgiving while BestestHusband and the girls start to decorate for Christmas. But I feel like kolaches should be one of our traditions. It's a part of Texas German-Czech heritage that is so easily lost living in Boston. And a memory I want my girls to have. 

And now that I can make them, I feel like I have a certain mom cred. Hard to explain, but... Growing up, there were always a few ladies at the church who would bring things to potluck dinners and their food would disappear first. Mrs. Smith was known for her chicken'n'dumplins, Mrs. Jones was known for her sausage, Mrs. Brown would make tamales, etc. You wanted to get in line early to make sure you actually got some. I've always wanted to have The Thing that I could make. It's like church-lady street cred. And I feel like maybe I have it now. Maybe...

The Hat

We took a trip to the playground this morning to let the girls get some sun, burn off some steam, and prep for a trip to a chaotic pre-Thanksgiving grocery store. They played on the playground for a while, then decided to play in the baseball field. They ended up repeatedly rolling down a hill.

MeToo ended up covered in leaves. They clung to her knit hat and somehow made their way down the back of her coat. She was unhappy about that. She yanked off the hat and handed it to me to fix.

I picked the leaves off of the hat and held it in my hands. It was made of basic off-white yarn, probably acrylic. It was simple in design, but quite warm. My grandmother had made that hat. She made it when HeyMama was very tiny, and the hat was comically large. She made it before she forgot how to knit. But now she's gone. And MeToo has grown up to fit into the hat perfectly.

I'm thankful for family members that make things. I like to think that Grandma knitted and purled love into that hat. I can see it in her hands, with the rings she always wore. I can see her knitting it in her favorite chair. Her love cradles MeToo's little ears and holds in her wispy blonde hair. MeToo won't remember my Grandma, she was a tiny baby when they last saw each other.  And HeyMama will only remember the pictures and the stories that "Grandma Rose", the reason for HeyMama's middle name, typed up of her childhood adventures. But I can show them the hat she made for them - tangible proof that someone loved them. 

I used to think that intentions mattered more than actions. But now I know that's not true. Actions can produce evidence of love that endures long after the gift-maker is gone. I'm blessed to have a home that is full of things made by loved ones. We have quilts, furniture, scrap books, and other odds and ends. I can touch the objects and feel the love that went into them. And for that I am thankful. 

The Hat

The Future of Elder Care

As I've mentioned before, I have the privilege of working with the elderly. It's not the most glamorous group to work with, but I generally find it rewarding. I learn a lot. Unlike school, I can acquire wisdom, not just knowledge. Good stuff. I've met the people I want to grow up to be like. Sure, God willing, we'll all get to the age of 80. But not all of us will do it equally well. 

I came to the realization at work yesterday that I'm worried about the future of caring for the elderly. I think we have a growing problem that isn't being discussed yet in our field. And I blame it on airplanes.

Stay with me here for the explanation. I worked with 4 different patients yesterday (only 4, it was a short day, and one required a lengthy evaluation). They were all in their 80's. They all lived in their own homes. But only with the assistance of family. 

One was married, but had health problems that require a significant amount of assistance from her husband. He's thankfully healthy enough to provide the care. If he gets ill, they have adult children and grandchildren in the area to help. One of those granddaughters was there at lunch when I visited her. If it weren't for the family members, the lady would need to be in a nursing home.

One patient was never married. He lived a simple life in a menial job. He was retired and doing fine until his health problems began. He'll be fine when he goes home, even if he has lingering cognitive problems. His nephew lives next door. His niece lives one town over. They already were helping him. In fact, his nephew visited at the hospital today. But without his family, I would recommend discharging him to a nursing home.

Two patients had lost their spouses, and were now a widow/widower. They have varying health problems that require ongoing care when they go home. They both have very involved adult children who will help care for them at home, and are already very involved in their hospital care. Without the family members, they would be discharged to nursing homes.

Without local family, all of these patients would end up in nursing homes. They are not people of means. They might have a few resources, but the money would dry up in a year or two, with the taxpayer then picking up their nursing home tabs. You and me. People need nursing homes, and we need to help pay for them. This is a fact. But more people will need these nursing homes in the future.

Our generation is one that has grown up with reasonably affordable air travel. It's no big deal to pick up and move a few time zones away from family. We can always fly home at the holidays. Many of us have moved to cities and settled down among strangers, far away from family and friends. Right now, we're young and relatively self-sufficient. We don't need someone to check in on us and make sure we've had at least one square meal and our daily assortment of medications. But the day will come in the future when we will depend on the help from others for our survival. And if our habit of moving far from family continues, who will come check on us? It's frequently the case that having one supportive family member will make the difference between leaving the hospital to go home vs. leaving the hospital to move into a nursing home. If families keep moving away from each other and more people age alone, we will run out of nursing homes. 

The older I get, the more I see the wisdom in having large extended families settled in the same area. We definitely suffer from not having grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins in the area. And I'm sure that the older we get, the more we will suffer. 

Not a Good Playmate

I currently work per diem for a rehab hospital that primarily treats adults, but does have one pediatric floor. So once in a blue moon, I get floated down to work with pedi patients.

The staffing coordinator/scheduler commented one day that pedi specifically requested a therapist that "knows how to play". She responded, "Joy knows how to play, she's got 2 kids!". When I worked on the floor that day, I realized that I felt a bit out of my element. My job was to play? And not multitask keeping the child entertained and happy while I managed other elements of the household?" I found it challenging.

There's a push from some parenting "experts"to play through everything. Playful Parenting encourages parents to approach all behavior and discipline issues through play. Play through all of your daily routines. Play through any conflict that comes along. You don't need discipline when you have play.

I have a really hard time with this. Play is important for children. Play is how they learn many things. But play is not everything. Play is most effective when it's not structured by adults. And discipline is different from play. It is necessary to help kids learn limits. I will not joke with my girls when they disobey me.

Am I really a bad mom because I don't play all the time? Certainly there's plenty I can offer without being their constant playmates. For Pete's sake, I had them so close together so they'd always have a friend to turn to. I do things they can't do for each other. I teach. I comfort. I help. I hug, tickle, hold, rock, boost, and carry. I cook, clean, clothe, and provide the elements they need in their days for action and inaction. And yes, sometimes, I do play.

At the end of the day, I don't want to be their best playmate. I want to be the foundation they build on, the walls that keep them safe, and the pillow they can fall back on. Sometimes that requires not being their best friend, and sometimes that takes too much work to have a lot of free time (and energy) to play.

So I will continue with my current approach to parenting. I will not play or trick my kids into cooperation. As my girls can recite, "I use my words to teach you and keep you safe." That is my job. I pay their preschool teachers to play with them all day. They do a better job of it, anyway.