I am adjusting to impending change. I feel the change calling, and I've tried and tried to resist it, but I know better, and I'm beginning to yield. At least be open.
I am considering enrolling my three children in public school next year. There. I said it. This is a decision fraught with anguish and emotion, and long-time homeschoolers will understand just what I mean.
I have been shepherding my children's education for eleven years now. I have lived and breathed their academic progress and interest. I have loved schooling them. They love being homeschooled, but I think it's time for a change. For many reasons, most of which I won't address in this forum, but the biggest reason is that I've tried to always discover God's will for my children, and His approval in my efforts to educate them and raise them.
I have been researching schools non-stop for the past week. We do not live in a great school district. There are low-expectations and a lack of hope. The positive side would be that my children could walk to their various schools (they would be in three separate schools, but each within a mile of our home), and they would see kids from church. The negative side would be the lower academic challenge they would have and the bombardment of really down-and-out kids around them. It would not be an inspiring atmosphere. They do offer advanced classes, which my kids would be in, and some AP courses. And, if that is our only choice, then I believe I have done a good job as a mother teaching them personal standards. I believe they would be at the top of their classes, and would pick good friends, and make the most of what opportunities would be available to them.
Lyndsay is my main concern. She will start high school next year, and she has definite plans for college. I want her to be challenged and inspired. She is a self-motivated, bright girl and will rise to the occasion. Another school in the next town is a tempting option. It is a Blue-Ribbon School in CA and has a high API index and many AP classes are offered. It also has a well-respected theater and arts program (which due to lack of funding has been cut from many schools). My husband is a graduate of this particular school and though it is a little drive from home, it isn't too far, and it is still within our Stake boundaries. And Lyns would still get to see her church friends in early morning seminary each day. But then, what to do with the boys? You see, we could potentially have 5 kids in 5 different schools next year. And we only have one car, that seats 5 people, so you can see the dilemma here. Especially if hubby is working a new job...(which we pray he will be).
So, the third option, and the one I'm most heavily leaning towards, is to see if we can get a boundary exception for the same school district that my husband's two children attend (a sibling allowance). Their mother lives in a very wealthy area in a top-notch school district, which also still falls within our Stake boundaries. We got his kids into that district because of her address, even though they are with us half of the time. I've been very impressed with their school and the programs they offer. I've researched the middle school and the high school in that district, and am blown away. The high school has a 99% college enrollment rate, and an impressive list of college prep and AP courses. The school is ranked 95th in the nation. I think the education would be challenging and rigorous for my kids, and I think the atmosphere would be inspiring and hopeful. There are clubs and groups and activities galore.
It is farther away, but three days a week we are driving there anyway with Caitlin and Sean. The middle and high schools are combined on one campus, so then we would only have two schools to worry about, instead of five. FIVE!! They wouldn't be going to school with kids that lived close to them (playdates, etc), but hopefully they'll have so much homework they won't have time for friends during the week anyway. :) A big concern is that these are kids that come from wealthy families, even celebrity families, and I don't want my kids to feel like they are the bottom of the heap economically in the school, or to feel pressure to keep up with their peers materially. I hope I have raised them better than that. There is the reality that public schools are not free, and there would be expenses that would be difficult or burdensome to us. But their academic opportunities outweigh that, right? And I can think positively, that maybe we won't be at the bottom of the heap for too much longer, right? And if we can get them into the district then that should be our first concern, and then other factors will work themselves out, right? (a second car for our whole family to fit in, a good job opportunity for Adam, enough money to allow them some fun opportunities with the school--field trips, etc?)
It's a lot to take in. There are so many unknowns right now. Things could be very different for us in the near future. All I know for sure is what is right now. If we could even get them in. I have so much on my mind! I want to make the best decision for them, to do what's best for them, to put them where they need to be. I have sacrificed much of my time to educate them here at home, when my friends have had time to pursue their own interests. I have laid a solid foundation, I believe, and it may be time for different experiences for them, as well as for me. I'm excited to see what's next.
*updated 3/17/08: Well, I've heard back from both of the "other" schools and they have absolutely no boundary exceptions now. One school is already 500 students over capacity, and the other one...the one that the other two kids attend...does not allow boundary exceptions for siblings. Only for parents who work in the area. Period. No exceptions. Sorry. So, back to the drawing board. There is a well-respected magnet school some people in our ward have recommended, but it's a 30 minute drive each way. We may just have to enroll the kids in our local schools and stay very involved! I know they'll make the best of whatever the situation may be.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
The Clincher
Embarrassing moment #3:
Do you know how big a 32" television screen is? We'll get back to that.
This time the year is 1995. My husband and I have taken a trip from Arizona, where we live, to New Jersey, where we're both from, along with our new baby girl to meet our families for the first time. My husband's family is in the process of moving to AZ to be closer to us, but only his mother is there so far. She is house-sitting for us, and has given us strict instructions to take lots of pictures and video of her hubby and home, because she's lonely already.
We split the time we're visiting between my family and his. But now, we're staying with his dad, the three of us comfortably set up in the guest bedroom. It's early morning and the baby is still sleeping. I leave to take a shower. My husband decides to do some videotaping of the house and backyard for his mom. I walk back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and stop at the foot of the bed. He is standing at the window, taping the view of the backyard. I drop my towel to begin dressing.
This is my fatal flaw, people. Right at this very moment.
At that very second, and with me completely unaware, my husband whips around with the camera and zooms in on one particular part of my anatomy and begins catcalling. ha. ha. ha.
"Give me the camera!" I squeal, as I lunge at him still naked. He laughs. "You can't put that on there! Good grief!"
I switched the camera to 'VCR' mode and rewound the footage. Yo baby. Not cool. "Tape over it, and quickly!"
Okay, safe. Whew. Scold the husband, get a good laugh at my expense, and proceed with the taping...and dressing...separately.
Fast forward to back at home in Arizona: "Hi, Mom! We missed you too! Thanks for watching our house! Yes, lots of footage. Let's watch." We all sit down on the couch together and pop the tape into the VCR, my husband, me, and my mother-in-law. Good times.
Ah, yes, there's dad. Waving. Oh, and there's the garden. Yes, the shed! Look how green the yard is! The deck! Love that deck. Jenna's naked crotch. The livingroom. Oh, the piano! ....
I froze. Dear God, please say she blinked. Amen.
A quick glance to my husband, who is also frozen. Maybe she blinked. And then...
"Wait, did I just see what I thought I saw?"
How come you've answered every other prayer???
Yep, that's right, folks. Apparently, there was a little overlap of the tape when it was switched from 'VCR' mode back to 'record' mode. My mother-in-law saw the fullness of my femininity right there on the TV screen in my livingroom. 32" of it, to be exact. More of it than I've seen, and this was before Brazilians became trendy, lemme tell ya.
The only thing worse was her getting on the phone to share the "funny thing" with the rest of the family. The only thing worse than that was the next family get-together.
Ha. Ha. You're all a bunch of comedians.
Never trust your nakedness within 1 mile of your husband with a videocamera. Never! And now you know it all!
Do you know how big a 32" television screen is? We'll get back to that.
This time the year is 1995. My husband and I have taken a trip from Arizona, where we live, to New Jersey, where we're both from, along with our new baby girl to meet our families for the first time. My husband's family is in the process of moving to AZ to be closer to us, but only his mother is there so far. She is house-sitting for us, and has given us strict instructions to take lots of pictures and video of her hubby and home, because she's lonely already.
We split the time we're visiting between my family and his. But now, we're staying with his dad, the three of us comfortably set up in the guest bedroom. It's early morning and the baby is still sleeping. I leave to take a shower. My husband decides to do some videotaping of the house and backyard for his mom. I walk back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and stop at the foot of the bed. He is standing at the window, taping the view of the backyard. I drop my towel to begin dressing.
This is my fatal flaw, people. Right at this very moment.
At that very second, and with me completely unaware, my husband whips around with the camera and zooms in on one particular part of my anatomy and begins catcalling. ha. ha. ha.
"Give me the camera!" I squeal, as I lunge at him still naked. He laughs. "You can't put that on there! Good grief!"
I switched the camera to 'VCR' mode and rewound the footage. Yo baby. Not cool. "Tape over it, and quickly!"
Okay, safe. Whew. Scold the husband, get a good laugh at my expense, and proceed with the taping...and dressing...separately.
Fast forward to back at home in Arizona: "Hi, Mom! We missed you too! Thanks for watching our house! Yes, lots of footage. Let's watch." We all sit down on the couch together and pop the tape into the VCR, my husband, me, and my mother-in-law. Good times.
Ah, yes, there's dad. Waving. Oh, and there's the garden. Yes, the shed! Look how green the yard is! The deck! Love that deck. Jenna's naked crotch. The livingroom. Oh, the piano! ....
I froze. Dear God, please say she blinked. Amen.
A quick glance to my husband, who is also frozen. Maybe she blinked. And then...
"Wait, did I just see what I thought I saw?"
How come you've answered every other prayer???
Yep, that's right, folks. Apparently, there was a little overlap of the tape when it was switched from 'VCR' mode back to 'record' mode. My mother-in-law saw the fullness of my femininity right there on the TV screen in my livingroom. 32" of it, to be exact. More of it than I've seen, and this was before Brazilians became trendy, lemme tell ya.
The only thing worse was her getting on the phone to share the "funny thing" with the rest of the family. The only thing worse than that was the next family get-together.
Ha. Ha. You're all a bunch of comedians.
Never trust your nakedness within 1 mile of your husband with a videocamera. Never! And now you know it all!
Sunday, March 9, 2008
The Slide of Humiliation
Well, I'm glad you've all enjoyed installment #1 in my Most Embarrassing Trilogy. I'm keeping my slam-dunk most embarrassing moment for the last in the series, but today's is pretty scarring as well.
Did you know I've never gone down a water slide? Never. But there was this one time I tried...
It was 1985. I was 12 years old, with budding breasts and a hot pink Catalina swimsuit. Long brown hair, parted in the middle, cascaded down my back, and I strutted around like I was somebody at our community private pool, Woodbine Swim Club. I was in this stage of trying on the still-too-big shoes of womanhood and noticing the attention that came my way. It was then that I learned to suck in my stomach...people....guys...were watching.
Anyway, I wasn't much of a natural swimmer. I didn't even learn to swim until the 5th grade when our class had a week of private swim lessons as a field trip. I was very self-conscious, but I learned to fake it pretty well. But truly comfortable in the water I was not. So, prancing around Woodbine with my friends Marnie and Lisa was more about prancing around, and not so much about actually swimming.
One day, Lisa said, "Hey, let's go down the water slide!" I tried to get out of it with things like, "Nah, I don't want to get my hair wet." and "You go, and I'll take your picture." But she was persistent. It looked like the other kids going down were having fun, and they all came up alive, but it just seemed so fast and out-of-control. Two things I am not.
Finally, I gave in and we started walking towards the slide. I hadn't even been confident enough to take the actual swim test to allow entrance to the "big pool". I was wearing one of Lisa's green swim bands around my ankle. I was a fraud, about to be exposed. My nerves turned into chatter.
"Boy, it sure looks high."
"Nah, it isn't."
"Sure looks steep."
"Not that steep."
"Sure seems dangerous."
"It's just a small slide."
"I've never done this before. Ever."
"What? You'll be fine. C'mon, it's fun!"
She went first. No problem, down she went. I wanted to bolt and vomit. But up the ladder I climbed.
And then down the ladder.
And then up the ladder.
And then down the ladder.
A line of children was forming behind me. So, up the ladder I went, and as I looked down at the slide from that vantage point, I could see how slippery it looked. And seriously? It was straight down. I would die. And then I heard through a megaphone across the pool:
"Hey, YOU, on the slide! You're holding everything up. Go down the slide already!"
The evil lifeguard. Laughing. Everyone in the pool was now staring at me. Waiting. Suddenly I could feel my face glowing more brightly than my hot pink Catalina tank suit. I swung my legs over the top and sat down. I looked down, and it looked so far. I tried and tried to will myself to just do it. It would all be over soon. But I froze. I just couldn't do it, even with the kids complaining behind me, "Let's GO! C'mon! Hurry up!"
I panicked. I started to cry. There goes womanhood, right out the window. I looked at the lifeguard with my teary eyes and yelled across the pool, "I can't!" He huffed and puffed as he climbed down from his post and tromped over to the slide. He cleared the line, he climbed up, he helped me back down the ladder, and I booked it double time to the bathroom.
I tried to compose myself. Pull it together. A little 6 year old approached me and said, "Why wouldn't you just go down the slide?" Humiliating. I would need bigger breasts and a cuter swimsuit before I could ever show my face there again. It would have to be a big enough transformation that nobody would ever remember or recognize me. It took a few seasons.
But to this day, I have never gotten over the trauma of the water slide. I've always gracefully avoided it. But two summers ago, I was bobbing my pregnant belly in a friend's pool with the kids, just weeks before I delivered Conor, and I broke free and told my kids that story. My kids who have no fears, thank goodness. Who brag about the three-story water slide they just went down in Phoenix. Who are looking at the little dinky one across the pool and thinking, "Our Mom? The Mom who doesn't let us shy away from anything? Who never lets us give into our fears about anything at all???"
Now they knew where that mother-love comes from. I never want them to be as crippled as I have been. And they said, "Well, do it now!" And they all start chanting, "Mo-om! Mo-om! Mo-om!"
Yeah right. Like the first time I go down a water slide is gonna be when I can barely walk without waddling. Can you imagine that? Huge pregnant woman barrelling out of control on her virgin voyage down a water slide? Nice try, kids. I loves ya.
But gentle readers, this might be the year.
Did you know I've never gone down a water slide? Never. But there was this one time I tried...
It was 1985. I was 12 years old, with budding breasts and a hot pink Catalina swimsuit. Long brown hair, parted in the middle, cascaded down my back, and I strutted around like I was somebody at our community private pool, Woodbine Swim Club. I was in this stage of trying on the still-too-big shoes of womanhood and noticing the attention that came my way. It was then that I learned to suck in my stomach...people....guys...were watching.
Anyway, I wasn't much of a natural swimmer. I didn't even learn to swim until the 5th grade when our class had a week of private swim lessons as a field trip. I was very self-conscious, but I learned to fake it pretty well. But truly comfortable in the water I was not. So, prancing around Woodbine with my friends Marnie and Lisa was more about prancing around, and not so much about actually swimming.
One day, Lisa said, "Hey, let's go down the water slide!" I tried to get out of it with things like, "Nah, I don't want to get my hair wet." and "You go, and I'll take your picture." But she was persistent. It looked like the other kids going down were having fun, and they all came up alive, but it just seemed so fast and out-of-control. Two things I am not.
Finally, I gave in and we started walking towards the slide. I hadn't even been confident enough to take the actual swim test to allow entrance to the "big pool". I was wearing one of Lisa's green swim bands around my ankle. I was a fraud, about to be exposed. My nerves turned into chatter.
"Boy, it sure looks high."
"Nah, it isn't."
"Sure looks steep."
"Not that steep."
"Sure seems dangerous."
"It's just a small slide."
"I've never done this before. Ever."
"What? You'll be fine. C'mon, it's fun!"
She went first. No problem, down she went. I wanted to bolt and vomit. But up the ladder I climbed.
And then down the ladder.
And then up the ladder.
And then down the ladder.
A line of children was forming behind me. So, up the ladder I went, and as I looked down at the slide from that vantage point, I could see how slippery it looked. And seriously? It was straight down. I would die. And then I heard through a megaphone across the pool:
"Hey, YOU, on the slide! You're holding everything up. Go down the slide already!"
The evil lifeguard. Laughing. Everyone in the pool was now staring at me. Waiting. Suddenly I could feel my face glowing more brightly than my hot pink Catalina tank suit. I swung my legs over the top and sat down. I looked down, and it looked so far. I tried and tried to will myself to just do it. It would all be over soon. But I froze. I just couldn't do it, even with the kids complaining behind me, "Let's GO! C'mon! Hurry up!"
I panicked. I started to cry. There goes womanhood, right out the window. I looked at the lifeguard with my teary eyes and yelled across the pool, "I can't!" He huffed and puffed as he climbed down from his post and tromped over to the slide. He cleared the line, he climbed up, he helped me back down the ladder, and I booked it double time to the bathroom.
I tried to compose myself. Pull it together. A little 6 year old approached me and said, "Why wouldn't you just go down the slide?" Humiliating. I would need bigger breasts and a cuter swimsuit before I could ever show my face there again. It would have to be a big enough transformation that nobody would ever remember or recognize me. It took a few seasons.
But to this day, I have never gotten over the trauma of the water slide. I've always gracefully avoided it. But two summers ago, I was bobbing my pregnant belly in a friend's pool with the kids, just weeks before I delivered Conor, and I broke free and told my kids that story. My kids who have no fears, thank goodness. Who brag about the three-story water slide they just went down in Phoenix. Who are looking at the little dinky one across the pool and thinking, "Our Mom? The Mom who doesn't let us shy away from anything? Who never lets us give into our fears about anything at all???"
Now they knew where that mother-love comes from. I never want them to be as crippled as I have been. And they said, "Well, do it now!" And they all start chanting, "Mo-om! Mo-om! Mo-om!"
Yeah right. Like the first time I go down a water slide is gonna be when I can barely walk without waddling. Can you imagine that? Huge pregnant woman barrelling out of control on her virgin voyage down a water slide? Nice try, kids. I loves ya.
But gentle readers, this might be the year.
Friday, March 7, 2008
The Humbling Hike
This week on American Idol, the contestant interviews were all about their most embarrassing moments. I love embarrassing moments--mine and everyone else's--and it started me thinking of some gems from my past. Since I don't mind if people laugh at my expense, I thought I'd do a small series of "Most Embarrassing's". For your entertainment.
I've been obsessed with fitness and exercise since I was a teen. I got aerobics tapes for Christmas. I went to the weight room after school to lift with the football players; I walked in the evenings with my mom; I spent Saturday's with Jane Fonda and Callan Pinkney. I was super proud of my washboard abs and tight glutes.
It's not as easy to work out obsessively once you start having children.
So, now I go in obsessive spurts. Very dedicated for a month, then Cinnabon. A really whole-hearted week, then Ben and Jerry's. Today's the day, then McDonald's. Overall, I've kept my weight and fitness in check, but I'm certainly not as consistent as I should be, or would like to be.
I like to hike. At least, that's what I tell myself. It involves cute hiking shoes, short shorts, and a ponytail, all things that I can pull off fairly well. So, when I reconnected (while living in UT)with an old friend from my childhood ward (in NJ), and she said, "Wanna go hiking?" I said, "Yeah! I love to hike!"
Now, this friend had no children. I had three. She was almost 5 years younger than I, too. But, growing up I really, really, really wanted to marry her brother, so in case the word got back to him that I was still hot stuff, I had to make a good impression. I couldn't be some washed-up old maid. You understand.
She had some friends come along, and we met early on Saturday morning. I had on my very cute Merrell hiking shoes, some special wicking socks (see, experienced hiker!), my very cute short hiking shorts, a fanny pack equipped with water bottles and some nuts and dried fruit, and a fitted yellow tee. Oh, and the youthful ponytail. Full makeup, of course. (What if she told her brother she'd seen me?) Just for some energy, I ate a banana and some strawberry yogurt.
We gabbed on the drive to the canyon. Little Cottonwood? Big Cottonwood? I don't know. One of those, I think. It was beautiful. And it was so weird to be here with this friend who'd known me since I was a little girl, and here she was all grown up! We had a great time updating the other on our lives since. We'd both been through divorces, now I'd met this amazing guy on the internet...how's your brother?
We parked the car at the bottom of the trailhead and I could see right away that this was no hike for pansies. All I could see ahead of me was uphill. No good. Early morning and uphill aren't my favorite combination. But, I'm not saying a word! Yeah! Let's go! Let's sing! Well, okay, we didn't sing. But I was cheery.
Until about after 2 minutes and 16 seconds. And then I was having problems. Waves of nausea were swelling within me. My palms were sweating. Yeah! This is great! I may be in my 30's, but look at me keep up with you guys! Except then, I wasn't keeping up so well, and the distance between us grew.
And I was gonna yak. I knew it. How does one gracefully bow out to vomit?
Well, first I sat down and cracked a joke about needing to rest. But they noticed. "You don't look so good." So much for looking the part of being in shape. Two minutes in and I'm discovered as a fraud.
"You know what?" I said, nonchalantly. "You girls go on ahead. I'll just rest here for a minute and catch my breath and then I'll jog on up the trail and rejoin you."
"Oh, we'll wait for you," they offered.
"No, really," I begged, feeling the sourness rising in my esophagus. "Please go. I'll be there in just a minute."
"You sure?"
"So sure."
As they reluctantly turned to go, I waited till they had rounded the bend, and then I bolted for some greenery to fertilize. Up it all came. My stomach was wrenching, my whole body was shaking and sweating. Puking my guts out into the foliage just off the trail. Like a strawberry-banana smoothie. I'll never forget it. As the muscles in my stomach finally relax, I plop down on a tree stump and rinse off my mouth with one of my trusty water bottles. My hair is a mess now, my face beet red, and I smell like Jamba Juice.
When up the road comes a jogger. She, too has on her cute hiking shoes. And some stylish hiking shorts. Even a ponytail.
And only one leg.
Don't I feel like a clod. I can't make it up the first hill without throwing up, and here this amputee comes sprinting by me with her artificial limb.
"Hey!" she says, smiling. "You okay?"
"Oh, yeah," I feigned. "Just taking my time and enjoying the trail." Okay, so that was just a lie.
Fortunately, I see the humor in it, and now that my stomach is emptied I feel a burst of energy. I hike it double-time up the trail and catch up to my friends. Who can't believe I threw up. And who love that a one-legged woman is kicking my butt up the canyon.
We made it to the top. We had a great time together. As it turns out, her brother is married...with kids.
Please don't tell him anyway. Let's just keep this one to ourselves. How embarrassing.
I've been obsessed with fitness and exercise since I was a teen. I got aerobics tapes for Christmas. I went to the weight room after school to lift with the football players; I walked in the evenings with my mom; I spent Saturday's with Jane Fonda and Callan Pinkney. I was super proud of my washboard abs and tight glutes.
It's not as easy to work out obsessively once you start having children.
So, now I go in obsessive spurts. Very dedicated for a month, then Cinnabon. A really whole-hearted week, then Ben and Jerry's. Today's the day, then McDonald's. Overall, I've kept my weight and fitness in check, but I'm certainly not as consistent as I should be, or would like to be.
I like to hike. At least, that's what I tell myself. It involves cute hiking shoes, short shorts, and a ponytail, all things that I can pull off fairly well. So, when I reconnected (while living in UT)with an old friend from my childhood ward (in NJ), and she said, "Wanna go hiking?" I said, "Yeah! I love to hike!"
Now, this friend had no children. I had three. She was almost 5 years younger than I, too. But, growing up I really, really, really wanted to marry her brother, so in case the word got back to him that I was still hot stuff, I had to make a good impression. I couldn't be some washed-up old maid. You understand.
She had some friends come along, and we met early on Saturday morning. I had on my very cute Merrell hiking shoes, some special wicking socks (see, experienced hiker!), my very cute short hiking shorts, a fanny pack equipped with water bottles and some nuts and dried fruit, and a fitted yellow tee. Oh, and the youthful ponytail. Full makeup, of course. (What if she told her brother she'd seen me?) Just for some energy, I ate a banana and some strawberry yogurt.
We gabbed on the drive to the canyon. Little Cottonwood? Big Cottonwood? I don't know. One of those, I think. It was beautiful. And it was so weird to be here with this friend who'd known me since I was a little girl, and here she was all grown up! We had a great time updating the other on our lives since. We'd both been through divorces, now I'd met this amazing guy on the internet...how's your brother?
We parked the car at the bottom of the trailhead and I could see right away that this was no hike for pansies. All I could see ahead of me was uphill. No good. Early morning and uphill aren't my favorite combination. But, I'm not saying a word! Yeah! Let's go! Let's sing! Well, okay, we didn't sing. But I was cheery.
Until about after 2 minutes and 16 seconds. And then I was having problems. Waves of nausea were swelling within me. My palms were sweating. Yeah! This is great! I may be in my 30's, but look at me keep up with you guys! Except then, I wasn't keeping up so well, and the distance between us grew.
And I was gonna yak. I knew it. How does one gracefully bow out to vomit?
Well, first I sat down and cracked a joke about needing to rest. But they noticed. "You don't look so good." So much for looking the part of being in shape. Two minutes in and I'm discovered as a fraud.
"You know what?" I said, nonchalantly. "You girls go on ahead. I'll just rest here for a minute and catch my breath and then I'll jog on up the trail and rejoin you."
"Oh, we'll wait for you," they offered.
"No, really," I begged, feeling the sourness rising in my esophagus. "Please go. I'll be there in just a minute."
"You sure?"
"So sure."
As they reluctantly turned to go, I waited till they had rounded the bend, and then I bolted for some greenery to fertilize. Up it all came. My stomach was wrenching, my whole body was shaking and sweating. Puking my guts out into the foliage just off the trail. Like a strawberry-banana smoothie. I'll never forget it. As the muscles in my stomach finally relax, I plop down on a tree stump and rinse off my mouth with one of my trusty water bottles. My hair is a mess now, my face beet red, and I smell like Jamba Juice.
When up the road comes a jogger. She, too has on her cute hiking shoes. And some stylish hiking shorts. Even a ponytail.
And only one leg.
Don't I feel like a clod. I can't make it up the first hill without throwing up, and here this amputee comes sprinting by me with her artificial limb.
"Hey!" she says, smiling. "You okay?"
"Oh, yeah," I feigned. "Just taking my time and enjoying the trail." Okay, so that was just a lie.
Fortunately, I see the humor in it, and now that my stomach is emptied I feel a burst of energy. I hike it double-time up the trail and catch up to my friends. Who can't believe I threw up. And who love that a one-legged woman is kicking my butt up the canyon.
We made it to the top. We had a great time together. As it turns out, her brother is married...with kids.
Please don't tell him anyway. Let's just keep this one to ourselves. How embarrassing.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Whining about Weaning
I can't give it up.
I'm in total denial. I think as long as I'm breastfeeding my baby then he still IS a baby, and I'm still a new mom (and that explains why I haven't lost more weight), and that I'm perpetually young...and needed.
I don't know what it is about this one. I've nursed all of my babies. I love breastfeeding. My services as a milk cow get longer and longer with each child. My goal is always, "at least a year and then we'll see", but here Conor is now 18 months and I get so sad when I think about quitting, even though now it's hardly at all.
I have a hard time with most any transition. I'm so sentimental and nostalgic by nature, and I get so emotionally involved in all things mother-y.
He likes it.
I like it.
My husband likes it, and tells me to just stop when I'm ready. (that doesn't help, although it's sweet of him. He's very supportive and says just go until he's 2, but I don't think I want to go that long...I just can't figure out how to stop!)
What if this is my last baby?
What if this is the very last time I look down and see my baby nestled up against me drinking up life?
What if my breasts are done working? Then they'll be those breasts that used to work.
Great, now I'm crying.
See what I mean?
Part of me feels ready.
I've certainly put in my time.
It would be nice to not have huge breasts anymore. (shut up, I'd rather be smaller and cute.)
It would be nice to move on to the next stage....maybe not. Aaaargh!
Conor eats table food. He drinks cow's milk and juice, and enjoys them both. But once, sometimes twice a day, a drink and a snuggle just feel so nice. They grow up so fast. I'm not in as big a hurry as I used to be with my older kids. I just want to drink it in, if you will.
What do I do? This is the longest I've ever nursed a baby. 15 months before this one. He's not crazy addicted. If he asks and I say 'no' he's fine. But how do I say goodbye to this sweet phase, especially since it might be my last baby? Somebody help me!
I'm in total denial. I think as long as I'm breastfeeding my baby then he still IS a baby, and I'm still a new mom (and that explains why I haven't lost more weight), and that I'm perpetually young...and needed.
I don't know what it is about this one. I've nursed all of my babies. I love breastfeeding. My services as a milk cow get longer and longer with each child. My goal is always, "at least a year and then we'll see", but here Conor is now 18 months and I get so sad when I think about quitting, even though now it's hardly at all.
I have a hard time with most any transition. I'm so sentimental and nostalgic by nature, and I get so emotionally involved in all things mother-y.
He likes it.
I like it.
My husband likes it, and tells me to just stop when I'm ready. (that doesn't help, although it's sweet of him. He's very supportive and says just go until he's 2, but I don't think I want to go that long...I just can't figure out how to stop!)
What if this is my last baby?
What if this is the very last time I look down and see my baby nestled up against me drinking up life?
What if my breasts are done working? Then they'll be those breasts that used to work.
Great, now I'm crying.
See what I mean?
Part of me feels ready.
I've certainly put in my time.
It would be nice to not have huge breasts anymore. (shut up, I'd rather be smaller and cute.)
It would be nice to move on to the next stage....maybe not. Aaaargh!
Conor eats table food. He drinks cow's milk and juice, and enjoys them both. But once, sometimes twice a day, a drink and a snuggle just feel so nice. They grow up so fast. I'm not in as big a hurry as I used to be with my older kids. I just want to drink it in, if you will.
What do I do? This is the longest I've ever nursed a baby. 15 months before this one. He's not crazy addicted. If he asks and I say 'no' he's fine. But how do I say goodbye to this sweet phase, especially since it might be my last baby? Somebody help me!
Saturday, March 1, 2008
On Gliding and Soaring
Driving down the 210 Freeway yesterday, I noticed five large birds gracefully soaring over a mountain top. I watched them, and marveled. I remembered a science lesson I had taught the boys a few months ago during our in-depth study of birds: gliding and soaring are different. I had never thought about it before, and maybe I had even used the terms interchangeably on occasion, but they are not the same.
The very fact that a bird can fly is an interesting lesson in physics. It begins with the airfoil, which is the shape of a wing, and then involves flight terms such as air pressure, lift, drag, and thrust.
In the 1700's, a scientist named Daniel Bernoulli performed experiments with objects under water which help us to understand how things are able to fly. Water, like air, applies pressure to everything it touches. Daniel Bernoulli discovered that water moved differently over the top of an airfoil (wing shape) than it did underneath it. Water going over the wing moved faster, while the water moving on the bottom of the wing stayed the same. So, the water on the bottom of the wing pushed up more strongly than the water on the top of the wing pushed down. In the air, this difference in pressure causes lift, and the bird is able to get up off the ground.
The bird must flap its wings to speed up the air moving over its wings and this creates a force called thrust. But even though the speed of the air going over the wing allows lift, staying up in the air is a challenge, because another force called drag pushes against the bird as it flies.
If you watch a bird fly, you see that it flaps its wings for a while and then sort of coasts through the sky with outstretched wings. This is called gliding. The longer the wingspan of the bird, the longer time it can glide, but gradually the bird will drift downward because of the drag on its wings. After a time, the bird will have to start flapping again to overcome the drag and gain lift.
Soaring, on the other hand, is more like surfing for birds. Surfers live to "catch the wave". If a surfer catches a wave, he can then ride it all the way back to the beach. In the air, there are heat waves called thermals that rise up from the ground. Soaring birds are designed to know where these thermals are and then to jump on top of them and ride. In a thermal, the rising warm air will lift the bird higher and higher. Some thermals are very tight and the bird must then soar in a tight circle, but other thermals are very large and the bird can go a great distance before having to turn with the heat wave. Thermals form early in the day, as the ground warms up and that warm air rises, and I imagine that besides the advantage of giving birds a chance to look for food without expending the energy of flying, soaring must also be pretty cool bird recreation.
I think I have periods of gliding and soaring in my life too. Gliding is when I can coast for a time on work or effort I've previously expended. Like, if I clean my house really, really well, I can glide for a time without having to worry about housework and the rooms stay fairly tidy. The drag is (and the pun is completely intended) that life continues to happen and dishes pile up, floors get dirty, and nobody has anything clean to wear. The mess returns and I must flap my wings to get back on top of it all.
Gliding might also be when I eat healthily and exercise regularly and I am able to lose a few pounds or maintain an ideal weight, and so I coast for a while on that effort and jump off the bandwagon to enjoy some guilty indulgences like ice cream, or too many cookies, or the most decadent brownies. Before long, the drag has pushed against me and I must get my butt in gear, literally.
I may also go through periods of spiritual gliding, when I drift away from a daily routine of scripture study, and my prayers become more rote than sincere. I can coast along for a short time on my stored up testimony, but quite soon the drag works against me, and I find myself slipping. I must exercise my spiritual thrust quickly, and flap like mad.
But I have times of soaring in my life, as well. To me, soaring is more personal, when I can "catch the wave" or "ride the thermal" that God has designed me to instinctively find and then it feels so right and so good, that it's almost effortless. It's as if He and I are riding together as co-pilots. We're protected from the drag. No one else can see my thermals, just as the thermals that the hawks ride are invisible to our eyes. But just as I can see the hawks soaring and know that they've found one, I believe those around me can sense when I've found my own thermal and I'm soaring.
I've had times in my life when something that I'm doing becomes so effortless, I feel as though I'm soaring. Sometimes I call it being "in the groove". I think using our God-given talents, or when we are in line with our personal missions in life we are swept up into thermals and we can freely soar. At times when I'm writing, or teaching, or mothering, or playing a piece on the piano, suddenly the effort is gone, and I stretch out my wings, and I soar. I'm soaring when I'm in complete harmony and peace in each of my relationships and I am so filled with pure love that I feel like I must be glowing because of it. I'm soaring when I'm lost in the service of other people. It's as though I'm completely in line with what I was put here to do, and I'm filled with a euphoria that witnesses to me that I've found my thermal.
The trick then, is to balance out the gliding and the soaring, and to know that to everything there is a season. For birds, thermals only form in the early hours of the day. They can't just soar in circles all day, avoiding the work that birds must also do. There are nests to be built, and eggs to lay, and mates to find (well, fortunately the birds get the order right more often than we do!), and young to raise. There is food to be found, and migration to prepare for. They know their season. They know there will be another thermal to ride tomorrow, and though there will be lots of flapping, there will also be some gliding to rest tired wing muscles.
The very fact that a bird can fly is an interesting lesson in physics. It begins with the airfoil, which is the shape of a wing, and then involves flight terms such as air pressure, lift, drag, and thrust.
In the 1700's, a scientist named Daniel Bernoulli performed experiments with objects under water which help us to understand how things are able to fly. Water, like air, applies pressure to everything it touches. Daniel Bernoulli discovered that water moved differently over the top of an airfoil (wing shape) than it did underneath it. Water going over the wing moved faster, while the water moving on the bottom of the wing stayed the same. So, the water on the bottom of the wing pushed up more strongly than the water on the top of the wing pushed down. In the air, this difference in pressure causes lift, and the bird is able to get up off the ground.
The bird must flap its wings to speed up the air moving over its wings and this creates a force called thrust. But even though the speed of the air going over the wing allows lift, staying up in the air is a challenge, because another force called drag pushes against the bird as it flies.
If you watch a bird fly, you see that it flaps its wings for a while and then sort of coasts through the sky with outstretched wings. This is called gliding. The longer the wingspan of the bird, the longer time it can glide, but gradually the bird will drift downward because of the drag on its wings. After a time, the bird will have to start flapping again to overcome the drag and gain lift.
Soaring, on the other hand, is more like surfing for birds. Surfers live to "catch the wave". If a surfer catches a wave, he can then ride it all the way back to the beach. In the air, there are heat waves called thermals that rise up from the ground. Soaring birds are designed to know where these thermals are and then to jump on top of them and ride. In a thermal, the rising warm air will lift the bird higher and higher. Some thermals are very tight and the bird must then soar in a tight circle, but other thermals are very large and the bird can go a great distance before having to turn with the heat wave. Thermals form early in the day, as the ground warms up and that warm air rises, and I imagine that besides the advantage of giving birds a chance to look for food without expending the energy of flying, soaring must also be pretty cool bird recreation.I think I have periods of gliding and soaring in my life too. Gliding is when I can coast for a time on work or effort I've previously expended. Like, if I clean my house really, really well, I can glide for a time without having to worry about housework and the rooms stay fairly tidy. The drag is (and the pun is completely intended) that life continues to happen and dishes pile up, floors get dirty, and nobody has anything clean to wear. The mess returns and I must flap my wings to get back on top of it all.
Gliding might also be when I eat healthily and exercise regularly and I am able to lose a few pounds or maintain an ideal weight, and so I coast for a while on that effort and jump off the bandwagon to enjoy some guilty indulgences like ice cream, or too many cookies, or the most decadent brownies. Before long, the drag has pushed against me and I must get my butt in gear, literally.
I may also go through periods of spiritual gliding, when I drift away from a daily routine of scripture study, and my prayers become more rote than sincere. I can coast along for a short time on my stored up testimony, but quite soon the drag works against me, and I find myself slipping. I must exercise my spiritual thrust quickly, and flap like mad.
But I have times of soaring in my life, as well. To me, soaring is more personal, when I can "catch the wave" or "ride the thermal" that God has designed me to instinctively find and then it feels so right and so good, that it's almost effortless. It's as if He and I are riding together as co-pilots. We're protected from the drag. No one else can see my thermals, just as the thermals that the hawks ride are invisible to our eyes. But just as I can see the hawks soaring and know that they've found one, I believe those around me can sense when I've found my own thermal and I'm soaring.
I've had times in my life when something that I'm doing becomes so effortless, I feel as though I'm soaring. Sometimes I call it being "in the groove". I think using our God-given talents, or when we are in line with our personal missions in life we are swept up into thermals and we can freely soar. At times when I'm writing, or teaching, or mothering, or playing a piece on the piano, suddenly the effort is gone, and I stretch out my wings, and I soar. I'm soaring when I'm in complete harmony and peace in each of my relationships and I am so filled with pure love that I feel like I must be glowing because of it. I'm soaring when I'm lost in the service of other people. It's as though I'm completely in line with what I was put here to do, and I'm filled with a euphoria that witnesses to me that I've found my thermal.
The trick then, is to balance out the gliding and the soaring, and to know that to everything there is a season. For birds, thermals only form in the early hours of the day. They can't just soar in circles all day, avoiding the work that birds must also do. There are nests to be built, and eggs to lay, and mates to find (well, fortunately the birds get the order right more often than we do!), and young to raise. There is food to be found, and migration to prepare for. They know their season. They know there will be another thermal to ride tomorrow, and though there will be lots of flapping, there will also be some gliding to rest tired wing muscles.
And there will be rejoicing because they can fly.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
This is Why I May Lose My Mind
A serial closet-emptier: (this brings back traumatic memories from my childhood when my younger siblings would empty all the games and STUFF in my room while I was at school. Even when I put a little lock on my door, those little fiends would shake the door till the latch was pulled from the wood in the door. Tears and screaming ensued.)
And a dead vacuum. If you know me at all, you know I like clean floors. I've already been depressed because the carpets need to be shampooed so badly from Conor's drips and dribbles, but now one of the children has broken---permanently---my only ally against the filth. And no money to buy a new one, of course. How come vacuums only break when you're broke? (pun intended.) sigh.
My wish is for a vacuum that will be reliable and stick around for more than a year! And since I'm wishing, I'll take one of those carpet shampooers too, please! Six kids and a ton of friends and piano students and ping pong opponents wreak havoc on my carpets and I need all the help I can get! (Although Conor and his sippy cups are the biggest forces working against me. We do have a shoes-off policy.)
And a dead vacuum. If you know me at all, you know I like clean floors. I've already been depressed because the carpets need to be shampooed so badly from Conor's drips and dribbles, but now one of the children has broken---permanently---my only ally against the filth. And no money to buy a new one, of course. How come vacuums only break when you're broke? (pun intended.) sigh.
My wish is for a vacuum that will be reliable and stick around for more than a year! And since I'm wishing, I'll take one of those carpet shampooers too, please! Six kids and a ton of friends and piano students and ping pong opponents wreak havoc on my carpets and I need all the help I can get! (Although Conor and his sippy cups are the biggest forces working against me. We do have a shoes-off policy.)
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