Traditional

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Christmas Eve is full of the anticipation, the waiting, the stories, the candles and lights.

Christmas morning is full of joy, excitement, crinkling of paper, hugs, and laughter.

After opening the presents on Christmas morning, the rest of Christmas Day has always felt a little anti-climatic. An emotional low after the gift-giving high. The presents are opened...now what.

Christmas this year didn't feel like that at all.

From our bedroom door being thrown open at 7 am by bright-eyed children, to the present opening, to the cinnamon smells from brunch, to setting up of marble tracks and watching of movies, to the smells of dinner, to the snowman building (and knocking over) in the backyard, to the stories and kisses at bedtime...the entire day felt like Christmas.

This Christmas had a similar feeling to when we watched the train moved away towards the west, carrying my mom and my little brother, who had come to help us move to Iowa. We felt, that truly for the first time, we were on our own.

This Christmas, it was up to us, and just us, to create those holiday memories for our boys. Memories like the ones we all have. Full of magic, and treats, and presents, and happiness.

This Christmas, we had to be the ones to create the traditions.

Opening one gift Christmas Eve...

Reading Night Before Christmas, My Penguin Osbert, The Crippled Lamb, and the Nativity story from the Bible...

Presents early Christmas morning...

Monkey bread, fruit, and juice for brunch after presents...

Games, movies, playing in the afternoon...

Brown sugar glazed ham with au gratin potatoes for dinner...

It's the first time for many of these things, but it still felt comfortable...and traditional.

When Monkey came in from playing in the snow, he hugged me around my legs and exclaimed, "I'm just so happy!"

That, combined with the joy on the boys' faces, and the feeling of happiness so palpable in our home, let us know that Christmas memories are well on their way.

Wish List

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

We finished wrapping presents the other night (all nice and cozy in front of our new fireplace.) As we placed the presents under the tree, we stepped back and looked.

That's when we realized.

We may have gone overboard just a little this year.

At first, Hubster and I looked at each other embarrased. "That's a lot of presents." Yep. And once you realize things might have gotten a little out of hand, the justification instantly starts. We started shopping in October. It's easy to forget exactly what you've gotten when you bought it 2 months ago. It's our first Christmas away from family, so we need to make sure it's a great Christmas.

We are excited for Christmas. It is going to be a wonderful Christmas. I can't wait to see the look on Bug's face when he opens the (can't say yet). I can't wait to hear Monkey's squeal when he sees his new (shhh...not yet.)

Like every parent, I want only the best for my children. It was hard to narrow down what to buy them for Christmas because I want so many things for them.

But ultimately, the things I really want for them, they won't be opening on Christmas. Most of what I want for them, I have a hard time putting in words. It's mostly this overwhemling feeling that causes an ache in my chest, full of hope, and success, and goodness.

So what do I truly want for my children? I want them to...

-know someone is always in their corner.

-feel the thrill of finding the perfect hiding spot for hide-and-seek.

-know where their food comes from.

-watch a catepillar metamorphasize into a butterfly, and then watch the butterfly emerge from its cocoon.

-always know where home is.

-spend a night wrapped in a blanket, watching thunder, and eating popcorn.

-fall asleep next to someone they love.

-lose themselves in a book.

-to finish first at something, and to finish last at something.

-fill a jar full of fireflies.

-know what it is like to not have everything they want.

Holiday Confession

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

I guess every holiday deserves a confession.

Here's mine.

Our children don't believe in Santa Clause. And it's our fault.

We decided, long before we had children, that we would not do Santa Claus in our family.

I could say it is for religious reasons. I could say it is because we want to focus on Christmas being about Jesus's birth. I could say all those things and more. But that's not the real reason.

I don't ever remember believing in Santa Claus. Hubster doesn't either. And maybe missing out on those memories made our decision easier.

The real reason we decided not to support the idea of Santa Claus was due to watching friends stop believing.

I had friends who described the devastation they felt when they realized Santa wasn't real.

The other reason was the whole idea of lying to my child. I have friends who, even now, go through complicated charades and set-ups to keep their children "believing." Setting out cookies, then eating part of them after the kids are in bed. Addressing presents as "From Santa." Even getting on skis and taking a loop around the yard in the snow to make it look like Santa's sleigh had been there. Or using Santa as a way to manipulate children into good behaviour.

It feels dishonest.

I don't want to lie to my children. I'm not saying I tell them everything about everything. Sometimes I omit (How did the baby get in her tummy?), sometimes I simplify (What is blood made out of?), sometimes I just tell them I can't tell them (Why is that person on the news?). But I'm not going to go out of my way to support what amounts to a lie.

I recognize these might be rather strong feelings. Maybe overly strong. And I don't want anyone to think I'm condemning parents who do promote Santa. We've just chosen not to.

There's another thing about Santa that I don't like. The concept of Santa makes me sad. I always wondered how people explained that Santa only came visit children whose parents made money, but that he didn't visit children who were poor, or homeless, or sick in hospitals.

I desperately wish that there was a Santa, and that he brought new computers and PlayStations and puppies to every child. I wish there was someone that made sure everyone had something to open Christmas morning. I wish there didn't have to be children who only got one pair of socks, or a piece or candy, or nothing.

But wishing doesn't make it so.

So my children don't believe in Santa.

Watching their eyes light up this time of year, I don't think this has decreased the magic that surrounds the season. Or given them any less to believe in.

Days of the Week

Sunday, December 6, 2009

I don't even know what day of the week it is.

I had Monday off, which made Tuesday my Monday, and so I thought Friday was Thursday. I had most of yesterday off, which made that Saturday, which I'm pretty sure it was. But I'm working today, so it's technically my Monday, which makes tomorrow Tuesday, which it's not.

And I'm tired. Getting up at 4:30 am does not agree with me. Given the complete lack of signs of life at that time of day, I'm pretty sure that time of day disagrees with most people.

I roll (or more like droop or collapse) through the door back home at 6:30 pm.

Bug and Monkey are in bed at 8:30 pm. (or 9, or 9:30. It all depends on my level of alertness and motivation at the time.)

I try to catch up on e-mail, some academic reading, laundry, and dishes for a hour. I fall into a dazed stupor in front of the TV for another hour (At this rate, I will never catch up with my DVR). Then I shower, read a little more, and fall asleep around 11 pm.

Only to wake up in 5 1/2 hours and do it all over again.

I spend 2 out of every 24 hours with my children. I spend just over twice that sleeping. It makes me feel selfish. And those 2 hours are spent trying to get them to sit up at the table and just eat two bites, for the love of all that is holy. And where is the math homework? And I've already asked you five time to put your pajamas on, why are you still running around naked? And I'm pretty sure that is plenty of water for tonight.

And that makes me feel even worse.

The confusing thing for me is how much I like the work that I'm doing right now. I haven't once dreaded going to work. I do dread the alarm clock going off, but that's a completely different thing. Actually, most of the time, when I hear my alarm go off, I think it is mistake, and my brain doesn't comprehend that I actually need to get out of bed in the pitch black night.

Last month, the work I did was mind-numbingly boring. The days were so painfully slow that it was all I could do to pull myself out of the house, into the car, and actually go. I was home a lot more.

This month, I'm home less, but the work itself appeals to me more than anything else I've done so far my intern year (except for emergency medicine. If anesthesiology takes a turn for the worse, that it what I would do instead.)

Right at this moment, writing this between my pager going off every 5 minutes, occasionally twice at once, I am desperately homesick. Each sign of a child in the hospital tugs painfully some place deep in my chest.

I feel like I'm caught in some masochistic catch-22. I can either work that I enjoy and been gone all the time, or I can dread every second of each day of work and be home more.

I would pick the second one, if I was forced to choose.

It makes me wonder why I ever get upset with my children. Why would I ever waste a single breath being mad? (Until I find that Monkey has turned off the fridge. Again. And then I have a memory lapse about not being upset.)

Writing the month may be scarce.

With time being my most precious commodity, I'm trying to spend it on my family and get us out of the slump that the last week has thrown us into. That's what I plan doing on my next Saturday...whatever day of the week that may be.

Intuition

Friday, November 13, 2009

"I imagine parenting is fairly intuitive."

This was told to me by someone who is not a parent.

I guess the statement itself would make that obvious. All I could do was stare at the person. Really? Intuitive? That would not be the first word that comes to mind when I think about parenting.

Your child has just rammed the shopping cart into a complete stranger. You put him in the shopping cart and he promptly flings out a package of tortillas, which hits another stranger in the head. What does your intuition tell you to do?

Your baby has not stopped crying for three days. You've been to the pediatrician, and everything is "fine." The crying has made it so you haven't slept for three days. What do you do?

You go running upstairs in response to a loud crash to find a dresser has been toppled over and the culprit has locked himself in the bathroom before he can be interrogated. 15 minutes later you run downstairs in response to another crash, to find another child climbing up a bookshelf and the globe in pieces below him. What are your instincts in this case?

(All of these represent true, first hand accounts of parenting. Ask me how I know.)

I feel like most of parenting has been about overcoming my instincts. I want to scream, yell, spank somebody, or just turn them into the customer service desk and say that someone really needs to keep an eye on this child. I've done more than my fair share of screaming. There have been occasional spankings. As of yet, no one has been left at a store. Maybe I'm a bad parent, but nothing about parenting has been very intuitive for me.

Well, other than thinking that my kids are cuter than everyone else's kids. Even with above mentioned stories.

I've run into people that have very well-defined parenting styles. I don't think I've been doing this job long enough to have good sense of exactly what it is I'm doing. For one thing, I knew that I was never, ever going to raise picky eaters. Because picky eaters are one of my pet peeves. And wouldn't you know it. Bug is the pickiest eater ever. He does not eat food that is red. Or things that he hasn't already had. Or things with milk. Which leaves us at French fries and....yeah.

As someone who has only been doing this for 7 years, I'm still a novice.

I listen to other people. Half the time, I feel desperate for advice. I'm still waiting for someone to tell me to please control my children, just so I can ask them earnestly, "I would love to. Please tell me how!"

Parenting styles come in more varieties than there are parents. There is no right answer. Finding a system that works is a delicate balance of multiple personalities, schedules, and plain old trial and error. There are some things that are definitely wrong. And there are things that almost always work.

One person once shared their parenting style with me. "I don't raise children. I raise adults. Just like you don't raise puppies, you raise dogs. You don't raise chicks, you raise chickens."

At first I liked this. That my parenting should be focused on instilling in my children the skills that would be most beneficial to them as adults.

But my children are not dogs or chickens. They are children. They have value in what they are right now.

I hope that I do prepare them to be amazing adults.

But I am also going to allow them to be children, and I'm going to enjoy every moment of that time I can.

Maybe it is all more intuitive than I thought.

No Right Time

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

I come from a large family.

And when I say large, I mean "could have our own TLC show" type of large.

I'm the oldest of 10.

Yep, two whole handfuls of children. 12 of us all together, once you remember to count the parents.

I'll give you a while to take that it.

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There are some downsides to being in a big family. There never seems to be enough space forever one. Never quite enough money for everything. And occasionally not enough time.

But the challenges never beat out the joys of having a large family. There are always enough people for board games (just sometimes no enough pieces, and then you improvise. I'll been the top hat, you be the shoe, and you can be rubber frog.) Happy birthday sounds so much better when sung by an entire choir (except when the choir consists of a couple of teenage boys, and then you just take what you get.) And there are enough for two teams in soccer, baseball, or basketball. And with that many birthdays, most of the year is spent in celebration. I always had the largest cheering section at all three of my graduations.

Most importantly, we always had friends. I'm not implying we always got along. Some sibling rivalries were more obvious and intense than others. I had siblings I always fought with and siblings I never fought with. But we never felt lonely.

I love my huge, crowded, loud, talented, chaotic, supportive, drama-inclined family.

But one of the strange things about growing up in a large family is the mind set that starts to set in. We felt bad for children in small families that only had one or two siblings. Or, heaven forbid, no siblings!

I grew up viewing parents who had one, two, or three children as selfish. They valued their time, money, and leisure more then their children. Career or pleasure topped the priority list above family. Small families were created by horrid people who valued peace and quiet more than they valued providing siblings and friends for their children.

I was determined to never be selfish. I was going to have a half dozen of my own children and create as many happy family memories as I had growing up.

(Remember, I was young, and like many very young people was prone to black and white images and a slight inability to view things for others point of view.)

I realized very soon after Bug was born that I was never going to have a huge family. I seemed to lack the pulled togetherness, resourcefulness, and patience of my own mother.

I love my two boys with a fierce, mother tiger like love. I am intensely proud of them, and nearly worship them.

But I came to realize that I was not cut out to be a leader of a very large flock.

And this is where it gets difficult.

I would really, really like another child. Monkey is three. And I can start to feel the baby hunger set in. I haven't felt that, well, since we decided to get pregnant with Monkey. Even when Monkey was two years old, I could hold other peoples newborns, cuddle and coo at them, and not feel one twinge of envy or baby hunger. But since Monkey is now mostly done throwing fits in the grocery store, nearly sleeping through the night, and for all intents and purpose potty trained, my brain has starting letting those TV commercials with wrinkly babies get to me.


Hubster and I have started talking about what our schedules look like over the next couple years, trying to get a good idea about when would be a good time to have another baby.

But I'm looking at 50-80 hour work weeks for the next four years, laden with overnight call at the hospital. Hubster is just finishing up some last minute requirements for his application to dental school.

If we were to have another baby in the next four to five years, that baby would spend a lot of time the same way Bug and Monkey have spent the previous four years. In daycare.

And then we ask ourselves...who's being selfish now?

Is it more selfish to continue with our plans for our careers and future and be content with our two boys? Or at least postpone baby number three four years until I am done with residency, have a stable job with some control over my schedule.? (That would make Bug 12 and Monkey 8 before we had baby #3, just to do some math.)

Or is it more selfish to give into the baby hunger and the theoretical chance of a much wanted girl (who would be just as wanted if they were a boy, just to make that clear) when they would be raised 8-10 hours a day by someone else? Just because we want another baby and would love her (or him) passionately and intensely, could we provide what is best?

Bug and Monkey are turning into well adjusted little boys, who play well with each other and others. Bug does amazing in school. They love each other and know that they are loved. They have done this even with years attending daycare behind them and in front of them. So I'm not saying daycare ruins children, or damages childhood.

But is it best?

When people ask why we decided to have children while still in medical school, we always replied: There is no right time to have children. There will always be reasons to postpone, put it off, delay it. There is no right time.

But maybe there is a wrong time.

I'm not exactly sure what time it is now.

The World We Know

Friday, September 11, 2009

Everyone I know remembers where they were when they heard that an airplane had hit the World Trade Towers.

It will be the question that our children ask us when they have homework to interview their parents about growing up. Just like how I asked my parents where they were and what they were doing when they heard JFK had been shot.

We talk a lot about how our lives changed that Tuesday. About the war waged since the following March. About the more complicated security in airports. About level yellow and orange security levels. About How America changed in the view of the rest of the world. About how we came together for a moment.

We talk about a pre 9/11 world and a post 9/11 world.

For my children, their entire lives are post 9/11.

They will never have any other context than a world without the Trade Towers. A world with a war in Iraq. A world where people continue to be afraid of Muslims and Middle Eastern men.

I will never be able to give them the world before.

Just like they will never know a world before Columbine, where parents sent their children to school without worrying if that school would be the next one in the headlines.

While our world and our world view changed forever 8 years ago, the world for my children did not. The change we live in and still feel every day, is the only world they will ever know.

Monkey

Saturday, August 8, 2009

I'm just going to come right out and say it.

Monkey has been a difficult child.

It nearly kills me to say it. Because he is so ridiculously cute. But nearly everyday, Hubster and I look as him after he has finally fallen asleep, and just stare at the occasionally still dirt-smudged pile of smooth blond hair, little nose, and dimpled elbows and knees, and wonder. How can he possibly be so darling, but so exhausting and frustrating at the same time?

From the moment he was born, the personality differences between him and Bug were apparent. He was always awake, more social, and grinned at every object within view.

Little did we know, that was just the beginning.

Bug, now 7, was always content to just read, draw, or do nearly anything that would allow him to be busy, but by himself. He was usually quiet. And although occasionally moody, he was usually quite well behaved.

This, of course, allowed Hubster and I to clap ourselves on the back, foolishly thinking it was our exemplary parenting skills that had lead to such a wonderful child.

Monkey, on the other hand. Well, we thought our house our house was child proof...

The minute he could crawl, he would go to the cupboards and try to open them. Of course, he couldn't get past the child locks, but this did not stop him from trying everyday. Just like a velociraptor on Jurassic Park, he would daily try the locks on the off chance that one day, he would get around them.

He would follow his older brother every second, and destroy anything Bug tried to do. Block towers, beware. Train tracks, doomed. Puzzles, not a chance. He even enjoys a little independent destroying. There are only a handful of toy cars that still have ownership of their tires, the rest having been chewed and pried off. Books that made it by Bug unscathed met their untimely demise during the moments we suddenly realized we hadn't heard Monkey making any noise for 2 minutes.

We have an ottoman that no longer resembles a piece of furniture, after being used as a chew toy by Monkey.

Once, when he was about 18 months old, I was cooking dinner. I turned around to see Monkey holding a huge ball of dryer lint that he had fished out of our (covered) kitchen garbage bin. He was chewing and shuddering. In the half second that I had been frozen with the horror of it all, he took another bite. I immediately became unfrozen and extracted the fuzzy gray mass from his chubby hands, and held his still lint covered hands under the facet. And the whole time, despite the screaming I was being met with, wondering why, WHY, did he take a second bite?

The terrible twos have been especially terrible. We haven't escaped a store without a display being knocked over, the shopping cart being pushed into some unsuspecting shopper, a fit in the middle of an aisle (all for unknown reasons, as he never asks for candy or marshmallow laden cereal), or some content of our cart being chucked out and occasionally hitting an innocent passer-by. We've even contemplated giving up food shopping and living off the grass in the backyard. (Of course, we've tried just not taking him, but sometimes circumstances just don't allow it. And leaving your two year old child in the car like a golden retriever is frowned upon.)

I've been asked to leave a shoe store after Monkey was discovered licking the entire front window of the store that was within his reach. All within the time limit it took me to turn my back on him to look at a cute pair of red pumps and think, just think, about trying them on.

Not everything is difficult. He is a better sleeper than Bug was (or is.) He's not a picky eater. He is happy 90% of the time. And we try to focus on these (and his overwhelming cuteness) anytime we start feeling our nerves being stretched a little too far.

We've had months of frustration, wondering if any of us would survive this time period. But then, he curls up on my lap, smelling of sunshine and grass and stuffed animals, asking for a story, and my heart just crumples inside. He looks up at me with his amazingly wide blue eyes and tells me I'm his best friend and I wonder how I ever get mad at him. I walk in the door after a 13 hour day and he runs up, grabs my legs, and says "I missed you and I've been good!" And I get an ache in my chest from the love I feel towards him.

Monkey turns three in a few weeks. We're not sure if we will be leaving the terrible twos behind or just entering the terrible threes.

What we do know, without a doubt, is that we are in for an adventure.

Settling In

Monday, July 20, 2009

It's been over a week since my last post. The last time something like that happened was when I had no access to the internet and moved across the country.

This time, I don't have the excuse of no internet and a Big Move.

My only excuse is being flat out, beat down exhausted.

While my current residency schedule is not overly demanding, currently just 9 hour shifts 4-6 times a week, the mental fatigue is surprising. Decisions I make actually matter. So I put a lot more thought into every decision. Not that I always get it right. My attending physicians correct my treatment plan just as often as they agree with it.

But don't worry. No patients have been injured in the training of this physician.

If the mental fatigue I feel at the end of each shift isn't enough, there is a home renovation waiting for me when I get home. Between tearing out shrubbery and invading vines, laying floors, and ripping out carpet, I'm physically exhausted too.

Between the two I've barely had enough energy to read a few pages of Harry Potter each night before falling asleep. Let alone blogging.

But I realized today that I haven't shared my thoughts on my new home/town/state.

Salt Lake City is by no means a "Big" City. It's got nothing on LA, Chicago, Dallas, or New York. But it is definitely an up-and-coming city, with many of the amenities of much bigger cities: pro sports teams, aquariums, art museums, ballet, theatre. Costco. IKEA. And it is definitely a city and not a town.

My new home is technically a city. Although the hospital is the tallest building. There are no 20 level business buildings. Farmer's markets are held "down town" (down town in quotes because down town is two streets lined with cute boutiques and amazing restaurants. But no big buildings.) It may be a city, but it feels like a town. The fastest I've driven in a week is 35 mph.

I do miss some of the amenities I had grown used to in bigger Salt Lake.

But I think I like this better.

It is easy to live here.

City living can feel high maintenance. The worry about traffic, the crowds, movies being sold out, restaurants being crowded. All together it just adds a layer of stress that I almost didn't even notice. Until it was gone. The worst traffic I have been in for the month and a half I have lived here is when there were 6 (yes a whole 6!) cars in front of me at the only traffic light I go through on my way to work. 6! Versus the usual 1.

I love where we live. Our home is next door to Bug's new elementary school. The school is in front of a reserved green space. Which means no homes can be built in the heavily wooded area that lies just the other side of the school.

Our neighborhood is very quiet. The people we have met so far have lived here for 15-20 years. People move into this neighborhood and then stay put. There are not a lot of young couples with young kids. I'm a little disappointed about that. I had partially hoped for a neighborhood swarming with kids, yards cluttered with their toys, where Bug and Monkey would have easy access to potential friends. That's not how things are. We don't see many other children. But I'm sure that will change when school starts back up in a month.

And I love our neighborhood, even without herds of children.

Everyday, when I drive up this road, I feel happy about where we live.

Road leading to our neighborhood

We have fireflies here! Before we moved here I had never seen a firefly. I could go on and on about how much I love them. We often sit as a whole family on our back porch and watch them. The boys are slightly squeamish about insects and so they don't run around catching them in jars. But there is still nothing like fireflies.

Our yard is also frequented by cardinals, goldfinches, robins, rabbits, chipmunks, and squirrels. Every morning, there is some new wildlife that causes the boys to call for me, while they alternate between squealing with excitement and hushing each other to not scare it away.

We are happy here. Life is easy here. We are definitely settling in.

Back of my mind

Saturday, July 11, 2009

When I was an undergrad, and then again when I was a medical student, I spent most of my times thinking about my children. Nearly every second was spent wondering if they were okay. How long Monkey continued to cry after he was dropped off at daycare? Were the other kids being nice to Bug? How did Bug's spelling test go? Did Monkey get his nap on time? What time was Hubster able to pick them up? Did they get dinner on time? It's bath night, did Hubster remember? Did they get read to before bed?

I resented every minute that medical school kept me away from my children and my husband.

Even when I took several months off and was home with the boys, I would think about Hubster a great deal. Wondering how his day was going, when he would be home, how that project or meeting went.

Since residency starts (a whole 11 days ago) I found myself realizing that I wasn't thinking of them as much.

I would have a quiet moment to sit down and get a drink of water and work on a patient's note, and suddenly realize that I hadn't thought about Bug or Monkey for several hours. Or nearly my entire shift.

And that realization bothered me.

Hubster and I have talked about this before. I would tell him that I thought about him and the boys practically all day long. And he said that he didn't. It wasn't anything against us or mean that he didn't love us or care about us. He just...didn't think us at work.

He thought about work.

I used to chalk this up as one of the many differences between men and women. That men were able to compartmentalize their lives easier than women were. That women worried more. That women were more attached to the people they loved.

And suddenly, I'm faced with the reality that that might not be true.

I've been trying to figure out why. Why, after I've spent years being angry about being gone and worrying about my children with every passing breath, am I suddenly not constantly fixated on how they are doing.

Hubster and I talked about this as well.

For the first time in my professional career, I'm actually responsible. I'm actually making decisions that can affect patients.

I'm also very busy. I've only had the chance to go eat lunch (or breakfast, depending on the shift) once out of my 10 shifts. I see 6-12 very sick, complicated patients a shift. And then there are the consults to call, the labs to order and review, the prescriptions to order, and the notes to write.

And, for the first time, I am the one responsible for providing financially for our family. It really makes a difference when you know that you are being paid for the time you put in. And not paying for it with student loans. There is a lot less resentment there when you are being reimbursed. (And I know, I know...I signed up to be a medical student, I asked for it, it was what I wanted. But that doesn't mean that it is a very difficult, degrading, humiliating, exhausting process.)

It could be any of those things. Maybe just one of them, maybe all of them.

Hubster agreed. He said that when he was doing his job, that's what he was doing.

But I thought of another thing. In the first time in 6 years, our children are being taken care of, at home, by someone who is truely invested in them.

I think that knowing Hubster is home with Bug and Monkey has taken some of the worry that constantly nagged at the back of my mind. He knows that Bug likes only peanut butter and not jam on his sandwich. That Monkey needs to take a 2 hour nap at 1:30. That Bug has a special shirt he likes to wear on Saturdays. That Monkey needs his stuffed dog to fall asleep.

To know that my children are safe and loved and happy takes a lot of weight off my shoulders. Weight that I didn't even recognize I was carrying until I noticed, suddenly, that it had disappeared sometime over that last 11 days.

I don't think this means I'm a bad mother.

I need to be focused at my job. I need to learn everything I can to be a better physician.

My children may not be in the front of my thoughts constantly like they used to be.

But they are always with me.

My boys are lucky

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Hubster is a great dad.

When I tell him this, he just shrugs and mentions the times when he gets frustrated with the boys, or is too tough on them.

I didn't say he was a perfect dad. Just an absolutely fantastic one.

He loves being the father of our two boys. He wants to share everything that he did as a kid with them. From learning how to shoot a slingshot, to catching caterpillars, to watching old cartoons.

One of my favorite things is to see all three of my boys on the couch together, giggling loudly to Tom and Jerry.

After Bug was born, and Hubster offered to take him for a diaper change, my mother-in-law stated she was surprised that he was so willing to be involved like that. I guess after raising him as a teenager that did everything he could to get out of chores, seeing her son willingly change diapers, warm bottles, and supervise bath time would be surprising.

But it has never surprised me. We love being a family together.

It may not have surprised me, but it sure makes me happy.

Happy Father's Day, Hubster!

Something's Gotta Give

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

I'm going to write about something different this Wednesday. Because honestly, you can only hear about someone's weight loss (or lack there of, or gain, etc...) so much before you want to completely skip the whole thing.

(And this isn't because I've given up on the diet, or I'm not having success. I'm still working at it. And I've lost 1 1/2 more pounds. Putting my total at 11 1/2 pounds so far. )

(But that's it. That doesn't make much of a post.)

So, this week, I'll talk about other things somewhat related to health.

And I'll start with a confession.

I shop at Wal-Mart.

This is either met with "So? I do to." Or "Gasp...How could you!?"

A little background.

A friend in medical school was married to an economist who studied the effects of Wal-Mart on small communities. He found a lot of evidence that after a Wal-Mart moved into a small community, mom-and-pop shops shut down at extraordinary rates, unemployment rose dramatically, and quality of life decreased slightly.

I also disagree with a lot of Wal-Mart's business practices. (Although this is not the time to get into all the details. There are plenty of links if you're interested: read here and here and here.)

Everyone knows that Wal-Mart sells a lower quality product than other chains. I would rather buy things for my home at Target than Wal-Mart any day.

And don't even get me started on their produce. I hate the commercials that say how wonderful Wal-Mart's produce is. Have you ever actually looked at the poor fruits and vegetables? Good luck finding a ripe avacodo. Or a non-soft cucumber.

Once I sent Hubster to grab some canteloupe for a party. He came back with canteloupe from Albertson's. When I asked why he had gone all the way to Albertson's when Wal-Mart is 2 minutes away, he said this.

"You know how grapes turn into raisins, and plums turn into prunes? Whatever canteloupe turn into, they're selling at Wal-Mart."

So despite all this, I shop at Wal-Mart.

Why?

After Monkey was born, I was lucky enough to stay home for six months with him. During this time, I decided that I was going to work on getting my family healthier. No more eating out. No more junk food. I was going to cook every meal. We were going to eat all organic, and local when we could. Everything was going to be whole foods.

I started shopping at this local grocer that sells primarily organic food and local products when there are available. The food was beautiful. Local corn, local heirloom tomatoes, organic onions, free-range chicken, certified hormone-free milk, wild fish.

In two weeks I had spent what we normally spent in two months.

It was not sustainable.

Our family budget is tight. There is not often room for luxury, and never room for extravagances. We just couldn't keep it up. I tried buying cheaper, not top-of-the-line organic. Still our budget wouldn't allow it.

So back to Wal-Mart we went. Back to where onions are 47 cents/pound instead of $1.75/pound. Back to where milk is $2.00/gallon and not $3.50/gallon. Back to where chicken is $5.00 for four boneless, skinless chicken breasts and not $8.00 for the same product at the beautiful store.

Do I miss it? Yes. I would rather feed my family the healthiest, most natural version of food that I can. (Even though Hubster is still a sceptic when it comes to organic food. He hears organic and he thinks carbon containing molecules and not pesticide-free food.)

I still try to cook at home every chance I get. I try to use fresh ingredients as often as possible. They don't say organic on them very often. And a lot are Wal-Mart brand. But we can afford them.

I guess this means that I'm a hypocrit. I put my budget before my ideals.

But sometimes, something's gotta give. And it's not going to be dinner.

Appreciation

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Back when I was newly married, I had a job taking orders for national florist. (By the way, worst job ever, but not the point.)

Before this job, I always thought that Valentine's Day would be the busiest time of year for florists and flower shops. But, turns out, it's not.

It's Mother's Day.

Because not everyone has a significant other, but everyone has a mother.

My mom is spectacular.

She's the one who told me my kids wouldn't hate me if I wasn't there every minute of their lives. She's given me so much support during the years.

And the fact that she has been there when I need her is amazing. Because I come from a big family.

And when I say big, I mean "could have our own TLC show" big.

But even with all the "competition" for her time and attention, none of us ever felt slighted. She was always there when it mattered.

Now that I am just keeping my head above water with my own small family, I appreciate everything she does even more.

Thanks, Mom.

What Matters

Friday, May 8, 2009

Nothing seems to make women more defensive than a conversation about stay-at-home mothers versus working mothers.

These "Mommy Wars" have inspired books, TV shows, and blogs.

It is a mix between what women see as judgment from other women and our own self-imposed guilt.

If we are a stay at home mom, we think that working moms are judging us for not having a career, for giving something of ourselves up. We also have our own guilt that we could have done something else or more with our lives.

If we are a working mom, we think that stay at home moms are judging us for picking something else over our children, for having our priorities wrong. And we struggle with the guilt of not being there for our children ever moment.

I used to think that the perception of being judged by other women for the choices I had made was just that: my perception. No one was really judging me. It was just my own guilt that I projected on others.

However, that's not complete true. I've had conversations with other women, relatives, and friends. I've heard a lot of things.

Example: "I don't see how you do it all. My children are way too important for me to be able to do work and take care of them." So, are you saying I don't think my children are important?

Example 2: "I'm surprised you choose to have children at this point in your career. How can you focus on getting a good residency?" I don't know. How do you explain that you don't have kids and you didn't even get a residency spot?

Example 3: "I feel bad for your kids." Yes, they have spent time at daycare. But we have game nights and weekly outings. They are read to every night, given horsey rides to bed. What exactly do you feel bad about?

I can't understand why women aren't more supportive of each other, regardless of our choices. Motherhood is hard. Maneuvering through the professional world as a women is hard. Why do we have to make it harder for each other by heaping on the guilt?

I never wanted to be a stay at home mom. All I saw it as was a lot of repetitive thank-less work. I did not want that for myself.

Until I had my boys.

I love my boys so much, it approached Old Testament idolatry.

Given the choice, I would stay home with them every day, just playing, reading, throwing balls, racing cars, going on outings.

But I don't want to stay home with them in a tiny apartment, living paycheck to paycheck, knowing that the next time the car breaks down our savings will completely disappear.

So I'm doing my very best to have the best of both worlds. I'm hoping that when I'm done with residency and fellowship and all that goes along with it, life will be more comfortable for us. I should only have to work 2-4 days a week.

Hubster also loves our boys a ridiculously huge amount. He wants to be with them as well.

I don't think it would be fair for me to get to spend more time with them at his expense. I could be a stay-at-home mom, even now. But that would involve him working extra hard, including evenings and weekends (which he has had to do in the past.) I would get more time with the boys at the expense of Hubster having almost no time with them.

Neither of us wants that.

It's going to take a while for us to get to where we want to be. But when we do, things will be great.

Yes, it probably is unfair that my oldest son will have spent is youngest years during this difficult time. But he is happy. He knows he is loved.

And THAT is what matters.

Through and Through

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Whenever Hubster and I hear anyone refer to themselves as geeks or nerds, we just laugh.

Because we know the truth.

They have nothing on us.

It took a while, but we have completely accepted that we are true nerds, through and through. And now, honestly, we are quite proud of it.

I was a biology major with a minor in chemistry. Hubster got a double major in mathematics and physics. I was president of the science club in high school, winning silver metals in state competition. Hubster led his class to a championship in the "Knowledge Bowl."

And we are doing the best we can to instill these precious attributes in our boys.

They have a model solar system hanging from their bedroom ceiling. We encourage them to "play" on Google Earth for computer time. We spend afternoons at museums. Family movie night? Your pick: Planet Earth or Blue Planet. And for fun...

"Guess what we're going to do today?"

"What?!!!"

"Grow salt and sugar crystals!!!"

And that's what we do. And each day, they would oh and aw about how much the crystals had grown. Until finally it was the day to take them out and eat them.










And then I saw these flash cards on Uncommon Goods. And I WANT them for my two year old!



This is all for their own good.

With a physician mom, and a dad applying for dental school, being a nerd can really pay off. Well, we hope so. Someday.

Take two and call me in the morning

Friday, April 17, 2009

My oldest son woke up with a high fever this morning. Not high enough to rush to the emergency room. But high enough for him to feel achy and for me to call his school and excuse him.

I know that it is most likely some virus that he caught from school. And that he will probably be over it by tomorrow.

However, both my medical training and my panicky parental side worry. Could he have meningitis? No, he has a slight headache, but no other symptoms. Could he have pneumonia? No, he couldn't have a cough. Could he have this, or that, or this other terrible thing? No, he's just got a bug, and it will pass.

But should he not get better, or his fever get higher, or he have other symptoms that scare the crap out of me, it is nice to know that the emergency room is less than 10 minutes away.

We hear a lot about the "good ol' days." But in terms of medicine, there never was never anything good about the old days.

150 years ago, if a child woke up with a fever, there was nothing to reassure a parent that it wasn't that child's final moments. No way to differentiate mild from serious. And if it did turn serious, what was anyone going to do? Bleed them? High childhood mortality has been an extremely common thing until recent times.

It is only thanks to leaving behind the "good ol' days" that we can, for the most part, feel secure that our children will make it through childhood sniffles, fevers, and aches, and reach adulthood.

I am grateful to live in a time where I can give my little boy Tylenol, cuddle with him on the couch in front of our favorite Pixar movie, and trust that he will be fine in the morning.

Enough Already

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Dear Utah Winter,

You suck. The groundhog saw his shadow. We did our obligatory six more weeks of winter. Enough already. The first of day of spring has come and gone. Just as you should.



In case you're a little out of touch, April starts tomorrow. What better reason do you need to cut it out already? Most of the country has its act together. Now shape up.

Bitterly,

Someone who has been stuck inside a tiny apartment with two rowdy boys and is completely out of indoor activity ideas and hates being cold in general

*****

Dear International Astronomical Union (or who ever is in "charge" of the planets),

I just finished a project with my son about the solar system, and we decided to leave Pluto in. Yes, that's right. We decided to go against new thinking that Pluto is not a planet, but a micro-planet. Have you stopped to consider the implications (gasp!)? Are dwarves, and other "micro" people no longer people?

Honestly, I think your time would be better spent renaming Uranus.

Sincerely,

A mom who hasn't told her kids that there are only 8 planets

*****

Dear, dear box of Dove Tiramisu Dark Chocolate Promises,

First, I would just like to thank you for being indescribably delicious.

I think it's very cute that your wrappers have little sayings in them. "Be fearless." "Send a love letter this week."

But I think it would be more appropriate if I unwrapped a piece only to find, "If you don't stop eating this chocolate NOW, you'll hate yourself tomorrow."

Wistfully,

A girl who needs a push in the right direction

Another Year Older

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Today is my birthday.

And I'm 27.



At least I think I am. Okay, I did that math again. Yep. I'm 27.

The thing is, I've been lying about my age for the last several years. I've been 27 since I was probably 24 or 25.

And you might ask yourself, why would any woman lie about her age and make herself older?!

Well, for a couple reasons.

I work in a field where age is definitely an asset. People want their doctor to be older than they are. They don't want someone 10, 20, 30 years younger than they are telling them to quit smoking, eat healthier, exercise more, prescribe them medication.

Isn't that the image we all have of physicians? That they are the "older and wiser" one? Not the "wow, you look like you are in high school" person that looks like they might have wandered into the exam room by accident? I had lots of patients ask me throughout medical school how old I was. I used to tell my real age. And I got a lot of "wow, you're so young." Or "you're just a baby."

So, pretty early on, I added a couple years. Just to build rapport with my patients.

But the real reason I did it was, well, more cowardly than that.

See, I got married when I was young. Nineteen years old to be exact. I took a lot of flack for it at the time, and occasionally I still do. And looking back, maybe we should have waited. But we didn't.

And we had our first child a year and a half later. When I was 20.

When people would ask about kids, a question would always follow, "So how old are your kids?" After that, they would look at me strange and say, "And how old are you? How long have you been married?"

I could always seeing them doing the math in their head, just a little too quickly. "So you were only 19 when you got married?" Yep, there it is.

I got tired of seeing people doing that math in their head. I got tired of feeling that the person I was talking to was judgmental about my getting married young.

And so I got around it by adding a couple years to my age.

And after a while, I had a hard time remembering my real age.

But I'm done with lying about my age.

So I got married when I was 19. I have the most amazing marriage. More successful than most of my friends. We are one of the happiest couples we know. We don't fight. Even approaching 8 years of marriage, we still love to be together, are supportive, and have not run out of things to talk about.

So I had kids when I was 20. My children are happy, healthy, well adjusted boys. We do things as a family. They love being home.

So I did these things younger than most. I have an amazing profession. I finished both undergraduate and medical school married and with children.

I don't think I have anything to be embarrassed about.

So, everyone out there...I'm 27.

What to Watch...or not

Friday, February 27, 2009

I hate when I feel I have to justify myself. Because that feeling means that deep down, I know that I'm wrong.

This isn't that. This isn't a justification. This is more of an explanation.

Lately, I feel that I have been confronted by the age-old debate. Okay, it's not age-old. It's only been around since the 50s. TV or not. This conversation has been going on with my parents, my sister, some friends, some blogs, and Facebook.

Many parents feel that their homes should be television-less. Many more are going that direction.

We are not one of those families.

I feel about TV free the way I feel about vegetarianism. It's not a bad thing. It can be a really good thing. But it is not for everyone. Nor are you a less healthy person, a worse parent, or a complete drain on society if you choose to continue to watch the tube.

I did the vegetarian thing. I did the TV free thing. Both those phases of my life didn't last. And just like there are a couple meat things that I love so much that I can never go back to being a complete vegetarian (think grilled lime-cilantro chicken kabobs), there are a couple things on TV that I love too much to ever give it up (Lost, Survivor, Psych.)

Of course, moderation in all things. We don't watch an exorbitant amount of TV. Our kids pretty much only watch Saturday morning Disney cartoons (mostly so we can sleep in, just a little.) Occasionally, we watch a movie together as a family. Maybe a couple times a month. I love renting movies and watching them with a huge bowl of popcorn and a tissue. This also happens maybe a couple times a month. And there are a couple weekly shows that I just love. And refuse to give up. Refuse!

And off course sports. Sports, sports, sports. Because watching them on TV is just so much cheaper and more convenient than tickets. Not to mention local.

So yes, we are television watchers and movie lovers.

(I know that someone is saying, but what about books? Well, I always have a novel on my dresser. So does Hubster. I read to my boys every night. Both my boys love books. So we aren't exactly lacking there. But just imagine that your job is reading. Lots and lots of reading. Textbooks. Medical journals. Review articles. The LAST thing you want to do is come home after 12 hours and read some more.)

But besides the pure enjoyment factor, TV is a little more practical. What do TV less people do during elections? The Olympics? National disasters? I know that there is the computer. But computers are solitary zones, while television, by its nature is a group activity. What chances do you get to address reactions to news, talk about difficult situations that haven't come up in your childrens' lives yet.

Like it or not, we live in this world. Just a little bit of exposure is healthy. Essential.

Consider it a cultural vaccination.

Finding Out

Monday, February 2, 2009

Every parent has thought it.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?!!"

It can be about anything.

For me, it pretty much started a week after I found out I was pregnant with my first. I had seen my mom be horrifically sick throughout her pregnancies. But I went into my first with enough naivety and optimism that it never crossed my mind that I too could be sick enough to not want people to talk about food around me.

On a nearly minutely basis I would wail, "Oh, why didn't anyone tell me how bad it would be?"

I said the same thing about the weight gain, the stretch marks, the ankle swelling, and the inability to sleep.

My mom would only say one thing. "Well, if I told you, would you have ever wanted to have kids?"

Parenthood is pretty much the same way. The crying, the (not)sleeping, the teething, potty-training, terrible twos, sibling rivalry.

Parents who've been through it just smile sympathetically at you as you stand over your child, who is face down and bawling on the floor of the cereal isle.

And we think, "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

But thinking back, everyone did. Okay, no one took me aside, sat me down, and said "Look, this is how it is." (Maybe someone did that for you.) But there were the "Oh, just wait until's." The "Enjoy it while it lasts's." Any many other subtle hints about the difficulties ahead.

On the same note, no one ever tells you about the wonderful moments either.

The first time you feel your baby kick against the inside of your stomach. The bliss of reaching out your arms to hold your world just after he is born. The first smile, the first word, the silly games that he only plays with me. The happy twinge when they say "I love you and you are the best mom ever." The silly words and phrases. The signs of intelligence that make us sure that our child is a prodigy (admit it, we have all had that moment.)

And I think that we don't want anyone to tell us. Good or bad.

Having learned the ups and downs for ourselves makes us feel more proud of both surviving and enjoying. That we are navigating the oceans of parenthood by ourselves. We don't want to think of the difficulties as just run-of-the-mill. We don't want to think of the cute phrases and amazing landmarks as "typical" or "expected." We take pride in our work as parents.

And we want to take all the credit for the outcome.