Author Archives: elizatwist

STOP! Collaborate and Listen

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I remember the day this happened. I was on my way home and found myself in the most baffling traffic jam that I’ve ever experienced. At every turn there was no way out. I took the slow moving surface streets and eventually made my way to my destination. I was lucky, others were stranded, completely immobilized, for hours and hours.

What I found most fascinating about this was how so many people were affected by one person’s actions. It seemed to me such a poignant lesson that was largely ignored. Sure, the guy who did this was in the midst of a significant personal crisis. Sure, had I been one of the people sitting on the bridge for hours on end while he sat at the edge, my interpretation of his actions may have been a little different. And yet I could not help but think, what better way to realize your place in the world than to bring all traffic in a major metropolitan area to a complete standstill? It brings to mind the big lesson of this classic, put in real life terms of course.

I realize that my interpretation of these events is only possible based on my distal vantage point. That up close and personal, lessons are not nearly as simple to divine. But that one of the many benefits of living in community with others, isn’t it? We get to learn from each other. We get to take events and create stories around them. And the story itself can have a positive influence on our future choices and how we see the world.

Here’s my main takeaway: We are interconnected. One person’s crisis is every person’s crisis. With our interdependence as a base for understanding it follows that just as we can help each other, so can we cause each other major distress. It seems to be that our best hope lies in listening to each other in ways that facilitate collaboration. Together we can make progress much faster than apart. Indeed, together we make progress in spite of our invented sense of independence. So why not just stop pretending that we are in this alone?

She Works Hard for the Honey (because there ain’t much money)

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I think that the best way to address what is running through my mind right now is to simply begin with the overarching statement: being a working mom is difficult. I don’t know anybody who would disagree with that statement, at least not in the presence of a working mom.

I’ve been trying my hand at having it all since my kid was born just around a year and a half ago. Here’s my version of having it all: having my kid with me nearly all of the time and working. This has evolved as he’s gotten older and more interested in leaving the house, but my original scheme is laid out pretty clearly here. There have been so many moments over the past year when it seemed to me that I surely must be mad for attempting what I did, and yet, I could see no other way. While I have wanted to be a mom for as long as I remember, and am so very grateful for the privilege, I also am passionate about my work. And so, it has always seemed to me that the only way to be happy as a mom is to be a working mom. And somehow, I can’t see how being a working mom can be easy, and so I am stuck between a rock and a hard place.

I’m pretty sure that this all gets easier though. Kids get older, we adults get more savvy, things generally fall into place with greater ease. But, man oh man, the first couple years of the first kid? Thank goodness time keeps moving forward!

Back in the days of my thriving business when I was svelte and brimming with confident enthusiasm, I had a few women approach me about wanting to become Pilates instructors. They were interested in completing certification programs at the same time they were planning on having their first children. This struck me as strange. There is, of course, the most obvious reason right? That Pilates is based on controlling the very part of our body which is decidedly no longer under our complete control once that sperm and egg get together. But to me there was another curiosity, why would a person want to jump into the biggest unknown of their life and take up an entirely new discipline and career at the same time?

Now that I’m a mom, I think that I have a better idea about at least part of it. We have a need as mom’s to defend our natural providence over the course that our lives take. This was for me, absolutely essential. If I am going to have even a chance of always being present and ever-yielding to my baby who is entirely dependent on me, then I’m going to have to be well-cared for. And only I can determine what well-cared for means to me. As far as I am concerned this logically extends to the work that we do and with that how we spend our valuable time and energy. To have work that is not fulfilling on a deep level as a mom would be very difficult for me. But in my adult years, my work has always been dictated by my dreams. I realize that not everybody is so lucky. But when motherhood knocks, it seems that people wake up to themselves a little bit more with the realization that work must be meaningful in order to be granted our attention.

There is another thing going on with regard to Pilates, and now seems as an appropriate time as any to bring up the point: Pilates is hard work. But most people don’t realize that until they actually do it. Especially not over here in California where the work Pilates is used to describe such a broad range of exercise experiences and types that it takes a real-honest-to-goodness-body-sleuth to figure out what each and every body is doing (if one really cares to know, that is). While the extent of variations on the theme, Pilates, is large and problematic for many reasons, the fact that not everybody is working hard in the same effective way is par for the course. And so, plenty of people are operating under the false idea that Pilates is some sort of fluffy exercise that women with an excess of resource do. Wrong, wrong, wrong. (Okay, maybe a little right, given the price tag of a proper investment in Pilates). But make no mistake: the people who are doing actual Pilates are working very hard and very deeply, for a long time. That is the only way to get a bonafide “Pilates Body”.

While I did not pick a whole new career, I did reinvent my career along with getting pregnant.  (Well, I did start this little blog, mostly out of necessity:  a creative outlet was very much needed).  I still call myself a Pilates Instructor and Studio owner and yet everything is different. How I do my work is different. How I prioritize my time is different. Well of course it is, in so many ways I am starting over again. And so it would seem that there are some universalities to being a working mom. While we each go about it in our unique way, we will each be forever changed by being a mom. I hope that for each of us, we find more of who we are in our time with our children and in our time with ourselves in our work lives. This, to me, is the logical progression of a life well lived.

And while, I have suffered at the mercy of my own frustrations, more than at any other point in my life in my short tenure as a working mom, I know that I am capable of so much more than I was before. As time marches on it’s inevitable forward trajectory, I see that there can be no other place for me than further along my path than I once was as a fit-go-getter who was ever so slightly intolerant of my sisters’ struggles to find more of who they were.

And while, there may not be much money in these first years, there is oh so much honey.  So for now (but not always), sweetness will have to suffice.

Bidding Farewell to the The Not So Hidden Pounds

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So…since my last post about my post-ween diet life just kept on going. And here’s how it went. I kept packing on the pounds! Despite upping my exercise. Despite being more careful about what I eat. The last time I put my “last stand” pants on I could barely button them, the pockets were flaring the way pockets do on tight pants (oh boy). I had an appointment with my acupuncturist and shared my post ween diet plan with her. She gave me some TCM perspective on the project. And we had dinner with friends, one of whom is also an acupuncturist. She added her two cents. Which gave me the sense that I’m on the right track. This, together with the simple fact that I no longer have any clothes that fit, I took as an indication: that the time to start is now (or rather, last Sunday when I did indeed begin).

 

A few years ago my body did a similar thing to what it has been doing in the past couple months. For no apparent reason, I began rapidly gaining weight. Because I hadn’t changed anything about my food intake or my exercise regimen, it was fairly clear to me that there was some other sort of something going on in my body. Through my work with my acupuncturist and ground level investigations (talking with friends and clients), I began to realize that for some reason my hormones, were directing my body to hold onto fat. This seemed like a bad idea to me then. And I feel the same way now.

 

Way back then, the key to my body shedding the pounds turned out to be treating my spleen. Now, the truth is that it may very well be more complicated than that (of course). I underwent regular acupuncture treatments and herbal regimens for upwards of a year before receiving the body altering treatment. One acupuncturist performed the many regular treatments, and another performed the fat dropping one. I know that the regular treatments helped me in lots of ways. But it wasn’t until I switched acupuncturists that I had the wow!-my-pants-finally-fit-again result. And, it is impossible to know if the wow! result was not only based on the single treatment, but also all the ones leading up to that point. This is what body sleuthing is all about, you know? Trying to sort all these things out.

 

This time around, I’m starting with my spleen. Might as well. It turns out that by cutting out gluten, sugar (mostly), and dairy, I’m giving my spleen a break from moisture, phlegm, and mucous. While pregnancy is a naturally moist period for the body, it can be difficult for some bodies to “dry out” afterwards. This is the information that I learned from my TCM sources. Hopefully, I’m correctly transmitting the information.

 

Now, the kidneys and the liver are often wrapped up with the spleen. I don’t know why. I just know that, when I receive treatments (TCM and visceral manipulation) these gals are usually part of the conversation. I decided to sit with heat on my kidneys every evening while my husband and I enjoy our installation of this fun show. That is generally soothing, which I figure is good for my adrenals if nothing else. I also notice that it helps me to empty a lot of fluid by way of my bladder. Which gives me the sense that the kidneys are kicked into gear. And what’s more, I’m able to sleep through the night without having to get up to pee. Always a good indicator of things going well with the kidneys. For my liver, I’m drinking lemon juice more regularly. And I am taking an herbal remedy from my acupuncturist which she tells me supports my spleen and liver.

 

Aside from my dietary changes, I also take this syrup, drink beet kvass and kombucha from here, pop a couple of these each day, and take my vitamins since my boy is still making teeth and using my milk for the project. All these bits, help to keep my blood in good standing, my gut humming along, my immune system ready for anything, and my brain well supported.

 

I am loving this cookbook since so many of the recipes are gluten free, it’s a perfect new addition to my collection. (And it helps me remember my days of leisure on the magical island of Cuba. Perfect for somebody who hasn’t been on a beach in way too long).

 

The late addition to my plan has been tending to my thyroid. Jojo pointed out that perhaps my thyroid is the wizard behind all this weight gain. Given my current lack of time and funds. I decided to have a look online to see what I could figure out right in the comfort of my own home about my thyroid. I read two articles that I found helpful. (This one and this one.) And after further investigation, I chose to resume my daily consumption of these. It turns out that a lot of the other things that I’m already doing are working toward the same end of supporting my healthy thyroid.

 

Over the past few days I’ve noticed a few things that may or may not be connected to all these changes I’ve made. I have often had a low grade headache which feels like the result of neck tension. I’ve got aches in other parts of my body too. I have also had several bouts of what I can describe no other way than ickiness of my stomach area. And I’ve been frequently quite tired and short of patience. I’d venture to say that my body is having a bit of a healing crisis now that I’ve removed some elements of distraction from the system. And I’m hoping that all these changes I have made will have me feeling better, and slimming down soon. Time will tell. The good news is that I haven’t done anything irreversible or incredibly dramatic to alter my system. Generally, I try to avoid such measures as there can be all sorts of reactions to such changes.

 

Be the Shining Star that you Are

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I’ve got a few blog posts in me today, but a bunch of other tasks that really need my energy. It’s funny because the one post that is going to get written is not the one that I would have thought would be written. And as I wrote that sentence, I realized that actually there is a common thread through it all, so maybe, it will all get written. In the next few minutes.

 

A special thanks to Tara for posting a link on FB to this fabulous TED talk. That was a while back, but today, over breakfast, I actually took the time to watch. I’m particularly intrigued by the topic because I have seen how Pilates changes lives. Starting with my own. If you give enough energy to developing your Pilates practice, you will grow more confident and more aligned with your own power to contribute in a positive way to the world that we share. I have had that experience with Pilates and I love facilitating that change in others.

 

I had a secret dream of being a dancer as a kid. This dream went completely unacknowledged by anyone in my life until I had a dance professor in college, who said that if I wanted to be a dancer, I should be a dancer. Simple. That was all the acknowledgement that I needed to pick a coast and get to work. I found a job working with kids that gave me income and health insurance, and nearly every day of the week I would dance, or train capoiera, or t’ai chi, or some other movement form. In dance class it wasn’t long before I became aware of an incredibly persistent voice in my head which was shooting me down before I even got moving. I would watch my teacher demonstrate the moves, and as I watched, I would tell myself that there was no way I’d be able to do that. Not surprisingly, I usually turned out to be correct. Until I realized that my inner voice was not helping and I learned how to first ignore it and then quiet it completely. That and a healthy dose of encouragement from my wonderful teacher got me moving in some semblance of competency (she later told me that when I first turned up in her class, she was dubious of my eventual success – I was that shut down). I enjoyed many years dancing in class, but I had too many other interests and ambitions to put the requisite time and energy into dance to really become a dancer. Over time, my dreams of being a dancer matured into what seems to be the most appropriate plan for me: to have a life long passion of dance training sprinkled with the occasional performance opportunity. Mostly, I am grateful that I honored myself in following my dream and I am grateful for every person who supported me along the way. Because while I didn’t get to where I thought I’d get when I first began, I got somewhere that feels right for me.

 

Last night, my husband mentioned the resurgence of stunt that our local kids are keen to pull. As is typical for my husband who takes consideration for others to a highly honorable degree, he was incensed by this sort of activity. While clearly, this sort of thing is not what we want our kids doing, it seems to me that we have no one but ourselves to blame for the fact that our kids are putting their energy into dangerous and publicly disruptive activities.

 

Next story. When I was working at a school I witnessed a degeneration of spirit in a particular group of children that I worked with. In my opinion, their experience was the logical result of a dramatic and complete failure of the school staff to serve them in an honorable and respectful way. And we all paid the price. I knew these kids in the fourth grade. I saw their performance in the classroom with their dedicated and inspired teacher. I saw them actively and passionately engaged in their school work. They had been with the same teacher for two years and they were preparing for their fifth grade year with a new teacher. I also, by some strange stroke of coincidence, saw them in their first weeks of their fifth grade teacher. Sadly, we were all subjected to the whims of an uninspired, deeply self-absorbed person. I was in the classroom to assist, the children were in the classroom to learn, and presumably the teacher was in the classroom to lead us all in our pursuits. I sat at the front along side her, looking at the faces of thirty bright-eyed and eager children, all sitting alert with pencils poised. She talked, and talked, and talked. She said nothing relevant to anyone with respect to the tasks at hand. It was incredibly boring for all of us. Lucky for me, I was reassigned soon. Because the sad truth is that I was powerless to affect any change upon the situation. About halfway through the school year, a good friend of mine was substituting for the class and because we would often lunch together, I went to meet him as he and the students were headed toward the cafeteria. What I witnessed was crazy. The thirty kids were completely out of control. He struggled at every moment to keep them corralled. There was absolutely no learning going on, just crowd control.

 

Now, this is all up for interpretation, of course. But I have my own opinion about what happened to those kids. Eight months ago, I had seen them completely engaged in their school work, all their energy directed toward a productive end. And now, with a simple, and yet completely infuriating, change of one circumstance (have you ever had to sit captive to somebody who does not stop talking and expects you to pay attention for hours on end, day in day out? Not fun.), these kids had lost control. Or rather they were wielding what little control they had. I have no idea what happened to each of those kids, I hope that that year was the last of disappointment any of them ever had with a bad teacher. There are so many amazing teachers in the world, and those kids, like every kid, deserved to have one year after year. But I know what happened to my friend. He lost his job, because one of the kids accused him of attacking her and attempting to push her down the stairs. Not that his job loss is the most significant loss that happened as a result of a bad situation, it’s just the one that I actually know about. My overall point is that we failed those kids. And they in turn failed us.

 

So back to today. While I am not in anyway speaking in a voice of encouragement to acts that put the general populace in danger. It seems to me that when we are thinking about situations such as the 880 sideshows that are coming back into fashion, we ought to be considering what people who have enough wherewithal to execute such a stunt could be doing with their energy were they given the respect and support that they deserve as our fellow citizens of humanity.

 

When I look back over the years of my youth and the challenges that I faced against myself in the dance studio and socially amongst peers who, like me, were struggling to find their place in the world, I realize that I was incredibly lucky to have found enough support to set me on a positive track. And like many who have received enough support in order to become enough of who they are, rather than to self-destructively implode, I am keen to pay my blessings forward.

 

When I watched Amy Cuddy’s talk, I was reminded of the power of the work that I do with Pilates. And reminded about the power that we each possess to support each other in being more of who we are. So that together we each and collectively can be better that who we are. That is, in my opinion, the whole point.

 

And from now on, I know my favorite way to end a Pilates work out. Because, according to Romana, every workout needs a good ending, and according to Amy Cuddy, everybody can use a power boost, in my studio, we’ll be finishing with the standing twist from now on.

 

Shine brightly upon your day! Be the star that you are!

Nothing Like a Good Bumper Sticker to Keep the Thoughts Coming

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So this entry is sort of a combo one, which is why I put it in two categories. Life in Oakland is always interesting. Sometimes in a vexing sort of way. Sometimes in an inspiring sort of way. Sometimes in an enlightened sort of way. You get the idea.

Here’s a bumper sticker I read, and I have to say that I’m still a little confused. But it got me wondering, marveling, chuckling (pretty much in that order too). And I like that in a bumper sticker. A sort of stick to your brain kind of thing, an intellectual version of soaked muesli for breakfast. I like things that require some mulling over.

Here it is, in all it’s strangeness. See what you can make of it:

“The hardest thing about a zombie apocalypse will be pretending I’m not excited”

My Most Heartfelt Holiday

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Celebrating the life of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is an annual favorite of mine. Every year, the day approaches and I wonder what I will do to remember my first and enduring hero. And sadly, the actual day arrives with an empty calendar. I think that this mostly has to do with the circumstances of my life, a too long list of to do’s on account of my never-ending ambitions, and the sad fact that amongst the people I know, I am probably the only one who would like to do something communal to celebrate Dr. King. And so every year I end up alone, thinking about him. Given all sorts of events of recent, on this particular occasion of remembering Dr. King, I am thinking about the reality of loss, the endurance of spirit, and the tides of the material world that bind us into habits of being. All this has to do with the machinations of our all powerful minds. We are putty in the hands of our minds’ dictates, and I find that unrelenting truth fascinating. As I look at the world that we inhabit, the cruelties that we inflict first upon ourselves and then upon others, I am amazed at how our minds are what drive us to do these things.

 

I have a few new projects in the hopper (remember the never-ending to do list?), that are lurking behind the words that I write here today. But I want to keep this post short and sweet: just one in a vast collection of homages to an American great who above all else, always stood up for the best of ourselves. The reason that Dr. King has remained, and I do believe that he will always be, my number one hero is because he spoke essential truths. At so many points in my life I am looking for proof of a point: where goodness and righteousness are my ultimate goals. And I find him. He was always speaking to the essential good. And I cannot think of a better definition of a hero.

 

It is not only on his honorary birthday that I remember Dr. King, but many many days out of a given year, he is on my mind. I would dare say that I think of him nearly every day. Not that I’m keeping track, so I can’t be sure about that. But he is big in my life and now I realize that perhaps I’m making a pitch for more people to call on their memories of Dr. King with increasing frequency. And this is not to discount the heroic acts that each of us makes regularly, but to make a point about Dr. King. One man, who had an amazing charisma, who made many many many excellent points, who put himself at the front of the line pushing against the ugliness of us all, and who died very early in his life. The ugliness pushed back, he got a break from a never-ending list of deeds to do, and the rest of us got a hero for all time. The injustice is sick. The sadness of loss, infinite. But so are his words, and what he stood for. Love above all else.

 

It seems to me that we are often looking for the neat summary. When I am not thinking of Dr. King’s wise words, I’m thinking of his place in the world, the service that he provided us. And so, that’s my story. This year. Next year it may be different, based on who I meet and what words we share. But always, Dr. King will remain a hero to me.

 

The Center of the Universe Theory

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I’ve got a pet theory. (I’ve got a lot of those actually.) But this one keeps coming up in my thoughts. And this space is where I get those thoughts out of my head and into the world, with the hope that they will do more good out there than they do floating around in my head making me neurotic.

The Center of the Universe Theory: there is a developmentally appropriate period of time in the life span of every human being during which they are most appropriately self described as the “center of the universe.” During this period, if the people caring for this person, understand the theory and behave in accordance with it, the human will develop a deep seated sense of well-being which will serve as a foundation for a happy, healthy, life. I am pretty sure that this period of time is the first couple years of life. And then it is over, at which point the person begins to look outward to the world, to develop all the wonderful social qualities that we hope for in a well-adjusted person.

When somebody with a chronological age higher than two or so years demonstrates a high degree of self-absorption then it is possible that somehow, the people caring for that person did not give them the unconditional deference appropriate for his / her age in those early years of life. And so, this person is now on an perpetual hunt to find that sort of treatment, often at the annoyance of other people. (It is also possible that the person has some other sort of mental condition determining his / her behavior – social theories are such slippery fish).

To me this means that in my days with my 18-month old son, I try to keep him happy. This is usually quite easy to do. Which sort of proves my point. If this assertion that I am making were beyond what is possible to execute than it would not me much of a theory. Sure, some amount of arranging of our family life does have to occur, but it is not anything that a competent adult cannot handle. And it is for a relatively short period of time in the scheme of how many years we will all live together as a family.

Over the years I’ve picked up tidbits of information that have all fed this theory. One of the main themes of these tidbits was that the very earliest years of life were very important. We are in danger of missing this information if we hamper the instinct of mothers, because by design mothers are the people who are primed to receive this important message and act on it. I’m speaking here of breastfeeding, mostly. Because if a mom nurses her baby, all sorts of automatic reactions click into place in her body. But at a broader level, this has to do with caring. Those who have been well-cared for pass that care onto others. Those who have not been well-cared for must find ways to care for themselves lest they always be starved for real caring and, in turn, unintentionally pass on neglect.

As I have alluded to in many posts, this has been a challenging year for me and for our family. I blame this on our career choices, namely that my husband and I are both in business for ourselves. As I think about our choices and consider the alternative of being employees, it is now an impossibility for either of us. We are each too far into the world of independence and de-institutionalization to accept the requisite boundaries of such a work environment. We are not so far along that we have achieved a desirable degree of stability, which is precisely the main source of my frustration. But we are far enough along that we cannot turn back.

And so, forward we go. With as much care for our son, ourselves, and each other, as we can possibly muster. (And yes, I am afraid that that is the order of caring in our home these days). And here, in turn, are the three ideas that support our action, at least in my mind: the center of the universe theory; if you don’t have your health, you don’t have anything; and the old saying that what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Time will tell how our bets pay off.

Lighter Days Ahead

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Perhaps it was the emotional stress of the past few months, or a hormonal shift which I am quite sure occurred (I am nursing my little guy till his second birthday but my body’s reproductive rhythms are back in full swing, I see this as a mixed message which most certainly must have some hormonal wackiness involved), or just the cumulative result of chocolate and pastry indulgences…but there is no arguing with the little digital display on our bathroom scale. For the past month, every time I stand on that thing, I brace myself. Because every time, the number is higher. Oh drag!

As far as I can tell, there is not much to be done about this in the next few months. I’m in the midst of a big professional project which will be unveiled as soon as we get it together (yep, that’s right, more squeezing of productive moments into our already-maxed-out-lives). And I have a little pet theory that getting too obsessive about diets when lactating has an adverse effect on milk production. I have come to accept the notion that the lactating-mama-body keeps a little extra on hand for emergencies.

I do plan to up my vegetable intake, and increase my calorie-burning activities. But I am also hatching a plan for the months following my baby’s transition to little boy (read: stops nursing). It dawned on me last week, that the keys to making my plan a success are getting really enthusiastic about it, and a big part of that is making plans in advance so that over the next few months my eyes are continually trained on the prize of weight loss and giving my body a chance to revel in itself apart from anybody else.

Here’s the simple plan: in the months of July and August, I will not consume any products with cow’s milk (best to get those milk hormones out of my system, even if they are a cow’s, heaven knows that I don’t need any more baby fat), sugar (excluding chocolate, and honey is permitted – I have quite the sweet tooth and I’ll probably be going through oxytocin and prolactin withdrawals), nor wheat (just because it seems like a nice way to give my digestion a break). It bears mentioning that, I don’t really consume alcohol with the exception of my daily kombucha. If I were a drinker, I’d cut that out too.

And my plan for sticking with my plan is to gather quite an arsenal of recipes so that I am never without ideas of tasty things to eat. July and August are ideal months to do something like this anyway on account of the farmers’ market abundance, but getting excited about what I’m going to prepare via recipes will seal the deal. The recipes will serve as my jump boards. The produce and the actual preparation will feed my creativity.

And, with any luck…all these plans will get me fitting back into the majority of my wardrobe (did I mention that I have exactly on pair of pants that fits me right now?!)

I started a pintrest board to keep track of all my recipes. Someday I’ll figure out how to display a little “follow me” sort of button. And on that topic, I also started a twitter account for keeping track of those quick ah ha moments that I have now and again without weaving them into a whole post. So, I’ll probably get a button for that too. Someday… For now my flubbits and I are headed back to work.

Learning for a Lifetime

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Do not confine your children to your own learning, for they were born in another time. –Hebrew Proverb

 And it goes along that this means, sooner or later our children are going to teach us something. While I have approached parenting in this way since the moment my pregnancy began, I’m not particularly worried about heeding the wisdom of this proverb while my kid lives under my roof. But as the years wear on and I become more entrenched in my own ways of being, I may find it difficult to remember that my kid may very well know better than me on all sorts of topics. And so it seems that a reminder to listen to my kid (once he is an adult), and try to do what he says, should be on my list for growing old gracefully.

Yuletide, the dark underbelly of Christmas.

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Well, I hate to be a scrooge. But. It would seem that some sort of scrooge or grinch has designs on the our family Christmas celebration. This is definitely in keeping with our experiences throughout the year of 2012. This was the year when I marveled at how many times I considered the notion of rock bottom and while people in my family don’t necessarily think of things in those terms, there have been challenges at everybody’s doorstep this year. The year that we ought to forget, just as soon as it actually ends.

But, clearly, in our individual and collective lives, we have far more goodness than badness. And so I thought that I’d turn to my keyboard with the hope that a bit of writing will put things in perspective. There was a point, when my husband was boiling with anger and frustration (I know just how he was feeling) and while I was feeling empathetic and quite sorry for him, I was also thinking that this is all going to be laughable pretty soon. I mean really. How could more things go wrong for people who love Christmas as much as we do and who are as well ordered as we are (type A all the way)?

So let’s see….

My step-father died last month. He loooooved Christmas. Just like me. Just like my husband.

So we were that much more determined to have a quiet and merry Christmas celebration with my mom here in California. But, she’s sad. We are all sad.

Then, two days before Christmas, my husband got hit with a virus. He was in the sort of misery that makes a person consider the lightness of death vis a vis the heavy burden of severe distress of the digestive system (ahem). I played nurse, we cancelled all activities involving people coming to our house which meant that cleaning and childcare didn’t happen. This also happened to be the day that I started my period and the morning that I was past due for a “sleep in” with my husband on baby duty. And it was raining, cats and dogs. After speaking with an advice nurse, considering just what would happen at the emergency room (he was really in a state of misery), and carefully evaluating his condition, we decided to follow the nurse’s instructions for restoring fluids. It worked and as the sun set, he declared to be feeling a tiny bit better. By the next day he could get out of bed. That was Christmas Eve. Oh good!

But there are certain things that my husband always does to celebrate Christmas in honor of his deceased mother who absolutely loved Christmas. Christmas is the day that my husband and his father remember his mother and these personal rituals are very important to him. But he had to forgo them all. We had to tell his dad not to come because we did not want to risk him catching the ferocious bug that ravaged my husband’s body.

(At this particular moment I am feeling quite adamant about the custom of quarantine and rest when ill. Why people are so careless about this, I do not know. But we are pretty sure of the person who is responsible for this situation, and I must admit – with reservations – that if he were a person who celebrated Christmas, we would give him a lump of coal, and an earful. But that is why I have this lovely little cyber space.)

Also, we have very little money (like so many others, I know), and for us this means dramatic cutbacks on Christmas spending. Which is fine. Sure. For the best. Definitely. And yet, we love the fun of Christmas presents. But the truth is that we would not have had the time or energy to wrap them and keep them secret. For example, my mom and I just decided to go shopping together. That way we could buy each other exactly what the other wanted. Not so romantic. But we were happy.

We have purchased a lot of food. Which will be consumed, but not on the original schedule. We had a non-traditional breakfast which I ruined in my husband’s eyes by using sprouted whole wheat flour instead of the regular all purpose flour. I’m trying to keep the healthy of us healthy and bolster up my husband’s body. But, of all the meals, I picked the wrong one. He was quite unhappy with the situation and with me.

Then came the baby’s bout with the bug. Which isn’t so bad, so far. Except that we are now treating his waste as if it were radioactive. The bathroom has become a toxic dump with my husband the sole employee, since so far my mom and I have steered clear of the big bad germs. So my mom, the baby, and I all headed to the Pilates studio in order to use the bathroom. By the time we got back, the baby had had another episode contaminating all sorts of clothing on the three of us, and my husband had successfully stopped up the toilet by mistakenly flushing one of our reusable cloth baby wipes down with the evil vermin.

Over breakfast we shared memories of serene Christmases spent with loved ones. Those memories blended in my mind with the prose that I indulged in during the baby’s Christmas Eve nap. And it would seem that this Christmas is decidedly not going to make it on the the Top Ten Best Christmases Ever list.

But there were some really lovely moments:

When we turned the lights on the tree much to the baby’s enjoyment (we had left them off save a few minutes up till Christmas Eve)

Wrapping presents with my mom and realizing that now I’m part of the parent wrapping club. (It’s fun to assist Santa).

Listening to my husband read a Christmas classic over dinner.

Sleeping in thanks to baby.

Waking before baby in order to set up the video camera before he came out. Instead of rushing to keep up with him as happens nearly every morning, he seemed to know that we had something special in store for him.

Watching baby enjoy his gifts one by one. He still has more to open, he is napping now.

And many many more. Yes, there is plenty of good along with the rest.

While this is not the Christmas any of us would have asked for, it is the one that we have got.  It’s the one day that my husband expects to kick back and relax, which is a big deal these days in our little family.  The thing that I realized about Christmas today is that here in the US, it is the one break all year that we get save for a few businesses  being open.  Boy can we use a break!

I was thinking that it would be cool if we had one day like Christmas once a season.  One day when absolutely everything was closed.  All we can do is hunker down and mellow out.  Despite all our trials, it’s still a relaxing day for the simple fact that we don’t have much to do.  I like that, and I think that we could use a bit more of it.  Just another crazy idea that I cooked up…that and a tasty Christmas dinner are the order of this Christmas evening.  And once the babe sleeps, we adults plan to indulge in a bit of Christmas fun, just to put some smiles on our faces.

Merry Christmas!