Friday, February 28, 2014

A Few of My Favorite Things

It is a glorious, sunny day here in the Pacific Northwest, the crocuses and daffodils are showing their gorgeous faces all over the neighborhood, and the dog had a much-needed bath yesterday for the first time in nearly nine months, so I'm feeling great! Plus, it's Friday and we have a terrific weekend of great meals, catching up with friends, and lacrosse up ahead.

This salad is one of my favorite things these days. Often, I'll find a recipe that I like and, over time, as I make it, I'll add a few things or change a few things or tweak something. Not so with this salad. It is absolutely perfect as it stands. I keep shredded kale and brussels sprouts in the fridge along with a container of the dressing just so I can toss a bowl together at any moment. I've been known to have it for breakfast when I'm feeling starved and unimaginative.

These cookies are my new go-to snack or quick breakfast option for the girls. I have been trying to find more grain-free recipes, given our gluten-free life and the problems with eating too much corn or rice, and these hit the spot. I do often add a handful of mini chocolate chips to them (because, duh, why wouldn't you) and I've played with different dried fruits. I love the tart dried apricots from Trader Joe's (blenheim style) and the tart Montmorency cherries that add a bit of zing. Shauna Ahern is one of my heroes, given her thoughtful approach to cooking gluten free so I was delighted to find these on her website. They do take a bit of planning and a well-stocked grocery store, but the chewy, nutty texture is so worth it for this tasty, healthy snack.

This drink is so great! During cold season, I warmed mugs of it up and gave it to the girls and it soothed their sore throats almost instantly.  One morning when I woke up with heartburn and stomach upset (thanks to dinner in a new neighborhood restaurant that was still working out their gluten free options - whoops), I drank some over ice mixed with fizzy water and it helped settle my stomach.  It is relatively inexpensive, non-GMO, and tasty.  The last time I saw it on sale, I bought six bottles to keep in the basement.



Monday, February 24, 2014

Happy Anniversary to Us

On Wednesday, Bubba and I will celebrate twenty years of marriage. Twenty. And, no, I'm not old enough to have been married that long, and neither is he, but we somehow managed to jump the space-time continuum and make it so, anyway.

The past year has been one of the best years of my marriage, for certain, and as much as it pains me to say so, I think it's because it has been one of the most challenging years of my parenting life. Not despite,     because.

The first six years we were married, we worked full-time, Monday through Friday jobs and spent our weekends eating out with friends, going to the movies, taking urban hikes and sleeping late. We spoiled our cats, traveled domestically and internationally and drove his parents crazy as we remained childless.  One day, all of a sudden, I wanted to be a mom. I never had before and, in fact, had been quite vocal about my desire to never raise children. (Turns out Bubba never really believed that bluster, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and didn't challenge me or tell me how much he wanted kids.)

So one day, I woke up and said to him, in a hushed, rather quavery sort of voice, "I think I want to have a baby." I couldn't look him in the eye. I whispered it to him as his head lie nestled into his pillow, so close that if he had turned to look at me, my nose would certainly have lodged itself in his ear. He kept very still and said, "Cool. Me too."

So here we are fourteen years later with one teenage daughter and another one on the cusp of teenagerhood.  In those years Bubba and I have grown together and apart, shifted the responsibilities of the household and our lives to accommodate each other and our girls as much as possible without blowing completely to pieces, and at times it has felt fragile. We don't fight, but we have disagreed on some vital issues from time to time and on at least one occasion I insisted we go see a counselor in order to find common ground.  I have never stopped loving him, but there were times when I wasn't particularly convinced that I could see forward to a time where I would ever be madly in love with him again. Part of that was due to simple fatigue (especially in the early infant and toddler years), other times I felt resentment when I saw his life as dynamic and mine as stagnant, and through certain periods it has been due to an absolute inability to see anything beyond the absolute frenzy of activity filling up day after day after week after month ahead.

But today, two days before we celebrate twenty years of marriage (and nearly twenty-four together), I find myself completely, madly, head-over-heels for this man. And I'm certain it is because of the turmoil and challenges we have faced with our girls in the past year. They are growing up, asserting themselves, doing their level best to find holes in our armor through which to poke sharp objects. They are doing everything they are supposed to be doing at this stage of their lives - testing limits and pushing back and exploiting loopholes and screaming, "INDEPENDENCE OR DEATH!" and it is hard. It hurts your feelings. It makes you question everything you thought you knew. It is ego-bruising, teeth-grinding, upside-down-in-a-hurricane, soul-defeating hard. There are bright spots in all of it, don't get me wrong, but they mostly feel like opportunities to fill your canteen in anticipation of the next onslaught.  Bubba and I are flying blind here, not ever having found a manual for how to parent two such completely different children making their way through this life full of technology and stimulation and choices and emotion.

But we're doing it together. And even when he is traveling for work, gone for days on end, he never fails to call or text us to check in. He never minimizes the challenges and he always reminds me that I'm a good mom. He lets me know that he is struggling, too, and he works really hard to stay engaged, asking the details of the last basketball game or pop quiz. He just returned from a week-long trip to Mexico with Eve and the rest of her classmates (14-year old girls, all) as a chaperone - a hot, exhausting, Spanish immersion trip where he was pleased as punch to get to know Eve's friends. He is my rock, but just as importantly, he lets me know that I am his. On any given day, we might spend half an hour texting each other to talk about every subject from the most mundane to the most painful, it's all on the table, and it's all important.  This period of parenting has reminded me that what we have is a partnership built on mutual respect and trust. That Bubba remains vulnerable and honest about his own challenges while simultaneously supporting and affirming my strengths is huge. The fact that he can acknowledge my weaknesses without accusing or demeaning and step in to shore things up where necessary is just as amazing.

I remember thinking that after six years of marriage, I knew Bubba inside and out. I remember thinking that there was nothing that would surprise me about him. And then one day, when Eve was a toddler, he used a washable marker to draw this crazy face on the top of her foot. I had never seen him draw anything before and it was really good. I was surprised. Over the years, I have been surprised again and again as I watch him parent our girls with careful patience, humor, creativity, and so much love that my heart bursts wide open. I know now that twenty years is only the tip of the iceberg. There is so much more to know and love about this man. And I am so lucky to have found him.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

If You're Gonna Use Barbie, Why Not Go All the Way?

Lola loves watching Hollywood Game Night. She thinks Jane Lynch (the hostess) is hilarious and while she doesn't know most of the guests (Ray Romano who? Martin Short what?), she loves the banter and the games. It has become our weekly ritual to sit down together and watch. I know very few of the pop culture questions and she likes to see the puzzled look on my face when a reference comes up that sounds utterly alien to me.

Last night we were watching an episode that aired a while ago and the game I suck at the most was part of the show. This game is called "Timeline" and consists of six giant posters with images from one category (Rolling Stone magazine covers, for example) or one celebrity's life and the contestants have 90 seconds to put them in order of oldest to most recent.  Yeah. As someone who has been mostly oblivious to pop culture since I graduated from high school oh-so-many-years-ago, I am useless at this one.

One team's posters were of six different Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue covers beginning back in the 1990s until present day.  As the "valets," as Jane calls them, revealed each one the crowd oohed and aahed (and laughed as one of the contestants was featured on one poster - topless). When they were all facing the crowd, Jane said something I found very telling.  She said, "As a feminist, I find these all very disgusting. And as a lesbian, I'm thrilled!" The room erupted in laughter.  And I get it.

There is no reason we can't admit that seeing pictures of attractive folks in various stages of undress is pleasing to us. There's a reason this issue of Sports Illustrated sells more copies than any other throughout the year. We love looking at these bodies.

That doesn't mean I don't completely buy into the notion that objectification of anybody, male or female, is harmful. I have just as many objections to the SI swimsuit issue as I do to many of the mainstream advertisements out there for cologne or clothing or anything else for that matter.  But I think that this is why I don't really have a problem with this year's Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue featuring the iconic Barbie doll.  (Yes, in case you hadn't heard, the cover of this year's issue features Barbie as the model.)

In fact, I think they ought to go a little farther and have all of the suits modeled by Barbie. Not that this issue is about swimsuits, or selling swimsuits, or even sports for the most part. But if we are going to embrace the objectification of women and men, we may as well go all the way and use objects to make our point, right?  I mean, the rampant use of Photoshop to alter the pictures of the real-life models renders them completely fake, anyway, so why not use plastic dolls instead? They are certainly vastly cheaper and the graphic artists can still play around with Photoshop to add more ripples and muscles where Barbie doesn't have any - maybe even a little peek-a-boo nipple in a shot or two, huh?

Nobody is likely to get very hot-and-bothered over the photos in the magazine, given the fake nature of them, but I suspect an entire issue with nothing but plastic dolls as models in sexy poses and various stages of undress might go a long way to pointing out that the photos featuring live models are just as fake, don't you?  Or maybe I'm wrong...

Thursday, February 06, 2014

I'm Not Rescuing My Kids, I'm Teaching Them That They Can Rely On Others

According to some, I "rescued" my 14-year old today and I shouldn't have.  Ironically, one of the first things I saw on my Facebook feed this morning was an essay in Brain, Child that spoke to this exact issue and would probably have placed me squarely in the camp of "helicopter parent."

I beg to differ.

As a child, I was fully indoctrinated into the world of toughlove. The world of "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" and "learn to succeed on your own." And, largely, I benefited from those lessons - the teachers who let me puzzle through challenging lessons without giving me answers, my dad refusing to bail me out when I got myself into debt because I didn't think ahead, other adults in my life who showed me they believed in my abilities by not stepping in to forewarn me of some misstep I was about to take.  But there were times when I would have done much better knowing that I had support, times when I believed that independence was tantamount to connection and that being able to take care of myself was more important than asking for help. It would have served me very well to know how to even gauge my own thresholds, to know how to assess when I was out of my depth and needed a lifeline. Instead, the message I internalized was that I needed to be fully self-sufficient.

One morning a few months ago, I stepped in to the quiet halls of the school my daughters attend.  The students were all in classrooms, the sunlight streaming through the windows and bouncing off the shiny locker doors. The receptionist sat at his computer typing away with the dean of staff hovering behind his shoulder. They both looked up in surprise as I tugged on the front door, needing to be buzzed in.

"Lola left this on the printer this morning," I waved a sheet of paper in the air in explanation. The dean rolled her eyes and shook her head at me.  She would have preferred that I let Lola twist in the wind, that she learn a difficult lesson about remembering her own homework.  I felt a wave of shame and defensiveness begin to rise up in my belly but I blocked the words before they sputtered out of my mouth. I turned to the receptionist, kindly asked him to hand the paper to Lola at the next break between classes, thanked them both, and left.

Since that day, I have shown up at the school maybe once or twice to drop off basketball shoes or a hastily-prepared lunch for one of my girls. I will defend those decisions unequivocally and here is why.

As an adult, I cannot claim that I never forget anything at home that I ought to have had with me, despite the toughlove lessons I received as a child.  As an adult, I have the ability to return home in my car to get the things I forgot or use my debit card to purchase my lunch on the fly.  My children do not have that option available to them.  On more than one occasion, Bubba has called me from a business trip to plead that I stop by the dry cleaners to pick up his suit because he totally forgot to do it before he left and he will need it as soon as he returns home. Should I refuse him this kindness in an effort to "teach him a lesson?" I think not. And I won't do that to my children, either.  I refuse to let Lola go hungry at lunch in order to impart some false sense of wisdom.  Instead, I will offer them the same courtesy I hope my loved ones would extend to me in my time of need.

There are obvious exceptions, and if there is a pattern of behavior that I think needs to be dealt with, I will of course address that in a different way, but it makes me crazy to envision a world in which my daughters are taught that they are the only ones responsible for every detail of their lives.  If that were true, we would all live in a house where we only did our own dishes and nobody else's and we wouldn't be able to count on each other to remind us of important events when our brains (and calendars) are overloaded.

Some of the examples of enabling the author called out in her essay felt to me as though they were oversimplified in the making of her point.  There is a difference between 'rescuing' our children and teaching them life lessons that will serve them well one day.  I long ago stopped doing all of my girls' laundry for them, but if Eve has hours of homework to do and her basketball uniform needs a 12-hour turnaround, I'll offer to help out if I have time. I don't pay the girls' library fines if their books are overdue, but when I realized that it was getting to be a problem, I offered to help them brainstorm ways to make it easier to find and return books they had checked out.  Instead of letting them believe that there are only two solutions (Mom does it or I do it), I hope I can teach them that we are all in this together and that makes it a better world for everyone.  Yes, they are ultimately responsible for their own stuff and their choices and behaviors, but there are times where you just mess up and other times when you can't solve the problem all alone.  I know that the only thing stopping Eve from zipping home to get her own running shoes and socks today at lunchtime was the fact that she isn't old enough to drive. Given that we live five minutes from school, I have absolutely no problem heading down there to drop them off because I think the lesson here is that I'm willing to help her out when I can. I would rather raise my kids to be compassionate team-players than super-responsible, hyper-independent individuals who refuse to help someone find their misplaced keys because "it isn't my problem." I would rather raise them to know that it's okay to be human and ask other people for help occasionally, that getting assistance doesn't lead to dependence and lethargy and laziness.  Most of my early adult life was spent pushing people away, feigning that I was capable of handling anything that presented itself. While I felt a great deal of pride in my accomplishments, I was also scared of the next thing that might come along that I might NOT be able to deal with and I was pretty damn lonely.  It feels a lot better to know that someone has my back and if my kids learn that I'm there for them when they can't do for themselves, I will be able to sleep soundly at night, whether or not you label me a "helicopter mom."

Monday, February 03, 2014

Part of the 12th Man

Photo from Seahawks.com, Rod Mar
The Pacific Northwest is my home and there are dozens of reasons I love living here. But thanks to last night's Superbowl victory by the Seattle Seahawks, it just got a little more exciting.

I grew up with sports - football chief among them.  The Miami Dolphins won the Superbowl the same year I was born (and, unfortunately, haven't won another one since) and even though I grew up on the West Coast, I spent my youth cheering for Bob Griese and team. My dad patiently taught me about holding calls and 2-point conversions and there were always two or three Nerf footballs lying around our yard.  There were other sports we loved, to be sure, but following football was as much part of our lives as going to church on Sunday, and it was something we did as a family.

In high school I dated the quarterback for a while and froze my butt off in the stands every Friday night cheering on our team. I loved the rush of sitting with my friends, doing the wave, and rising as one entity, screaming with joy when one of our boys hit the end zone.

I watched helplessly in college as one of my friends was hit so hard he ended up paralyzed and suffered bleeding in his brain. He never recovered and spent the next few years of his life in a nursing home where he ultimately died of the brain injury. The community of students and staff rallied closely around his family and Eric's room was rarely empty for the remainder of his days.

For the past few weeks our town has been a frenzy of excitement and I have been reminded of the power of community. A few years ago, the team and its supporters began using the phrase "12th man." The idea picked up steam and while it may not have originally been intended, the fans of this team have become an integral part of its success. 12 man flags fly all over town and at the end of every victory, both the coach and players thank the fans. Beyond giving the team a home field advantage by generating so much noise the opposing team can't hear each other, the fans have folded the coach and players into the life of the town so deeply that they have become intertwined. The players appear in local hospitals and schools, and the owner has a rich history in Seattle as well.

There is something really amazing about feeling as though you are truly a part of your team. However absurd it sounds, the sentiment of ownership, of pride, is palpable in this town right now. From the young coach who folks thought couldn't lead an NFL team to victory to the quarterback who was told to stick to baseball to the owner whose major accomplishment prior to buying the Seahawks was helping Bill Gates start one of the most successful technology companies in the world, this team was built on hard work and a dream. (Okay, yes, and a boatload of money, but not the most money in the league by any stretch of the imagination.) I love the fact that prior to this Superbowl, none of the players on this team had a championship ring. Each and every one of these players got their first Superbowl ring last night. Each and every one of them appears to have taken Coach Carroll's philosophy of playing to heart: that every minute of every game is as important as another. I would venture to guess that many of the fans are doing the same, given the consistent efforts of their team.

I am aware of the many controversies involved with professional sports and struggle with many of them. Are players being exploited by the league when they are asked to hit and take hits that are increasingly dangerous? Is the game too violent? Is it necessary to pay these players such exorbitant sums of money? Why is the NFL considered a non-profit organization and, thus, exempt from paying taxes while raking in obscene amounts of money? But I won't deny the feeling of community and camaraderie that comes from cheering for this team who acknowledges the part their fans play in their success. In his post-game speech in the locker room, after calling out each individual player who made a spectacular play, Carroll asked the team to cheer for, "The 12s - there is something that's so real, they are so much a part of what we do..." I can't say that I'm not a little bit thrilled that this group of players who had the dubious honor of being the underdog went on to such a resounding victory, and they did it without nastiness or rubbing their win in anyone's face. As for the fans, so far Seattle has stayed true to its reputation by not letting this win spark riots and looting all over town. I, for one, am happy to see the 'Hawks go out on such a high note and I suspect their fans will ride this high for a while. There is something powerful about being swept up in the momentum of a group of people all rooting for the same thing, whether its a political rally or a sporting event or a group of friends watching a movie together all pulling for the heroine. It feels good, especially when your team wins.
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