Several years ago, the phone jangled the early evening and I was jarred from the pile of articles and papers in which I was buried. Chai's voice was charged with odd excitement as she asked, "Guess what? There's the famous photo of Alice Liddel on display at the Art Institute!" "In Chicago?" My brain felt fuzzy, as if I'd left it in imaginary scholarly discussions.
"You know who that is, right? The photos of Charles Dodgson are on display!" She pressed.
"Hmmm...well, do you want to go down there? I could drive."
"Lewis Carroll. Alice in Wonderland." I could sense Chai was trying to be patient, as as if leading a child to understanding.
"Oh! Ok, really? Sure, let's go!" I finally got it. I could hear a mental "geez" going off in my friend's mind.
And so, on a brisk, cool day, we drove to Chicago and travelled to the basement of the Art Institute to examine the works of this mysterious figure--Dodgson. At the time, I didn't know a whole lot about him, or about the real Alice, and I as perused the photos, I could not find even a hint of the famous Wonderland they created. My conversation with Chai mostly revolved around the role of youth and childhood in the Victorian era, and what the girls' parents might have thought about Dodgson photographing their pre-pubescent daughters. Were they flattered? Uneasy?
Since then, I've read Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. While Dodgson and his photographs and stories make some others I know uneasy, scared, or even offended, I find them all fertile ground for thought.
Recently, I read Melanie Benjamin's captivating new historical novel (almost a biography, but better), Alice I Have Been, about Alice Hargreaves (nee Liddell). Benjamin is from Chicago, and in the afterword, she confesses that she found inspiration for her book at the very same display of Dodgson's photographs--the basement exhibit at the Chicago Art Institute.
What Benjamin's novel does so well is to allow Dodgson and Alice's relationship to remain somewhat liminal. While the rest of the world questions whether Dodgson was a full-blown pedophile or whether the two were "just friends," Benjamin blurs the two extremes and allows us, the readers, to keep believing the best of them--that relationships can and do exist outside of the quick labels society is so ready to assign them.
For many years, Chai was one of my best friends, starting in 9th grade and until we had a falling out in graduate school, after which I have never seen or heard from her again--a friendship span of about 10 years. She certainly is one of the closest friends I've ever had. Ours wasn't the proverbial "female friendship" of shared giggles and shopping--we didn't talk very much about men (or boys) at all. I can count the number of times we went shopping on one hand--or maybe one finger. Instead, we went to obscure foreign films, art exhibits, poetry readings, ridiculous things like country music concerts and biker bars, college hockey games once I moved to Madison. Despite living in the same city (or same state when I went to college)--we eschewed phone and email for letters--lots of them--long letters sent by snail mail. There was nothing really too "strange" about it, but we were not immune society's desire to categorize and label even female friendships--we were often mistaken for a same-sex couple. I'm not sure whether this was due to our apparent utter lack of interest in the men around us, or whether it was indeed the fact that our friendship didn't exhibit stereotypical "shop, gossip, and giggle" behavior--but I suspect it was the latter.
It was a friendship based on a lot of shared thoughts, goals, and dreams--not of love and romance, or marriage and children--but of travel, education, and self-betterment. From the time I was 18, I did go on to travel--a lot--and pursue education. But unlike Chai, I started to open myself up to the world of love relationships, dating, and marriage.
By the time we were both in grad school, we had both undergone wild transformations (college, travel, and one's early 20's will do that to a person). Chai had not travelled or worked full-time like I had, and was instead pursuing an MBA with some vigor. I was just beginning to go back to school for a master's in social sciences, something she had come to see as utterly impractical.
The fight began with a text message. I was in a business class (earning a concurrent certificate in nonprofit management) and bored to tears when I decided to see how text messaging worked, and sent one to her about not being able to meet her later that week afterall. To my surprise, I received a furious email in response. "What's wrong with you? A TEXT? Is this what our relationship has come to? TEXTING?"
And that pretty much distilled things: we had changed so irrevocably that we could not go on without addressing it. I accused her, rather tactlessly, of becoming ruthless in her desire for career and success, of feeling like she had to forsake the things we both used to love in order to present herself as a Type A. She spat back that I was melodramatic and self-centered, my head was in the clouds, and that I was selling myself short by "being in love with a white guy from Iowa." Well, I thought. That's it. So what if he's white. And I happen to like a lot of people from Iowa. It struck me as rather ironic--afterall, when I'd married a non-white guy from Nepal, I received a lot of negative reactions from others, and here I was about to marry a white guy from Iowa--and receiving negative reactions.
It was a prime lesson that no matter what we do in life, not everyone will be happy for us. In hindsight, although I am not climbing my way up a career ladder or making a competitive salary, I have become a better person. A much better person. And I am becoming a better person all the time. And who knows, maybe Chai has too. But at the time, we could not see the "better--" all we could see were the changes. If we truly, truly love someone, we desire to see them grow, change, come closer to realizing their fullest potential for well-being. Yet some relationships have so much passion that any change that we perceive takes away from our loved one's treasured qualities seems automatically bad in our own biased eyes.
Since that day, I have never seen or heard from or about Chai again. It's as if she simply vanished, but I did not dream her. Several of my friends (and husband, the white guy from Iowa) met and remember her--but they never talk about her either. It's as if her memory is little more than a fanciful tale of an imaginary best friend who accompanied me on almost every adventure from the time I was 15 until I was 25.
Dodgson and Alice also had a falling out, or at the very least, a sudden, wide, and mysterious separation. There are many theories about what caused their spectacular rift, but my personal belief is that they both "merely" underwent changes. Yet, the legend of their unconventional relationship has lived on in our culture for over a century, giving people like me the hope that something beautiful, enduring, and life-changing can happen if we are courageous enough to befriend bravely.
I find an interminable amount of inspiration in both liminality and special friendships/relationships.
Since our falling out, I think of Chai with surprising rarity--a year or more has elapsed between calling her to mind. I have no desire to find her, see her, learn what she's up to now--but reading Alice I Have Been, and the thought of our visiting the same exhibit together that inspired Benjamin's novel, has made me put the pieces of thought together. This is a relationship from which I can draw inspiration for the rest of my life.
Monday, April 5, 2010
And Easter Sunday
I thought I should write a follow-up to my last post, because Esposo and I did end up going to church yesterday, and from it I received a sense or message of healing.
While there is a place for re-telling the crucifixion of Jesus, it should be with a spirit of awe and gratitude, not one of guilt and sorrow. Because the story does not end with Good Friday. The story does not end with suffering, death, and weeping. Without suffering, the end of the story would be more death. But the Story has already been written and is known to us. The story ends in joy and life--not just life, but eternal life.
While there is a place for re-telling the crucifixion of Jesus, it should be with a spirit of awe and gratitude, not one of guilt and sorrow. Because the story does not end with Good Friday. The story does not end with suffering, death, and weeping. Without suffering, the end of the story would be more death. But the Story has already been written and is known to us. The story ends in joy and life--not just life, but eternal life.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Good Friday...
is a bit of an ironic name for the day on which Jesus died on the cross. Esposo and I also found out about our son's HLHS on Good Friday...2 years ago. That Easter Sunday, my parents dragged my stunned self to church with them, thinking, I'm sure, that exposure to God's community would strengthen my spirit. Instead, it had the eerie effect of feeling like the entire service was mocking my situation...songs about "a baby born to die," Mary the mother weeping, outwardly whole and healthy families bouncing babies on their laps in my general pregnant direction...sigh.
I have not been to church since, with the exception of going to see a friend give a sermon at her Unitarian Universalist congregation.
Easter has always been a holiday of utmost spiritual importance for me, and the one day of the year I would make an absolute point to attend services. I haven't stayed away from church because I'm angry at God or anything like that...but going back to an Easter service just seems to weird, too surreal. I want to go, however...but I'm a little nervous. Not about the message, sermon, Biblical event...it's the memories of the songs and the families of that day two years ago that haunt me, by no fault of their own. Sigh.
I have not been to church since, with the exception of going to see a friend give a sermon at her Unitarian Universalist congregation.
Easter has always been a holiday of utmost spiritual importance for me, and the one day of the year I would make an absolute point to attend services. I haven't stayed away from church because I'm angry at God or anything like that...but going back to an Easter service just seems to weird, too surreal. I want to go, however...but I'm a little nervous. Not about the message, sermon, Biblical event...it's the memories of the songs and the families of that day two years ago that haunt me, by no fault of their own. Sigh.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Space to Breathe: Yoga and Lung Capacity
Yoga is the proverbial Room of One's Own of the exercise world. Practicing yoga increases both lung capacity and function. Yoga creates more space in one's body--space to breathe. Space to be. As a mom, I am always looking for some space. Pregnancy, nursing, and early bonding with our babies prepare us for the fact that we moms are going to be sharing just about every aspect of our being, and everything we possess--our bodies, our time, our energy, our resources and possessions, our attention, our very being--with our young children. As my son grew out of infancy and into the toddler stage, he needed some aspects of me less, but suddenly started to demand to share everything else with me--my food, for example. He mimics my actions and habits around the house. He wants to close the dishwasher and play with the (my!!precious!!!) coffee maker, even my make-up. He wrenches open the closet and wants to pull my clothes down. If I pull out some make-up, he immediately points and makes a grab for it. If I take a sip of (my!!precious!!!) coffee, he pulls and climbs and reaches until I put the coffee in an even higher place. Sometimes I feel like nothing is really mine anymore--maybe it never was mine. Maybe I just believed it was.
We moms know how to seek out the cramped spaces of refuge when we need to--we've all sought silence by hiding in the car, or found our only alone time of the day in the shower. But when I practice yoga--that is real space for me. I'm not a refugee but a pilgrim. I'm not fleeing, but seeking. I'm creating space inside and out--space to breathe, and space to be.
We moms know how to seek out the cramped spaces of refuge when we need to--we've all sought silence by hiding in the car, or found our only alone time of the day in the shower. But when I practice yoga--that is real space for me. I'm not a refugee but a pilgrim. I'm not fleeing, but seeking. I'm creating space inside and out--space to breathe, and space to be.
Let's Call the Sheep "Baaahb" *
Let's face it: throughout time, people have held some pretty moronic beliefs about what's good for babies and young children. When you challenge these beliefs, they might protest "but my dr says...." Oh--your dr says? Well, what did drs say on the issue 10, 20, 200 years ago--and why has the tune changed each time? And why does my dr disagree with your dr?
Very few would deny that parenting attitudes, trends, and practices are in a state of constant flux, and vary widely across cultures and points in history. Yet, by raising our children a certain way, we operate under the illusion that we are doing something timeless and "natural." Nevermind that our environment has completely changed from a couple generations before; nevermind that some of these practices are obsolete, flawed, or romanticized. Nevermind that we try to conduct certain parenting aspects "naturally" in a completely unnatural environment.
One piece of particularly Orwellian parenting "wisdom" I hear, repeatedly parroted by certain parents from some nebulous, ambiguous source, is that "it's good for babies and young kids to get sick a lot, as that means they'll get sick less later on." I think this belief is worthy of being sucked down the memory hole.
Where to even begin? First of all, babies' immune systems are not well-developed, which means that they will often be hit harder by illnesses than an adult (look up RSV, which manifests itself as a common cold in adults but can be deadly in a child under 2, or read up on whooping cough or rotavirus). The only virus I can think of that's "better" to get in childhood instead of adulthood is chicken pox. Likewise, viral and bacterial infections are much more likely to also cause ear infections in children than in adults.
Let's move on to the lack of compassion humankind often has towards children. Young children who are sick cannot take care of themselves. Often they are too young to safely take over-the-counter remedies that would alleviate their symptoms. But more importantly than that, illness takes a toll on a child's ability to learn--either by lost school days, or by virtue of the fact that it's pretty hard to learn when you're feeling miserable and exhausted. The view that children "should" get sick a lot to avoid getting sick as much in adulthood says "it's more ok for children to stay home from school, and their parents to miss work, than that child take a sick day from their job later on in life."
This view also endorses complete inefficiency. Children have a lot less control over their environment than adults do. Children are often contagion super-spreaders by no real fault of their own--they put things in their mouths, do not wash their hands, and are all-around not yet schooled in good hygiene. They have limited control over the health of their diet, home environment, and the people they spend their day with. Adults are much more effective at illness prevention--and therefore, should get sick less anyway.
People play with fire when they are sick a lot. The link between viruses and other illnesses and long-term health conditions (such as cancer, birth defects, lasting lung damage, and allergies, asthma, and other auto-immune responses) is only now starting to be undersood. By viewing mass and frequent infection in our a children as a "good" thing, we are also putting others at risk for long-term health problems and even death, including pregnant women, seniors, young babies, people with chronic medical conditions, and even perfectly healthy children and adults.
It's well-established that the price of both personal and "herd" immunity is high. Yet, as the threat of diseases such as polio and measles becomes almost an abstraction, so the collective memory fades of just how many children perished from these diseases. When I lived in Nepal, people had some immunity to waterborne illnesses, right? Sure, maybe--if they survived it in infancy. "Natural immunity" means a higher infant mortality rate across "the herd." I don't think the US would like to trade infant mortality rates or average lifespan facts with Nepal. Yet, the anti-vaccine and pro-"natural immunity" crowd romanticizes the robustness of people in developing nations--without bothering to check exactly how many die of preventable diseases each year.
Finally, this belief is simply illogical. A child does not need to *be sick* in order to build his or her immune system. When I talked to my son's pediatrician about this issue, he enlightened me to the fact that all of us are exposed to germs every single day, just by breathing. Yet, each and every germ we come into contact with does not necessarily make us ill. Also, people espouse this belief seem to neglect the fact that diseases, especially viruses, mutate so that getting a cold or flu this year does not make you immune to a cold and flu next year.
Am I saying we should live in sterile isolation--of course not. I'm saying that having perpetually (almost year-round with maybe a break in the summer months) sick children is not normal or natural. When I ask people or reflect on my own childhood, previous generations of children did not live this way. Our lifestyle practices need to change in order to match our changes in lifestyle--ie, that children get a lot less fresh air, fresh food, and exercise nowadays, and spend a lot more time in enclosed instutions and large-group settings.
I suspect this segment of the parenting population is the only one on the face of the earth who think the key to being healthy in the future is to be sick now. Unfortunately, I chalk up this parenting belief to, as is so often the case, a product of the times. As more parents have either put their children in daycare, or in school at earlier ages, they started noticing that their childre were almost perpetually ill. As some parents looked for a justification for the ill health of their children, so the rise of logic that sounds intuitive, but is faulty in reality. The key to good health for people of all ages was, is, and ever will be: good diet, good exercise, good hygiene, good environment. Ok, and some good old-fashioned luck and good genes.
*I am not, nor do I claim to be, a health care professional. These are my own personal opinions, based on my own research, beliefs, and discussion with my son's dr.
Very few would deny that parenting attitudes, trends, and practices are in a state of constant flux, and vary widely across cultures and points in history. Yet, by raising our children a certain way, we operate under the illusion that we are doing something timeless and "natural." Nevermind that our environment has completely changed from a couple generations before; nevermind that some of these practices are obsolete, flawed, or romanticized. Nevermind that we try to conduct certain parenting aspects "naturally" in a completely unnatural environment.
One piece of particularly Orwellian parenting "wisdom" I hear, repeatedly parroted by certain parents from some nebulous, ambiguous source, is that "it's good for babies and young kids to get sick a lot, as that means they'll get sick less later on." I think this belief is worthy of being sucked down the memory hole.
Where to even begin? First of all, babies' immune systems are not well-developed, which means that they will often be hit harder by illnesses than an adult (look up RSV, which manifests itself as a common cold in adults but can be deadly in a child under 2, or read up on whooping cough or rotavirus). The only virus I can think of that's "better" to get in childhood instead of adulthood is chicken pox. Likewise, viral and bacterial infections are much more likely to also cause ear infections in children than in adults.
Let's move on to the lack of compassion humankind often has towards children. Young children who are sick cannot take care of themselves. Often they are too young to safely take over-the-counter remedies that would alleviate their symptoms. But more importantly than that, illness takes a toll on a child's ability to learn--either by lost school days, or by virtue of the fact that it's pretty hard to learn when you're feeling miserable and exhausted. The view that children "should" get sick a lot to avoid getting sick as much in adulthood says "it's more ok for children to stay home from school, and their parents to miss work, than that child take a sick day from their job later on in life."
This view also endorses complete inefficiency. Children have a lot less control over their environment than adults do. Children are often contagion super-spreaders by no real fault of their own--they put things in their mouths, do not wash their hands, and are all-around not yet schooled in good hygiene. They have limited control over the health of their diet, home environment, and the people they spend their day with. Adults are much more effective at illness prevention--and therefore, should get sick less anyway.
People play with fire when they are sick a lot. The link between viruses and other illnesses and long-term health conditions (such as cancer, birth defects, lasting lung damage, and allergies, asthma, and other auto-immune responses) is only now starting to be undersood. By viewing mass and frequent infection in our a children as a "good" thing, we are also putting others at risk for long-term health problems and even death, including pregnant women, seniors, young babies, people with chronic medical conditions, and even perfectly healthy children and adults.
It's well-established that the price of both personal and "herd" immunity is high. Yet, as the threat of diseases such as polio and measles becomes almost an abstraction, so the collective memory fades of just how many children perished from these diseases. When I lived in Nepal, people had some immunity to waterborne illnesses, right? Sure, maybe--if they survived it in infancy. "Natural immunity" means a higher infant mortality rate across "the herd." I don't think the US would like to trade infant mortality rates or average lifespan facts with Nepal. Yet, the anti-vaccine and pro-"natural immunity" crowd romanticizes the robustness of people in developing nations--without bothering to check exactly how many die of preventable diseases each year.
Finally, this belief is simply illogical. A child does not need to *be sick* in order to build his or her immune system. When I talked to my son's pediatrician about this issue, he enlightened me to the fact that all of us are exposed to germs every single day, just by breathing. Yet, each and every germ we come into contact with does not necessarily make us ill. Also, people espouse this belief seem to neglect the fact that diseases, especially viruses, mutate so that getting a cold or flu this year does not make you immune to a cold and flu next year.
Am I saying we should live in sterile isolation--of course not. I'm saying that having perpetually (almost year-round with maybe a break in the summer months) sick children is not normal or natural. When I ask people or reflect on my own childhood, previous generations of children did not live this way. Our lifestyle practices need to change in order to match our changes in lifestyle--ie, that children get a lot less fresh air, fresh food, and exercise nowadays, and spend a lot more time in enclosed instutions and large-group settings.
I suspect this segment of the parenting population is the only one on the face of the earth who think the key to being healthy in the future is to be sick now. Unfortunately, I chalk up this parenting belief to, as is so often the case, a product of the times. As more parents have either put their children in daycare, or in school at earlier ages, they started noticing that their childre were almost perpetually ill. As some parents looked for a justification for the ill health of their children, so the rise of logic that sounds intuitive, but is faulty in reality. The key to good health for people of all ages was, is, and ever will be: good diet, good exercise, good hygiene, good environment. Ok, and some good old-fashioned luck and good genes.
*I am not, nor do I claim to be, a health care professional. These are my own personal opinions, based on my own research, beliefs, and discussion with my son's dr.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Divergence
Despite life catching up to us a bit in the past few weeks, we are so...lucky. What is the right word? Blessed? Are those who haven't been as fortunate, then, any less blessed? Where does luck come into play in life, if at all? Are we all just blessed in different ways? Should we all be equally grateful for our experiences, for what they have revealed to us, for how they have transformed us?
I am praying this morning for those whose babies are in the hospital--the babies whose lives hang by the finest of threads. For those whose dream of their family being united under one roof has yet to be fulfilled. Are these abstract people? No, these are people I have come to know and care about. People who have reached out to others who will listen, others who will pray for them and support them in various ways.
Deep in my heart, I know that at least I have this: that no matter what happens in the future, despite the certainty of at least one more open heart surgery on the horizon, my dream was fulfilled. My hope is that I will see my child come of age, even grow old, but my dream was that we would all go home and live our lives together. That at least we've had this year, more than a year now, of just living life, of just enjoying each other.
Sometimes when I log on to email or facebook, the divergence of people's experiences astounds me. One person posts about having soup for lunch, the other posts that the battle is over, his child has died. I don't even know how to connect these juxtapositions in my mind. It makes me wonder about my own words, how I can just talk about every day life when in the "update" below me, someone's life as they knew it has changed forever.
My hope and prayer is that someday, the parents whose dreams have yet to be fulfilled will have the luxury of posting about soup for lunch.
I am praying this morning for those whose babies are in the hospital--the babies whose lives hang by the finest of threads. For those whose dream of their family being united under one roof has yet to be fulfilled. Are these abstract people? No, these are people I have come to know and care about. People who have reached out to others who will listen, others who will pray for them and support them in various ways.
Deep in my heart, I know that at least I have this: that no matter what happens in the future, despite the certainty of at least one more open heart surgery on the horizon, my dream was fulfilled. My hope is that I will see my child come of age, even grow old, but my dream was that we would all go home and live our lives together. That at least we've had this year, more than a year now, of just living life, of just enjoying each other.
Sometimes when I log on to email or facebook, the divergence of people's experiences astounds me. One person posts about having soup for lunch, the other posts that the battle is over, his child has died. I don't even know how to connect these juxtapositions in my mind. It makes me wonder about my own words, how I can just talk about every day life when in the "update" below me, someone's life as they knew it has changed forever.
My hope and prayer is that someday, the parents whose dreams have yet to be fulfilled will have the luxury of posting about soup for lunch.
Monday, March 1, 2010
HLHS: Old Soul vs Old Before One's Time
Hopefully, this is the last in my 4-part series of "dealing" with several things that had been pushed aside in the course of life-changing events (returning from Mongolia, getting married, having a baby, our journey with HLHS, becoming a full time mom, etc). Now that the dust has settled a bit, many things have been catching up with us and demanding our attention.
One of the things I hear parents in the HLHS community say over and over again is that their experience with HLHS has aged them 100 years, or that they've aged beyond their time, that they feel an irrevocable sense of loss of their youth and are unequivocally adult now. I have a very old friend of the family whose grandson died of a CHD when he and I were teens, and when I talked to her about Himal's HLHS, the first thing she said was, "you're going to grow up really quickly now." I wasn't entirely sure what she meant, since I was already 29. Indeed, it has taken me a long time to fully understand just how having a child with HLHS can age a person so quickly. Is it the maturity required to go through something like this? Is it the stress and responsibility that ages us? Is the fact that most of us find ourselves at the crossroads of our relationships with God, spouse, family, friends-and some of these relationships grow exponentially, while others fall away--and become older, wiser souls?
It is all of these things--after standing at the crossroads with God for months, maybe even a year, my relationship with Him grew deeper and I learned truths I might not have otherwise. I became a lot closer to my parents and certain other family members, and left others behind who had no ability in them to provide even emotional support. I found out quickly who my good friends were versus who couldn't "handle something like this." I found out, and find out every day, which people in the world see light in tough situations and which do not (and by this, I don't mean those who provide cliches and false optimism, but those who see God's love in everything).
But, I've also realized that the HLHS experience has aged me in another way: I've become averse to change. Unfortunately, when it comes to change, I feel like a crotchety 78-year old lady. Maybe I have a touch of PTSD, but I've come to associate change with upheaval and disaster, filled with uncontrollable variables and unintended consequences. I've even become a bit of a Luddite, not wanting much more technological change in my life, thinking about starting a letter writing society (!), wishing I could go back and live in the 1970's!
I confided my thoughts on this to Esposo last night, because in the course of talking about the future lately, we've debated buying a house, debated going to day shift, etc--big changes--plus, I am starting to feel some anxiety about Himal's 3rd surgery. I feel like we've finally started cruising at a our status quo, we've finally really adjusted. I'd adjusted to our family being 2nd shift. Now, again, an opportunity or 2 has arisen that might allow him to go to a day shift--and while it's what we'd been wanting for awhile, suddenly the thought of yet another re-adjustment makes my stomach turn. It's the same feeling that made/makes me not want to move.
Anyway, in the course of our discussion I realized that disasters always seem to occur when I try to follow the herd, when I try to listen to what others say, when I try to tread the path that others do. Everyone keeps asking us "so when are you going to buy a house?" and suddenly we felt that yes, maybe we should, but then we realized that the only pros to buying a house would be having our own yard and being able to get a dog. I've always thought, long before the housing market crisis, that home ownership was a money pit, yet bosses and teachers would absolutely insist that I was wrong, that a home was the best economic investment one could make.
I love condo living. I really do. It allows us to have more amenities than we could afford in a home. It makes more economic sense--we don't all have to buy our own lawn mowers, for instance, we don't have to spend money on external repairs and upkeep, we don't have to make a time investment in the yard work. No, I can't have the garden of my dreams, yes, we have to deal with some pain in the neck people in the building, no, we don't have a yard for Himal. But plenty of people raise kids without their own yard--and we live close to parks, schools, and a nature preserve.
Our conversation went something like this:
M: I never imagined myself a homeowner. I don't want a frickin' lawn mower. That sounds like a nightmare to me. How lame, owning a lawn mower.
E: That's true. And we'd have to spend $ on other big appliances, and repairs.
M: Homes are money pits.
E: We'd just be another home in a row of many homes. On a block, within a row of many blocks.
M: And you'd be like some Ward Cleaver, marching off to work everyday.
E: God.
M: Would you expect me to iron your shirts and make you dinner?
E: Hell no. That's not why I married you. That's not what I want in a wife.
M: THANK GOD. That's so awesome.
E: Let's just keep living in condos.
M: Are you sure?
E: I think that's best.
That makes me feel better. Esposo and I have always done best when we do our own weird little thing, despite the pulls of convention, just being ourselves. I loved being in rural Mongolia, despite the horror expressed from some. We loved our Vegas wedding, despite the pull to include friends and family in something so personal. We love our condo, despite the "don't you think you should move to a house?" I love WI (Esposo a bit of a different story) despite "don't you think you should move someplace a bit more happening?" I love our beautiful little lakeshore town, despite "don't you think you should move closer to the city, you guys spend way too much time driving back and forth?" I love Esposo's funky work hours and days off, I am infinitely glad I chose to stay at home with Himal for awhile despite the pressures nowadays to be a working mom and "do it all."
I guess I shouldn't feel pressure to change and live up to others' expectations. But I do want what's best for all of us. I'm not quite certain if I'm being a stick in the mud, or allowing us to just be us. But I do know--I'm still adventurous...but for now, only when those adventures are temporary. When others around me either have gone or are going through changes, moving forward, why do I feel so content to just stay here? Do I lack ambition? Or do I just refuse to chase the elusive, knowing I have what I need for now?
One of the things I hear parents in the HLHS community say over and over again is that their experience with HLHS has aged them 100 years, or that they've aged beyond their time, that they feel an irrevocable sense of loss of their youth and are unequivocally adult now. I have a very old friend of the family whose grandson died of a CHD when he and I were teens, and when I talked to her about Himal's HLHS, the first thing she said was, "you're going to grow up really quickly now." I wasn't entirely sure what she meant, since I was already 29. Indeed, it has taken me a long time to fully understand just how having a child with HLHS can age a person so quickly. Is it the maturity required to go through something like this? Is it the stress and responsibility that ages us? Is the fact that most of us find ourselves at the crossroads of our relationships with God, spouse, family, friends-and some of these relationships grow exponentially, while others fall away--and become older, wiser souls?
It is all of these things--after standing at the crossroads with God for months, maybe even a year, my relationship with Him grew deeper and I learned truths I might not have otherwise. I became a lot closer to my parents and certain other family members, and left others behind who had no ability in them to provide even emotional support. I found out quickly who my good friends were versus who couldn't "handle something like this." I found out, and find out every day, which people in the world see light in tough situations and which do not (and by this, I don't mean those who provide cliches and false optimism, but those who see God's love in everything).
But, I've also realized that the HLHS experience has aged me in another way: I've become averse to change. Unfortunately, when it comes to change, I feel like a crotchety 78-year old lady. Maybe I have a touch of PTSD, but I've come to associate change with upheaval and disaster, filled with uncontrollable variables and unintended consequences. I've even become a bit of a Luddite, not wanting much more technological change in my life, thinking about starting a letter writing society (!), wishing I could go back and live in the 1970's!
I confided my thoughts on this to Esposo last night, because in the course of talking about the future lately, we've debated buying a house, debated going to day shift, etc--big changes--plus, I am starting to feel some anxiety about Himal's 3rd surgery. I feel like we've finally started cruising at a our status quo, we've finally really adjusted. I'd adjusted to our family being 2nd shift. Now, again, an opportunity or 2 has arisen that might allow him to go to a day shift--and while it's what we'd been wanting for awhile, suddenly the thought of yet another re-adjustment makes my stomach turn. It's the same feeling that made/makes me not want to move.
Anyway, in the course of our discussion I realized that disasters always seem to occur when I try to follow the herd, when I try to listen to what others say, when I try to tread the path that others do. Everyone keeps asking us "so when are you going to buy a house?" and suddenly we felt that yes, maybe we should, but then we realized that the only pros to buying a house would be having our own yard and being able to get a dog. I've always thought, long before the housing market crisis, that home ownership was a money pit, yet bosses and teachers would absolutely insist that I was wrong, that a home was the best economic investment one could make.
I love condo living. I really do. It allows us to have more amenities than we could afford in a home. It makes more economic sense--we don't all have to buy our own lawn mowers, for instance, we don't have to spend money on external repairs and upkeep, we don't have to make a time investment in the yard work. No, I can't have the garden of my dreams, yes, we have to deal with some pain in the neck people in the building, no, we don't have a yard for Himal. But plenty of people raise kids without their own yard--and we live close to parks, schools, and a nature preserve.
Our conversation went something like this:
M: I never imagined myself a homeowner. I don't want a frickin' lawn mower. That sounds like a nightmare to me. How lame, owning a lawn mower.
E: That's true. And we'd have to spend $ on other big appliances, and repairs.
M: Homes are money pits.
E: We'd just be another home in a row of many homes. On a block, within a row of many blocks.
M: And you'd be like some Ward Cleaver, marching off to work everyday.
E: God.
M: Would you expect me to iron your shirts and make you dinner?
E: Hell no. That's not why I married you. That's not what I want in a wife.
M: THANK GOD. That's so awesome.
E: Let's just keep living in condos.
M: Are you sure?
E: I think that's best.
That makes me feel better. Esposo and I have always done best when we do our own weird little thing, despite the pulls of convention, just being ourselves. I loved being in rural Mongolia, despite the horror expressed from some. We loved our Vegas wedding, despite the pull to include friends and family in something so personal. We love our condo, despite the "don't you think you should move to a house?" I love WI (Esposo a bit of a different story) despite "don't you think you should move someplace a bit more happening?" I love our beautiful little lakeshore town, despite "don't you think you should move closer to the city, you guys spend way too much time driving back and forth?" I love Esposo's funky work hours and days off, I am infinitely glad I chose to stay at home with Himal for awhile despite the pressures nowadays to be a working mom and "do it all."
I guess I shouldn't feel pressure to change and live up to others' expectations. But I do want what's best for all of us. I'm not quite certain if I'm being a stick in the mud, or allowing us to just be us. But I do know--I'm still adventurous...but for now, only when those adventures are temporary. When others around me either have gone or are going through changes, moving forward, why do I feel so content to just stay here? Do I lack ambition? Or do I just refuse to chase the elusive, knowing I have what I need for now?
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