Category Archives: Health

Mar 23 2014
28 Comments
Family, Health, Home, Life

Birth & Surrender

Just one of many posts scribbled in my journal in the wee hours of the night. Parenting has changed me. Everything is moving in slow motion, but I don’t mind. It’s hard to even put her down long enough to type anything at all…

***

It’s time to push and some of the nurses are switching shifts. One says there is a beautiful, light rain falling outside and I look, the dawn sky letting a little light in through the window. I knew you’d come in the rain. I am soothed by this omen. Each contraction brings another chance to push you out, to see your face and touch your skin to mine. I give everything I have, again and again, until I am certain I only have a couple left in me.

I have to get you out on my own. I have worked so hard not to have an epidural, not to waste a single ounce of energy in bringing you into this world. I was already pretty tired before the Pitocin went surging through my veins, leaving a fuzzy feeling all over my body. Five nights of prodromal labor, darkness bringing the rhythmic pains, the excitement of a moment finally coming, contractions 12, 8, 6, 4 minutes apart, then the light taking it all away again.

Your water broke long before they induced me. Five days. Your Grandma Cathy says the weather did it, a magnificent thunder storm. It was not the overwhelming burst of water seen in movies, but instead a trickle, easily confused with all the other pleasant end-of-pregnancy symptoms. I did not go to the hospital then, I expected contractions to follow, and they did, but then they stopped at dawn and everything seemed fine again.

Besides, I knew a small, or high leak, was considered common in the home birth world, nothing to worry about if the steps are taken to avoid infection. We closely monitored the situation and kept waiting for nature to take its course. Each day I would sleep the best I could and each evening the contractions would come again, teasing me with the prospect of imminent delivery. After five nights of this dance, the contractions growing to the point where I would moan and rock on the floor, my watch cued to time and hope, I reached my edge. It was time to go to the hospital.

Sure enough, my water was mostly gone. You were safe, still, but it was time for you to come out. When the midwife told me they would have to induce, tears poured out. I wanted a natural birth for you. I had heard Pitocin horror stories of more painful contractions and one intervention leading to another until a C-section was necessary.

I was afraid.

The midwives and nurses were so kind, though. They encouraged me with stories of otherwise unmedicated births with induction. An almost natural childbirth was still possible. I cried and regained my resolve. Your dad and I walked around the hospital courtyard, me in my goofy, oversized gown, while we waited for your doula, Heather, to arrive. The air was cool, but I was running on so much adrenaline, I didn’t mind. Your dad stopped and held me. He was so excited to meet you. We were standing at the very top of a long roller coaster.

Heather arrived and reassured us the small dose of Pitocin would be alright. By 7PM, it was pumping through my veins, the contractions returning as they had each night, regular and strong.

“Is this what they felt like at home?” the nurses would ask.

“Not quite,” I answered for some time.

Before everything became too intense, all your cheerleaders arrived, a whole waiting room full of family eager to meet you. Your grandparents, godparents, and Aunt Kaitlyn spent the entire night on those uncomfortable fold-out chairs, supporting you with their laughter and lullabies from afar. For a few sweet minutes, they all came in and sat with me, their love so strong I cried as they each stopped to kiss me good-bye between contractions, my body rocking back and forth on the big red yoga ball. Your grandfather James, as he is apt to be called, made me cry the most, his words so tender they burst my heart.

However, much to the chagrin of your big, beautiful, loving family, I needed space to get you out, space to curse and chant, and lose my modesty in the dimly lit shower and delivery room. And, boy, did I curse. “Oh f***” was my favorite phrase. Your kind, patient, powerful doula sat with me quietly through it all with reminders to surrender, no matter how painful. Your father’s touch, his hand still on my thigh, calmed me.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I began to talk to myself, yelling “I surrender” to the universe over and over again, in hopes someone would hear me. Periodically, a nurse would tell me someone from our family was hovering outside the door, concerned over all the noise, desperate for news of your arrival. They kept vigil as I moaned and cursed and chanted through the night.

I questioned my ability to keep going without drugs, the pain in my lower back and hips unbearable as they opened with each wave. Maybe some people really do achieve a pain-free childbirth, but even if you call pain something else, it hurt, a lot. Your doula gave me strength in her words and presence. Had she not been there, I might have caved.

That’s the funny thing, though. Caved is not the word. I have a new respect for all types of birth, medicated and otherwise. Each journey is different, and even if I had chosen an epidural, I would have still done an incredible amount of work to get to that point. Birth and parenthood is an enormous mental transformation no matter the path. I get that now.

Still, the promise of transition kept me going. I did not want a single drop of pain killers to slow me down. I needed you out of me, I was tired and quite certain I did not have an ounce of strength to waste. Transition promised change and by a little after six in the morning, I was ready to push. I thought you would come quickly, you were so low and close in station two, but my body had other plans.

Maybe I had not surrendered enough yet.

Two hours of pushing with everything I had and then magically, your original midwife from all our office visits appeared, the third change in shifts since we began. Her retro Vans announced her arrival behind the curtain. That’s when the nurses mentioned rain and somewhere I found my last reserve of energy, now was time.

Heather and your dad sat at the foot of the bed, amazement on their faces as the hair on your head emerged. The midwife climbed onto the edge of the bed and three nurses held my legs, everyone working together to get you out. A few more pushes with this extra help and I felt your head, your shoulders, your wiggly body tear into this world, shock and the most intense pain I could imagine. You were finally here, wet and warm against my bare chest, tears in your fathers eyes and mine.

While we bonded, staring in disbelief at all your perfect, little features, I felt more connected to your dad than I have ever felt in our nearly 14 years together. You are our glue, our little miracle, the love that has ripped our hearts open in a way I could have never understood before.

Even two weeks later, your dad and I cry and smile in disbelief– a joy so intense, the happiest moments of our lives thus far. But, with this happiness has also come the pain of surrender as we have turned our hearts over to you. We have already had our scares as new parents, our extra nights in the hospital, our worry over all the little things. Surrendering is difficult, but you are here to teach us new lessons and we are ready to learn with our hearts grateful and ready to receive. You are our greatest blessing, Eloise Claire.

To say we love you is not enough.

Eloise

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Nov 11 2013
8 Comments
Family, Health, Writing

Writing While Pregnant

One of my biggest fears about motherhood was I would lose my writing identity. Sure, I follow plenty of women writers who find ways to make it work, but I also heard story after story of how motherhood changes you. No time, little rest, more important priorities.

While true motherhood is at least a few months away, I already feel these shifts I dreaded, as writing has taken a backseat to other activities, such as napping, cleaning, preparing, resting some more. What I did not expect, however, is a calm to come with these changes. Instead of lamenting my lost writing time, I feel more present, still, and content. Time has already gained a sort of elastic quality, where less occurs in more time, as though the minutes are stretched, the actions slowed, hours somehow disappearing with little done.

Other things have fallen by the wayside, too. Yoga now means a few minutes of stretching and breathing at various points in the day, instead of my before-treasured blocks of hours. Again, there is a peace in this. Instead of panicking over a loss in identity, I feel a reassurance that these pieces of myself will return in time, or perhaps just exist in more fragmented but highly-treasured moments.

I realized recently, I write to escape and create a space of contentment. With pregnancy, my urge to escape has diminished, my ability to be content in simple moments has improved. Likewise, my thoughts I used to share so freely suddenly feel much more private, more difficult to share. Even so, I love that feeling of progress, as pages of writing become clean and stronger, blog posts emerge out of thin air, and connections are made across this electronic universe. Today I write to say I am still here, just a little quieter than before.

For those of you haven't hear already, we're excited to welcome a little (human) girl to our family this March.

For those of you haven’t heard, we’re excited to welcome a little (human) girl to our family this March.

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Oct 17 2013
18 Comments
Family, Health, Life, Teaching

The News is Out

“ARE YOU PREGNANT?”

Maniac Magee ran into my classroom before school started this morning, his voice at full volume, his feet tumbling to get through the door. Outside, a handful of last year’s group sat and watched through the window, awaiting the confirmation, admiring his courage to barge in and demand an answer. I asked the usual assortment of early morning visitors, including some kids I never actually taught, to wait with the others outside.

“You know, that’s not really how you should ask a woman if she’s pregnant. Instead, you should use a quiet voice, and ask if I’m going to have a baby.”

“Okay, are you going to have a baby?”

He could not hold himself still for an answer, but his voice was a little quieter.

“Yes, I’m going to have a baby.”

A pause combined with a look of genuine concern. “It’s alright, accidents happen.”

“No, honey, I want this baby, it’s not an accident.”

I realized then that everything he knew about babies was being called into question. Poor kid.

“But it will ruin your career!”

I tried not to laugh, I knew his heart was in the right place. We chatted for a few minutes. He was still incredulous I would make this decision by choice. I explained I don’t like a lot of attention, that he needed to be quiet about my news.

Still, I knew it was no use. He had an audience waiting.

“SHE IS AND IT’S ON PURPOSE!” he exclaimed to his small throng, once my door was closed behind him.

I could not help but laugh. He could not help but spread the news. It was exactly the reaction I dreaded when I told my thirty new students yesterday. They, of course, were sweet and quiet, supportive with silent signals as I asked for as little attention as possible.

Last year’s class, well, they’re a different beast. A beast I love and miss, still gathered noisily outside my door.

I guess the news is out.

Oct 07 2013
7 Comments
Health, Teaching

Update: (Not) Yoga in the Classroom

I shared before that I wanted to bring yoga to my students this year, but had to do so without actually calling it yoga. The tricky thing about this premise is kids are smart. The very first day, after we practiced breathing, moving, and chanting the words “Be ready to learn!”, an astute student raised his hand and asked, “Isn’t this yoga?”

My sheepish reply involved a hurried explanation that while it is similar to yoga, we don’t do yoga at school, which just felt silly, but sometimes you do what you have to do. And, the good news, my new students love the forrest of trees we make with our bodies and have shared that the breathing makes them feel relaxed.

Success.

Minus, of course, when my yoga buddy colleague came in to observe and I accidentally called it yoga. That same kid exclaimed, “See! I knew it was yoga!”

I have to admit, I was at a loss for words.

I look forward to the day when I can call it like it is.

Yoga.

Like many obstacles, she is part joyous distraction, part menace.

After all, even cats like yoga. I’m still not sure what the big deal is…

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Oct 07 2013
9 Comments
Family, Health, Home, Life, Teaching, Writing

The Importance of Stopping

This week is fall break, the glorious light at the end of the tunnel after nine weeks of school. For those of you with the normal two to three weeks off per year, I realize nine weeks does not sound like such a terrible stretch of work, but as a teacher, it is a solid chunk of energy investment, particularly given the first weeks of school are among the most tiring.

Before I became a teacher, I thought the breaks alone would make up for any amount of exhaustion in the classroom. Instead, I discovered that while time off definitely helps, the exertion required to keep 30 children learning, entertained, and emotionally supported surpasses anything I expected.

The upside, of course, is the reward in knowing I am doing something good for others, and the enjoyment I derive from building relationships with my students. So, none of this is to complain, but the truth is, I’m tired. Fall break could not have come at a better time, and I did not realize how tired I was until I finally allowed myself to sink into my couch this afternoon and shut my eyes.

Here is the thing, though, I know I am not alone. Teachers are not the only people pushing themselves to their limits. Most jobs are stressful and we also have family and other obligations that require our time and focus. We commit ourselves to a lot because we care about a lot. I get it. However, there has to be the balance, the time to stop and regroup, and sometimes, we have to let a few things go.

Balance is a big reason I have stepped back from my blog in recent months. Between school and family, writing has taken a back seat. Not because I stopped caring about writing, but because I realized other priorities had to come first. My health and my family are of paramount importance, then my job, then my writing. With less time to write, I have focused on my fiction over my blog. It is all a series of trade-offs. When I have more time, I enjoy blogging, when I don’t have time, I have to just let it go.

I know I am fortunate I get to stop, I get time to breathe and fall asleep on the couch as the leaves outside my window change color and the air is a bit more crisp. But, what about everyone else who is not a teacher? What do you do for yourself to allow for a little break, the time to stop and recharge and take care of just you?

Hopefully you have an answer!

One of the

For the past few weeks, my 17 year-old sister stayed with us, which added to my shifting perspective on life and my priorities. Family has always come first, but I feel myself transitioning to a new level of awareness in how important family is to me and what this means in my quest for balance in other areas.

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Aug 11 2013
1 Comment
Health, Life

Sunday Song for Peace

I’m on a peace kick around here. The August Blogger’s for Peace challenge is to connect peace to music. Like Kozo, reggae instantly popped into my head. While it could be because I recently returned from Hawaii as well, I think there is something more to it. Reggae is comforting. In fact, I recently heard it is the best music to use while you rock your baby to sleep, (the beats per minute are close to the human heartbeat, as well as the walking cadence of the mother).

“Three Little Birds” happens to be one of my favorites. Makes me smile, makes the whole world seem a little less scary, a little more peaceful:

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Aug 11 2013
2 Comments
Health, Home, Life, Teaching

Sunday Meditation for Peace and Loving Kindness

“Choosing to cultivate love rather than anger just might be what it takes to save the planet from extinction.” – Pema Chödrön

Today I want to share a meditation for peace from the Places that Scare You. Of course, Chödrön does a much more eloquent job of describing the steps, but I loved the idea. Make sure to sit quietly for a few minutes before you begin. As you move through the phases, pay attention to whether the ease of expressing love changes for each group:

1. Start by concentrating on happiness for yourself, “May I enjoy happiness and the root of happiness.”

2. Move on to people and/or animals in your life who you already feel tenderness toward, “May ____ enjoy happiness and the root of happiness.”

3. Next, think of a friend you care about but have more complicated feelings toward, “May ____ enjoy happiness and the root of happiness.”

4. Then, imagine people you feel neutral about or perhaps do not know well, such as a neighbor or a person you have seen on the street, “May ____ enjoy happiness and the root of happiness.”

5. Move on to someone who you dislike or find irritating, “May ____ enjoy happiness and the root of happiness.”

6. Next, envision all of the people above standing in front of you and focus on feelings of loving kindness for each of them.

7. Last, harness a feeling of loving kindness for all beings. Focus first on those close to you, in your neighborhood or city, and then let the feeling expand outward into the greater universe.

***

The power of this meditation exists in pushing our boundaries in how we see people in the world around us. I already do a form of this meditation in my classroom. When I feel upset with a student, I concentrate on how much I love him or her, which in turn allows me to detach from my less kind emotions and focus on the best course of action.

While it is not always easy to tap into this love, it is transformational. It is so tempting to judge and disconnect from others who are different or activate our emotional triggers. However, it is when we open ourselves up to loving kindness for all people that the world starts to change.

If this meditation resonated, I highly recommend Chödrön’s book.

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Jul 23 2013
10 Comments
Family, Health, Home, Life, Teaching

Cultivating Mindfulness in How we React to Others

This afternoon I attended the most beautiful class on mindfulness in dealing with children. The main focus was remembering to take a moment (or two or three…) to breathe and disconnect from our own emotional triggers before responding to challenging situations. The key words there are react and respond. When we respond, we no longer let the situation control us. I definitely needed a refresher on this lesson.

Sometimes when I feel students are not listening to me, I become frustrated, angry even. I tense up and regain control through dominance instead of quiet patience. As I reflected on why I become so upset, I realized I react based on my own hunger for respect. Growing up as a small, quiet girl, people constantly underestimated me, a reality that carried over to the beginning of my teaching career as feedback often included my quiet nature.

By taking a moment to breathe and be mindful of my reaction/response, I give myself the chance to determine the best course of action for my students, instead of the emotionally obvious one. I have grown in my ability to respond with calm resolve over the past year, but those stressful moments are still there, lurking at the end of a long day. As I prepare to return to the classroom, I am mindful of how I will stop, breathe, and disconnect from emotional triggers before I respond.

I don’t expect you to answer, because these are personal questions, but maybe you could benefit from similar reflection: When do you react with emotion instead of responding in the best interest of both yourself and others? Why do these moments draw such a reaction out of you?

Just ordered this book recommended during class today-- anyone want to join me for an August book club reading?

Just ordered this book recommended during class today– anyone want to join me for an August reading?

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Jul 02 2013
2 Comments
Family, Health, Home, Life, Style, Travel

Overheard in a Ross Dressingroom…

Today I allowed myself an indulgence. I shop for new clothes maybe twice a year, max. Generally, my sisters and I swap items over little parties with friends, or I browse thrift shops. I try not to over-consume, although like most Americans, I still cross the line into some level of wastefulness and then feel guilty later.

Before a big vacation it is my ritual to pick up a few items, part of the anticipatory pleasure of travel. So, this morning, I headed off to Ross, my budget compromise to minimize at least the financial guilt of consumerism. After I carefully selected a couple items, including a swimsuit more characteristic of a 65 year-old woman, I headed for the dressing room.

As I squeezed into colorful Speedo spandex, I overheard a mother-daughter duo in the next stall.

“Oh my God.” Sheer horror in the daughter’s voice.

“What hun?”

“So-and-so’s sister has cervical cancer.”

“How old is she?”

“Mid to late twenties.”

They were both silent in disbelief. I, too, stopped for a moment. We all know someone with cancer. We all know people hurting because of it. Just this morning I had a conversation with someone I care about who faces a monumental loss. Sadly, we live in a world where cancer is not rare.

As I stood suddenly aware of the trivial concerns that face all women during swimsuit shopping, I was struck by the desire to get home and tell my husband we need to take better care of ourselves, we need to enjoy each moment as much as we can. Funny how the words of strangers can be so jarring.

The truth, as we all know, is that life can end abruptly (or slowly) at any time. When we remember this, time spent with loved ones becomes much more meaningful and finding the perfect swimsuit matters a lot less. For the record, I went for the old-lady one-piece, granny chic is totally my style, big sunglasses, colorful tote, and most importantly, a whole lot of love.

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Jul 02 2013
2 Comments
Health, Life, Teaching

A Good Day for Yoga

Not sure if it has made national news, but if you live in California you’ve likely heard on the radio that yoga was ruled as a form of exercise, not religion in Southern California schools. This is exciting news for me as I figure out how to integrate yoga into my classroom. I still plan to call it something else, but at least there is some backing for the idea that it can be taught in a secular fashion.

And, in less-exciting-to-you yoga news, my husband gave me a new yoga book today and promised he would start participating in home yoga with me. I’m thrilled! If you’re new to my blog thanks to Kozo’s kind repost, welcome. I’m a little obsessed with yoga and what it can do for peace, both mental and physical.

Very excited for my new book and expanding awareness of yoga.

Very excited for my new book and the potential to use more yoga in my classroom.

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Jul 01 2013
2 Comments
Family, Health, Teaching

Judge Ruling If Yoga Is Tied To Religious Practice, Allowed In Public Schools

Remember my mention of conflict over secular yoga in the classroom? While I can’t speak to whether or not the yoga used with these students has religious roots, I can identify with the observation by teachers that students were calmer and using breathing exercises on their own during tests. Regardless of whether people support the use of yoga when identified as yoga, there is a clear need for quiet reflection, stillness, stretching, and breathing in the classroom. Kindergarteners should not report feeling stressed. Neither should the fourth and fifth graders in my room. Obviously this points to even larger systematic concerns in how we’re teaching our kids in high-pressure environments, but at least the non-religious elements of yoga help to alleviate some of the stress.

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Jun 28 2013
31 Comments
Dogs, Family, Health, Home, Life, Teaching, Writing

A Letter for Peace to my Child

Dear {Insert top secret, hotly-debated name choice},

You don’t exist yet, at least not here. I don’t know when you’ll be a part of our lives, but I know deep down you will be. My mom, your grandmother, has this story of how she almost drowned before I was born. As she looked up through the water, she knew she had to stay, she saw two children, a girl and a boy. I’ve seen you in much the same way.

You appear in my dreams in circumstances I cannot attribute to just my overactive imagination. You love your dad and share rituals with him I do not understand, especially when it is time for a nap. I’ve felt you in my body, healthy and ready to be born. Others have seen you too. Your dad, your great aunt’s mom, my mom’s friend. They all know you’ll be here soon even when I myself am not sure how many years from now we’re really talking. Sometimes you feel near, others you feel worlds away.

This big introduction is not the point of my letter. Today I am writing to you about peace as part of a monthly challenge to create more peace in the world. When I considered who I would like to write, you popped into my mind. You see, when I was a little girl, your grandfather used to be involved in local politics. He wrote this letter to the editor that I have kept in a little box, the paper now yellowed, but his words even more significant than I could have ever understood then. He talked about wanting a life where his children had clean air and water.

That’s my vision of peace for you. A life in a place where the air and water are clean. Your grandmother will tell you all kinds of reasons why this is a challenge– but some places are still cleaner than others and it is my dream you will end up there. It’s a simple wish, but this world you will soon visit is full of a lot of chaos and trouble. Some people decide not to have children for this reason, but I feel you have made the decision to arrive for yourself. We all have lessons here and I could go on to envision a world full of peace for you, but the reality is that people have created chaos for centuries, millenniums maybe.

The best I can do is promise I will work hard to teach you how to find peace within yourself and pursue a life where you help to create peace for others, too. That is what I have begun to discover for myself, so it is what I will offer you as your mother. Those words feel strange, me someone’s mother, but I know you’re out there– whether you will truly be born through me or someone else, you will be part of our family, one day, and you have a magnificent group of people, family and friends (and dogs!), who will help you navigate this world where both inner and outer peace take effort.

As I wrote that last line, I could see all the smiling faces that await you, especially your Uncle Seamus. He promises to take you on some good adventures and bring you back in one piece– with an even deeper love of nature than anyone else could give you. A few tears and smiles were shed as I wrote all these words, but they are true. Of all the monthly peace challenges, this one has affected me most deeply. Our children, whether they be truly ours or ones we help to raise as teachers, aunts, uncles, friends, are our greatest contribution to peace.

This letter just made me all the more excited to meet you one day.

Much love,

Your mother

My wish for you is a deep love of nature and peace through this love.

My wish for you is a deep love of nature and peace through this love.

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