My Little Science Experiment

 I realize that I've been terrible at keeping up with my blog since Evie was born. I had these great aspirations to write everyday during her nap time (which, as it turns out, usually happens in the car....) or I'd wake up before her in the morning, drink my coffee and start off my day with a well-written thought or two (yeah right...if she's sleeping, then I'm sleeping!) 

Basically, to sum up what I've learned these past 8 months about raising a child is this: preconceived expectations of who, how and what you will use to raise your child are usually wrong.

    One piece of advice I'd give expectant mothers: erase expectations. You will save yourself a lot of stress and worry. 

I was at a baby shower recently and the expectant mama was opening a gift which contained these "amazing" pacifiers. "Oh, these are just THE BEST!" one mom exclaimed. "All babies love these! You must have these all the time!" I didn't want to be negative, but what I wanted to say was, "No they're not! My baby hates pacifiers and has hated them from day one! These things actually made her cry MORE."  I figured I'd "let her figure it out." Perhaps her baby will like them.  I've realized that just because "Babies R Us" has an item on their "must-have" list, it doesn't necessarily mean your baby will like it. I've gone through FOUR different carriers, hoping that my baby would like one. When I finally did discover one she semi-tolerated, I could only use it for 30 min because my back started hurting!  I've tried two different swings, five different swaddles and several white noise devices. I've tried and tired to keep her socks on, but finally decided in April that it was warm enough for her to go barefoot now until at least October. When teething started, I gave her every potion and lotion I could find to ease the pain (although my grandma still insists that rubbing a little Bourbon on the gum line is the best remedy). 

I have felt and feel like I am wading through a deep pool of sludge half the time, trying in vain to find the magic in ONE of the many devices on the market. In my quest, I have found some songs that soothe, books that make her squeal and foods that don't make her gag. All this was done through trial and error. I affectionately call her "my little science experiment." 

I finally decided to give up on how I thought she SHOULD be and SHOULD act one night while at a friend's house. There were many babies in the room, and therefore a big box of toys was stationed in the middle to entertain the kids. After trying to find a toy that sparked her interest, I finally realized that she was happiest rolling around on the floor  playing with a plastic cup and a paper plate. Hey, she's a cheap date right now...however, I'm sure  Daddy will spoil her in the future and that will all change; but for now I'll embrace it!

Thirty Years

One dark, damp chilly night a few months ago, my husband and I sat eating our dinner to the background music of a screaming child. “Man, if it weren’t for her, there is not a doubt in my mind that we would be sitting on a beach in Mexico right now drinking a mojito,” my husband said dreamily. We looked at each other and both smiled as we thought the same thing: we wouldn’t change a thing about this moment.

As I near my 30^th birthday, I’ve been reflecting on the 30 years God has given to me on this earth. I’m not dreading turning the big 3-0; rather, I choose to celebrate this incredible journey! Hooray! I've survived 10,950 days! :) 

My 20s were, for the most part, fantastic. I began the decade as a single college student, living in a house in Grand Rapids with 8 girlfriends; I end them as a wife and mother. In between, I married my wonderful husband, moved across the country, had a teaching career, earned a masters degree and cultivated an amazing community of friendships. I traveled all over the map and met people from around the world. I experienced the miracle of pregnancy, and now I am adjusting to motherhood. 

My 20s were a time of growing, figuring out “who I am” as well as struggling with “who I want to be.” I wrestled with self-confidence, my faith and my relationships. I experienced deep bitterness, deep joy and deep love. I’ve learned how to forgive, how to serve and how to grieve. I was always on the move either with my friends or my husband. There was never a dull moment.

However, as I turn 30, my life is changing. There is something in me that still loves the fast-paced, fabulous life of my 20s; however, there has been a big shift to where my energy is channeled.

 It is not all about me anymore. I didn't even realize that it was all about me until it wasn't all about me! However, perhaps even more importantly is the fact that life wouldn’t be as fulfilling and as precious if it were. If my life were merely focused on striving for my temporary happiness and joy, it would leave me utterly empty in the end. I’m realizing that what is most important and lasting in life are relationships, investing in people, and loving well. 

As I sat with my little 4-month-old daughter under a tree this afternoon, I was still amazed that the little person lying next to me is actually my child. The days that will fill the months of the next ten years will surely be consumed with many things; but none will be as important as raising and loving my family and friends. I enter this next decade excited and so grateful. Grateful for one more year…grateful for one more day…grateful for each moment, especially the small ones. 

Someone's Daughter

This is a somewhat serious topic, one that has been weighing heavy on my heart since yesterday. As I was driving home from the store with my little girl, Evie, in the back seat, I started listening to a radio program that really touched me in a new way. It was about India, the sex trade and the little babies that are born into the brothels daily; uncared for, unloved and never touched, they are born into prostitution. The sex trafficking is a huge industry worldwide, one that is hidden from society. Young girls are taken and forced to work long hours where they are raped and beaten daily for little or no pay. Many women stay in these situations because they feel it is the only way they can support their children and family back home; others are trapped and if they try to run away, the corrupt police system in the country will capture them and return them for a monetary reward. Many of these women suffer with STDs and of course pregnancies. I never really thought about what happened to the kids that are born in these brothels until yesterday.

I spent part of the afternoon at Babies R Us, buying a bumbo chair and some other“developmental toys” for my baby girl. I love her so much that I feel that she deserves and needs all the gadgets this store has to offer! My husband and I get so much joy when we introduce her to all these new little things. One smile from her means the world.

Until I had a child, I never understood the excitement of watching all the little changes that occur as the days go by. I clearly remember the moment at about six weeks when I was changing her diaper and suddenly she looked me in the eye and smiled AT me! Last night was one of those moments. As I was doing the dishes, I placed her on a towel in the center of the kitchen floor behind me. When I turned around, she was flipping over on her tummy! I was so excited that I stopped what I was doing and grabbed my phone to capture this developmental milestone! After several failed attempts, my little Evie successfully flipped completely on her stomach. She looked so weak and helpless as she struggled to pull herself up. I cheered her on. I kissed her, picked her up and was so proud. I sent the video to family. My husband and I talked about it for the rest of the night.

As I lay in bed that night, my thoughts suddenly went to those dark, dirty brothels I heard about earlier in the day on the radio. How many innocent, helpless “Evies” were rolling over on their tummies for the first time without anyone cheering them on? How many were left in corners, uncared for, unloved, not picked up once during the day? Even worse, I heard that many kids are drugged, stuffed in locked closets and under bed while their mothers “work” next to them. Until I had my precious daughter, the human trafficking problem never hit me like this. I can actually picture the little, defenseless girls trapped in these conditions. The face that comes to my mind: my little daughter. Who is it that you picture in your mind?

My heart is heavy. What can I do, so far away? I know that this human trafficking problem in not just an international one. This problem is happening all over the United States. Young girls are coerced into this industry and trapped. What can we do?

  For the next few days, the non-profit “Forgo” is sending all their contributions to an organization called Freeset. Having been to India a few years ago, I visited this firsthand and saw the lives of the women transformed as they were given another option other than prostitution to make a living. Freeset teaches women skills and then they work, making bags to earn money for their families. They work in a loving, safe environment and their children are taken care of.

For more information, grab your phone and visit whynot.forgo.it to learn how to make a small sacrifice that can make a huge difference.

The face of my little girl haunts me. It may not be MY daughter, but it is someone’s daughter.

Read the Fine Print

Read the fine print. That is the lesson I learned recently after purchasing a Groupon for a six hour wine tour in a limo. I thought, What better way to celebrate our seven-year anniversary!?! So I paid the $50 per person, made the appointment and excitedly anticipated the romantic day.  

Well, the day finally arrived. We dropped our daughter off at Grandma and Grandpa's house for the day, and the two of us drove off for a memorable, relaxing day in whimsical wine country! It was a gorgeous Saturday morning. We pulled up to the MAX station, where we were instructed to meet the limo. We parked and waited..and waited…and waited.

 “Do you see a limo anywhere?” We both scanned the area. No limo. Suddenly, in the corner of the lot, we noticed a massive black bus. It seemed to be pulsating from the high energy dance music pumping from its speakers. “Could that be it?” asked John. 

No. This couldn't be it. This is a party bus! The company is called “fiesta limos.”

 LIMO. Long. Black. Chic. Romantic.

“Wine tour?” the driver of the bus asks us.

“Uh, yeah,” I answer apprehensively.

 “Well hop on!” he turns up the dance music even louder.

 We enter the party bus and take a seat on the black vinyl benches that are built into the perimeter of the red velvet walls. In front of us stands a tall, steel pole. Yes. A pole for dancing.

All of a sudden a strobe light pops on. 

It is 10:00 am. I just finished my second cup of coffee. We are ready to party.

During the next fifteen minutes, 14 more people enthusiastically enter the bus. A group of four women in their 50s, clearly on a much-anticipated “girls day out", make themselves comfortable in the back.  As soon as the bus gets going, the other wine tasters pop open a bottle of champagne to make mimosas. 

The images of a quiet ride through the vineyards, sipping vino together alone, suddenly vanish. These people clearly had other intentions. Let's just say it was clear that they weren't here to just "taste" fermented grapes and educate themselves on the whole wine-making process. 

 Our party bus weaves throughout the rolling hills of wine country. We stop at Ponzi, then Skol Blossomer, and enjoy a leisurely tasting at Erath. All the wineries have their charm, but with each stop the bus becomes louder and louder. The atmosphere heats up and people suddenly become really friendly.  

 John and I do our tasting. We learn about tannins, chat with the wine makers, and learn the optimal temperatures to store various wines. We even have lunch outside at a cute little sandwich shop by Argyle winery. 

However, the other members in the party bus seem to be doing shots with the wine. They barely nibble on some cheese, and there is a continuous flow of alcohol in between each stop. Friendly becomes obnoxious very soon. 

On the way home, John and I are clearly the only sober ones. He has his arm around me. I  try to make some nostalgic comments, "Seven years ago today we were walking down the aisle...." What? He can't hear me over the base. 

Suddenly, I sense a shadow fall over me. I turn my head around and the 50-year-old women in the black stretch pants in the back of the bus is pole dancing; her booty bounces like an overstuffed couch in my face. A guy in his early 30s slides provocatively up to the pole to take his turn after the enthusiastic prompting of his entourage. 

I try to pretend as if it not happening. "yeah, sweetie, seven years..." 

Suddenly I realize that it is impossible to pretend to ignore what is going on in front of us. I turn my head and look John in the eyes. "I'm so sorry this turned out this way. This is not the romantic, seven year celebration I envisioned for us when I planned this." 

 He just looks at me and laughs. “It will certainly be one we will look back and talk about! You know "us." Some of our best memories together have been the situations that didn't turn out like they were supposed to." 

I’m so glad that I have a husband who has such a great sense of humor.

 "And believe it or not, I'm actually kind of amused." He takes my hand and we do our best to enjoy the entertainment. 

Yes, happy seven years. 

Bring on seventy more. 

Traveling with a Small Human

Last year when I was pregnant, John and I took advantage of all his accrued airline points and "elite status" to do some traveling. And travel we did! In fact, in our 6. 5 years of marriage, we have been very fortunate to be able to travel quite a bit. We started to call ourselves “jet setters” as we traipsed around the airports, waited in the “red carpet lounge”, got bumped to first class and jumped into our “emerald club” rental cars. We soon mastered the art of navigating the terminals and security lines. I learned to condense all my belongings into a mere “carry on”. Yes, life was exciting and fast paced. We would wake up in Portland and fall asleep in Chicago…or Rome. Towards the end of my pregnancy, we flew to Maui to attend one of my best friend's wedding. I remember thinking, “wow, traveling sure is harder being bigger.” Ha! Try bringing along a small human.

 So last week, John and I made our first trip across the United States to Chicago with our little 7-week-old Evelyn. Like any first experience with our baby we were a little apprehensive and nervous. I mean, it wasn’t just “us” we had to think about anymore. We had another little human on board…Not to mention the car seat and stroller and extra diapers…

During the week, I talked to several seasoned traveling parents. My one friend had traveled with her two year old on 54 flights so far. I kept hearing the same advice. “Feed often. Bring a change of clothing.” A change of clothing?! I threw one in, not expecting to really use it. Boy was I wrong!

 As we sat in Portland airport waiting to board our flight, Evelyn suddenly began to cry and cry. I know exactly what all the travelers were saying and thinking around us, “Please don’t sit by me…please don’t sit by me…”  I tried to manipulate and time her feeding schedule so it would be close to take off, but we were pushing it, and she was letting me know. Suddenly I smelled something terrible. Yes, it was an extremely dirty diaper. We were about 10 min from boarding, so I had to take care of this quickly. I scooped up my screaming child and rushed to the bathroom. I pulled down the plastic changing table, covered it in paper towels and put Evelyn down. By this point she was not happy; hungry and dirty, I received many concerned looks from women as they passed by. Sure enough, I discovered that her entire outfit was already totally soiled. Panicked, I stripped her down. She was naked, red-faced screaming, covered in poop and we were boarding in the eight minutes.  

                                                 I decided to throw the outfit away.

 Immediately, I dug out that second outfit I packed. What good advice to bring it! 

So, the trip didn’t start out on a very positive note, but overall, it was ok. We got bumped to first class (due to John’s status) and the looks we received from the other first class travelers could burn a hole through us. Evelyn spent the trip sleeping, eating (as much as she wanted) and being bounced between John and me. One thing I noticed is that the airplane bathrooms are useless when it comes to changing a diaper. However, we figured out the best way to take action. Parents, here it is…

 Close the toilet seat lid, and sit on it with the bathroom door closed. The area is so small you can’t help but put your knees up against the door. Lay your baby up over your legs and change…quickly! Mid change, the turbulence light went on. “Please don’t crash before I change this poopy diaper, “ I prayed. 

Another thing I learned is that my standard of cleanliness dropped dramatically. When we got home, Evelyn reeked of sour milk (due to an “all you can eat” buffet experience and insignificant burping). Her hair looked greasy, and her "airplane diaper changing experience" probably left her a little “under wiped.” However, her eyes were happy.

 As I stripped her down and cleaned off her "airplane residue" in the bathtub, I realized that our little “jet setter” did a good job. At 7.5 weeks old, she flew first class across the country. I now realize that our travel experience will never be the same. But I must say, she’s definitely more entertaining than any in flight movie or sky mall magazine.  And maybe we can enroll her in the frequent flyer program.

My Season of Mom

I had all these great intentions to keep on this blog now that I have my baby girl, Evelyn Grace. The truth is, I can’t believe how busy she keeps me! Women sometimes ask me, “So, what do you do all day?” I hate that question because often times it is asked with a tone that suggests that I sit around all day and watch TV; but I have to admit that I often asked that question to stay at home moms when I was working full time. ;) The life of a stay at home mom may seem luxurious to some. To others, it is perhaps the opposite. Personally, I am so grateful that I can be at home, raising and taking care of my 

precious little girl. I don’t view it as luxurious. I’m not dressing up in nice clothes, taking clients out to lunches, or receiving praise from my boss for a job well done. The clothes I wear will be washed by the end of the day because they will smell like sour milk; I usually eat my mid day meal while simultaneously bouncing the infant seat with my foot; and I never get a thank you or good job from Evelyn after I change her poopy diaper. Usually, I am up several times throughout the night, feeding and changing Evelyn when she cries. Many mornings, (such as today) she awoke at 5 am and then, she was ready to begin her day! My job for the day has begun…but then again, it never ended from yesterday. I bath her, hold her, try to get laundry, some cleaning and a shower in between her cries and feedings (which is every two hours…) I’ve learned to lower my expectations of what I accomplish in a day.  “Accomplish” looks very different to me now. I can not define my productivity by an end result anymore. I define my day by the little rewards sprinkled throughout the hours..a smile or coo from my sweet girl. I have six years teaching experience, a master’s degree in reading development; but, there is a bigger picture at stake here, and it doesn’t have to do with a pay check or professional recognition. The bigger picture here is my baby girl, who wont be a baby girl forever. Some women absolutely need to work outside of the house…and to you, I salute you because that is a hard job indeed. I know you try to do your best and to do both jobs well. Each person has a different path and a different calling. And a good thing to remember is that whatever season you are in, it is not forever. This is something I have learned over the years and it has kept me sane. So right now my job is changing diapers, cleaning spit up, spending seemingly endless hours and hours nursing  and holding and smiling at my sweet Evie. Yes, I get those breaks of being able to meet up with other moms throughout the day sometimes. I get to take a mid day walk outside and give Evie some fresh air. The joys in my life are very simple now. It is not dinners out at the trendiest restaurant in town, or fancy drinks at happy hour or 90 minute yoga classes (all of which are really nice!!!!) But this is my new season. The season of Mom.Please be encouraged that if you are in a season that seems endless, it WILL certainly end. Someday my season of being a stay at home mom will end. So, in the meantime, bring on the diaper blow outs and burping cloths. Bring on the adoring eyes and quiet moments of rocking her to sleep. I am Mom. 

My Evening with the Swifts

I saw one of the most exciting things I've seen in a long time tonight. My good friend Erin and I went downtown Portland to Chapman school to watch the swift birds dance and twirl in the sky, spiraling  into their cozy chimney for the night. Videos just don't do justice to the beauty of it all, but I've attached a portion of one just to get an idea. I've never been to this September show, and neither had Erin. So when we arrived and found our spot on the grass, we really didn't know what we were in for. There were a few swift birds lazily circling the sky above us...but this was only the beginning. As dusk approached, thousands and thousands of swifts appeared out of no where and began circling in the sky above us. They came in together, tighter and tighter, forming perfect black cyclones. They spun, and churned and twisted above us. "I wonder if they could poop on us?"inquired my friend, Erin.
"Nah," I answered. "I don't think they will."
About five minutes later, a nice big green plop fell from the heavens and landed squarely on my white sleeve. I guess they can poop. And they had their target.

Anyhow, I was mesmerized by the swirling circus above me. The mass of birds began to descend towards the chimney, one bird bravely breaking away from the group and diving into the shelter for the night. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a big hawk swooped in, attacked the birds, trying to find a tasty morsel for supper. The crowd gasped in delight at the predator, cheering for his success. The hawk certainly interrupted the flow  of the dance; but after a few minutes of chaos, the birds reunited again and returned to their acrobatic cadence.

They entertained us for about an hour, until the sun finally set over Portland. Finally, they did one last magnificent tumble in the fading sky and looped into their resting place.
And there they sleep, nestled together in their warm chimney for the night. Just like that, the once busy sky is dark. The curtain is closed. And all the amused spectators clap and cheer for the pretty little birds who preformed for us on this most perfect evening in September.

God's Snake

I am spending the week with my husband’s family up in Washington in the San Juan Islands. During this week, I get to spend some time with my little 4 1/2 year old niece who I don’t see all the often. I’m never around children this age. Most of our friends have babies or I work with kids in school who are older. So, it took me awhile to get used to the incessant talking and obsession with princesses and pink. However, I learned that there is something about 4 1/2s that intrigue me. They wander through life, enchanted by everything, puzzled by the obvious and exude such a contagious excitement for life that it’s hard not to jump up and down every time an ice cream cone is offered.

 I saw the world through the eyes of this little one, and within a few days, I began to view the world with the amazement it deserves. 

One sunny day, my niece and I went exploring around the backyard of the little house. I held her hand as she ran around the dry grass, her blue eyes full of excitement and her blond curls bouncing. 

“Come on Aunt Theresa. Let’s look over here!” We saw a rock with moss. It wasn’t even the neon green, spongy moss that entices you to run your hands over it. Yet, she noticed it and was completely enthralled. Suddenly, a gardener snake slithered out from behind the rock, through the grass. She grabbed my hand and shrieked in fear.

“It’s ok,” I said, “God made that snake.” She looked up at me, perplexed, trying to make sense of what I just told her. “You mean it’s God’s snake?”  she asked.

“Yes. And he made it for you so you can look at him.” She paused, looked at the snake and shrugged, venturing on to the next exhibit. 

Soon we came upon it: Mr. Slug. “ Yuck. Gross.” She backed away from the slug, her eyes gazing at it’s slimy trail in disgust. I leaned down, encouraging her to follow my lead. 

“It’s ok. It’s only a slug. He is trying to get home, just like we have a home. God made it.” 

Again, she paused and looked at me, trying to decide if what I said made any sense at all. “ So it’s God’s slug?”  

“Yep, it’s God’s slug.”

Then all at once the area in the backyard we were standing in seemed to come alive. A dragonfly danced passed us, a grasshopper leapt over a rock, a fly buzzed through the air. 

“It’s God’s Dragonfly! It’s God’s cricket! It’s God’s fly!” 

The world around us suddenly got exhilarating as she made the connection that everything around her was God’s and he put it here for her.

Later that night as I sat outside alone on the back porch over looking that ocean and the mountains, a deep red glow enveloped me. I stopped what I was reading and simply looked up. Never has a glow like this so completely consumed me. It was eerie and all I could do was stop and look up. The clouds were on fire, as if a match ignited a single corner of the sky, spreading and sweeping everything up in a brilliant blaze.  Suddenly I felt the excitement that my little niece had for the world around her swell within me. 

“It’s God’s glow,” I whispered to myself. 

And I couldn’t stop staring. 

My Daughter- Knitted Together within Me

Ever have one of those moments when you truly felt like life was happening around you and not to you? I had one of those moments last week when the doctor told me we were going to have a daughter. In my mind, I already picked out HIS bedroom, HIS name, and I felt HIS kicks. 

. Our appointment was marked in big blue letters on my calendar, and it had been something I had anticipated for months. The BIG appointment. The 20-week ultrasound that examined every limb, organ and…eh…other regions. I had taken various on-line gender predictor tests and researched all the wives tale signs and everything pointed to a boy. There was actually no doubt in my mind, and I think I even convinced everyone else that we were having a boy too. I started the morning off getting a filling at the dentist, which left my mouth numb and sore. I ran errands. Cleaned the kitchen from last night’s dinner party at our house. I tried anything to distract myself as I anxiously watched the clock. John admitted that he couldn’t think about the appointment because it made his nervous, anxious and excited. I felt the same way. I think I felt this way because this was the moment when everything was truly validated. For months now I’ve watched my stomach grow; I’ve felt sick; I was tired; I knew I was pregnant, but the mystery of what was actually growing inside of me would finally be revealed. Would he/she have all the limbs? A spine? Would we have a son (like I truly believed) or a daughter? 

As I laid down on the ultrasound examining table, John reached over and took my hand. Suddenly, on the screen appeared fuzzy images. I anxiously tried to figure out what I was looking at. A head? A leg? What was it?! The doctor proceeded to examine each limb, each organ and measure the growth of me. John and I scanned the screen, straining to spot the one organ that would confirm that our baby was indeed a boy. “Wait.there it is!” 

“Nope, that is only the umbilical cord.”

Where is IT!? Where is IT?!!

The technician looked at us and smiled. “You guys are having a girl.

A GIRL?! John looked over at me and smiled. His gaze met mine, and in them he was saying to me, “Well, let the adventure begin!.”

I stared at wonderment at the screen. Our daughter.

I was amazed how each vertebra, each finger, each part was so masterfully crafted. How did all this happen?! I just get up everyday, eat food and go about my business. Yet, during all this, a human being was being created inside of me. The other day I read Psalm 139, a verse I have read so many times before. Yet, it hit me differently this time, and as I looked at the ultrasound pictures of our daughter, I actually had tears form at the corner of my eyelids. For you created my inmost being; 
   

you knit me together in my mother’s womb. 


 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; 
   

your works are wonderful,  I know that full well. 


 My frame was not hidden from you 
when I was made in the secret place, 
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. 


 Your eyes saw my unformed body; 
all the days ordained for me were written in your book 
before one of them came to be.

 Never in my life have I felt such immediate affection for someone. This life, this child was the epitome of innocence. It was being formed and created within me and it had no say whether it lived or what was to happen to it next. My instinct was to protect and care for this baby, and I suddenly felt the overwhelming sense of responsibility that it was the job of my husband and I to teach this child right from wrong.

Suddenly I saw the world differently.

During the next few days as I was trying to process having a daughter, everything around me was tinted pink. The women in the magazines were too sexy and airbrushed. The men gazed too long at the pre-teens in the short shorts at the mall. The statistics on the news about the young girls being sold into the sex trade were suddenly terrifying. The world  suddenly became the enemy; yet, I don’t want to view it this way at all.

So now I begin to think, and wrestle, with how to raise a child in this world without her being consumed by it? Is it possible to preserve the innocence that I observed as she nestled within my womb? She will come without an instruction manual. 

But as I sit here and type, this daughter within me is kicking around, reminding me that she is going to immerge eventually. So ready or not, here she comes. And I couldn’t be more excited. 

Notes from my travels: Venice is a journey, not a destination

Venice. The city filled with lovers floating down canals as serenades fill the night air. A magical city. A city like none other.  Something  I learned about Venice while there: This city is a journey, not a destination. Enjoy the process.

 A lot of places are much different in real life than in movies and pictures; however, I must say that Venice truly exceeds all expectations. We had to take a “water taxi” from the airport, and as we approached the city, I felt like we were coming upon a movie set. The Renaissance-style churches and towers appeared on the horizon and gave John and I that surreal, “I-can’t-believe-I’m-here” feeling. 

Once we got off the boat (with our heavy suitcases) now the challenge began: finding our hotel for the night. Well, we couldn’t hail a taxi because there are no cars. We couldn’t use the elevators or escalators over the many archways and bridges, because there were only concrete steps. My advice: pack lightly or find a nice husband. :) 

The streets were narrow alleyways, filled with lost tourists, enticing bakeries and gelaterias, and pigeons. The maps were useless because the alleyways never seemed to match the name on the map; and even if they did, one labyrinth flowed into the next, connected by beautiful bridges and canals. The canals were helpful navigation devices; if we hit water, we were going the wrong way. We were rats in a maze, trying to find our hotel, and it really felt like someone kept moving our cheese.

 After wandering around and seemingly passing the same gelaterias….the same lion-headed door knockers….and the same umbrella tables by the canal, I wanted to collapse. No sleep for 36 hours makes a person wandering through concrete mazes even more insane than usual. Finally defeated, we asked someone and they pointed to a wooden door, only 20 yards before us. How many times have we passed this same door? Oh well, it didn’t matter now. We were here, and the little hotel was truly what anyone would picture a hotel in Venice to look like.

 It was a vintagey, cherry paned, Venetian styled place with a friendly staff; the window from our bedroom looked right out into the canal and passing gondolas. 

We had dinner that night at a table next to a canal. As you can imagine, everything in Venice is squeezed into every available space. Our table was pushed near another couples table, who we actually struck up a conversation with. They were from Norway, vacationing for several weeks on a rented houseboat with some friends. They shared stories (and even their wine) as we enjoyed our first Italian dining experience.

 Later that night, we traipsed around the city, taking in St. Marks Square. We shared pistachio and tiramisu gelato while being serenaded by a beautiful orchestra. The pigeons flew around; the cool evening breeze came in off the water; and water surrounded our feet….wait…what?!! Yes, it’s true. Many people say Venice is sinking ( you better visit soon!) and while we were standing in the square, water was leaking through the concrete vents, filling the area around us. I’m not sure if this floods every night, but it definitely was turning into a small pond.

 We decided to get out of the water and on it by taking a night ride down the Grand Canal, which is the major canal that runs through the city. Everything all lit up at night looked simply enchanting.

 All we needed now to complete the Venice experience was to get lost again. And we did. However, wandering aimlessly in circles in alleyways sounds more dangerous than it is in this city. There is no crime because really, where would a criminal escape to??? There aren’t many people out and about after midnight, but every time we met a local, we provided them their entertainment for the night by trying to direct the dumb lost American tourists to their hotel. (especially this one table of Italian men, who took a break from their drink and cigarettes to banter over which way the lost tourists should go, ripping the map back and forth between them). After an hour (or more) of wandering the rat maze in the dark, I wanted to cry.  If John wasn’t with me, I probably would of found a little corner and cuddled up there until sunrise. In one last-ditch attempt to find our place, we asked a man smoking outside his apartment. He looked at us funny and pointed directly in front of us. Ha! There it was! Right there. We probably circled it several time but it looked different because it was all closed up for the night.

 I collapsed in my bed, exhausted and dizzy. However, if I have to get lost, there is no better place to do so! Venice is truly a marvelously, confusing city…one that I’d get lost in again.  

The First Day of the Rest of my Life

 Last week at this time I was complaining about the weather, dragging my feet to work, and trying to decide what I should wear to make myself look less pale in the mirror.

A few hours later, I was crumpled over on the floor, totally distraught and unable to think clearly because the life I once knew seemed like it was going to change drastically...or suddenly end.

The doctor called. He left a message on my phone saying he had the results of my MRI I had last week. I expected “all clear.” After all, I’ve always been “all clear.” I took pride in how I took care of myself: my eating habits, my vitamin rituals, my exercise routines, my excellent genes...

However, his words were very different: “You seem to have a brain aneurysm.” 

The world literally paused. Everything that was in my mind came pouring out; nothing mattered anymore. The doctor kept talking… “next appointment with the surgeon… Medical Procedures...  MRI monitoring…”

I braced myself against the wall and gasped for breath. In my mind, a brain aneurysm meant sudden death. All I ever heard about brain aneurysms was that someone was normal one moment, and then dead the next; therefore, I was certain I was moments away from  the same. I immediately called my husband, who was out in San Francisco on a business trip that week. Needless to say, his world stopped spinning as well, as he searched hurriedly for an immediate flight home.

My eyes suddenly filled with tears. I thought truly, for the first time, about  the possibility of not living until I was an old granny in a rocking chair with my grandchildren. I thought of not waking up each morning next to my husband and making coffee for him. I thought of not being able to have another night with my best girlfriends, laughing and enjoying wine and chocolate. I thought of not holding my cat…or hopefully my future child. Why had I never thought about this before?

Because I have always  assumed I would  live. I’ve taken my health, my life, my ability to wake up each day for granted my whole life. And at this moment, reality hit me squarely in the head. Literally.

My husband and I called the doctor on three way, and she told us she could get us in Monday. Wait…what…Monday?! That was a whole week away?! Wouldn’t it be too late by then!!!? She told us that if he doctor thought we needed to be in that same day, we’d be in.

 Oh.

 Perhaps I should relax just a bit. Still, the unknown was agonizing. The shock of having something bizarre in my brain haunted me. The possibility of having brain surgery was terrifying. And I felt so alone. But I wasn’t, because I knew God was there, and I felt his love and care for me through two of my girlfriends who showed up unannounced on my doorstep to comfort and pray for me. I was consoled though the encouraging words of my mother-in-law who drove right over to my house to be with me. I had phone calls, texts, emails….it was interesting to feel so alone, but also so loved at the same time.

That whole week was torture. The possible scenarios ran through my mind constantly. It was hard to plan or think about the future. It was difficult to care about the kitchen floor not being clean or the sock that was lost in the washing machine.

I went on a retreat with our “house church” group over the weekend to the coast. It was difficult to connect with anyone-to laugh, and joke and talk about topics that didn’t seem all that important anymore. John and I took a lot of long walks on the beach. One night we were alone at sunset, and the wind blew, and the waves crashed. We stood together on a washed up log on the sand, and I felt as if this moment was painted just for us. The peace of God surrounded me as I watched the colors sink behind the horizon and into the water. I felt at that moment that everything was going to be ok; whether I needed brain surgery or if I died, I felt like God had it in his hands, and he’d walk with me the whole way. If he could orchestrate these waves, and this sunset and fill me with the love I felt at this moment, he could certainly give me what I needed to get through whatever it was that was to happen. And so peace rested on my mind.

Monday morning came, and I couldn’t sleep. I decided that I needed to go on a run, in the cold, in the early morning hours. I wanted to feel the wind on my skin and the air in my lungs, because that meant that I was alive! As I ran I couldn’t help but think morbid thoughts. I thought about my funeral and who would be there. Tears leaked from the corner of my eyes as I thought about my  husband and my family and my friends and my co-workers lining up to say good-bye to my body. I knew that my soul would be in a far better place, but the thought of the ones I loved mourning for me was almost too much to bear; and I tried to push that from my mind.

We drove to the east side of town, John holding my hand, neither of us saying a word. I think we were both preparing for the worst, even though my husband kept strong and optimistic for me. The room was small, and had strange medical devices around. The doctor entered and pulled up the x-rays on his computer screen. And there I was. A ghost. A skeleton. I knew it was me because I recognized the shape of my nose and my uneven eyes, but boy, did that picture look chilling without skin or hair. 

And then there was my brain. Wow. I really had all that inside of me? It was so perfectly crafted and put together; I stared at my insides with amazement. Then the doctor zoomed in closer…closer…closer…until he was focused on a vein on the front of my face. And there is was. A slight bulge in the end. The aneurysm: 3.5 mm right behind my right eye.

“  This is small and they grow slowly. There is a procedure that can be done so that it doesn’t rupture, but it is not necessary now. Just come back in a year so we can keep an eye on it.”   

What?! That’s it? No brain surgery, or procedures, or funerals? Nope. Just life. 

As I walked out of the office, I felt giddy. Actually, my husband and I both felt lighter. The weight of the world had just been lifted from our shoulders and it felt so good to be free. I saw everything with new eyes. The sun was brilliant. I was excited about my work, and my life suddenly was thrilling.

Yes, I do have a brain aneurysm in my head, right now, at this moment. Yes, if it grows big enough, it could rupture and kill me. But any of us could die, right now, at this moment. We are not promised another day.
 I could choose to think about the aneurysm as a ticking time bomb, and I could live each day obsessing and worrying about it. However, I choose to see it as a very real, permanent reminder to me that my life truly is in God’s hands. It is humbling to me that truly I am not in control of anything. Stamped in the middle of my head-both literally and figuratively-is God’s promise that I won’t go a day sooner than what he has planned for me. And instead of fretting about that, I can rest, because I know now wasn’t my time to leave this Earth and the people I love. He allowed the doctors to discover this, so they could monitor it; and eventually I will have a procedure that could save my life. 

So there must be more to do here on the Earth. And I am excited, because today is the first day of the rest of my life. 

Snow Day 2011

Last night as I lay in bed, I set my alarm and made a mental list of how the rhythm of the following day would flow; be at the gym at 7:00 so I can workout for exactly 30 min, so I can come home and shower…be out the door to work by 8:30 so I can prep for my first student at 8:50, so at 9;00 I can greet the parent and commence testing, which will take approximately 1.5 hours, ending at 10:30 so I will have exactly 30 min. before I see my next student at 11:00, ending at 11:45, which will allow me a 15 min lunch break before my next student arrives at 12:05…etc…etc…etc… these are my thoughts before I drift off to sleep at night. Most days, they go pretty much as I plan, and I glide through my day, satisfied with the schedule I’ve kept and the tasks I’ve accomplished. Today however,  as my alarm awoke me in the early hours of the day, I looked out my dark bedroom window to a white, powdery dusting on the ground….could it be SNOW??? Yes, the forecasters were predicting snow, but could they actually be right? I’ve learned that when you live in Portland, you really shouldn’t plan your life around the weather forecasts. So in my head last night, my day was still scheduled, and productive; but now this SNOW put a sudden hault to my agenda. Then I got the blessed phone call: an official Snow Day. I could almost hear the shrieks of joy from millions of children across the Portland area as they laced up their boots and managed to make a small, watery footprint in their driveway. Forget watching anything on TV this morning; every single channel is focused on the panicked newscasters as the brave the breezy elements of  (cue deep, ominous, voice)“February Snow Storm 2011”.  

Anyhow, days like these remind me that life can change quickly. We are planning, scheming, trying to figure out how we are going to go about our day when all of a sudden, everything just doesn’t matter anymore. There is something better. It’s like God saying, “take a coffee break today.”  Curl back into bed with your plump cat and just enjoy. Grab a blanket and an extra cup of coffee and write a blog entry. Call a friend and talk a little longer on the phone.

And even if you don’t get a day off, the snow still slows the pace of everything down quite a bit. Perhaps I may get time to count the snowflakes as they drift towards the ground; is each one really different? I don’t know, but I have time to consider it! And I have time to consider the possibility that we plan plan plan, and that’s good; but when God decides he has something different, all our plans suddenly evaporate. 
And I’m learning that’s ok;  a snow day is just what we wanted anyway. 

Binder Woes

I’ve heard that you can tell  how smooth a household runs by examining the organization of the pantry. I don’t know if that is true; but, after working one-on-one with Jr. Highers this year, I know that you can tell a lot about a student by looking at the state of their binder.

I work with one Jr. High boy who came to me his first day with a binder full of loose papers, some in tact, others sloppily taped back together. The day before I was to meet with him, his mom called me distressed: she didn’t know what was wrong with her son! “He’s failing everything, but he’s such a smart boy!”

Well mom…I hate to break it to you, but it’s not your boy’s intelligence that needs a good makeover; it’s his binder.

 During our first session together, I thought we should do a complete purge of his binder and rebuild from the inside out. “Show me what you’ve got.” He opened his binder, and I was fully expecting to see flies circle out from it. If his binder represented his life, then we had a lot of work to do. You see, after working with kids now for six years, I’ve come to realize that a binder is a window into whom they are as a person.( A palm reader...a binder reader!!!!!??!! )

 To start out, I explained to this boy (whom I’ll call Todd) that the purpose of a binder was to bind papers together; hence, the three metal rings in the middle. He paused for a moment, and then I saw the light go on: “Oh, that must be why the teachers put those three holes on the side of the paper.” 

Exactly.

 First, we sifted through the clutter and purged anything that wasn’t school related: song lyrics (with a lot of four asterisks in place of words)….  penciled caricatures of his classmates …several candy bar wrappers adhered to the inside by several wads of hot pink chewing gum….and a plastic baggie of something that was way past expiration date. 

I think it was best to start from a clean slate.

We dumped everything, and I asked him where his actual school papers were. After a moment, he explained matter-of-factly that they were "tucked away in his locker." 

 I decided to take a little journey up to his locker. 

We marched right up to it, and I noticed a fruit fly circling nearby in the hallway. Upon opening his locker, I realized that yes, Todd did have all his papers; however, they were sprinkled about like seeds. The only thing growing in this locker though, was a stench that needed to be extinguished. He dug through his papers to uncover, at the very bottom of his locker, a plastic grocery bag with liquid in it. Water? Juice? “Todd, what in the world is that?” He crinkled his nose, picked it up with his thumb and index finger like a dirty diaper, and toted it across the hall to the garbage.  “Todd,” I repeated again, “WHAT was that?!” 

He looked at me, bowed his head in shame, and declared that it used to be a banana. 

We also found the source of the fruit fly colony.

After completely gutting his locker, I realized that if he lived in a perpetual state of disarray, how could he accomplish anything?! He failed to turn papers in, thus receiving Zeros.  He lost assignments, notes, and books. His life seemingly got lost in the shuffle of his papers; and like a sinkhole, it was eventually going to swallow him whole.

  He needed an intervention; and he needed it now. 

We installed some locker shelves, binder subject dividers and an assignment notebook. We made goals; personal goals, academic goals and organizational goals.  Yes, I explain his English. I helped him rewrite essays and memorize important dates. However, I realized that none of this mattered unless his binder and locker were in proper working order. This was the root of all his problems. 

Thus, whenever I see Todd, the first thing I do is open his binder. Usually, it looks like there has been an explosion. However, the damage is minimal because we attack it right away, and he knows that it is detrimental to his success as a student. And after four months, I can happily report that Todd is making progress. He is motoring along, improving his grades… and throwing away rotten fruit.

A Wagon, and a Quest for something Greater

 I was a pioneer girl, setting out with my little red wagon across the cornfield; the cornfield was a vast, desolate area next to my house in Illinois. It was especially brown and lonely this chilly October late afternoon. I was 8 years old, and I was determined to make it all the way to the forest, which meant going through the mud and over the corm stalk stumps from the summer’s harvest. 

The journey was treacherous. But I was desperate, desperate to reach the Promised Land. I trudged onward, yanking my wagon over the uneven earth. It was late October, yet still the Indian summer caused the Canadian geese to stick around a little bit longer than usual. Their honking overhead created an alarm, a warning, that winter was ahead, and I only had so much time before frost would put its icy chains over all that was living. 

I wondered how those geese knew to fly in a triangle, in perfect solider -like lines. I watched their powerful wings harness the sky and glide effortlessly over me. I imagined where they were going; what would they see in their journey South? Could I jump on, take hold of their feathers and travel with them? Oh, how desperately I longed to see the places they would see and feel the wind in my face and hair.

 It’s not that I wanted to escape my life. I had a chicken soup and hot chocolate type of childhood; it was safe and warm in every way.  However, at the young age of 8, my soul longed for completeness, and I was determined to search until I found it.   I wanted to be free from having to give my oral report in front of the class on Monday.  I didn’t want to think about my girlfriends at school, and not having the right shoes; I didn't want to feel the pressure to partake in the things that might happen at the slumber party on Saturday, or be made fun of for getting picked up in the morning by my parents to go to church. I didn’t want to deal with being known as “the shy girl” at school, with my awkward retainer and orange freckles. I didn’t want to practice my multiplication tables yet one more time only to fail the times test once again. 

In school, we studied about those brave frontiersmen and pioneers who ventured West in search for something greater. I believe I was on a quest to find that great thing. 

  When my wagon wheel finally made it back into the forest, I believed I had entered a different world. It was silent, except for the trees that danced in the wind and the long prairie grasses that were as nearly as tall as myself. They seemed to swallow me whole. They cradled me as I lay down in them, my body making a fresh indent in the seemingly untouched earth. The wind blew over me, catching the grasses and spraying its seeds everywhere. I closed my eyes,  and I listened. To the geese moving overhead. To the wind. To the voice inside that soothed my unsettled spirit. This is where I belonged, a mere blade of grass being tossed around effortless without being uprooted. 

 In my life I have had moments of this peace. It is a few minutes of  detachment from life on this earth and a taste of the future forever home. I call them “glimpses of heaven."

It is when all is right in the world, and the earth is spinning at a gentler speed. Being swept up in the rhythm of those swaying prairie grasses was one of my moments. 

And how I wished I could remain there forever. 

But in the distance, I could here a faint, familiar voice: “Dinner....Dinner.....” It was the voice of my mother, beckoning me homeward.

It was back to reality, and that was ok, because I knew my forest was a mere cornfield crossing away.

Final thoughts on detox...

So was it all worth it?... These three days of discipline and denial? Did I achieve what I hoped to achieve, and would I do it again? These questions came up in our discussion over dinner last night as my friend and I feasted at Screen Door in celebration of our cleansing victory. We decided that it was only right to properly contaminate our bodies again by drinking Texas Gold margaritas and dining on Southern comfort food. I have to say, drinking my first sip of my margarita was like jumping into a cold pool: I wanted to do it quickly before I could think too long about it. After my three days of detoxing, it was difficult for me to purposely blemish my perfectly clean, purified body; I imagined my insides like a sterile white canvas that was now going to be marred with big splotches of black paint. But as my friend and I discussed, we can’t live that way forever; and hence, I took my first long sip of my toxin…and I enjoyed every bit of it! 

God gave us food and drink in which to enhance our enjoyment of life. It would be ridiculous to refuse that gift; however, the pendulum can easily swing two ways. People can waste their life and energy obsessing too much about health; and people can think about it too little or not at all. Like anything else in life, there must be some kind of balance, and it’s easy to tip too far to one side. 

For me though, this process has taught me how much of my joy comes from food; I never realized how much of my social life is based around food. I now have more compassion for those with severe food allergies! It can be really isolating when you know you can’t eat like everyone else, and going out to eat kind of loses its appeal. So much of socialization is done while consuming something.

As I discussed in my first blog post, this exercise taught me self-control and living more mindfully. I realized that I have grown so comfortable with having everything and anything at my disposal that I don’t really think or savor it anymore. Sure I may say a quick prayer before I eat, but now I realize the true abundance I have in front of me!  It has taught me that more mindful, disciplined living could benefit my outlook and attitude about not only meal times, but all of life in general. How much of my day do I mindlessly engage in activities, thus not fully enjoying? How much of the time am I wandering through life, not really relishing the small joys, pleasures, and people?

 Literally speaking, I believe the detox did do some internal good as well. I believe that my skin is clearer, my mind seems less foggy and I have more of a steady energy level. My friend reported the same. Now that I’ve feasted and put back into my body much of what I spent so much time getting out, what was the point? Well, I think that much like a bathroom drain with too much long hair coiled in it, sometimes your body just needs a good flush out in order for it to continue to work to its optimal level. :) I  do believe there are habits that I will keep, but I also know that I do not want to, nor should I maintain the strict regiment either. 

So, I also looked up the definition of this illusive "toxin." I found that it is defined as any poisonous substances that inhibits the body from working at it’s optimal level. Apart from literal toxins that I was trying to rid my body of, I reflected on other "toxic" areas of my life. What in my life is preventing me from operating and living life to the fullest? What is weighing me down, clogging my passion, and failing to ignite the energy to do all that God has for me on earth? Are there relationships that are draining me to empty, meaningless activities that just eat time, and worries that I need to surrender?

On the other hand, what things in my life provide nourishment….to my mind, my spirit and my soul? 

These are just a few things I’ve been pondering as we begin 2011. Perhaps you can ponder them too.

 All I know is that I have some really great nourishment in my life; friendships that sustain me; family who would do anything for me; a husband who amazes me; and a God who loves me.

So, who would have thought that a simple 3 day detox could dig up so much? 
And who would have thought that a margarita, with my dear friend, could taste sooo good. :)

DETOX: DAY 2 and 3

 Continued from last post....

Detox,  Day 2.

I awoke Tuesday morning to a text message from one of my friends  wanting to meet for coffee.  Usually, I would be so excited because I would get my grande mocha; but today, I rolled over in bed, mourning the fact that I would be drinking green tea. I realized though that instead of focusing so much on what was going to be consumed and enjoyed, I focused and anticipated more the person who I was going to see! I guess I never realized how much I emphasized the food part of getting together with friends. Don’t get me wrong, nothing is wrong about enjoying food, and I certainly always enjoy the people I am with. But it was different this time because one half of the equation was gone. Now I focused all my energies and excitement on the person! And it was great! I almost didn’t even miss my chocolate drink!

And, as a bonus, instead of spending over $4.00 on something that is gone in 4 minutes, I brought my own green tea bag, and the barista gave me a free venti hot water! So it was possible to have meaningful, enjoyable time with a friend without spending money or indulging my taste buds! 

Overall day number two was a lot more tolerable because it wasn’t such a shock to the system. I also added some non-animal protein to my diet. At night I made a simple broth soup of vegtebales and potato.

 Tuesday night, however, my friend and I took detoxing to the next level: Bikram Yoga. I have never done yoga before, but we bought this special package on Groupon a  few months back. I know so many people who practice yoga and just love it. What I didn’t know was that there were various forms of yoga. What I didn’t know was that this yoga practice was done in a room set at a temperature of 105 degrees for 90 min. The ultimate toxic purge---sweating. 

And sweat we did-profusely! I don’t know how extreme stretching and twisting could be so exhausting and painful, but it was! I could hardly keep a pose for 30 seconds. And I definitely wasn’t getting any energy supply from my deep breathing like my instructor said. All I got when I took a deep breath was light headed and a taste in mouth that resembled sweaty feet. I can say that at the end of 90 min, I was ready to be done.  Strangely, I left feeling energized though, and proud at making it through my first session. Would I do it again?  Perhaps…but not for a while…or so I thought….

Detox, Day 3.

  I found myself thinking about that yoga session all day today. Maybe it’s the athlete in me, but I kept going over my failed attempts at the poses and analyzing how I could do even better. And I found my feet carrying me through the doors of the yoga studio for a second session-less than 24 hours later! It still smelled like feet. And I still sweated uncontrollably. The room was more packed than the previous day, but I felt the energy from the other participants in the room. What a better experience this time around!  I knew what to expect, so I didn’t feel dumb, or weak . I felt stronger and more confident. I left feeling tired, but in a way that makes me appreciate my body and what it is capable of doing. Plus, I knew I had gotten rid a some more toxins! :) 

Today was the final day of my detox plan, and I was getting used to my new diet and routines; however, I found myself rationalizing why I should sneak in some cheese or milk. “I was almost done….it wouldn’t hurt…what’s 12 more hours…” 

But I didn’t. I wanted to finish strong, and I wanted to feel good about it. My friend suggested that we do a celebratory dinner on Thursday night to honor our dedication and commitment. I wanted to truly celebrate knowing that I stayed on target. 

Now a few questions lingered: Would all this be worth it? Would we be able to feel the difference of our 3 days of disciplined eating and sweating?

Stay tuned to see "if it was worth it...."

DETOX: DAY 1

I’ve realized that much of my daily joy comes from my routines and food. If you haven’t’ read my last post, this week my friend and I embarked on a 3-day detox journey that caused me to dream about scrambled eggs and cheddar cheese. Literally. 

On Sunday night as I went to bed, I had a small panic attack because I realized when I woke up the next day I wouldn’t have my coffee with French vanilla creamer and gingerbread biscotti that I’ve grown so accustomed to. Therefore, I decided that I needed one last hurrah, and proceeded to indulge in various exceedingly sweet, utterly creamy, and dreadfully caloric treats right before turning into bed. I didn’t know what my problem was; why was I freaking out, believing that I needed to store up food? It wasn’t as if I was hibernating or going without food for the next three days! I was only going to be abstaining from animal by-products and anything processed or sugar-laden. Basically I was only going to eat things directly from the earth, left in it’s purist form. I realized that although I always prided myself on a pretty healthy diet, much of my joy comes from treats that are far from their original form. 

What I gained from this journey was more than perhaps an internal cleansing. This process taught me, in a very small small way, to go without. It taught me discipline and self-control. In a small way, it humbled me and made me realize how very comfortable I’ve gotten with my American way of life with convince, and instant gratification. The past three days have perhaps changed the way I view food, and joy, and made me assess the way I want to move forward from here.

Monday morning I awoke with false hunger pains. I’m totally serious. I was going in and out of sleep, believing that I was starving, when in reality I was only upset that I wouldn’t be enjoying my latte and sweet bread. I didn’t even want to get out of bed!!! I am ashamed to admit this, but it’s true. I realized that part of my motivation to get up in the morning is knowing that I get to enjoy my coffee and sweet. When I finally did get up, my head felt fuzzy; I needed caffeine, now! Part of the detox plan is to first drink hot lemon water. It is supposed the help cleanse the liver and flush out the toxins. I forced myself to do this, but only to finish and realize that my fuzzy head still remained.

 Today I would drink green tea instead of coffee. I rummaged through my cabinet and found the box of green tea stuffed in the very back. I tore open two bags and dumped them in the pot of boiling water over the stove. 

Steep…steep!!!

 I took my first sip of green tea and…yikes!! This was definitely not vanilla creamer! Earthy. And not sweet. And it tasted like grass. Realizing that this was my only chance at caffeine, I forced myself to drink the liquid. I felt a little better, but I soon realized that green tea was not as strong as coffee….and drinking MORE of it was not appealing. So I settled, and decided that I should just move on to my breakfast smoothie.

 Now I LOVE smoothies, but I usually love them with some sort of dairy base, such as yogurt or soymilk. Today, the base would be water and carrot juice. I dumped in a whole orange, a handful of blueberries, a banana and carrot juice. I then poured in some powder that looked-and tasted-like lawn clippings. It’s actually called “amazing grass”, and it’s basically various vegetables, probiotics, and algae condensed into a powder that is easier to consume.  A quick whirl from my Vita-mix and BOOM-breakfast is served. It actually wasn’t all that bad: pure fruit and powdered vegetable. The true breakfast of champions! After that I was off to work…with my Tupperware of raw broccoli, celery and carrot sticks.

After lunch, I have to admit, I felt a bit light headed and weak. I didn’t have enough caffeine in my system, and the raw vegetables for lunch just didn’t cut it. I got a sad text from my friend who was suffering the same. “Should we be eating protein? I’m having head spins right now!” she pinged.  This got me a bit concerned; however, we decided that this was just part of the detox process, and we decided to venture onward.

By 9:00, I was cashed out. I hungrily ate my potato, broccoli, brussel sprout and carrot medley. And yes. I did cheat a bit and sprinkled a bit of salt on it. Just a bit. “I’m going to bed,” I told my husband.

He eyed me suspiciously. “At 9:00?!” 

Yes, at 9:00. What was the point of staying up? Usually I would get to enjoy a little sweet treat later in the night, but now that that was gone, what did I have to look forward to? Plus, I truly was exhausted. I think the lack of caffeine in my system really took a toll on my ability to function. And sleep sounded sooo good…..and sleep I did. Soundly. For almost nine hours.

Stay tuned for day 2 of detox…..