Boilerplate

My aunt, Margaret Jane Radin, recently published Boilerplate about all those fine-print agreements we sign or click 'I Agree' without ever reading (much less understanding) just what it is we agreeing to. I'm just as guilty as anyone else about not reading them.

But I've started reading them. Today, I was asked to sign one so my three-year-old daughter could attend a friend's birthday party at a local gymnastics studio. Below is part of the boilerplate I was supposed to sign:

"The undersigned agrees to defend, indemnify, and hold harmless XXX, its officers, managers, members, employees, servants, agents and coaches/instructors and their successors and assigns from and against all legal liability, claims, suits, damages, losses, and expenses, including attorneys' fees, threatened or incurred, and arising from the child's participation, or from any cause whatsoever."

First of all, that's a lot of dense language to get through. How are people who have never attended law school supposed to understand exactly what this is saying and what we're agreeing to?  

I think it's basically saying that I can't hold this gymnastics studio responsible for anything might happen to my daughter, even if the staff is negligent. And that even if I threaten to sue them, I will be responsible for paying their attorney. 

So, what if the instructor walks away while my daughter is on the balance beam, and she then falls and breaks her arm? I can't ask the studio to cover medical costs. What if the studio's managers have neglected to maintain the equipment and something breaks while in use, resulting in kids(s) getting hurt. Not their problem, apparently. At least, that's what they're trying to say.

So what's are we supposed to do? I feel like I'm being held hostage. If I balk at the agreement and boycott the business, my daughter can't go to her friend's party. If I sign it, I absolve the business of any responsibility for keeping my daughter safe.

I discussed today's particular release with my aunt, and here are some of her thoughts, which do make me feel better about allowing my children to participate in these kinds of activities. My added comments are in red.

•  "It used to be that exculpatory clauses (no liability for my own negligence, or worse) were declared by courts to be against public policy and disallowed." Well, that's better. Businesses try to disavow responsibility, but it's not allowed if you get into the court system. 
• "Now there are some states that allow exculpatory clauses, but for negligence only. So, at worst, the cause couldn't - if you went to court - absolve them of gross negligence or recklessness." So there are some states that are okay with businesses disavowing responsibility, but only up to a point. This is where it becomes apparent that it makes a difference who our judges are.
•  "Some parents are saying, 'Since you're making me sign away my rights to hold you liable for harming my child, I need to see your safety guidelines and safety records, I need to see the background checks on your employees, I need to see your equipment maintenance records, etc.'" Not a bad idea. Parents really need to start protesting these things and make it known that signing away rights is a huge problem.
•  "There does seem to be a trend for enforcing [these releases] with regard to negligence, for recreational activities." So more and more cases are allowing releases to stand for negligence, but less so for gross negligence. See this document that outlines cases and trends state-by-state.
•  "It's still true in some states that these clauses are disfavored, even for simple negligence (such as WI). And in some states, whether or not they're enforceable is a jury question (such as AZ). They the clauses are still completely illegal in CT and LA."

Brett's Macaroni and Cheese

	Several people have asked for this, so here it is. My husband's yummy homemade mac-and-cheese recipe. This is the first thing he ever cooked for me after we'd been dating for a few months. Too bad only one of my three kids likes it (for now).

Ingredients

16	Oz	Uncooked Macaroni		1		Sweet Onion -- Chopped
		Shells, Elbows, Or Whatever		2	Tbsp	Flour -- More Or Less
1/2	Lb	Velveeta		1/4	C	Milk -- More Or Less
4-6	Oz	Cheddar Cheese Block -- More Or Less				bread crumbs - optional
2	Tbsp	Butter

Instructions

1. Cook pasta and set aside.
2. Cut the Velveeta and cheddar cheese into cubes. Place the cheeses in a saucepan. Slowly melt the cheeses over med heat, stirring frequently. (Can also be done in the microwave - just heat in small time increments to avoid burning and stir often.)
3. In a skillet, melt the butter. Add onion and saute until golden brown. Remove from heat. Add flourand milk to onions and stir to make a goopy mess.
4. Combine pasta, melted cheese, and onion mixture in a large bowl or pot. Stir well. Add more milk as needed to attain desired consistency.
5. If desired, put macaroni and cheese in a greased, oven safe casserole and top with bread crumbs. Bake at 350 for 15-20 mins, or until a golden crust forms.

Notes 

Can use any mix of cheeses desired. I know Velveeta is a no-no among foodies, but I can't find a good, easy substitute for getting the right creamy texture. Last time I made this, I used a cheddar with bacon that made it soooo good!

10 Foods I Want My Kids To Cook

Today, the "On Parenting" blog in The Washington Post published a post about "10 foods a kid should learn how to cook". I commend the idea behind this - I've (kinda) written about it myself. And while I like the Washington Post list, I might alter it a bit if I were to publish in that large a blogspace. Here's my take on it. 

Quoted from the Washington Post article: 

"In his 2010 TED presentation, celebrity chef Jamie Oliver announced his hope that “every single American child leaves [high] school knowing how to cook 10 recipes that will save their lives.” Because many chronic diseases can be prevented by proper nutrition, I agree with Oliver; for our kids’ sake, we should teach them to cook. 

Have I taught my son how to cook? I hate to admit that the answer is no, I haven’t. I’ve taught him about healthful choices, and I’ve fed him well every day. At 9 years old, he is familiar with the kitchen, and he knows how to peel, chop and measure, but if he were at college right now, I doubt he would know how to make a real meal for himself. 

I imagine he will have limited cooking equipment those first years on his own, along with a limited budget, but fast food, takeout and prepared meals shouldn’t be his only options. I want him to know what to do with all of the healthful vegetables and foods we’ve eaten here at home so he can nourish his body and brain. So I am on a new mission to teach my kids to cook, starting with 10 recipes that will nourish them, inexpensively, and make them a big hit on Super Bowl day — or, dare I say, on a date?"

I'm already, with the help and support of my husband and the kids' grandparents, teaching my kids (ages 10, 7, and 3) their way around a kitchen. There are basic techniques and skills that are critical - reading a recipe, how to clean and chop fruits and veggies, slice meats, saute meats and veggies, etc. And I think we could do more to talk about seasonings and what tends to work together well (and what doesn't!). 

But I hadn't yet thought about basic recipes that they should leave the house being able to prepare. Actually, recipes they should be able to shop for and prepare. So here's my list. Some are the same, some are different.

1. Pasta and tomato sauce. Yes, it's okay to use jarred sauce as a starting point. Especially when you're first out on your own. But I want my kids to know how easy it is to doctor up jarred sauce (add ground beef, frozen meatballs, or even chicken pieces; throw in just about any chopped veggie imaginable) to make it something special really easily and inexpensively. And if they're interested, I'll even teach them how easy it is to make tomato pasta sauce from scratch.
2. Meatballs/meatloaf. Deceivingly easy. Can even add in shredded veggies. For use in more than just pasta sauce, too. Meatballs can work in soups, with creamy sauces, or just by themselves. Meatloaf is basically the same thing as meatballs, just without the work of making all the little balls.
3. Stir fry. This is one of my go-to weeknight dinners. Use any vegetables (fresh or frozen) and meat (or no meat) you want, simple seasonings, serve over any variety of exotic or mundane rice or noodles. This is primarily a lesson in technique and knowing how long different veggies need to cook. And if you can create a stir fry, you can saute just about anything successfully.
4. Roasted chicken. Totally agree with the "On Parenting" author about this one. So easy, so impressive, and creates tons of leftovers for a variety of uses.
5. Scrambled eggs. Inexpensive source of protein for any meal. Easy to load with veggies for more nutritional impact.
6. Muffins and "quick breads". A banana muffin or a slice of zucchini bread can be a wonderful snack. Made with whole grains, fruits, and/or nuts, they can be a healthier alternative to so many snack options. And what young adult isn't going to snack?
7. Homemade soup. Start with sauteed onions and garlic. Add any combination of veggies, meat, and beans, and maybe a starch (mini pasta, rice, potato). Cover with broth and season. Voila!
8. Grilled meats and veggies. Whether on an outside grill or an indoor grill pan, grilling meats and veggies is simple yet so delicious (if not overcooked). Just a simple marinade or dry rub will usually do the trick. Even just bottled BBQ sauce!
9. Baked potatoes. Microwave or oven cooked, they make a great base for almost any meal. Can be used on their own as a side, or pour any sort of sauced main dish over the top.
10. Homemade cake. Let's not pretend dessert doesn't exist. There will always be special occasions, and the ability to create a straightforward cake or cupcakes with frosting (and not use a boxed mix) adds something special. 

If my kids have the confidence to cook these simple, hearty dishes then I will have confidence that they can feed themselves as needed without undue reliance on packaged, processed food-stuffs. Seems like a reasonable goal. 

Now, I'm off to make a stir-fry for dinner!

What I Want My Kids to Know

Many years ago, I wrote about what I want to teach my children so that they can function as adults on their own. Just this week, I was reminded of a Huffington Post article in which the author (Lindsey Mead Russell) describes what she wants her daughter to know before her 10th birthday.

While I agree with every point that Russell makes, I found myself getting more and more upset at her implications that these points are salient just for girls. As the mother of a 10 year old son (plus a 7 year old son and a 3 year old daughter), I have pretty much the same goals for my children. They're really not dependent on gender.

I don't know who my children will marry, or even if they will marry. I don't know if they will ever have children. I don't know if they will live near or far or how they will support themselves. But in response to Russell's article, here are the foundations I want to give them, boys and girl alike, so that they will have the values and beliefs that, I think, will give them the best chance at satisfaction and happiness. Some are the same as the Russell article, and she deserves the credit for them, while some have my own spin on them.

1. It is not your job to keep the people you love happy. Not me, not Daddy, not your siblings, not your friends. Our happiness is not dependent on what you do or don't do. Just be yourself - no one can ask any more of you.

2. You should never be afraid to share your passions. There may come a time when you find yourself embarrassed that you still like to play video games or watch Curious George, for example, and you might worry that others may make fun of you. Anyone who teases you for activities you enjoy is not a true friend. This is hard to realize, but essential.

3. It is okay to disagree with your parents, and others. You are old enough to have a point of view, and I want to hear it. So do those who love you. Don't pick fights for the sake of it, of course, but when you really feel someone is wrong, say so politely. You have heard me say that you are right, and you've heard me apologize for my behavior or point of view when I realize they were wrong. Your perspective is both valid and valuable. Don't shy away from expressing it.

4. You are so very beautiful. Your face now has remnants of the baby you were and the young adult you are quickly becoming. You have pieces of me and of your Dad but you are also someone purely unique. As you grow older and become more aware of society's artificial ideals, please remember how special you are in your own right.

5. Reading is essential. Reading is one of the great joys of my life. I will read anything and everything I can and miss having hours upon hours to sit on the sofa with a book. I am immensely proud and pleased to see that you seem to share this joy. I see you disappear for hours in the morning into a book, and it warms my heart. I love reading books with you, or even just reading the same books you do, and the in depth conversations we have about characters, plots, predictions, surprises, and new knowledge. Welcome to this amazing world of the written word where you can learn anything and imagine even more.

6. Writing is essential, too. It doesn't matter who you are, or what you do with your life. If you can write - essays, emails, business proposals, technical documents, creative stories, anything and everything - you will go far. Writing is about respectful communication of your thoughts in a coherent and well-reasoned way, and making others understand your point of view and where you're coming from even if they don't agree. You may convince some to see things your way, but even if you don't you will be part of an intelligent discourse. Assuming others can write well, too.

7. You are not me or your Dad. In some ways, you can be very like us. Especially your Dad! But you are your own full and complete person. I know I sometimes forget this, but that doesn't make it any less true. Separation from your parents is the fundamental task of adolescence, I know, which I can see glinting over the horizon. I dread what's coming but I know how vital it is. The thing is, we're going to be here, me and your Dad, no matter what. Our relationship with you will stretch and mold and change, and it won't all be smooth sailing. And once the transition is accomplished there will be a new, more adult relationship. I know that too.

8. It is almost never about you. When people act in a way that hurts or makes you feel insecure, it is almost certainly about something happening inside of them, and not about you. Believe me, I know how feelings can slice your heart, even if your head knows otherwise. But maybe, just maybe, it will help to remember that almost always other people have their own struggles, even if they're unconsciously taking it out on you. You can't know the entire story to fully understand why someone is acting the way they do, so your best course of action is to treat them with respect and sympathy, remove yourself if necessary, and remember that there may be a back story and it's not about you.

9. You are worthy of respect, always, and so is everyone else. It doesn't matter if you agree or disagree with someone else, you and they are still always deserving of respect. Others should always be respectful of your ideas, thoughts, opinions, boundaries, and (specifically) your body. No one should pressure you to change your beliefs or values if you don't want to, or do anything you're not comfortable with. If they do, they're not worth having in your circle. You can still show them respect, but that doesn't mean you need to spend your time and energy with them.

10. There is no one person who can be your everything. Be very careful about bestowing this power on any one person. Trying to fill an unnamed hole or emptiness with other people (or with anything else, like food, alcohol, numbing behaviors of a zillion sorts you don't even know of yet) is a lost cause, and nobody can possibly live up to the task. There are no damsels in distress or knights in shining armor. Relationships (familial, platonic, and romantic) should enhance and support who you are and never make you feel dependent, unworthy, inadequate, or disrespected.

I may raise my voice at times when I probably shouldn't, and snap at you when you don't deserve it, but I love you and your brother and sister more than I could possibly put into words. I'll admit I don't always love your behavior, and I'll tell you when that happens. But I will never stop loving you.  No matter what.

Do More

New Year's resolutions are so often "do less" declarations (eat less, yell less, etc.). For 2012, I want to focus on the "do more" declarations.


What do I want to "do more" of in 2012?

1. laugh
2. play
3. hug my children
4. kiss my husband
5. hike
6. dance (even if there's no music)
7. frolic
8. bike
9. make time for friends and family
10. walk in the grass barefoot
11. sing out loud
12. stargaze
13. make kitchen messes, and let the kids help
14. be kind
15. take walks with my children
16. be kind
17. smile
18. trust myself
19. take risks
20. let go and have fun
21. visit museums of all kinds
22. reach out
23. dig in the dirt
24. splash in the water
25. try new things

What will you do more of this year?

Keeping Perspective

This morning, after Miss Audrey's music class, she and I headed over to Barefoot Books in Concord. I'd been meaning to go there for ages - ever since they moved from Cambridge a few years ago. We have several of their books and enjoy them immensely. 

The new store is just lovely. Bright, colorful, and cheerful. There's always a drop-in story time or craft event going on. There are well-designed play areas. Staff were so friendly and welcoming. And they really don't mind kids and parents just hanging out for a while.

Barefoot Books is well-known for promoting acceptance and cross-cultural diversity in their stories and books. The wide variety of stories and fables I saw from Africa, India, China, South America, and so much more was quite impressive. Even within stories, cross-cultural awareness is always a subtle presence. And we were privileged to see this corporate philosophy put into action today.

After Audrey and I had been hanging out, reading books, and doing puzzles for a while, a group (10? 12?) of developmentally disabled children came in (not having prearranged their visit) with their caregivers for a story time. And it was wonderful to watch! The staff welcomed them all with open arms and gave them the space they needed so the kids could be comfortable. The kids clearly all had serious challenges - most were partially (if not completely) deaf and/or blind with severe communication deficits. They were in the 7-10 age range, but were not there cognitively. But they all seemed cheerful and happy and absolutely loved the storytime. Many were singing along as best they could, which was just adorable. And every child was with a professional caregiver who clearly adored their charges. It made me happy that these kids have the resources behind them to have the care and love to thrive within the limits of their own personal challenges.

Which got me thinking about all the children out there who don't have those resources and are left floundering and neglected in sub-standard care. Which is just too distressing to put words to it.

And also got me thinking about my own three children. Yes, they have quirks and can drive me bonkers. But they are healthy. They can see and hear and interact easily with the world at large. They can go to school and form bonds and relationships with a wide variety of people. They will have the ability to support themselves and their families. They will have opportunities to pursue their dreams, whatever they may be, and make choices about how they live their lives. It's so easy to forget that this isn't true for many children.

I started today feeling very grumpy from a lot of whining and complaining around me (I was doing plenty myself). Now, I'm feeling blessed and grateful for what I have and thankful for the reminder about what is, actually, important.

The New and Improved Katie 4.0

 So, I’m 40 now. And I really don’t care. I readily admit my age. Why?

My confidence has never been better. I’ve always had self-confidence issues. But over the last ten years I’ve had three children, and it’s amazing what having three little people completely dependent on your to turn them into responsible people can do for your self-confidence. There are still many situations that severely test me, but it’s getting better.

I am more sure of what I want and what I will and won’t put up with. I’ve been through enough emotionally destabilizing events to have the proverbial revelation that “life is short.” I’ve always been pretty good at letting the things that bother me roll off and never giving a second thought. But my patience for such things is changed, and I like that. I have very little tolerance for the bullshit anymore and will call it out. With anyone.

I am also probably in better shape that I have ever been, despite the extra 30 pounds. My sister and a few friends convinced me to start running last spring. I’d been working out fairly regularly at the gym (aside from immediately post-partum), but that was nothing compared to an hour of running.

So, anyway…

I had a lovely celebration of my 40^th birthday, thanks to my wonderful husband and some amazing family and friends. Brett and I decided to treat a few friends to a nice, adult-only dinner out at the lovely Harvest in Harvard Square. We’d never been there before, but had an amazing time. (Here’s my Yelp review.)

At dinner, I looked around at all these different people from different parts of my life – college, work, family, playgroups. It was really a bit disconcerting to think about everyone making elaborate plans (finding babysitters, dressing up, dealing with the hassle of getting into and parking Harvard Square, etc.) just for my birthday. I guess there’s still the little part of me deep inside that wonders if I’m worth all the trouble. But everyone who was there (and a few who couldn’t make it) hold such a special place in my heart and I was thrilled to spend the evening with them.

I am humbled by the love I feel for these friends (and yes, most of my family counts as friends) and as the years go by I realize more and more how lucky I am to have a life overflowing with good friends, affection, and heartfelt connections.

Which is why I’m proud to say I’m 40!

Visiting History

4 years ago from right now, the skilled surgeons at Mass General and Mass Eye and Ear were drilling into my head and picking apart the inside of my skull.  I am reposting the story of that day.  So much has happened since then, yet it still feels like it was just yesterday.
==================

September 13, 2006. A day that will always be seared into my memory. The day of my surgery to remove my acoustic neuroma (aka, head booger).

Believe it or not, I had little trouble sleeping the night before my surgery. We did have to get up at 4am to check in at the hospital by 6am, but I slept quite soundly up until then. I didn’t expect to. And when we got up before the crack of dawn, I still wasn’t feeling nervous.

The drive into Boston was eerily quiet. Not much traffic that early. Brett and I didn’t talk much in the car. I think we were both in our own worlds, thinking about this surgery from very different perspectives.

We get to the hospital around 5:45am, and I need a pit stop before going up to surgical admitting. While my mind may not be nervous, my insides are starting to betray me. We soon go upstairs to admitting. The waiting area for outpatient surgery is already pretty full. I am somewhat envious of all those people there for such minor procedures that they can go home the same day. I check in and we head over to the inpatient waiting area. We are the only ones there. Shortly, another older couple joins us, and then by a younger couple with their young child – he couldn’t have even been 2 years old. I was heartbroken, watching the little boy play quietly, wondering what had gone so wrong in his young life that he required surgery. And I was heartbroken for his parents, having to watch their baby go through something so awful. I tried to flip through my magazine, but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t read the letters on the page. Fortunately, there wasn’t a lot of time to fret – I was quickly called back to the pre-op area. The first among the inpatient surgical patients. Brett has to stay in the waiting room for now.

I follow a very nice nurse, Eleanor, back to pre-op. It is a huge bright, white room filled with curtained off stretchers. My first task is to remove all clothing and change into the requisite hospital garb – gown, robe, and slippers. Eleanor then returns to go through her pre-op checklist. I confirm, three times, that I am there to have a left AN removed, and she uses a Sharpie to write the word “YES” behind my left ear. Don’t want those docs attacking the wrong side! After all the requisite vitals (again, my body betrays that maybe I am a little nervous when my blood pressure is much higher than normal), I sign all the papers saying I will consent to the surgery today.

Finally, around 6:15am, Brett is allowed back to wait with me. But we only have about five minutes before the woman from Transport shows up to wheel me off. Brett and I try to say a decent good-bye, but it’s hard with Stern Transport Woman (STW) watching. And then it’s time for me to be off. STW takes my stretcher and pushes me through the Big Silver Doors, down a hallway, and through another set of locked doors. I am now in the surgical wing. I try to look around, but it’s hard with no glasses and I’m starting to feel a bit queasy and shaky (it doesn’t help that I haven’t been allowed to eat or drink anything since the night before). I do notice that both sides of the corridor and lined with surgical suites, and all available hall space is occupied with all sorts of bizarre equipment. STW pushes me, without speaking, for what feels like hours. Finally, we stop at O.R. 27. I’m wheeled around in a small holding area outside the O.R. so my back is to the O.R. doors. STW goes behind me to poke her head into the O.R., announces my presence, and unceremoniously leaves.

A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist (Dr. Kamdar) comes out. She’s young, and quite attractive. It is her job to start some of my IV lines, as well as get my final consent for the anesthesia. At this point, I am starting to freak a little. My stomach is all uptight and I have to remind myself to breathe at times. Dr. Kamdar starts working on the back of my right hand to start an IV (a BIG one), and a nurse comes out to go through everything with me – again. Finally, I sign the last of the paperwork. I guess this is really happening! Now that I’ve signed all the consents, Dr. Kamdar asks if I’d like some medication to help me relax and I agree. It takes effect pretty quickly – I feel kind of tingly all over, like I’ve had a couple glasses of wine. I’m still freaking out, but breathing is a bit easier now.

Dr. Kamdar then shoots my right wrist full of Novocain so she can put in the arterial line. I can’t watch, but try to ask her a few questions (how many people are in the O.R.? What kind of anesthesia do you use?) to distract myself. She’s having trouble with my veins (I’m somewhat dehydrated because I couldn’t eat or drink that morning) so I probably should be letting her concentrate, but I really feel like I need someone to talk to me. She’s been working on my wrist for several minutes when I start to feel very light-headed. I try to ride it out, but finally have to tell Dr. Kamdar that I feel like I’m going to pass out. She quickly pushes a medication into my IV, and a few moments later I’m feeling better. It’s all very unreal at this point. Shortly after, the arterial line is done, and Dr. Kamdar straps my wrist to a soft board so I don’t accidentally move the wrong way and dislodge a large line in a major artery. That could be bad.

Now Dr. deBros, the senior anesthesiologist, comes out. We chit-chat a few minutes, and then he starts discussing the anesthesia protocols with Dr. Kamdar. I listen, amazed that he has a specific protocol he likes to use for AN patients. What really gets my attention, though, is when he describes the dosage of a specific med to push when the surgeon is about to start drilling the skull to put me under a bit deeper – otherwise, he says, the patient can reflexively startle and move a bit from the noise. (I later find out that Dr. deBros specializes in anesthesia for neurosurgery cases.) I actually find myself reassured that this team is so experienced with ANs that even the anesthesiologist has developed a specialized protocol. At this point, Dr. Kamdar has given up on starting the other IVs she needs, saying my veins are too collapsed from dehydration and she’ll finish up after I’m under to minimize my discomfort. Then she and Dr. deBros disappear into the O.R., leaving me alone in the waiting area.

I have no idea how much time passes, but I don’t think it’s too long. A nurse finally comes out, and says it’s time to go in. And just like that, I’m wheeled into the O.R. I wanted to remember to look around and really take it all in and remember it, but I think the meds are starting to play with my brain. I note that the O.R. is very large, and there are lots of large, white, shiny pieces of equipment all over. And enormous lights over the operating table. My stretcher is wheeled over so that it’s right next to the operating table. I hear someone say out loud “In the room at 7:45am.” Then a couple nurses appear right next to me. One asks if I can slide myself over to the table, or if I need them to do it for me. I reply that I can do it, and proceed to (somewhat awkwardly) move myself over. The nurse remarks how strong I am, and quickly covers me with warm blankets and puts towels under my elbows on the little armrest jutting out from the table. To my right, I see someone I think is one of the surgeons pacing back and forth and muttering to himself. In a very disconnected way, it again hits me that this is actually real.

Dr. Kamdar is back, near my head. She places a mask over my nose and mouth, telling me they’re starting to give me some oxygen. I’m grateful that she just holds the mask a bit away from my face – I somehow know that I’d freak with claustrophobia (though I’m not usually claustrophobic) if the thing were strapped down tight. The air in the mask suddenly starts to smell different and I wonder if Dr. Kamdar is starting to put me under, hoping that she’d tell me if first if she was.

*********************
There’s a hive of activity around me. I can hear it. I will myself to open my eyes and they do for a brief second. I see a woman standing to my right, writing on a clipboard, before my eyes decide they really don’t want to be open. I lose sense of the activity. Then it comes back, though I have no idea how much time has passed. I hear people talking about what I think are medication doses. My head hurts, A LOT, and I say so. But I don’t know if I actually say the words, or if it’s just in my head. Somewhere back in the deep recesses of my brain, I finally realize I must be in Post-Op Recovery. And I’m convinced it’s 5pm, which is good – it means the surgery went faster than expected. And then I pass out again. Suddenly, I’ve got the dry heaves, which is exceptionally miserable and kills my head, and them I’m out again. (Looking back, that’s probably when they took out my breathing tube.)

*********************

My stretcher starts moving. It’s not a good feeling. I really don’t want the world around me to be moving. I feel like I’m spinning. I close my eyes and try to pass out again, but it’s not working. After what feels like a three-hour trip through hell, I stop moving. I’m in a room – ICU. My brain is working enough again to realize what’s going on. The room is buzzing with nurses, doctors, and other people. I look around a bit and see the clock on the wall – it says 9:00. For a minute I’m very confused. Is it 9pm or 9am? I thought I was only supposed to spend an hour in Recovery. Did something go wrong?

The doctors notice I’m alert and start talking to me and asking me questions. I’m actually pain-free – good meds! I pass the initial neurological assessment, which is great. I can actually feel both sides of my face moving – is it possible my facial nerve wasn’t damaged? That would be amazing. But my left hand is numb. I tell this to the doctor, and he looks concerned. He examines my hand and arm and finds that I have a pressure bruise on my elbow that is causing problems with the nerve going down to my hand. He seems disappointed, but not concerned.

I ask to see Brett. But, again, I’m not sure if I say the words out loud or just in my head. I think I’ve been given IV morphine, and it’s starting to make me very sleepy again. I start to doze off, and then Brett’s suddenly standing at the foot of the bed, talking to the ICU nurse. Everyone else has left. Brett and I talk for a few minutes (about what, I have no idea) and then I’m dozing off again. By the time I can get my eyes open again, Brett has gone and I’m left in the ICU, with a wonderful nurse, to recover.

*********************

Day by day by day… I feel a little better every day. And I never did figure out why I thought it was 5pm when I was in recovery. Trick of the meds, I guess.

The Stuff of Memories

The beach.  There's something indescribably primal about being at the beach - the rhythm of the waves, the infinite cycle of the tides, the call of the birds, the salt on the breeze, the isolation of realizing how minuscule any one individual against the vastness of the water.

We're exploring the beaches of Cape Cod, up near the end where there are fewer people and more conservation areas and wilderness marshes.  It's very minimalist here.  And it couldn't be more lovely.  We can walk to the marsh and low tide and marvel at the sheer distance the water travels between the tides.

The boys loved walking over the sand dunes.  This part of the Cape is just one big sand dune covered with sea grasses.  And tiny holes in the sand providing homes to tiny hermit crabs.

We arrived late in the afternoon, so we were only supposed to be scoping beaches to see where we wanted to come back to set up camp for the day.  But when you put kids near the water, the lure is just too strong and they must go in.

And what is it about boys and the wet sand of a beach?  If their feet are touching sand, they must drop everything and dig in it.  Now.  Don't get between a boy and his sand.

There is Hope

A conversation in the car this morning.  ("T." is J's preschool teacher, who got engaged last weekend.)

me: So, T. is getting married! That's exciting!

J: Yes, it is!  She shared her celebration cake with us at snack today.

me: That was nice of her to share.

*pause*

me: Do you remember going to the wedding in New Jersey in January?

J: Yes.

me: Well, now T. is planning for her wedding so she can do that next year.

J: I've never met who she's marrying.

me: True.  I've never met him either.

J: It could be a her.  I don't know because I've never met them.

me: You're right.  But I heard T. say "him" today, so I'm pretty sure she's marrying a boy.

It struck me that J. has no pre-conceived ideas about weddings and marriage.  Over the winter, we spent time explaining what a wedding is and what it means to make that pledge in front of family and friends in preparation for the wedding we went to in January.  But as far as he's concerned, any two people can get married.  And I'm happy to keep the politics of that away from him as long as possible.  Because, at least where we live, he's absolutely right.

And that makes me happy.  It gives me hope that we can raise a generation that thinks the gender of the people getting married is irrelevant.

A Bucket of Tears

It's so hard to understand post-partum depression.  I certainly didn't.  Not until it happened to me.  And even after it happened to me, I find myself at a loss for how to describe it.

It happened again this week.  My third baby is 1 year old and I had almost no issues with PPD after she was born.  It was the easiest, happiest recovery of all three of my births.  But a few days ago I was hit hard.  

It was late afternoon and I was helping the boys clean up their rooms and vacuum upstairs while Brett finished up outside.  I was in a bit of rush because the downstairs was still a disaster and my in-laws were coming over with dinner to stay with the kids while Brett and I were going to a play.  I left the boys to finish and went to start on the downstairs.  

A few minutes later, I went back upstairs to check on the boys.  They had finished up, and then proceeded to pull stuff back off the shelves to play.  And I broke down in tears.  I did the best I could to choke out the words admonishing the boys and directing them to pick up again.   They knew something was very wrong and jumped right on board.  And that's when I heard Brett and his parents downstairs.

I lost it.  Utterly and completely.  I locked myself in my bathroom, sat on the floor, and sobbed.  And sobbed.  And sobbed.  For no real reason.  (Because the boys did what I asked them to and then started playing?  Not a real reason.)  It was beyond any control I had over myself.  The tears would not stop coming.  And I knew with absolute certainty that I would NEVER be able to go downstairs for dinner (ever again!) and that I was NOT going out of the house that night, and that I would NEVER stop crying and that I would NEVER feel happy ever again.  Everything was a shambles.

So I cried nonstop for a good 40 minutes.  Every time I even thought about trying to pull myself together and interact with other people, even my children, the tears came stronger.  And after I was cried out, I crawled into bed and fell asleep for 30 minutes.  When I woke up, it suddenly seemed like it might actually possible to see another person and not break down into tears.  I might not be happy, but I could function.  An hour before, I didn't think that would ever be possible again in my lifetime.

So I survived dinner.  Brett and I went out to the play (which was phenomenal, though I probably would have enjoyed it even more on a different night).  And when we got home I went straight to bed.  By the next morning, life seemed to be returning to normal.  And by the end of the next day, I was left wondering if I imagined the whole thing.

I felt it for a few hours this time.  I try to imagine what it must be like for the women who live with those feelings for days and weeks and months on end.  I remember it a bit from after my first was born.  I still can't talk about some of the thoughts that lived in my head during those dark days.

May this give you just a touch of insight.  It's not a fun place to be.

Audrey at 1 year

Audrey's first birthday was last week.  We had a very enjoyable family party on Easter Sunday, where we also celebrated the birthdays of her brother, her cousin, and her uncle.

She's now 19lbs 7oz, and 29 1/2".  That means she's grown 10 3/4 lbs and 9" over her first year (8lb 10oz, 20 1/2" at birth).  

She's now standing on her own as long as she wants and taking a few steps at a time.  Though her funny scoot-crawl is too efficient to make walking very appealing yet.  She talks a blue streak - we just can't yet understand most of what she says.  But when she really needs to, she makes clear what it is she wants.

And she very much enjoyed her cake!

A Rant about Breastfeeding

OK, I'm pretty sure I'm going to piss some people off with this.  I'm going to make someone feel guilty, even though that's the last thing I want to do and is not my intention.  But there's been a lot of talk flying around the Internets the last few days because of the study published online last week in Pediatrics (the official journal published by the American Academy of Pediatrics).

I hear a lot of moms defending their use of formula instead of breastfeeding using a lot of different reasons.  But they mostly boil down to an inability to produce enough milk and/or returning to work making it too difficult.  I will never, ever, ever judge the decision that an individual mom has to make for herself and her baby.  They have to live in the here-and-now.  No mom should ever be made to feel guilty about the use of formula vs. breastmilk.  Formula is NOT a bad word.

But we, as an entire society - women and men, parents and childless, singles and couples - don't support breastfeeding like we could.  And that's on all of us.  The idea that women have the legal "right" to breastfeed anywhere they are is just a tiny drop in the proverbial bucket.  It's so much bigger than that. 

Why aren't women given a year of paid leave after having a baby?  Why aren't lactation consultants readily available at every pediatrician's office the same way nurses are?  Why aren't workplaces set up for moms to have access to their nursing babies instead of relying on pumps (which don't work well for many, many women - myself included)?  Moms should be able to bring their babies with them to work or be given onsite care where they can go to their baby to breastfeed every few hours.  If we, as a society, were willing to make the investment this could be done in just about any type of workplace.  Yet companies are still complaining that having to provide a non-bathroom private room for their employees for pumping is too costly and too much of a burden.  What a supportive culture we have here.

Why is breastfeeding seen as an all-or-nothing proposition?  Why do we not talk more about using a combination - nursing when you can, and using formula when you can't? 

And, why is formula the only alternative to a mother's own breastmilk?  Why do we not have easily accessible milk banks available to all women?  I personally have many, many, many bags of breastmilk in my freezer that my now-1-year-old baby won't use (she only wants it straight from the tap) - why am I thought to be deviant for wishing I could give that to another mom and baby that could use it?  Wet nurses were the norm until not very long ago (if a mom didn't have enough milk, you found another nursing mom who could also feed the baby), yet our society now thinks that's disgusting.  Despite a few stories over recent years about groups of nursing mothers banding together to provide breastmilk to dads who tragically lost their wives in childbirth and are left to care for a newborn on their own.  Why is formula considered better than breastmilk from someone other than the baby's own mother?  Why is formula the only option other than a mother's own milk?

Of course, the formula companies will say that they're pouring all that money into research to make their products more like breastmilk to make life easier for moms.  What would happen if all that money went to finding ways to pasteurize breastmilk without affecting its nutrition?  But there's no profit in that...

These are the kinds of large-scale societal shifts that would have to happen to change the percentage of mothers still nursing at 6 months.  It's not just about giving us the freedom of "choice" - most of us aren't even thinking about the choices we don't yet even have the option of making.

http://www.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/04/05/breastfeeding.costs/?hpt=T2 

http://www.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/04/09/breast.feeding.society/index.html?hpt=C2 

http://thefeministbreeder.com/when-it-comes-to-breastfeeding-we-cant-handle-the-truth/ 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/melissa-bartick/ipeaceful-revolutioni-why_b_208697.html

Original published study in Pediatrics (the official journal of the American Academy of Pediatrics)

Over the Past 10 Years

This is inspired by a post my sister wrote in her blog.

Over the past 10 years, I have (in no particular order):

• made three incredible children
• lived through most of the 4th decade of my lifetime
• felt time stop when the Towers crumpled and stood in shock as the hospitals rose as one to help the victims, but no one came
• said good-bye to my adventurous grandmother, my feisty great-aunt, and my beloved father
• been diagnosed with a brain tumor
  
• sailed through brain surgery with the unwavering support of my husband, family, friends, and AN community
• completely lost the hearing in one ear
• adopted feline furbabies - first Guinevere and then Arthur a couple years later
  
• visited London and Scotland
• bought two new cars
  
• watched my husband transform into a father, and fell in love at a whole new level as it happened
• graduated with a Master's degree in Training & Development
  
• created a career in technical training
  
• gave up my career in technical training to be a stay-at-home mom, with no regrets
• found a new career working with other remarkable, supportive women with young families
• discovered the joy of volunteering in ways that help families
• made some amazing friends who have enriched my life and changed me for the better

Happy New Year!

Mothers of Just Boys

Did you know there's a club for Moms Of Just Boys (MOJBs)? There is. It's called It's Good To Be The Queen. And I was a proud member. Until April 6th, 2009 when I unexpectedly lost my membership.

There's something about MOJBs. When you meet another mom and tell them you only have boys, you see the glimmer in their eyes. If it's another MOJB, that glimmer says "I understand." If it's a mom of girls or a mom of both, it says "Wow, you have a tough job." Now, I don't really understand this. Parenting is a hard job, regardless of the gender of your children. And children are individuals - some are more easy-going, and others give their parents more challenges. Some girls are easy to parent, some aren't. Some boys are easy to parent, some aren't. But there still something different about being a MOJB. I felt it every time I talked to other moms.

But now...

Don't get me wrong - I'm thrilled to add a third child to our family. And I'm so excited to have a daughter. (Though honestly, I would've been equally excited to have a third son.) I went through a grieving process after my second was born and we discovered he was a boy. (Read about it.)

I'm no longer a MOJB. I feel like the secret handshake was changed on me. Things are different now, and maybe it's just me. Maybe it's not. Though I know of at least a few other MOJBs who feel the presence of the invisible bond between them. They give up their dreams of buying frilly dresses for their daughters and instead fill their homes with trucks, play referee to the nonstop physical wrestling between brothers, and make space for the never-ending menagerie of slugs, frogs, and worms that are brought home in loving hands (and pockets). To a mother that has a daughter, this seems a daunting task if you don't have "girl" things to balance it and make it tolerable.

There's no big insight here. I'm still trying to adjust to the idea of another girl in my house.

Spring has sprung

While I was driving back from my appointment this morning with the midwife, the sun was shining brightly for the first time in several days. It was warm out, but not hot. And I was noticing that it was really springtime - grass was suddenly green everywhere, the trees have a haze of green across them from the leaf buds, the magnolia trees and forsythia are blooming in bright colors, the daffodils are up. After all the rain yesterday, the air actually smelled fresh. And I was happy. Truly contented, down to my core.

And I was surprised to feel so happy. If you'd asked me a few months ago how I'd be feeling right now, I'd have expected to be in the middle of post-partum depression or at least a serious case of the baby blues. It hit me hard after each of the first two kids.

But I'm not feeling it. In fact, I feel like I'm still on a euphoric high that won't end. Maybe the hormones are different this time. Maybe it's the multitude of life trials I've weathered since Jonah was born 4 years ago that give me a different perspective. Maybe it's something else completely. Maybe it's a little of everything. But I'm not taking it for granted this time.

I'm just grateful to finally feel the bliss that's supposed to come with a baby. I feel so lucky and blessed to have the family that my husband and I have created.

The story of Audrey's birth

Due date: Friday April 3, 2009

For weeks, I’d been having days where I’d have contractions 5 minutes for hours and hours, but they’d never progress in intensity or frequency. It was very frustrating, never knowing if the contractions were “real” or not, and always waiting on pins and needles to find out. I felt like I’d been walking around for weeks, ducking under everything and peeking around every corner because I was waiting for the other shoe to fall on my head.

And then my due date came and went with no baby. I was shocked and so very tired of being pregnant. Never in a million years did I think I’d actually get to my due date still being pregnant.

Sunday April 5, 2009
Spent the morning at Beth’s for the family birthday party for Elliot (4/8), Anna (4/6), and Sean (4/3). I had been expecting to bring a new baby to the party, not still be pregnant. I was incredibly uncomfortable and grumpy and not very social. But it was a very nice party and in the end I’m really glad I got to be there with Elliot.

I spent the afternoon resting after the party, catching up on email, and watching tv with the boys. I noticed that I kept getting back pains like I’d pinched a nerve going across my hips. It felt kind of like how I remembered labor contractions, but my uterus wasn’t contracting at all so I assumed it was the baby hitting nerves. That had been happening a lot. At this point, I fully believed that I'd be pregnant until my scheduled induction on 4/10.

That evening, I made Elliot's lunch for the next day and got the kids' school things together. That's normally something I'd do in the morning but I had an 8am appointment for a biophysical profile ultrasound, so Brett would be trying to get both kids off to school by himself. I was doing what I could to minimize the morning chaos for him. Around 8pm, my brother Andy arrived after driving up from New York City. He'd spent most of the week down there with my mom (who was still in NYC) helping her deal with Anita's failing health and getting hospice care established.

I set my alarm clock for 6:30am and went to bed around 11pm.

Monday April 6, 2009
I woke up at 4:30am with a contraction (if there were any before that I guess I slept through them, so they couldn't have been very strong). It felt like all the contractions I'd been getting for weeks, but I'd never before been woken from sleep by one. Because of my history of fast labors, I was being very sensitive to any and all contractions and carefully took note of the time and then tried to go back to sleep.

I had another contraction at exactly 4:35am and another at 4:40am. At this point, I got out of bed and started to walk around to see if that slowed or stopped the contractions. It usually had before. At 4:45am there was another contraction, this time with that pinched nerve feeling in my back. I went downstairs and bounced on the birth ball and watched the clock. Another contraction at 4:50am, and the pain in my back was a bit stronger. And another contraction at 4:55am. My gut was now telling me this was real.

I woke Brett at 5am, telling him I was having contractions 5 minutes apart and they were starting to get more uncomfortable. He popped out of bed to get dressed (after confirming that he really didn't have time for a shower). I called the answering service for the midwives and spoke to the nurse on duty. She listened to me describe what was happening and my history, and told me to just go to the hospital and not wait for the midwife to call me back. That's what I expected to hear. Meanwhile, Brett called his mom Sue to come over and get the kids off to school (and I was feeling very glad that I'd already gotten their school things together the night before!). Fortunately, my brother was here so we didn't have to wait for Sue to get here before leaving. I woke my brother to tell him we were leaving and that Sue was on her way over, but we couldn't wait for her.

We left the house at 5:30am. The ride to the hospital was about 30 minutes (though it feel three times as long to me!). By now, the contractions were just a 3-4 minutes apart and lasting well over a minute. Brett was doing a great job staying calm and talking to me to keep me distracted. But I was starting to have to concentrate to stay relaxed through the contractions. I was definitely into back labor, just like with my first two (even though all babies were properly positioned!).

We got to the hospital just after 6am and checked in at the Emergency Room desk, just like we were supposed to. We waited there for about 5 minutes while a nurse from L&D came down to get me, and Brett was rubbing my back to help through the contractions. The contractions were uncomfortable at this point, but very manageable. When the nurse took us into L&D, she completely bypassed the triage rooms and set me up directly into a delivery room. Guess they figured I wasn't kidding! The midwife, Nancy, arrived a few minutes after we did and by the time I was changed and on the monitor she was in the room.

I had my first cervical check at 6:30am. I was about 4cm and was *so* disappointed that I wasn't further along! I'd been 2cm a few days before, so I was sure I'd be further along with all the contractions that morning. I asked the midwife if I still got to stay, and she laughed and said most definitely. I actually felt relieved, though I don't know why I thought I'd be sent home given how I was contracting and my history.

By 7am, the contractions were overwhelmingly intense. I'd had visions of relaxing through the contractions and being able to stay on top of them, just like I did the first two times. But this felt so very different. I was having a very hard time staying on top of the panic and simply could not figure out how to keep from tensing up. I knew I was making it worse on myself, but that knowledge only seemed to make me feel worse - like I was failing somehow. I was on my side in bed (the best of the positions I'd tried), gripping the side rails with all my strength during contractions, and vocalizing a lot - moaning, groaning, chanting. Brett was doing everything I asked him to, but I was feeling so much in both my back and my belly that I didn't know what I needed. Vomiting a couple times didn't help my rising feeling of panic. Nancy was doing what she could to help me relax, too - I think she was noticing that I was losing control.

Around 7:15am, I was at 6cm. At that point, I really started to panic. If I was going to keep on like this for many more hours (that's how slowly I thought I was progressing), I knew I wouldn't be able to do it without pain relief. (Never once, in my first two births, did it even occur to me that I could ask for pain relief. That's how different this one felt.) I told myself to get through just 5 more contractions and then reevaluate.

Around 7:30am, Nancy suggested breaking my water. She warned that it might increase the intensity even more, but it would get things moving faster. I rode through a couple more contractions, and then agreed to let her break it around 7:40am. I was about 8cm.

After another 10 minutes or so, Nancy said she wanted to reach in and help stretch my cervix the last cm or so to get the baby moving down. I'd been starting to feel like pushing at the top of the contractions, so I agreed. (I found out after that the baby's heart rate was dropping much more than they like during contractions - though still rebounding fine after - and she really wanted to get the baby out sooner rather than later.)

Shortly before 8am, I started pushing. For the first pushing contraction, I wasn't really coordinated yet. I pushed out a bunch of poop (which Nancy quickly cleaned) but felt like I didn't do anything for the baby. We were also trying to figure out positioning. I wanted to push on my side, but Nancy wanted me on my back. We finally compromised on me being kinda in between, but it apparently took several nurses to hold me legs apart far enough (I don't really remember that part). For the next contraction, I pushed with everything I had and I felt the baby move down and start to crown. The crowning scared me, so I backed off pushing because I just wasn't ready to go there. Then Nancy told me that with the next push she was going to help stretch me around the baby's head (apparently this little maneuver is called "midwife's forceps"). I barely had time to process what she said when I was pushing again, this time really crowning. I felt the baby's head pop out, and then took a moment to gather courage to push the rest of the baby out. As I started pushing, I heard Nancy say "It's a girl!"

Wait a minute! I thought the rest of the baby was still inside! Nope. She was on my belly, getting rubbed down by 2 or 3 nurses, and I hadn't noticed. Born at 8:09am, just over 3 1/2 hours since I'd woken up. I was completely shocked that I hadn't even realized the baby was born! Then it took a moment for me to process what Nancy had said - we had a daughter! I was honestly surprised! I hadn't realized how deeply I believed I was having a boy until right then, but I was also truly thrilled to have a little girl. She was 8 pounds 10 ounces, 20.5" long and we named her Audrey Celeste.

Brett and the baby nurse took the baby over to the warmer to do the assessment. Nancy waited with me to deliver the placenta. While we waited, she showed me the baby's perfectly formed curly cord and told me it'd been wrapped around the baby's neck and was getting too tight during the contractions - thus the urgency to deliver at the end. And then we waited, and waited, and waited. I one point I commented that it seemed like this was taking a lot longer than I remembered, and Nancy agreed it was taking a long time. After a few more minutes, she checked internally and found that my uterus had already clamped back down and my cervix was back to 2cm dilated. The placenta was pretty well trapped, and was going to need some help to come out.

First, Nancy tried to just reach in and see if she could gently nudge things enough to make the placenta come out. Despite having just been through what I would call a very hard labor, that was worse. They practically had to scrape me off the ceiling after Nancy tried that (unsuccessfully). The next step was to inject Nubain into my IV to see if that would relax me, and my uterus, enough that she could pull out the placenta. But again, I ended up on the ceiling with no progress for the placenta. At that point, Nancy called in the oncall OB, Dr. Merens, (who was in the hospital) for a consult.

After talking together, Nancy and Dr. Merens came to talk to Brett and I. Dr. Marens was very warm and supportive and tried very hard to make sure I was comfortable with everything that was happening. I really appreciated it! At this point, I had a fully retained placenta and my body was not going to do what it should have. It was not a complete emergency, since I was not bleeding. But it needed to be dealt with. They called down the anesthesiologist to do either a spinal or general (needed his consult to decide which).

The anesthesiologist decided he couldn't do general (because I'd had a banana to eat before leaving for the hospital) so we went with the spinal. I was wheeled into the OR around the corner from the delivery room. I'd been told the procedure would have to be done in the OR, in case they needed to use instruments or in case I started bleeding. What I wasn't expecting was a flood of memories as I went through the OR doors - memories going back to the last time I was in an OR 2 1/2 years ago for my skull/brain surgery. Very odd sensation, but it quickly passed. Brett waited back in the delivery room with Audrey.

Nancy and Dr. Marens were great about holding my hands and talking me through getting the spinal (which seemed to take forever!). They were friendly and warm, and distracted me from what was happening in my back. Within a few minutes of getting the spinal, my legs started to go numb and very quickly I could feel nothing. Nancy then went to work trying to manually extract the placenta, and I think I'm really very glad I had a spinal at that point! Unfortunately, she couldn't quite get it. So Dr. Marens took a turn. He worked and worked and was about to give up and get the instruments, when he got the grip he wanted and was able to pull it out successfully. Then he went back and made sure to scrape the uterus really well to ensure everything was out.

Nancy then finished up with a few stitches (I had a shallow 2nd degree tear) and we were done. As I was wheeled back down the hallway, Brett and Audrey joined me and we all went to a recovery room. After an hour of monitoring (and finally getting to nurse Audrey) we went to the post-partum room to begin the full recovery.

And I'm now quite certain that I don't want to do that again!