Motherhood amazes me.
Hopefully, my last post conveyed how much I admire the mothers I know – especially my own amazing mom, and now of course, my beautiful sister. But as much as I’m in awe of motherhood, when I think of it in terms of myself, I’m completely apathetic. Well, maybe that's the wrong word. Because I do really want to be a mom...someday. I mean, when I imagine my future, I picture Roger and me with children, but it’s this blurry, distant vision of an unspecified place and time. It’s certainly not the here and now. I guess I still think of motherhood as a “when I grow up” thing to do. And despite the fact that I’m quickly approaching thirty, it rarely occurs to me that I’m possibly capable of being a mother now.
But I’m not completely oblivious. I realize that it’s probably time to start thinking about it more seriously. I guess I’ve been saying that for a few years though. It’s true; whenever Roger and I talk about it, we always agree that the best time to have a baby will be “this time next year.”
I realize that it’s a little weird for someone who has been happily married for over seven years to not have kids. I guess. I mean, people always seem shocked when they find out how long I’ve been married and then discover that I don't have a kid in kindergarten. They assume there's something wrong with me. And who knows - maybe there is - but what business is it of theirs anyway? Okay, that sentence probably suggests that I’m offended by their inappropriate interest, and I’m not really, I just find it – I don’t know – I guess I find it interesting. I think it’s funny that a random man in the cafeteria at work makes small talk with me with these three questions 1) Are you married? 2) Do you have kids? 3) Why not? Oh, and then he follows it up with “Well, you should. You definitely should. And you should hurry up.”
I know, right? But the thing is, the whole interaction isn’t unusual for me. For some reason, everyone from the girl giving me a manicure to the man at the dry cleaner’s wants to know when I’m having a baby and why I don’t have one already. It’s funny that something so deeply personal to one person is just a way to make small talk to another.
And then of course there are the more subtle questions and speculations by those closer to me, those who aren’t just making small talk. I find it ironic that the man in the cafeteria can come right out and ask me the question while the M-I-L – someone notorious for her outspokenness – dances around the subject, saying how she can’t wait for me to get pregnant but knowing better than to pressure me with direct questions about our plans.
So, what are our plans? I don’t know. And that’s exactly what I told the one person who has the right to be asking the question – my doctor. When he asked about my timeline for having a baby, I thought about it for a minute before asking him if it would be alright to train for a marathon while trying to get pregnant. He discouraged the idea, giving me yet another reason to delay motherhood. Because I think I’d like to run a marathon this year, and if I have to choose between having a baby and running a marathon, well the latter sounds a hell of a lot easier, don’t you think?
I know; I have issues. But now is not the moment to explore my psychosis. We can do that some other time...because if I'm willing to share it with the random man in the cafeteria, I figure I might as well share it with you guys too.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Happy Mother's Day
No one likes to think of themselves as selfish. I certainly don’t. And I’m not – I don’t think. I mean, I try to consider other people’s feelings and I don’t insist on always getting my way. In my marriage, for example, I make an effort to do the things that Roger likes to do (like, go see Wolverine – though I drew the line with Star Trek), and I try to take an interest in the things that are important to him (which is how I got so good at Rock Band). But I wouldn't exactly call any of these things sacrifices. For the most part, I’m not really called upon to be selfless. So while I wouldn’t say I’m selfish, I’m not sure I know what it means to be truly selfless.
The more I think about it – I’m convinced that the only people on this planet who can really claim selflessness are Mothers. And while I’ve reaped the benefits of my own mother’s selflessness my whole life, it’s only now, as I witness the transformation in my sister that I can even begin to understand the significance of their sacrifices.
It begins before the baby even arrives – not only do they have to watch their figures expand and stretch in ways that seem almost alien, but they have to surrender their emotions to hormones, avoid favorite foods, and give up all their vices – and that’s only the beginning. Never mind the pain and suffering they endure through the actual delivery, but once the baby arrives, they sacrifice their sleep, their sanity, their time… the sacrifices become so common that they almost lose their significance. We take for granted that a mother will stay up all night with a sick child, or get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday to make pancakes and watch cartoons, or spend her entire weekend as a chauffeur, or take on a second job to pay for college, or give up her own life if it means saving her child. You tend to forget that not so long ago, this woman’s sole responsibility was herself. She was allowed to be selfish, just like the rest of us. But as a mother, she can barely comprehend what the word selfish means. She can hardly recall what it felt like to put herself before someone else. And she wouldn't have it any other way.
Today seems like a good time to acknowledge the awesomeness of a Mother’s selflessness. Because we do take it for granted; we assume it just comes naturally. And I don’t know; maybe it does – maybe motherhood magically erases our inherent selfishness, but somehow I’m not so sure. While good mothers make it look easy, there are enough not-so-good mothers out there for me to recognize that selflessness is a choice; it’s a decision. I think the love a mother feels for her child usually makes the decision inescapable, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
Am I making any sense? I fear my words don’t adequately convey my admiration, but this is my vain attempt to wish all of the mothers in my life a Happy Mother’s Day.
I’m truly in awe.
The more I think about it – I’m convinced that the only people on this planet who can really claim selflessness are Mothers. And while I’ve reaped the benefits of my own mother’s selflessness my whole life, it’s only now, as I witness the transformation in my sister that I can even begin to understand the significance of their sacrifices.
It begins before the baby even arrives – not only do they have to watch their figures expand and stretch in ways that seem almost alien, but they have to surrender their emotions to hormones, avoid favorite foods, and give up all their vices – and that’s only the beginning. Never mind the pain and suffering they endure through the actual delivery, but once the baby arrives, they sacrifice their sleep, their sanity, their time… the sacrifices become so common that they almost lose their significance. We take for granted that a mother will stay up all night with a sick child, or get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday to make pancakes and watch cartoons, or spend her entire weekend as a chauffeur, or take on a second job to pay for college, or give up her own life if it means saving her child. You tend to forget that not so long ago, this woman’s sole responsibility was herself. She was allowed to be selfish, just like the rest of us. But as a mother, she can barely comprehend what the word selfish means. She can hardly recall what it felt like to put herself before someone else. And she wouldn't have it any other way.
Today seems like a good time to acknowledge the awesomeness of a Mother’s selflessness. Because we do take it for granted; we assume it just comes naturally. And I don’t know; maybe it does – maybe motherhood magically erases our inherent selfishness, but somehow I’m not so sure. While good mothers make it look easy, there are enough not-so-good mothers out there for me to recognize that selflessness is a choice; it’s a decision. I think the love a mother feels for her child usually makes the decision inescapable, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
Am I making any sense? I fear my words don’t adequately convey my admiration, but this is my vain attempt to wish all of the mothers in my life a Happy Mother’s Day.
I’m truly in awe.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Oh, Sheila
It’s hard to believe I’ve been back in Atlanta for over four months. And while I’m consistently surprised at how fast the time goes by, somehow I feel like we’ve been back longer than four months. In fact, whenever someone I haven’t seen in a while asks how we’re “settling in,” it takes me a minute to realize what they mean – because we’re definitely settled. We’ve been settled. I mean, the transition period was pretty much non-existent. I think because we fell into our new life with such ease, it’s almost hard to remember what life in South Africa was like…almost.
There’s a lot I miss about my life in South Africa. And a lot I don’t. And there were so many things that I missed about the US while I was there – things that I was so excited about upon my return but that I’ve already started to take for granted again.
My e-friend in New Zealand recently suggested I update everyone about those “things.” Of course, she’s probably only interested because she’s about to move back to the US, and she’s already thinking about her own “things.” Still, I fully intended to sit down this weekend and share my thoughts/feelings on the subject, but that somehow hasn’t happened. Why hasn’t it happened? Because for some reason, I decided it was time to do some spring cleaning this weekend. We’re not talking about your basic vacuum/dust – I mean cleaning out the fridge, organizing the closets, scouring the oven, etc. (insert heavy sigh here) These are not fun things to do. And they always take three times longer than I think they’re going to.
But fortunately, with my saintly husband’s help, the apartment is now sparkling.
And while I didn’t make time to compose my thoughts about all the things I miss and don’t miss about South Africa…one thing became blatantly clear:
Of everything I miss about South Africa*, I miss Sheila most of all. So much more than a maid, Sheila was an angel who came into my little cottage once a week and spent an entire day making everything spotless. And I do mean everything.
*excluding my South African family (I guess)
Actually, as much as I miss Sheila, I'm a little resentful too. I completely blame her for my obsession with cleaning the apartment. Trust me. I wasn’t always this uptight. (My old roommates can attest to the state of my room throughout college). But now, because of Sheila, I have a whole new level of expectations. Only now, if I expect it to be clean, I have to clean it myself (or trick – I mean, charm – my husband into doing it). So, it's really not that clean...now I'm just really aware of it. So, thanks for that, Sheila. Thanks a lot.
Anyway, sorry Cathleen, next time I promise to confess everything that I'm already taking for granted about being back in the US (and I'm afraid Sam Adams Light and Lean Cuisine are both on the list...aren't you jealous?).
There’s a lot I miss about my life in South Africa. And a lot I don’t. And there were so many things that I missed about the US while I was there – things that I was so excited about upon my return but that I’ve already started to take for granted again.
My e-friend in New Zealand recently suggested I update everyone about those “things.” Of course, she’s probably only interested because she’s about to move back to the US, and she’s already thinking about her own “things.” Still, I fully intended to sit down this weekend and share my thoughts/feelings on the subject, but that somehow hasn’t happened. Why hasn’t it happened? Because for some reason, I decided it was time to do some spring cleaning this weekend. We’re not talking about your basic vacuum/dust – I mean cleaning out the fridge, organizing the closets, scouring the oven, etc. (insert heavy sigh here) These are not fun things to do. And they always take three times longer than I think they’re going to.
But fortunately, with my saintly husband’s help, the apartment is now sparkling.
And while I didn’t make time to compose my thoughts about all the things I miss and don’t miss about South Africa…one thing became blatantly clear:
Of everything I miss about South Africa*, I miss Sheila most of all. So much more than a maid, Sheila was an angel who came into my little cottage once a week and spent an entire day making everything spotless. And I do mean everything.
*excluding my South African family (I guess)
Actually, as much as I miss Sheila, I'm a little resentful too. I completely blame her for my obsession with cleaning the apartment. Trust me. I wasn’t always this uptight. (My old roommates can attest to the state of my room throughout college). But now, because of Sheila, I have a whole new level of expectations. Only now, if I expect it to be clean, I have to clean it myself (or trick – I mean, charm – my husband into doing it). So, it's really not that clean...now I'm just really aware of it. So, thanks for that, Sheila. Thanks a lot.
Anyway, sorry Cathleen, next time I promise to confess everything that I'm already taking for granted about being back in the US (and I'm afraid Sam Adams Light and Lean Cuisine are both on the list...aren't you jealous?).
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Running for a Reason
I spent this weekend in Nashville running the Country Music Half Marathon with Team in Training. With your help, I raised over $3,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and ran 13.1 miles in less than 2 hours…and if I’m being honest, I’m not sure which accomplishment I’m more proud of! 
But to tell you the truth, before this week, I hadn’t fully made the connection between the fundraising I was doing and the training. To be sure, I spent a lot of time thinking about Lynn and my dad and others who have lost their lives to cancer while I was logging the miles, but it was hard for me to wrap my head around how the actual training fit in with my fundraising. I suppose I could make more sense of it if I was raising money by promising to do something horrible like…I don’t know, give up ice cream for a month, but running…well, bizarre as it may be, I really like to run. Love it in fact. The way it makes my less than perfect body feel strong and powerful. The way it clears my crazy head. I mean, it’s not like I jump out of bed every morning just dying to lace up my running shoes, but for the most part, I really enjoy it. So asking people for donations by promising to do something I love, well, it didn’t seem quite fair.
But last weekend it started to make sense. On our last day of training as a team, my team member, Mallory, shared a story about her own battle with leukemia. She told us about an afternoon during the course of her chemo when she tried to climb the stairs in her house and discovered that she couldn’t. She was sixteen years old at the time and didn’t have the strength to climb a single flight of stairs. Her eyes filled with tears as she told the story but then quickly cleared as she looked at each of us and said, “I’m running this race because I can. Because there was a time when I couldn’t climb the stairs, and now I’m ready to run 13.1 miles with all of you. I’m running because I can.”
Suddenly it clicked for me. Running the half marathon wasn’t just a fundraising device, a reason to ask people for money, but the race itself was a way to honor those who have battled cancer. Those who have fought blood cancer and won like Mallory and those who have not been so lucky, like Lynn. I would run in celebration of the fact that Mallory is here to run with me today and in protest of the fact that Lynn – and so many others – are not here at all. I would also run with a renewed awareness and thankfulness that so far in this life, my greatest physical challenge has been the one I’ve imposed on myself.
I met that challenge Saturday morning. In 80 degree weather, I ran 13.1 miles in 1 hour and 57 minutes flat.
I spent a lot of that time thinking about Lynn. About the stories she told, the way she laughed, the way she could make my mom laugh so hard that I worried she might wet her pants. I thought about Lynn’s rules about double dipping and sharing ice cream cones; I thought about the way she’d matter of factly say “perk up" to pull you out of a bad mood. I thought about how much she loved teapots and Meg Ryan movies and McDonald's Diet Coke. I thought about the many holidays my family spent with hers, the countless plays and performances of both mine and my sister’s that she attended with her whole family in tow. I thought about the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings. No milestone went unmarked by Lynn (and the marking usually involved cake!). I thought about those last weeks, when the myeloma fully took over – how hard she fought, how much she suffered. I thought about the many friends and family she left behind - those who miss her, love her, need her still…
I won’t lie; I also spent much of that hour and fifty seven minutes checking my watch and wondering how much longer I could keep up my pace in the sweltering heat, but the time I spent thinking about Lynn…well, it made me finally realize what running for a reason means. And now, I can honestly say that running is no longer just about burning calories and fitting into my favorite jeans. It’s a celebration; it's a protest; it's a prayer of gratitude.
So thank you for supporting me on this journey…from your generous donations, to your questions about how my training was going, to your calls and text messages and emails of support. Thank you. Thank you for supporting me, and thank you for supporting the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
But to tell you the truth, before this week, I hadn’t fully made the connection between the fundraising I was doing and the training. To be sure, I spent a lot of time thinking about Lynn and my dad and others who have lost their lives to cancer while I was logging the miles, but it was hard for me to wrap my head around how the actual training fit in with my fundraising. I suppose I could make more sense of it if I was raising money by promising to do something horrible like…I don’t know, give up ice cream for a month, but running…well, bizarre as it may be, I really like to run. Love it in fact. The way it makes my less than perfect body feel strong and powerful. The way it clears my crazy head. I mean, it’s not like I jump out of bed every morning just dying to lace up my running shoes, but for the most part, I really enjoy it. So asking people for donations by promising to do something I love, well, it didn’t seem quite fair.But last weekend it started to make sense. On our last day of training as a team, my team member, Mallory, shared a story about her own battle with leukemia. She told us about an afternoon during the course of her chemo when she tried to climb the stairs in her house and discovered that she couldn’t. She was sixteen years old at the time and didn’t have the strength to climb a single flight of stairs. Her eyes filled with tears as she told the story but then quickly cleared as she looked at each of us and said, “I’m running this race because I can. Because there was a time when I couldn’t climb the stairs, and now I’m ready to run 13.1 miles with all of you. I’m running because I can.”
Suddenly it clicked for me. Running the half marathon wasn’t just a fundraising device, a reason to ask people for money, but the race itself was a way to honor those who have battled cancer. Those who have fought blood cancer and won like Mallory and those who have not been so lucky, like Lynn. I would run in celebration of the fact that Mallory is here to run with me today and in protest of the fact that Lynn – and so many others – are not here at all. I would also run with a renewed awareness and thankfulness that so far in this life, my greatest physical challenge has been the one I’ve imposed on myself.
I met that challenge Saturday morning. In 80 degree weather, I ran 13.1 miles in 1 hour and 57 minutes flat.
I spent a lot of that time thinking about Lynn. About the stories she told, the way she laughed, the way she could make my mom laugh so hard that I worried she might wet her pants. I thought about Lynn’s rules about double dipping and sharing ice cream cones; I thought about the way she’d matter of factly say “perk up" to pull you out of a bad mood. I thought about how much she loved teapots and Meg Ryan movies and McDonald's Diet Coke. I thought about the many holidays my family spent with hers, the countless plays and performances of both mine and my sister’s that she attended with her whole family in tow. I thought about the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings. No milestone went unmarked by Lynn (and the marking usually involved cake!). I thought about those last weeks, when the myeloma fully took over – how hard she fought, how much she suffered. I thought about the many friends and family she left behind - those who miss her, love her, need her still…
I won’t lie; I also spent much of that hour and fifty seven minutes checking my watch and wondering how much longer I could keep up my pace in the sweltering heat, but the time I spent thinking about Lynn…well, it made me finally realize what running for a reason means. And now, I can honestly say that running is no longer just about burning calories and fitting into my favorite jeans. It’s a celebration; it's a protest; it's a prayer of gratitude.
So thank you for supporting me on this journey…from your generous donations, to your questions about how my training was going, to your calls and text messages and emails of support. Thank you. Thank you for supporting me, and thank you for supporting the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
41 minutes
Okay, so I know that after neglecting you completely last week, I should be delivering something extra fantabulous this week, but let me just warn you right now: this is not going to be extra fantabulous. Why? Because even after taking the week off, I still don't really feel like writing. There it is. The honesty you've come to expect. Is this the first time I haven't felt like writing? Well, no…and it's not even about the writing so much as it is about the time.
It's not that I don't have time. I do have time. I have as much time as the next person, and despite all of our constant whining about it, we all have time. 24 hours a day. 168 hours a week. It's how we choose to spend the time that differs. And before you roll your eyes at my phrasing, let me stress that I use the word "choose" loosely. Because I'd say that for the most part, how we spend our time doesn't feel much like a choice. The 40+ hours at work, for instance. It's not really a choice for most of us. Of course, whether your 40+ is closer to 50 or closer to 90 largely depends on your choice of occupation (doctors/lawyers/bankers, I'm talking to you!). But once you’ve made the choice to be a brain surgeon, I’m guessing you’re kind of expected to put in the necessary hours. And as for the busy parents in the audience, well, while the child was probably (hopefully?) a choice, the hours spent breastfeeding or making PB&J sandwiches or driving to ballet class or soccer practice...well, as a (good) parent, you don't get much choice about that.
But we're talking about me here…and I’m certainly not saving lives at my job or hauling babies to soccer practice. And while I feel very "busy" lately, I recognize that I’m choosing to be busy. I'm choosing to spend my evenings/weekends at Braves' games and concerts and watching movies and drinking beer at Mellow Mushroom (and running it off with my team the next morning). And the nights I’m not out having fun I choose to spend vegged out in front of the TV watching Grey's Anatomy or American Idol or 30 Rock (or all 3 if they’re waiting for me on the DVR).
And when Sunday evening rolls around after a weekend packed full of time spent either being productive or having too much fun, sometimes I just want to veg out instead of write. And that’s okay, I guess, but I’ve come to feel about the blog the way I feel about running. I don’t always feel like doing it, but I know I’ll feel better if I do.
And you know what? I was right. I do feel better. And it only took 41 minutes. And it only took that long because I kept stopping to check my email and watch parts of the Gran Prix that Roger insisted I would find extremely exciting (um, yeah). But still, 41 minutes out of 10,080 minutes in a week, really isn’t that big of a deal.
Time well spent. (Well, depends who you ask, I guess!)
It's not that I don't have time. I do have time. I have as much time as the next person, and despite all of our constant whining about it, we all have time. 24 hours a day. 168 hours a week. It's how we choose to spend the time that differs. And before you roll your eyes at my phrasing, let me stress that I use the word "choose" loosely. Because I'd say that for the most part, how we spend our time doesn't feel much like a choice. The 40+ hours at work, for instance. It's not really a choice for most of us. Of course, whether your 40+ is closer to 50 or closer to 90 largely depends on your choice of occupation (doctors/lawyers/bankers, I'm talking to you!). But once you’ve made the choice to be a brain surgeon, I’m guessing you’re kind of expected to put in the necessary hours. And as for the busy parents in the audience, well, while the child was probably (hopefully?) a choice, the hours spent breastfeeding or making PB&J sandwiches or driving to ballet class or soccer practice...well, as a (good) parent, you don't get much choice about that.
But we're talking about me here…and I’m certainly not saving lives at my job or hauling babies to soccer practice. And while I feel very "busy" lately, I recognize that I’m choosing to be busy. I'm choosing to spend my evenings/weekends at Braves' games and concerts and watching movies and drinking beer at Mellow Mushroom (and running it off with my team the next morning). And the nights I’m not out having fun I choose to spend vegged out in front of the TV watching Grey's Anatomy or American Idol or 30 Rock (or all 3 if they’re waiting for me on the DVR).
And when Sunday evening rolls around after a weekend packed full of time spent either being productive or having too much fun, sometimes I just want to veg out instead of write. And that’s okay, I guess, but I’ve come to feel about the blog the way I feel about running. I don’t always feel like doing it, but I know I’ll feel better if I do.
And you know what? I was right. I do feel better. And it only took 41 minutes. And it only took that long because I kept stopping to check my email and watch parts of the Gran Prix that Roger insisted I would find extremely exciting (um, yeah). But still, 41 minutes out of 10,080 minutes in a week, really isn’t that big of a deal.
Time well spent. (Well, depends who you ask, I guess!)
Extra fantabulous
Okay so before I spent my 41 minutes writing the above nonsense, I was on the phone with my sister - bugging her to send me a few pictures of my perfect niece so that I could post them on my blog (in lieu of writing something legitimate). Now D, forgive me, but I was skeptical that you would actually get around to it tonight, much less within the hour (because if you want to talk about not having time...well, talk to a new mom!) so I went ahead and wrote the aforementioned nonsense. But my sister pulled through and and now I can accompany the nonsense with something truly extra fantabulous...the latest pics of Miss Avery Jayne! 
What's that? She's the cutest, happiest, smartest, most perfect and beautiful baby ever?
I totally agree.
I totally agree.
In fact, the whole family is pretty perf if you ask me.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
My life would suck without you.
Because the song has been stuck in my head for at least seventy-two hours and because I haven’t resorted to a list in lieu of a legitimate post lately, this one goes out to my impossibly charming husband…
The top 10 (not-too-cheesy) reasons my life would suck without you.
2. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Alison insisted that I'd love it, but it was Roger who finally convinced me to give the monster slaying valley girl the chance she deserved.
3. The M-I-L and Co. I admit it, as much as I love to bitch about Roger’s parents – I wouldn’t trade his family for anything. Because of Roger, I’m a member of this crazy cast of characters who are completely certifiable, but never ever boring, and always, always entertaining.
4. Moose. How would I have ever found my miserable mongrel without Roger?
5. From the Power 90 to the peanut butter factory, Roger makes everything more fun.
6. Because he occasisonally reads my mind.
7. What other foreigner would so completely adopt the American pastime? Okay, maybe any sports-obsessed boy, but I love that my husband knows more about the Braves’ players than I do…even if he doesn’t know all the words to my Braves’ song…yet.
8. Because waking up to the words “You’re so beautiful” (even when you know you’ve been drooling and snoring all night) never gets old. (okay, that one is pretty cheesy...sorrry.)
9. South
10. The impossibly charming-ness. I use this phrase a lot and it’s hard to explain what I mean by it, but Roger just has this way of making it impossible to be mad at him…which should be infuriating, except that it’s hard to be infuriated when he’s making me laugh as hard as he does. I’m not sure if it’s what he says or how he says it, but the boy knows exactly
So there you have it..the top 10 reasons my life would suck without Roger. (Well maybe not the top 10, but the first 10 that I could think of this late on a Sunday!)
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