How Cancer Will Make Me a Better Person

“You have to make it home for your kids.  This can’t happen.  You have to make it home for your kids.”

I said it over and over as the blood poured out of my mouth.  The nurse and my husband (who gets faint just talking about medical procedures) kept passing me 8oz plastic cups as the blood poured out and filled each one.  We filled up four cups before someone had the idea of shoving a towel in my mouth to apply pressure and stop the bleeding.  I still needed a tub to catch what continued to flow out.  Someone brought over the suction machine next and, finally, my poor husband could go sit with his head between his legs and catch his breath while I tried not to pass out.

And maybe that’s a dramatic start to this post, but luckily, that was as bad as it got.  Most people don’t have that kind of luck.

My cancer story starts about a year ago when I noticed some white patches on the right side of my tongue.  They would be visible, then fade, then come back.  Since I’m always  clenching or grinding my teeth, I thought I had injured myself and was having a hard time healing.  I basically ignored it.  With two kids under two, I had a tendency put myself last and going to the dentist was not a priority.  When I finally made appointments, first for my children’s first cleaning, and then for myself, the white patch had grown, become raised, and was hurting me when I ate spicy or acidic foods.  I was finally more than a little worried about what was going on inside my mouth.

My dentist took a look, took some pictures, and sent me to an oral surgeon for removal/biopsy.  Both the dentist and oral surgeon said “maybe” cancer, but I didn’t fit the “normal” types of folks who get oral cancer.  The surgon actually said, “If you were an older man who smoked or chewed tobacco, then I would be thinking cancer, but we’ll remove the lesion and get a biopsy anyway.”  Well, that biopsy result was squamous cell carcinoma.  And since no one thought it would be cancer, I went to get my biopsy results at the surgeon’s office ALONE.  Not the smartest thing I’ve done.  The surgon actually received most of his training in the army, I found out later, which is probably why he made a run for it when I started crying.  Luckily, the nurses and receptionist showed me some kindness and I was able to drive safely home.

My husband was preparing to go mountain biking that day, having taken time off for that specific purpose, and knew as soon as I walked in the house that something was wrong.  He held me and managed to be “the strong one” while I told him the biopsy results and cried.  We took some time to process it, then called my parents.  The news spread quickly from there.  A word of advise to anyone newly diagnosed with anything scary – when you’re ready, start a group text with your family/friends.  It was so helpful to easily share updates with my core support system as we went through this process.  It helped folks worry less and helped me manage everyone else’s expectations as I went through treatment.

And speaking of treatment, the first biopsy wasn’t too fun, but I was eating normally in a week.  Unfortunately, because no one was thinking CANCER at the time, they did not remove enough tissue and I needed a second surgery.  I met with two groups of doctors, a local RI team and a team up at Dana-Faber Cancer Institute in Boston MA.  The RI Lifespan group actually impressed me more – their attentiveness, kindness, and humor made the process bearable.  I didn’t feel like “a patient” – I felt like they actually cared.

So, I scheduled my surgery and went in early on a Friday morning.  As Dr. B (the ENT on the team) reviewed the procedure with myself and my husband, poor Steve went pale.  I guess talking about removing a piece of someone’s tongue is a bit gross, but I was trying not to giggle at the poor guy, who is normally so strong.  The nurses jumped in and got him comfortable, but they wheeled me into surgery with him still in a recliner, ice pack behind his neck.  The removal went well – they had someone in the room doing a quick pathology review of what was removed to try to ensure we got “clear margins” and would not require additional surgery.  When I woke up, I was so tired, and in pain, but after some time I was able to sit up, drink, and get dressed.  We decided with Dr. B that I was doing well enough to go home, and so we did.

I spent that Friday afternoon in bed, with family at the house, helping distract the kids.  Later that night, I started having a lot of pain with swallowing because they intubated me during the surgery.  The liquid vicodin they gave me for the pain burned the hell out of my throat and was starting to upset my empty stomach.  By Saturday morning, my neck was swelling up.  We called Dr. B, who said some swelling was normal, but to go to the hospital if it continued to worsen.  By 4pm, I was scared – my neck was about 3 times its normal size and even swallowing water was painful.  We went to our local emergency room, and they started me on steroids and antibiotics, but they didn’t have ENT support and wanted to send me to Providence.  I was transported via ambulance, my mother had relieved my brother & sister-in-law to sleep over with the kids, and Steve took our car to meet me at the other hospital.

Now, picture the scene at a city hospital on a Saturday night, because it was something right out of the movies.  Lots of folks were high or drunk, the woman next to me had been badly beaten up by her boyfriend, and there were cops everywhere.  One gentleman in a wheel chair had a backpack full of snacks that he kept offering to the rest of us who were waiting for a room.  We’re talking pistachios, cheese, crackers – just about anything you could want.  And while he was definitely “on something” or “off his meds”, it was actually good to see how kind he was being to those around him who were suffering.  The woman next to me who had been beaten up said to me when Steve arrived, “It’s good that you have someone who loves you.”  As bad as I was feeling, I was grateful that I was not alone – not only did I have my loving and supportive husband, but I was seeing kindness (as well as craziness) all around me that night.

We finally got moved to a cubicle where I got more steroids, antibiotics and fluids, while we waited for a room in the main hospital.  And boy, did we wait.  All. Night. Long.  But again, we were shown kindness when a nurse actually rolled in a second bed for Steve to rest on, knowing it was against the rules and she could get in trouble for doing so.  It allowed Steve a few hours of rest before we were moved to a room and my parents came to switch places with him.  As I spent Sunday afternoon in the hospital with my parents, I started to drink some broth and juice and the swelling came down and I was getting re-hydrated.  Steve came back to switch with my parents, we saw my doctors, and decided to stay the night to ensure I was on the mend.  Then the unbelievable happened – I had just finished some broth and jello for my “dinner” when I literally felt something pop on my tongue and my mouth filled with blood.

As I stated above, there was a lot of blood.  The nurses requested the trauma unit to come assist, which was in fact called, but was not called over the intercom (apparently, they were called directly via the phone at the main desk on the floor), and my nurses were in a panic.  I had closed my eyes to the bustle around me as they finally had a towel in my mouth and were applying pressure, trying to use the suction machine to keep my throat clear, and failing to get additional IVs into my arms (I have ridiculously small veins, so although I already had three lines for IVs and blood drawing, they were not big enough for whatever they were trying to give to me while I was bleeding).  They asked me a few times if I was still with them, so I would open my eyes and nod a little, but I really didn’t want to see what was happening to me.  I was trying to stay calm, but really began to worry at how long it was taking for the bleeding to stop, for me to be moved to the OR, and how I was starting to feel very faint.

Finally, one of Dr. B’s colleagues showed up and her calming presence seemed to help everyone.  They started to move me to the OR and Steve called my parents.  (My mother would later tell me how she reacted, and all I can say is there’s nothing like a mother’s love for her children and THANK YOU aunt Joyce for talking her through the car ride to the hospital.)  The trip to the OR was not fun – not being able to communicate your needs when you’re in a situation like that is very challenging.  At one point, I just wanted someone to help me hold up my head because I felt so weak and I didn’t want the blood to go down my throat, but couldn’t get anyone to understand.  And as I moved from my bed to the OR table, I couldn’t tell them I didn’t want to lay down because I still had a lot of blood in  my mouth, so, instead, I took a deep breath in through my nose and blew out hard from my mouth, spraying blood everywhere, but I finally got the suction I needed.  Nothing like being a good advocate for yourself, eh?

As I was moving to that table, the chatter around me was that I would “be fine” and “everything is ok”, but I laid down thinking I was going to die and the only proof otherwise would be if I actually woke up after they cauterised the rupture.  Knowing I had to get back to my kids helped me push through that.  Knowing that if I did die, they were too young and wouldn’t even remember me helped me push through that.  You can credit god, the universe, karma, science, whatever, but after the wonderful doctors that helped me, I am crediting my love for my children as what helped me push through that.

Skip ahead after 5 days in the hospital, on IVs and a liquid diet, I finally went home.  And I’m only skipping ahead because I want to get to the most important part of my story.  The part where I learned first hand what it means to have an amazing support system.

I know I am luckier than most.  I am genuinely loved by a lot of people.  My husband and children are genuinely loved by a lot of people.  And I have a lot of advantages that most people do not have – a great job, kick-ass health insurance, a big, safe house, and reliable transportation.  I am in the minority for those things alone.  Then you add in the loving and supportive friends and family, and I’m coming out way ahead of the game.  I am not saying all this to make others feel worse if their situation is not like mine – I am just trying to acknowledge that I am fully aware of how many advantages I have and how they played a role in my healing process.

For example, I didn’t have to worry about losing my job when it was clear I would be out of work longer than I originally thought.  My manager sent me flowers the day before my surgery.  She told me time and again how much she cared about me, how important it was for me to take the time to heal, and how she supported me in taking a little more time off to deal with my complications and my reaction to them (because, yes, I need a little therapy after that bleeding episode).

And then there’s the health insurance through my husband’s employer and how his manager supported him to come to appointments with me and to miss work while I was in the hospital recovering.  His employer’s health plan is one of the few left that offer PPOs, and since we’ve always been generally healthy, I’ve come out of this experience with less than $1000 of out of pocket costs, when I’ve had things like CAT scans, PET scans, all kinds of blood work, and an extended hospital stay.  How many people in this country would be inundated with bills they could never hope to be able to pay after an experience like mine?

My care team was amazing as well.  Not only did I have a team of awesome local doctors, I also had the option to travel to Boston to meet the Dana-Farber team.  Dr. B did a great job, removing all the cancer cells on that second surgery.  Dr. T did a great job taking care of me when I had the bleeding issue and talking to my husband so he would know I was going to come out of that OR just fine.  My oncologist is truly a wonderful person to work with – he is a lovely human being and answers all of my type-A personality questions with intelligence and humor.  And at the end of the day, I don’t need radiation or chemo because we caught the cancer early enough and the surgery went well.  That bleeding issue happens to 2% or less of patients who undergo similar surgery, but my team handled it like pros.

And most importantly, there’s family and friends who have repeatedly dropped everything to help us.  My brother and sister-in-law came over multiple times to watch the kids so we could be at the hospital, since they’re the closest geographically.  And our kids LOVE them and I know it’s been good for them to have fun throughout this experience with them.  Then my parents would relieve them to take care of the kids or take turns to stay with me at the hospital – none of us were alone for a single minute.  My mother advocated for me when I could not.  My father worried for me so I could focus on the positive.  And all the while, my aunt Joyce supported them in their pain and fear, taking some of their burden for them from across the country.  My aunt Laurie got on the war path from the beginning to get me into Dana-Faber for a second opinion, she brought over food, and played with the kids.  Steve’s parents brought food, played with the kids, and helped out around the house.  Our kids’ nanny stayed with them on the holiday weekend so we could focus on me getting better and getting home – she has truly been a “constant” that has helped the kids have some normalcy through this.  Our friends, cousins and coworkers have checked in with us regularly and all the warm thoughts and prayers gave us strength.  My husband has somehow managed to be strong for me and also emotionally available – it’s a tall order when you’re asked to be the warrior and the nurturing friend at the same time.  He has held me when I was sad or scared, he has played with and nurtured the kids, and he held it all together when I know how scared he was himself and how hard it was for him to see me so unlike my usual strong and positive self.

And finally, my beautiful children!  Jakey is a bit too young to grasp everything that is happening, but that kid is a wonderful cuddler and just sitting with him in my lap when I got home was so healing for me.  Sophie definitely understands more, and she’s been pretty good at “taking care of mommy”.  She knows not to kiss me “hard” since my mouth hurts and that I couldn’t always pick her up because I was too weak.  She was gentle with me and that really showed me how even a three-year-old can have some empathy.

The timing of this is kind of interesting, since my husband and I have been thinking about moving out of state, and now we’re questioning that.  I had seen previously how my family could come together in a crisis as my cousin battled with stage IV metastatic breast cancer that ultimately claimed her life.  I don’t think I really understood it until I was on the receiving end of all that love.  How can we abandon that?  How can I take that from my kids, when they so obviously love having a house full of people who adore them?  Can I recreate that with strangers hundreds or thousands of miles away?  It’s something we have to think about and talk about, but now that I’ve been on the receiving end of all that beautiful, caring energy, I want to remain close to it and reciprocate.

And reciprocate not just with my loved ones, but “pay it forward” to others.  One of my big lessons was in humility – I am truly humbled by how my specific set of circumstances made my cancer treatment and recovery possible.  We all say we don’t have the time and resources to devote to certain causes or a charity, but the reality is that life can be really short and we should do what we can with the time we have.  So, now that I’m recovering and focusing on what is really important in life, I want to devote some of my resources to helping others.  Not just donating my kids’ used clothes in a bin, or handing $5 to the homeless person on the street, or donating food to the annual Thanksgiving drive, but MORE.  I don’t know what “more” will be yet, but I’m open to suggestions if you want to drop some in the comments section!  Because those who have enough should build a longer table, not a higher fence, and I know now how much I have to share with those who are less fortunate than I.

Yes, I Know Chocolate is not a Health Food, Joanne.

My shopping list was short and read; MiO, olives, yogurt. After hitting the grocery section, I also stopped in the clothing section of Walmart and picked out a few things (hey, they’re starting to actually sell some cute stuff, please don’t judge me). As I looked for a free check-out counter, I turned into an empty lane that was being manned by Joanne, who was munching on a bag of cashews. As she was ringing up my 10+ containers of Chobani Flips (if you’ve never had one, they’re a yogurt/snack combo and come in flavors like Key Lime Pie, Peanut Butter Dream, and so on), she says, “Chocolate is not a health food!” Without thinking much, I replied with, “Well, yeah, that’s why we eat those for dessert.” Her response of, “Well, I guess it’s better than cake,” confirmed that I had just been gently fat-shamed.

Now, I’m not thin, but I’m also not morbidly obese. My size 12/14 ass is considered “normal” in America, even though I am aware that I am at an unhealthy weight. I’ve never been this heavy for so long in my life, but I’ve also never given birth to two babies in two years before. Since my youngest will be two in 6 months, I know I shouldn’t keep using that as an excuse. Although my pre-pregnancy weight wasn’t much lower than my current weight, after the two kids, my body no longer “carries the weight” as well as it used to and I look “frumpy”. I am painfully aware of how my body has changed and I am desperate for change.

Just over three weeks ago, I started making the time to meal prep again, with a focus on veggies and protein (and a few carbs, so I don’t turn into a monster). I also got a body composition scale, and when I read my results the first day, I freaked out. Not because of my weight, or BMI, or visceral fat numbers (which were not a surprise), but because of my “body age”. The calculation that takes into account all my other numbers (which also includes a shamefully low muscle percentage), put me at the age of 54 years old. But I’m only turning 34 next month!! If the number hadn’t scared the shit out of me, I surely would have become depressed and cried for a few days straight. But instead, I’m just scared.

54 means my body is middle-aged, when it should be in its prime. 54 means I’ve lost TWENTY years to spend with my young children, my wonderful husband, and my family and friends. 54 could mean a heart attack or other serious health problem at any time. But it also means there is still enough time for change.

So, I got more serious about the healthy meal prep and started working out every day. It’s not easy and it’s a challenge to stick with. However, each day is a new chance to make the right choices for my health.

(Below are a few pics of the meals I’ve been making.)

In just one week, I saw small improvements and was motivated to keep it up. Then Joanne happened. Without knowing a stranger’s intentions, it’s hard to know for sure what she meant by her comments, but I know that I allowed them to make me feel like shit for a day. I had previously felt good about my 150 calorie post-workout snack, but then I let her make me feel like a failure for a few hours. And with her lack of knowledge about my life, fitness journey, current goals, and recent commitment to health, she made a judgement based on what she saw and then opened her mouth, with zero filter. Maybe she thought she could provide a “wake-up call”, but hunny, I’ve already had one.

Overweight people know they are overweight. Most of them also know the basics of what healthy food looks like. And all of them must be willing to change on their own. If we need help or support, we can ask for it. Try not to judge when you don’t know all the facts – the reality of the situation might surprise you.

What other “Thanks Captain Obvious!” statements have you heard when people are “educating” you on health and nutrition? And how have you responded to fat-shaming (or any other kind of body-shaming)?

Also, let me know if you’d be interested in any information regarding my meal prep.  If folks are interested, I can start posting recipes!

The Science of Giving Up

Why is it so easy to give up?  This past weekend, I was feeling VERY strongly about taking care of myself, trying something new, and doing a series of 30 day challenges to improve my life.  My first 30 day challenge has been practicing yoga.  I am not flexible, my body hurts from a desk job and lugging around toddlers, and I could really use the quiet mindfulness that yoga is supposed to provide.  Last night, I wasn’t really “in the mood”, but I’m holding myself accountable to really giving this a shot, so I pushed through.  It’s hard for me, but my husband did it with me and our dogs were all over us and it was fun and we laughed and we felt better after.  So why did my brain go to such a dark place later while I was in bed?  My inner voice was saying things like, “Ugh, I just don’t feel like doing it,” and, “I already don’t feel like doing yoga again tomorrow.”  That’s crazy!  I stopped myself and thought, it’s a whole day away!  You don’t know how you’re going to feel tomorrow!  Maybe you won’t be so tired and cranky and you’ll WANT to do some stretching.  And really, if tonight was so hard, you can just pick an easier yoga video that will be more relaxing!
First, I don’t know if it’s the yoga, but I’m really glad I stopped the negative thoughts and gave myself a good talking-to, which I’m not normally great at doing.  And second, I really want to understand why it’s so easy for me and others to just quit.  We start diets and exercise routines and online classes and blogs – and then just give up on them.  Why?

So I spent some time researching today and found a few interesting things I wanted to share with you.  Apparently, there are two kinds of “quitters” – those who give up right away, and those who take longer to give up, but still quit eventually.  I believe that I fall into both categories, depending on the subject and what’s going on in my life at the moment.  With the yoga, I was definitely ready to quit last night, and it was only DAY FOUR!  And yet, there have been other times where I’ve stuck to an exercise routine for many months, I completed 4 years of college, I’ve had a veggie garden to maintain for 3 years now, etc.  Perhaps I’m more passionate about certain things and my life at the time is more conducive to completing my goals.

Scientists and psychologists talk about “ego depletion”, which basically means that people have a limited amount of self-control and willpower and it is reduced every time we exert that self control or willpower.  A perceived lack of time also has a big impact on our staying power.  Self improvement projects seem to get hit the hardest, but there is hope.  An improvement in day-to-day focus and an emphasis on the incentive for that project can really help.

Regarding focus, people who can sustain focus in day-to-day life are more likely to maintain perseverance and passion in their long-term goals.  I notice that the more balls I am juggling, the less focus I have, so it helps me when I simplify my life and responsibilities as much as possible.  Mindfulness training exercises, such as meditation, can really help, so I guess it’s really fortuitous that I chose yoga as my first 30 day challenge.

Also, your incentive matters.  People with real “grit” tend to have a purpose beyond “self”.  Grittiness is a personality trait involving sustained interest and effort toward long-term goals.  Grit is also a good predictor of success in career and education, independent of other traits, including intelligence.  Grit is really just interest, practice, purpose and hope.  That sounds simple, but I think an awareness is needed in order to succeed – so often, our lives are so filled with to-do-lists and just basic functioning that we are not aware of how every day matters and how many opportunities we have each day to focus on a long-term goal.

Ultimately, self-reflection is imperative.  I’m sure there are hundreds of reasons why, but I’ve noticed in my life that people seem to be a lot less self-reflective than they used to be, including myself.  Self-reflection is really hard – you have to find the quiet time to think, you have to be honest with yourself, and you have to dig deeper into your long-held beliefs and habits.  Not only is that hard, but it is also very scary.  I’m glad I took a moment last night to stop my negative thoughts, reflect on them, try to understand why I had them, and then create a game-plan for myself.  And that plan is to continue my yoga challenge because if I take care of myself, I will be a better mother, wife, family member and friend.  I love the people in my life so much, so if I can really visualize how this self-care will make me a better person for them, I think I can stick with it.  Although, being a better person for myself isn’t exactly a lame incentive either.  Namaste bitches!

Thankful for my Husband

Happy Thanksgiving!  This is my favorite holiday because it has all the wonderful traits of Christmas without the stress of gifts.  It’s food and family and love.

Becoming a parent has made me a bit sappy.  I have email accounts set up for my babies and I’m using them as “time capsules”, sending them messages of love when the moment strikes.  I’ve already written to them this week to tell them how grateful I am to have them in my life, and now this note is for my husband.

My husband is not perfect.  There are plenty of times when he’s not a “good husband”.  But he is always a phenomenal father.  And I had not expected that.  For the 10-plus years we have been together, I have always felt like the catalyst for change.  I pushed for an engagement after dating for 5 years, then I pushed for the actual wedding 3 years later, then I REALLY pushed for children the year after that.  I literally told him that I was quitting my birth control, so if he really had a problem with that, he would be in charge of the “protection” going forward.  Almost 2 years later, we were finally pregnant.

He was supportive throughout the pregnancy and more than I expected during delivery (because aren’t all dudes useless in the delivery room?  Not my hubby!).  He was in love with our daughter immediately.  I even had to mediate an argument between him and my mother in the first month because of his devotion – she claimed he was not allowing her enough one-on-one time with our daughter; he felt she barreled her way into everything and was trying to push him out whenever she was around.  He is our daughter’s protector and best friend and he has been since the beginning.

Then we unexpectedly became pregnant again 3 months later.  We both freaked out, but it may have been a bit harder for him.  This man takes YEARS to make such life-altering decisions.  But we fell in love with that new life, just like we had before.  My son’s delivery was harder, but my husband was there.  Having two very young babies in the house, always waking us up, always sick, always needing something, was hard, but my husband was there.

People who don’t even know us particularly well take notice of the bond my husband has with our children.  He gets down to their level, he is affectionate, he plays with them, and he shares our duties as parents like a champ.  

My son has been sick all week, either with the flu or some other nasty, ass-kicking virus.  My husband came with us to the doctor.  He rocked and cuddled our son as he shook from chills due to a rediculously high fever.  His heart breaks, just like mine, to see our son suffering, even from something like the flu.  And to have a true partner this week has been such a blessing.

For a guy who didn’t really love the idea of having kids, I am in awe at how amazing he is as their father.  Our adult romantic love is sometimes complicated and messy, but his love for our children is so pure and beautiful.  For that, I am grateful.

We Just Want You to Check In

We get it… You don’t have kids. Maybe you have a dog or a few cats, but you’re basically free and loving life!  It’s no big deal to drop everything for a fun vacation or night out for drinks.  You get to have date nights and romantic weekends away.  So why don’t you ever call us? Just to check in?

Maybe I’m just speaking for myself, but I don’t want to talk about my kids when I talk to you.  I do that all day, every day.  Time with you is time for me too, as an individual.  So why are you afraid to call me?  Or even text me?  

Maybe I’m not as fun anymore.  I am tired all the time.  I want to know how you are, but when I get a moment of peace, I’m probably going to take a nap.  You are free.  Busy, but free.  Am I asking too much?

My kids are young and have only recently started daycare, so I don’t have “Mommy friends” yet.  And I’m sure that will be nice too, but it’s you I miss.  You remind me of me and you let me be myself, instead of just “Mommy”.  We don’t even have to make the time to hang out – I just want to talk to you more.

Fuck it, I’m going to call you myself!

“Mommy, stop working!”

Guilt.  The ultimate theme of parenthood.  If you’re a working parent, there’s guilt about not spending enough time with the kids.  If you’re a stay at home parent, you may feel guilty about your financial contribution to the household or feel unfulfilled with the title “just a mom/dad”.  But what if we could turn those feelings around in a more positive way?

I have a great job that allows me to work from home.  It’s a demanding job, most of the time, and during our busy season, I find myself working after the kids go to bed or while they nap on the weekend.  I also have to worry about shopping, cooking, laundry, pets, gardens, chickens, maintaining a relationship with my husband, maintaining a relationship with myself, and occasionally seeing family and friends.  I think I feel guilty every day.  The house is a mess, we’re having takeout again, I haven’t worked out in weeks, I just want to cuddle on the couch with my husband, and I am so overdue for a girls’ night out!  But mostly, I worry that I work too much.

When my daughter catches me working in my office “after hours”, the very first thing she says is, “Mommy, no working!” Then she goes through my desk drawers and throws a bunch of stuff all over the floor.  Then the guilt hits; caught again making my job a higher priority than my kids.

We used to have a nanny, so I would see my kids often during the work day.  When my kids recently turned 2 and 1 years old, we wanted our daughter to start socializing with other kids and found an amazing daycare provider.  They don’t take younger kids, and financially we couldn’t do daycare and a nanny, so my son is at another daycare facility.  My daughter’s daycare is amazing, but they take a lot of time off, mirroring the local schools’ vacation calendar (including taking the whole month of August off).  So, we’ve been considering moving her to the daycare my son attends.  But although he is safe and happy, the learning environment my daughter is experiencing is so much more amazing and holistic.  We want my son to have that same experience next year.  So my husband and I discussed prioties: do we take more PTO and enjoy our young children while they have an amazing early educational experience, or do we prioritize our careers?  Because of our privilege and hard work, we can actually choose option number one.  And shouldn’t we use that luck to give our kids the best we can?

Most families require two working parents in this economy.  Personally, we could adjust our lifestyle and my husband or I could stay home with the kids.  Although we’re not the “live to work” types, we do get a lot of satisfaction from our jobs.  I think a lot of people would like to “have it all” – career, family, friends, comfort.  Struggling every day to find a balance is normal.

So when my kids demand I stop working and just be with them, I want to stop feeling guilt.  Instead, I want to just put the work aside and be in the moment with them.  And I want to feel fulfilled by that, having no regrets.  Life is short, tomorrow is not promised (add your own cliche here), so I’d rather be laughing and playing with my kids.  Soon, they won’t care so much about hanging out with me, so I better enjoy it while it lasts!


His name is Karl.  I was 18 and it was the summer before heading off to college about an hour away from my childhood home.  We met one day while my best friend and I strolled around Buttonwood park.  He was playing basketball with friends and he went out of his way to approach us.  We talked, exchanged numbers, and started “dating”.

Our first date was a party he was having with friends.  He was a few years older and actually owned his home – his parents had died and he was on his own.  There was alcohol, but that wasn’t really interesting to me at the time, because although Karl was nice, attentive, and attractive, I was still afraid of boys and always tried to be at least a little bit responsible when I was in new situations.  At some point, he challendged me to a “play wrestling match”, and in hindsight, it’s pretty clear he enjoyed pinning me to the ground a bit too much.  My friend really didn’t like him after that, but I didn’t heed her gentle warnings.  I liked him.

We spent more time together, but he was mostly into having a physical relationship that I wasn’t ready for.  We didn’t even know each other that well.  I remember a conversation we had on AOL where I admitted I was a virgin and he “joked” that he could help me with that “problem”.  Oh look, another red flag!

However, I did see him again, and he was buzzed and we were making out and I tried a few times (unsuccessfully) to slow it down, and I finally said, “Stop! You’re scaring me!”. And it worked.  He stopped.  I rushed out and he chased me out into the rain, begging forgiveness and hugging and kissing me gently.  I accepted his apology, but still left, explaining we could talk about it the next day.

I don’t recall the follow up conversations, but I forgave him and saw him a few more times.  The last time I saw him, we went for a walk until sunset, then went back to his home.  He led me to the bedroom and we cuddled, got undressed and started doing some things I had no idea how to do.  It was overwhelming.  I felt awkward, rushed, excited, and more awkward.  Then he was on top of me and I was saying “no” repeatedly.  He was between my legs, begging, saying things like “just the tip” and I kept saying “no” but he didn’t move.  Finally, I think I shut down and I just stopped saying no and I guess he thought that was as good as saying yes, because after a minute or two, I was no longer a virgin.  I hated it.  I was sad.  I had hoped he cared about me, but I was wrong.  

It was unprotected sex, though I was on the pill, and he even asked if he could finish inside me, and luckily I had enough presence of mind to firmly say no and he actually listened.  He left the room and came back with wet paper towels for me, saying I should go because he needed to get some sleep before work the next day.  I was stunned.  Confused.  Pissed off.  But I left.

I think I considered reporting it, but drove myself home, showered, and went to bed.  I don’t think I ever cried.  I was just mad – at him and at myself.  Sure, I never once said “yes”, but why had I stopped saying “no”?   After all this time, I’m sure it wouldn’t have mattered, but I beat myself up for years about that.
I think a week or so went by before he contacted me.  I ignored him.  He contacted me again maybe 6 months after that, to which I replied with something like, “Are you fucking kidding me? Fuck off.”

And I buried it.  I didn’t consider that my “first time”.  I just pretended it didn’t happen.  And I let other guys treat me like shit for at least a few years after that.  I considered my (now) husband a gentleman when he seemed to consider putting my hand in his lap, but then stopped himself, one of the first times we made out. He was actually picking up on my signals and respecting boundaries and that was shocking to me.  I didn’t know that was possible.  As a mother now, that makes me really sad.  But also glad, in a way, that I recognized the good in my husband and made myself give a good guy a chance after a string of assholes.

Up until this year, only my best friend knew what happened.  After the birth of our daughter and son, I think about my experiences more.  I think about the things I would do to protect my kids, or avenge them, heaven forbid. When I share that with my husband, he doesn’t understand.  So I finally opened up and shared a bit of this story with him.  We’ve been together for 12 years, and I’ve never told him before that my first time was actually date rape.  He understands me better now and I love him for his support and for what an outstanding father he is.  For how deep his love is for me.

And now I wonder, does Karl have kids too?  What will he teach his son about love and respect?  Will he ever worry that some man will treat his daughter the way he treated me that night?  Does he have regrets?

How to Avoid Politics and Religion

​You hear it all the time – when you’re gathering with family for the holidays, going on a first date, getting a drink with colleagues – it’s best to avoid discussions of politics and religion.  On a grander scheme this means; don’t talk about things that make people uncomfortable.  So how do we avoid it?  Can we avoid it?  Should we avoid it?  And with everything being related to some social media outlet or another these days, how much should we emotionally invest in discourse with strangers over uncomfortable subjects?

I challenge you to “bring it”.  It’s hard, it’s frightening, it can even make you feel like you’re losing brain cells.  But what’s the alternative?  That nobody’s opinions ever be challenged?  That people are no longer asked to grow and change?  To evolve?

Don’t get me wrong, I do not believe that a simple online “conversation” or talking with a relative over a beautiful holiday meal is going to be a life-altering event for most people, most of the time.  People don’t like change, especially if we are asking people to change their set belief system, which is something that has grown and developed with them since birth.  But maybe it’s time to adjust our approach.  Maybe the white girl bringing home her new Asian/African/insert-your-minority-of-choice-here boyfriend doesn’t have to change the minds and hearts of her aging grandparents who still believe that mixing races is a bad thing.  Maybe the homosexual young man introducing his partner to his work colleagues doesn’t have to convince the Christians in the group that there’s nothing wrong with his “lifestyle”.  Maybe it’s time to look to the fringes.  The people “on the fence”.  The kids in the room looking for role models.

If we are to take that approach, maybe we can have some positive impact.  As a parent, I believe in the next generation.  I believe it’s our chance to make things right for this country and this world because, thankfully, kids are flexible.  And as someone who identifies as a tree-hugging hippie bleeding heart liberal, I know my strong opinions are easily met by others with strong (opposing) opinions and that those people are not as willing to truly hear what I’m saying.  But what about the people around you?  Maybe people listening to your debate are undecided and hearing the two sides of the argument is educational for them.  Maybe it makes them want to learn more, to find information for themselves, to think critically and reach their own conclusions.

It’s easier to become mad and defensive and to shut down.  It’s easier to see a friend or family member’s online post that is in direct opposition to your views as a personal attack and a reason to remove them from your “friend” list.  It’s easier to shake your head angrily, remind yourself why you never bother talking to them about such things, and let it bother you for hours or days on end.  Perhaps, instead, we can see it as an opportunity to share.  To share our experiences, information we’ve gathered, or to link those people with other people who are better equipped to have the conversation.  And if you can’t impact the person you’re speaking with, look to the fringes.  Who is watching?  Can you calmly and intelligently voice your opinion in a way that leaves them wanting more?  Can you spark that desire to learn, decide, and then become another advocate for your cause?

Because you know who can?  The “alt-right”, the Neo-Nazis, the terrorists.  Of course, there is a different motivation for feeding impressionable minds with bits of hate to convert them to a specific cause.  But can’t those of us who preach love and peace and unity learn something from this?  Shouldn’t we be recognizing opportunities to feed those minds with bits of love, acceptance and respect?  Shouldn’t we be setting an example by volunteering, showing up to vote, getting involved in local politics, attending worship services that invite spirituality and equality, becoming a foster parent, joining the armed forces to protect American freedoms for all, and a whole host of other vital ways to better spend our time?

In the digital age, all we want to do is surf the internet, post an article on social media that has not been fact-checked (but goes along with our belief system, so it must be right), and then argue about it with friends, family and perfect strangers.  I challenge you to “bring it”.  Find a news source that is at least a little bit impartial, do your own extensive research to learn about issues that intrigue you, share that information in a way that is meaningful and impactful, and then actually do something about it.

So how to avoid politics and religion?  You can’t.  They are the building blocks of civilization, for better or for worse.  However, you can change the way you approach these and other uncomfortable subjects, which in turn may inspire others to change as well.  And if we can do that, we’ve already taken the next step to enlightenment and a true connection with our fellow man.

He said, she said…

I’m sure you know what they say about opinions. And every mom can tell horror stories about some kind person giving them advise and how it made steam blow out of their ears. Probably every dad too.  So maybe this topic has been beaten to death, but I’d like to share some responses you may like to use yourself.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself after having two kids, back to back, with only three months between pregnancies, is that I’m not as nice as I thought I was.  I used to always have a calm, thoughtful response to most everything life put in my path.  Now, I just don’t have the emotional resources to put up with everyone’s bullshit.  So, although I have yet to completely snap and say these things out loud, here are my deep dark thoughts on your silly comments about my life as a mother.

“Oh Jess, you look so tired!”
Wrong. I don’t just look tired, I am, in fact, very, very tired.  Each day, I take care of little humans, dogs, chickens, gardens, our home, the laundry, the dishes, and every single meal.  I also have a highly stressful, wildly rewarding job.  Most nights, when the kids are in bed, I log back in and work some more, after already logging 8 hours that day.  There’s also chores to do, plus this blog I’m writing.  Oh, and my little guy is still not sleeping through the night.  So, no, I don’t look tired.  This is just how I look.  And I’m exhausted.

“Wow, this house is a mess!”
Yup! Sure is!  And you know what my standard is now?  As long as there are no leaves tracked in by the dogs that my son can put in his mouth and choke on, again, we’re in good shape!  Scariest 30 seconds of my life.  Bought a Roomba.

If that standard is too low, we’d love a gift certificate for a cleaning service!  In that brief period between pregnancies, we could afford a cleaning service twice a month.  Do you know, I was so foolish that I terminated that service because they “didn’t do as good of a job as I would.”?  Damn.  Talk about first world white lady problems.

“You know, sometimes I even forget you have kids!”
Oh, we know.

“I don’t know how you do it!”
Huh… Do we have a choice at this point?

You know how we do it?  One moment, one challenge, one glass of wine at a time.  And we love every second of it.  We wouldn’t give any of it back or change a thing.  Do you understand the painful love a parent has for a child and how it changes everything, but that’s how we want it to be?

It’s ok.  Our hearts are big enough to let all this go, even if my face indicates otherwise sometimes.  And we know you’ll forgive us too, for not being the perfect family member or friend, because your hearts are big enough too and we know you love us.

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