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adventuresinmomming · 7 years ago

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Japan

Have you heard about our honeymoon in Japan? Did you know our oldest daughter’s middle name is Japanese? Have you seen us Instagram Japanese food or pictures of us at the Bon Ordori festival? Heard us nod to the fact our youngest was conceived there or my husband joke I’m not only an NPR fan, but also an NHK fan? Seen me wear my Totoro t-shirt or watched a Ghibli movie with us? If you know our family at all, you must have at least a hunch that we love traveling to Japan and many aspects of Japanese culture, but it wasn’t always that way.

Six years ago, I knew little about Japan. My husband had a curiosity for Japanese culture, but it’s not something we talked much about until we became pregnant. With such a common last name, we wanted our daughter to have something unique. My husband mentioned a few Japanese names, and we settled on Asa for her middle name.

A few months after our daughter was born, we got engaged and started planning our wedding and honeymoon. I’d had an opportunity to travel to Europe a few times when I was younger, but my husband hadn’t been out of the country. With this in mind, I suggested Japan for our honeymoon, and our first trip to Japan was set in motion.

We planned minimally for our trip with a toddler to care for and a wedding to plan at the same time. I didn’t know how I’d feel or what to expect. I prepared for some culture shock, which did come part way through our trip, but what I didn’t prepare for was how much the trip would change me.

We arrived after a day of travel and 13 hours in flight. I stepped onto a train platform and toed into Japanese culture as you would test out the water before a swim. I found myself unexpectedly submerged and pleasantly surprised and decided to linger awhile.

First, I noticed the beauty. Origami on the bed when we walked in. A rock garden at our airport hotel. Trees everywhere. Old, ornate structures on vibrant streets filled with the modern. Tori gates. Riverside family picnics. Old, preserved farm houses. Patinaed statues. Works of art on a plate.

The food. Oh my, the food. Restaurant upon restaurant built out and up almost every street in the cities, most smaller than my family room, with street vendor and konbini food lurking around the corners. Soul warming ramen, tempura, udon, gyudon, karage, many things of which I don’t know the names, and yes, sushi. And the sweets. Coffee shops with pancake masterpieces, milk donuts and beautifully decorated cakes. Japanese food became our “soul” food, breathing life into us.

Japan reawakened a spiritual light within me. I found God in soaring Tori gates, hand washing and bowing rituals, in people writing hopes for blessings on trinkets left to hang in the wind with the hopes that what was written would be brought to life, in the old wooden structures with vibrant paint and in a large buddha statue we visited in an ocean town in the rain.

It was in that small ocean town, where we walked upstairs to a small restaurant and our lack of Japanese speaking skills became suddenly and clearly apparent. But, it didn’t matter. We were welcomed in kindly. We got lost three times on this trip. Each time someone stopped us to help us without us uttering a word. A lady we had just met through an acquaintance, let us get into her car and drove us to the most amazing local spot to experience an old Japanese farm house and local art. Another acquaintance through a mutual friend then showed us around the town for the rest of the day, taking us to an amazing local tea and coffee house and out to dinner. It became my favorite day of the trip. One of our first nights there, we timidly walked past a Ramen shop outside a subway station. The Ramen chefs caught our eye and encouraged us to come on in and move past our fear. Throughout our trip we were met with similar kindness and hospitality.

A little more than a week after we toed into Japan, we boarded our flight home. I don’t think I quite understood the impact Japan had made on me, until we returned. When we got back, we missed Japan and found ways to integrate it into our lives here. Trips to the local Japanese family-run groceries and restaurants for Japanese food. Attending the local Japanese festival, watching Ghibli films and listening to current Japanese music with our daughter, and playing NHK on the TV. We were brought to the point of looking for jobs in Japan so we could more deeply experience life there. After a lot of research, we determined it wasn’t the right time for us, so we went back on another trip instead. This time we traveled farther, got bolder, and let ourselves experience it all over again.

When we returned from this second trip, our oldest daughter made us promise we would never leave her behind on a trip to Japan again. It’s after her first year of kindergarten in a Japanese language immersion program, that we’ve decided to go back so we can experience Japan with her. She’s been exposed to a lot of Japanese culture through us and through school, but I still have no idea how she will react. It can be a lot to take in when everything feels so different and your body think it’s night when it’s day. Of course, I want her to be proud of how much Japanese she’s learned and to see and hear it being spoken as a primary language. I’m excited for her to see what she’s been learning about first-hand, making it real to her. And, yes, I’m secretly wishing that she loves Japan as much as we do, and I get to witness her joy first hand. But, my truest hope is that it expands her thinking of what this world is and can be. That she sees there are many ways of thinking and acting, and that there is no one right way. That it moves her past any fears she has of “different” or “unknown.” And that there is awe, wonder, beauty, excitement and adventure to experience if we just step out of our comfort zone. That possibilities are limitless, if only she can just imagine them.

I think this truest hope is the reason I fell in love with Japan in the first place, because it did all of those things for me. And, so now you know “why Japan?”, at least for me.

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adventuresinmomming · 7 years ago

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Downward Dog Your Face Off

Onnit boot camp day #3 > 30 min BJJ drills > 2 mi run > #Japan2018

When my husband and I realized that today’s boot camp class was yoga, we let out a sigh of relief for what we envisioned as 60 minutes of deep breathing, healing stretching and meditative states -- a restorative rest day.

That is exactly what it was like...for the first two minutes. Thirty minutes in, sweat dripped at a steady rate from my flushed face to the mat. As the instructor reminded me to focus on my breath, and just “do what I can and that’s alright” I had to let my knees hit the mat for a few moments from the downward dog to plank pose we had been working on. I had been blindsided by this workout. This was by far the hardest day of the boot camp yet.

A little while later, he introduced a move that set my leg on fire. Maybe I haven’t been stretching right my whole life, because I had never experienced a stretch that had the intensity of a fatigued muscle before. This was a burn usually reserved for after I’d done 8 back-to-back rounds of bicycle crunches like we’d done in the workout the day before. The pictures in this post are of me in this pose. It doesn’t look intimidating, but it was by far the most painful pose we did.

As we continued this pose for far longer than I’d ever desire, the instructor says, “some discomfort now is better than the result of not addressing the discomfort”, and then asks me to “observe how you react to the discomfort - do you get angry at it, try to run from it, hide from it, or try to ease into calm through the discomfort.” That’s when the workout became a therapy session. How was I reacting? I was hyper-focused on the burn. I decided I’d rather try to accept it and focus on my breath. This is what I did for the rest of the workout.

Toward the end of the workout and without prompting, my mind wandered to a place of gratitude. I did a silent thanks for our new home, the garage space and mats to make these workouts a reality, and the time I’d been able to make in my days to refocus on my health and fitness. We did a facilitator prompted moment of gratitude at the end of the workout. I had forgotten this was part of many yoga sessions. I think it’s interesting that my mind went there on it’s own, and I wonder if there is a natural correlation between yoga practice and gratitude.

Similarly, for how difficult the workout was for me, it ended with my mind in a complete state of meditative calm. It had become my favorite workout in the series so far. The workout had been healing, meditative and restorative. I now realize that my assumption that “healing, meditative and restorative” also meant “easy” was wrong. After all, aren’t these some of the hardest won states of being in life?

With some trepidation, I can’t wait to see what day 4 of the boot camp holds.

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adventuresinmomming · 7 years ago

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Odesza

I did something new last night. I went to an Odesza concert. I’ve never been to an electronic music (EDM) concert. I was expecting some DJ action and bright lights to some songs I’ve come to know and love through my husband. What I got was so, so much more. Here’s the good and bad.

The good:

The Odesza concert is an EXPERIENCE, a total assault on the senses in all the best ways possible. They have video imagery, lights, lasers, projections, live trombones, an amazing drumline (my favorite part of the show) and, yes, even confetti canons. Everything was perfectly synchronized to the music. Each song was a complete journey designed to elicit specific feelings, mesmerize you and get you moving to the music, even if you aren’t usually a swayer or dancer. This is my favorite show I’ve ever been too.

We got to the concert early to get good seats - it was a sold out show with general admission. Waiting for the main event, I was introduced to an artist that I like as much as Odesza - a rare occurrence for me in opening acts. He goes by Kasbo. As soon as he started, his music gave me that feeling that’s the whole reason I go to concerts - the reminder that I’m still a live and that life has so much more meaning than the superficial. He came off as a genuine spirit who truly seemed to enjoy what he was his doing, and his music sits nicely right into the EDM I like - mellow beats, great use of vocals and instrumentation with positive lyrics or that elicit a positive feeling.

The bad:

This concert had some of the normal stuff that you can interpret as bad based on your life views, including lots of drug use. I expected this, since it’s fairly typical at concerts.

There was one thing I wasn’t expecting though and it ended up distracting heavily from the whole experience - concert goers who continually insisted on pushing to the front. We had admissions for the seated area, but there were no assigned seats. We got there early to get very good seats and sat in them for the 2.5 hours leading up to the concert to keep them. As soon as the music started, a rush came and never stopped. We were constantly competing to keep our seats since we choose aisle seats. Security, instead of forcing the “rushers” to leave, basically just told them they had to fit into a row, so they would just try to squeeze into us, not solving anything. In other concerts I’ve seen security stand IN the aisle to keep this to a minimum. It doesn’t help to let people stay by “squishing” in. I could see this in an open area without seating, but not seated rows.

The bottom line:

I’d go again in a heartbeat. They are playing Nashville this weekend, and if we didn’t have to be grownups, I’d already be on my way there. But, this time, I’d sit or stand in the middle or shell our for VIP.

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adventuresinmomming · 7 years ago

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Remember when I asked you for empowering terms for women...here’s why

A little over a month ago I asked on Facebook for your input in a branding exercise. I needed your help brainstorming terms for women (other than lady or woman) that describe a strong, empowered female without negative connotations. You may be wondering why? What for? Well, I’m doing a thing. I have a new passion project: boudoir photography. There. I said it (err wrote it). Are you surprised? Here’s what happened.

A few years ago, I discovered boudoir photography and set a goal to do it one day. Like many woman, my first thought was to do this for my husband. I’ve done my research, and this is how it starts for many women. Well, some day came and went. I wasn’t skinny enough, was too scared, and had a lot of excuses. Then, I just decided to do it. Yeah, great, that’s awesome, I hear you thinking. But, here’s the real thing - it changed me, in very unexpected ways. I felt like I saw myself for the first time. Who I actually am, not the vision in my head, not myself as a mom or instructional designer, not who anyone else wanted me to be, but me. It captured my spirit, it captured my soul. And here’s the thing, I was hot, sensual, powerful. Seriously, I could rule the world. I was a rebel. I was confident. I was going to do things my way. Then an even more unexpected thing happened. I took ownership of myself. Fully. Bagage I had been carrying around for a long time, about how I was supposed to be as a woman literally fell to the floor (pun intended). I owned my sexuality and my identity in a way I’ve never been able to. I finally felt comfortable in my own skin, and this was not a short-term feeling. It’s stuck with me ever sense.

Then, I got this crazy idea. I wanted to help other women feel the way I felt. The world needs more empowered woman, more woman comfortable with themselves, more woman who feel joy about their own bodies, more woman who understand they are made to be confident, strong and powerful. So, I started to learn about boudoir photography. I started to learn about the process and how to make it an amazing, positive experience for other woman. I studied poses. I researched other photographers. I developed a vision with my husband. Our goal - create an experience that empowers woman by capturing them, their personality, their spirit and what makes them unique. We wanted to create not a shoot but an experience that was all about the woman being photographed, not about what the world thinks is sexy or beautiful or powerful, but about what they do.

Then, we decided to make it happen. We reached out to some friends who we thought might be open to the idea. We lucked out and an amazing woman, Kimberly Brookshire, actually said yes. You guys, this is a woman who was the first woman to YoYo the Mountain to Sea trail and the third person ever to do it. She is now this very week going to hike the PCT trail. I was so excited to get to work with her, and bring out her passion for hiking in our shoot.

Well, that shoot is now in the books. We’ve shared the best photos with Kimberly and talked with her about her experience. I asked her if she’d be willing to write about her experience for me, she agreed and here’s what she had to say:

Kristina and Terry truly captured the real me in this boudoir photo shoot. It’s a lot more than just being in a room half naked that helps them achieve these beautiful photographs. It’s about how from the first moment I was presented with this opportunity, the professionalism they showed and by the way they wanted to capture my vision for the shoot. This photo shoot was about making me feel empowered and self-confident, creating a safe and calm environment to be myself in, and taking the time to really get to know me beforehand. They both made sure I felt comfortable with them and walked me through the process. They asked me what music I like and if I’d need to bring a friend to help me feel more at ease, as well as props that were significant to me and my life. Everything from before the photo shoot was done with professionalism and excitement. The day of the photo shoot was just as luxurious. From the professional hair and make-up artist that was friendly and quick, to the complimentary champagne poured for me to help me relax and get cozy. I immediately felt free to be myself in front of the camera. I felt empowered, strong and beautiful all while prancing around in cute lingerie, oversized sweaters and my favorite tee. I had an amazing experience with Kristina and Terry and would recommend them to anyone who wants to feel like the best versions of themselves. The photos turned out fantastic! They show my silly side and my strong side! I can’t wait to hang a few of them up around my apartment as works of art and tell people how gorgeous I felt.

If you’re curious, you can see photographs from Kimberly’s shoot and some shots of yours truly, on our boudoir-specific Instagram handle: carpediemboudoir.

So, now I have a few questions for all my fellow women reading this right now. When is the last time you loved your body? Felt empowered in it? Felt sexy, confident and strong? Felt like you had it all going on? Has it been a long time? Maybe you’ve never felt any of these things? Do you know how beautiful you are in this very moment? Do you know how innately powerful you are? If you were like me, you absolutely do not, and I know it sounds impossible or crazy, but a simple photo shoot can absolutely change you. We are doing this thing. Let us know if you’d like to come on the journey with us.

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adventuresinmomming · 7 years ago

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Welcome Home

Well, we did it. Today is my husband’s birthday, and I find myself sitting on a new couch with a different view. I thought this day would never come.

We bought our house more than a decade ago now. It quickly became our trap. Our initial intentions were to keep the house for about five years and then to rent it out or sell it. Months after we bought it, the economy crashed. Our property fell tens of thousands of dollars and stayed there. We changed. Our hopes and dreams moved on. Our family grew. We stayed. I started to make a new plan. We’d be out by the time our daughter started Kindergarten.

The economy started to change again. Foreclosures in our area went down. People started to sell at a price that might just pay for the cost to sell our home, and then at a price where we might even make a profit. I started fantasizing about a new place. I would fall asleep at night envisioning a new home. I put every real estate app on my phone and started looking at it every night. But, nothing changed. What were once reasonably priced neighborhoods around us rocketed in price as our city continued to grow and housing shortages started. I could find nothing that felt like a good fit, and I didn’t really know where I wanted to live. Everywhere seemed too expensive or not safe enough or too far. And, since I literally felt trapped in our house, I started to have a hard time seeing why anyone else would want it and I feared it wouldn’t sell. I prioritized other life goals over a new home - exercise, travel and starting my own business. I was doing everything else I wanted to do, but I was feeling more and more confined and more and more depressed by our home.

Our oldest daughter started Kindergarten, but we were still in our old home. My husband suffered a major injury and surviving became my focus. Then, some of our friends in the neighborhood started moving. I was so very happy for them, but so devastated by the change. I went full charge into finding a new home. Once my husband was healed enough, we started looking at model homes on the weekend. My dreams for a new home grew bigger and bigger just about the time my husband and I realized just how difficult it would be for us to qualify for any home loan both being newly self-employed. I felt like we might be back at square one again.

Then, I had a crazy idea. Why not consider renting for a year? We could sell our house without having to live in it, try out a new neighborhood, get us in a new setting and give our businesses time to grow. I thought everyone would think it was crazy, but our friends gave us a lot of support. It is the best idea I’ve had in a long time.

We started looking at rentals. My husband stated his intent to be out of our house by his birthday. Having been stuck in the house injured for months, he didn’t want to stare at those walls one more year. I had a long list of requirements, and little did I know that the rental market was as competitive as the buying market. Often times, the home we’d just looked at actually already was in the leasing process with someone else. It didn’t matter though, because nothing seemed to be a good fit. The homes were too expensive, too far and often, not well enough maintained.

Then we started down a path I didn’t expect. First, we decided we’d just take a look at another townhouse instead of a single-family home. It was in a neighborhood we’d wanted to live in for a long time and it looked very nice. Shortly after we saw it, it was already in the leasing process with someone else, but it helped us decide that perhaps another townhouse is where we wanted to be and perhaps the neighborhood it was in was a good fit. So, we went on the hunt for a townhouse in that neighborhood. We found a handful with the help of our realtor, but none were an exact fit. They were smaller than we wanted or more expensive than we wanted or they wouldn’t take our pets.

Through a miscommunication, we ended up looking at a townhouse in the community we thought was going to be too small. It only had 500 sq ft more than our home rather than the 1000 we’d wanted and it only had two bedrooms. Our girls had never shared a room. The rent was a good fit. It was an end unit. So, we decided to just go ahead and take a look. To my own surprise, I started to change my mind about it quickly. It was actually my favorite rental we’d looked at when considering all factors. We moved quickly on it, with some apprehension. I mean it was so very different than what we had originally planned. Had we made the right decision?

We absolutely made the right decision. The first night we ate dinner in our new home, it already felt like home. It still feels like it’s exactly where we are meant to be at this moment. We have space. We have light. We have a community. It all just feels right. We may not own this space, but it feels more like my home than my actual home ever did.

I’ve learned a lot about myself in the process. If you would have asked me a few months ago if I would be living in a townhouse again, with one less bedroom instead of more, and renting instead of buying, I would have told you absolutely not. Somewhere in the process, I realized I was holding onto old dreams and trying to keep up with the Jones, instead of acknowledging who I am now and what actually makes me happy.

A rental makes me happy -- I stay if I want, I leave if I don’t want to stay. An urban setting is where I’m meant to be -- we take so many walks to actual places now. Many windows is a requirement instead of a million rooms. So much light. So much airflow. A dedicated office space trumps a smaller single-family home. Then instead of office desks, I actually want toys in between my couch and my kitchen. The girls play so much more often and so much more creatively with us all “living” in the same space. I don’t really care anymore what the company thinks of having all the toys so visible. I love “living” on the second floor instead of the first and keeping the door open to the second floor deck all day. I love that there is a little breakfast nook in the kitchen now where we all eat. We usually ate in our kitchen, but it always felt cramped. The girls sharing a room? At least for now, they like it, and I no longer have long bedtime routines as they have the comfort of knowing the other is there. Oh, and the garage. Who knew a garage could make such a huge difference? These things, these make me happy. These make this our space. Welcome home family welcome home.

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adventuresinmomming · 8 years ago

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one single, perfect photograph

That’s me, photographing a friend with a great spirit. This picture brings me so much joy for many reasons, but not the least of which is seeing myself behind the camera. You see, my whole adult life I’ve dreamed of being creative, artistic -- an artist really. I’ve found ways to make some of my more natural gifts work. I started pushing myself to be an imaginative, not just academic, instructional designer. I embraced that I am at my core a writer and started writing. I even had some success with both. The thing is, as far as I can tell, a picture really can say a 1,000 words. Neither instructional design nor writing allowed me to connect to others in the way I feel only a picture, or sculpture, or painting can.

On the other hand, my husband’s natural talent is visual design. It’s one of the things that’s always drawn me to him. So, when the idea of starting our own photography business started to brew, I threw my support into it. When I talk about it with clients, I call him the art and me the muscle. The thing is, I really, really want to be the art. The ability to capture someone’s or something’s spirit, soul and emotion, through one single, perfect photograph sets my own soul on fire. So, I’m working at this thing. I have a tendency to think I can’t do certain things. Not this time. This time I’m doing it anyway. This time, I believe I can do it even if it’s hard at first, even if I’m not the best at first. I just know that right now, right at this moment in my life, I’m meant to be doing this and learning this and experiencing this.

I’m still timid about the skill I’m developing. I still rely on my husband too much to be the art and to know the technical skills. I only took a few photographs at this shoot, because my husband is the one with the best skills. But that short moment made me so happy. And then looking at the photos I took, yeah the composition still needs work, yeah I relied on the aperture setting instead of manual settings, but I could see my friend’s spirit. I had done something right. I’m on my way. I can feel it.

If you’re interested in seeing some of our work, you can follow us on Instagram @ronincaptures.

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adventuresinmomming · 8 years ago

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Run

頑張って (Ganbatte)

We use this word often in our house. It means, "Do your best" like, even when things suck. We especially say this to each other when we know something will be hard, we may not like it, we'll have to tame the mind and overcome. It's become one of my favorite words.

This is the thought my husband left me with as I went for my first outdoor run of 2018. It was all of the aforementioned, and this word running through my thoughts got me through.

I was reminded once again why exercise transforms. It's not just muscle or cardio strength gained, it's not the lost weight or even the improved health. It's the MENTAL strength built that most transforms us. If you've been a physically active person, you know that you constantly must break through walls. You are going to want to quit. When you are making the most progress you'll have to overcome your own thoughts constantly. You have to realize that to make that progress, you're going to have to endure what I like to call "the suck" for awhile. When you do this, when you stick with it or push past it, you prove to yourself you CAN do it. You gain confidence in yourself, in your abilities and you build grit to get through the suck.

When I used to pickup running again, it used to be all about weight. It's not about that. I choose to come back again and again, for the mental strength it builds in me. I've learned that when I'm pushing myself physically, I am able to push myself mentally. I need this in my life, because life is a lot like the run. You have to get used to the suck, and you have to meet pessimisim, the want to quit, with optimism. You have to smack down every thought that says you can't, and know you can.

Last year, I ran ~45 days and 150 miles. I also started BJJ. Goal this year is to double running and restart BJJ. Because folks, I want to do a lot of rad shit this year, and I'm going to need the mental strength to get there. Here's to 2018.

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adventuresinmomming · 8 years ago

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Let It Go

“Let it go, let it go, can’t hold it back anymore. Let it go, let it go…” is being song by an older woman, a little girl, a security guard, myself and an assortment of others passing by. We’re at Carowinds Winterfest and the hit song is playing for perhaps the third time. As my daughter spins round and round high in the air on a swing, I think about why the song is so popular. It’s a given that it has a catchy refrain, and it was tied to a mega Disney hit - that alone could have made it popular, but have you ever stopped to listen to the lyrics and then process the meaning behind them? Not hiding yourself, embracing who you are, foregoing what others think to be true to yourself and ultimately not giving a *uck. She’s basically giving a big middle finger to the world to come into her full being. This is what we all want. We want to be our true selves, our whole selves, and it’s my belief that’s what we are here in this world to offer. Then there is society, social norms, culture, a psychological and innate human need to fit in and a fear we won’t, lots of well meaning voices telling us what we should and shouldn’t do. If we let it, this will control us. The song is about breaking free to own yourself completely. I think that’s why we all know the song, it’s why we all sing it when we hear it, it’s why it’s so popular, because, deep down, it’s what we all want.

So, why write about this? I’ve decided it’s going to be my anthem for 2018 - it’s going to be the year I’m fearless. You may be thinking - haven’t you already done that? Well, yes, I’ve started, but anyone who has seen me with a drink or two down knows that the version you usually see of me is a highly inhabited, very self-conscious version of myself. No more. I’m letting the rest of that *hit go. You may have heard of people changing their lives by saying “yes” to everything. This year, I’m going to continually ask myself “What am I fearing right now? What would I do if I were fearless?” and then I’m going to do that. Well, I’m going to try. I think you should too. Here’s to a new year!

If you’re wondering - here’s the lyrics to ponder:

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight Not a footprint to be seen. A kingdom of isolation, and it looks like I’m the Queen The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside Couldn’t keep it in; Heaven knows I’ve tried

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see Be the good girl you always have to be Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know Well now they know

Let it go, let it go Can’t hold it back anymore

Let it go, let it go Turn away and slam the door I don’t care what they’re going to say Let the storm rage on. The cold never bothered me anyway

It’s funny how some distance Makes everything seem small And the fears that once controlled me Can’t get to me at all It’s time to see what I can do To test the limits and break through No right, no wrong, no rules for me, I’m free!

Let it go, let it go I am one with the wind and sky Let it go, let it go You’ll never see me cry Here I stand And here I’ll stay Let the storm rage on

My power flurries through the air into the ground My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast I’m never going back, the past is in the past

Let it go, let it go And I’ll rise like the break of dawn Let it go, let it go That perfect girl is gone Here I stand In the light of day Let the storm rage on

The cold never bothered me anyway!

Songwriters: Robert Lopez / Kristen Anderson-Lopez / Emanuel Kiriakou Let It Go lyrics © Walt Disney Music Company

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

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adventuresinmomming · 8 years ago

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Sight Words with a Side of Dread

I was feeling the pressure again. Five sight words a week. That’s all her teachers were asking we learn on our own at home. It seems simple at the start, but not even mid-way through the year our list has grown to over 50 words. Like with all learning, even though it’s only five added each week, new complications arise with each word added. Some can’t be sounded out at all. Some look alike. It’s easy to confuse letters that look alike when just starting to read. Beyond this, we were having to review the entire list of words each week. Not reviewing all the words meant some were forgotten or mixed up week to week. Reviewing them all meant homework time was getting longer and longer. With my daughter often dragging her feet when it came time to run through the list, it was starting to take 20-30 minutes each time, and with my fear she was getting behind, we had gone from one to 2-3 review sessions a weeknight.

It was in front of this backdrop that I found myself once again frustrated, nearing bedtime, trying to force my daughter to spit out the words she knew and admit the ones she didn’t know. Each week she was tested on the growing list and we wanted her to do well. This week she didn’t know four out of the five new words, despite a lot of repetitive review sessions, and on top of that, she was having a hard time with a bunch of the words she used to know, and test day was approaching. The night ended in yelling and tears.

Already planning to make some changes, I decided to take a different approach the next night. I asked her, would she rather try to go through them like flash-cards, which would be faster, or make it like a game, which would take longer. She choose the game approach. That’s when I realized I’d been doing everything wrong. So focused on doing well on the test each week, I’d encouraged short-term results instead of setting her up for long-term success. Let’s ask ourselves an honest question about this whole situation - does it actually matter whether or not she’s able to learn five words a week or is it more important that she works on it every day to improve from where she’d started the day before? Beyond that, does everyone learn at the same pace or in the same way? Even if you aren’t an educator, you know the answer is no. What takes one kid a day to learn might take another kid two weeks to learn. A rote approach might work with some, but a more creative approach might be needed with others. I was trying to strong arm my daughter into learning faster when I know she’s going to learn at the pace she’s capable of or worse, slower, if I make her hate, fear or dread it. So, I resolved to do a few things: we’ll do one review session a night, we are going to make it fun and sometimes creative, we will not focus on her test scores, instead we’ll focus on her effort and meaningful progress: Did she give it her all? Did she use a new critical thinking skill? Recognize a pattern she hadn’t before? Did she use any creativity to recognize a new word? Come with a positive attitude? Stay positive when she would have previously gotten frustrated? Did she move a few more words into longer-term memory?. We’re making some more changes too to encourage learning and discourage some bad habits we are guilty of, like too much screen time, to make sure she has plenty of opportunities to learn through play.

I’m not sure yet how this is going to go over with her teachers. I don’t know how this fits into what we’ve come to think of as education in this society - good test scores and good grades for memorization, everything measured on a standard rubric of where our system feels you should be/know at each grade level. I realize now that’s part of why I was pushing her so hard, because I know there will be an assessment, a grade and then a judgement by our school system. I just think there has to be a better way than focusing on the grade, so for now, we’re going to take the long way round and hopefully at the end we’ll have a little girl who loves to read instead of dreads it and who knows she can learn any word she wants, instead of fearing she can’t learn any.

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adventuresinmomming · 8 years ago

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Motor Speedway Light Show

Prompted by an invite from a friend, we attended the Charlotte Motor Speedway Light Show tonight. Everyone gave it a "definitely do again next year."

Here's what we loved:

*Tons of lights. The first half is largely animated lights, like Santa skiing and falling in a snowbank, and the second half is timed lights (and amazing tunnels of timed lights) to music on an FM station. It even had our 1 year old excitedly trying to express herself and our almost 6 year old told us she wants to live there.

*The Christmas Village was not as expensive or as busy as I expected. We took pictures with Santa, went on a horse drawn carriage ride, feed animals at the petting zoo, took pictures in fake snow and roasted marshmallows over a "camp fire" aka fire pit. With all that we didn't even do everything. You can also shop, eat, go through a Bethlehem Village, ride a small train, ride a pony, go on an amusement park ride and go in a jump house. We barely waited in line for any of this and compared to other similar experiences, we felt it was reasonably priced.

*Before we knew it, we'd spent over 3 hours at the light show! While it definitely wasn't free or "bargain prices", I felt it was reasonably priced. We paid $40 entrance for our car on a fast pass and a little less than $40 in the village - this includes pics with Santa and a "splurge" on the carriage ride which was over half that amount. That covered a family of 4. Many of the activities were inexpensive - you could get a small cup of animal feed for $2 and roasting marshmallows was also only $2.

Here are my tips for a good trip:

*It's open on weekdays, but the village is only open Thur-Sun. I think the village is totally worth going on the weekend.

*Its open from 6-10, but I suggest arriving a little before 6 and spending the extra $10 for a fast pass (normal pass for a car is $30, fast pass for a car is $40, for a van $50). We had friends that went the regular pass route, which is the reason I know the fast pass saved us over an hour wait for entrance into the show. I suggest going early, because all entrance lines were much longer when we were leaving.

*Bring cash for the village, as many of the vendors only take cash.

*If you don't mind not getting digital copies or a "package", Santa was great, the line wasn't bad at all and you can get 1 picture for $10, 2 for $15. Anyone that's been to a mall lately to see Santa knows that's a steal.

*Definitely tune into the radio station suggested. The lights are timed into that music and it's awesome.

Other thoughts:

*They also air a movie on their big screen you can tune in and watch.

*We bought our entrance ticket online, but you can buy there too. The site says the pricing reflects Friday and Saturday pricing.

*It might be worth checking out on a Thur or Sun night when the village is still open, perhaps entrance is cheaper, but it's not clear from the site.

*You drive through the actual show. It's huge! You park and walk the village after going a pretty good way through the show. If you don't want to go to the village, you can just continue driving through the rest of the show without stopping.

*I think this may be obvious to some, but I thought I'd throw it out there because I wasn't necessarily expecting it, this is a Christmas light show, not a holiday lights show. It isn't inclusive of other holidays that occur during the holiday season and it isn't removed from the religious reason for Christmas like a lot of other holiday stuff is, for example many of the songs used in the light show are timed to modern Christian Christmas songs, there is a Nativity scene in the village, etc. Just something to know as you decide if the event is right for you and your family.

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adventuresinmomming · 8 years ago

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The moment that changed everything

I can’t breath. Where am I? I can’t breath. What is going on? Am I drowning? Maybe I’m suffocating? I can’t breath. Close eyes. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Open eyes.

I’m in the doctor’s office. Again. This time for what we hope will be the last time we see the surgeon about my husband’s knee. He’s sustained a major injury to it and already had surgery on it. I can’t breath, because I fear he will require another surgery to reduce scar tissue and increase mobility. The reports from his physical therapists haven’t been overly positive. I don’t know if I can do this all over again.

This summer was one of the peaks in my life. We decided to take another step toward our dream lifestyle when my husband left his job to pursue freelance work with me. I was coming off having lots of work, he had a few immediate projects. The increased flexibility allowed us the freedom to visit family, work on ourselves, run every day, get some extra BJJ in and dream about what else we’d like to do, like pull in projects together, travel and write.

It was on this high that my husband participated in his first BJJ competition. I have a picture of him from right before he started to take the mat for his matches. He looks the healthiest and happiest I’ve seen in recent years. Watching the competition was really motivating for me too and made me want to pursue BJJ even more seriously. I was walking around the competition area to keep our youngest entertained when everything changed.

I was keeping an eye on my husband’s match from afar when suddenly I could no longer see him. I looked into the crowd at our friends attending the competition. The look on my husband’s best friend’s face said everything. I ran to the mat and found my husband surrounded by his teammates. When he didn’t stand on his own, I knew just how serious this was going to be. As his teammates looked up the closest hospital we could bring him to in-network, reassured me and splinted his leg, I stood in shock.

My husband’s teammates got him up and to the car, which I’d rushed to pull to the front of the building. I took my youngest back from our friend who watched her during the mad dash, and asked if they could follow us to the hospital. The location of the match must have been a bad cell area, because both of our phones were almost dead. We watched the battery dwindle down and the turn-by-turn directions with it, as we approached the hospital. My husband bit down on his gi in pain. I’d never seen him in so much agony.

The ER visit was uneventful. There were no broken bones, so a better diagnosis would have to wait until we could see an orthopedics specialist, which they recommended we do asap. At some point during our two hour time in the ER, we switched cars with our friends, and they brought our girls back to our home. When we switched cars, our friend had offered to run out and get gas for his since it was on E. Being in a populated area and wanting to get the girls back to somewhere they’d be comfortable, I told him I’d do it. No big deal. Our phones already being dead at this point, we drove around a very populated area for over 15 minutes trying to find a gas station after my husband was released. All I could think about was what the hell I’d do with no phone and an injured husband if we ran out of gas. With relief, we spotted a station and filled the car.

We got home after 9 and thanked our friends profusely. I got the youngest to bed, setup the oldest in a makeshift bed on the couch and ran to get my husband’s pain medications from one of the only pharmacies still open in the area. We had just missed some of the other pharmacies closing. Exhausted, I drove to the pharmacy a little before 10. The whole night was an exercise in Murphy’s Law. At the drug store, I picked up a pizza and ice cream to go along with the pain medications as I waited.

Back home in 30 minutes, my husband and I proceeded to drown our stress with food and updated friends as the clock struck midnight. Little did we know, this was just the beginning. Reality started to sink in. With an instance, one wrong move, our lives had been tipped upside down. My husband’s a great partner. We do almost everything together or to support each other. Everything was now mine to own. Caring for the girls. Maintaining the house. Guiding our oldest through the start of Kindergarten. Keeping income coming into our family. And now, I was also caring for this typically fiercely independent man.

A month passed as we saw the orthopedic specialist, got an MRI and was directed to a specialist who focused on what we learned was my husband’s very complex injury. We made it through this time with the hope that we were moving toward an end solution that would fix his leg. The last specialist told us, a month having now past, we now needed to rush into a surgery to get the best results. This was infuriating and a relief at the same time. On the one hand, we had done nothing to slow the process. It had taken a month, because that’s how long it took our medical system to get us to this point. We had to see a specialist, wait for an MRI opening, wait to see the specialist again, get handed-off to the specialist of the specialist. But, at least we were to the point of moving to recovery.

There was only a week between the first meeting with the right specialist and the scheduled surgery. It was the worst week of my life. The specialist’s nurse mentioned something to us on our way out (after we asked) about where the surgery is performed. We realized it was out-of-network. We wrongly assumed, they would work on our behalf to get the required approvals. As the surgery approached nearer, my husband decided to check on approvals and our costs. We got three different answers. One from the insurance company, one from the specialist’s office and one from the hospital. We spent hours on the phone with each, to finally realize if my husband went through with the surgery, we’d likely be on the hook for the full $250,000 cost of it. Yes, a quarter of a million dollars for one surgery. If we wouldn’t have started asking questions, we would have gone into the surgery unaware and had this bill on our shoulders after. The hospital said it’s happened to many before us. So, now we were faced with the hardest decision we’d made: keep the surgery and be $250,000+ in debt or cancel the surgery and risk my husband ever having proper mobility in his leg again. My husband reached out to some friends, and through their good guidance and graces we found the only other surgeon in our metro area who could do the surgery. By this time it was Friday after 5. For the first time, I truly understood the poor state of our healthcare in the states. It’s not like we were paying a minimal amount for insurance for our family. We were sinking thousands of dollars into it a year, for a plan that was currently failing us. I finally fully realized that this happens to so, so many people every year. Every report, news article, story I’d heard before on our failing system started to ring true.

During this time, we learned my husband had a blood clot in a voicemail left by hospital scheduling staff. Yes, we learned of a potentially ticking time bomb in a voicemail. With no direction on what to do, we worried through the weekend. Come Monday, we canceled the surgery and worked to get an immediate appointment with the surgeon we believed to be in-network and who had the skill needed to do the surgery. We were running out of time.

The surgeon wouldn’t see us until we saw a specialist about the blood clot. If you don’t know, having a blood clot is high risk during surgery. It can travel to the lungs or brain and cause serious complications, even death. We had no time. My husband needed the surgery now.

Our primary care provider was the most responsive, he’d see us that day about the clot. We saw him, he put my husband on the best blood thinner. Somewhere during that day the surgeon also agreed to see us. The next day we were sitting in the surgeon’s office. He let us know in a way nobody else had yet how extremely serious my husband’s injury was. One more tear and my husband would have been looking at a complete knee displacement and a chance of amputation.

Just like we thought, we needed to do the surgery as soon as possible and now we truly understood how bad the injury was. But, there was a hiccup. He wasn’t happy with our primary care giver’s direction. He needed someone to make a call on what to do about the blood clot. To his credit, he fit us into his schedule the following week under the condition we work out the blood clot on our own. He also ensured he communicated with our primary care physician about everything.

We got back on the phones with our primary care doctor who got us a hematologist referral. We anxiously awaited the call to schedule the appointment. When the hematologist office called, they wanted to schedule the appointment for two weeks out. Nobody had explained to the scheduler the urgency we were under. I pushed back hard, and she found us an appointment for late in the week far away. We took it. At this point I’m beyond frustrated with a few things: there seems to be no way to be expedited through our medical system when it’s needed (it requires coordination between separate entities that also don’t seem to always communicate well) and we were completely having to advocate for my husband ourselves. I pondered in disgust and a pit in my stomach about what it must be like for anyone with a more grave illness or complicated treatment plan. I now realized just a little bit what it must like.

It’s now a weekend before the surgery and we drive to the hematologists office. In one of the most humbling experiences of my life, we walk into a Cancer Specialists office. Apparently all oncologists are hematologists. Perspective was immediately served by the universe as I looked into faces of folks who were facing something much harder than us. Who may have been in the state of flux we were in for much longer, who may be currently fighting their insurance company for coverage, who’s family life was most certainly being impacted, who could be facing death. My husband and I sat in silence as we gave thanks for all that we did have, and asked forgiveness for ever feeling hopeless about our situation.

We meet with the hematologist. We were expecting him to have a plan for us. Instead, he had three options for us with a limited amount of information about the risks or insurance coverage of each. We would make the decision that could impact whether or not my husband had complications from the blood clot during surgery on our own right there and then. Each option had risks to my husband’s health and/or risks to potentially leaving us thousands of dollars in debt due to potential lack of gaining prior approvals. We finally pressed him to share what option he would choose if it was his life in question. We made a choice, and with everything out of our control at this point, drove home and waited for the surgery.

My parents came to help with our girls. I drove my husband to the hospital and sat with him as they prepped him for surgery. This was a big deal. This was not a 30-minute arthroscopic surgery. This was a 2-3 hour surgery, where they would open up my husband’s leg and rebuild 3 of of his ligaments. Over four hours into the surgery, I got word that it was complete and my husband had done well. The surgeon came to talk to me personally. A few portions of the surgery proved more difficult than planned, but he was confident in a good result. They were going to admit my husband overnight since it was now late in the day and the surgery had taken a long time.

I went up to see my husband. He was completely out of it. Over the next two hours he came out of the haze and walked straight into complete and utter pain. No nurse came to see us for those two hours. My voice with the CNAs and staff became more and more urgent and stern, less and less patient. By the time his nurse came in, my husband’s pain was so unmanageable they had to start him on three pain medicines over the next hour and a half to get it to where he was no longer screaming aloud. During this time, the nurse informed us we were in charge of his pain management. He could call for more pain medications when needed. This would not work, and we let her know. To her credit, she then took it upon herself to set a schedule of medications and try to preemptively provide them, weaning him off throughout the night as able. I stayed a little bit longer, but had to get back to our girls. Honestly worried about the staff’s responsiveness, I placed his phone in his pocket and told him to text or call if he had any issues. We touched-base around 4 am. It took the staff an hour to get to him to get him more water/ice, but he told me not to come until the morning.

Morning came, and I was back at the hospital. We were both ready to get out of there. We were released mid-morning, and started our current journey to recovery. For weeks my husband’s leg was locked at a 30 degree angle. He was to do nothing on it. Physical therapy was very passive. Any weight bearing would start in 6 weeks. I started the count down.

During this time we continued to have to advocate for my husband’s behalf and stay on top of every detail of his care. Even with this, somewhere during this time, I fell into a rhythm. Things started to seem less overwhelming, a bit less exhausting.

About 6 weeks in we had an appointment with the surgeon, where to our delight he gave us a good report. The knee was stable and now it was “go” time. Time to start weight bearing, time to get more aggressive with therapy. We celebrated.

Progress was slow. Some of my husband’s muscles refused to fire. We became discouraged with continued fair or poor reports for the physical therapists. After some back and forth, my husband was able to get a machine that stimulates his muscles that weren’t firing.

We started to see progress the week we had to visit the surgeon, which is why it felt like I was once again sinking as we waited in the surgeon’s office. He had already mentioned another surgery may be needed to remove scar tissue if not enough progress was shown. Had we made enough progress? I had started to get my partner back, as my husband become more mobile, more engaged in life again. I feared that would be taken away as quickly as it had come back.

Our surgeon’s view on my husband’s progress was better than the physical therapists’. He was even very encouraging, reminding us how far we’d come and how truly good my husband was doing. But. If progress didn’t quicken, he would like to do the arthroscopic surgery and manipulation to break up and remove scar tissue. So, we are back on the books for surgery just prior to year-end. My husband is doing everything he can to take that off the books. He’s gone down to one crutch, they’ve added more exercises to his routine and added more machines to do at home. We are trying to stay hopeful and positive, focusing on our dreams and his recovery. We have some fresh dreams brewing. I’m writing again. We are moving forward, even if it’s more slowly or is more difficult than we’d like.

I didn’t write after my husband’s injury. I didn’t have it in me. Sitting in that doctor’s office again, feeling those feelings of despair again, brought back some inspiration. I wanted to share with others my story, maybe help them through. If you are going through a difficult time in your life, know:

You are strong enough to get through it. What strength you feel you lack, you will build within yourself. Be patient with and kind to yourself. Have faith and confidence in yourself. It may take awhile, it may not be how you want, but you’ll make it through. You’ll learn things about yourself. You’ll learn you can do it.

And, who knows, maybe you’ll even discover a new dream or yourself. I have. More to come on that later.

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adventuresinmomming · 8 years ago

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Skydiving and a Walk on the Beach

After driving for two hours through winding country roads listening to static filled radio stations, we’d arrived at our destination to celebrate our friend’s birthday. We hoped out, stretched our legs and walked into a three-story building coincidentally located across from the local area hospital. I was expecting to walk in, sign some waivers limiting all liability and then step into a quick training session before suiting up. I’d been skydiving on a whim when I was younger, so I was excited about indoor skydiving, but not scared. I’d jumped out of a plane. This was a controlled environment with no jumping, so I was calm and honestly feeling a little cocky. That is until I walked in the front door. Right above the front desk for everyone to see where two TVs playing the indoor jumps live. On the screen, I saw a kid in a wind tunnel floating around with an instructor by his side, correcting him as he went to low or too close to a wall. The wind tunnel was clear and surrounded by bleachers where friends, family and others waiting for their own flights were all watching. Everyone would see. Everyone.

I completed my electronic waiver, waited for my friends and then followed the directions to go up to the third floor to wait. We planted ourselves on the bleachers, watching as several tweens and then a few skydiving acrobatic groups each went in the tunnel for their one-minute flights. I could feel the nerves of the group increasing as we chatted about what we were about to experience. “What happens if you get flipped on your back? Look at those skid marks on the walls, how did those get there? What’s beneath their feet – is that just a little mesh preventing them from falling into the tunnel? What’s above their heads? What happens if you accidentally float to the top? I laugh when I’m nervous. (laugh, laugh, laugh.) Would you ever jump out of an actual plane? Oh, you’re afraid of heights?” While some were talking through their fears, others where chewing on their fears silently. I was one of them. What I was watching, it was different from what I’d done before. Yes, jumping out of a plane is scary, but you are literally attached to a very experienced skydiver. That expert controls your movements, no skill is required on your part except to listen. Nobody sees you until you land on the ground, if you do look like a fool doing it.

Watching the other flights, I can see that some skill is required to have a good flight in the tunnel. I watch newbies struggle to keep themselves lifted in the air or control their bodies against the wind, the instructor gently correcting their body position and movement here and there. I start to get worried I’ll lack the skill needed and will look completely ridiculous in the tunnel. I think, “In the tunnel, you are exposed.” Everyone watches you as you look silly struggling to get lifted in the air or as you get a little worried you’re going to high. This is what I’m thinking when suddenly the instructor grabs hold of one the adults in flight and they rush up toward the top of the tunnel and back down. There is laughter from our group and I’m pretty sure I caught an “Oh, shit.” It looks amazing. I say, “I want to do that.”

“Two o’clock group? Who has wristbands?” says an instructor. That’s our cue. We’re lining up to go into the training room. We watch a brief video that teaches us the hand signals the instructor will be using. There is one for extending your legs farther, one for bending your legs more, one for lifting your chin up and one to “relax” – apparently these are the most common issues in the wind tunnel. The instructor reiterates, “Remain calm,” as the main takeaway from the video. At the front of the room there is a small table about hip height. The instructor lets us all know we’ll be building some muscle memory of the correct way to hold our bodies before going for our flights. Yes, in front of everyone. There is cute little boy who has apparently done this tons of times who hops up first, unaware of all the adults in the room dreading having to do this in front of everyone. Then, one by one we all file up to try out the position. On your belly, you hold your legs back and bent up. Your arms are forward, also slightly bent. Your head faces forward, chin held high. “Think Superman,” our instructor says. The instructor explains that you want to open your body upward to get the most air and best flight. I go up for my turn and do okay, but I am still very worried about being able to hold my body that way.

We go back up to the flight tunnel. We put on knee pads, flight suits, goggles, ear plugs and helmets. We take a few photos for later proof that we did it and then funnel into the flight bench area. The little boy goes first. He has not a worry, except getting to fly. The instructor takes him and holds onto his suit as he “flies.” Then, one by one we file in for our first one-minute flights. I sit watching the others in our group going. I’m proud as our friend who organized the whole trip for her birthday takes a step toward her dream of skydiving and does awesome in the tunnel. I clap loudly as my friend who fears heights enters the tunnel and DOES IT. I watch on nervously as my husband enters next. I know deep down he’s anxious too. Not backing down, he flies for his minute. As I watch the others, some of their worst fears come true. Someone flips on their back. Someone can’t really get off the ground. Another of our group bumps into the wall gets turned a bit and ends up on the grate. None of it matters. We laugh together, clap together, high-five each other. We are watching each person live through their fears. They did it. Each flight a success no matter how it went. I realized it was the doing that mattered, not the outcome.

Somewhere in the middle, it’s my turn. I run through the hand signals in my head. I approach the door to the wind tunnel, standing and holding my arms into myself as we were taught. I’m not sure, but I guess that it’s time to let go, open myself up and try to fly. In a second I’m standing to floating without a second thought. I carefully watch the instructor for direction. Chin up. Legs back. I think about his direction to open up and do my best. I tell myself to relax as I get a bit higher. I’ve forgotten the TV at this point, because I’m completely consumed with how amazing flying is. For just a minute, I’m free. There is nothing else in life, but this very moment. No thoughts about work. No thoughts about failing. Not one whisper about what others are thinking. I don’t care about my writing or getting in more clients for my freelance business. I’m not worried about my daughters with the sitter or my husband’s next turn. In this moment, I am the air and the air is me. And then, just like that, I’m grabbing onto the door and pulling myself back into the waiting area. I get some claps and a thumbs up. I did it.

We each get two turns and as my turn approached again, my nerves build. I think, “What if I overthink it and don’t do well this time?” I tell that little voice to shut it. I have this. I walk up to the door, arms in and then…fly. I let my mind have no fear, no thoughts. I let the wind consume me, ease a smile onto my face and just be. The instructor grabs onto me and we are flying so high so fast and then rushing back down, just to rush back up again. I’m laughing with joy, and then a moment later I’m grabbing onto the door and taking my seat. I’m already thinking about when I can fly again, the TV, my insecurity lost to the tunnel.

I’m still thinking about my experience in the tunnel, when later in the week, I see this quote:

When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty, I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up. – C.S. Lewis

When I was watching the tweens take their flights waiting for my own flight, I was also thinking about my five-year-old daughter. I contemplated if she would be afraid. She’s always wanted to fly, so I think she’d want to do it. The one thing I was sure of, she would not have a thought about how she’d look doing it or what other people would think about how she looked doing it. She’d waste not an ounce of energy on it. Walking on the beach with my daughter after reading the quote, I decide to let go of my fear of childishness and my desire to be very grown up and dance in the ocean and play in the sand, sing aloud and spin with my daughter until my sides hurt from laughter.

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