Love Letter to the Past

Wanna take a walk down memory lane?

I saw this video on design mom today where the producers asked people their favorite memories.

It got me thinking about how I'd answer that question.

I don't know how I'd ever choose one favorite memory, thanks to my previously mentioned case of nostalgia. For today, I decided to reach back to memories in the 'land before children'. Here are a few that surfaced as I started turning over old memories in my mind:

*Sitting next to my dad before bed while he played the piano and I'd sing. I'd always ask him for just a few more, and he'd almost always oblige. I used to wish it never had to end.



*Pulling into the shore of Mykonos with Rockstar, and realizing that there was a real place that matched exactly the magical image of a Greek Island that I held in my imagination.




*Walking across the stage to receive my medical diploma. (not a single good picture of this).

*Bachelor marathons at Kath's house with my girls during med school.


**A moveable feast of friendship.**

*Sleeping in the same bedroom as my siblings on Christmas Eve.



*Checking out scads of Nancy Drew books with Marce as kids, then reading them all day long, side by side.

*Taking an adventurous journey by myself out to Jane Austen's house while studying abroad in England. The way it felt to walk, lost, in the countryside, so far removed from anything familiar, and yet so close to myself.


**And the fact that I get to take my adventures now with such a rockstar.**

*Trips to Williamsburg with Nance in pursuit of coziness.

**kindred spirits from day one**

*Saturday morning Donuts with Poppa.

**And ski trips with Grammy.**

*Taking 'the long way' to the creamery while on a pure chocolate diet with Lisey (don't ask).


**I'm richly blessed on the cousin front.**

*The feeling of being on stage during a play/musical, and having the audience clapping.




And the best part? Knowing that those just begin to scratch the surface of the wonderful memories I have of people, places and moments. It's been so fun to sift through old pictures and wander through old chapters of my life to answer this question. Maybe we all should deliberately do that once in a while--wrap ourselves up in a warm blanket of remembrance made up of all the good things from our past.

Instead of coming up with more memories all afternoon (I could!), I'll pose the question to you? What's your favorite memory?

***A few of you asked why Drummer is off Dairy right now. He's had digestive issues since March. Taking him off dairy helped initially, though the symptoms came back. We've kept him off while experimenting with other things. Initial tests run by his doctor were fine. Now he mainly drinks almond milk, and he seems to be doing pretty well. I'll probably re-introduce dairy at some point to see how he does.**

Not Lost

**Changing identities in a superman shirt and mom's secret agent glasse.**

I read another article the other day by a mom who talked about how we lose our identities in the monotonous work of motherhood. And I’ll tell you what, this idea bothers me. It’s such a common theme in writing by moms: you will lose yourself in motherhood, and you must reclaim your old self to regain sanity!

It bothers me because of the assumptions it makes about motherhood—that the process is a constant drain on who we are, and we must somehow stem the tide by carving out more time for ourselves. It must be said that I am all about finding space for ourselves in the process of raising kids. That will be different for everyone. My space is my job, my friends, my books and writing.

But when I seek those things out, it is not because I feel like I need them to get a grasp on my identity, but because I find enjoyment in them. In fact sometimes I do more honest self-examination in the minutes after I’ve lost my cool during a toddler’s tantrum than I do when I’ve got endless time to sit and think.


Here are my assumptions about motherhood: That motherhood is a calling. That it is an honor. That motherhood is absolutely one of the most important things we have the opportunity to do in our lives, and that what we do with it and what we learn from it, matters. I think the work of motherhood is part of a great process of becoming.


**Which is important to remember since we do not get certificates of achievement as we go.**

Because I believe powerfully in the importance of not just the result (kids) but the process of motherhood, I think, ‘This idea can’t be right. It can’t be this great tragedy that the work of motherhood robs us of our true selves and we need to move backwards to find them.’ Anyway, is the answer ever in trying to reclaim the past?

It occurred to me, though, that without the right context to frame the experience, motherhood probably does feel like a great vortex that your past life gets sucked into.


**Looking a little lost in the vortex of dance class.**

But in the context of the assumptions I named, I think it’s more like a fire—like any refining fire that purifies. So when your childless self—full of hobbies, free time, and socializing—gets thrust in, it can feel like the old self has all but disappeared. Ouch! This is the resounding cry I hear in these articles. “What happened to my old self?” they wonder, as they watch that life seemingly melt away. The form and function of our lives irrevocably changed.



**Scenes that make me happy my life has changed. My boys unintentionally match and make each other laugh.**


But in this process, the fire is burning out of us the less desirable parts—the selfishness, the pettiness, the pride. The sleepless nights and the high fevers; the worry and the play; the monotony and the heart-bursting joy. The love, the love, the love. It is purifying and strengthening. The fire burns out parts of the old self, but I believe the core of us is never lost at all. What is our identity anyway? It is the be, not the do.

The essence of who we are is more than a list of our hobbies or accomplishments. It is in how we have learned to care, to serve, to work, to change, to rally, to be strong.

Yes, through this process, we are transformed. Stronger in the end. Not in spite of all the carpools we have driven and the diapers we have changed. But maybe, just maybe, also because of it.

You know when you meet mothers who are older, gray-haired, and wise? The ones who have a certain wisdom and a loving grace bred by years of experience? Such characteristics, I’m confident, were hard-won. I never look at them and think that they have lost themselves in the process. Rather, I think they look more themselves than ever.

No, in the work of motherhood, we are not lost, though it may feel like that sometimes. We are remade, reborn. And we are stronger and better because of it.



**Like the feeling after a good workout (or sackrace, as it were), Motherhood is a good burn.**

Work

**Teething is hard work.**

I remember once being told that I would have to work long and hard in the pursuit of my goals.

And tonight, when I sit here in front of my computer, letting my mind wander over a day that has been a day, I think:
Yep, long and hard.

But you know what? That's not a complaint. It's a satisfied exhalation.


**Sometimes a mother's work is putting on a wedding party.**

My Poppa (mom's dad) is a great philosopher. Growing up, he was always stretching our minds with thought-provoking questions. One time he asked a bunch of us cousins what we were afraid of. He was most impressed, appropriately so, with my cousin Lindsay's answer.

She said that she was afraid of going to bed at night and realizing that she hadn't accomplished anything with her day. Given that she was about 13 at the time, it was a pretty sophisticated reply.





I've thought a lot about that reply, and I've realized that working hard grants me immunity to that feeling. Working hard makes me feel spent, yes, but also full in the best kind of way. Whether it's a day at the office, or a day (night?) of taking care of Tiny and Drummer, a day of work gives me a sense of progressing.

I've read all the recent studies about how adults without children are supposedly more happy than those who slave away changing diapers and driving to soccer practices. They postulate that without all the responsibilities of childrearing, there is more time for relaxation and self-care. Well, sure. And I can certainly testify that kids do bring about a steady stream of work. But without pointing out the numerous flaws in such studies (a post for another day!), and without pointing out the incredibly joys of parenting that are hard to quantify, I just have to say this:

The more effort I put into worthy causes, the more joy I seem to reap. We all need regular breaks and relaxation. Of course.
But in general, I am willing to put in more labor for better fruits.





I am willing to work hard taking care of my precious kids and my patients, if I can have the sweetness that comes when I sit down on the couch at the end of the day, and savor a well-earned rest. I am willing to push through fatigue and inertia to find a better, more selfless, more experienced version of myself.

When I work hard, I feel like I am laying the groundwork for great things, whatever they may be.

When I work hard--emotionally or physically--I can lay my head down on my pillow, and know that though while my efforts were surely imperfect, efforts they were. And many times, I think that's exactly what matters.


**Our royal wedding party cake**

Jumping In

**Twinkle lights! Rockstar knows if I am surrounded by twinkle lights, then I'm pretty close to my happy place. So he put them up around our patio. Is there anything cozier?**

Do you get the Sunday night blues? I totally do. I feel like the transition from the weekend back into the workaday world should be slow and steady, but the blues come from the knowledge that it will not be slow and steady. The gun will sound (or, the alarm) and I'll be off on a race through a busy day.

It's always the justaposition from slow-paced to fast-paced that catches me off guard, I guess, and a Holiday weekend adds an extra dose of wistfulness to the equation.

It reminds me of when I was younger and my best friend and I would dare each other to go swimming in her unheated swimming pool. We'd stand there at the waters edge, simultaneously dreading the shock of cold water, and looking forward to the swim. Finally, we'd get the courage to jump in, and when we'd surface, there would be a sharp intake of breath as our bodies tried to adjust. But minutes would pass, body temperatures would change, and soon the initial trepidation would be forgotten in the fun of an afternoon swim.

Today felt just like that. I suppose it's a good thing that the passage of time gives us no choice but to jump into a new week. Because, while I can't say I enjoyed the cold water in my face this morning, once I was in my groove--a morning routine with my kids and then seeing my patients--I thought, "I'm definitely enjoying the swim."

A few reasons why this weekend was hard to say goodbye to:




**A spontaneous BBQ when the rain clouds parted and we were suddenly left with a gorgeous evening. First corn on the cob!**


**Tiny's a fan.**


**Doesn't my backyard look lined in cotton candy? We bought our house during Azalea season, and I'm wondering if we were unduly influenced by the spectacular scenery. ;)**


**We planted a garden! Rather, Rockstar and his father planted a garden. A squarefoot garden seemed like a good place to start. I really can't take an ounce of credit for it, but I'm happy about it.**


**I got hooked on backissues of 'Birds & Blooms' when Tiny was a wee one, and I spent a lot of time in the pumping room at the Hospital. There was no other reading material, and suddenly I was coming home talking about bird species and soil pH. My short-lived fascination never amounted to anything, but now I'll finally get the chance to see if my thumb is green.**


**TJ's Chocolate Croissants!!! Do you have a Trader Joe's by you? If so, head directly to their frozen section, and buy these. You let them rise overnight (see above), then bake them into amazing deliciousness. They are, bar none, the best chocolate croissants I've ever had. They just might ease the Sunday night blues, you know...**


**Happy to find her basket--with a Jasmine costume inside! We bought it for Christmas, but decided to save it for when it would have more impact. A good decision, I think.**


**My little Buttercup.**


**Cute Mr. Drummer was good at wandering around the lawn with a basket in hand, less so at finding the eggs.**

Here's to a lovely swim, er, week, and as many good things to enjoy!

The Kitchen

**image from here**


I guess you don't have to cook a lot to still love the kitchen. Cause I don't (cook a lot) but I do (love being in my kitchen).

Old habits die hard, and the residency years pushed my cooking to the backburner, and our routine into the 'tried and true' mode versus the 'trying new recipes' mode. Rockstar and I aim for efficient and mostly healthy as we try to get dinner on the table in the whirlwhind that is the just-home-from-work dinner hour before bed.

But while I'm thrilled that my husband helps with the cooking workload, and happy not to live in an era where food prep takes all day, sometimes I still catch a glimpse of the magic that can exist in a kitchen.

I think it can be a place where we slow down, come together, and make tactile memories. I think it can be meditative rather than stressful to cook.

I think it can be therapeutic to use my hands and to pause with my thoughts.

I think it can be a place that feels safe. Where we talk to each other or to our kids in ways we might not if we weren't held captive by hands covered in flour and sugar.

Most of my time is not spent in my kitchen. And most days I'm really happy about that. But there are other days when I re-discover what I love about my kitchen and the way I relate to my family there.

Yesterday was one of those days.

I stood at my window while I cooked and washed and thought about all the things I love about my kitchen.

I love my view:

**My family playing in a suddenly blooming yard. Seaglass to remind me of the beach**


I love my little helper who is so proud that she gets to dump the ingredients carefully into the bowl all by herself.
See? We are not just cooking. We are practicing fine motor skills, playing, and instilling confidence. We are also snitching even though we have been told not to. "I know mom, it has raw eggs in it," she says. Sometimes I let it slide.






I love the little bodies who play at me feet, sometimes calling out 'mamamama' because they want to see what's happening high on a counter top.

I love the ipod that plays tunes for us, and the spontaneous dance parties that we have between chopping this and dicing that. I love the look of surprise and delight on Tiny's face when I do a crazy jig, because she gets that it's a little unexpected for an adult to be so silly.




I love these cookies. I love the way they smell. I love the way Tiny can spot the smell immediately if she wakes from a nap while I'm baking them. "Is mommy baking cookies?" I hear her ask excitedly. I want her to remember me baking cookies when she is big and grown and has flown the coop.

I love that we made them before dinner yesterday, and even ate a few just to whet our appetite.



I love when a friend passes on a recipe that jumpstarts my 'kitchen loving' engine again and breaks me out of a cooking rut. I'm a person who responds well to feeling inspired. So, when Kyra sent me a rave review of a black bean burger recipe, I felt inspired. And it was a homerun. I love how fresh everything looks in my cuisinart.



I love how satisfying it feels to feed my family. To feed them something healthy and delicious. I love how it feels when Tiny says, "Thanks for making the burgers, mommy."



I remember when I was young saying, "Well, when I'm a mom, I would totally hire someone to cook all my family's meals if I could afford it. Then I could spend more time with my kids!" And most days, I'd probably say 'h to the eck, yeah' if someone offered to cook all of our meals. But then other days, when I've gotten a little more sleep (ha!), I think:

I like the magic that goes on here. The process is all part of the delicious result.

Re-entry

Well, we're back. It was a wonderful week of vacation with lots of family and many friends. We're refeuled (emotionally). We're refreshed (work wise). We're tired (physically.)


**singing her anthems with gusto**

A few scattershot thoughts:

*Our house feels so quiet when we get home from a trip. I get blue every.single.time I part ways from family. This time was no different. And given that my mom had been visiting for three weeks before our trip, it was amplified. Don't get me wrong--I was happy to be in my own bed, to unpack our suitcases, and to get the kids into a regular sleep routine again. But their is a rich quality to being around many family members, and I always mourn its departure for a season.



*If you are looking for travel tips with kiddos, check out the comments section of my Macgyver Mom post. Some great ideas from some travelers who are for more seasoned than I. I just might have stolen a few of them for this trip.


**ticket to ride....or to buy junk at Chuck E. Cheese's**

*Before I left, I had a conversation with a patient about travel with kids. I told her that I always dread being the mom with the baby who screams for half an hour straight. She said, 'My sister's kids were vomiting on the airplane. As in, vomiting on themselves, their mom, and their fellow passengers. So if all you have to deal with is a crying kid, consider yourself lucky."

I thought about that as my poor nephew vomited 5 times on our return flight. But you know what? Every time, he made it into the barf bag. Which is pretty good for a 3 year old. And you know what else? He sat still for the duration of the plane ride. So, I'm rethinking if my patient was right...

*I might have gained a pound or two from all the good food we ate.



Then again, I might have burned off all those calories with all the skee ball we played.


**The reigning family champion. Rockstar is not invited to comment.**


**Champion in training.**

*I didn't look at my task list (my equivalent of an inbox with messages from patients, lab results, consult letters, etc.,) ALL WEEK! It felt amazing. I don't think that's ever happened with the exception of the week or two after my babe's were born. I brought my laptop, because I always check in on vacation. It's mostly selfish--I can't stand the thought of how long the list will be if I don't. But then Rockstar's Grandma didn't have internet at all (a possibility that never entered my brain), and I decided--to heck with it. I'm on VACATION! There are plenty of doctors to cover, and they have my cell if there is an urgent question.

We made one drive by use of Starbucks' free wi-fi (literally...I used the internet briefly from the passenger seat of our car), but remained otherwise unplugged. And it really made a difference in my ability to relax. My nurse seemed surprised/a little put out that I hadn't been working remotely (which is my fault, because I normally always do), and it suddenly struck me as completely bananas that this is the world we live in. As a doctor, I think I can say that this inability to step away from work is not healthy.

A day away keeps burnout at bay. Can I copyright that?


**You want time away? It's gonna cost you.**

*My little man is walking! What started as 3 steps four days ago was 16 steps today. He seems too little to be doing this, and I laugh every time he toddles across the floor. It is, of course, bittersweet. Sad: my sweet baby is growing up. Glad: He no longer has to have his paws on the dirty floor when we're out and about!


**Oh, the passage of time.**

So, for now, it's back into the dailiness. And you know what? As long as that includes a little bit of this:



and this:



Re-entry will be just fine.