Two Women Blogging

What's Your Passion?

2012-01-10T21:04:00.001-05:00

I found this at my friend Delaine's blog - it sounded like a nice way to spend a little time on this chilly January evening.

What puts a smile on your face?
Following what makes you truly happy is a wonderful way to figuring out what you were put on Earth for. Think about something that you do or that perhaps you used to do that brings you total happiness!

Singing in groups; being with real friends; cooking and eating good food; spending time with my daughter.

What do you find easy?
What we find easy for us to do, will be related to what we are passionate about. It’s very hard to hate something that is very easy for us!

It's easy for me to talk in front of groups, to see themes and connections in stories and conversations, to understand people's emotional states, to gather information and figure out how to use it.

What sparks your creativity?
Think about something in your life where you seem to always expand its horizon, always coming up with new, fun, and exciting ideas relating to that subject. Whatever makes you creative is something that you are passionate about.

I get creative about arranging comfortable spaces, about making new connections, both personal and intellectual, about implementing ideas that excite me, about teaching.

What would you do for free?
Think about something that you would just love to do, even if you were not getting paid. Think about something that you look forward to do, something that you wish you could do all the time.

I would write and talk about communication and medical care for free (the way I do already!). I would do my actual job for free, which is a blessing. I would teach for free. I would sing.

What do you like to talk about?
Most of the time, we aren’t aware of this. A good way to figure this out properly, is to ask your friends. Ask them what they believe you like to talk about the most, what topic makes your eyes brighten up, and changes your entire behaviour.

Communication, adoption, family, the way medicine should be practiced.

What makes you unafraid of failure?
When you do what you are passionate about, you have total confidence in your abilities. This makes you not worry about failing, because in your mind, how can you fail when you do what you love?

I can't say there's anything that makes me unafraid of failure - I'm always a little afraid - but I will risk failure to protect patients.

What would you regret not having tried?
If you were at the end of your life, what would you regret not having pursued? What would you have liked to do, that you didn’t get a chance to?

I'd like to really immerse myself in studying American culture. I've already been to college, and I loved it, but I'd like to go back and just take the courses I want to take - all of them. Without the dormitory beds or cafeteria food.

Conversations With My Daughter ~ by Jay

2011-12-19T20:31:00.003-05:00

Are you upset about the necklace I bought for Laura?

Nope. She's your mother and you're her daughter. That's the truth, and I'm sure it will mean a lot to her that you chose those necklaces.

Since I won't be there when she opens it, can we take a picture so she knows I have the other one?

Sure.

And it's really ok?

Honey, one thing you never have to worry about is how I feel about your relationship with Laura. I know you have two moms, and that's fine. I get to have you around all the time, and I know I'm your mother, too. It's not your job to take care of how I feel. That's my job. You take care of how you feel - and if you ever need to talk to me about that, you know I'm here.

Lists ~ by Jay

2011-12-05T21:42:00.001-05:00

I don't like lists.

Well, that's not entirely true. Back when Sam and I lived apart, I had a little ritual. When I was going to visit him, I would write out a travel list - what would be packed in the suitcase and what would go in my carry-on. My rule was that I couldn't start the list until 48 hours before the flight. Once I put pen to paper (usually in my med-school notebook, during class), the official countdown started and I would allow myself to think about seeing Sam again.

We also have a shopping list on the fridge, like so many other people. I buy magnetic memo pads at Target and we all add to the list when we use something up. My mother used to keep such a list, also on the fridge. That's the only list I remember from childhood.

My mother-in-law, on the other hand, is the Queen of the Lists. She keeps a shopping list on the fridge, too, along with the menus for the week (lunch and dinner), and another list with the contents of the freezer. When Sam was a child, his mother maintained a Master List for each kind of trip the family took: 3, 5 and 7-day backpacking trips; weekend canoe trips; long car-camping trips. We helped them move once, about 20 years ago, and I commiserated with her about how frustrating it can be to cook meals when you've depleted your supplies and don't want to buy more. Oh, no, she said, it was fine. "I've made a list of everything remaining in the pantry and in the freezer, and I've written out menus for the next two weeks. I organized them so I know what utensils and pots I'll need for each meal, and when I've used each piece for the last time, I'll pack it". O-kay, then.

So, of course, they all had Christmas lists. Kids and parents alike. Now, in my family we didn't do Christmas, and we didn't write out Chanukah lists. I tried giving my parents a birthday wish list once and my father said "presents aren't any fun if they're not surprises". My childhood Chanukahs and birthdays were full of surprises, and more often than not, my mother got it right. By the time I was 12 or 13, I realized how much fun it was to figure out just the right gift, and watch someone open a present they really loved - and it was more fun when it was a surprise.

The first year I went home with Sam for Christmas, there were a few "Santa" presents that were surprises - funny socks or paperback books - but everything else was something from their lists. I hadn't submitted mine, but Sam had clued them in and I liked my gifts, especially the Chinese cookbook I still use. We suspended "big gifts" to the adults when Eve and her cousins came along, but for the intervening 15 years I struggled to come up with a list. I'm an grown-up. I earn a very good salary. When I want something, I mostly go out and buy it - unless it's really expensive, and then it's too expensive to ask my in-laws to buy me for Christmas or Chanukah. When I finally got my ears pierced at age 30, that made it easier - everyone could give me earrings - but the whole thing drove me nuts. I wanted to ask them to just think creatively a little bit. I wanted a surprise.

Now I have an 11-year-old daughter who spends weeks writing out a carefully researched Holiday Wish List, neatly annotated with little stars to point out the favorite items, and including a helpful guide to her current clothing and shoe sizes on the back. Yesterday I received an Email from one of our nieces telling me that she'd love a gift card to a local equestrian supply shop (and never mind that everyone assumes that I'm the one who does all the present-shopping, even for Sam's relatives). My mother-in-law called over the weekend to ask me to send her Eve's list via Email; she plans to divide it up with Sam's sister so there aren't any duplications. That's not a wish list, it's a shopping list - or an order sheet. It's bad enough that we're stuck with this orgy of materialism. If we take the surprise out of it, we can't even have the joy of giving to fall back on.

And yes, I know that if you don't give people a list, you might end up with a present you don't like. You know what? I don't care. How hard is it to smile and appreciate the thought and effort - and then either return it, or give it to someone who will enjoy it (and who is a stranger to the person who gave it to you)? It's not such a bad thing to get some practice at appreciating what you are given, and valuing the relationship over the object.

My mother-in-law offered to call my mother and make sure they don't buy the same items off Eve's list. I politely declined. My mother hasn't seen Eve's list. I've talked with her a few times and she's already wrapped four or five things she picked out especially for her beloved granddaughter - and won't Eve be surprised.

Conversations With My Daughter ~ by Jay

2011-11-29T22:07:00.001-05:00

Was Daddy mad when you got married and didn't change your name?

Nope. He considered changing his, since his last name is so common, but decided to just leave it be.

You could have combined them.

I know, but I don't like the way they sound together. We thought about that when you were born - we thought about giving you my last name, or combining them in some way, but we decided to do what people would expect so that you didn't have to explain it.

I like that my first name comes from Laura's family and my middle name is from your family and my last name is from Daddy's family. Something from everywhere.

Yup.

When I get married, I'm going to change my name. I want to have the same name as my husband.

Well, maybe he'll change his.

Or maybe we'll make up a new one. But I want to feel like part of his family.

Thanksgiving ~ by Jay

2011-11-24T20:45:00.001-05:00

I didn't do gratitude posting this year, and I didn't participate in NaBloPoMo. I considered both, but then I blinked and it was November 15th.

I am grateful for those of you who still read the occasional posts I still write, and for the amazing, remarkable gift of being off-call the entire holiday weekend. Whether you're doing the US turkey-day thing or not, I hope this has been a day of peace for you and yours.

Adoption Bloggers Interview Project, The Actual Interview ~ by Jay

2011-11-23T09:25:00.001-05:00

So I don't read directions all that well, it appears. I was supposed to post MUZIK's answers on MY blog. Duh. Muzik rose from her sickbed to answer my questions, and here she is. I've really enjoyed getting to know her and I've learned a lot from her, and I hope you will, too.

Jay: In yourpost to adoptive parents, you ask us to "be there" in whatever way ourkids need us to be. I was wondering about that in light of this piece from the New York Times last week. Doyou think the author should have started a search?

Muzik: I believe that was a great article and a verymuch needed to be spoke about topic in the adoption triad. I have researchedabout transracial and international adoption in the past, but never in depth oflegality (i.e. Chinese Law). I believe despite the legality behind adoptionsearches in China, an adoptive parent should do as much legwork as possible for their adoptive child.

As an adoptee I am willing to believe that 95% ofadoptees want to search or know where we come from regardless if we speak of itor not. Many adoptees are afraid to even let the words leave their mouthadmitting that they want to search. I do remember the day as a teen I found Iwas adopted. I had zero desire to search, but that was because I had not fully processedwhat I was being told, nor did I comprehend what it meant that I actually camefrom someone else’s womb. As I matured and gained an understanding what itmeant to be adopted, I immediately felt compelled to search for the answers andfind myself. The urge of wanting to search comes at different points of anadoptees life. It can depend on a current event or depending at the age we findout.

In regards to this article, I believe heradoptive mom should do all that she can to be prepared for the day she may wantto search. The day may never come as long as she is under her mom’s roof;however, I believe every adoptive mom should at least at some point sit theirchild down and explain to their child that they have exhausted every avenue togain as much information possible. At the end of the day, your child can’t bemad for you doing as much as you could do to help them “in case” they wanted tosearch. As an adoptee I would applaud my adoptive mom for being as courageousand selfless to delve into a task that can be extremely intricate emotionallyand physically. When it comes to adoption searches, time is not on your side.Every year is another year lost, and a possibility that a birth parent orsibling can pass away and no information may ever be recovered. That is worstcase scenario, yet the truth.

Jay: Your descriptionof the conference in Seattle was really powerful. It seems to me from what Iread that you didn't meet another adoptee until you were in college - is thattrue? If so, do you think it would have been helpful (in some way) to haveother adoptees in your life as a kid?

Muzik: Yes that is true. My freshman year I went tostudy in Jamaica on a cruise, and I found out my roommate was adopted. Here wewere in this little cabin room on the ship almost knee to knee and I wanted toprobe her with a million questions as we got to know each other. She wasadopted from Guatemala. She was not really interested in speaking about heradoption. All I really cared to ask though was if she met her family and if shehas searched. I needed to validate my thoughts and feelings. I left wondering howsomeone did not want to search for their family. It seemed crazy to me to thinkhow we do not care to know where we came from. As I found out throughout thesemester, many of my classmates throughout my college education were adoptedand did not care to search. This is where my post Rich Girl Poor Girl wasinspired. If I would have met other adoptees growing up I would have felt muchbetter about my self esteem and identity I suppose. While I was at theconference, quite a few of those present grew up knowing adoptees and theythought it was better for them. The ability to relate to someone that isadopted can be so profound believe it or not.

Jay: Do yousee a parallel between living as an adoptee and living in another culture, asan American in Japan?

Muzik: I will tell you this, moving to Japan was sort ofan enlightenment period for me as an adoptee. It made me think of transracialand international adoptees being raised out of their culture and how confusingit could be in regards to identity and truly understanding where home is. Eventhough the world is one giant melting pot nowadays there’s no place like home.What happened to me personally when I moved to Japan was remind me that it wasokay to be different. Even though I do not have Asian in me to my knowledge, Iwas still looking to identify with people. My whole life I was trying to fit inwith people that looked like me and in the end it created so much turmoil itbecame rather conflicting as I attempted to find my niche growing up. What Iloved about the Japanese culture and people is that people treat you likefamily regardless of your culture or color. Everyone was so kind to me and wascalling me “sister” and telling me they loved me from the very beginning. Itwas odd but I found it rather accepting for once.

Jay: I have to admit thatwhen I hear an adopted adult say "oh, I never wanted to find my biologicalfamily" or I hear an adoptive parent say "my daughter never asksabout her birth mother", I'm a bit dubious. I can't imagine *not* wantingthat contact. How does it feel to you when you hear those statements?

Muzik: I love this question because I think about it often. As Imentioned before every one I met in college that was adopted didn’t care tomeet their families. I thought they were fooling themselves or too afraid toface reality. I would think to myself, “Come on, how are you going to reallytell me you never wondered where you came from or how your parents look like”.The statement from the adoptive parent could be true. Many adoptees are tooafraid as it is to even mention the thought of wanting to search for theirbiological family; therefore they do it behind their back. An adoptive parentcan be clueless throughout the whole process of their child living under theirroof searching for their biological family. As we know it, it’s one BIG secret.

Ripples ~ by Jay

2011-11-21T13:44:00.001-05:00

My first year in practice, I saw a man who hadn't been to our clinic in over four years. The last visit was well-documented; he'd complained of abdominal pain and the doctor had told him the pain (and associated damage to his stomach) was a result of alcoholic drinking. I could tell from the long, carefully worded note that the diagnosis had not been well-received. Whoops, I thought. This will be fun. Not.

But I tried, even then, to start every visit with an open mind and an open-ended question. I can't remember why he was there that day, but I do remember noticing that he didn't smell of alcohol. His pulse and blood pressure were normal, and I found no signs or symptoms suggesting excess alcohol use. At the end of the visit, I asked "Is there anything else?" and he said "Well, kind of. I have to apologize to a doctor here, but I don't know who".

He then told me the story of that previous visit, four years ago, and he said "I was furious with that doctor, and I said some terrible things. I might have threatened to punch him - I don't really remember. But that was the first time I'd ever heard anyone say 'alcoholic' about me, and I was SURE I wasn't a drunk". He smiled and shook his head. "I was sure, but I tried to quit after that visit and I couldn't. I went to AA for the first time two days later. Now I have three years sober, and I want that doctor to know he saved my life - and that I'm sorry for what I said to him". I promised I would tell the doctor, and he thanked me.

At the end of the day, I called my partner and repeated the story. He was amazed. We've all had that conversation over and over again, and we don't often get to see the results. Those moments of connection are like a pebble thrown into a pond. The ripples travel out, and fade into the distance, but sometimes they hit the shore on the other side, and we don't even know it.

I've always been grateful to that patient. His story has helped me hold onto my faith that change is possible, and that every encounter can be therapeutic in ways I won't always understand at the time. Just as my colleague might never have known that he'd been instrumental in the patient's change, the patient will never know of his impact on me. Just another pebble, tossed into a pond, with ripples spreading into the unseen future.

Adoption Bloggers Interview Project ~ by Jay

2011-11-17T07:00:00.000-05:00

I'm honored to participate in the Adoption Bloggers Interview Project, coordinated and hosted by Heather at Production Not Reproduction. My interview partner is Muzik, who blogs at The Not So Secret Life of an Adoptee - go and read her stuff. She's funny and thoughtful and articulate, and so open and clear that I had trouble coming up with interview questions for her that she hadn't already answered on her blog!

Here's my half of the interview.

Muzik: I must say, I love the "Conversations With My Daughter" posts. How do you think as a mother that seems rather open with your child will benefit your child's future? What do you think happens when parents do not have conversations with their children?

Jay: I am also the daughter of a mother who spoke openly about sex, so I can tell you how that open-ness benefited me. I grew up thinking of sex as something meaningful, enjoyable and important, but not dirty or shameful. That's what I'm hoping Eve will get from us. I know so many people who had only the basic mechanical "facts of life" talk from their parents, and it seems to me that they are taken by surprise by their own desires, and often ashamed of themselves for simply being human. And then there's the revolutionary idea that sex is something that can - and should! - be discussed. That in and of itself is important - how do you have a healthy, satisfying sexual relationship without talking about it?

It's more than talking to our children; it's also listening to them, and I hope I'm doing that, too.

Muzik: After reading "What is the best age to have a baby", as a mother, do you feel that parents are at fault in teenage pregnancy? What can parents do to educate their child on sex, pregnancy, and STD's?

Jay: I don't think it's always a terrible thing when teenagers have babies. For one thing, there's a huge difference between 18/19 and 14/15, so we can't lump them all together. And no, I don't think parents are at fault, not globally - every family is different and every situation is unique. I do think that when very young teenagers (under 15) are having sex, it's often a reaction to difficult situations at home, but that's not to blame their parents - we all need better support than we usual get from our communities.

That said, I do think we have an impact on our kid's choices - at the very least, we can provide them with access to birth control. When Eve's in high school, I intend to stock the bathroom closet with condoms and tell her I'll check and replace them, and she can tell her friends they're available. When I practiced primary care, I kept condoms in my coat pocket to give to patients.

We can give them information both directly (by talking to them) and indirectly (by having reading material accessible at home and pointing them to reliable Internet resources, like Scarleteen.com). If we're lucky, we can offer them models of loving and respectful relationships in our own lives. We can let them know that we will love and support them no matter what. And we can make sure they have other adults they can talk to when necessary, because no matter how good we are, they will not always be able to come to us. We can remember, always, that it's not about us.

Muzik: After reading In an Adoptee's Words, how do you feel about adoptees searching for their birth parents? How do you feel about adoptive parents objecting to it?

Jay: I'm kind of evangelical about open adoption and searching. I think it's normal and natural and kind of inevitable that adoptees will want to search, and I really hate that searching is necessary at all - you should have that information available to you from the beginning. Your own origins should never, ever be kept from you. Whether or not adoptive families actually pursue a ongoing relationship with their kid's biological relatives (and I think we should, but I know it doesn't always happen), we owe it to our children to make connection possible when the children need it. Not when they ask, because they may not ask - and they certainly won't ask if they think it's going to alienate us.

So I guess that's how I feel about adoptive parents objecting: they shouldn't. If adoptive parents are anxious and afraid, they need to deal with those emotions some other way, and support their kids in the search. Intellectually, I can understand why adoptive parents object. Emotionally, I have trouble accepting that response.

Muzik: Your blog post Conversations With My Daughter remind me of my blog. It's the out loud conversations I love.

Jay: Me, too! That's what I really like about blogging - it's an ongoing conversation, and you meet the best people! Ooops, sorry, that wasn't a question, was it?

Muzik: After reading, Conversations With My Daughter, what do you think is an adoptive mother's biggest fear about their child searching for their biological family? What can an adopted child do to calm the fears of their parents to reassure them that they will never stop loving them?

Jay: I think you answered the question in your follow-up. Adoptive parents are afraid of losing their children - losing their love and losing our standing as their parents. That's the biggest fear - that if our children find their biological families, it will mean we're not "really" their parents, and we'll lose our role in their lives. I think it's an internalized oppression - it means that somewhere deep in our beings we do really believe that parenting is about biology, and that adoption is less than. In order to get past the fear, we have to fully claim our authenticity as real parents. We also have to give our kids more credit. They can love us all. Love isn't zero-sum. Our hearts are infinitely expandable, and there's room for more than one parent. If a child can love two parents, why not three? Why not four?

There are other real worries as well - it hurts to see our kids grieving. My daughter's biological father isn't open to any kind of contact, and she's deeply sad about that, and I hate seeing her cry. If I could protect her from that grief, I would do it - but stopping her from searching won't protect her. That pain is, unfortunately, part of her life story. My job - since I'm really her mother - is to help her bear it.

Your last question breaks my heart. It's not your job to reassure your parents. That's just not fair. It's our jobs as parents to manage our own fears, so that you can do what you want and need to do and trust that we'll be OK. I know it doesn't always work that way, but that's how it should be. I wish I could take that pain away from you and from parents who have those fears. All you can do as the adoptee is tell them the truth: that you will always love them, that they will always be your parents, that you have room in your heart for everyone - and that your need to search is not a sign that they failed, but a sign that they succeeded in raising a child who knows herself well enough to understand what she needs, and to go out and get it.

Muzik: Thank you and I look forward to hearing back from you. Keep the convos up with your daughter. We need more momma's like you!!

Jay: Thank you! You made me think, and I hope you get what you were hoping for from the answers. It's been great to be connected to you this way.

In Which I Try Really, Really Hard To Be Non-Judgmental ~ by Jay

2011-11-15T15:21:00.001-05:00

Babies cry in Target. Of course they do. Why wouldn't they? This hardly ever bothers me. Perhaps at 9:30 or 10:00 PM, I might have to remind my Judgy Brain that people work late shifts and have to shop sometime and don't have child care, but at 11:30 in the morning, I don't even think about it. And people say whatever they have to say to get out of the store without the baby and the grownup melting down simultaneously. I know that.

So I don't judge. I do try to smile at the baby and the grownup. Sometimes a smile and a wave can distract a fretful baby or toddler. At the very least, when I was the mom with the fussy kid, I appreciated the show of sympathy and solidarity.

Today, though, as I smiled, the woman holding the fussy baby glanced at me, looked down at the baby and said, in a sing-song voice "That lady smiled at you! That lady will take you! She will take you if you don't stop crying!"

The only comfort I can offer myself is that the baby was about six or eight months old and can't possibly understand the words. But I am having a very, very hard time finding empathy for the grownup.

I Write Letters ~ by Jay

2011-10-26T15:51:00.001-04:00

Dear Melissa McEwan,

You are a brilliant, funny and incredibly articulate woman, and I usually agree with you on pretty much anything, but this time I have to object.

In this post, you present a picture of your dog, Zelda, as your Daily Dose of Cute.

Really, now. Zelda is clearly many things - regal, magnificent, handsome, compelling - but she is not cute. Your cats are cute. Your greyhound has his moments of cuteness. But this dog - this dog deserves more.

Cute. Humph.

Don't believe me? Judge for yourself.

Overheard ~ by Jay

2011-10-22T14:27:00.000-04:00

You know the Tree of Knowledge, in the Garden of Eden? In Genesis? I don't think it was an apple tree. I think it was a coffee plant. I mean, think about it - what happens? Adam and Eve eat the fruit and then they wake up, realize they were naked and put something on. Isn't that what happens with coffee? Would an apple do that? I don't think so.

(Go one, guess where I was when I heard this.)

This Made Me Cry ~ by Jay

2011-10-19T18:35:00.002-04:00

Mama C's poem to her older son, Sam.

My favorite part:

..I am the roof keeping you dry
and the unrecognizable shred of a blanket between your fingers

Read the whole thing.

Conversations With My Daughter ~ by Jay

2011-10-16T13:20:00.002-04:00

Thanks for taking me to see Footloose, Mom.

You're welcome. I really enjoyed it, and it was more fun to see it with you.

I think it's a good movie to see with your parents.

You mean you actually ENJOYED doing something in public with your mother? I thought that was against the Code of Sixth Grade.

No, that's not until eighth grade.

Life On the Prairie - Maybe Not So Bad ~ by Jay

2011-10-09T15:38:00.001-04:00

It's the day after Yom Kippur. I am eating leftover herring and following internet links while other people are contemplative or productive - but look what I found. Laura Ingalls may not have had indoor plumbing or electricity, but she married one good-looking guy.

Almanzo Wilder at 28, when he married Laura. Found on My Daugerreotype Boyfriend, where we also learn that Rutherford B. Hayes was hot stuff before he was President. Who knew?

Walking In The Dark ~ by Jay

2011-10-02T21:22:00.001-04:00

Some of you are old enough to remember the Energy Crisis of the 1970s - OPEC embargos, gas rationing, year-round daylight savings time. I was in 8th grade, and Mr. Fish was the new music teacher. He did not think we had enough time during the school day to rehearse, so he instituted mandatory morning choir twice a week - before school started. You were expected to be on the risers at 7:15.

I've never been a fast walker, and we lived about a mile and a half from school, so I set out at 6:45 for that first rehearsal. Daylight savings time in October means full dark until after 7:00 AM. I'd walked about half a block when a car pulled up beside me. The window rolled down and I heard my father say "Get in". My mother had made it very clear that I was walking to school that year. It was good exercise, and my brother was still in elementary school and didn't need to leave as early so Mom couldn't take both of us. Dad was fine with that plan until he realized I was walking in the dark, in our neighborhood with no sidewalks.

For the next five years, my father drove me to school every morning. We left the house at his usual time - 7:00 AM - which meant that I arrived at school at least 45 minutes before school started and was almost always the first student in the building. I developed a good relationship with the principal, who was also arriving at about that time, and the folks who worked in the main office. I was certainly never late for homeroom. I kept singing in choir, and I started writing for the newspaper and performing in plays and working on the yearbook; most days I either ate dinner at school between meetings and rehearsals, or I went home after classes and then headed back to school before Dad got home from work. By the time I got home, my parents were in bed. If it hadn't been for those drives to school, I could easily have gone for days at a time without seeing my father at all.

Senior year he started taking me out to breakfast once a month. It was a quick stop at McDonald's (which had just started serving in the morning) but it was a little more time together, time he was willing to take from his office and hospital schedule. My father worked long hours. His first appointment was scheduled at 7:30 AM and he rarely came home before 7:00 PM. He went into the hospital for at least a few hours every Saturday and Sunday, and he was available by phone even when he wasn't on call. But my father drove me to school every day, and he knew what classes I was taking and what projects I was worried about and what role I was auditioning for in the school musical. Those drives to school kept us connected.

I've been thinking about those morning drives lately because Eve joined the middle school orchestra. They rehearse after school on Thursdays, and before school on Mondays - start time 7:05. I do not want to get up earlier and rush through my shower, and find myself at loose ends for half an hour before my work day starts. But if Eve remembers those mornings the way I remember my father taking me to school, it will all be worth it.

Things I Could Do Without ~ by Jay

2011-09-30T20:15:00.001-04:00

So Elizabeth Warren said something wonderful, which no doubt you've already heard.

"There is nobody in this country who got rich on his own. Nobody,” Warren said. “You built a factory out there? Good for you. But I want to be clear: You moved your goods to market on the roads the rest of us paid for. You hired workers the rest of us paid to educate. You built a factory, and it turned into something terrific or a great idea: God bless. Keep a big hunk of it. But part of the underlying social contract is you take a hunk of that and pay forward for the next kid who comes along.”

I love it. Other people do not. One of them created this response

Right. Because women's sexuality is a market commodity, sold to men, and rape is exactly the same thing as paying taxes for road construction and education.

Some days I really, really don't like people.

Man in a Hat ~ by Jay

2011-09-30T14:51:00.001-04:00

There's a man in a hat in my front yard. I can tell from looking out the window that he's humming as he pulls weeds and picks up twigs and sweeps the shreds of mown grass off the sidewalk.

Sam doesn't meditate. He goes outside and gets dirty, digging and planting and tidying and snipping and filling buckets with dead flowerheads and bits of thistle and brown pokeweed stems. There's a huge grass stain on his knee and I think he tore the back pocket of his jeans again, and none of that matters.

There's a man in a hat in my front yard, and he is a happy man, and I love him.

A Sweet New Year ~ by Jay

2011-09-28T16:03:00.002-04:00

Kugel and challah are made, the second brisket is cooking while the first rests, the black beans (not traditional but beloved by our vegetarian friends) are done and the first pie is cooling while the second bakes. Sam is practicing his Torah portion. Must be the afternoon of erev Rosh Hashanah.

In this liminal time, when the gates are open and we stand closer to the divinity within ourselves, may we return to what is essential, what is best, what is truly necessary.

L'shanah tovah tikatevu. May you be inscribed for a good year.

Conversations With My Daughter ~ by Jay

2011-09-25T21:40:00.002-04:00

What's the best age to have a baby?

That's a hard question to answer. It's best for your body in your late teens and early twenties, probably, but most people aren't emotionally or financially ready to have a baby at that age.

Having a baby when you're a teenager is a BAD IDEA.

Yes, mostly it is.

Why do people do that?

Well, sometimes they just want a baby so badly they have a baby on purpose, but most of the time they decide to have sex and then get pregnant when they didn't intend to. No matter how careful you are, sometimes birth control doesn't work.

So they shouldn't have sex.

When you love someone and you want to be close to them, you want to have sex with them. It's perfectly normal and natural, and those feelings start to happen to teenagers and they end up having intercourse. There are lots of other ways to satisfy that feeling, though.

What do you mean?

I mean that you can get a lot of pleasure and closeness from being with someone without actually having sexual intercourse - where the penis goes into the vagina.

Mommy, that doesn't make any sense at all.

Some day it will, sweetie.

Mind Body Mama Explains It All ~ by Jay

2011-09-23T21:54:00.004-04:00

Rape is never the fault of the woman who is raped.

And yet it makes sense to take precautions to reduce our risk of being assaulted.

Is this a contradiction? MindBodyMama explains why it is not, and in the process puts into words something I have always believed but have never been able to articulate.

In fact, there is a self-defense argument against getting falling down drunk. A big piece of self defense is being the worst potential victim possible. I live in a world where one in six women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime. Since that’s the world I have to move in, I don’t feel safe being sleepy, pukey, distracted and uncoordinated. I’d prefer to stay sober and be alert, strong, aware, and prepared.
It’s a risk averse response to a treacherous reality.
If I went into a basement to avoid an air raid, would that make me responsible for the bombing? If I evacuated from a coastal town ahead of a hurricane, would that make me responsible for the storm surge?
Planning ahead for the possibility of violence against me is the sane, responsible, self-loving action of a queer female in a very dangerous world. It does not, and never will, make the violence against me my fault.

Read the whole post.

Things I Never Thought I'd Say ~ by Jay

2011-09-21T15:46:00.001-04:00

Eve, I don't want you to turn your phone off.

(especially after you text me to tell me your afterschool plans have changed and I don't see the text for an hour because I'm in with a patient, so I have no idea where you are. Even if you were smart enough to also text your father and the babysitter, and it turns out that you're home doing your schoolwork and getting ready for dance class)

Things I Could Do Without: Aaargh ~ by Jay

2011-09-19T11:53:00.002-04:00

No, I'm not observing talk-like-a-pirate day. I'm venting my frustration with Language Log, which used this illustration as a "visual aid" for the use of the final serial comma

and then closed comments because too many comments exhibited "irrelevance, rudeness, lack of substantive or amusing content, etc". They deleted said comments so we can't judge for ourselves if "irrelevant" included "objecting to the gratuitous use of nearly-naked women as objects to illustrate a point".

I like the final serial comma. I like Language Log. I do not like this.

Why I Love Tim and Mary ~ by Jay

2011-09-15T08:00:00.000-04:00

Mary and Tim blog at Both Hands and A Flashlight. Read through their posts and you will get to know both of them, and you can see their love for each other, the strength of their marriage, and their delight in both their kids, the J-man and Dale Jr.

This post about calming kids with sensory challenges, and proprioception in particular, taught me something new. Yes, I know a bit about sensory issues, and I accept - at least intellectually - that the discomfort is real. But I'd always thought of it as "discomfort" until I read this line

Like with pain management for any of us, it’s important to stay ahead of the pain by proactively managing it

Pain. Pain. Pain management. Of course. What do I do for a living again? Right, that. How many times have I talked with people about "staying ahead of the pain"? Yeah, about that often. But I never made the connection before, and I'd never thought about a family's preventive measures in that light.

And then I kept reading, and I found the line that made me fall more in love with Tim (and Mary, but Tim wrote this one).

It’s amazing how much he’s learned about helping himself through tough situations. Our kids can teach us a lot about what they need!

Mary and Tim don't sugar-coat the challenges they face. They write honestly and directly about family life with autism, and the emotional and physical grind of caring for their kids. And in every word, in every post, in everything they do, I can see the J-man as himself, as a boy with humor and sass and heart and persistence who is learning and growing in ways that aren't always immediately visible. So many of us struggle to see our neurotypical children as whole and separate from us, and the J-man is teaching us, too.

Maybe I Work Too Much ~ by Jay

2011-09-14T14:45:00.000-04:00

Because the first thing I thought of when I saw this was "Wow, that's a HIPAA violation".

This Made Me Cry ~ by Jay

2011-09-14T11:56:00.000-04:00

Clark is offline.

No matter how well we think we know our patients, how close we are, how supportive we try to be, we never know what their journey is really like.

The first personI ever diagnosed with cancer on my own had recurrent melanoma. He was about the same age as Clark, with two small children. I was still in my 20s then, so he was older than I, although not by much - not enough to insulate me from fear. It's easier to rationalize the deaths of the oldest old, the patients who have children and grandchildren clustered around their beds telling stories and saying "She had a good life" even as they wipe away the tears. People my own age - now that I'm here in my 50s - harder, much harder, but still not as bad as the ever-increasing number who are younger than I am.

As much as I try to stay fully present, I know I build walls - barriers to help me keep a bit of distance on the sheer terror and pain of watching younger people die. I need to feel enough to stay connected with the patients and families, but not so much that I am overwhelmed. The balance can be hard to strike. Essays like this show me a little of the private lives and jokes and loves of the people we call "patients", and help me pull a few bricks out of that wall.

I hope Rebecca finds a moment of peace today.

Just For Fun ~ by Jay

2011-09-13T16:56:00.001-04:00

Try this. And then try doing a search - just click in the box.

Have fun.

Remember, Re-Post ~ by Jay

2011-09-11T13:07:00.000-04:00

I wrote this originally for a s'lichot service in2005, after the attacks. Portions of it were read at a community remembrance five years ago, and I posted it here in 2007. Today Sam and I will sing in the choir at the 10th-anniversary community service. I could write all day and I would not improve on what I wrote before, so I offer it again.

May we find peace.

The central prayer of Judaism is an act of witnessing. When the sh’ma is written out in the Torah, the ayin and daled are enlarged. Ayin daled. Ed. Witness. The sh’ma itself is an act of witnessing the presence of God. It is also a command to be witnesses, for it is not enough to “listen, O Israel”. We must also speak the words, and teach them. Witnessing is an act.

We do not always know what it is we are called to witness, and on September 11th, 2001, I do not know. First there were voices – announcers on the radio; patients coming in and sharing what they knew; my brother, finally, at his office in midtown Manhattan. Then there were images, compressed into a terrifying narrative arc – see the first plane, see the second plane. Then the fire. Now the towers collapse. Watch it again. Watch it again.

But watching is not witnessing. We watch only with our eyes. Watchers don’t participate. Watchers stand apart. Our tradition calls us to do more than watch; our tradition demands that we witness. Witnessing is an act that requires our entire beings. It calls on memory, courage, voice and spirit. It is not enough to watch. We must also know. What we know, we must remember. And that memory calls us to act.

Another televised narrative arc: a black-hooded head on a concrete hotel balcony in Munich. I am twelve years old. My parents do not shield me. I hear my mother say “Don’t you ever forget: this is what it means to be a Jew”. Twenty years later, a single shot of that hood, that balcony, on another television show leaves me shaking. I have not forgotten.

But remembering alone is not witnessing. It is not acting. It is simply terror. It leaves us silent, isolated, paralyzed. At twelve, I could not be a witness. Thirty years later, I had learned that there was more to being a Jew than being afraid, alone, and powerless. So on September 12th, I found myself at morning minyan, holding my daughter and feeling both at home and out of place in a different shul. The prayerbook was unfamiliar. I realized that I was worshiping in a congregation where I could not stand and recite the Kaddish Yatom unless I were officially in mourning. At first, I resented what felt like an archaic rule. I wanted the comfort, the peace that comes from raising my voice in the ancient cadences. I did not want to listen; I had heard enough of other voices. I wanted to speak, but I did not. But as I chanted the lines of response, I realized this was why I came – it was the act of witnessing. It transformed the watching of the day before into something far more powerful. Mine was one voice in many that said “I see. I hear. I am present for this moment of grief”.

To act on that presence is to raise my voice against the re-interpretations and misinterpretations of events, to speak my truth about what happened that day and why. That narrative arc we see on television is only one heavily edited version of reality. If I am truly to be a witness, I must find the courage to speak out against the abuse of that powerful tool, the visual image of tragedy and fear. Fear can isolate us. We may feel safer if we lash out or hide away behind walls. It is easy and comforting to demonize the Other, to hold onto our grief as it transforms into rage. But when we do so, we forget the lesson of the sh’ma; we no longer are witnesses to God’s presence. The presence of God lives in each of us, in that small piece of the Schechinah that we were each created to hold. I catch glimpses of it when I am lucky enough to be in the presence of healing, of that deep connection that exists when I am really seen and really see-ing.

It is the Shabbat after my grandmother’s death. We meet on our screened porch for services, and we do not have a minyan. I know that we are not supposed to say Kaddish, and yet I deeply need to do so. My friends, my witnesses, willingly participate. It is a gift I treasure. My grief is eased by their presence.

From that moment of presence both the mourners and the witnesses gather strength. We come together at terrible times to act as a community, to forge new memories and hear stories that will help us to act on our values, to live out our prayers and our hopes rather than our fears. The Kaddish we speak out of our deepest grief is composed words of praise for the Divine, and by witnessing that paradox of praise and pain we can conquer the isolation of terror. We can become true witnesses: not just those who remember, but those who act to heal the world.

Never forget, this is what it means to be a Jew. To be both a mourner and a witness. To hear, to see and to act. Never forget.

Things I Could Do Without ~ by Jay

2011-09-09T21:25:00.000-04:00

The local Army/Navy store is having a special sale, this weekend only:

10% off guns and ammo.

This weekend, only.

On The List of Things I Never Thought I'd Do ~ by Jay

2011-09-03T23:10:00.001-04:00

There are many things I never thought I'd do, and this is one of them: counsel someone about end-of-life care for a family member over Facebook chat.

I offered a phone call, but she was sitting at the hospital and didn't want anyone to overhear. So we typed back and forth in the little Facebook window about IV fluids and nutrition and fluid overload and oxygen saturation and how you tell someone you love that it's OK to let go.

It was really frustrating not to be able to hear her voice, and I realized how much I rely on my own voice - and how much I prefer to have these conversations in person, where I can use touch and eye contact to convey my concern. Tonight it took a lot more words to say the same thing.

What a brave new world it is, indeed.

In Which My Daughter Makes My Day, or Possibly My Year ~ by Jay

2011-09-03T09:37:00.003-04:00

Eve and her friend are in the back seat of the car headed out on a vacation adventure. They are playing some version of SuperMario on their DSis, and I'm not really paying attention, until I hear this conversation:

Eve: Why does Mario always have to rescue Peach? Peach should rescue Mario.

Friend: Well, it's not always Peach.

Eve: But it's always a girl. Girls can rescue boys, too.

It is possible - just possible, mind you - that she's getting it. Sam reaches over and squeezes my knee, because he already gets it.

Things I Could Do Without: Vacation Assumption Edition ~ by Jay

2011-09-02T12:17:00.001-04:00

The new interface for Blogger informs me that we last posted on July 28th. So much for August.

Not-writing breeds not-writing. I make no promises about the return, though. The time pressures that made August go whizzing by have not vanished - they are temporarily on hold this week due to a little thing I like to call "vacation". We didn't make a lot of plans for vacation, so we've had a quiet, aimless week, which was just what we needed. Eve's back-to-school and back-to-dance shopping is completed, some necessary home repair has been taken care of, and I have not worked for a week, which feels damned good. I seem to have the time and mental space to blog again, and of course, there's always something I could do without.

Yesterday we did something actually vacation-y, and went to a National Recreation Area to recreate outdoors. The recreating was great fun, the weather was wonderful, and we took our windblown, gritty selves to a local watering hole for dinner, guided by Yelp! The reviews all praised the available beers on tap, but there was no printed or posted list - so I asked.

The waiter reeled off a bunch of "lite" beers, and I said "no, thanks", so he went on to "light" beers - lagers and pale ales - pointing to each tap on the nearby bar. He skipped one, which had an intriguing harlequin pattern. I asked what that one was, and he said "Oh, that's Ommegang Ale. That's only for people who like strong beer".

Now why do you suppose he assumed I wasn't one of those people? (I had the Ommegang, by the way, and it was delicious with the spicy mussels I ordered for dinner).

Perhaps this was more what he thought I should order.

From their website: After two years of effort, Chick Beer is our answer. This lovely beer is a light lager, with low carbs and just 97 calories. The taste leans toward the smoothness of malt over the dry bitterness of hops It’s the taste that women prefer. You’re going to love it.

Oh, no. No, I'm not.

Things I Could Do Without: Restaurant Edition ~ by Jay

2011-07-28T19:07:00.003-04:00

Not just restaurants - breastaurants.

And they're aiming higher than Hooters. So to speak.

Meanwhile, over at Twin Peaks, a franchise based on a mountain lodge theme where the girls wear plaid tops, suspenders and hiking boots, CEO Randy DeWitt says that his breastaurant is a lot more high brow than Hooters.
'I knew guys like me would like a man cave where the waitresses are pretty and friendly, and we thought we could create a concept sufficiently differentiated from Hooters,' he said.
'I thought Hooters had taken the low-brow route, and we're taking the high road. We have higher-quality food, and the uniforms on our girls are more finished. Hooters is more blue collar. We do well where Hooters isn't accepted.'

I can't even begin to explain everything that's wrong with this.

(thanks for pointing this out, you-who-know-you-are)

How Weird Is That? ~ by Tigermom

2011-07-19T21:09:00.003-04:00

I had a dream last night, or maybe it was just thoughts on awakening, about a good old friend with whom I have not been in contact for a while. There had been some personal problems in her life. I wondered how the issues had been resolved. I was really missing her.

After dinner tonight, I checked my inbox and there was an email from her. Her mother died suddenly this week.

Time for an old fashioned letter. Or a covered dish. Or both.

Conversations With My Daughter (+1) ~by Jay

2011-07-15T13:10:00.003-04:00

J: It's my birthday Sunday and so I get to choose what we do.

Eve: The Harry Potter movie!

Sam: Did you hear Mommy say SHE gets to choose?

Eve: Well, Mommy wants to make me happy, so she'll choose the Harry Potter movie. Then I'll be happy, and Mommy will be happy. It's a win-win.

Things I Could Do Without : Advertising Division ~ by Jay

2011-07-15T11:47:00.002-04:00

Siddown, John! ~ by Jay

2011-07-04T12:38:00.001-04:00

Instead of the complex meditation on patriotism that I'd planned, I offer you

Overheard ~ by Jay

2011-07-02T18:24:00.003-04:00

Stream-of-consciousness from the visitor in the hospital to the nurse at the desk in the ICU:

I don't believe in doctors. I mean, who needs 'em? It's not like I can afford anything, anyway, not since that Obamanation got elected. I told my daughter if I kick off, you take my ashes and send them to the White House with a note that says "You killed me, you son of a bitch". I'm 72 - lived longer than anyone in my family; no one else made it past 60, but now I can't afford any of my medicine thanks to you-know-who and his frickin' donut hole.

He kept talking but I managed to finish what I was doing and walk away without engaging him and pointing out that it was George Bush who inaugurated the donut hole and there haven't been any changes in Medicare benefits yet from the Affordable Care Act.

This Made Me Cry ~ by Jay

2011-06-28T19:01:00.003-04:00

From Motherlode - two essays by teenagers who found their first mothers and bio families on Facebook. The whole thing is worth reading, but this statement really got me. From Alexander Dorf, who discovered that his biological dad also loves reptiles, and that at 6'2" he is a foot shorter than his biological brother, and then reflected on the influence of his adoptive parents:

I may not have inherited their body type or facial features, instead I have inherited their values which they continue to teach me everyday.

I'll take that.

I Can't Believe I Said That ~ by Jay

2011-06-27T21:36:00.002-04:00

I read Isis's post about the American Heart Association, which will allow you to register as an individual or as Dr. and Mrs., but not as Dr. and Dr. or Mr. and Dr. That reminded me of my outrage when we joined the JCC 12 years ago and they listed us as Dr. and Mrs. Sam Samslastname, erasing me completely in the process.

And that reminded me, with some humiliation, of what I said yesterday. Eve and I were looking at pictures of the last Chanukah party, and she pointed to an older couple and said "Who are they?". I replied "Dr. and Mrs. Shapiro".

It took me a few minutes to realize what I'd said. It's true that one of them is Dr. Shapiro - Ruth Shapiro, who started out teaching preschool and then went to medical school when her children were small. Ruth retired from practice 15 years ago. Her husband worked as an accountant. He's a wonderful man, but he's not a doctor.

Ruth probably doesn't mind being called Mrs. Shapiro, but I was - and am - mortified to realize that my own assumptions and prejudices still make me assume that the man is the doctor. I can't believe I said that.

Conversations With my Daughter ~ by Jay

2011-06-26T20:42:00.002-04:00

I saw an article in the New York Times today about some kids who were adopted, and their birth moms found them on Facebook.

That's so cool!

You think?

Yeah. They must be happy.

Sure seemed like the kids in the article were excited, but not all the parents who've adopted kids think it's a good idea.

They're probably worried that their kids will get too connected to their biological families - maybe they think they'll lose their children if they get in touch with their real families.

I bet they are.

{rolls her eyes} Like you could ever forget the parents who raised you.

So you won't forget Daddy and me?

{Does not dignify this with a response}

I think sometimes parents see that connecting with their birth families makes kids feel sad, and it's hard to watch your child feel sad.

They were sadder before.

You were sadder before you met Laura, weren't you?

Yes.

One of the moms in the article said she realized her son thought about his birth parents every single day, and I was thinking that's how it is for you, isn't it?

Every day. All the time. Not as much now, but still every day.

In Which I Nod Vigorously and Say Hell, Yeah! ~ by Jay

2011-06-26T19:26:00.003-04:00

I may have injured myself nodding and shouting while I read this from Historiann.

She writes in response to a piece by Nicholas Kristof, who wonders just why it is that women don't breastfeed more when breastmilk is a "miracle cure for childhood malnutrition...{a} protein-rich substance that doesn’t require refrigeration...that is free and is available even in remote towns like this one in Niger where babies routinely die of hunger-related causes". He wonders "why a human instinct to nurse went awry. Does it have something to do with the sexualization of breasts? Or with infant formula manufacturers, who irresponsibly peddled their products in the past but are more restrained now? Or is it just that moms worry that their babies need water on hot days? Nobody really knows."

Gee, maybe it's because breastfeeding isn't really free, and women might need not have the social structure and support they need to focus on feeding their baby. And I'm glad Kristof thinks the formula manufacturers are restrained and oh-so-ethical now, but I can tell you that babies are still being sent home from US hospitals with formula samples.

Historiann covers most of the reasons I can think of far more eloquently than I can, but if you don't have time to read her whole piece, I'll quote the last part, which really made me wrench my neck:

My question is, why doesn’t anyone ever assume that women are rational actors whose choices might make sense given the (often desperate) economic, social, political, and cultural conditions in which they live? If outside experts decide that women should be making different decisions they ought to consider a wholesale reform of said economic, social, political, and cultural conditions rather than lecturing women as though they’re the ones who created said conditions.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it's not the mommy's fault.

Not A Tree ~ by Jay

2011-06-25T14:55:00.002-04:00

A flower.

I am a
Sunflower

What Flower
Are You?

What, you expected actual blogging? Don't be silly.

One Other Thing Was Up ~ by Tigermom

2011-06-19T23:15:00.003-04:00

Jay left out my favorite thing she did last week.

When I found myself detained in her neck of the woods with Tigercub #3, too late for us to return home, she gave us access to her house.

We cooked ourselves dinner, found the guest room and sleeping bag, showered, I put the cub to bed for the night, fit in some adult conversation with Jay and Sam, then we left in the wee hours of the morning to head back to our previously planned adventures.

Serendipity rules.

What's Up? ~ by Jay

2011-06-18T21:22:00.002-04:00

So much has happened since I last posted here.

- Eve finished fifth grade, which in our system means she finished elementary school and is headed to middle school next year. She's staying in public school, much to her relief and the astonishment of many of our friends and neighbors. I don't usually bother to explain to people that we considered moving her because middle school is a vast intellectual wasteland, not because we're trying to keep in a richer, whiter environment.

- We had to put Growler to sleep. She'd been not-quite-right for a while, and then she had a seizure and we realized (with the help of our wonderful vet) that she had cancer with metastasis to her brain. Sam had the hard part of all of this - he had to tell Eve, he had to watch Eve say goodbye, he took the dog to the vet and he brought Eve home that evening to a house without her favorite puppy. Eve lay down on the carpet in the living room and said 'This is the place I saw her for the last time".

- I spent three days last week covering the Palliative Care inpatient service and trying to do my own job at the same time. I managed to get home at 5:00 one day, with only 90 minutes of computer work to do that evening; that was more than balanced out by the first day, when I left the hospital at 7:30 PM and the last day, when I went to work at 7:00 AM hoping to get out by 5:00 and didn't leave until 6:30 PM.

- My mother-in-law came to visit. You do the math.

- Sam purchased and assembled one of these and is filling the house with small plastic objects. The other day he came upstairs and handed me a pink plastic frog. He also made Steven Colbert's head. Just because he can.

- Summer weather arrived and we have been swimming! and picknicking! and grilling! and swimming!

- On average I'm doing twice as many home visits in a month as I was doing a year ago.

- Our inpatient hospice census, which had been distressingly low for months, has rebounded. This is good for the organization. It is good for the patients. It is reassuring for the nurses. It adds about an hour to my day.

Watch this space. There will be blogging again, eventually.

Oh, Maybe That's It ~ by Jay

2011-06-05T20:55:00.002-04:00

I was a little late to the Glee party. OK, maybe a lot late, especially for someone who spent so much of my youth on risers and on stage and leaning on pianos. I downloaded the first season and watched it early last fall, and then subscribed to the second season on iTunes, figuring I'd catch up and then start watching in real time.

That didn't work, but hey, it was still fun - until I got to the episode called Grilled Cheesus, in which Kurt's father has a heart attack and is in a coma, and Kurt's friends try to help by praying and singing songs from their religious traditions. I watched the first ten minutes and I got distracted. Weeks later, I came back and watched more, and then Rachel and Finn were out in the park and she was starting to sing a song from Yentl and I thought "gee, this show has gotten boring". That was months ago.

For some reason, I hit "play" again last night, and realized that it wasn't boring at all. I turned it off because it hurt so much to listen to that song that I couldn't even see how painful it was. I sobbed through the song, and through the rest of the episode, so overcome by grief that I didn't even count the ways they screwed up the medical stuff.

Papa, I miss kissing you.

Who Dat?Open Adoption Roundtable: Talking About Siblings ~ by Jay

2011-06-02T21:13:00.005-04:00

After just over four years, I may finally be getting the hang of this blogging thing. I just realized that the Open Adoption Roundtable is, duh, open. I don't need an engraved invitation; the invite and instructions are right there in Heather's post. This roundtable asks "How do you talk about siblings in open adoption"?

At two, Eve would open the book and point at the little boy in the picture. "Who dat"? That's Marky, your brother. "Where Marky?" He lives with Laura. She'd nod and smile, and turn the page. While she was looking at the pictures of us, I was thinking someday you will ask me why Laura kept Mark and didn't keep you, and I think my heart will break into tiny pieces.

By the time she was four, Eve had been presented with a baby brother and a baby sister, and both had then been taken from her. We told her that the babies had to go back and live with their other families, and that Mommy and Daddy were sad but we would be OK. And we told her, over and over, that she would never have to leave, that she was ours forever. After the first day, when she said "But I want to see them!", she never asked where Rose and Jesse were or when they were coming back. Every now and then, she talks about "when I was a sister", and she's made it clear that she wanted to be a sister again. We'd tell her that we understand, but that we're not going to have another baby, and we'd remind her that she was a sister to Mark. "But I never see Mark!".

Eve started asking to see Mark when she was about six. This was usually at bedtime, and we'd say "You really love Mark, and we want you to see him. We'll arrange that when you're older". She'd smile at us and roll over and put her thumb in her mouth. Sam and I would go downstairs and pretend she hadn't asked.

When Eve was eight, she put Mark's school picture on her bulletin board with a note saying "MY BROTHER" and a big pink heart. She started asking more often - not to see Laura, but to meet Mark. We were stuck with the same response because we couldn't get past our own fear and anxiety about opening the adoption for real. We stalled. We equivocated. We kept saying "Someday". Finally, when she'd just turned ten, Eve looked at me and said "Mommy, you always say that you're going to do it, but you never do. I want to see my brother".

It took us nearly another year, but we finally arranged the meeting. At ten, Eve got to meet her brother. They hugged awkwardly, and didn't say much to each other. Marky's a quiet kid, and Eve takes a while to warm up - but it's a start. Now she has a picture of herself with Mark and Laura on her bulletin board, and an album started with photos of the three of them and her cousins and aunts and uncles, and the grandparents she never met.

Eve did ask why Laura kept Marky and not her, and my heart did break into tiny pieces. I said "Laura loves you and Marky both, but when you were born she couldn't take care of you both, and so she made arrangements for you to be adopted". I have never used the words gave you up or gave you away - not with Eve, and not with anyone else, either.

It's been relatively easy to talk to Eve about Mark; we try to honor her feelings and be as honest as we can, and now she has her own relationship with Mark and we're not in between them any more. We're having a harder time talking with her about the other half-siblings she has on her birth father's side. From what we can figure out, there are at least three or four other children in the community where Laura lives who are (or might be) Eve's siblings. Nick doesn't have contact with any of them; he's now married and living in another country (we think) and may have children in that marriage, too. We've told Eve that we think she has other siblings and that we can't take her to meet them. She's upset that she can't meet Nick, but so far, she seems satisfied with the brother she has.

Who dat? That's Marky. He's your brother.

Tales from a Joplin, MO ER doctor ~ reposted by Tigermom

2011-05-30T10:34:00.001-04:00

Please read this post by a Joplin, MO ER doctor about last week's tornado and then go hug your loved ones.

What Not To Do ~ by Jay

2011-05-26T13:40:00.002-04:00

If you're looking for training in effective communications skills, don't ask this guy.

For those of you who don't follow Mary Worth, here's the backstory: the younger man is Dr. Drew Cory, son of the older man (who is Dr. Jeff Cory, Mary's beau). Dr. Cory the younger hooked up with a nurse who is not only bad at her job but who has a serious issue with that river in Egypt and just doesn't get that Drew broke up with her.

Dr. Cory the elder has just flunked Listening 101.

This Makes Me Sad ~ by Jay

2011-05-22T22:27:00.002-04:00

Every now and then I poke around Sitemeter to see what brings you all here to our corner of the internet. Any blog with "Two Women" in the title is bound to draw (and, in our case, disappoint) people looking for hot girl-on-girl action. Lately there have been lots of folks clicking over from Bluemilk, and occasionally people land here looking for hospice or doctor or psychiatry blogs.

The most consistent search string, though, brings people to this post from 2007. Since then people have found us by looking for "My husband won't let me....

...have any money/spend any money/look at the checkbook/know how much he makes
...get a paying job
...stay home with the kids
...go back to school
...talk to my family
...go out with my friends
...turn on the air conditioning
...wear nail polish
...go to church
...get a cellphone
...say no to sex
...have another baby
...have a Facebook account"

Each one of those tugs on my heart. I hope they all find their voice, and a safe place.

Why and Why Not ~ by Jay

2011-05-22T22:00:00.000-04:00

Thanks again to bluemilk for deepening the conversation about doing it all, and the challenges of changing that dynamic. She posted a wonderful comment that deserves a more thoughtful response than I can compose in Blogger's comment box.

She says:

In my own house, the ‘sorry, is our struggle’ problems that I outlined in that post have been corrected to some degree by Bill working a day a week from home while I am at work in the city. Having one day a week where we have switched responsibilities entirely for pick-ups and drop-offs, as well as primary care of the toddler has really improved things, though, we still have some terrible days. I can see from this experience that you kinda need to be totally removed from the equation for real change to happen – for me to get better at switching off and him to get better at switching on. Or maybe that’s just us? But it certainly broke through some ‘but, it can’t be changed’ thinking.

I don't think that's just you. Several other women said the same thing - that having him take full responsibility was the only thing that changed the dynamic in their households. Some people need to fly without a net.

I think it is also probably easier for women doing paid work to tackle this whole issue. I honestly don’t know where or how I would draw lines about domestic work if I were a SAHM. And I should clarify, I believe I would be right to draw lines, but I am not sure how I would negotiate them. I am very interested to hear how SAHMs have done so.

It's certainly true that my brief, unintended time at home made this all much more difficult. I remember telling my therapist I felt like a cliché - my husband just doesn't understand what I do all day. I remember arguing with Sam, who felt it was inappropriate for me to expect him to be on baby duty as soon as he walked in, every night. We'd had challenges before that (Eve was 8 months old when I left my job; I started working again 10 months later) but everything was exponentially worse because I didn't have anything else I was "supposed" to be doing.

MPJ, who is a SAHM, pointed out in her comment that even when her work is seen and valued within her household, by her husband and kids, it is not valued by the outside world. She can't get disability insurance, but would be able to if she did the exact same work for someone else's kids. We are simultaneously told that mothering is the most important job we'll ever have, and that's it's not a "job" at all, because of course we do it out of love for our children, so if we don't do it all we fail at womanhood. I have less mama-guilt than most women I know but I still have my moments.

I think you need a few key ingredients before women fight against inequality in their relationships with their partners – you need to know it is unjust, and that information won’t be readily available to you so it has to be sought out; it helps to know that other women are fighting against it also; you benefit greatly from knowing how other women have fought against it and what arrangements they’ve replaced traditional roles with in their relationships; you need energy, because you will have to fight it continually; you will need some head-space in order to think through things, particularly where you meet with strong resistance to change; you need some safety – it is no good if the children are literally held to ransom against you and it is no good if you will lose your job on account of a housework-strike.

Safety. Yes. It is a privilege, in every sense of the word, to trust that even if we choose not to "do it all", our children will have food and clothing and shelter and even many luxuries. And you hit so many other truths here: that it is a continual battle, and that it helps to see how other women have thrived, and that we need space and time.

Something I really don’t like about the individualism evident in so many of the comments on the Motherlode site is the idea that women bring this upon themselves – No, no, no, you know many institutional barriers keep women in these roles, it is such a cop-out to simply point fingers at women and say, well, you *chose* this. Another thing I hate, that came up in those comments? You hear this woman describing the fight she is taking on in trying to address the inequality in her relationship with her partner and then some dick comes along and says either – if you’re fighting like that then there must be some serious problems in your relationship that you’re not telling us about OR thank goodness we don’t fight like that, my partner respects me and we have such a great relationship. First, bully for you, and second, maybe this woman is just more honest than you or even braver or has higher standards of equality than you.

YES. This. Both of these. I'm not fond of the "choice" rhetoric around SAHMs, either, because it makes all the work-related bullshit invisible. It's not that we're trapped in jobs that suck us dry and demand so much that it's intolerable for both adults to participate in that toxic culture - oh, no, that's not it, it's just that women CHOOSE to stay home. Which is not to say that it's not a choice, but that it's not a choice made in a vacuum. None of our choices are made in a vacuum. I don't want to undermine or dismiss agency. I know women do choose to stay home and many do so happily, but they are also set up to be the lower wage-earner so it makes "sense" for them to stay home. And then, of course, if they're not perfectly happy with every tiny little aspect of SAHM-hood (or doing it all while working for pay), well, that's their own fault because it was a choice. Bullshit.

Yes, as well, to your second point. Sometimes there are serious problems in the relationship, and sometimes (probably often) people struggle to build the kind of communication skills that help us manage conflict productively, and some people are partnered with assholes, but it is also true that sometimes the non-arguers are avoiding the whole subject.

Anyway, I think my basic conclusion is that this stuff just has to be talked about and talked about – people want to talk about it.

Clearly you and I do, anyway (and yes, I'd far prefer to have this conversation in person on an Australian holiday!).

Things I Could Do Without ~ by Jay

2011-05-20T14:26:00.003-04:00

A plaque in the kitchen of a patient's home that reads "WIFE-BEATING PADDLE: WHEN YOU JUST CAN'T SHUT 'EM UP, BEAT 'EM".

Even allowing for its probable date of purchase (they moved into this house in 1952 after they'd been married five years), and the other cutesy sayings tacked up all around, I can't imagine facing that over my kitchen door every day of my life.

And The Second Shall Be First: Things I Could Do Without, Florida Politics Edition ~ by Jay

2011-05-19T07:25:00.000-04:00

Amendments, that is.

Apparently the government of Florida does not believe that free speech applies to doctors. Doctors in Florida now face arrest if they ask about the presence of guns or ammunition in the home. After negotiation with medical lobbyists, the bill "allows a good-faith exception for concerns about the safety of the patient or of others". That implies, of course, that there are times when a physician would ask a question for some other reason than concern about safety of the patient and others.

So this is Republican logic: They have to prevent us sneaky clinicians from using some of the 10-15 minutes we have with each patient to promote our own political agenda. We're not professionals who think for ourselves; we're just robots programmed by the American Academy of Pediatrics to advance their radical socialist agenda. But drug reps are FINE. They don't influence us AT ALL. Because we're professionals who can think for ourselves, and, unlike the AAP, Merck and its ilk are entirely altruistic organizations with only the best interests of the country at heart.

My head hurts.

And one more thing: You know those Netizens who get all bent out of shape when a blogger deletes their comments because of FREE SPEECH!!!eleventyone!!!? I know I'm climbing the ladder of inference, but I just bet they think this law is AOK.

In Which I Get My Comeuppance ~ by Jay

2011-05-18T17:18:00.002-04:00

I asked you what you'd risk if you stopped doing it all. That's the sort of thing that tempts fate, isn't it? Don't you think I'd know that?

That must be why I found myself in the midst of utter chaos this afternoon - while I was on a conference call with Medicare appeals judge - trying to figure out if it was OK for Eve to walk home with a friend. After a ridiculous number of phone calls and texts and a recreation of the crime scene, it became clear that Sam had a conversation with Friend's mother last night, agreed to this plan - and promptly forgot about it. The plan was dependent on Friend's successful completion of a task and thus was not finalized until 3:00 this afternoon (just as the conference call began) and I, of course, knew nothing about it until Eve called to tell me she was going. So I said "no", and hung up without listening to Eve's explanation; Eve went to child care and then left (because Friend's mom told her to); the child care manager called me, frantic, and I didn't answer (conference call!) and we were off and running.

And yes, it's true that if I'd continued to plan Eve's entire social life, as I did until about a year ago, this wouldn't have happened. Some people would take this episode as a sign that the parents need to exert more control. I think the opposite is true for us (and I know this wouldn't be true for everyone) - if Eve had blanket permission to go to Friend's house as long as she told us she was going, she would have texted me with that info, I would have smiled and turned off my phone, and life would have gone on.

I'm still not going to do it all because I can't do it all, and I still believe that this is what's in Eve's best interests.

This Made Me Cry ~ by Jay

2011-05-18T07:19:00.000-04:00

Not Forgotten

by Sheila Packa

I learned to ride
the two wheel bicycle
with my father.
He oiled the chain
clothes-pinned playing cards
to the spokes, put on the basket
to carry my lunch.
By his side, I learned balance
and took on speed
centered behind the wide
handlebars, my hands
on the white grips
my feet pedaling.
One moment he was
holding me up
and the next moment
although I didn't know it
he had let go.
When I wobbled, suddenly
afraid, he yelled keep going—
keep going!
Beneath the trees in the driveway
the distance increasing between us
I eventually rode until he was out of sight.
I counted on him.

That he could hold me was a given
that he could release me was a gift.

What's It To You? ~ by Jay

2011-05-17T20:36:00.002-04:00

Why do they care?

Why does Wisconsin's governor care if same-sex partners can visit each other in the hospital?

Seriously, why? What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?

Stuff My Kid Can Do ~ by Jay

2011-05-16T08:00:00.000-04:00

Mama C has a post up about the recent learnings in her house. What a cool idea, and just when I'm bursting with Mama-pride.

This was Dance Recital Weekend. Eve decided to stop ballet and jazz this year and stuck with her beloved hip-hop class. Sam and I were a bit startled in December when she told us the thumping we were hearing was "me jumping over a chair". Why? Because that was her "trick" in the dance - standing on a chair and leaping over the back of the chair on to the floor. She did it, too, along with a whole bunch of other moves, looking confident and gorgeous and oh-so-cool. We're not the only ones who thought it was pretty cool - her class won the pizza party in the last week, when all the teachers watch each routine and score them on technique and professionalism. After Saturday's show Sam went to thank the teacher, who is also the director of the program, and she said "Eve is really good. I mean really good. She needs to take more classes, and I want her in the Performance Company next year".

But that wasn't the best part.

This morning we had an end-of-year brunch at synagogue, and the religious school students made cards to thank the congregants who helped them with their project (an oral history of the congregation). My daughter - the one who has refused to talk to adults she knows, the one who would not take a speaking part in any school play or presentation, the one who never wants to read when it's her turn at services - marched up to the microphone and spoke for the school. She also took the cards to individual adults and thanked them in person.

We didn't know she was going to do that. When she came to the front of the room, I started to cry, and only Sam knew why. It was a vision of her future - gorgeous, calm, self-assured, poised, articulate and smart - and able to overcome her fears. I can't wait to see what she does next.

And The Moral of the Story Is.....

2011-05-15T19:17:00.002-04:00

....if you ask for what you need, amazing things can happen.

Even playing guitar onstage with Paul Simon.

No, Really, Why? ~ by Jay

2011-05-08T18:00:00.000-04:00

I started to write this when Bluemilk reposted one of her rants from Lauca's preschool years. She described some of the ways in which her day is more complex and stressful than her partner's. The post, she says, has "taken on a life of its own" from its first inception and the repost generated another round of conversation in her comments section. Now Lisa Belkin is covering some of the same territory. Women's work is invisible, unappreciated, and never-ending. I know that's true, but I don't understand why.

I struggle when I see posts like this, because my immediate answer is similar to PattyCake's: just don't do it. Just - don't. Angie responds:

If only it were that simple. When you are acting in the best interests of your child, there are many times when ‘not doing it all’ is not an option that you will consider.

I don't want to write another chapter in the Mommy Wars. I really don't. I get that in some partnerships it's like this and it sucks, and I respect whatever people need to do to get them through the day - but I keep wondering why. I'm sure there are some people who are truly incompetent and unsafe and who can't be trusted to take a child to school, but I don't think Angie is talking about an abusive parent - so why? What's the risk when you hand your child over to your partner or spouse? What could go wrong?

That's a serious question. I would really like to understand.

Sam and I don't always agree about parenting. I wish he'd ease up about some things, and he wishes I'd pay more attention (and yes, I recognize this is yet another area in which we upend the gender norms). The house is not as clean or tidy as I would like it to be, and he doesn't have as much freedom to spread out as he'd prefer. But none of that puts Eve in danger. Her best interests are served when she has her parents create a home in which everyone's work is valued, and everyone's voice is heard - and her best interests are also served when she does some of the work herself, now that she's old enough.

It's not easy to get there. I guess we got here because I was more willing to force the issue and risk conflict with Sam than I was willing to allow the household work to be invisible and unappreciated (and I had a head start because my mother-in-law felt the same way and raised her sons with a full set of housework skills). Is that it? Is it just overwhelmingly difficult to keep talking about it? If that's the case then OK, I can understand throwing up your hands - but don't say you're doing it for your kids.

There are comments on Lisa's post about moms who "quit" and are now resented by their grown children, who were left to fend for themselves without the wherewithal to do so, but also comments from adults who benefited when mom abdicated total responsibility. It's so hard to figure out the balance, and it's not just mom's job to make it work. If Dad is around, it's also his job. Doing it all is letting him off the hook. I expect more.

Who'd Have Thought? ~ by Jay

2011-05-08T13:47:00.003-04:00

Back when I was obsessing over my relationship with Laura, who would've thought I'd have this chat with her on Facebook?

L: Happy Mother's Day.

J: Same to you!

L: Thanks. I loved that last picture you posted.

J: Oh, I'm glad. I have some more I'll send to you later today.

L: You're doing a great job with Eve.

J: Thank you. That means a lot to me. She's a great kid, and I want her to be happy.

L: I can see how happy she is when I look at the pics. She has two pretty moms: you and me.

J: :-) Thanks. She sure does.

L: I hope you don't mind that I still call Eve my daughter.

J: She is your daughter. She calls you her mom. I don't mind at all. She's our daughter, together.

Why I Love My Husband ~ by Jay

2011-05-08T12:17:00.002-04:00

Because he is undaunted by these directions, and has acquired a vintage manual Smith-Corona typewriter and the requisite DIY kit. For Mother's Day, I received the parts for this.

Eve will help solder.

I do love that man.

Cartoon Of The Day ~ by Jay

2011-05-08T10:56:00.001-04:00

From Isabel.

From the Guttmacher Institute ~ by Jay

2011-05-07T10:12:00.001-04:00

A Little Grouchy ~ by Tigermom

2011-04-27T22:47:00.004-04:00

Over at shrink rap, Dinah wrote today about psychiatrist bashing.

Why? She is responding to lots of talk in the media and blogosphere about - in a nutshell - how some psychiatrists jam patients into their schedule books for too short sessions, throw scripts at people for meds without enough problem solving, without enough ruling out medical co-morbidities, and without enough listening.

I am all for enough time. I am all for medications when appropriate, medications when there is time to talk about pros and cons and side effect profiles. I love ruling out medical co-morbidities. And I love to listen. My favorite TV shows are the classic soap operas. Guiding Light, may you rest in peace.

But please consider this:

I run almost always on time. I do not overbook. Ask your gyn how she schedules. I know because I hear the staff talk in the elevators. The popular gyn in my building triple books.

With me, your time is your time.

I see some for 30 minutes. Some for 50 minutes. I see first visits for 90-120 minutes.

All of that time is YOURS. No one else is squeezed into the slot.

If you are late or do not show, I keep checking the waiting room. I keep checking my voice-mail. And then I call you to make sure you are not dead in the street. This is YOUR time.

If I offer you two possible times for your next visit, and you cannot make them, I offer you a third time. That third time comes from my personal time. In other words, my kid will get picked up by someone else if I have back up, or I will change my dentist appointment, or I will not get to my groceries that day.

Today I had 7 patients scheduled. Three showed, two forgot, one had too much to juggle and canceled, and one was my mistake and is really coming next month.

Two paid.

Puhleeze.

Conversations With my Daughter ~ by Jay

2011-04-26T21:41:00.005-04:00

Mommy, I don't want to be mean, but I think that dude likes other dudes.

What makes you say that?

He acts like a girl. He wears skinny jeans and he does like this {flounces around with limp wrist}

Ah. He might like guys. He might not. You can't tell by looking.

Oh.

And why would it be mean to say that a guy likes other guys?

I don't know.

I bet you hear other kids say it that way, don't you? Like they think that calling a boy "gay" is the worst thing possible?

Yeah.

That makes me sad.

Why?

Because I know there are boys in your grade who are just figuring out that they're gay, and I bet hearing stuff like that makes them scared.

There are gay boys?

Uh-huh. And gay men. You know some.

I do?

Yes. You know Adam at synagogue? And his partner Bud?

Oh. They're gay?

Yup. And you know some gay women, too.

Oh, sure. I know about them. Like our rabbi from last year.

Right. This stuff is complicated, and you'll meet a lot of people who are really scared and uncomfortable. I don't hold you responsible for what other kids do, but I don't ever want to hear you say "that's so gay", OK?

OK.

____
Exit Eve stage left. Mommy sighs and wonders what happened to the seven-year-old who sat my table and had this conversation.

Out Of Egypt ~ by Jay

2011-04-19T22:24:00.004-04:00

It was my grandmother.

He's younger than I am - in his 30s, I think - and the man in the bed is his mother's beloved older brother. Uncle Lou never had any kids, he said, and we promised my mother we'd take care of him.

I hope he can't sense my impatience. I shouldn't be here at all. It's chag* - Pesach started last evening - and I'm supposed to meet Sam at the community seder in about an hour. I'm working because I couldn't get coverage, which means that Pesach is not a time of reflection and spiritual growth but one more obligation added to my list. I find my mind wandering to the pile of papers on my desk and the other family waiting down the hall, and it takes a physical effort to return my attention to Uncle Lou's nephew.

It was my grandmother, he repeats. She grew up on a cold-water farm and never went to school, and she wanted better for her children. I don't know how she managed after my grandfather died. Uncle Lou was 12 then, and he wanted to quit school and get a job. When my grandma heard that, she whipped him so hard he had to eat his dinner standing up. No one else in the whole town had ever been to college, but when Lou was 16, he hitched a ride to the nearest train station and started his freshman year at State. My grandmother learned to read and write so she could send him letters.

He's touching a picture of Lou and Marie on their wedding day, and he's watching Marie as she holds Lou's hand. He turns and looks at me, and I am no longer distracted.

I want you to know Lou. He finished at State in three years and went into the Army, and then after he and Marie were married he worked full-time and went to law school at night. From that farmhouse with dirt floors, he ended up a judge. My grandmother had eight children, and every one of them went to college. Four lawyers, two doctors, a dentist and a banker. My mother is the youngest - 12 years younger than Lou. She's the dentist. My cousins and me, we all had it so easy, but Uncle Lou - he was the first one to get out. He had to make the path himself.

And I realize this is precisely where I'm supposed to be. Eventually, I will get to the seder and sit down beside Sam just as the kids start to chant the four questions. I'll help tell the story of the Exodus, and we'll discuss why it is that we are told that every generation came out of Egypt. On Pesach, we are commanded to tell the story so that we will remember. When a story is told, someone needs to listen, and tonight I am the listener to Lou's story. Lou, too, came out of Egypt.

Next year may we all be free.
_____
*chag = holiday, usually used to denote those holidays on which observant Jews refrain from any kind of work

Feminist At The Movies ~ by Jay

2011-04-17T16:39:00.004-04:00

Eve loves the movies. We took her to see Rango a few weeks ago, and she was entranced by the trailer for Rio, which opened this weekend. So off we go with a friend. If you haven't seen Rio, and you don't like spoilers, stop reading now.
.
.
.
This time I didn't notice the trailers - maybe because we're going to more movies these days so none of them were a surprise. There was a short that had nothing objectionable in it! One squirrel, gender unknown, lots of geological special effects and 3-D chaos.

And then the main event. Rio is colorful, musical and fast-paced. The females (human and avian) are smart, strong and resourceful. The jokes are funny, the Carnaval parade is breathtaking, and the villians are satisfyingly villainous. The main human characters are white and the main avian characters are voiced by white actors, while Will.i.am and George Lopez are comedic sidekicks, of course. I figured if that was as bad as it got, it was a good day at the movies.

Then the monkeys appear. The monkeys are adorable. The monkeys dance and sing - and steal things. They distract the wealthy crowds and swipe watches and rings and wallets. Did I mention that the monkeys are a breakdance crew, complete with cardboard to spin on, and voiced by black actors?

Apparently no one on the creative team behind a multimillion-dollar feature film had any idea that there's a long, nasty history behind the portrayal of black people as monkeys and apes.

And apparently I still can't go to the movies and just relax and enjoy myself.

The Best Thing I've Ever Read About the Concept of Political Correctness

2011-04-13T22:10:00.002-04:00

I love this. It's everything I've ever wanted to say about the "PC snivelers", only better. Thanks, Isabel.

As it’s commonly used, “PC” is a deliberately imprecise expression (just try finding or writing a terse, precise definition) because its objective isn’t to communicate a substantive idea, but simply to sneer and snivel about the linguistic and cultural burdens of treating all people with the respect and sensitivity with which they wish to be treated. Thus, the Herculean effort required to call me “Asian American” rather than “chink” is seen as a concession to “the PC police”, an unsettling infringement on the free-wheeling conversation of, I suppose, “non-chinks”. Having to refer to black folks as “African Americans” rather than various historically-prevalent epithets surely strikes some red-blooded blue-balled white-men as a form of cultural oppression. Having to refer to “women” rather than “bitches” lays a violent buzzkill on the bar-room banter of men preoccupied with beating on their chests and off other body parts.

Obviously these examples fall on the simplistic side of things, but I think they illustrate the shaky philosophical foundation of today’s usage. Underlying every complaint of “PC” is the absurd notion that members of dominant mainstream society have been victimized by an arbitrarily hypersensitive prohibition against linguistic and cultural constructions that are considered historical manifestations of bigotry. It’s no coincidence that “PC”-snivelers are for the most part white men who are essentially saying, “Who the hell do these marginalized groups think they are to tell me how I should or shouldn’t portray them? I’m not going to say ‘mentally challenged’ when it’s my right to say ‘retard’, goshdarnit there’s only so much abuse I’ll take!”

In this context, the conceit that “political correctness” constitutes a violation of free speech is particularly zany; as though society’s marginalized groups wield oppressive power over the dominant mainstream. Actually, as far as I’m concerned you’re free to call me “chink” and I’m free to call you “moronic racist loser” (and more if necessary, but I’ll leave that aside for now in the interest of false civility). Free speech is the straw man of choice for intellectual bums of all stripes too fragile and vacuous for critical engagement. Calling someone who says or does bigoted things “a bigot” isn’t censorious, it’s descriptively accurate, like calling a bad movie “a bad movie”, even if the bigot didn’t intend to come off as bigoted and the movie didn’t intend to come off as bad.
-Kai Chang, “The Greatest Cliché: The Unexamined Propaganda of ‘Political Correctness’”

Conversations With my Daughter ~ by Jay

2011-04-11T22:08:00.001-04:00

Mommy, do you want to do something with me?

It's 8:00.

I know.

I asked you if you wanted to do something together at 7:00.

I know.

You said "no".

I know.

Why do you want to do something now?

Because I can't have any screen time after 8:00.

How did that make you feel? ~ by Tigermom

2011-04-11T21:20:00.002-04:00

Sitting with Tigercub while he falls asleep tonight, he sat bolt upright and said,

"You know how when I come home from school on Mondays it is usually dark and all?

Well, today it was like it was noon."

I could not resist and asked, "How did that make you feel?"

"Amazing."

Me too.

Why is home so much more complex? ~ by Tigermom

2011-04-01T22:08:00.003-04:00

I just got back from a week away with the family.

A wonderful week.

A back to nature week.

A kids-got-along-more-or-less-all-week week.

But it involved lots of travel. And lots of physical work. And two lost bags.

So Tigerdad and I were going over the family calendar for the upcoming week and we both wanted to run back to vacation town.

The kid wrangling and family obligations coming up are virtually impossible to accomplish. And that's not counting doing our jobs. And they are all required. Like really required.

On vacation the biggest decisions we had to make were where to park the car each morning and what to have for dinner each night. We mostly wore the same clothes each day.

Why are there so many more variables at home?

It's Not Just Me ~by Jay

2011-03-29T22:17:00.003-04:00

Medical students who happen to be women are still mistaken for nurses.

(and, by the way, if you haven't checked out the Microagressions site, you should do so now - but be warned, it is not going to make you feel all warm and fuzzy about human nature).

Conversations With The Patriarchy, Medical Staff Meeting Version ~ by Jay

2011-03-29T22:11:00.002-04:00

After a discussion of how many jobs office-based physicians create in our state, we hear this from the President of the Medical Staff:

Well, that makes sense to me. I work with one other doctor and we have 12 people on our staff. Of course, two of those are wives, so that's sort of like slave labor.

Why Cats Are Not Doctors ~ by Jay

2011-03-29T16:27:00.001-04:00

See them all here.

Home ~by Jay

2011-03-23T22:29:00.005-04:00

My parents bought their house in 1964. They'd been married ten years. I was three and my mother was eight months pregnant with my brother. They'd waited a long time, and they were very particular about the location and the builder and the features. My father installed a fancy stereo system with speakers wired all over the place; my mother carefully chose antiques and modern furniture and artwork. Over the years, a few things changed - the kitchen went from blue and white to almond tone-on-tone; the two kid's rooms morphed into study and computer room; the TVs got bigger and flatter and the stereo even fancier.

My father began to have difficulty walking in 1984, and it got gradually and steadily worse. The house is a split-level, built into the side of a hill, so there are stairs. A lot of stairs. We suggested they consider moving to a one-floor house or condo, but Dad said "This is home" and that was the end of that. He refused to do anything about the stairs until the day he slid down a whole flight and couldn't get off the floor. Six weeks later, after surgery and rehab, he went home to a house with stair glides - which were removed the day after he died, at my mother's insistence.

Now my mother lives there alone. She's stopped complaining to me about her back pain, because she knows I will say "Mom, maybe you should consider living somewhere else". She can't consider that. This is home. She intends to live there until she dies.

In the movie "Up", the widower talks to his house as if it were his wife and carries it around at great cost. I think for my mother that house is my father, or at least their life together. He may have left her, but she certainly isn't going to leave him.

Home can be a refuge, a place of solace, a comfort. Home is, as Frost said, where, when you go there, they have to take you in. By Frost's definition, my mother's house is still my home. It doesn't feel that way to me these days. Sam and I also waited a long time and chose our first house very carefully. It took us a long time to admit that we needed to move out of that house, and I hope I never again feel like my house is more important than the life I want to live.

Frost is all well and good, but I think I agree with Billy Joel.

A Fat Joke I Like ~ by Jay

2011-03-22T08:00:00.000-04:00

Gadget Lust ~ by Jay

2011-03-21T21:30:00.001-04:00

which would answer the question Eve asked recently - "Mommy, what's a typewriter"?

Everything I Need To Know, I Learned In Music Class ~ by Jay

2011-03-21T16:25:00.000-04:00

Uncle Fish died last week.

Uncle Fish wasn't my uncle, and he certainly wasn't a fish. He was a passable pianist, a strong baritone, and one of the best teachers I ever met. Fishy taught me to sing - not me alone, but 20 years of students at my small public high school, all trained on Italian art songs, Cole Porter, Gilbert and Sullivan, Mendelssohn, and Sondheim. He directed musicals, concerts, operettas, oratorios, graduations, memorial services and impromptu sessions in public buildings, if he thought the acoustics might be good. He yelled at us and lectured us and lost patience with us and, in one memorable tantrum, threw a chair across the auditorium - and he believed in us. He spent hours after school coaching kids who had the chops but no confidence. He beamed at us when we got it right. He made sure we warmed up carefully and sang music that was appropriate for our young vocal cords, and he pushed us every moment to be our best.

I kept on through college, singing, performing, and working backstage and, along the way, meeting the people I remain closest to, including Sam. When I interviewed for med school, one of the docs I met said "so why did you waste all that time in the theater?". I explained that I didn't see it as a waste; I'd learned time management and organizational skills and created lasting relationships. He was unconvinced, but I was right. Fishy didn't just teach me to sing; he taught me about professionalism.

On the shaky risers in a dimly lit auditorium, I learned about teamwork and honesty and doing my best and putting the needs of others ahead of my own. I learned that I could do things that seemed impossible at first, and I learned to love being part of a group working to create something meaningful. Fishy taught music the way my father practiced medicine: selflessly, with complete commitment, deep concentration and great joy.

My Facebook newsfeed today is full of stories about choir trips to Europe and the nicknames he gave us and the vocal exercise we could all sing perfectly, 35 years later. There are professional musicians and actors, stay-at-home parents, investment bankers, and at least four other docs talking about Fishy's impact on our lives. I've always thought of Fish when I chanted the Kol Nidre, or sang around the piano at a friend's house. Stand up straight. Breathe. Sing from your diaphragm. Now I will think of him when I take that deep breath before I enter a patient's room, before I start a meeting, as I work with residents. I will honor the man who helped me find my voice, and my vocation.

And I will always remember the alto line of this madrigal. This is for your, Mr. Fish. Sing we, indeed.

Things That Make Me Happy ~ by Jay

2011-03-17T14:19:00.004-04:00

Daffodils in my yard.

Actual sunshine coming through the open sunroof* of my car.

Emails from MLB.com titled "Opening Day: Two Weeks Away".

New socks.

A thank-you note from one of my staff for listening to her worry about her father (who is now home from the hospital and competing in a Wii bowling tournament).

The Bridge on Sirius Radio. The music of my youth, all the time, in true StereoSound.

Eve playing "Minuet in G" on the violin.

(not Eve, but so cute I couldn't resist)
____
*I know it's a technically a moonroof, but when there's an opening in the top of my car through which I can see the sun, I call it a sunroof, and I say the hell with it.

Re-entry ~ by Jay

2011-03-14T17:25:00.002-04:00

Ten days ago, I arrived home at 4:30 Friday afternoon. I'd been called to a home visit on short notice for bureaucratic reasons and had been surprised to find a very angry family member at the bedside; I emerged an hour later feeling as if I'd been hit over the head repeatedly with a large object. We had to get ready to go to the family service and potluck, and I had a list of notes to finish and Emails to send because I was leaving town the next day. I sat down at the dining room table, opened my laptop, looked at my Email and started to cry. It was all just too much.

I did manage to finish most of it and delegated (or simply postponed) the rest. I spend Saturday evening with my mother and arrived Sunday morning at a retreat center in the woods. By 8:00 Sunday evening, I was surrounded by close friends who are also colleagues, and I had the luxury of spending the next week in deep conversation, learning and teaching in turn. I didn't sleep much, but I felt rested nonetheless.

The final morning, we turned our chairs around so we faced the outside of the circle, and sat with our eyes closed. We divided into three groups. In turns, each group stood inside the circle and followed the instructions:

Touch someone:

-whose courage has inspired you.
-whose warmth has felt good to you.
-who has moved you.
-who has been generous with you.
-who has helped you to feel your value.
-who has been present with you.
-who has blessed you with their vulnerability.
-who has taught you a new skill.
-who has born witness to an important part of you.

Those hands on my shoulders were a gift, a concrete reminder of the connections and healing that we had offered to each other during our time together.

We all need to be appreciated, to be seen and heard and held in the hearts of those we love and those who love us. Even the smallest of encounters can be meaningful.

I came home with a renewed commitment to appreciation - not just gratitude, which goes out into the universe, but appreciation for the people in my life. I want to feel those hands on my shoulders, and I want to give that to others.

If you comment here or have a blog I follow, I hope to share my appreciation with you over the coming months. Those of you who read this blog bear witness to an important part of me. Thank you.

Today By The Numbers ~ by Jay

2011-03-02T22:16:00.002-05:00

Home visits: 3

Miles driven for work: 45

Meetings: 3 (total 4 hours, 2.5 for work and 1.5 middle school pre-enrollment)

Inpatient hospice visits: 10

New admissions: 3

Talks given: 1 (total 1 hour)

Meals eaten: 2 (breakfast and lunch)

Time spent with Eve: 30 minutes (not counting the 1.5 hours at the middle-school meeting)

Phone calls: at least 30, and then I lost track

Death certificates signed: 4

Good night.

Conversations With My Daughter ~ by Jay

2011-02-23T12:39:00.002-05:00

Daddy says the only reason you let me go on that sleepover was that you wanted to have sex on the couch.

What did you say to Daddy?

I said "euew!"

Well, then, I guess we won't tell you which couch.
Euew! Euew! Euew!

Happenstance ~ by Jay

2011-02-19T09:00:00.002-05:00

All my partners are attending the AAHPM meeting in Vancouver, so I covered the inpatient service yesterday.

I had to see a new admission at the hospice house, so I left the hospital at noon.

Then there was a new consult, so I had to go back to the hospital at 4:00 PM.

As it was after 3:00, I was able to park close to the hospital and walk in through the ER.

When I walked through the ER, one of the residents asked me to see a patient.

After I saw the patient, she didn't have to be admitted to the hospital.

Since that took me about 45 minutes, I didn't get upstairs until 5:00 PM.

Because I started the new consult at 5:00 PM, I was waiting for the elevator at 6:15 to go home - the main elevator, not the one I usually use, since I'd parked near the ER.

And so it happened that I noticed the man who was also waiting for the elevator looking very sad, and it happened that he had just agreed to hospice service for his mother, and it happened that she had enrolled in our hospice, and it happened that he now has a face, a name, a card and a handshake to tell him who is going to take care of his mother.

That's how it happened, just by chance.

In Which Melissa Explains it All ~ by Jay

2011-02-13T21:27:00.002-05:00

I am waaay behind on other people's posts as well, but just in case you haven't read Melissa McEwen's brilliant Feminism 101 piece from last week, here it is. Go. Read.

This Always Happens....~ by Jay

2011-02-13T21:14:00.002-05:00

...I take a longer-than-anticipated break between posts and, when I finally have some time to write, I am so overwhelmed by all the ideas (Egypt! Republicans! Reproductive rights! Adoption! Open adoption! Call schedules! Talking to Eve about sex!) that I just sit here and stare at the screen, and write nothing at all, thereby compounding the problem. So, random notes:

After several months of a distressingly low census at the inpatient hospice unit, we are now full to overflowing, which means we have two patients in the hospital that we are following on hospice, which means I have to leave for work very early tomorrow.
Medicare's new face-to-face regulations have about quadrupled my paperwork load and doubled the number of home visits I have to do.
Eve continues to explore the idea of family; last week she drew yet another family tree for yet another school assignment. Sam and I don't appear on this one at all.
Growler, the older of our two maladjusted dogs, appears to have decided that being housebroken isn't all it's cracked up to be. Not sure if this is related to age, weather, or general cussedness.
Eve took her cellphone to school last week, breaking our household rule and also violating school district policy. Lucky for her Sam found out about it before her teacher did - school rules say if she's caught, she loses the phone until June.

But not all is bleak.

Tigermom and I managed to have our long-postponed lunch on Friday (despite one urgent home visit - see face-to-face rule above - and ridiculous traffic).
Last week I was driving home at 5:30 and it wasn't dark out. Blessings be.
We tried two new recipes last week and they were both yummy. The repertoire expands.
Eve asked me to sing her an extra song at bedtime last night. "Sing the one about the train, Mommy". So Mommy sang "City of New Orleans", and felt at peace.

Good night, America, how are you
Don't you know me?
I'm your native son.
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans.
I'm gone five hundred miles 'till the day is done.

Conversations With Sam ~ by Jay

2011-02-06T09:49:00.002-05:00

Sam, did you just turn up the thermostat?

I was cold.

Yesterday you told me to go put on a sweater when I was cold.

Well, we don't want to waste energy.

OK, so it's wasting energy to turn the heat up when I'm cold, but not when you're cold?

Right.

As long as you turned it up to 69, I'm going to kick it up to 70.

70 is too high.

Why? Because it's wasteful?

No, because then I'm too warm.

Friday Haiku, Take II ~ by Jay

2011-01-28T13:59:00.003-05:00

Confusing morning.
Lost my keys, then tried writing
Haiku with the wrong month.

Enough of winter.
I am ready for spring, but
We have miles to go.

Just An Old-Fashioned Love Song ~ by Jay

2011-01-25T19:17:00.003-05:00

Chally was in a soppy mood (her words, not mine) and asked for love stories over at Feministe. I've told our story hundreds of times over the years; in the last six months, I've come to understand the first few chapters very differently.

Sam and I went to college together, and we don't remember our first meeting. We just knew each other - we lived in the same dorm and saw each other at meals and at parties. I already had a boyfriend at another school; he started dating one of our classmates early sophomore year. By the time he moved in with some friends of mine, senior year, we were both unattached and figuring we'd stay that way. Who starts a relationship right before graduation?

Well, we do. We started at a party in January, and we had a series of rational conversations about how ridiculous it would be to start dating, and then we did it anyway. He'd tell me he couldn't get serious about someone, and I'd say "fine", and he'd leave - and then he'd come back. So we dated ("just for fun") all through spring semester and graduation, and then we moved in together ("just for the summer") because Sam had a job on campus and I was working as a volunteer at the local hospital. We had fun together. We could talk about anything and everything. We made each other laugh. Sam was smart and cute and caring and didn't have a misogynist bone in his body, and I loved him more each day we spent together, but it looked like those days wouldn't last.

We spent much of the summer talking about the fall. This was 1982, before Email and cellphones; a long-distance relationship meant long-distance phone bills and lots of letters. On paper. We didn't want to break up, but Sam was also really clear that he didn't think he could ever get married and he certainly didn't think he'd ever want kids. He grew up eyewitness to a bad marriage, convinced that it was his father's fault and that he was so much like his father that he would also be unable to sustain a positive relationship. So we talked about breaking up, and he didn't want to do that either. We went off to school 3,000 miles apart at the end of August.

We did break up, about a month later, and after a week Sam called and said "I miss you". We learned that we needed to talk on the phone every day, even if it was only for a few minutes; Sam learned to write love letters. I sent him poems on scraps of paper torn out of my class notebooks. At Thanksgiving, I flew out for a wedding and we had three precious days together - and the last night, Sam said "I would be willing to do this for four years if it meant I didn't have to lose you". I was tired and scared and sad and lonely, about to get on a plane and start sleeping by myself again, and I had already done the long-distance thing once and nearly wrecked my life. I said "I can't do this for four years without a comittment. I can't do this unless we get engaged". He said nothing at all. I got on the plane, and somehow I managed to take my finals and pass them.

Three weeks later Sam came home for Christmas. We took the train up to his parents' house together, and we ate dinner Christmas Eve and opened presents and went to church, and every moment we were alone we talked. He was still terrified of marriage, and I was still sure I couldn't tolerate what we were doing without it. Finally, late on Christmas night, he said "OK, I'll guess I'll marry you".

We used to joke about the way he didn't propose. Under those jokes was my conviction that I had dragged Sam into marriage. I gave him an ultimatum. He didn't really want to marry me; I forced him into it. That story fit my pre-existing insecurities. Every time Sam pulled away from me, every time I felt more distance from him than I wanted, I told myself that story again and heard the refrain he doesn't really love me, or at least he doesn't love me as much as I love him. And in all of that I forgot the beginning - I forgot that the first night we'd agreed we wouldn't get involved, and then he came back. Night after night, he came back. He told me he wouldn't and then he did.

Sometime last year, we were talking about that first night and I said "why did you come over to me at that party"? Sam smiled and said "I think I was already smitten and I just couldn't admit it to myself". Smitten. I looked at him and all of a sudden I remembered that it was his choice to come back that first week in January, and he was the one who called me when we broke up in September. He came back. I didn't force him. I didn't drag him. That ultimatum was an honest statement of what I needed - and Sam loved me so much he agreed to get married even though it terrified him. Sam, my smart, strong, skilled Sam, didn't think he could figure out how to be a good husband, but he loved me so much he was willing to try, and it took me 25 years to figure that out.

Even old stories look different when you re-read them. We're still writing this one, and every chapter makes it richer and stronger.

Conversations With my Daughter ~ by Jay

2011-01-23T14:33:00.004-05:00

Mommy, Laura's boyfriend has a niece who's 20 years old. Her name is Christy.

That's nice.

What's she in our family?

Mishpocha.

Poem For The Day of Shabbat ~ by Jay

2011-01-22T21:52:00.003-05:00

(written in response to the rabbi's d'var torah)

Aleph

Beginning

Silent moment

of infinite possibility

All that is, all that could be

Waits within the word, to be created

In breath, in breadth, in the depth of the future.

Light ~ by Jay

2011-01-20T22:17:00.003-05:00

When I started gratitude blogging about two weeks ago, I was afraid. Life was piling in on me and I could feel that coil of anxiety, the sense of isolation and powerlessness and invisibility tightening around my chest. Familiar feelings. Frightening feelings.

I knew I needed to do something, and that's why I started gratitude blogging. It helped. A couple of weekends off and a fit of home repair and remodeling helped, too. Today I realized that I felt good again - and that part of what I'd been feeling was the fear of falling down the rabbit hole. I've had three episodes of depression in my life; the last and most severe started in the mid-1990s and finally resolved in 2001. The anxiety started sometime during my internship in 1986 and didn't completely resolve until last year. I don't think I trusted my recovery until today. To come back out of that place of fear without being pulled under, to find my equilibrium again, is such a gift.

I am grateful for peace.

Almost, but not quite ~ by Tigermom

2011-01-20T21:31:00.003-05:00

Jay and I have had plans for months to meet for lunch tomorrow.

I treasure these times.

They are few and far between. They are soul enriching. They fill me with warmth and laughter. We stretch the time to the very limits of what is available.

But my baby cub was home with a GI bug all day today and still looks like a wet dishrag. No way should he be in school tomorrow.

I will miss you Jay! Paying bills next to a sick kid will be a poor substitute.

The Way I Walk ~ by Tigermom

2011-01-17T19:08:00.002-05:00

Have not posted walks lately. Living life instead.

Not that there have been that many walks, but I have gotten back on the treadmill.

Feels great.

47.24 minutes and 2.75 miles. Last week's episode of Grey's Anatomy.

Back to the salt mines tomorrow.

Handy Man ~ by Jay

2011-01-16T17:29:00.002-05:00

Some people say that women who have good relationships with their fathers often marry men just like their father, and I'd say that Sam is like my father in many ways - with one crucial difference. Sam is handy. Sam is REALLY handy.

Sam can fix plumbing, do basic electrical work, paint, drywall, and build things from scratch. His work is pretty cerebral and intellectual, so he really enjoys doing something where he can see an end result. A weekend spent remodeling a powder room is his idea of a good time, and that's just what he's been doing. So far he's stripped the wallpaper, repaired a dangerous electrical connection behind the ugly old vanity fixture (this house specializes in duct-tape splices of extension cord into the household wiring), pulled out the vanity and sink and removed the odd mirror. Turns out the mirror was odd because it was covering the space where the medicine cabinet and two soap holders used to be, so he had to insulate the medicine cabinet space, once we realized that we were looking at the sheathing of the outside of the house. Brrr.

Now he's washing the wallpaper paste off the walls in preparation for painting. He's also been clearing out the back hall shelves as we prepare to move the laundry room there, so when he's done with the powder room he'll remove the existing shelves, scrape more wallpaper, paint more walls and install another stock cabinet. He's already made four trips to the hardware store with at least one more to come before he tackles the hall (paint and something to hang the new light fixture with). He's a very happy boy. I can hear him whistling.

I am grateful for Sam.

Getting What We Need ~ by Jay

2011-01-14T20:02:00.003-05:00

It's been a busy and challenging couple of weeks around here (so busy that I missed my gratitude blogging yesterday) and we were looking forward to a weekend without much planned. Eve asked to go to the ice cream social at the JCC on Saturday evening - kids only! - giving us a grownup evening to ourselves. Low-stress.

Then my mother called and announced that she was coming to visit, arriving Saturday morning. Great for Eve, great for my mother (who is struggling right now) and not so great for our low-stress weekend. No alone time.

And then - poof! - the last-minute sleepover appears. Eve and her friend made this plan at school; friend's mom agreed to host and Eve just departed after a flurry of hasty packing. Eve is delighted and Sam and I have a night to ourselves.

I am grateful for Shabbat, and time alone with my husband.

Country Drive ~ by Jay

2011-01-12T21:32:00.002-05:00

I live in a city, and I work in a suburb, and I don't have to drive very far before I'm in honest-to-Pete country. Cows, silos, large pieces of equipment trundling slowly along the road - that kind of country.

Today's home visit took me well into the country, up and down and around on the hills and through the winter woods. I'd started to think the GPS had led me astray because there were no houses in sight, but I went around one more curve and there was the mailbox and the house, tucked down in a little hollow and barely visible from the road.

My patient sat with her feet curled under her in the corner of the couch, looking out the window over the fields that dropped away into the distance. She told me the story of the house, how they'd bought the land 40 years ago and waited until they'd paid it off before they started building the house. They searched all over the country for salvaged materials, so that the room I was sitting in was built in 1974 from beams and floorboards first used in the 18th century. "All that time", she said, "I dreamed of sitting here, on this couch, looking out this window. Now I have time".

I am grateful that she did not ask me how much time she had, and that we were able to share that moment of peace in a room both new and old.

Know When To Fold 'em ~ by Jay

2011-01-11T22:49:00.001-05:00

Sam sent me an article a few years ago that said that men who do housework have sex more often.

I pointed out that the benefits of that strategy might be reduced by his tendency to dump the clean laundry all over the bed and then leave it there.

I am grateful for clean laundry, an egalitarian marriage, and TiVo to watch while I fold and sort.

It's The Little Things ~ by Jay

2011-01-10T21:57:00.002-05:00

Someone asked me once what surprised me the most about hospice work, and I said "the animals". I've had dogs almost my whole life, but it never occurred to me that "home visits" would include pets. In the past 3 years, I've met dogs, cats, ferrets, iguanas, birds, snakes, rats and one memorable Komodo dragon. I particularly enjoyed the parrot who had been taught to recite historical speeches. The patient said "Well, he was going to talk anyway. I figured he might as well have something interesting to say". A parrot-created mashup of the Gettysburg Address and the Preamble to the Constitution - now that's a surprise.

At the second of today's three visits, I was greeted in the driveway by two dogs. I wasn't concerned about the Lab, but the tiny yipping Chihuahua-ish creature made me a little nervous. I sat in the car for a few minutes and realized the nurse's car was in the driveway, so she must have survived the canine gauntlet; she would have asked the patient's family to put the dogs away if they were dangerous. I opened the car door and the Lab, true to form, came up to be petted. The other dog watched me suspiciously and barked even louder, but stayed on her side of the yard as I walked into the house. Clearly she didn't trust me or the Lab.

Something about those two dogs made me smile today. I am grateful for dogs, and in particular that ours do not yip.

Sunday Shopping ~ by Jay

2011-01-09T17:08:00.004-05:00

Birthday present, associated wrapping paper, baby shower gift, random household items. It's Sunday morning at Target.

I went out of obligation and ended up giggling with my daughter over ducks and bears on the baby blankets and watching her make sensible choices about spending her Chanukah money ("I can get two of the shirts that are on sale, Mommy"). We were having a good time when we saw the three-year-old who was launching into a complete meltdown.

Eve made funny faces at the little boy, who stopped crying for a moment, if only out of confusion, and I shared a sympathetic smile with his mother.

I am grateful that my daughter is the kind of kid who makes funny faces at crying children, and that she is no longer three years old.

Unexpected Gifts, Mundane version ~ by Tigermom

2011-01-08T22:53:00.002-05:00

There were a few today:

-34 minutes on the treadmill today. Roughly 3.5 mph once I warmed up. I forget the total distance walked.

-I watched the pilot episode of Nurse Jackie courtesy of thoughtful sister-in-law who got me the boxed set of Season One.

-Family birthday party today for a beloved relative and a quiet train ride both ways alone.

-Nice time with each kid tonight upon my return.

-Quiet time with Tigerdad side by side on our laptops.

Some gifts are unexpected. Some you have to plan.

Gratitude ~ by Jay

2011-01-08T20:43:00.003-05:00

It's been a week, bringing conflict at work, adoption issues at home, nasty weather outside, technological malfunctions everywhere, and a dog with a bladder infection leaving little puddles where'er she walks. It's January - dark, no-longer-the-holidays, not-yet-springtime January, edging closer and closer to Rose's birthday. Grief and fear are bubbling just under the surface, challenging my ability to see myself as competent and skilled and deserving of my own forgiveness.

I know that's cryptic, but I realized as I sat down to write that telling the stories would only deepen my anxiety and keep hurtful conversations on an endless loop in my brain. I need to change the channel, shift my awareness and my attention so that I can regain my equilibrium and rewrite the story in my head. I need to make my own springtime.

So here's the blogging equivalent of a forced bulb: gratitude posting. I am making a daily commitment to focus on the myriad of blessings in my life.

Today I am grateful for Sam's restless energy, which led him to start to clean out the shelves in the back hall, and then to make space in the laundry room for the stuff that was in the back hall by dealing with some long-postponed washing of extra bedding, and thus to find the grocery bag on the laundry room floor that contained our portable DVD player (with several DVDs), Eve's extra iPod (a gift from my brother) and a few other things that I didn't even know were missing.

Unexpected gifts.