This past Saturday, we celebrated our Ninth Annual "Cohen Family Seder." This is yet another example of my psychosis, having decided nine years ago to host a seder on the Saturday night of Passover week and invite "all who are hungry to come and eat." The first two years were small events, in our condo in Sherman Oaks, with the makeshift tables stretching from the tiny dining room past the front door over to the fireplace on the other side of the living room. After our move to Valencia, our numbers have grown (and shrank and grown again) and as always, the guest list is varied and includes our Jewish and non-Jewish friends and family. Our family has grown with at least 4 little ones having been born over the past few years (and I think someone was even pregnant at our very first gathering.) This year, we were 30 strong. One friend was contemplating bringing a significant other and I told her that he might have to sit on her lap. She thought I was joking. We moved out the couches and chair and coffee table and rolled in rented tables and chairs and we all got very close.
Over the years, we have gone through several different Haggadahs (the books that tell the Passover story) with each being tossed aside (figuratively speaking) in the search for something different, something better, something "more." Rob's dad Ray led our little band of misfits over the first 7 years and we could never find a book that fit our group quite right. Last year things got mixed up a bit, with Aunt Eunice handing the reins of her Seder (our family's First night celebration) over to Ronnye and Ray. Since Ray was leading that seder, he told Rob that it was up to him to lead his own. (After all, it is our house, right?) Rob decided to go out on a limb and venture far away from the books that we had used in the past, and instead wrote his own tale, a Passover play, if you will. His surprise ending didn't carry quite the punch we had hoped, when the actor failed to deliver her line and another guest stepped all over it and delivered it for her, without quite realizing what he was saying. (We chose to announce to our family and friends the impending arrival of Kensi by having his Mom deliver the parting line of "next year with another Cohen" after the traditional "next year in Jerusalem." She was unable to speak her line, having read ahead and gotten a bit choked up at the news.)
Regardless, we strive each year to make things more interesting. Not having another birth announcement to keep things going this year, we had to look for something else to do. I came up with an interesting challenge for our guests. The story of Passover tells of the Jewish people's flight from Egypt following G-d's deliverance of the plagues and the Pharoah's order for the people to leave. Our people left in a hurry, without time to let the bread to rise. The Seder describes the plagues and explains the symbolism in what we eat, why we eat it and even how we are supposed to eat it (reclining to the left.) But the Seder doesn't discuss what came after. After Moses led the people out of Egypt and after they crossed the Red Sea, the people wandered in the desert for 40 years. G-d provided food (manna) and water when it was needed, but what else did the people want or need that they did without for 40 years? And knowing that they were to be ready to leave at a moment's notice, what did they take with them?
I issued this challenge to our guests, to consider what they would have done, if placed in a similar situation and told to wander the desert for 40 years. What would they bring with them, and why? I provided some guidance, that at least 1 or 2 of the items should be "necessary" such as toothpaste, and asked what sentimental items they might bring. The results were predictable as far as the "necessaries" were concerned, but much more interesting when you consider the sentimental side of things. It became readily apparent as the discussion moved around the tables from guest to guest, that we were separating into groups based upon our age. These groups were not born out of what we wanted to bring or could not leave behind, but were based on the technology relied on to achieve those goals.
The discussion started with people telling us what they brought - chapsticks, toothpaste, granola bars, etc. Rob and I then tried to move the discussion away from the necessities and more toward the sentimental, things that they could not live without. To provide a real life example, I used myself and explained that I could not go anywhere without my pictures of my girls and my family. (Anyone who knows me knows that I am somewhat defined by my picture taking and scrapbooking.) I mentioned bringing my laptop with all of those pictures. (Of course, Ray immediately went to the practical question - how and where would I plug it in, but that's beside the point.) From there, the discussion got rolling with more and more guests opting to bring photos or albums. Then we got to the kids. As I mentioned, a line formed by age and it seemed that the younger members of our group quickly went the route of technology, opting to bring their iPhones or iPods, in order to have their collections of music and games close at hand. One young guest (age 13) wanted her phone so that she could text and stay in contact with her friends. I apparently fell on the "older" side of the group, having forgotten that so much information can now be carried on something just a few inches square, thinking instead of my laptop which apparently has gone the way of the dinosaurs.
I'm not sure that the object of the lesson was completely grasped (after all, who would provide the cell service or internet connection in the desert?) but the thought process was certainly amusing. These days, we are surrounded by technology which allows us to keep in constant contact. I'm not sure anyone "checked in" on Facebook as being at my house Saturday night, but the option is certainly there. We can instantly tell where our friends are and who they are with. Celebrities "tweet" their locations and watch as waves of paparazzi follow them around. We call and text at the touch of a button, we email and surf the net to stay on top of world affairs. But when it all goes away, what are you left with? If cell service is gone and the internet is no more, what would you have? Our children think in terms of this technology, wanting to maintain a connection to their friends and their music. We adults tend to think in terms of our history, wanting to maintain a connection to our past, holding on to our memories in photos and albums. Are they right? Are we wrong? Or is there a middle ground? As I type this, I am certain that if cell service dropped completely today, most of the teens in our world right now would not be able to figure out how to pick up a land line phone and call a friend, let alone figure out how to walk to a friend's house without the aid of Google Maps on their smart phones. For now, I am in limbo, since B is too young to have a cell phone and would rather sit with me and look at my albums and pictures. For now. But the time is coming, I am sure, when I will have to enter the battle of the past, and history, versus the future and technology. I hope that there can be a happy medium or a middle ground, that we can achieve amazing things with technology but still keep that connection to our past.
In the meantime, I can be found in my office, trying to get a handle on the thousands and thousands of pictures I've taken over the years and trying to keep up with all of the new ones I'm still taking. Feel free to stop by for a trip down my memory lane if you'd like. And bring your own chapstick.
Disneyland Family 5K -2014
Monday, April 25, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
The times they are a changin'
I stopped at McDonald's this morning on the way to the office - one last egg mcmuffin before the matzah-fest begins. As I was pulling away, putting the straw in my drink and rolling up my window (all at the same time,) I was struck by how different a "drive-thru" experience is now than it was when I was a kid. I'm not that old (yet,) but a few things struck me.
First, remember when you used to have to roll up your window using the hand crank? They would hand you your food and you would sit there for an extra 10-15 seconds to roll up the window, especially if it was raining. Then came the automatic windows, where at just the push (and hold) of a button, your window would rise. Of course, things sometimes went wrong with those - I remember a particular '87 Celica that I owned in high school and college, with a window that would only work when it wanted to and sometimes I'd have to pull it from the top, while holding down the button. Ah, the memories. These days, my car is equipped with power windows that operate on a "one-touch" system. I tap the button once and the window rolls all the way down. I tap it once again and it rolls all the way up. No cranking or holding buttons needed.
Let's talk cup holders. These days, most cars come equipped with 2, and if your lucky, one of them is slightly larger to accommodate today's "Super" sizes. (Do you really need 42 ounces of Coke?) I can rememer a time when cars didn't even have cup holders. You know those nifty sticky pads they sell that you can use to stick your phone or ipod to the dash? They used to make cup holders that stuck to the dash. yikes. Of course, in my little Celica, the cup holders were for gum wrappers and trash, coins, a whistle and whatever other junk I could cram in there, so the odds of getting a cup into it were slim to none.
Ordering has changed too. These days, when you pull up to McDonalds computer screen, it greets you with a message about what they are featuring and then tells you to "order when ready." The wall of options rises above you on the right, causing you to crane your neck to see every last possible choice. You make your picks, tell the computer your order and voila! it appears on the screen. (Yes, I know there is a person on the other end listening and putting it into the computer.) They even ask you if it is correct. Sometimes when the screen is out, I feel strangely alone and adrift in that drive-thru lane. But remember the good ol' days? The tiny little speaker box on a metal stand that was constantly getting hit by cars and looked twisted and beaten into submission... the crackling voice coming over the line, of which you only heard every third word... the mix of fear and hope as you spoke your order, hoping that they heard "without" cheese and not "with" cheese and hoping that your order would be correct when you got to the window... and wondering how much it was going to cost, because you couldn't hear the person telling you what the total was.
And then there's the paying. It used to be that you dug in your purse (or your cupholders) for change, hoping that once tax was added you had enough pennies to get that extra taco or cheeseburger, the drive-thru operator waiting while you counted out the change and dug in your seat for the last few quarters and dimes. Nowadays, noone even carries cash. You just whip out your debit card and hope that you'll get a receipt at the next window so that you can remember to write it down in your checkbook.
Oddly enough, I had the somewhat dubious fortune to be on both sides of that drive-thru window. Having seen (and heard!) some strange things on the other side of the window, I always try to be nice to those working there (not that I wouldn't be anyway,) but I always try not to be dificult, and smile and say "please" and "thank you," even when I'm telling them that I wanted "regular" coke and not "diet" and that "no," I don't need to add on any fries with that, and trust me, I don't need to super size my combo.
These days, technology has made lots of things so much easier and quicker. Keeping those drive-thru times down means more money for the restaurants, so they want things to move quickly. (Yes, they time it from the moment your order is entered until the moment the food leaves the window and the person pushes the button to "clear" it.) But wouldn't it be great if someday, you were able to order it from your phone or the screen in your car? My car already has a map that tells me where all of the nearest fast food places are. Why shouldn't I be able to tap the location and pull up the menu and order, and have it waiting when I get there. (This is not to be confused with online ordering for take-out, which I already use on my smart phone.) Ah, the good old days, when you used to have to actually cook your own dinner (after going to the store to buy the ingredients) or actually park the car, get out and walk into the restaurant. Then again, I'm o.k. with the technological way of things. As long as there isn't a big fast food restaurant war where Taco Bell wins and the government starts controlling my salt intake, I think we'll be o.k.
First, remember when you used to have to roll up your window using the hand crank? They would hand you your food and you would sit there for an extra 10-15 seconds to roll up the window, especially if it was raining. Then came the automatic windows, where at just the push (and hold) of a button, your window would rise. Of course, things sometimes went wrong with those - I remember a particular '87 Celica that I owned in high school and college, with a window that would only work when it wanted to and sometimes I'd have to pull it from the top, while holding down the button. Ah, the memories. These days, my car is equipped with power windows that operate on a "one-touch" system. I tap the button once and the window rolls all the way down. I tap it once again and it rolls all the way up. No cranking or holding buttons needed.
Let's talk cup holders. These days, most cars come equipped with 2, and if your lucky, one of them is slightly larger to accommodate today's "Super" sizes. (Do you really need 42 ounces of Coke?) I can rememer a time when cars didn't even have cup holders. You know those nifty sticky pads they sell that you can use to stick your phone or ipod to the dash? They used to make cup holders that stuck to the dash. yikes. Of course, in my little Celica, the cup holders were for gum wrappers and trash, coins, a whistle and whatever other junk I could cram in there, so the odds of getting a cup into it were slim to none.
Ordering has changed too. These days, when you pull up to McDonalds computer screen, it greets you with a message about what they are featuring and then tells you to "order when ready." The wall of options rises above you on the right, causing you to crane your neck to see every last possible choice. You make your picks, tell the computer your order and voila! it appears on the screen. (Yes, I know there is a person on the other end listening and putting it into the computer.) They even ask you if it is correct. Sometimes when the screen is out, I feel strangely alone and adrift in that drive-thru lane. But remember the good ol' days? The tiny little speaker box on a metal stand that was constantly getting hit by cars and looked twisted and beaten into submission... the crackling voice coming over the line, of which you only heard every third word... the mix of fear and hope as you spoke your order, hoping that they heard "without" cheese and not "with" cheese and hoping that your order would be correct when you got to the window... and wondering how much it was going to cost, because you couldn't hear the person telling you what the total was.
And then there's the paying. It used to be that you dug in your purse (or your cupholders) for change, hoping that once tax was added you had enough pennies to get that extra taco or cheeseburger, the drive-thru operator waiting while you counted out the change and dug in your seat for the last few quarters and dimes. Nowadays, noone even carries cash. You just whip out your debit card and hope that you'll get a receipt at the next window so that you can remember to write it down in your checkbook.
Oddly enough, I had the somewhat dubious fortune to be on both sides of that drive-thru window. Having seen (and heard!) some strange things on the other side of the window, I always try to be nice to those working there (not that I wouldn't be anyway,) but I always try not to be dificult, and smile and say "please" and "thank you," even when I'm telling them that I wanted "regular" coke and not "diet" and that "no," I don't need to add on any fries with that, and trust me, I don't need to super size my combo.
These days, technology has made lots of things so much easier and quicker. Keeping those drive-thru times down means more money for the restaurants, so they want things to move quickly. (Yes, they time it from the moment your order is entered until the moment the food leaves the window and the person pushes the button to "clear" it.) But wouldn't it be great if someday, you were able to order it from your phone or the screen in your car? My car already has a map that tells me where all of the nearest fast food places are. Why shouldn't I be able to tap the location and pull up the menu and order, and have it waiting when I get there. (This is not to be confused with online ordering for take-out, which I already use on my smart phone.) Ah, the good old days, when you used to have to actually cook your own dinner (after going to the store to buy the ingredients) or actually park the car, get out and walk into the restaurant. Then again, I'm o.k. with the technological way of things. As long as there isn't a big fast food restaurant war where Taco Bell wins and the government starts controlling my salt intake, I think we'll be o.k.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
I Want To Be THAT Kind of Mommy
I am sitting here on this Thursday afternoon, camped out on the couch, laptop... where else, on my lap. On the other side of the couch, curled up in a little ball, sits Brooklyn - home from school today because she doesn't feel good. Upstairs in her crib, snoozing the afternoon away, is little Kensi. Part of me is cringing because I have work to get done. I have things that need to be finished. Another part of me is reveling in the ability to sit here, on my couch, in the middle of the afternoon, doing nothing. (Well, blogging, but otherwise - nothing.) The laundry basket sits in the middle of the floor, clothes folded, waiting to be hauled upstairs and put away. Bags from a recent Target trip sit on the kitchen floor, their contents waiting to find a home. Valentine's Decorations have been taken down and St. Patty's Day decorations wait to be hung. But here I sit on the couch, content in the knowledge that I can stay here for a few more hours, if I want to. (That is, until Kensi wakes up and wants to eat)
A few weeks ago, Brooklyn had a dance at her school, for grades K-2, the "Family Dance." We planned for Daddy to take B, and I would go along with Kensi, just to stay for a little while and take some pictures. I ended up staying for the whole dance, pushing Kensi around in her stroller (and handing her over to other PTA ladies to get their "fix,") and taking pictures of Brooklyn and her friends dancing and having fun. (The chocolate fountain was a hit with the boys!) At the end of the dance, as parents collected coats and kids, I had a flash of memory of things at my elementary school, of parties and peformances and spaghetti dinners. Somewere tangled up in those memories was a feeling of comfort, of belonging, of things being "right." The thought that followed that flash of memory was that I wanted to be that parent. You know, the one who goes to all of the performances and helps in the classroom and seems to be everywhere all at once. Yes, I want to be that parent.
Why? Not because I think I am supermom. Not because I didn't have that growing up (my Mom was homeroom mom for me several years, going on field trips and even painting ceramic ornaments for all of the kid in my 6th grade class - although I will admit that the years she didn't do it, I missed having her there). But because I enjoy it, and because I think Brooklyn will like having me around for those things and I hope she will appreciate it. And because, strangely, I like this stuff. (I've had a few of the other PTA moms give me big "thank you!s" for taking on Book Fair - I just thought it would be fun. Yes, it's alot of work, but could there be a better place to stick me, than surrounded by books and coming up with crafty things for decorations?)
My inner desire to be the "perfect mom" took over at Valentine's Day too. Brooklyn was excited for the day, with all of the activities going on at school (her LOVE program - if you haven't seen the footage, check out Rob's YouTube page- and exhanging valentines and the valentine grams going around.) We didn't have a big "date night" planned for Rob and I and we shared the evening with the girls. I decided to cook dinner (yes, it happens once in awhile) and while running errands earlier in the day, I picked up a few decorations and balloons. Kensi helped a little bit (if you can call sitting in her carrier and screaming while we were in the party store "helping") and while she was napping, I decorated. When Brooklyn came home from school, she wanted to help too, so she mixed up the salad and helped set the table. (We actually used the dining room.)
When all was said and done, Brooklyn loved the balloons and the decorations and I had fun putting it all together. She didn't want me to take them down, but since I have to make room for St. Patty's Day, I did. We're not Irish, but it is such a fun day, I decided the house will be a little "green." And of course, I think it's what "that" mom would do.
A few weeks ago, Brooklyn had a dance at her school, for grades K-2, the "Family Dance." We planned for Daddy to take B, and I would go along with Kensi, just to stay for a little while and take some pictures. I ended up staying for the whole dance, pushing Kensi around in her stroller (and handing her over to other PTA ladies to get their "fix,") and taking pictures of Brooklyn and her friends dancing and having fun. (The chocolate fountain was a hit with the boys!) At the end of the dance, as parents collected coats and kids, I had a flash of memory of things at my elementary school, of parties and peformances and spaghetti dinners. Somewere tangled up in those memories was a feeling of comfort, of belonging, of things being "right." The thought that followed that flash of memory was that I wanted to be that parent. You know, the one who goes to all of the performances and helps in the classroom and seems to be everywhere all at once. Yes, I want to be that parent.
Why? Not because I think I am supermom. Not because I didn't have that growing up (my Mom was homeroom mom for me several years, going on field trips and even painting ceramic ornaments for all of the kid in my 6th grade class - although I will admit that the years she didn't do it, I missed having her there). But because I enjoy it, and because I think Brooklyn will like having me around for those things and I hope she will appreciate it. And because, strangely, I like this stuff. (I've had a few of the other PTA moms give me big "thank you!s" for taking on Book Fair - I just thought it would be fun. Yes, it's alot of work, but could there be a better place to stick me, than surrounded by books and coming up with crafty things for decorations?)
My inner desire to be the "perfect mom" took over at Valentine's Day too. Brooklyn was excited for the day, with all of the activities going on at school (her LOVE program - if you haven't seen the footage, check out Rob's YouTube page- and exhanging valentines and the valentine grams going around.) We didn't have a big "date night" planned for Rob and I and we shared the evening with the girls. I decided to cook dinner (yes, it happens once in awhile) and while running errands earlier in the day, I picked up a few decorations and balloons. Kensi helped a little bit (if you can call sitting in her carrier and screaming while we were in the party store "helping") and while she was napping, I decorated. When Brooklyn came home from school, she wanted to help too, so she mixed up the salad and helped set the table. (We actually used the dining room.)
When all was said and done, Brooklyn loved the balloons and the decorations and I had fun putting it all together. She didn't want me to take them down, but since I have to make room for St. Patty's Day, I did. We're not Irish, but it is such a fun day, I decided the house will be a little "green." And of course, I think it's what "that" mom would do.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Mental Meanderings
"Last night I had the strangest dream.
I sailed away to China,
In a little rowboat to find you,
And you said you had to get your laundry clean.
Didn't want no one to find you,
What does that mean?"
So it wasn't last night, but a few nights ago - I had an odd dream. I dreamt that Brooklyn packed her own lunch and was so proud of herself. I opened it to check it out and she had made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and it was oozing PB&J all over the place. And it looked like instead of bread, she had used 2 huge pancakes. Funny stuff. Then I moved the PB&J aside to see what else she had put in her lunchbox and started pulling out carrots. And more carrots. And more carrots. I'm not sure why, but pretty much all that was in there was PB&J and carrots. In my dream, I got upset with her. Not too upset, but definitely not happy that she had done it all herself.
As I try to interpret this odd one, I come to 2 possible scenarios. One is that I'm such a type-A personality, that I can't handle the idea of Brooklyn packing her own lunch (read: growing up and doing things for herself) for fear that it won't be done correctly and that she'll make a mistake. (Yes, I know, I need to just relax and let go - if she ties her shoes herself and trips on the laces, she will learn.) The second scenario is that I'm worried that she's not getting enough good stuff to eat, that because she pretty much only eats PB&J with the occasional carrot, that she is missing out on something. But if the doctor isn't concerned, I guess I shouldn't be.
One more comment on my previous post about growing up and finding something to do. I had my iTunes on random as I was sending out emails and catching up on things this morning, and I heard a song I haven't heard in awhile. The lyrics caught my attention:
I'll probably never hold the brush that paints a masterpiece,
I'll probably never find the pen that writes a symphony.
But if I were loved then I would find,
That I have touched another life,
and that's something worth leaving behind.
I thought that pretty much covered things. I might not succeed at all that I want to, but I suppose in the end, if B and Kensi grow up happy and healthy and love me (of course they do!), then it is all good. But I'm still going to try and write the next great American Novel and maybe someday someone will make it into a screenplay. A girl can hope, right?
Moving on. Basketball. FUN-DA-MEN-TALS. Seriously. What am I talking about, you ask? I went to the Laker game on Tuesday night. And I got so frustrated. Yes, they won. I'd almost forgotten what the confetti raining down at the end looked like, given their recent loss to the Celtics and a few other trouncings they've taken. So they pulled it out. But really, it wasn't pretty. In a game that is pretty much defined by the superstars and their "run and gun" mentality, I think the team would be better served by spending a few more HOURS in practice working on the fundamentals. Boxing out. Squaring to the basket. Get your feet set. To all of my fellow high school and college athletes out there, remember the "KISS" principle? ("Keep It Simple Stupid.")
For those of you who played hoops for Mr. Root in 8th grade (I think he only coached girls teams, but I could be wrong) - he used to have something he called "one dribble nowhere." A ball would be passed to you and the first thing you did was dribble it and pick it up. What then? You're stuck. You either have to pass the ball and if no one is open, you have to shoot. You've taken away your ability to move. I was in the 8th grade and I learned to square up to the basket as soon as I caught the pass (yes, Pau Gasol, you have to CATCH THE BALL FIRST!) and NOT dribble it until I had an idea of where I was going. I cannot tell you how frustrating it is to watch guys get paid to play the game and screw it up so bad. (Ok, I get it - if they are getting paid to play, they must be doing something right.) Sure, but Gasol dropped 2 passes in a row at the low post spot, both resulting in turnovers that turned into baskets for the other team at the end of regulation, that resulted in Houston tying the game, that then forced overtime. And I lost count of how many times he caught the ball with his back to the basket and immediately put the dumb thing on the ground and started to dribble, going NOWHERE. (Let alone the fact that he can't seem to dribble the ball without looking at it or his feet.) ARGH!
And then there's boxing out. Anyone who remembers high school ball remembers endless hours spent on boxing out drills. Well, at least Coach Holmes did that to us. I think I even relived the horror for 2 seasons in college. Ball goes up, everyone boxes out. Apparently not in the pros. Apparently in the pros, if you are on offense and your teammate shoots the ball, you immediately break for the other side, assuming (I guess) that the shot will be going in. Really? During the Lakers-Celtics game on Sunday, they displayed a stat in the middle of the third quarter (it might have even been the 4th quarter) - the stat was something about second shot points or something like that. For the Lakers - 13. For the Celtics, 17. Basically, that translates to offensive rebounds and meant that neither team was really rebounding - that or both teams were putting in their shots on the first attempt. Either way, nobody was bothering to rebound.
I guess in the grand scheme of things, it is all about the show and the performance. You can't really give a good performance for the fans if you are worried about things like fundamentals. So I'll just have to grin and bear it when I go to the games and enjoy the spectacle of it all. But I don't have to like Pau Gasol. Nope, sorry, you can't make me. And I will make sure that when B gets older, she will learn how to box out and square to the basket and she won't be taking "one dribble nowhere."
Enough of my mental ramblings for now. I have a date with my mixer and need to get some cookies going for the big game party on Sunday. I might even make some M&M cookies just for fun. Have a great weekend everyone!
I sailed away to China,
In a little rowboat to find you,
And you said you had to get your laundry clean.
Didn't want no one to find you,
What does that mean?"
So it wasn't last night, but a few nights ago - I had an odd dream. I dreamt that Brooklyn packed her own lunch and was so proud of herself. I opened it to check it out and she had made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and it was oozing PB&J all over the place. And it looked like instead of bread, she had used 2 huge pancakes. Funny stuff. Then I moved the PB&J aside to see what else she had put in her lunchbox and started pulling out carrots. And more carrots. And more carrots. I'm not sure why, but pretty much all that was in there was PB&J and carrots. In my dream, I got upset with her. Not too upset, but definitely not happy that she had done it all herself.
As I try to interpret this odd one, I come to 2 possible scenarios. One is that I'm such a type-A personality, that I can't handle the idea of Brooklyn packing her own lunch (read: growing up and doing things for herself) for fear that it won't be done correctly and that she'll make a mistake. (Yes, I know, I need to just relax and let go - if she ties her shoes herself and trips on the laces, she will learn.) The second scenario is that I'm worried that she's not getting enough good stuff to eat, that because she pretty much only eats PB&J with the occasional carrot, that she is missing out on something. But if the doctor isn't concerned, I guess I shouldn't be.
One more comment on my previous post about growing up and finding something to do. I had my iTunes on random as I was sending out emails and catching up on things this morning, and I heard a song I haven't heard in awhile. The lyrics caught my attention:
I'll probably never hold the brush that paints a masterpiece,
I'll probably never find the pen that writes a symphony.
But if I were loved then I would find,
That I have touched another life,
and that's something worth leaving behind.
I thought that pretty much covered things. I might not succeed at all that I want to, but I suppose in the end, if B and Kensi grow up happy and healthy and love me (of course they do!), then it is all good. But I'm still going to try and write the next great American Novel and maybe someday someone will make it into a screenplay. A girl can hope, right?
Moving on. Basketball. FUN-DA-MEN-TALS. Seriously. What am I talking about, you ask? I went to the Laker game on Tuesday night. And I got so frustrated. Yes, they won. I'd almost forgotten what the confetti raining down at the end looked like, given their recent loss to the Celtics and a few other trouncings they've taken. So they pulled it out. But really, it wasn't pretty. In a game that is pretty much defined by the superstars and their "run and gun" mentality, I think the team would be better served by spending a few more HOURS in practice working on the fundamentals. Boxing out. Squaring to the basket. Get your feet set. To all of my fellow high school and college athletes out there, remember the "KISS" principle? ("Keep It Simple Stupid.")
For those of you who played hoops for Mr. Root in 8th grade (I think he only coached girls teams, but I could be wrong) - he used to have something he called "one dribble nowhere." A ball would be passed to you and the first thing you did was dribble it and pick it up. What then? You're stuck. You either have to pass the ball and if no one is open, you have to shoot. You've taken away your ability to move. I was in the 8th grade and I learned to square up to the basket as soon as I caught the pass (yes, Pau Gasol, you have to CATCH THE BALL FIRST!) and NOT dribble it until I had an idea of where I was going. I cannot tell you how frustrating it is to watch guys get paid to play the game and screw it up so bad. (Ok, I get it - if they are getting paid to play, they must be doing something right.) Sure, but Gasol dropped 2 passes in a row at the low post spot, both resulting in turnovers that turned into baskets for the other team at the end of regulation, that resulted in Houston tying the game, that then forced overtime. And I lost count of how many times he caught the ball with his back to the basket and immediately put the dumb thing on the ground and started to dribble, going NOWHERE. (Let alone the fact that he can't seem to dribble the ball without looking at it or his feet.) ARGH!
And then there's boxing out. Anyone who remembers high school ball remembers endless hours spent on boxing out drills. Well, at least Coach Holmes did that to us. I think I even relived the horror for 2 seasons in college. Ball goes up, everyone boxes out. Apparently not in the pros. Apparently in the pros, if you are on offense and your teammate shoots the ball, you immediately break for the other side, assuming (I guess) that the shot will be going in. Really? During the Lakers-Celtics game on Sunday, they displayed a stat in the middle of the third quarter (it might have even been the 4th quarter) - the stat was something about second shot points or something like that. For the Lakers - 13. For the Celtics, 17. Basically, that translates to offensive rebounds and meant that neither team was really rebounding - that or both teams were putting in their shots on the first attempt. Either way, nobody was bothering to rebound.
I guess in the grand scheme of things, it is all about the show and the performance. You can't really give a good performance for the fans if you are worried about things like fundamentals. So I'll just have to grin and bear it when I go to the games and enjoy the spectacle of it all. But I don't have to like Pau Gasol. Nope, sorry, you can't make me. And I will make sure that when B gets older, she will learn how to box out and square to the basket and she won't be taking "one dribble nowhere."
Enough of my mental ramblings for now. I have a date with my mixer and need to get some cookies going for the big game party on Sunday. I might even make some M&M cookies just for fun. Have a great weekend everyone!
Monday, January 24, 2011
Just Pick Something, and Be Good At It.
I'm in the process of going back to work. I have even spent several hours at a stretch at the office over the past 2 weeks - on 3 separate days. I have met with clients and even worked on files. We are in the midst of a nanny search, trying to decide if having someone spend the day at home with Kensi while I go back to work is worth while. I am struggling with the whole thing (mommy guilt) and cannot fathom how my friends with babies go back to work only 6 weeks after delivery. While sitting at home contemplating my re-entry into the working world, I stare at my "Children's Writer's and Illustrator's Market 2010" and wonder if I can make it as a writer. I consider the file full of 2 and 3 page manuscript starts on my computer hard drive and wonder if I should bother. Getting paid to write would certainly allow me to stay at home with the girls. Then I ask myself what I really want to do with my life when I grow up.
When my “ballerina-cheerleader-musketeer” flits around the room and declares her desire to play softball and soccer and dance and go to gymnastics and do all things at once, I’m reminded of my own “extra-curricular” activities in school. Starting in elementary school, I figured out that I could run kind of fast and was pretty good at doing sit ups or push-ups on Field Day and I liked to sing in the school programs. I also did really well on the academic side of things. In 5th grade, I started playing the trumpet in band. Throughout high school, I stuck with the trumpet (until my senior year,) kept singing with the choir and played volleyball, basketball and ran track. I won’t say that I was a “star” on any of the teams or in band or choir, and I wasn't hugely successful past the high school or college stage (I definitely have never been paid to play sports or play an instrument or to sing.) And in the midst of my mediocrity, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I had just picked one thing and worked really hard on it.
Now that Brooklyn is in kindergarten and is having fun trying out all sorts of new sports, I can’t help but wonder how her experiences will be different. These days, the coaches and the programs almost force you into a choice at an early age. Players who want to try out for a team in the fall have to go to camp in the summer and there are All-Star teams and travel teams and all sorts of ways to encourage children to burn out on a sport before their 16th birthday.
Brooklyn tried T-Ball last summer and really only liked the part where she got to run around all of the bases at once. She always wanted to be the last person "up" so that she could run around uninterrupted. She tried soccer this past fall, but found that didn't really suit her either (at least not yet.) She liked running back and forth, but she got bored with all of the waiting around. We even looked into a local track program that takes 5 year olds, but it was more on the level of a high school club program, with required practices, a volunteer donation by the parents and meets every Saturday, and we just aren't ready for that kind of commitment. She is currently testing her acting chops in a musical theater program put on at a local dance studio. For eight weeks she is learning songs and dancing around to Camp Rock 2. How she likes it remains to be seen, although I am a bit worried about her sense of rhythm. We'll see how that all pans out.
But this all begs the question – are kids today more likely to be a “star” if they focus on one thing? Are parents bent on rearing the next Tiger Woods or Lebron James (admittedly both could have used a bit more instruction in social skills.) Or are children more well-rounded individuals when they are exposed to the experience of many things?
I still encounter this question in my daily life as an adult. I want to write and to keep a finger on the pulse of that ambition, I dabble in blogging and take notes for novels that I’m writing in my head and screenplays that may never see the screen. I bake cookies for friends and cakes for birthdays and dream of someday being paid to do it for “real.” I take pictures of everyone and everything and think that someday it would be fun to be a “professional” photographer with my own studio.
Perhaps it is the dreams of youth that keep us young and in continuing to come up with things that I want to do, I continue to find purpose in my existence and reasons to get out of bed. I suppose when I run out of things to do, I should start to worry.
When my “ballerina-cheerleader-musketeer” flits around the room and declares her desire to play softball and soccer and dance and go to gymnastics and do all things at once, I’m reminded of my own “extra-curricular” activities in school. Starting in elementary school, I figured out that I could run kind of fast and was pretty good at doing sit ups or push-ups on Field Day and I liked to sing in the school programs. I also did really well on the academic side of things. In 5th grade, I started playing the trumpet in band. Throughout high school, I stuck with the trumpet (until my senior year,) kept singing with the choir and played volleyball, basketball and ran track. I won’t say that I was a “star” on any of the teams or in band or choir, and I wasn't hugely successful past the high school or college stage (I definitely have never been paid to play sports or play an instrument or to sing.) And in the midst of my mediocrity, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I had just picked one thing and worked really hard on it.
Now that Brooklyn is in kindergarten and is having fun trying out all sorts of new sports, I can’t help but wonder how her experiences will be different. These days, the coaches and the programs almost force you into a choice at an early age. Players who want to try out for a team in the fall have to go to camp in the summer and there are All-Star teams and travel teams and all sorts of ways to encourage children to burn out on a sport before their 16th birthday.
Brooklyn tried T-Ball last summer and really only liked the part where she got to run around all of the bases at once. She always wanted to be the last person "up" so that she could run around uninterrupted. She tried soccer this past fall, but found that didn't really suit her either (at least not yet.) She liked running back and forth, but she got bored with all of the waiting around. We even looked into a local track program that takes 5 year olds, but it was more on the level of a high school club program, with required practices, a volunteer donation by the parents and meets every Saturday, and we just aren't ready for that kind of commitment. She is currently testing her acting chops in a musical theater program put on at a local dance studio. For eight weeks she is learning songs and dancing around to Camp Rock 2. How she likes it remains to be seen, although I am a bit worried about her sense of rhythm. We'll see how that all pans out.
But this all begs the question – are kids today more likely to be a “star” if they focus on one thing? Are parents bent on rearing the next Tiger Woods or Lebron James (admittedly both could have used a bit more instruction in social skills.) Or are children more well-rounded individuals when they are exposed to the experience of many things?
I still encounter this question in my daily life as an adult. I want to write and to keep a finger on the pulse of that ambition, I dabble in blogging and take notes for novels that I’m writing in my head and screenplays that may never see the screen. I bake cookies for friends and cakes for birthdays and dream of someday being paid to do it for “real.” I take pictures of everyone and everything and think that someday it would be fun to be a “professional” photographer with my own studio.
Perhaps it is the dreams of youth that keep us young and in continuing to come up with things that I want to do, I continue to find purpose in my existence and reasons to get out of bed. I suppose when I run out of things to do, I should start to worry.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Ghosts of Christmas Past
I am sitting on my couch right now, looking at a large stack of gifts belonging to Brooklyn, that are sitting off to my left, near the stairs. The stack includes presents from friends and family from her birthday party on Saturday and presents from family and friends for Hanukkah. Off to my right sits another stack of unopened presents for what remains of Hanukkah. The stack is obviously not as big as it was on Night One, but there are still presents there. Hidden in the rafters of the garage are two more large presents that I am debating even giving to her, or possibly just returning to the store. You can say it, she has too much.
When we started cleaning out B's playroom to turn it into Kensi's room, I was struck by the number of unopened toys that were there. Not unopened because B didn't ask from time to time to open them, because she did, but unopened because whenever she did ask me, the time wasn't right or I have some other random reason for not allowing her to open that particular gift. Several of those gifts have long since been outgrown, and to open others would just be to perpetuate the excess that she currently lives in. Yes, she has too much.
But I'm not writing about Brooklyn's excess right now, other than to briefly comment on how blessed she is. Rather, I am struck by another thing that occurred to me recently, something for which I have no explanation.
While out shopping on "Black Friday" with my Mom, we stopped at Kohl's because something in the ad had caught her eye. A 1/2 hour after finding that thing, we were standing in the interminable line which wrapped around the store, working our way to the check out at the front. Somewhere about 1/2 way there, we passed a pile of pottery wheels for kids. I pointed it out to Mom and asked her if she remembered that Santa had once brought me a pottery wheel for Christmas. I think I was in the third grade, or somewhere around there. I'm not sure why Santa thought to bring me that pottery wheel, but I was very excited at the idea of getting to use it, to create something with my own two hands. It came complete with the clay, just add batteries (and some water for moulding, of course.)
In those days, we had to ask for permission to do pretty much anything, especially if what we wanted to do involved the possibility of any kind of mess, and most certainly if what we wanted to do required batteries, which for some strange reason were rationed more strictly than gasoline was in the early 70s. I remember asking very soon after opening my pottery wheel (maybe even Christmas night) if I could try it out. I was told "no!" Over the ensuing days, weeks and months, I would ask from time to time if I could use my pottery wheel, and the answer was always the same, "NO!" I was never given a reason why, just told to "listen" and "put it away." Every so often, I would take the wheel out of the box and stick batteries in it, just to see it turn round and round. I can still picture the box, becoming dusty and caving in from being stacked with some of my other prize possessions, and the smaller box of clay inside, getting hard and unyielding.
I never did get the chance to play with that pottery wheel. When we moved after my Dad passed away, the box with the pottery wheel moved with us and took up a spot in my closet. I think it was still there when I cleaned out my room when Mom sold the house and moved to California, although I can't remember now what I might have done with it. It seemed odd to me even just a few years ago, that Santa would go through all of that trouble to bring me that gift, and my parents would not let me even enjoy it.
Fast forward to my life now, complete with a 5 year old who has more toys than she knows what to do with. Glimpse briefly at the stack of gifts now sitting on the floor, many of which require batteries or some other adult assistance or outside parts. Consider the playroom currently filled with legos, a toy kitchen (complete with food and pots and pans), and the stack of coloring books and crayons that litter most stationery surfaces in the house. In this world of excess, does she really need to open the latest doll/ game/ jewelry kit right now?
Here is where I had a bit of an "ah ha!" moment. I caught myself being my Dad. Scary enough when we women find ourselves turning into our mothers, carrying those large purses, stuffed with kleenex and crayons, a spare diaper and gum, telling our children to "stop that or your face will freeze that way!" and experiencing the various other genetic injustices nature heaps upon us, but to catch ourselves doing something our Dads might have done (or did do)? That is just too much!
I can only imagine what my Dad's thought process was when he would prevent or forbid us from playing with new toys. (And don't even get me started on all of the lip gloss and jewelry that B got with presents... my Dad would have confiscated and trashed it all - a move I am seriously considering!) Maybe he thought to extend the joy of the birthday or Christmas, by rationing the presents over time Maybe he thought we would appreciate those gifts more if we had to wait to use them. Maybe he hoped to experience them with us and so wanted us to wait for a time that he could play with the toys with us, but the time never became available. It's hard to say.
For me, my reasoning is usually a little more selfish. I remember not having much as a kid. I remember Christmas being the only time for new clothe or toys and even then in limited quantities. I remember trying to ration things on my own. My fear when B asks to open something is that she will break it and then it will be gone forever. In trying to limit what she opens or plays with, on some strange subconscious level, I suppose I'm trying to preserve the excess that I didn't have, maybe in the hopes that she will come to appreciate how good she's got it.
Then again, she is 5. She is not going to suddenly wake up and discover that she is an incredibly lucky little girl and begin to treat her things better (although we work to teach her to respect her things.) I know that some awareness of her place in life comes later, and through hindsight, just as it did for me. I suppose this is one of those "life lessons" we get to endure as parents. This one for me is the lesson in letting go, and allowing her to be a kid and play with her things as she wants to. She will do so with the knowledge that if it gets broken, then she is done and the toy will not be replaced. Maybe if I can let go on this level, I'll be a little better prepared to let go when she is 18 and going off to college? (O.k., let's not get ahead of ourselves.)
So, in the end, I suppose she will get to play with her toys - other than those that we donate to Toys for Tots or some similar charity. Of course, she has to write her Thank You notes first.
When we started cleaning out B's playroom to turn it into Kensi's room, I was struck by the number of unopened toys that were there. Not unopened because B didn't ask from time to time to open them, because she did, but unopened because whenever she did ask me, the time wasn't right or I have some other random reason for not allowing her to open that particular gift. Several of those gifts have long since been outgrown, and to open others would just be to perpetuate the excess that she currently lives in. Yes, she has too much.
But I'm not writing about Brooklyn's excess right now, other than to briefly comment on how blessed she is. Rather, I am struck by another thing that occurred to me recently, something for which I have no explanation.
While out shopping on "Black Friday" with my Mom, we stopped at Kohl's because something in the ad had caught her eye. A 1/2 hour after finding that thing, we were standing in the interminable line which wrapped around the store, working our way to the check out at the front. Somewhere about 1/2 way there, we passed a pile of pottery wheels for kids. I pointed it out to Mom and asked her if she remembered that Santa had once brought me a pottery wheel for Christmas. I think I was in the third grade, or somewhere around there. I'm not sure why Santa thought to bring me that pottery wheel, but I was very excited at the idea of getting to use it, to create something with my own two hands. It came complete with the clay, just add batteries (and some water for moulding, of course.)
In those days, we had to ask for permission to do pretty much anything, especially if what we wanted to do involved the possibility of any kind of mess, and most certainly if what we wanted to do required batteries, which for some strange reason were rationed more strictly than gasoline was in the early 70s. I remember asking very soon after opening my pottery wheel (maybe even Christmas night) if I could try it out. I was told "no!" Over the ensuing days, weeks and months, I would ask from time to time if I could use my pottery wheel, and the answer was always the same, "NO!" I was never given a reason why, just told to "listen" and "put it away." Every so often, I would take the wheel out of the box and stick batteries in it, just to see it turn round and round. I can still picture the box, becoming dusty and caving in from being stacked with some of my other prize possessions, and the smaller box of clay inside, getting hard and unyielding.
I never did get the chance to play with that pottery wheel. When we moved after my Dad passed away, the box with the pottery wheel moved with us and took up a spot in my closet. I think it was still there when I cleaned out my room when Mom sold the house and moved to California, although I can't remember now what I might have done with it. It seemed odd to me even just a few years ago, that Santa would go through all of that trouble to bring me that gift, and my parents would not let me even enjoy it.
Fast forward to my life now, complete with a 5 year old who has more toys than she knows what to do with. Glimpse briefly at the stack of gifts now sitting on the floor, many of which require batteries or some other adult assistance or outside parts. Consider the playroom currently filled with legos, a toy kitchen (complete with food and pots and pans), and the stack of coloring books and crayons that litter most stationery surfaces in the house. In this world of excess, does she really need to open the latest doll/ game/ jewelry kit right now?
Here is where I had a bit of an "ah ha!" moment. I caught myself being my Dad. Scary enough when we women find ourselves turning into our mothers, carrying those large purses, stuffed with kleenex and crayons, a spare diaper and gum, telling our children to "stop that or your face will freeze that way!" and experiencing the various other genetic injustices nature heaps upon us, but to catch ourselves doing something our Dads might have done (or did do)? That is just too much!
I can only imagine what my Dad's thought process was when he would prevent or forbid us from playing with new toys. (And don't even get me started on all of the lip gloss and jewelry that B got with presents... my Dad would have confiscated and trashed it all - a move I am seriously considering!) Maybe he thought to extend the joy of the birthday or Christmas, by rationing the presents over time Maybe he thought we would appreciate those gifts more if we had to wait to use them. Maybe he hoped to experience them with us and so wanted us to wait for a time that he could play with the toys with us, but the time never became available. It's hard to say.
For me, my reasoning is usually a little more selfish. I remember not having much as a kid. I remember Christmas being the only time for new clothe or toys and even then in limited quantities. I remember trying to ration things on my own. My fear when B asks to open something is that she will break it and then it will be gone forever. In trying to limit what she opens or plays with, on some strange subconscious level, I suppose I'm trying to preserve the excess that I didn't have, maybe in the hopes that she will come to appreciate how good she's got it.
Then again, she is 5. She is not going to suddenly wake up and discover that she is an incredibly lucky little girl and begin to treat her things better (although we work to teach her to respect her things.) I know that some awareness of her place in life comes later, and through hindsight, just as it did for me. I suppose this is one of those "life lessons" we get to endure as parents. This one for me is the lesson in letting go, and allowing her to be a kid and play with her things as she wants to. She will do so with the knowledge that if it gets broken, then she is done and the toy will not be replaced. Maybe if I can let go on this level, I'll be a little better prepared to let go when she is 18 and going off to college? (O.k., let's not get ahead of ourselves.)
So, in the end, I suppose she will get to play with her toys - other than those that we donate to Toys for Tots or some similar charity. Of course, she has to write her Thank You notes first.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
"Sterilization" - such a cold word
I'm not having any more children. It was never a big secret, but shortly after I got pregnant with Kensi, I said I was done having children. When we found out it was a girl and people would ask if we were going to have a third child to try for a boy, my response was constant... "Shop's closed." In response to the confused and questionning look I would inevitably get, I would elaborate: "snip, snip." That would usually get the point across.
I was 31 when I had Brooklyn, in fairly good shape and pretty healthy overall. It took me over a year to recover physically from being pregnant and having her. When I say "recover," I mean to get to a point where I felt phyically "normal." It took almost 2 years for me to recover mentally and another almost 2 years after that before I would even consider the thought of having another child. With Brooklyn, it took us almost a year to get pregnant and I had 2 miscarriages along the way. At 36, having made the decision to double our number of offspring, I faced not only the usual challenges of my body dealing with pregnancy, I was now chasing a 4 1/2 year old and was dealing with a medical community that considered me to be "old." (Of course, the term they used is "AMA" - Advanced Maternal Age. Old.)
As if that was not enough, my body betrayed me on a larger scale. When Brooklyn was 7 days old, I had seizures and spent several days in ICU. (Rob was awakened at 4 a.m. to me having a seizure and had to call 9-1-1 and then watched me have scan after test after scan while they tried to figure out what was going on with me.) They came to the ultimate decision that it was eclampsia and I was a rare case where it manifested itself 7 days after delivery, rather than during pregnancy or within 24 hours after delivery, and what made me more rare was that my pregnancy was "textbook" and I had no symptoms.
This "condition" was a big concern to my new OB, who kept a close eye on my blood pressure throughout the pregnancy. He decided to induce me, to keep an eye on how my body responded to the delivery, and of course things still went "south" on the 7th day and I was back in the ER with high blood pressure and ended up having a seizure. On my second day in the hospital after the seizure, the OB came in and sat down to discuss things and mentioned that he didn't think there would be any more children in our future. Of course my initial response was my mantra of "shop's closed."
Fast forward to this past week, one month after Kensi's arrival. I was back at the OB's office for another follow up (and blood pressure check). When discussing the next few weeks, he finished with "and we will discuss sterilization options." Talk about a sock to the gut. Not that I hadn't already made that decision on my own. Not that I wanted to have any more kids. Not that I hadn't been saying all along that I was done having children, and that "snip, snip" was in someone's future. But to hear it from the OB, and to hear it so bluntly, put it in completely different perspective.
So now it's out there - this blunt declaration of my future as a mother. Because of the stress that pregnancy (and delivery) puts on my body, because of the dangers caused by a sky-rocketing blood pressure, I should not subject myself to that condition anymore. But the word "sterilization" is such a cold word. Maybe there's a better way to express it? Of course, people make these decisions every day, and people map out their future every day. I had made plans and was mapping our future as a family. I just never thought I'd be making this decision because the doctor told me I had to make it. Any maybe we can come up with a warmer word for the process?
I was 31 when I had Brooklyn, in fairly good shape and pretty healthy overall. It took me over a year to recover physically from being pregnant and having her. When I say "recover," I mean to get to a point where I felt phyically "normal." It took almost 2 years for me to recover mentally and another almost 2 years after that before I would even consider the thought of having another child. With Brooklyn, it took us almost a year to get pregnant and I had 2 miscarriages along the way. At 36, having made the decision to double our number of offspring, I faced not only the usual challenges of my body dealing with pregnancy, I was now chasing a 4 1/2 year old and was dealing with a medical community that considered me to be "old." (Of course, the term they used is "AMA" - Advanced Maternal Age. Old.)
As if that was not enough, my body betrayed me on a larger scale. When Brooklyn was 7 days old, I had seizures and spent several days in ICU. (Rob was awakened at 4 a.m. to me having a seizure and had to call 9-1-1 and then watched me have scan after test after scan while they tried to figure out what was going on with me.) They came to the ultimate decision that it was eclampsia and I was a rare case where it manifested itself 7 days after delivery, rather than during pregnancy or within 24 hours after delivery, and what made me more rare was that my pregnancy was "textbook" and I had no symptoms.
This "condition" was a big concern to my new OB, who kept a close eye on my blood pressure throughout the pregnancy. He decided to induce me, to keep an eye on how my body responded to the delivery, and of course things still went "south" on the 7th day and I was back in the ER with high blood pressure and ended up having a seizure. On my second day in the hospital after the seizure, the OB came in and sat down to discuss things and mentioned that he didn't think there would be any more children in our future. Of course my initial response was my mantra of "shop's closed."
Fast forward to this past week, one month after Kensi's arrival. I was back at the OB's office for another follow up (and blood pressure check). When discussing the next few weeks, he finished with "and we will discuss sterilization options." Talk about a sock to the gut. Not that I hadn't already made that decision on my own. Not that I wanted to have any more kids. Not that I hadn't been saying all along that I was done having children, and that "snip, snip" was in someone's future. But to hear it from the OB, and to hear it so bluntly, put it in completely different perspective.
So now it's out there - this blunt declaration of my future as a mother. Because of the stress that pregnancy (and delivery) puts on my body, because of the dangers caused by a sky-rocketing blood pressure, I should not subject myself to that condition anymore. But the word "sterilization" is such a cold word. Maybe there's a better way to express it? Of course, people make these decisions every day, and people map out their future every day. I had made plans and was mapping our future as a family. I just never thought I'd be making this decision because the doctor told me I had to make it. Any maybe we can come up with a warmer word for the process?
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