My mom gave me new pajamas for Christmas. We all get PJs on Christmas Eve to make sure we are wearing something suitable for the morning photos. She hasn't figured anything out for smushed hair or leftover traces of makeup from the Eve's party, though. A hot cup of coffee with a splash of eggnog usually masks morning breath, however.
This year's set features cute capris, a long-sleeved scooped neck top and a snappy short robe with hood. The three-piece ensemble is turquoise and pink, and it's even reversible - polka dots on one side and stripes on the other. Pretty, practical and photogenic. Really, what more can you ask from a new set of PJs?
Well, according to the makers of this nightwear, A (2) Z Intimates, lots more. There is actually the power of positive psychology woven right in to this trio. A glance of the ever-so-cute rose-embellished tag promised more than I had ever expected:
"Look with wonder at that which is before you."
"Cultivate the feeling that miracles are coming your way."
"Always love with your heart."
"Wear our garment with hope that life will bring you all you desire."
All I desire? Miracles coming my way? Sounds as though I'm more or less guaranteed not only a good night's sleep filled with dreams of contentment, luxury and self-fulfillment but everything else from A (2) Zzzzzzzz. See you in the morning!
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
To give or to receive?
I won the family's 1st ever Sympathy Award on Christmas Eve. This award was given to the person who deserved the most sympathy. It was a year filled with operations and broken bones, so it was a way for us to laugh together about the various ailments. Laughter is good medicine.
Interestingly, my two aunts told me they voted for me because I was taking care of my husband with his broken ankle, not because of my broken elbow and surgery this summer. "Taking care of a man! Oh, do you ever have my sympathy!"
Actually, giving extra care to John has not been nearly as painful as being taken care of this summer. I was a disgruntled patient: Impatient with myself and the entire ordeal, rather demanding when I wanted to do something. Why didn't I like all the kindness and pampering? What was so hard about reading in bed and sleeping?
I think it had to do with the losses I felt. Physically, I had lost the use of my arm. I truly experienced pain in the neck after surgery. But I also lost the ability to work at the rooftop garden, to be the kind of mom I love to be, to be able to do all the things that make me feel like me. Somehow having others care for me meant I couldn't be me. For those of you who helped me this summer, you know how hard I tried at being better at getting better. Thank you, again, for your books and kind words and good meals ... and for being patient with me.
Six months later, I think I did get better in many ways. I'm pretty much physically healed. I had the chance to re-evaluate much of what I had been doing in the months prior to the surgical summer. Was it all so important to being me? It was freeing at some point to have everything taken off the to-do list. I tried this fall to add things back with some scrutiny and care. Being a thoughtful, hands-on mom and partner are still at the top. I felt recommitted to my job at a youth center. Not just the gardening part but to reaching youth through gardening. I have tried to be a better listener and to really hear what others are saying. To affirm their experience and try to put myself in their position. I don't think I'm as quick to try to fix things for myself and people in my life. An injury slows you down. While I wouldn't recommend it as the best way to achieve that state, slowing down can be a very good thing.
Getting sympathy for taking care of John seems misplaced. Giving care is exactly what I like to do. John's broken ankle is certainly slowing him down. He has been home a lot, which has provided opportunities to read to Max, to watch DVDs with Zack. We all check in on John, offering something to him ... humor, love, a glass of water, a fluffier pillow, a chance to hang out. I do not underestimate what John is dealing with. He has a long road ahead before he can fulfill the many roles of his life. I hope we can give him the gift of receiving care from all of us.
My uncle, who underwent foot surgery and was a difficult patient for my aunt, said I wasn't the winner of the award but the best whiner for the award. And then I thought, well, anything to get a little sympathy!
Interestingly, my two aunts told me they voted for me because I was taking care of my husband with his broken ankle, not because of my broken elbow and surgery this summer. "Taking care of a man! Oh, do you ever have my sympathy!"
Actually, giving extra care to John has not been nearly as painful as being taken care of this summer. I was a disgruntled patient: Impatient with myself and the entire ordeal, rather demanding when I wanted to do something. Why didn't I like all the kindness and pampering? What was so hard about reading in bed and sleeping?
I think it had to do with the losses I felt. Physically, I had lost the use of my arm. I truly experienced pain in the neck after surgery. But I also lost the ability to work at the rooftop garden, to be the kind of mom I love to be, to be able to do all the things that make me feel like me. Somehow having others care for me meant I couldn't be me. For those of you who helped me this summer, you know how hard I tried at being better at getting better. Thank you, again, for your books and kind words and good meals ... and for being patient with me.
Six months later, I think I did get better in many ways. I'm pretty much physically healed. I had the chance to re-evaluate much of what I had been doing in the months prior to the surgical summer. Was it all so important to being me? It was freeing at some point to have everything taken off the to-do list. I tried this fall to add things back with some scrutiny and care. Being a thoughtful, hands-on mom and partner are still at the top. I felt recommitted to my job at a youth center. Not just the gardening part but to reaching youth through gardening. I have tried to be a better listener and to really hear what others are saying. To affirm their experience and try to put myself in their position. I don't think I'm as quick to try to fix things for myself and people in my life. An injury slows you down. While I wouldn't recommend it as the best way to achieve that state, slowing down can be a very good thing.
Getting sympathy for taking care of John seems misplaced. Giving care is exactly what I like to do. John's broken ankle is certainly slowing him down. He has been home a lot, which has provided opportunities to read to Max, to watch DVDs with Zack. We all check in on John, offering something to him ... humor, love, a glass of water, a fluffier pillow, a chance to hang out. I do not underestimate what John is dealing with. He has a long road ahead before he can fulfill the many roles of his life. I hope we can give him the gift of receiving care from all of us.
My uncle, who underwent foot surgery and was a difficult patient for my aunt, said I wasn't the winner of the award but the best whiner for the award. And then I thought, well, anything to get a little sympathy!
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Car-kindness shifts into high gear
The car continues to weave its way into my life in unexpected ways. On Sunday, it took the act of car-kindness to a new level. It was a lifesaver: it transported my husband to the emergency room. White with pain and shaking with shock, John sat silently in the passenger seat as I briefly tapped the brakes at stop signs and careened into the ambulance bay. In only a few minutes from the time John called to say he had fallen on the ice and heard something snap, he was in the ER. There's lots to say about all that but I don't seem to be quite there yet.
For now, I'm pondering where the car has been taking me physically and emotionally. Through these various car-related events, I find myself being transported to places I did not intend to be. In general, that's not how the car and I get along. I decide where we're going, which route, who's coming, at what time and at what speed. But recently, there's an intertwining of my journey with the machine that physically transports me.
In the first two installments, I connected with people by giving them a ride somewhere they needed to go. In turn, I felt a surge of openness to new people. On this third event, I didn't hesitate a moment when John called to say he needed to get to the ER. I ran down the stairs, jumped in, turned the key, stepped on the gas and was able to help get John where he needed to go. Were the first two getting me ready for the more-important, life-altering third trip? Did I make peace with the car so that it could be there for me when I needed it?
Being in need. There it is. Am I in need of the car or is the car the vehicle to other needs such as being open to a friendly mom on a rainy day, taking my husband to the ER or asking for help? I'm not sure. Yet as I sat alone in the hospital in the middle of the night while John's ankle was being put together with pins and plates, I found myself ruminating about it. Now maybe that's just the kind of abstract topic I needed in that moment as minutes crept by slowly in the darkness and stilness of a hospital at 1 in the morning. One hour, two hours, three hours ... three and a half. My mind was racing and yet in slow motion. Traveling from one spot to another with little control. Would he be OK? How were the kids doing at home? Who would help us through this?
These thoughts led me to Jenny -- and her car. In part due to the car, Jenny called from Hawaii. It was so great to hear her voice, to let her words bring me closer to her island adventure. While it was her car that was parked within sight, she seemed just as near. She could reach out and help me through the physical act of loaning me her trusty green wagon. Yes, we could have called each other any day. But it was this day, when I needed to borrow her car that we did talk on the phone.
When driving her car with my son, Max, he recalled a field trip Jenny and the girls took two summer's ago to the Jelly Belly factory. Max has brought that trip up a number of times but on Tuesday, his reminiscing took us both back to a warm summer day filled with a tale of sugary treats with Dr. Seuss-sounding names. We were transported to a simpler, summer day. Exactly what we needed.
Today I picked the car up from the repair shop. It felt very stable. Trusty. Comforting. Just what I need right about now.
For now, I'm pondering where the car has been taking me physically and emotionally. Through these various car-related events, I find myself being transported to places I did not intend to be. In general, that's not how the car and I get along. I decide where we're going, which route, who's coming, at what time and at what speed. But recently, there's an intertwining of my journey with the machine that physically transports me.
In the first two installments, I connected with people by giving them a ride somewhere they needed to go. In turn, I felt a surge of openness to new people. On this third event, I didn't hesitate a moment when John called to say he needed to get to the ER. I ran down the stairs, jumped in, turned the key, stepped on the gas and was able to help get John where he needed to go. Were the first two getting me ready for the more-important, life-altering third trip? Did I make peace with the car so that it could be there for me when I needed it?
Being in need. There it is. Am I in need of the car or is the car the vehicle to other needs such as being open to a friendly mom on a rainy day, taking my husband to the ER or asking for help? I'm not sure. Yet as I sat alone in the hospital in the middle of the night while John's ankle was being put together with pins and plates, I found myself ruminating about it. Now maybe that's just the kind of abstract topic I needed in that moment as minutes crept by slowly in the darkness and stilness of a hospital at 1 in the morning. One hour, two hours, three hours ... three and a half. My mind was racing and yet in slow motion. Traveling from one spot to another with little control. Would he be OK? How were the kids doing at home? Who would help us through this?
These thoughts led me to Jenny -- and her car. In part due to the car, Jenny called from Hawaii. It was so great to hear her voice, to let her words bring me closer to her island adventure. While it was her car that was parked within sight, she seemed just as near. She could reach out and help me through the physical act of loaning me her trusty green wagon. Yes, we could have called each other any day. But it was this day, when I needed to borrow her car that we did talk on the phone.
When driving her car with my son, Max, he recalled a field trip Jenny and the girls took two summer's ago to the Jelly Belly factory. Max has brought that trip up a number of times but on Tuesday, his reminiscing took us both back to a warm summer day filled with a tale of sugary treats with Dr. Seuss-sounding names. We were transported to a simpler, summer day. Exactly what we needed.
Today I picked the car up from the repair shop. It felt very stable. Trusty. Comforting. Just what I need right about now.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Random Acts of Car-kindness
My car has been on the bottom of my favorite’s list lately. It has an electronic messaging problem that's keeping me from meeting a friend for frozen margarita's and a weekend out of the city. It's fighting for garage space with the porch rehabbers' stuff. Now I must find a spot big enough to park it. I can barely mention how much money the hulk is draining each month. (Actually, I can't stop talking about it. I caught myself launching in to the tirade while my 7-year-old was getting his hair cut).
The car knows I am not happy with it. I believe it is trying to show me its worth through Random Acts of Car-Kindness.
Random Act #1: Scene: Sleet and snow spiraling at the just the moment when it's time to pick up my son's friend to take them to a playdate. Oh, joy. I am grimmacing. The very nice mom brings said son to the car. She hugs me, although we have just met. I remain relatively stony. I notice she has a beautiful smile and warm face -- and an envelope. The envelope belongs to her daughter who needs it postmarked by Dec. 1 for an early-decision college application. Warm, cheerful mom says, "So I'll just have to get over to the post office at 47th and Cottage" about 12 blocks away. With wind, sleet and snow swirling, I actually warm up and say, "Would you like a ride?" The mom is lovely and appreciative. We have a great conversation. She buys me stamps (Do you want them to say Christmas? Thoughtful, as I had just read an anti-happy holidays op-ed piece). As we drive around and I wait for her in the car, I call my friend in Boston to see how her son who had to have his appendix out was doing. Could it be true? Did the cursed car provide me a way to help a really nice woman and to give me a moment's quiet with nothing to do but take a minute and call my friend? I praised the beast on the way home from the post office.
Random Act #2: Scene: Windy and cold, Monday morning. No parking space to be found. Circle once, twice ... lose count and begin to contemplate driving car into Lake Michigan, which is not yet frozen. And then what do I see but a woman in a purple coat with a dog walking in the middle of the street. I think, "Not a good idea". With that, she waves! I roll down the window. She frantically says she is running late to the University. Can I give them a ride? (Them? oh, the dog!) I suddenly find myself feeling welcoming. Sure! I'd be glad to! She climbs in the back, full of thanks. Turns out we have sons the same age. In fact, after a longer look, I recognize her from the neighborhood. We've passed each other enough times that I had even wondered how she fit in to the mosiac of our triangle of Hyde Park. Yet, I'd never smiled or waved or stopped to say, "Hey, I see you and your dog running around the block, sometimes in the craziest of weather. Did you know once it inspired me to get out for a walk?" No, that took a Random Act of Car-Kindness.
I can't help noticing the irony: The gas-guzzling, money-pit of a car helps me stop to make time to help two women, who both added warmth and humor to my day, otherwise mirred in the tasks of daily life.
Thanks, Car. You did good.
The car knows I am not happy with it. I believe it is trying to show me its worth through Random Acts of Car-Kindness.
Random Act #1: Scene: Sleet and snow spiraling at the just the moment when it's time to pick up my son's friend to take them to a playdate. Oh, joy. I am grimmacing. The very nice mom brings said son to the car. She hugs me, although we have just met. I remain relatively stony. I notice she has a beautiful smile and warm face -- and an envelope. The envelope belongs to her daughter who needs it postmarked by Dec. 1 for an early-decision college application. Warm, cheerful mom says, "So I'll just have to get over to the post office at 47th and Cottage" about 12 blocks away. With wind, sleet and snow swirling, I actually warm up and say, "Would you like a ride?" The mom is lovely and appreciative. We have a great conversation. She buys me stamps (Do you want them to say Christmas? Thoughtful, as I had just read an anti-happy holidays op-ed piece). As we drive around and I wait for her in the car, I call my friend in Boston to see how her son who had to have his appendix out was doing. Could it be true? Did the cursed car provide me a way to help a really nice woman and to give me a moment's quiet with nothing to do but take a minute and call my friend? I praised the beast on the way home from the post office.
Random Act #2: Scene: Windy and cold, Monday morning. No parking space to be found. Circle once, twice ... lose count and begin to contemplate driving car into Lake Michigan, which is not yet frozen. And then what do I see but a woman in a purple coat with a dog walking in the middle of the street. I think, "Not a good idea". With that, she waves! I roll down the window. She frantically says she is running late to the University. Can I give them a ride? (Them? oh, the dog!) I suddenly find myself feeling welcoming. Sure! I'd be glad to! She climbs in the back, full of thanks. Turns out we have sons the same age. In fact, after a longer look, I recognize her from the neighborhood. We've passed each other enough times that I had even wondered how she fit in to the mosiac of our triangle of Hyde Park. Yet, I'd never smiled or waved or stopped to say, "Hey, I see you and your dog running around the block, sometimes in the craziest of weather. Did you know once it inspired me to get out for a walk?" No, that took a Random Act of Car-Kindness.
I can't help noticing the irony: The gas-guzzling, money-pit of a car helps me stop to make time to help two women, who both added warmth and humor to my day, otherwise mirred in the tasks of daily life.
Thanks, Car. You did good.
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