High School: Miss Bashful

During my senior year of high school, I had senioritis. Big time. I was so ready to move on. I never liked school, and high school was no exception. In fact, it was actually the hardest of all the school years. Don't get me wrong. It wasn't all bad. I was a good student, I had good experiences, and I grew a lot. I was close to my family, and I enjoyed being in the band (as in, marching band...yeah...I'm that cool). But it was a very hard time for me. I hated the strict structure of everything. I was awkward and shy and peculiar. I wasn't close to very many people outside my family.  

My high school did senior superlatives. The senior class voted for a girl and guy to award the titles of "Best Smile", "Most Athletic", "Class Clown", etc. One of the categories was "Most Bashful". When I started high school, I vowed to myself that that would not be me. I hated being shy. I was given that label at a very young age. It was accurate-I was shy. But that wasn't the whole story. When I was younger, the perceived shyness was partly due to my being quiet and wanting to observe and warm up to a situation I was unfamiliar with. Sometimes I just didn't know what to say. When I got older, I really wanted to talk and have friends. I wanted to socialize. But by then, I had that label. Everyone knew me as shy. People didn't talk to me. Whenever I did say something, everyone would stare at me, shocked, and say, "She talks!" That's not exactly encouraging for someone who's trying to open up more. It brought a lot of the wrong kind of attention to me and made me want to crawl back in my shell. Sometimes I didn't say much because I couldn't hear very well. It's hard to join in a conversation when you're only catching bits and pieces of it. (More about the social awkwardness of hearing loss here.)

By the time that last year of high school rolled around, I had given up on my determination that I would not be picked as "Most Bashful". I figured it was probably inevitable. I soon found out that I was one of the three "finalists". Fantastic. So a fierce competition ensued. Just kidding. A quiet, subdued non-competitive wait ensued. When I got my ballot, I marked my vote for one of the other people on there, and turned it in. The votes were counted, and lo and behold, I was crowned as Miss Bashful. (No, I wasn't crowned, and I wasn't given the title of "Miss Bashful". But it's the closest I'll come to being a glamorous beauty queen, so just go with it.) I went outside with my male counterpart to get a yearbook photo taken, during which we were told we needed to smile more and stand closer together. The resulting picture was a very stereotypical view of two bashful people.

Despite what you might think from my description of this senior superlative experience, it really wasn't a huge, defining experience in my life. It was more amusing than anything. The month after I graduated high school, I moved to the other side of the country to attend college. I had a fresh start. I opened up. I made friends. Some people hardly believed me when I revealed the fun fact that I was voted "most bashful" girl of my senior class. I wasn't life-of-the-party outgoing, but I was definitely not so bashful. I still get a bit shy in certain situations now, but nothing like before.

When my older daughter was three years old, she was told she was shy because she was being quiet in a new situation. That made me really upset because she is usually quite social, but when someone gave her that label, she used it to retreat in situations she normally wouldn't. Let's be careful with labels! People tend to live up (or down) to labels and expectations.

During my last year of high school, the principal was talking to a bunch of seniors and said that we'll look back and realize that those high school years were the best years of our lives. I remember thinking, "Wow. What does that say about the rest of my life? If that's true, I must have a terrible life in front of me." Fortunately, I didn't take that personally, and I didn't believe it. And it's not true for me. I had a wonderful, albeit challenging, time in college. I have many dear friends from that time. I married the man I love. I have two sweet daughters. Things are still hard, but in very different ways. High school years weren't the best years of my life. Teenagers may have a hard time seeing a life past high school, but it's there. And it's promising. High school years are important and influential, but it doesn't have to define you or what the rest of your life will be like. Part of who I am is because of my high school experience, but most days, those years don't even cross my mind. It was ten years ago that I graduated high school, but it seems like high school was a different lifetime. Things are so different now, and I am so different now.

5 Unique Ways to Have Fun Cleaning Up

Toys. Books. Clothes. Shoes. Spilled food. All over the floor. All the time. At least it seems that way. Even as I try to teach my young children to pick up after themselves, I still bend over and pick things up approximately 1,473 times a day. As I've done so, I've come up with a few ways to make it more interesting.

1. THE BOW. You've done a great job. Take a bow. Imagine roaring applause, all for you, as you pick up that toy.

2. THE CURTSY. The ladylike version of the bow. Curtsy down to pick up the freshly-made sandwich a certain small person decided she didn't want. It will make you feel more like a princess and less like a slave.

3. CURTSY-JUMP-SPIN. This is my favorite. Curtsy, pick up the item, and then jump out of the curtsy as you spin slightly so that your feet land side by side, ready to stroll.

4. THE GYMNAST. After you lean over, jump up and try to stick a perfect landing: feet together, both arms proudly up high in the air, topped off with a handful of dirty clothes you'll then throw into the laundry hamper, like a basketball in a hoop. There-now you're a world-class gymnast AND a champion basketball star.

5. BEND AND SNAP. Ok, so this move in Legally Blonde was meant to attract a crush, but it might be fun to incorporate it into housework. There's a tutorial (with pictures) you can look at if you're not familiar with it. Or you can Youtube it. Just be very careful-we don't want any broken noses.

Have fun!

Kids Eating on Carpet

We moved into a new place several months ago. The kitchen is more spacious than what I've had in the past, and our kitchen table has a room of its own. Our "dining room" is only separated from the kitchen by a countertop with cupboards underneath it. The only drawback of this space is that it is carpeted.

I actually like carpet. Even with children. It's comfortable, homey, softens the sound of toys clattering about, and keeps me from having to sweep 14 times a day. So carpet is good. Except in rooms dedicated to food. That, I don't like. I have a five-year-old and a one-year-old who is particularly prone to throwing and dropping food. For the first few months, I vacuumed and hand-picked food up off the floor after each meal. Our carpet cleaner made an appearance several times.

I searched online to try and find a suitable floor covering. I couldn't just replace the carpet with hard flooring because this is a rental home. I didn't like the many suggestions to use a blanket, tarp, tablecloth, or thick plastic sheet underneath the baby's highchair. Those things would bunch up and just get obnoxious to work around and wash or wipe down each time. I had a big rug I could use, and that would save the carpet underneath. But the rug itself would get nasty unless I got on my hands and knees all the time to get stuff out of the fibers and then pull the carpet cleaner out...so that wasn't much better than what I was already doing. I considered one of those plastic mats used under wheeled office chairs. I remember that my family used one of those under my sister's highchair long ago. But I couldn't find one in the right size or shape (and they were getting pricey). I wanted something to go under the whole table and all the pulled-out chairs. My baby's highchair isn't really a highchair. It's a booster seat and tray that's strapped onto one of the chairs at the table. Plus, she's not exactly the only one who spills. I wanted good coverage for everyone. I initially wanted a bamboo rug, which would look the nicest, but those are rather expensive, especially in the size I wanted it. Plus, I was worried that, although you can wipe bamboo rugs clean, things would get lodged between the slats. Sigh. So I didn't know what a good solution would be.

Then, one day, we were shopping in our local home improvement store. I walked by the flooring section of the store and noticed that there were some laminate flooring on clearance. The flooring was sold in packages of slats that you could sort of snap together. Maybe this would work! We purchased two packages (and later a third) and started working on it. It took both my husband and I quite a bit of adjusting and pushing before it all clicked together and looked right. We just put it right on top of the carpet, with nothing in between. It does slide on the carpet a tiny bit over the course of a month or so, but that's not a big deal to me. For a while, we were debating whether or not it looked ghetto, but finally decided that it looked fine, and it was the best option for us. I like it. Now, I can sweep it and mop it just like a kitchen floor. Once, one of the girls spilled some water and I didn't realize it for a couple hours. After I cleaned it up, the edge of one of the boards puckered up a bit. You can see it in the picture, but that's mostly because of the angle of the camera. When you're standing up, it's really not that noticeable. I can't remember exactly how much it cost, but I believe it was $40-$50 for the whole thing. Totally worth it. And it doubles as a dance floor. Well, I haven't done it yet, but I plan on moving the table and chairs and using the thing as a dance floor sometime.

Milk: One of My Greatest Accomplishments

This is a picture of 116 breastmilk bottles. (They are used to hook up to breast pumps to collect milk.) I took the picture when I was preparing to move and was packing away some baby feeding supplies.

My baby is almost 2 years old, and I can hardly believe it. As I approach the second anniversary of her birth, I also approach the one-year anniversary of completing one of my biggest accomplishments. I pumped breastmilk for one year. Lots of women nurse, or pump milk, for their babies, and lots of women do it for a year or longer. Even now, I sometimes look back and think, "Why did I think that was such a big accomplishment?" But it was a huge accomplishment for me. At the time I finished it, I remember being so happy and relieved and proud. I remember thinking that how I felt was comparable to how I felt when I graduated college.

While I was pregnant with my first daughter, I had a goal: breastfeed for at least one year. However, breastfeeding was very challenging for both of us. By the time she was four months old, she refused it all together. With my second daughter, I had the same goal. This time I was aware that I'd have to be flexible, in case she, or I, had a tough time breastfeeding, too. But the goal was still there, because it was the ideal.

I was so happy when my baby started breastfeeding within an hour of her birth. She latched right on and seemed to have no problem with it. I was still afraid that I would struggle and feel tied down with breastfeeding, but I was hopeful that this time would be better because the baby seemed to have an easier grasp of the concept. So for the next day and a half, I kept breastfeeding, and she ate with minimal guidance. And then we noticed something that was concerning, and she ended up being sent to another hospital for further testing. She was admitted to the NICU, where they gave me some supplies and instructed me to pump and store my breastmilk. Because of the testing, she couldn't take milk for a few days, and I needed to keep up pumping so I wouldn't lose my supply. By the time the initial testing was completed (which turned out normal), a different serious lifelong medical condition was discovered, and she remained in the NICU for three weeks. At first, doctors told me that because of her medical condition, she may not be able to tolerate breastmilk very well. So they started her on formula. I continued pumping with the hopes that she could get to a point where she could start taking it.

Each day, her blood work showed abnormal levels. There were certain levels that were much higher than normal. With each passing day, her feedings increased, and so did those levels. The doctors said they hoped her levels would eventually stabilize as her body got more adjusted to being outside the womb. But I was scared. One day I did the math, and figured out that if her levels kept going up at the rate they were, her health would be in critical condition within a week. This whole time, I continued pumping milk (every three hours around the clock) and praying that my milk would be the "magic" solution her body needed to improve. I still didn't know if her body would tolerate it, but one afternoon, I asked one of her doctors if she could just try the breastmilk. The doctor immediately got on the phone with her other doctor, and together they decided that she could try my milk. The next morning's blood work didn't show improvement, but the next day, after a full day of my baby consuming only breastmilk, her levels started dropping. They continued dropping until they were much closer to normal. Perhaps it was, at least in part, because her body was adjusting more to life outside the womb, but to me, that was just too coincidental. My milk really seemed to be the "magic" solution she needed. I continued pumping. By the time she left the hospital, she was on breastmilk with a bit of special formula mixed in to help her gain weight. Because she needed that extra formula mixed in, and because there was a possibility I would need to add special medication in the milk later on, I decided to continue pumping milk (instead of having her nurse directly). Within a couple months, there were four things I had to add to the milk. Her levels improved some more.

While she was in the hospital, I made a goal to pump milk for my baby for at least one year. And I did it. I started off pumping for 15 minutes, 7-8 times a day, and I eventually was able to pump for 30 minutes, 4 times a day. After each pumping, I had to wash the 8 pieces of pumping equipment. Each day we (my husband and/or I) emptied 8-10 breastmilk bottles (a day's worth of milk) into a container with the other four things she needed. We washed those 8-10 bottles and lids each day. The whole process of pumping was time-consuming. Everything took careful planning. There were times we wanted to just take off and go somewhere, but first we had to wait half an hour while I pumped. If I was going to be out during a pumping time, or longer than a few hours, I had to bring a portable pump, bottles, and a cooler, and figure out where and when I was going to pump. I also brought a cooler with prepared bottles for my baby wherever I went. She wouldn't drink cold milk, so I always tried to find some hot water to warm the bottle up in.

I had a lot of milk available, as I produced a lot of it, and there were days at the beginning when I pumped, despite her taking very little or no milk at all. When my baby was in the NICU, literally half of my freezer was filled with milk, plus the hospital had milk in their freezer. It's hard to believe, but there was a time when all 116 bottles pictured above were being used. And I am so grateful, because there were times later on when I struggled with my milk supply. I was able to feed my baby the milk I had pumped earlier.

This may seem self-applauding, and well, it is. People announce their music, sports, academic, and professional accomplishments. They have graduation parties and promotion celebrations. This is no different. This was a very hard thing that I worked at every day for a year of my life. I never would have guessed that "Pumped Breastmilk for One Year" would be on my list of great life accomplishments, but it is. Like I said, I know lots of women provide breastmilk for their baby, and many do it for a year or longer. It is challenging whether you nurse or pump. I think all women who accomplish this should get a party. A Post-Breastfeeding Shower. The gifts could consist of new bras, shirts, and purses (to replace the worn-out diaper bag). Perhaps a gift card for a date night when the mother can feel free and be out of the house for more than a couple hours at a time. The food can include salad, spicy snacks, chocolate, and anything else the nursing mother may have had to avoid. I'm not suggesting that everyone should shower me with gifts. (I'm just happy that my baby is doing so well, and I like to think at least part of it is because of all the breastmilk she had.) I'm just saying, Post-Breastfeeding Showers should totally be a thing. There are so many hard, sad things in life. We could use more celebrations. :)

A Different Perspective of Sex

Turn on the radio or TV. Leave your house and go to the store. You'll see that this world we live in is almost saturated with sex. It is seen almost everywhere you look, be it subtle or obvious. It is one of the reasons it's scary to raise children in this world. It's an uncomfortable topic for me, and I don't really like talking about it because sex is personal and sacred, and it is often misused and abused. But I had an experience a while ago that put things into perspective for me, and I want to share that.

I believe that sex is sacred and should be saved for marriage. I believe that the purpose of sex is for the benefit of the relationship of the married couple, and for having children. This is a very different belief from what is considered "normal". When you look around you, you may find that sex is displayed as being only for fun, pleasure, and excitement; something light-hearted; something you can throw around and pass from one person to another. Even with my strong beliefs, it is sometimes hard to remember that sex is sacred and serious when I am confronted with this other view so much.

When my first child was born, she was in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) for one week. Nearly two years ago, my younger daughter made her entrance into this world and spent three weeks in the NICU. It was a large one, with space available for nearly 100 babies. While she was receiving care there, my husband and I spoke with many doctors, nurses, and specialists. One day, one of the doctors was telling us how she was doing, and the doctor said something like, "One thing that makes me hopeful is that she has you guys. She has a good support system." At the time, this was of little comfort to me, as I thought that that was just something they told everyone to try to make them feel better. But I was wrong. That isn't something they could tell everyone. When you're in the NICU, you hear a lot. The babies are situated quite close together to ensure a close eye is being kept on all of them. Also, the waiting room outside of the NICU was small. It was easy to hear of others' situations. I heard about babies of single parents. One new mother was telling someone that her baby's father was unaware of the baby's existence, and that she did not want him to know. It was a bad situation. I have respect for single parents. I know they love their children and they work really hard. I know there are a lot of messy situations you can't foresee. On occasion, harsh realities make it so that a child is better off away from his or her biological mother, father, or both. But that doesn't change the fact that all children deserve to have a mom and a dad, and a good support system.

I remember thinking about this in the NICU one day, when it hit me: This place was a huge deal. There were so many doctors and nurses and hospital workers working around the clock, every single day of the year. There is an unthinkable amount of energy, money, resources, supplies, work, knowledge, prayers, tears, and hope, all put forth in an effort to help, heal, and sustain the lives of our sweet babies. And how did these babies come to be? *Sex. Sex isn't usually something you're thinking about when you visit your sick baby in the midst of many other sick babies. But sex is what made those babies happen. What hit me was how very serious the concept of sex was in that moment (and should always be), and how one's view of sex is so far from the world's view of sex when you have a baby. When a man and a woman have sex, it should be understood that a baby could come from it. Bringing a child into this world, and raising that child, is very serious. Some babies may come to this world healthier than others, but no person is uncomplicated and easy to raise. We are all complex. Every person needs the best support system possible. When people have a casual attitude about sex, and a baby comes from that sex, it's less likely that that baby is going to have as good of a support system as he or she needs and deserves. I know a lot of people would say they aren't going to conceive a baby because of birth control, infertility, or other reasons. But the fact that sex can bring another human being into the world shows how serious and powerful it is, and that you should treat it with care, whether it produces a baby or not.

Whenever I feel bombarded by flippant attitudes about sex, I try to remember how I felt that day in the NICU. I try to think about all the babies. And the people in this world. And I remember that even if people don't treat it how they should, sex is sacred.**


*Some children are brought to this world via artificial insemination, which isn't typically considered sex, but should also be treated with careful consideration of both parents and child. 
**Sacred usually refers to a religious, divine meaning, but it also signifies reverence and respect in general. 

We Need Each Other: The Plastic Bag Analogy

My day-to-day life is full of mundane tasks. The tasks are usually quite boring, but sometimes I receive special insight as I am carrying out these responsibilities.

Some time ago, I was cleaning out the fridge. This is one of my least-favorite chores, and something I do not consider inspiring. Yet, this particular time was different.

When I clean out the fridge, there is usually at least a little bit of rotten food to be disposed of. I put the bad food in plastic grocery bags, which I tie up before I put it in the garbage can. Many of the grocery bags have small holes at the bottom, so I double up the bags so that the rotten food inside does not leak. If I don't see any holes in the bag, I double it up anyway. Doubling the bags also provides extra protection in case something tears or pokes the bag. There may also be unseen holes in the inner bag, and even if there aren't any, the bag alone may not be strong enough to hold its load without breaking. Even if the outer bag has holes, it can help support the inner bag.

(This is a much more detailed description of my cleaning-out-the-fridge technique than I ever thought I'd give. But the description is necessary to make sense of the insight I gained from it.)

And now the inspiration: I suddenly realized that people are like these plastic grocery bags. Sound weird? I know. But hear me out.

We all have burdens we carry (much like the plastic grocery bags). Burdens that are undesirable. Depression, pain, heartache, sickness, loss, betrayal, frustration, fear, loneliness, and hopelessness are all burdens that feel downright awful. They're burdens that we all have or will have at some point. Many people have visible holes, or weaknesses. Others appear to be strong and have their lives all together, but are actually stretched thin and feeling very weak and vulnerable inside.

It is important to provide help and support to one another. Be there for others, whether it appears they need help or not. Help them carry their burdens so they don't break (body and/or spirit). If we are always supporting each other, we are stronger when something tears or pokes us, threatening to break us. Don't be afraid to ask for help when your burden seems so heavy, and don't be afraid to jump in and help another. Even a person with a lot of weaknesses can support and strengthen another. Two people, each with their own inevitable weaknesses, together can carry more than two people individually.

The Barbie Hype

I've heard some things in the past from those who oppose Barbie dolls. They don't like them because they think that Barbie is an impossible ideal of beauty that is ruining the self-esteem of girls around the world. Now there is a new doll, the Lammily. It is similar to a Barbie doll, but it's supposed to represent the looks and proportions of the "average" woman.

I know many disagree, but I think people have gotten carried away with this Barbie hype. I played with Barbie dolls a lot growing up. I loved Barbie. I owned many dolls and Barbie accessories. However, I never felt insecure about myself or my looks because of the way my Barbie dolls looked. I always knew that Barbie was a toy. I knew that no one had the looks or proportions of Barbie because she is a fake character. She isn't totally realistic, and she didn't have to be. When I played, and when most kids play, we're in a fantasy world. It's nice to play with characters you can relate to, but they don't have to be lifelike.

I don't think the creation of these new dolls are going to solve all the problems some people think they are. If someone wants to create a new doll, that's fine. But, as I've heard before, there is a problem with the premises of this particular doll. The creator claims to have formed the new dolls based on scientific studies of what the "average" woman looks like. Yes, the doll is more realistic-looking than Barbie, but if people really think Barbie caused bad feelings and insecurities, this new doll will cause problems, too. To my knowledge, the creators of Barbie never claimed Barbie was supposed to have realistic proportions. Now we have the Lammily, which is supposed to represent the average woman. What if the girls who play with them don't think they look as good as this doll? Wouldn't they feel bad if they think they can't measure up to "average"? If self-image is really based on a doll, the Lammily isn't going to do much better than Barbie. 

If people want to help girls' self-image, perhaps they can put their energy towards changing the way women are portrayed in magazines and television. Those women are altered and air-brushed and tucked and pinned and then presented as if that's the way they normally look with minimal effort. They are actual human beings, whose images are altered and then presented as realistic bodies. That bothers me a lot more than how Barbie dolls look.

A better way to help girls' self-esteem is to focus on the accomplishments and amazing things women do. Talk about the amazing works of all women-women of all shapes, sizes, proportions, and colors. Talk about people in terms of the good things they can accomplish, instead of focusing on what they look like. So go ahead- make dolls and toys of all proportions and designs. Buy the ones you like. Let children know that most toys aren't totally realistic. Then let them play and use their imaginations.