EXPERIMENTS IN GRATITUDE

One thing that drives me nuts is kids who are ungrateful. You’ve seen them. They stand in the checkout line at the grocery store next to a mother who has a heavily laden buggy – usually filled with items custom tailored for said ungrateful kids – and whine and complain about what they don’t have in life. “But Mom, why can’t I have the chocolate bar??? But Mom. But Mom. Mommmmmm.” It is enough to make me seriously consider the virtues of a one-child policy or mass sterilization. In fact, for years Eric and I called those encounters “birth control” because we left the store so disenchanted with the whole parenting experience that our timeline for beginning a family got bumped back by six months every time we ran into one of those kids.

I suppose I am especially sensitive to the issue because Eric has devoted his life to non-profit work. He has always, for as long as we have been together, poured his soul into helping those less fortunate than the rest of us. I get a blow-by-blow of what happens in his world each and every evening, and this insight serves to drastically lower my tolerance for those who cannot appreciate the wealth they have been given in life.

Unfortunately, all of us fall prey to this insidious culture. Just the other day, after two hours of fun mother/daughter shopping for Easter supplies, Riley pouted in the back seat of the car because she wasn’t able to find exactly what she wanted. Let’s be clear, she didn’t come home empty-handed by any means, but that perfect item had remained elusive. I was seriously ticked off. As I contemplated my response, I ran through every scenario from grabbing her bunny ears off her head and throwing them out the window of the car to throwing all her toys into a trash bag and donating them to The Salvation Army to losing my temper and yelling at her to be grateful for what she has.

Thankfully, I didn’t do any of those things. And the reason why I didn’t was because, just that afternoon, I had watched Shawn Achor speak about real happiness…and real happiness entails cultivating a culture of gratefulness. So, instead of throwing a fit or stripping Riley’s bedroom, I decided that the Frans family is going to do an Experiment in Gratitude. Following on Achor’s suggestions, each night we are each going to share three things for which we are grateful. Instead of griping and complaining about lack of gratitude, we are going to start practicing it…together…because we can all use a dose of real happiness in our lives.

I highly recommend that you watch this video from Achor. Not only will you laugh your bunny tail off, but you might just find the keys to beginning an Experiment in Gratitude for your home as well.

http://www.ted.com/talks/view/lang///id/1344

ERYN-FAYE FRANS, Canada's Passion Coach ®

ErynFaye.com

NEW MAMA

This week Mommyhood smacked me in the face in a rather unpleasant way (don’t worry…there is a happy ending).

Baby Boy turned four months old yesterday, and it has been a glorious four months! He is sweet and smiley. It is so fun to watch how much his daddy loves him. I steal kisses and snuggles every change I get. And as Caring Wifey and Mama Bear and Business Woman I have generally felt in control.

That is…up until this week. Baby Boy started running a temperature. I spent lots of time sucking snot out of his nose, rocking him when he couldn’t sleep, talking to doctors. I cancelled all of my plans for the week. And I had lots of time to think about how this New Mama business was influencing my life.

I realized that in general as a stay-at-home-mom I would actually need to start staying home sometimes (imagine that). With the birth of Baby Boy my heart priorities had changed, but up until this week my schedule was not reflecting it. I have been swallowing the hard truth that I cannot be the one in control. (Was I ever really?)

My sink is full: 

I can’t make plans without thinking through a feeding/nap/bag-packing schedule.

My workflow revolves around Baby Boy’s attention span with his current toy.

I think I might be swallowed by my to-do list very soon.

My emotions were starting to completely take over, and I knew I needed help. I opened my bible.

I still am surprised at how perfectly the bible speaks to my life. Psalm 90 reminded me to “number [my] days, that [I] may gain a heart of wisdom” (verse 12). I don’t have unlimited time on earth. Am I using it wisely? Do I love people well? Or do I get caught up in my own schedule – what I want to do?

“If only we knew the power of your anger! Your wrath is as great as the fear that is your due” (Psalm 90:11). Am I taking God seriously? He wants me to have life to the fullest, and to know true love, so His anger should be a warning for me to return to Him.

“Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days” (Psalm 90:14). Instead of trying to satisfy myself with what I’ve accomplished (work, exercising, completing errands) which will leave me tired and empty, I can ask the Lord to satisfy me – and I will sing for joy.

“May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us – yes, establish the work of our hands” (Psalm 90:17). This makes me want to cry. I DO have a purpose. I have work to do, and when God is the one setting it out for me, it is worth doing.


LINDSAY HALE
Lindsay Kaye Photography

GOOD. GRIEF.

There are moments in your life that you will never forget.  It's as if they are snapshots that are stored away in the attic of your mind.  Your first kiss, prom, your wedding day, laughs with your best friend...  The list is endless, and is different for everyone.  The thing each moment has in common is that it elicited an extreme emotion.  Excitement.  Happiness.  Thrill.  Sadness.  Grief...  I think that's the toughest one.  You remember the first moment, and even though the ones shortly thereafter are a blur, that first moment is a snapshot that will be stored for the rest of your life. 

I had never experienced grief personally until this year.  I've had grandparents pass, and stood by friends as they went through their grieving process, but I never really knew what it felt like.  When someone dies that you're close to, it's a game changer.  It's a life changer.  When I left work on April 3rd, and called Aaron on my way home like I do every day, I don't think I could have prepared myself for what he was going to tell me.  I don't think he could have told me any differently to make it less shocking, or hurt less.  I remember that I was driving down Regents and was almost at the light when he said, "I have some bad news."  I actually kind of joked with him, thinking that it was going to be something trivial.  Then he said words that I was definitely not expecting, "Jacob is dead."  Pause...  "What!?!"  "Jacob is dead."  Oh.  My.  Goodness.  He gave me the details he had.  I drove home.  I made a few calls to people that were expecting to see me that night.  Then as a family, we grieved the first night.  There were tears.  Lots and lots of tears.  There was a lot of praying, and more tears.  I actually thought after the first night that I would go back to work the next day.  Then, I woke up.  Text after text saying the same thing.  Each time we hit send, it was more real.  And there were more tears.  We met as a family the second day, and discussed what steps to take next.  I have to say, that as a family, we really pulled together during this time of great sadness.  I have been told that a death can really bring out the worst in people, but I would say it was the opposite for us.  What it came down to was; we wanted to honor Jacob, and we wanted to share his salvation with others and the hope that we each have because of it.  On Wednesday, April 18th with the support of so many family and friends, we did just that.  Our pastor delivered a wonderful message, a friend of ours sang beautiful songs, and the Holy Spirit was definitely at work that day.  

:: SIDEBAR :: I want to say, "Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you!" from the bottom of my heart to everyone that helped put on the service and reception that day.  It was perfect.  There were so many people from our church that made snacks, donated money toward refreshments, and said prayers for us that day that we never properly thanked.  I bought a box of "Thank You" cards to send out, and as they sat on the counter staring at me, I thought it would make it too final if I wrote them out.  So if you were someone that helped that day, and I never properly thanked you, I am so very sorry.  Please know that it meant the world to not only us, but to our entire family.  You each were truly the hands and feet of Jesus in our time of great sadness. :: SIDEBAR END ::

Now, five months have passed.  We each go about our days in a fairly regular manner.  But it's different.  The new normal.  We're still sad.  I was praying out loud with Aaron, just a few days ago, asking God to strengthen us, and I started crying.  I don't do that.  I don't cry at random times.  That's grief.  I'm wondering when the thought, "You should be here for this." will stop, or if it ever will.  We miss him.  He would have turned 25 on Saturday.  And even though 25 causes mini-quarter life crises, it's a rite of passage to your late 20's that I would have loved to celebrate with him.  So...  Good.  Grief.  I think that's what I'm going through.  Grieving is different for everyone, and I feel so blessed to have people in my life that not only recognize that, but have taken the time to talk me through it.  Not every day is a great day, but I hear that as time passes, and we continue to lean on the Lord, the not-so-good days will be farther and farther apart.

TARA WALKER
http://awalkwiththewalkers.blogspot.com

WHAT MY VITAMIX BLENDER HAS TAUGHT ME ABOUT LOVE

I have a new addiction in my life. It’s a Vitamix blender. On our recent trip to Texas, we picked one up and since we returned, I have been using it 2-3 times a day. It is truly a glorious thing. You can even make soup in it. Blend for 10 minutes, and it is steaming hot!

My daughter is wholly on board with the new toy too. Every morning, she says to me, “Can I have a smoothie for lunch?” Of course I say yes, because it gives me another opportunity to indulge in my addiction. That, and the fact that she now – very happily – skips off to school to eat a staggering conglomeration of fruits and veggies without a whimper of protest. The amount of spinach that child has consumed is nothing short of a miracle.

But here is what my Vitamix has taught me. One of my passions, one of my “causes” in life is healthy living. This stems back to the fact that I became a cancer orphan at 21, my aunt is a breast-cancer survivor, my sister has had pre-cancerous cells and my daughter was diagnosed with Severe Chronic Neutropenia at 13 months. Pretty grim.

However, I have also realized that my cause stems from a deep desire to love my family. As Bell Hooks says, “To begin by always thinking of love as an action rather than a feeling is one way in which anyone using the word in this manner automatically assumes accountability and responsibility.”

I crazy love my family. I truly believe my husband to be the most amazing man and my daughter to be the most fascinating girl on the face of the planet. But loving them entails taking care of myself. When I choose to put down the candy bar and replace it with an apple, it is not because I am trying to look like Jennifer Garner (although she is gorgeous and there are days when I would really like to look like her), but it is because what I put in my body is my act of love for Eric and Riley. It extends far beyond speaking love and becomes doing love.

It says, “I choose to do all I can do to make it to your wedding and to the birth of your children.”It says, “I choose to sacrifice that candy bar so that I have more energy for you.” It says, “I choose to eat well so that my brain functions better…and I am thereby more patient, kind and compassionate with you.” It says, “Even though I would really like to go on a binge, I choose you instead.”

Some days, I do better than others. But that’s ok. Because it not about expecting perfection of myself, it is about choosing the journey.

ERYN-FAYE FRANS, ® Canada's Passion Coach

Eryn Faye

YOU'LL SEE ...

Many, many, many moons ago… in the ancient days… B.C. (Before Children) we knew a young couple who had a baby. We had hung out with them before and found them to be interesting, intelligent and fun people.

Our first Post-Baby dinner party was revelatory. Now, I’m a “kid person” to say the least, and am particularly crazy about babies. At this point in time, I was a daycare teacher. Suffice it to say, I considered myself very child-friendly.

But even I can acknowledge that infants, apart from their considerable aesthetic appeal, are somewhat dull in the first few months.

However, our once interesting friends seemed oblivious to this fact. We spent the entire evening looking at the baby, browsing through endless pictures of the baby (and btw, new parents, changing the hat/hairdo/barrette on the exact same angle does not actually make for a new “look”), talking about the baby and generally admiring every little thing the baby did.

But the highest praise of the night was reserved for the earthshaking gas passed by the tiny child. He was lauded for his valiant contribution to the evening. Our hosts proceeded to share with us about his ongoing struggle with constipation, quite exhaustively.

Dessert, drinks and details about baby’s latest and greatest poops. Consistency, frequency, colour… nothing was sacred. I could see Glen turning green as they enthusiastically discussed the benefits of suppositories. Finally, we were given a real life demo, as a particularly rank diaper was changed right there on the floor in front of us, as we ate our dessert.

As their front door closed behind us that night, we had one of those symbiotic marital moments. Turning to look in each others’ eyes, we said in unison, “that will NEVER be us.”

Repeatedly they told us, YOU’LL SEE… Someday, when you have kids, YOU’LL SEE.

It’s something we hear all the time:

…when you meet that special someone, YOU’LL SEE.

…when you’re married, YOU’LL SEE.

…when you get your own place, YOU’LL SEE.

…when you get to high school, YOU’LL SEE.

Because certain kinds of education only experience can provide. Because part of us can’t believe we will ever change like that, feel like that, or act like that. Because life alters us in ways we don’t expect, no matter how many times we are told to expect it.

Sure enough, one day a few years later, Glen walked through our front door, looked over at me and said “Well?” and I immediately knew he was asking if our baby had had a good poop that day. We try not to discuss it with non-parents or over chocolate ice cream, but poop is now a common topic of discussion. Because constipation is a big deal for a baby. Because parental love trumps gross factor. Because living it is vastly different from hearing about it.

This week, we are experiencing a lot of those as adoptive parents. Things we were told to expect, things we had read about, things we knew, but didn’t understand until now, as we are living it.

For instance:

• Boys are different. Not a universal truth, but in our family the stereotype fits. We’ve never experienced the constant desire to wrestle, the risk taking, the climbing on everything in sight, the tough guy who bounces back immediately from all but the most serious injuries…
• People don’t really understand adoption. And who can blame them; it is full of strange paradoxes. It is completely different from giving birth. It is the same as bringing home any of my children. This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. This is one of the best things I’ve ever done. My experience as a parent has prepared me. My inexperience in parenting THIS child leaves me feeling unprepared.
• Adoptive parents feel isolated. Some of the people you expect support and encouragement from do not “get it,” and often adoption is treated as “less” than giving birth. Which would probably seem like a mild disappointment, if we weren’t so tired and overwhelmed.
• Rejection is hard to take. Whether learning to build attachment for the first time, or transferring from the old caregiver, this is a difficult time, and quite often during toddler adoption, one parent is “rejected” in favour of the other (usually Mom). I had read about this. I had heard of it from friends. But I was sure that my Mommy-love was strong enough and rational enough to take it on the chin, and look beyond it to the big picture. And it usually is. Except when it’s not. Those rejections are fewer and farther between these days, but they still prick.
• Toddlers grieve. We have seen flashes of it this week – the yearning, the sadness, the frustration… it passes quickly, but it is heartbreaking.
• Adoption draws our family together. We are closer than ever. Even with the grumpy times and the crazy times, our family time has been closer, more fun and more meaningful than ever. We’re being stretched, but we’re pretty short, so we could use the growth.

So here’s me, and if you’ve ever wondered about adoption I can tell you all about it, but most of it… YOU’LL SEE.

CHRISTIE HOOS

SO HERE'S US

NOTHING HURTS LIKE FAMILY

Writing is a funny thing. There are times when it bubbles up pure and fresh, almost effortless. It feels like magic, and the blank page fills with words. A gift, not for readers, but for myself.

There are other times when I squeeze it out, a few recycled words. Predictable. Mundane. And I dress them up with a garnish and a little paper umbrella, pretending that no one was really thirsty after all.

I sat down to write about our family holiday. Something sweet and palatable about lazy beach days and toasting s’mores in the flickering firelight. We had a wonderful vacation! Idyllic moments punctuated by the exhaustion and chaos of our newly expanded family. The past few weeks we have connected with cousins and siblings and parents. We have laughed and reminisced and made several more “remember when” stories for the dinner table.

But no amount of garnish can dress up the bad writing I’ve produced on the topic. I can’t make it work. It’s a cheesy tourism brochure.

The truth is, I am consumed by the turmoil of family politics. Somehow it seems to overshadow all of the Norman Rockwell we’ve experienced. Like the fog that rolled in on our last day at the beach house, obscuring the spectacular view we had already begun to take for granted.

So this post is not what I intended. It is messy and vague and somewhat depressing. But honest.

Nothing hurts like family.

I write this with the sad comfort that I am not singling out any family member or particular conflict. On every side of both our families is a complex web of hurt feelings and disrespect and misunderstanding. I’m beginning to think it is normal, though it feels very unnatural. Most of the time we sit on the periphery and try our best to play peace-maker. But we’ve played a few rounds ourselves lately.

You don’t need the details to know the story. Over and over again in a thousand little ways and in the big ones too: nothing hurts like family.

Normally, I prefer the irritation and necessary pain of honest interaction. My advice to others almost always involves gentle confrontation. It’s not fair to be angry with someone and not tell them. Words. Words. Words.

Yet in reality they aren’t the magic fix I imagine. Some things are more complicated than diplomacy and amateur psychology can address. And let’s face it, the walking wounded make terrible diplomats. In my own life it is absurdly easy to settle for a thin veneer of civility atop a bubbling cesspool of resentment. I hate to admit that. It makes me a terrible hypocrite.

My husband reminds me to let things go, to be kind and forgiving, to do good, even when others don’t. Even when others don’t notice, which is the most annoying of all. For him, the relationship is more important than the fight. He is the master of conflict avoidance. But sometimes this peace feels like a lumpy rug. Eventually we’re bound to trip on all that skillfully concealed debris.

So we vacillate between conflict and cover-up. And I don’t know which is better. And I don’t have any more answers. And I don’t know what to do next.

But I love my family. All of them. Even the ones who hurt me. Even the ones whom I’ve hurt.

I don’t have a great insight about this subject, not yet. No pithy conclusion. No 10 simple steps to fix what ails us. Just a prayer for wisdom and hope that my words, and actions, and inactions will make things better, not worse.

So here’s me, trying to figure out how we imperfect jerks can love each better.

CHRISTIE HOOS

SO HERES US

THE EVOLUTION OF SEXY

Tonight I find my husband particularly sexy.

He pulled a giant hairball out of my drain yesterday. And no, that is not a euphemism.

That’s just the kind of thing that does it for me.

It got me thinking about the origin of sex appeal. And the movie Magic Mike which was just released in theaters. The trials and tribulations of a male stripper has been cheerfully labelled “Mommy Porn.” It is meant to appeal to women of all ages. Finally, some eye candy for the ladies! But I don’t get it. Not really.

If grown women are going to drool over Channing Tatum, I think his character Leo, in the Vow, would be a better bet. The funny, long-suffering husband who loves fiercely and sweetly. That’s a whole lot sexier than smarmy bump and grind with strangers who paid for you.

I think most of us mature past pointless eye candy. Hopefully. As women, we need more.

Sure, I’ve been known to ogle my man. He has rugged, masculine good looks, deep blue eyes and other physical attributes I will detail for him privately (after all, both our moms read this blog and it will remain PG). Suffice it to say, I think he looks sexy.

But this alone isn’t what has made him irresistible to me after more than 20 years together. He is more than just an attractive physical specimen.

He has snot trails on the shoulders of his black t-shirt. He has a soother and a matchbox car in his pocket. He has a strange clay sculpture on his desk and rainbow scribbles on the wall of his office. He has a sparkly bow in his hair to “make him pitty.” He loves our children without reservation. And THAT is sexy!

He makes me howl loudly – with laughter. He tries to seduce me with lyrics from the Wiggles (I’m Robot number One, flip the switch to turn me on…), and it usually works. He knows all the inside jokes and can deliver a punch line with a single look. And THAT is sexy!

He has perfected his Attentive Listener Face, and is able to contemplate changes to his hockey pool line up while simultaneously allowing me to vent about our latest potty training debacle. He navigates messy family politics and is always on my team, if not always in agreement. He sticks it out to fight through the issues, big and small, though his every instinct screams at him to flee conflict at all costs. He endures hormonal tirades and diffuses teary, self loathing recriminations. And THAT is sexy!

Sexy is strong enough to be gentle.

Sexy is secure enough to respect a woman and want her to succeed.

Sexy is selfless and loves through better and through worse.

So flex and pose all you want, Hollywood. But I’m a grown woman and there is more to sexy than that.

So here’s me, married 17 years today to the cute boy who sat next to me in Social Studies. He gets sexier every year!

CHRISTIE HOOS

SO HERE'S US