HEALTH TIPS FROM A FAILURE

The internet is full of experts. Real experts with credentials and half the alphabet in their titles. Self-proclaimed experts with more confidence and bluster than knowledge. Wily capitalists posing as experts to cash in on our every fear and imagined flaw.

I am none of these things. In fact, some days I’m the farthest thing from an expert a human being can be, and still walk upright. Sadly, the older the I get, the more apparent this becomes to me. I’m doing my best. Usually, that’s good enough, thank God (literally… insert comment about grace and prayer and all the people who pitch in along the way).

When the Daily Press Writing Challenge came out this week I immediately deleted the link. Write a blog post on “Health and Wellness.” Ya, right.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got some things figured out. My house is pseudo-tidy, which is impressive to anyone who’s spent more than 20 minutes with our clan. My family’s routine is the right balance between flexible and predictable. My spiritual life is meaningful. My marriage is strong. My children are wonderful.

But I wouldn’t consider myself especially healthy in a physical sense.

I am overweight, overtired and overwhelmed.

I don’t think I’m unusual in this, although I do have a special mix of kidney problems, weak immune system and chronically injured/swollen/makes-creepy-noises-when-I-move joints. I may be developing arthritis. I’ve been tested for Lupus 3 times and they won’t rule it out entirely. Two of my four children have special needs and are A LOT of work. I have very little time to myself. Or money. Also, I love food. It is my drug of choice. Also, I’m not wild about exercise, never have been, probably never will be. I can rail about how unfair this all is and make excuses ’til the cows come home, but this is the way it is. This is the body I’ve been given and I need to take care of it. Probably more than most people.

I try. I really do. I’ve always tried. And I’ve often failed. Which brings me to this expert post. You see, I do have some degree of expertise in this area after all.

I’m the What NOT To Do Expert on Health and Wellness.

I have thoroughly and exhaustively explored these habits in my own life. I can say with expert certainty, they only ever make things worse.

• Over-schedule yourself – you SHOULD be able to do it all. Anything less is weakness.
• Stay up as late as possible. Then stay up even later. Sleep is for the weakness.
• Compare yourself to others – if someone else can do it, you SHOULD be able to too.
• Don’t cater to introverted needs, that’s just selfish.
• Obsess endlessly about your weight and appearance.
• Diet.
• Measure your worth on the bathroom scale each morning and evening. Naked. With all but one toe hovering in the air.
• React accordingly. If you’ve lost weight – time to relax; you’re clearly a rock star and might as well celebrate (by eating and being lazy). If you’ve gained – time to give up; you’re destined to fail and might as well binge out on an entire box of Oreos.
• New Diet
• Realize that the latest health food craze or exercise routine or New Diet is your true Savior. Sorry, Jesus. You just don’t burn that many carbs praying.
• Put life on hold until you feel comfortable in a swimsuit/little-black-dress/jeans-that-fit-in-high-school. It’s not like your kids are growing up and you’re missing out on it all.
• Immediately assess how many people are skinnier/better dressed/prettier than you when you walk in a room (hint – EVERYONE).
• Make careful lists of all the ways you need to improve. Don’t bother with all that gratitude crap, you’re not Oprah. Guilt and self-loathing is the key.
• Take drastic steps to overhaul your life. Slow and steady is for losers and YOU DON’T HAVE ANY TIME TO WASTE!!!! Panic!!!!
• Fad Diet.
• Avoid being in pictures at all costs. Someday when you look perfect and act perfect and all the stars align… on that day you can show up in your own life.
• Everything you do is a test of personal worth. Every mistake is a failure. Every failure is absolute. It’s all or nothing, all the time. (For a really good time, apply this standard to everyone you meet. Make sure you point their failings out. People will really appreciate that.)

So here’s me, I wish I could say all these habits are behind me. They’re not. There’s a few I still fall back into from time to time. But I know them for what they are. And according to G.I. Joe, “knowing is half the battle.” I never argue with plastic soldier toys.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

I CAN'T WRITE THEIR STORY

 

I reached for the steaming hot ducky felt rice bag for the umpteenth time.  “Thank you, son” I weakly whimper to my fourteen year old.

Lying helpless in bed is not the Mom-image I dream of being for my boys. In spite of the storybook family image I try to write for them over the years, I finally resolve, “I can’t write their story.”

While my youngest boy perfected the ability to stitch straight seams in his 8^th grade class, I am certain he never imagined his Mom would be getting so much use from the ducky bag he made.

Up and down the stairs he runs as he takes care of me, commenting how the bag stinks now. Zapped so many times,the rice burns beneath the soft flannel duckies. I place the bag on my gut where bright red burns have created a design the doctor thinks may never go away.

It’s the middle of summer and I have spent weeks in painful misery and long hours in the E.R. I’ve experienced too many blood tests, cat scans and increased doses of ox-codeine than I care to count.

This is not the plan I envisioned for myself or family this summer. The boys and I were going to cook from Alton Brown’s cookbook together. I hoped they would teach me how to lift weights in the garage. I took for granted sitting in my lawn chair cheering on the soccer team, taking videos of their swim meets and watching them improve their stroke.

Instead, I am an absent mom and my husband has taken on the role of Mr. Mom in their summer frolics.

I certainly never planned to listen to the family laughing and splashing in the backyard or conversing around the kitchen table from the misery of my darkened bedroom. I roll over saddened, maybe even ashamed, as I watch my boys walk quietly past my door.

“Please take him out of the room” I whisper to my husband as he shuffles our boy with special needs away from his mom. I can’t bear the thought of him being confused or anxious as I groan and weep in pain.

“Feel… better…. Mommy” he carefully tells me.

This is not the perfect family story I wrote for my children. I don’t want them to have a helpless mom. They shouldn’t have to take care of me at their age. They shouldn’t have to completely care for themselves throughout the day.

I should be vibrant, energetic, interacting with them. I should.

I should be cooking for them and driving them for milkshakes.

I should.

I should.

Wrestling with pain…Wrestling with “should’s”… Wrestling with God…

He stills my heart.

He reminds me this is what I prayed for over the years. I ask the Lord to grow character in my boys, to make of them godly men. I ask Him to orchestrate opportunities for them to rely on Him in a deep and personal way.

This is their opportunity to experience disappointment, even fear and worry — then learn to lean on and listen to their Heavenly Father.  They need to witness the hand of God, to experience their own answers to prayer.

It’s what makes faith real.

On my sick-bed I relinquish to God my rights as Mom. I confess my delusions to control the fine details of my children’s lives. 

Jesus, You be their Master Teacher.

Step into my children’s lives when I cannot and should not.

A sickly Momma is not the image I create in their story. But, God is working with them to create His own story in their lives.

He weaves their joys, disappointments and life experiences for His own good pleasure.

I don’t want to get in Your way, so Lord I am letting go–again–today.

“Be assured, if you walk with Him and look to Him and expect help from Him,  He will never fail you”-George Mueller

Friends, it is almost a year since my surgery and diagnosis of Crohn’s Disease. I have taken time to get my life back in order and enjoy a pain-free summer with the family. Now it’s time to share with you what God keeps trying to teach me at my bedside.

BONNIE CHRISTENSEN

Woman Gone Wise

STEPPING OUT OF THE BOX: WAS IT THE RIGHT DECISION?

My friend Krissy of Venspired had the perfect image to describe how and why I stepped so far out of my box this year. I was tired of being comfortable.  Sure, I loved what I was doing, and I was very successful at it, but at some point I lost track of the days and my purpose.  I was too comfortable.

I wonder how many times my students became comfortable about what we were doing in class?  Did I challenge them enough, make them squirm a little because it was hard?  Did I push my kids to never settle for the same old, same old?

I hope that I did.  I hope that I showed them that always challenging yourself and pushing beyond your limits was a learning exercise in and of itself.  I hope I showed them that if you make a mistake, you learned in that moment instead of considering it a failure.  I hope that when students received their first "B" they understood that they fought tooth and nail for it and need to feel proud.

I hope that my parents received those same messages about their students.  The message that a B is sometimes hard earned.  That if students are consistently getting straight As that maybe it's too easy.

I pray that I taught my students how to work through a struggle and find a solution - maybe not the first time, but maybe the 2nd or the 3rd.  That it doesn't always come easy - that real life thing is really messy and knowing how to power through the struggle is the real skill Mrs. Looper was trying to teach.

I hope that I taught my students that sometimes you have to take a leap because while it's nice and warm and cozy, it's just too comfortable.

MY FIRST MEMORY

I could feel the grit of sand beneath my toes, the heat pushing down on my head and the icy tickle of the incoming tide.

I could hear the roar of the surf and the gentle buzz of adult conversation.

I could smell the salt and tang of ocean.

Perhaps my mind has simply filled in those details, like an artist shading and highlighting to give the picture more depth. What I DO know is that as I stood at the edge of the ocean, an enormous wave knocked me down and dragged me under the water.

shock

cold

choke

terror

Until my Dad reached down, pulled me out of the water and held me tight in his arms.

safe

It was a split second in time, so heavy with sensation and emotion that it imprinted permanently on my young mind.

It’s easy to overlook children’s earliest experiences, especially when they are too young to form lasting memories. But those first three years shape our understanding of ourselves and the entire world. In a way, those traumas and triumphs, however small, are the most important memories of all. Even if we can’t quite recall them. Even if they are hazy or incomplete. Even if they are only a feeling. They become the scripts in our psyche – how we interpret events, what we expect from life and, ultimately, who we are.

At a very young age I learned that the world can be a scary place.

That waves are stronger than me.

And my Dad is stronger than the waves.

safe

So here’s me, at age 2. I am convinced that this memory, and countless others like it, are the foundation if my confidence, resiliency, intimacy, trust… and faith. A good reminder that the endless menial tasks of parenthood – keeping babies safe, fed, warm and comforted – have lifelong effects.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

18 YEARS OF BEST AND WORST

You greeted me this morning with “By the way…” then gave me a passionate kiss.

My hands were full of dirty laundry. My heart was pounding frantically as I rushed to get us all out the door for an early morning dr’s appointment. My mind was overflowing with forms to finish and children to dress and snacks to pack. My hair was a frizzy mess. My glasses askew. My eyes still gritty with sleep.

I wasn’t my best me.

I’ll admit, my first reaction wasn’t entirely positive. I’m not a morning person. I have tunnel vision when I’m in a hurry. And I don’t like to be interrupted at the best of times. Which is why we don’t usually make out in the hallway in the middle of the morning rush.

As you grabbed me, I thought “What the…” As you leaned in, I thought “Really?!” I may have even growled under my breath.

I have so much to do. All the time. Most of it is important, or at least seems important at the time. And it never stops. Not when you get home from work. Not after “bedtime.” Not on summer holidays. I don’t get it all done. I don’t even try most days. But it’s always there, hanging over my head.

This is a particularly busy season of life. For people who once enjoyed sleeping in, lazy days and reading for hours, the past decade has been an adjustment. We’re often snappy and overwhelmed. We’re usually sticky and smelly. And we’re almost always exhausted.

We’re not our best us.

We’re parents. Parents of young children, at that. This isn’t a crisis or a problem, or even a surprise. This is just the way life goes. It’s easy to get stuck in survival mode.

But I kissed you back, in the middle of the chaos, and by the end I was smiling.

Because you are still so good at that! It wasn’t something I thought I needed or wanted right then, but, boy, was I wrong. It’s one of those important things, that doesn’t seem urgent, but probably is.

Sometimes I forget to kiss you. Or hold your hand. Or tell you the ways you are wonderful.

That just won’t do. This year, I promise to kiss you every time you leave me and every time you return. Because “being us,” even in the middle of chaos, is a habit worth pursuing. We need it more than ever these days.

18 years ago today we promised to love each other, at our best AND at our worst.

Not just when it’s expected. Or easy. Or convenient.

We have some pretty great moments – romantic moments, life-affirming-can-you-believe-how-awesome-our-family-is moments, inside joke/kindred spirit moments, laugh-until-we-cry moments… but I think it’s the not-so-easy ones that matter the most.

This is when I know you love all of me, the parts that aren’t so pretty or so fun (or so rational if I’m honest). Not in the gushy, I just-FEEL-so-loving-towards-you way… but in the I’ll-stick-around-and-won’t-just-take-your-crap-and-will-hash-it-out-and-forgive-and-apologize-and-hug-you-anyway.

And I love you that way too!

For Better or For Worse.

Happy Anniversary to the best man I know!

xoxo

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

DOES DOWN SYNDROME NEED FIXING?

You are not broken, sweetheart.

At least, not in any way that really matters. Not like people who are spiteful or small-minded or utterly self-absorbed. I hope the day never comes that you suspect “special” is a code word for defective. Or that having “needs” is a shameful weakness.

There are people that think this way. Ignorant people who simply don’t understand. Cruel, stupid people who simply don’t care. Less than there once was, but still… too many people.

Part of me wants to take a swipe at anyone who suggests you need fixing. To crouch in front of you and bare my teeth and unleash my primal maternal instinct on them all. Because the possibility, the mere hint of the idea that you are less than anyone else is repugnant.

You are different, sweetheart.

This is the truth. You work harder than anyone else around you. So many skills and activities which other people take for granted are a real struggle. Your health has to be monitored closely as you contend with a number of medical problems and risk factors. It takes longer for your brain to process the words you hear and the memories you are trying to recall. Your best efforts don’t always make the words clear enough for us to understand. You are often frustrated and overwhelmed.

I want to fix that for you. Not because you are less; because you deserve more.

You are so precious, sweetheart.

Your sense of humor and your kindness and your stubborn will come to mind. And so many other wonderful qualities too numerous to describe here. There is no one in all the world like you. The world may look at you and see Down syndrome. I look at you and see… you.

Down syndrome is part of your story. Maybe you wouldn’t be quite so exceptional if you didn’t have all these struggles. This reality has significant challenges, but there are gifts also. One extra chromosome has not been a tragedy for you.

You are so precious, exactly the way you are, sweetheart.

So when I was asked to speak on a radio talk show this week (CBC Radio – The Current) about breakthroughs in genetic research (Researchers turn off Down syndrome genes), it was harder than I expected.

Of course when the news agencies use provocative words like “eradicate Down Syndrome” it conjures up thoughts of Nazis and final solutions, not dedicated scientists striving to make the world better for you. Of course I have reservations about safety and risk factors. Of course I hope that the professionals involved will continue to be respectful of our children’s needs, and strengths. Of course I wonder if this is yet another false hope alongside the dubious therapies and vitamin regimes often peddled to desperate families.

But after a deep breath and a closer look I realize that it is incredibly good news.

I’m thrilled about the possibilities the future might hold. Targeted therapies which ameliorate the harmful, even life-threatening effects of Trisomy 21 are more possible than ever. Research may not translate into reality for many, many years, but it isn’t overly idealistic for me to hope that early onset dementia (which affects 60% of adults with Down syndrome by age 60) will not be a problem for you. After all, they still have 52 years to figure it out.

So why the difficulty? Why a panel to express a range of opinions? What could possibly be controversial about this?

We all agreed, from Dr. Jeanne Lawrence (the head researcher who now has a HUGE fan in me), to the show’s host, to the rest of the panel, that anything which leads to longer, healthier lives for people with Down syndrome is a wonderful thing.

But it always comes back to the question:

what if we could “fix” Down Syndrome entirely?

(We can’t, by the way; the geneticist made it very clear that while the research makes the treatment of symptoms of Down syndrome a possibility EVENTUALLY, eliminating it entirely via gene therapy is extremely implausible.)

Nevertheless, this is where controversy finds the most traction. Is Down syndrome a problem to be fixed? Or is it a part of our genetic diversity to be embraced?

There was a mother on the other side of the country, and the other side of the argument presumably, who was on the air with me. We don’t disagree about much. I appreciate her viewpoint and share her enthusiasm for the unique Down syndrome culture that has emerged in recent years. It makes me happy to know that you’re a part of it.

People with Down syndrome are worth celebrating. They are a remarkable group of unique people who share a common struggle. Some lead meaningful, rewarding lives. Some don’t. Some are kind, affectionate and openhearted. Some aren’t. Some are funny. Some are serious. Some are sociable. Some are shy.

None are pitiable creatures to be patronized, nor angels to be revered. First and foremost, they are individuals who each have their own story. They are not extraordinary because they have Down syndrome, but because they overcome and thrive and contribute so much to the world. The Down syndrome community is inspiring.

But Down syndrome itself is not something I celebrate. As grateful as I am for the many positive aspects of our experience, it is a medical condition that needs treatment, just like diabetes or asthma. So when asked if I would eliminate Down syndrome if I could, my answer is yes.

I would choose this for you, sweetheart.

I am so proud of all the challenges you overcome almost daily, and of the person you’re becoming because of it. But I would bulldoze every one of those obstacles if it were in my power. Life is hard enough.

There was a time when a child with Down syndrome was considered a hopeless case, when parents were encouraged to stash them away in an institution and try again. There was a time when children with Down syndrome wasted away and died due to a number of undiagnosed medical conditions. There was a time when children with Down syndrome were not expected to learn or participate or reach any level of independence.

We’ve come a long way since then. I can only be grateful for the research that has brought us this far; not just the education and social support, but medical science also. Now minor heart defects and thyroid deficiencies and a host of other problems are detected and treated as a matter of course. Maybe someday, speech delays and low muscle tone and leukemia will be dealt with as efficiently. And maybe someday, Down syndrome itself will be little more than a passing mention in a medical history.

I want that. For you and for the children with Down syndrome who haven’t yet been born. But it was hard for me to express that, both on the radio and here in the blog. Because I don’t want you to hear me wrong.

You are not broken, sweetheart, not in any way that really matters.

You are different, sweetheart, and life may never be easy for you.

You are so precious, sweetheart, exactly the way you are.

So here’s us, grateful for what is, and grateful for what could be, just as long as it involves many, many years with our sweet girl!

Beautiful photos by Taliah Leigh Photography

Related articles

• Breakthrough may one day prevent Down syndrome(newsfixnow.com)
• Breakthough! Can Down Syndrome be turned off? (wnd.com)
• Scientists take step in “fixing” Down Syndrome(reviveuhealthblog.wordpress.com)

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

THE 3 YEAR OLD

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Every year on their birthdays, Glen and I write a Birthday Letter to each of our kids. What they were like that year. What strengths and talents we see in them. What words of wisdom we have for them.

Someday, they might even appreciate the gesture.

From Mom…

I write about you ALL the time! This past year you’ve hogged the ink in my journal and the word count on my blog. 

Sometimes I wonder if I’m overdoing it. If one day, you’ll look back and shake your head at all the gushing and worrying and over-analyzing. Will I embarrass you?

A decade from now, I can practically guarantee it. But right now, you don’t know the meaning of the word. That might be the best part of being 3. Especially a 3-year-old YOU!

You are wholeheartedly and unabashedly yourself. You have no use for limits at all…

Not social conventions.

Not medical diagnoses.

Not the laws of gravity.

Not fences or child-proof locks or boundaries.

And while this tendency can be both exhausting and terrifying for us, I hope you don’t lose it entirely.

You are my exuberant, half-wild, but entirely charming boy! This year we will try to keep our wits and keep you alive, without taming you completely. If you need to run, run toward us, not away. If you need to climb, chose somewhere safe. If you need adventure, take us with you.

You are a fearless explorer in perpetual motion! Right now your most common phrase is “I GO TOO!” as you race as fast as your little legs can go toward your next adventure. You were not made for sitting still. Or staying in bed, apparently, which has caused no end of late night power struggles and overtired shenanigans. I know it’s hard for you to downshift from your high speed lifestyle, but trust me, sleep is good.

You have one of the happiest natures I’ve ever seen! While your moments of frustration are impressively loud and passionate, once the tantrum has passed, that toothy grin comes back in full force. Happy is your default setting. And you’re always eager to share the sunshine. Our Child Development Worker coined the phrase “aggressively affectionate” to describe you. Not all your friends and cousins appreciate the full-body tackle-hug the way we do, so this year we’ll work on reading people’s cues and showing love in other ways. If all else fails, know that Mommy is ALWAYS up for one of your tight-squeezy-whole-body-melting-into-it-Hugs (ALWAYS… like, this offer will not expire during the teen years or adulthood or, you know, ever).

You are an adorable chatterbox! This goes against all the boy-girl stereotypes, which shouldn’t surprise me, since I know how you feel about staying in bounds. Without a doubt, you are the most talkative child we’ve ever had. This time last year, you only had a handful of words, which you rarely used, but you’ve blown us (and your speech therapist) away with your progress lately. They call it a developmental leap. I call it, Unleashing Your Inner Announcer. Wherever we go, whatever we do, your cute little voice gives an enthusiastic running commentary.

I’m not going to lie. You keep us hopping. I’ve reached heretofore unknown regions of exhaustion this past year. But chaos has never been so fun.

I love being your Mom!

Happy Birthday 3 year old!

From Dad…

Dear S,

When I wrote your birthday letter last year, I barely knew you. We were still just figuring out this whole daddy-son thing, and you had just had your entire world turned upside down. New home. New family. New food. New routines. 

Everything – new.

One year later, we’ve all come a long way. We’ve learned to anticipate at least some of your moves, and you’ve learned how to play us to get your way sometimes too.

If I could sum up the past year in one word, it would be RUNNING. You, running, always on the move, finding ways to escape just when we thought we had you locked down, creating danger where we thought we had ensured safety. Us, running, trying to keep up with you, attempting to even get one step,ahead… occasionally.

You’ve forced us to become more creative and resourceful. If we’re not trying every strategy under the sun to keep you in your bed at night, we’re divining inventive ways to make it impossible for you to climb the deck railing and fall into the backyard two stories below.

You’ve forced us into action. For a family that loved their peace, quiet and a good book, the addition of a hyper-energetic little dude who can’t sit still for a second was quite the adjustment. It’s been good for us.

Most of all, you’ve forced us to love. Not that we didn’t love before, and not that it was against our will. But you, my son, are undeniably lovable. Sometimes we get frustrated by your latest escapade, but then you flash us that ear-to-ear grin and instantly transform our righteous anger into laughter. It’s really not fair. But it’s probably going to get you out of all kinds of trouble over the years. Because who can resist?

So here’s to you. Happy Birthday 3-year-old! And just so you know, I’ve been working on the assumption that by the time you’re four, our life will be slightly less frantic. Do you think maybe we can make that happen… please?

Love,

Daddy

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us