Everyday Life

Categories Marriage

Married…Unbelievable

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After 14 months of marriage, I still pinch myself on a weekly basis.

Is this real? Am I really married? It’s hard to believe that after 14+ years of hoping and dreaming, I’m now married.

Marriage if everything I’d hoped for and not at all what I expected. Or maybe the other way around. Or maybe neither and both.

All my dreams of marriage couldn’t come close to the reality of sharing life with my husband – sharing our minds, our hearts, our bodies. I couldn’t have grasped the wonderful mundane of sharing our days, discussing the news, reading his papers, laughing at Facebook videos of our nephews and nieces.

There are certainly some things that are better than I expected, some things that are worse – and some that are just different.

I (foolishly) expected that being married would make me content. I learned that my heart is an idol factory. It moves quickly from marriage to babies to quitting my job to be a full-time homemaker as potential saviors. Contentment continues to require work.

I expected marriage would include fighting. Everyone tells us that. When they hear that we haven’t yet fought, they tell us to just wait – that first one will be a doozy. I begin to not believe them. Daniel and I argue, we disagree, we both get emotional and hurt one another. But we haven’t fought. At least not the way people describe marital fights. Instead we talk through things, we learn to forgive, we keep short accounts by the grace of God. Maybe it’s our personalities, maybe (probably) it’s purely grace – but I pray this will always be true of our marriage.

I expected Daniel would be the stereotypical man: he wouldn’t really care what I got him for Christmas (’cause all he really wants is sex anyway), he wouldn’t care how I decorated the house, he wouldn’t really want to know every detail of my day and my thoughts. These and dozens of other stereotypes, I internalized without realizing it – and discovered that I was dead wrong. Daniel is picky about gifts and aesthetics. He wants to know every detail of my thoughts and feelings. He doesn’t have an “empty place” in his head where he retreats such that he honestly answers “Nothing” when I ask him what he’s thinking.

I thought having a husband for a head would mean that my only struggle would be submitting. Things would be easy because I could let my husband make decisions and he could be strong for me when I was falling apart. This turned out to be only partially true. Yes, Daniel is frequently strong for me when I am falling apart, reminding me of truth when my head is clouded. Yes, some decisions Daniel makes easily, which means I don’t have to make them. But I also have to be strong – I am my husband’s helper when he is confused or overwhelmed or anxious. Decision making is more often a joint venture, in which I need to help Daniel research and clarify issues – in which I need to learn how to communicate both my thoughts and my feelings, as well as how strongly or not strongly I think/feel them. Yes, marriage has lightened the load in some ways – but in other ways, it has made strength and good decision making more necessary rather than less.

I’m sure if I were to think more, I could come up with dozens of ways marriage has been different than I expected – but, for now, the biggest one is the crazy weird weekly wonder that I’m actually married. It really is unbelievable.

What surprised you about marriage?

Categories B3RD, Everyday Life

Trying times

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Warning: This post is about trying to conceive and I do refer to sex in my treatment of the topic. If this is something you’re uncomfortable with or that will be unhealthy for you, feel free to skip it.

At my preconception visit, both the medical assistant and the doctor gave a decent bit of advice for the trying time.

From the medical assistant: “I got one of those ovulation kits and took it for a month so I knew what day I ovulated. Then we saved it up for when I ovulated the next month – we had a baby on our first try.”

From the doctor: “Relax. Have fun. Call me if you don’t conceive after six months of trying.”

Now, it might appear that these are contradictory messages. Yet, I think both contain wisdom.

It’s worthwhile to get to know your body before you conceive. Knowledge is power – and making sure that you’re trying when you’re capable of conceiving can certainly help the process along.

That said, I think there are tons better ways than using an ovulation kit from the drugstore. If you have used either natural family planning (NFP) or fertility awareness methods (FAM) of birth control, you’re already familiar with your times of peak fertility based on signals like basal body temperature or cervical mucous. All you need to do is look over your past charts and figure out on what day of your cycle your peak fertility is at. Easy peasy.

If you haven’t been using NFP or FAM, do a little research and start logging your fertility signs now. Even if all you’re doing is checking your cervical mucous (a zero-cost activity), you can get a pretty good idea of when you’re fertile. Just swipe your vagina with a clean piece of tissue before going to the bathroom and then stretch that mucous between your two fingers. Is it stretchy and egg-whitey? There’s a good chance you’re approaching or at peak fertility. Is it nonexistant or just a little creamy? You’re unlikely to conceive just now.

Does that mean you should follow the medical assistant’s advice and “save it up” for when you’re fertile? I don’t necessarily think so. You should try to have sex during your fertile window – but it’s valuable to remember that sex isn’t JUST for procreation (even if that’s what you’re focusing on at the moment.) Here’s where my doctor’s sage advice comes in. Relax. Have fun.

Don’t turn sex into a baby-making exercise. Yeah, be sure you aren’t choosing your fertile week of the month to abstain; but otherwise choose to let sex be about loving and enjoying your spouse.

So, what’s the six month thing?

My doctor advised me to give him a call if Daniel and I haven’t conceived within six months of starting to try. Having difficulty conceiving after a prolonged period of “unprotected” sex can be a sign of infertility – and it’s always worthwhile, if one is having difficulty conceiving, to check out possible causes. Because I am nearing my 30th birthday (and therefore have only 5 years in which to get pregnant before I enter my gynecologically “elderly” years), my doctor recommended looking into things after six months of trying without conceiving. It is important to note that I will not be considered to be infertile at this point. Infertility is defined as not conceiving after 12 months of regular unprotected sex. For the younger woman, doctors will probably recommend trying for the full year before investigating for possible causes of infertility.

If you’ve been tracking your fertility with NFP or FAM, you’ve been collecting valuable data that can be used by your doctor to evaluate possible causes for difficulties conceiving – which is just another reason to NOT abandon your careful tracking during the trying times (and another reason to start tracking if you haven’t been already.)

In summary: Find out when you’re fertile. Relax. Have Fun. Call your doctor if you don’t conceive within six months to a year of trying.

Categories Everyday Life

Our patriotic neighbor

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We have a neighbor who is very patriotic.

I’ve never met him but there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that he’s committed to the USA.

It’s the red, white, and blue you see.

Yes, a flag flies proudly from the flagpole in his yard – but plenty of people have a flag flying in their yards.

The Stars and Stripes hangs beside no ordinary house. This is a red, white, and blue house.

And in front of this house lies a flower bed planted with red, white, and blue flowers.

A few days ago, I drove home from work and saw my patriotic neighbor doing some yard work dressed (you guessed it) in red, white, and blue.

Now that’s patriotism.

Categories Work

I make my own

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Occasionally, I get really curious about my clients. Not a professional curiosity, a personal curiosity.

Like when one of my clients told me she makes her own herbal tea.

I knew that I should be asking her about what herbs they contain for professional reasons, so I can ensure that what she’s drinking is safe for her and baby. But what I really wanted to know was what herbs she uses…for personal reasons.

I’m a huge fan of herbal tea (actually tisanes and not tea at all). I’d love to make my own blends. But I just haven’t gotten around to it.

So when she said “I make my own herbal tea”, I said “Really? Tell me what you use.”

“The tea bag from the natural foods store and water.”

*Facepalm*

I really will make my own one of these days. I will not be using the tea bag from the natural foods store.

Categories WIC, Work

Literally Lying

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Names and other details have been changed to comply with HIPAA; otherwise, this story is closely based on a true story :-)

“Are you going to get Shirley some new food?” she asked.

I agreed that yes I was–I would be back in a few minutes.

I returned with checks in hand, delivered them to Sherry and Shirley’s mom, and wished the family a good day.

“She said she was going to get Shirley some new food.” Sherry told her mom.

Mom explained. “She did. She gave me checks, which are sort of like money so I can get Shirley her food. Now we have to go to the grocery store to get the food.”

“Can I tell her something?” Sherry asked her mother.

When Mom said yes, Sherry turned to me. “You said that you were going to give Shirley some new food.”

I tried to explain while Mom laughed, “Sherry, you take this so literally.”

Finally, I realized that the abstractness of a check was beyond Sherry’s 3 year old mind. “I’m sorry, Sherry. I should have been more clear. I was going to get checks so your mom could buy Shirley some new food.”

As Sherry and her family left, I heard mom trying to explain again while Sherry continued to insist: “But she said she was going to get Shirley some new food.”

There’s never a boring moment when you’re working with kids.

Have you ever unintentionally “lied” to a child?

Categories Everyday Life

Why a little snow in Southern climes is worth freaking out about

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A little over a year ago, I moved 230 miles south from Lincoln, NE to Wichita, KS. It’s not a huge distance. It can be traveled in just more than four hours by car. But it’s the difference between expecting regular snowfall during the winter and not. It’s the difference between experiencing accumulation and not.

Wichita rarely gets snow–and when it does, it generally disappears within 24 hours.

Except for the past two winters. Last year, Wichita had enough snow that they cancelled school for a week.

At first, I, like a whole host of northerners, scoffed at what I considered to be unnecessary closures. But a year of living in Wichita has convinced me that a little snow in Southern climes really IS worth freaking out about.

Do you doubt me?

If you’re from Nebraska or South Dakota or Minnesota, you probably do. But let me make my case.

You’ve heard some from the south talk about how their road maintenance crews are ill-equipped for any amount of snow. This is true in many places–Wichita has snowplows and salt stores, but many more southerly locations do not.

But I feel that the reason a little snow is worth freaking out about has to do with another sort of resource: human resources.

The fact is, southern drivers haven’t driven in snow. They don’t know what they should or shouldn’t be doing. They don’t have the knowledge or the experience to safely handle even small amounts of snow.

In Nebraska, there were three types of unsafe winter drivers: the kids who’d never driven on ice before, the new SUV owners who were overconfident because of their vehicles, and the old women who were roadhogs.

In Wichita, there is only one type of unsafe winter drivers: everyone.

Because no one knows how to drive in snow.

This isn’t their fault. It’s not that they’re bad drivers (although many of them are, unfortunately). It’s just that they have neither the education nor the experience to drive in snow appropriately.

They’re terrified, so they drive far more slowly than the weather merits. They can’t see well, so they drive far more closely together than is safe. They start sliding, so they slam on their brakes. They slide more and it’s slow-mo bumper cars.

The few who do know how to drive in snow (maybe they moved down from Nebraska?) don’t have much recourse except to drive slowly but with adequate distance between cars. The roads are too clogged with slow-driving citizens to let them practice their safe-snow-driving skills.

So what is a southern city to do?

I recommend that they freak out.

Close schools. Let people work from home. Only have essential employees come in.

Keep people off the roads so that the only people on them are those who either have to be or who know how to safely drive on them.

Short of transplanting every resident to a norther clime for a winter and having them practice driving with a native, I think that freaking out is the most reasonable option.

Categories B3RD, Everyday Life

Have some Salmonella?

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After several instances of finishing cleaning a bowl used to mix cookie dough in or a beater used to mix cake batter only to have my husband complain that I didn’t offer to share the batter or dough first, I’ve learned my lesson.

“Would you like some Salmonella, dear?” I call to him from the kitchen.

If he delays too long and I really need to get my dishes done, I’ll remind him that “Your Salmonella‘s growing, beloved!”

I don’t share in the batter eating.

Not generally, anyway.

But I made some Mini Deep Dish Fruit Pizzas for a Super Bowl party we were going to–and got my hands into the cookie dough while I was mixing it.

Once it was mixed, I licked some of the scraps off my hands before washing them–and then offered my husband the rest of the Salmonella.

A day later, he was complaining of loose, frequent stools.

A couple hours after that, I had the same problem.

It would be. The one time I choose NOT to pass on the Salmonella, it actually contains Salmonella.

Yep, there really is good reason to avoid undercooked eggs (like I tell my pregnant women regularly). If you really can’t resist, pay the extra pennies to buy pasteurized eggs (you can identify them by the red “P” in a circle stamped on the egg shell).

Have some Salmonella?

No, thank you.

Categories Work

What compels me

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Sometimes I don’t know what compels me to ask how “You and baby” are doing at a postpartum visit (instead of my standard “How is baby doing” and later “how are YOU doing?”)

Then a woman shares her struggles with having to quit breastfeeding due to baby not growing and stooling appropriately. And she tells me she doesn’t have an appetite. And that she cries all the time.

I have the opportunity to empathize with her, to agree that it’s hard. I tell her about postpartum depression, how it’s normal to feel this way when so much is going on in her life. I tell her she can get help.

I encourage her to take care of herself–to make a list of things she can have people do when they ask how they can help. I give her suggestions for her list: watch the older child for an afternoon, hold the baby while I sleep, go grocery shopping, wash and cut some vegetables for me, wash and fold the laundry, just listen to me tell you how *I* am.

I encourage her to loosen her standards for household activities–to let herself be okay with laundry that isn’t put away or a toilet that isn’t scrubbed. I encourage her to get some sleep when baby’s sleeping, or even to just lie down and rest. I tell her it’s okay if things stay undone for a while–this is just a season.

I encourage her to talk to a doctor about postpartum depression. I tell her about how he might be able to recommend counseling or medications that can make a big difference.

I give her ideas to help her get adequate nutrition, even when she doesn’t feel like cooking or eating.

And I realize that I know what compelled me–No, WHO compelled me–to ask this woman how *she* was doing first.

Because God knew this woman needed someone to listen and understand. Because God knew this woman needed someone to tell her that she’s normal, she’s okay. Because God knew this woman needed someone to give her hope that this dark time won’t last forever.

Categories Everyday Life, Following Christ

A Gracious God Gives

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We were getting ready to sit down to plan out our day of errands. I checked my phone to remind myself of what all we needed to do.

A text from Ruth asked me if I’d be interested in going to the Spice Merchant and the Nifty Nut House with her.

It was the second Saturday of the month, we were already planning on getting our coffee from the Spice Merchant – and I needed some cardamom pods.

We arranged a time to meet.

We explored, we purchased our respective items, we visited for many minutes leaned up against a shelf of Jordan almonds. After we said our goodbyes, Daniel and I got back in the car and decided it was late enough that we needed to prioritize getting recycling to the center before it closed. We’d hold off on the library, but should we drop by the post office before or after?

Might as well go by the post office. It’s on our way.

We get in, start our self service. Daniel pushes the international button. I correct him. Military addresses aren’t considered international. I fumble around, restart the process several times by accident. A postal employee locks the door to the service counter. No worries, we’ll be able to accomplish our business out here at the 24-hour kiosk.

Finally, I push all the right buttons and the screen announces: I’m sorry, we can not process APO/FPO addresses on this kiosk. Please go to the postal counter.

I look at Daniel. He looks at me. I look at the locked door. What do we do?

“I’m sorry” Daniel says.

The door opens and the postal employee asks us if we’d like in. We will be the last people given access to that room. All who come after us are told that the post office is closed.

On our way home, we remark how fortunate it was that we ended our conversation with Ruth when we did, that we chose to go to the past office when we did rather than later.

I muse that God was good to us by giving us what we wanted.

Daniel finishes the thought, “May He give us grace to accept when He is good to us by not giving us what we want.”

After visiting the library, I read the first chapter of one of the books I checked out: Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts .

She reflects on Eve’s thought in the garden: there must be more than this, something God’s not letting me in on. Eve was right, Voskamp writes. There was more. Pain, toil, sin, death. There was more, but it wasn’t good.

It reminds me anew how often I expect God to conform to my idea of good. I rail against him for not giving me the gift I want so badly. But then, occasionally, He opens my eyes to realize that withholding the supposed gift was a gift in itself.

A gracious God gives good gifts. Whatever He gives is good. Whatever He does not give, He does not give because it is not our greatest good.

Shall I accept good from the Lord and not adversity?

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

May that ever be my cry, even as I anguish over a loss or sigh in longing for a much desired prize.

A gracious God always gives good gifts.

Categories 2014, B3RD, Family & Friends

Freezing your bum off and other weight loss strategies

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I’m freezing my bum off.

You’ve heard the phrase, right?

But what exactly does it mean? Is it supposed to be a reference to frostbite, a condition in which one literally freezes off parts of one’s body?

Probably not. My bet is that it has no grounding in thought.

It’s one of those things like “knocked my socks off”, silly and meaningless.

But imagine that you could actually freeze your bum off, like you would freeze off a wart. Imagine a simple outpatient procedure in which a doctor delicately freeze’s ones bum and then shaves it off like one whittles a piece of wood.

I’m sure that would be a popular procedure.

Alternately, imagine you could kiss a belly and make it go away–like you kiss a boo-boo to make it go away.

Now that would be a popular procedure.

Instead, we’re left with a much less glamorous and much more labor-intense process: learning to alter our behavior.

My marriage to Daniel has altered his behavior in a way that has not been friendly to his waistline. I’ve disrupted his schedule such that his once-regular runs have become a thing of the past and his once uber-low-calorie lunches (of lettuce salad) have turned to scrumptious (not-quite-so-low-calorie) leftovers.

So, in an effort to be a good wife this year and to support Daniel’s weight control efforts, I’ve decided to change MY behavior.

Among my Tier 1 objectives? Be a good wife.

Goals to earn points include running with Daniel (more points for longer spurts of running) and preparing more vegetables.

I can’t freeze Daniel’s bum off. Nor can I kiss his belly and make it go away. But I can help to make our home an environment that is more friendly to his goals.

For now, that’s preparing two vegetables instead of one with each meal–which means the overall calories of a plate full of food goes down without depriving him of food (a la Volumetrics and MyPlate.)

It’s dishing up our plates in the kitchen and putting away the next day’s lunches simultaneously–meaning we don’t keep eating just because the food is there on the table.

It’s using those divided tupperware for Daniel’s lunches, so he has a vegetable along with the main dish.

It’s keeping the fruit bowl stocked with fruit that Daniel can take to work for snacks instead of relying on the vending machine for when he can’t concentrate due to low blood sugars.

And it’s getting myself fit so I can run with him. Sigh.

Freezing his bum off would be easier than THAT.

Just to clarify: I have NOT made a goal to change my husband this year. Rather, I value him and his goal of a healthy weight and want to support him in this. These changes are NOT things that I am imposing upon him, but things we have discussed and have determined to be ways that I can help him reach his goals.