My Happiness List

This afternoon I got a little bogged down in negative feelings. I was stressing out over things that weren't going my way and sliding down the slippery slope of self pity into a pretty deep funk, and then I glanced out the window. The gloomy, gray sky that looked back at me matched my mood perfectly (I guess we know where Big Brother gets it from now, don't we?).

I realized I needed to snap out of it!

Sure, I've got a laundry list of things I wish were different right now, but THIS is the list that really matters:

• Big Brother has a good job, is in a good relationship, and is healthy. He's becoming a man I'm proud of in so many ways.
• THE KIDS GOT THEIR MOMMY BACK!!! Sometimes I still stop and think where we were a year ago and have to pinch myself, it is just so AMAZING that this happened.
• All the kids are happy, healthy, feisty, super-duper smart and growing like weeds. Did I already say they're happy? Well, let me say it again because it bears repeating: THE KIDS ARE HAPPY! After watching them be supremely unhappy for two years this happy business is a pretty big deal.
• I have a bunch of kids. Wow! I never planned to be a second-time-around mom at almost fifty (and I still harbor fantasies of graffiting the CPS office under the cover of darkness), but I wouldn't trade the experience for anything. It changed my life in all the right ways.
• Even better than being a temporary second-time-around mom is getting to be a permanent-stuck-with-me-for-life Aunt. Having their mommy back does mean I have to take a step back in their lives, but the good part about that is I get to enjoy all the fun parts without the boring stuff like laundry and vomit and dental appointments.
• I've got a good, solid job where I can totally be who I am without judgement. Heck, I announced today "If they deliver a unicycle next week, don't be alarmed. Its mine. I'm going to learn to ride it around these file cabinets," and nobody was all that surprised.
• The hard work I've been doing on my financial profile is slowly starting to pay off. I'll post more about that soon.
• I'm a writer. Just typing those words feels good, after a lifetime of not-quite-daring to believe I could do it. Someday in the not-too-distant future I might even get to add the word "published" to that sentence and that will feel even better.

There, you see? Before I even listed ten things my grumpy mood evaporated into gratitude.

Wag More, Bark Less. Big Brother, This One is for You.

Living life without change, with nothing to look forward to, is like trying to paint a picture using only one shade of a single color.

Seriously, think about it.

Mixing it up once in awhile gives us something to look forward to, and having something to look forward to is what gives us hope.

The same thing, day after day, can get a little boring.

 During the work week we look forward to Friday or our next day off. In the morning we look forward to our coffee, at night we look forward to a nice dinner, spending time with our families, or even just a restful nights sleep.
These are the little milestone we focus on to pull us through the monotony of the moment.

The big milestones punctuate our lives the same way the small ones do our days. Vacations, weddings, first home, first baby, retirement, etc. It isn't so much the focal point itself that matters, or whether the goal is big or small. What is important is the contrast and definition that milestones give our days.

Having something different to look forward to makes life interesting.

How often have you found yourself savoring a special moment, and thinking "I could stay in this moment forever." The reality is, the reason the moment is so special is precisely because it is fleeting.

Everything being the same, all the time, with no hope of change wouldn't be all that pleasant. In fact, prison is pretty much just that. Monotony, being stuck in the same place with the same people with nothing to look forward to, nothing every changing.

The happiest people are those who are consistently able to find something to look forward to, even in the bleakest of circumstances. Those who can't find themselves miserable, no matter what their situation. Most people seem to have a natural "set point" somewhere on this spectrum, but I believe we can consciously choose to move ourselves closer to the "happy" end by cultivating an attitude of gratitude and by seeking out things to look forward to, no matter what is going right or wrong in our lives.

Now does this mean I'm good at doing it myself? Ha! I wish. Honestly, I'm still struggling. The things I find to look forward to sometimes are not enough to blot out the frustration I feel on other fronts. But I continue to try, every day, to wake up and be grateful that I'm here, I'm alive, I have my family around me, a place to live and a job to pay the bills. It is a balancing act, but what in life isn't? I do know I'm happier when I put my focus on gratitude. Being middle aged is helpful in understanding this, actually. By my time of life, most of us have figured out how to choose our battles and have learned how to let go of the small stuff.

Cats are also good at this.

Big Brother, on the other hand, was born on the 'glass half empty' side of the spectrum. He has a very hard time finding joy in the small milestones of life. Even when things are going well, he seems to get stuck ruminating about past wrongs and old slights. Seriously, he still occasionally brings up a play ground conflict from when he was three that he's still mad about. Granted, our living situation has been chaotic for the past couple years which doesn't help. I've been a tad crispy around the edges lately myself, so I know why he's struggling.

But by the same token, Big Brother has a good job with excellent future potential. He is learning and has already learned a great deal during his year in the industry. He is in a relationship with a lovely young lady whose company he clearly enjoys. Come May, the kids and their mom should be ready to move out and live independently again at long last, which is a milestone we can all  look forward to.

In the meantime I don't know how to get Big Brother to focus more on all the things that are going right and worry less about all the little stuff he can't control anyway.  Not only would he be happier, but I suspect he would be healthier, too. He's been going through a series of tests lately for stomach issues that have plagued him for years. I may not be an MD, but Doctor Mom suspects stress is the culprit.

Do you want one too? Click here!

I bought him this bumpter magnet the other day that I think says it all. Hopefully, he'll take the message to heart.

My Inner Narrator Tells the Tale

One of my earliest memories is of pre-school, riding a very heavy tricycle around the perimeter of the playground, while narrating the experience in my head. "Now I push the pedals, now I hold on tight, now I go, go, go!"

The narrator in the back of my head was always there, and still is. I may not have known, at age three, what a writer was, much less that I wanted to grow-up to be one, but on some level I always knew that my life was a story and I was the protagonist.

In the small country grammar school I attended half the kids came from farming families. Many were related to each other in some way, if not by blood then by marriage, while the rest of us were recent transplants from "the city." I was a young kindergartener, small for my age and painfully shy. I was an equal opportunity victim, an ideal target for bullying by both the farm kids and the kids from the new housing developments. The sense of being an outsider only heightened my feeling of being a narrator, watching the world from the outside and commenting on it in a secrete inner monologue.

It is no wonder, then, that reading and writing became my salvation. While other kids dreaded the book report, it was my homework of choice. Uninterrupted silent reading on Friday was sure to elicit a groan from most of the class, but was my favorite lesson of the week.

One of my best memories of being a small child is my mom reading to us, my sister snuggled on one side of her, I on the other. As I grew up I lived in books, literally. During summer vacation my mom took us to the county library every other week. I checked out fourteen books at a time, the maximum allowed by the children's librarian, and read every one. Usually I was out of books again well before the next library run.

My mom is herself an avid reader and she passed that on to my sister and I. She, in turn, acquired her love of reading from her own mother. My grandparents bookcase introduced me to Dickens, Shakespeare, D.H. Lawrence and Agatha Christie, among others; Paperbacks were a favorite haul during my grandparents weekend garage sale forays and were stashed in every nook and cranny in the room I shared with my siblings when we visited.

At home my parents bookcases were filled with an intriguing assortment of how-to books. How to organic garden, how to live off the land (it was the 70's, after all), how to repair bicycles, how to sell anything and everything. The message was clear: If you needed to know how to do a thing, the answer lay in books.

Today my own bookcase is a similarly eclectic mix. As I grew up and became a wife and mother I developed a love for cookbooks. I have many, most of them inscribed "To me, from myself, just because I can." Gladys Taber and Zarela Martinez are two of my favorite cookbook authors, both of whom were/are not only stupendous cooks, but wonderful story tellers whose medium of choice just happened to be food.

One day I hope to see a book with my own name on the spine sitting on the shelf. It is a goal I both cherish and fear. I siddled up to it for years, guarding myself against the possibility of failure by not taking the risk to begin with. At forty-six I'm finally old enough, and secure enough in myself, to realize that the only true failure is in not trying.

My inner narrator is still hard at work, this time telling the story of an aspiring author . . . "She sits down at the computer and starts to type . . . "

Inching Forward

I'm having a hard time reconciling myself to the fact that the holiday season has officially begun. Halloween is behind us, Thanksgiving is looming on the horizon and Christmas music reverberates through every store I enter, yet somehow my brain keeps expecting it to be summer.

Today I realized that I posted my three year plan six months ago already. SIX MONTHS! Where has that time gone? Have I made any progress at all on my plan? I felt very unprepared for this check-in, but when I went back to my plan to look at what I've done I was actually pleasantly surprised at what I found:

Writing
I have NOT improved my blogging skills. If anything, I think I've back-slid. I never got around to creating an editorial calendar, either, which probably accounts for how random and infrequent my blog posts are. Clearly, this is something I need to work on.

On the other hand, I do write daily, I've joined a writing group and I have taken several writing classes. I have even created a solid outline for my novel already. In fact, I am working on a fist draft of it right now for NaNoWriMo. So far it is going well. I have about 25,000 words written already (disclaimer: a good 4K of my word count consists of chapter sketches and notes that don't count towards my final word count).

Finance
If you remember my last update, this was the area where I took the biggest hit. I was really struggling, having wiped out my savings after a series of unfortunate and unpredicted incidents.

Today I am able to say that I have built my savings up again, but really only because I finally got my taxes back. Saving continues to be a challenge and, since I haven't found a part time job yet, I expect it to continue to be challenging until I do.

To the good, getting my taxes back means I can take the next big step on the road to rebuilding my credit. I have taken out a secured credit card. I will begin using it to make routine, planned purchases which I will pay off immediately, things like groceries, the utility bills and the like.

Self-Care
The self-care area has been challenging, too.

I started out doing great. If you recall, I bought a set of pedals for under my desk and I pedaled all day long. I lost about thirteen pounds this way. Unfortunately, I pedaled so much I broke the machine. I've gained all the weight back, sadly, but I have a new set of pedals on order and intend to pedal my way to victory once again.

I suppose you can say the moral to my six month story so far is don't give up. Things will happen. It will be hard. Keep going anyway. 

Taking it slow in the slow lane

Click on graphic to enlarge for easier reading

After spending almost two years in a constant state of flux I am finding it hard to let go of living in crisis mode. Sometimes I have to remind myself to slow down, take a deep breath, and just be in the moment.

Living in the moment is a skill, and it takes practice, so today I'm practicing.

I don't know where the graphic above originated, but it wound up on my wall on facebook. I liked the message so I thought I would share it here, too.

Here's wishing you a calm, centered and peaceful Friday from the Slow Lane.

Are you an innie or an outie?

A facebook friend posted something recently that got me thinking. She said if she doesn't get her alone time to recharge, she goes into fight mode. She went on to remark that not getting enough peace and quiet made her feel endangered to the core.

Endangered to the core. Wow, that statement resonated strongly for me.

Growing up, I was that kid who always wanted to stay indoors and read at recess, the one who dreaded loud, noisy group activities. Evan as an adult I viewed my solitary nature as a personality flaw; I often felt guilty for not enjoying group social situations.

As fate would have it, all four of my kids are extroverts who would rather stick needles in their eye than spend a quiet day at home. This fundamental difference in our natures makes for some clashes on the home front, and is not helped any by the in-your-face nature of the foster care world. I found this disparity especially challenging when Big Brother was a teen. Too often I found myself yelling "Why can't you just stay home for once?"

These days I crave solitude like some people crave chocolate. A quiet moment in my rocker on the porch, or a short walk around the block with the dog are little slices of heaven. In my favorite daydream I'm on Juno Beach, close to the aquamarine water, but out of the sun under the pier. I've got a stack of books, nowhere to go, and NO KIDS. This is my mental happy place and I'm not ashamed to say I it visit often.

The video from Susan Cain below explains what it means to be an introvert, while also dispelling some of the myths about us "innies."

Melting the Ice

I spent all day today trying to melt a little more ICE, and by "ice" I don't mean frozen water.

Not that long ago I sat in the visiting room at an ICE detention center in Newark, New Jersey. While I waited for the person I was there to visit to be sent for, I couldn't help but look at the other families in the room. In some cases husbands and wives were both detained and were having their once-a-week visit with each other.

There were a lot of tears in that room.

I saw one family that still haunts me, two parents visiting their teenaged son. When they brought him out, after all the hugging hello, he sat down across from his mom. She took his hand and held it, stroking it. Every now and then she reached out and caressed his cheek. I didn't have to know them to know their story. He was her baby, and he was about to be sent back, alone, to a country he might not even remember.

As I looked around the room it was not lost on me that we were the one family in the room that was laughing and smiling. That is because we were the one family in the room that had any real hope.

As an immigrant rights activist I've seen a lot of horrible things happen to people and fought a lot of battles. This is the toughest one so far, though, because children's lives hang in the balance. All the time spent in hospitals and court rooms fighting for justice on behalf of adults pales in comparison to the heartache of having to tell a devastated five year old that her papi isn't coming back because he was deported - and then have to try to explain to her what that means.

There was a window of a couple of hours today when things looked dire. I thought this is it, we're about to be rolled over by the unthinking, unfeeling avalanche that is ICE. The crisis was averted, but it left me drained mentally and emotionally.

Hard as today was, I know we're still the lucky ones.

I want all of the other families going through this to be lucky, too. I don't want even one more kindergartener to have to cry for a deported parent.

NOT ONE MORE


El Hielo Lyrics

Eva using a rag to wipe clean the table
Cautiously making everything shines like a pearl
When the boss gets home, she hopes there’ll be no complaints
Accusing her of being illegal

Jose tends to the yard, they look like Disneyland
He drives an old truck without a license
It doesn’t matter if he was a taxi driver in his home country
That doesn’t count for Uncle Sam

Chorus:
ICE is on the loose out on the streets
You never know when your number’s up
Cry, Children cry when they get out
They cry when mom’s not coming to pick them up
Some of us stay here
Others stay there
That happens for going out to find work.

Martha arrived as a child and dreams of studying
But it’s hard for her without papers
Those who were born here get the laurels
But she never gives up her fight

Chorus:
ICE is on the loose out on the streets
You never know when your number’s up
Cry, Children cry when they get out
They cry when mom’s not coming to pick them up
Some of us stay here
Others stay there
That happens for going out to find work.

Just call me Stella . . .

I've got no excuses now - Bad weather? No time? No problem! I'll pedal while working!

 . . . cause I finally got my groove back.

I've blogged a lot about how foster parenting doesn't leave a whole lot of time for self care of any kind, much less the time consuming process of a weight loss routine. I knew that going in, but even so, I had worked really hard to achieve and maintain a healthy weight and I was determined not to let kid care derail me. Boy, was that ever a pipe dream! Instead of long walks at lunchtime I was running errands and shuttling kids to appointments. At mealtimes instead of preparing light, veggie-dense meals appropriate for a middle aged metabolism I was putting higher calorie meals suited to growing bodies on the table.

I managed to maintain more or less at first. I did that for a good five months actually, from the time the kids arrived in the winter through the end of summer camp. When school started again is when things began to get dicey. Stressed out and overtired, I lapsed back into emotional eating and let go of portion control. At first I gained five pounds, then it was ten. That was alarming and I tried to reverse the trend, but soon failed miserably. Failing made me feel even worse, of course, which meant more emotional eating and another five pound gain. Then the holidays hit and all that wild and wooly behavioral stuff went down. Well, that was it. By the time it was all over but the shouting my total weight gain was almost thirty pounds. 

I didn't feel good, I didn't look good and I was sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. Worse, I felt utterly defeated. When my head is in the right place weight loss is not an issue for me, I can do it. But my head was anywhere but in the right place. After a year of always waiting for the other shoe to drop I was chronically tired, stressed out, and sliding further and further down the slippery slope of depression every day. So I made a visit to the doctor and signed up for some pharmaceutical assistance. It is truly amazing what a little serotonin can do; after a couple of weeks on the happy pills it was like the sun coming out after a long, dark rainstorm. I am glad to say that the fog of despair that had become my new normal is now only a memory.

These days I'm back to my old normal, which is kick butt and take no prisoners, and the first butt I kicked was my own. I rejoined Weight Watchers Online and installed a set of pedals under my desk at work. Now I've got no excuses not to do what I need to do to regain a healthy weight. It will be a long, slow journey back to fitting into my favorite jeans, but long and slow isn't so bad when you're used to Life in the Slow Lane.

Possibilities

Kitten Luna watching the ball drop on her first-ever new year

If you follow this blog then you know that the past year has been one of incredible change and challenges for me and mine. As you can imagine, I was more than happy to see the back of 2012, but since all the same issues I had on my plate would still be there in the new year I wasn't expecting to feel much different once the ball dropped.

The Princesses wanted to stay up until midnight to ring in the new year. At first I said yes, but then I realized that Baby Brother would never make it, and in fact, would be up at dawn as usual no matter how late he or the rest of us stayed up. That was the end of the staying up till midnight idea, but the girls and I compromised on a more reasonable alternative. Everyone went to bed at their usual hour, but I set my alarm and woke the girls up at 11:30, just in time to see the ball drop.  As the count down started I told the Princesses this was the moment to think about every sad, painful, frustrating, angry-making thing that had happened in 2012,  and then let it all go. As the ball dropped and the new year arrived all three of us took a deep breath, exhaled, and made room in our hearts and minds for better, happier memories to  be made.

This morning I woke up feeling surprisingly optimistic and positive in spite of myself. I guess there is just something about a new year, tantalizingly full of possibilities, that gives us all hope, no matter what our present circumstances might be. When you think about it all those revelers who filled Times Square last night weren't there just to see the page on the calender change. No, they were really there to usher in hope, to cheer for change and to celebrate the limitless possibilities of dreams.

One thing I know for sure is that this year we WILL get the answers we have been waiting for. Life after foster care finally seems like a tangible, if still distant, reality. Knowing that leaves the door open to believe that good things are just around the corner for us all, and lets me hope that the worst is truly behind us.

Whatever your dreams for 2013 are, whatever your plans or resolutions, or lack thereof, the Princesses, Big Brother, Baby Brother and I all wish you a very happy new year from the Slow Lane.

Advent: Making Room for Grace

During my work day I coordinate trade shows for a living. I am very fortunate to work in a small three-person office that is a satellite for a much larger company based in Ohio. We get the perks of the corporate world - excellent medical insurance and vacation time, for example - with the friendly, intimate environment of a small business.

I love my job and the people I work with, but even after eight years I find I still deeply miss working in the graphic arts. I've found ways to some work some creative writing and design into my administrative role, but actively creating has become just an occasional condiment instead of the main course.

As we move through Advent I can't help but think back to the time when my career changed course. I had been working in the graphic arts for six or seven years. When the print shop I was working at closed up my intention was to look for a similar position elsewhere. After six months of searching I had a lead on an opening in a local design department that sounded ideal. At the same time I went for the interview I also got a call on an administrative job I had applied for. The graphic department interview went very well and I was called back twice more. The admin interview went well, too, but a few days later I got a polite thanks, but no thanks letter.

Now it might seem like the first job was a shoe-in (it certainly seemed so at the time), but what actually happened was the first company was bought-out over night by another company and reversed their decision to hire additional design staff. While that was happening, the candidate that the other company had hired in my place didn't work out. They called me back, asking if I might consider the job after all.

After six months of waiting tables on a semi-full time basis I really, really needed a better job. In the end it all came down to dollars and cents and what I needed to do for my family. At that moment in time, trying to hold out for a job in the field I wanted would have been purely selfish and I knew it, so I did what I had to do and took the admin job. It was an adjustment, getting used to dealing with typing and spread sheets and answering phones again. Instead of waking up excited about the creative challenges ahead of me that day, I was waking up feeling grateful that I had a job to go to, yet sad about the loss of my hard-won career in design. It was like I had to put the most authentic piece of myself away for eight hours a day and pretend to be somebody else. Eight years later I've managed to integrate the two a bit better, but the feeling of loss and being an impostor is still there, lingering in the background.

So what, you ask, does all this have to do with Advent? Just this - sometimes what seems like a twist in the road that takes you away from where you want to go winds up taking you exactly where you needed to be without knowing it. Being able to accept those twists and turns with an open heart leads us to Grace. To paraphrase something my Pastor said in his sermon last week, Faith isn't about believing what you want will happen if you pray, it is about accepting whatever happens prayerfully and with trust.  In my case, the admin job was the essential element that allowed two friends and I to start our non-profit; we ran the first copies of our newsletter off on the copier in my office after hours. The company tuition reimbursement program allowed me to finally complete a modest college degree. Most recently, it was the fact that this job is family-friendly and local that made it possible for me to jump into kinship care as a foster parent. Had I been working in a high pressure design environment I don't know that I could have managed it.

Advent is a time of preparing to accept that which Christ symbolizes in our lives: Change. As we move towards Christmas I'm trying to keep in mind that change is good. I'm also reminding myself that uncertainty need not be a negative, but rather it can be an opportunity to seek Grace if I allow myself to be open to it. Eight years ago I thought I knew where I was going, until life put me on another course overnight. The truth is that tomorrow is always unknown, although we might try to convince ourselves otherwise. The things that we need to cling to are the things that Jesus taught us; Love thy neighbor, forgiveness, kindness and tolerance. Advent gives us a framework to ponder these things and prepare ourselves so that when Christ comes into our lives, we will be ready to follow him wherever he leads - even into the unknown.

Love Thy Neighbor

Today, Christmas Eve, will be a big day in my household. La Noche Buena is the day when Hispanic people celebrate, so tonight my son and I will celebrate our Colombian Christmas traditions. Tomorrow, we will celebrate American-style at Grandma's house. A few Mexican tamales will work their way into the festivities at some point, too. No matter what set of traditions we're practicing, as Christians we're all celebrating the same thing: the birth of Christ and His meaning in our lives.

For me, there is one passage in the bible that sums up what I believe perfectly. Luke 10:27 He answered: "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind'; and, 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'"

These few lines capture the essence of Christianity for me. Love God, not just with your heart, but with your head, with all your mind. What a beautiful idea! That, to me, says embrace new ways of thinking about God. It compels me to step outside my comfort zone to explore ideas different from my own, and to stretch to understand the point of view of others.

Love your neighbor as yourself, to me, is the very basis of all that Jesus taught us. He didn't judge, he didn't exclude. He sought out the kernel of goodness that exists in us all. He went out of his way, in fact, to seek out the least popular or most universally scorned people. No one was without value in His eyes, no matter what they had done or what others thought of them.

Love your neighbor sounds simple, but as somebody with a passel of crazy neighbors, I know first-hand how difficult this is. To get along with them, I can't judge them. I have to accept them for who they are, as they are, and try to turn a blind eye when they get on my nerves. I also have to assume that they probably find me to be just as annoying as I find them to be, and assume that they are probably cutting me more slack than I realize, whether I see it or not. Somehow - by the Grace of God, both literally and figuratively - our crazy little neighborhood manages to coexist more-or-less peacefully.

So this evening, or tomorrow, whatever your traditions are, as you celebrate I would ask you to take a moment and think of the one person who annoys you more than any other. Think of that person, and wish them well. Embrace them in all their crazy, frustrating, annoying wrongness. Hold up every one of their ideas that you disagree with, every reason why you just can't stand them, and for that moment, at least, lovingly accept them as they are. Remind yourself that they have a place in this world just as valid as your own. Somewhere in that person, there is that kernel of goodness, of sincerity and beauty. Although you might not ever see it, know it is there and that Jesus knows what it is and that He values it just as much as He values the good and the wonderful that is in you.

Last, but not least, I also ask you to give yourself a break. Most of us, I think, carry around a lot of baggage - things we regret, or feel bad about, or wish we had done differently. Let it all go this Christmas. The first step in accepting and loving others without judgment is to first love yourself without judgment. So in this season of gift-giving give yourself the gift of forgiveness and acceptance, then bless others with the same gifts.

Wishing you a blessed and very merry love-filled Christmas.

To Age Gracefully - Or Not?

I recently read an article that was something of an ode to the woman over forty. Being an over-forty woman myself I enjoyed it. It was humorous and insightful and it gave me a good laugh. I've been thinking about age ever since, both what it is, and what it isn't.

Fortunately for me, I come from a long line of people who have aged well. Both of my grandparents lived into their nineties and for most of that time, were young at heart. Neither of them ever acted - or even seemed to notice - their actual ages.They were too busy, living life.

My grandparents, not acting their age in the photo booth

Both of my parents are very young for their age, too. They take good care of themselves through regular medical care, a balanced diet and exercise. Both of them could easily pass for being at least ten years younger than they are. They always have a plan, a project, a dream - something that keeps them believing that the best is yet to come. I suspect that this, more than anything, is the secret to eternal youth.

My ever-youthful mom, in Flagler Beach, Florida

I wish I had learned some of their lessons a little earlier on.

When I turned eighteen I remember expecting to feel "grown up" and being disappointed.

My eighteen year old self, waiting to feel "grown up"

When I turned thirty I recall realizing that I had life experience now and I knew a lot of stuff. That was kind of cool, but I still didn't feel "grown up."

Me (a.k.a. Robin) at twenty-nine with my little Batman <3

When I was about to turn forty for some reason I really dreaded it. I expected the minute I did, I would start to feel old. Then forty came and went and I didn't feel any different.

Me again, contemplating the big 40

In 2012 (presuming the world doesn't end, as my son reminds me) I will turn 45. It took me twenty-five years, but I finally "get it"; There is no magical age when you suddenly achieve perfect happiness or have things all figured out. As I type this, in fact, I am even more broke than I was at twenty. A lot of what I thought I knew at thirty turned out to be dead wrong. And, since turning forty, the battle of the bulge has evolved into a full-scale war.

My life may be far from perfect, but I have realized that no matter how many yesterdays we've accrued, or how many tomorrows we might still have coming, all any of us has to work with is simply the here and now. The best I, or any of us can do, is live life while we have it. We all get older, but being old - or not - is a choice. We can choose to merely exist, or we can live.

Ironically, I think maybe understanding this means I finally "grew up" somewhere along the way after all.

How I expect to feel when I turn 45

P.S. - Fifty years from now if a tiny white haired lady swishes by you in the supermarket, going entirely too fast on her Heelys, take a good look. It might just be me.

Cookies, Chocolates, and Caramel Corn, Oh My!

Holiday treats are all around us during December

Two months into my weight loss journey I have lost exactly nine pounds, equalling 5% of my body weight (cue the fanfare, please).

Last month I could feel things were changing. By now I can see it, too. I've still got a long way to go, but hitting this milestone makes me feel pretty good. It feels even better knowing I did it during the height of the biggest over-eating season of the year.

So how did I do it? Have I leaped over buffet tables in a single bound, batting away cookies and zapping calories like a dieting superhero? No, as much as I do enjoy pretending to be a superhero leaping over a mountain when I'm puffing my way up a hill on my daily walk, my only superpower is just good old portion control.

I firmly believe that one of the worst things you can do during the holidays, or at any time, is try to avoid indulging altogether. The reason being when you make something off limits, you instantly crave it all the more. Then when you cave in and have it, you feel so guilty you end up binging. The whole thing becomes a downward spiral, leaving you worse off than if you had just given yourself permission to try the forbidden item in the first place. 

To my way of thinking, you'll do much better if you make nothing off limits, but practice portion control. If you do overdo it, don't stress. You can still balance things out with a little extra activity. For example, I did a big frenzy of holiday baking last Saturday. In the week since I've eaten about a dozen of the cookies I made! But I also intentionally logged an extra two hours worth of walking this week, twice while carrying 2 lb. weights. One thing cancelled the other out and I'm ending the week with a loss and without any guilt.

This weekend I'll be traveling to Manhattan with my family for a birthday outing. Will I have some birthday cake at lunch? Yes, I will! And will I have my much-anticipated street cart hot dog at some point during the day? Absolutely! Will I stress over any of it? No, I most emphatically will not. I'm going to enjoy the day, exercise portion control and make the best menu choices I can. If I over-indulge, no biggie. I've got six more days next week where I can adjust my eating or work in a little more activity to make up for it.

At the end of the day weight loss is all a mind game. My wish you for you this holiday season, dear dieter, is that you will give yourself the gift of a guiltless celebration this year. After all, Life in the Slow Lane is all about taking your time and enjoying the ride.

Why I Love (And Hate) Holiday Baking

I only wish my cookies looked like these!

For most of the year I avoid baking like the plague. This is partly because if I baked regularly I'd be even fatter than I already am, but mostly because I'm just not that good at it. My cakes always seem to come out looking like ski slopes, my cookies are all too dense or too flat and my popovers never pop. Baking requires a precision and a dedication to technique that doesn't seem to be a part of my genetic code.

Yet come Christmastime the baking bug gets hold of me and I find myself mixing, rolling and decorating, usually battling through a cloud of flour while spilled sugar sprinkles crunch under foot. With a lot of fuss and muss and a little bit of swearing like a sailor, I usually manage to put forth a reasonable approximation of Christmas cookies.

I know, you might be wondering, if I already know I suck at baking, why - oh why - would I put myself through it? Wouldn't it be easier to go to the bakery instead? The short answer is yes, of course, that would be one hundred times easier! The thing is, it would also be utterly bland and impersonal.

I may hate the mechanics of it, but I love the fact that home made holiday baking is a little piece of somebody's heart, captured in flour, sugar, eggs and butter that is meant to show their regard and appreciation for the people in their lives. To me, that is a beautiful thing, even if the baked goods themselves are a little wonky looking. This is why I happily blunder around the kitchen, scorching cookies and bungling icing every December.

So the next time somebody gifts you a homemade batch of something sugary and misshapen, don't cringe. When you open up that tin or unwrap that plate you aren't just looking at a squadron of warped gingerbread men. Know that what you are really seeing is love, friendship and good wishes, spoken in food instead of words. This even applies to that weighty fruit cake that you would rather use as a doorstop than eat. Whatever the baked monstrosity you've been given, just know that whoever baked it for you is telling you that they care enough about you to take the time and put in the effort that baking requires--even though they may have hated doing it.

The photo above was submitted to Allrecipes.com by baking_queen. For the recipe she used, click here.

La Navidad y como Dios me Hablo en Mexico

My handy-dandy tree trimming skills on display

Last night I finished putting up our Christmas decorations. Trimming the tree was, as it always is, a stroll down memory lane. As I hang each ornament I remember the period of our lives it represented, some good, some bad.

As I was hanging ornaments last night I was also remembering my journey navigating the at times rocky road of religion.

When my son reached the customary age to enroll in CCD, I went down to the church office to fill out the paperwork. When I asked for the form the Sister in charge of the program at the time, Sister Guadalupe, said to me "Do you teach?" When I said I didn't, she replied "You do now. Be here at 6:00 on Monday." (If you were raised Catholic you know you never question Nuns). I did what I was told, like the good Catholic girl I was, and ended up teaching CCD for the next eight years.

In the beginning I really enjoyed it, and, it seemed, I was pretty good at it, too. But as the years went on I became more and more frustrated. It seemed we taught the kids 1,001 rules about how to be Catholic, with only a little bit about the principals of Christianity sprinkled around the edges. As the kids got bigger their questions got harder, but the list of things we weren't supposed to say or discuss with them was a long one. At times I felt like a huge hypocrite, standing up there telling the kids one thing, when privately I believed another.

I went to Mexico to visit a friend and his family in December of my son's final year of catechism. At the time I was still teaching, preparing the kids for their confirmation in the spring, but in my heart I just wasn't feeling it anymore.

Mexico is a Catholic country, but the family I was visiting were Protestants. I'd heard the horrifying stories of how the family had been persecuted for their religious beliefs, so when I asked my friend to take me to the Catholic church to light a candle for the feast of La Virgen de Guadalupe, I knew I was asking a lot of him. I told him if he wanted to just point the way and not go with me, I would understand. Ever the gentleman, however, he said he would escort me, and he did.

The church in the village was very old and very beautiful in a simple, rustic sort of a way. Inside it was cool and quiet. The hand-painted tiles of the floor were well worn by generations of feet shuffling up the aisle, the pews worn smooth after untold decades of use by the faithful attending daily mass. My friend and I went to the front, where I lit my candle next to the alter. My friend took off his hat and bowed his head in prayer where he stood while I knelt to pray at the rail after lighting my candle. Afterwards, we sat in the front pew for a bit, just being quiet with our own thoughts and breathing in the scents of candle wax and incense.

My friend had attended the church as a small child, before his family's conversion, but he didn't really remember much about it. There were many statues of saints (including a body in a glass box) and various depictions of Christ around the walls. After a while he pointed to one and asked me "Who is that?"

"That is Christ." I said.

"Oh. So then who is that, over there?" He pointed to another figure.

"That's Christ, too."

"What? Another one?" My friend looked puzzled as he pointed to yet another figure. "How about that one?"

"Um, that's Christ again."

All-in-all, we counted no fewer than five statues of Christ.

"Why do you need so many?" My friend wanted to know. "And what do they do with that guy in the box?"

I was just as perplexed as he was about the body in the box, but as we came out into the mid-day sunshine again and walked up the hill towards home, I tried to explain the symbolism of the various Christ statues, as well as the significance of the proliferation of plaster saints. By the end of the conversation my friend looked dazed, and more than a little relieved that he didn't have to try to keep track of all this stuff like we Catholics did. He changed the subject with a laugh, saying that if anyone saw him going into the church the whole town would know about it by the time we got home. He meant it as a joke, but as it turns out, his mother had already heard about it and she was waiting for him at the door when we returned, none too pleased.

That night after dinner my friend's father sat with us and talked about his feelings on the subject of praying to plaster idols (with a few meaningful glances thrown in his son's direction) and about what had prompted him to convert, despite the heavy backlash from others in the community.

"I felt a voice, inside of me, telling me that this wasn't for me. I knew I had to look for another way, and I wouldn't feel right until I found it."

For him, the Pentecostal church was what was right for him and his family. Although it was a rough road, even landing him in jail at one point, the family came through it and my friend's father is, today, one of the most respected men in the village.

Don Fidencio's words stuck with me for a long time after that. His religious leanings weren't mine; I had been to several Pentecostal churches and already knew they weren't for me. But, I realized, maybe there was another denomination out there that was for me. When I returned from Mexico I started looking. By February I had identified the United Church of Christ as being the denomination that felt the most like home to me. The weekend after my son's Catholic confirmation we both officially joined our local UCC church.

As much as I enjoy all the secular traditions of Christmas - the decorating, cookie baking and empanada making - I remind myself that Advent is a time of preparation in spiritual ways, too. Just as we make room on the mantle for the holly boughs and candles, we need to also make room in our hearts for the coming of Christ.

God is that little voice in the back of my head, guiding me through life. I have always heard that voice in my head, but I heard it the loudest of all in Mexico. God was very much with me there, in many different ways. It was there that I finally learned that faith is a gift from God that has no limits, knows no boundaries and needs no labels. It is with me, regardless of the religion I practice, no matter what church I do or don't attend.

As I climbed up on a stool last night to top the tree with its tinsel star, I felt the familiar little voice in the back of my head. That little voice hasn't had much to say for itself for awhile, but I was glad to know it was still there and still willing to speak to me.

As we continue through Advent, journeying towards Christmas, I'll be listening.

For more information about The United Church of Christ click here.

The Sun Always Follows the Rain

It is so nice to see the sun today, after nothing but rain and more rain for the past few weeks. We've been living in a continuous downpour for so long I'd almost forgotten what a sunny day felt like. I know that today's sunshine is just a brief respite, with the rain slated to return tomorrow, but I'm still enjoying the sun while I have it.

It occurs to me that the ebb and flow of life is an awful lot like the weather. Sometimes it seems you're going under, and then all of a sudden the clouds part, the sun comes out and the problems are behind you. Other times, it's the opposite. You're sailing along in blue skies, thinking everything is fine, and then out of nowhere disaster strikes.

Like most people, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the first plane hit the towers back in 2001. I was at work at Center Printing, pasting-up a product catalogue for a client who made electrical components. The shop was in an old former Grange building. The presses and front counter took up the whole downstairs, so my desk was up in the attic, on the old stage. I had the scissors and the Exacto Knife out and was focused on cutting around the delicate lines of type, not really paying much attention to the radio in the background. I remember the radio announcer commenting that a plane had hit one of the towers. Not long after, my boss buzzed me on the intercom from downstairs and said to come down because something was happening on the TV in his office. "I don't know what's going on" he said "But I think maybe you better go get your son from school."

When I got to the school they told me they hadn't told the kids anything, but since they had gone into emergency lock down, they knew something was up. My son was very quiet when he got in the car, which was out of character, so I knew he had to be scared. After a few minutes he asked me if anything bad was going to happen to me, his dad or his grandma and grandpa.

"No," I told him. "Nothing bad is going to happen to any of our family. No matter what happens, I'll always protect you. I promise." Honestly, I didn't know if that was true or not. For all I knew, bombs could start dropping at any moment, but as soon as I said it, his little eight year old face brightened right back up again. His mom's word was good enough for him, and that was all he needed. That night I took him out and we rode our scooters around Flemington for a while so Grandma and Grandpa could watch the news, which replayed the images of the towers collapsing over and over again.

American flags flying from car antennas were soon to become ubiquitous, but the very first one I saw, a few days after 9/11, was on a beat up old blue Honda flying just above a smaller Costa Rican flag. A lot of the Latin people I knew who didn't have cars hung the American flag in the windows of their homes to show their support. In those first weeks after 9/11 we were all Americans, no matter what it said in our passports.

I wish that we had continued in that vein of unity longer, that we had done more to sustain the belief that what makes us American is the values we embrace, not the language we speak or the place where we were born. Alas, all too soon, the coming together was over and the vilification of immigrants had begun. And not just immigrants in general, but Latino immigrants, many of whom (I couldn't help but notice) bear a strong physical resemblance to the people of the middle east.

Just a few months ago Osama Bin Laden was finally caught, almost ten years after the towers came down. It wasn't lost on me that right after that, the tone of media reports featuring immigrants softened a bit. Will that continue? Who can say at this point, but I hope that as a nation we can once again come to value not only being Americans, but also being citizens of the Americas. I hope that we can begin to widen our focus beyond the middle east and direct some attention to the needs in Central and South America as well.

The repercussions from 9/11 are far reaching and the scars it left won't fade anytime soon. It is an event that has become imprinted on our national psyche that will forever alter not only the way we see the world, but also the way we see ourselves. In may respects, it has been a long, dark rain filled decade since that balmy September day ten years ago. We'll never return to exactly where we were before it happened, but the sun always follows the rain, and I feel a sunny day coming on.