Green Curry (Thailand)

For Christmas this year, I received a Thai cookbook that has a recipe for my go-to dish, Green Curry. This sweet curry packs a special kind of heat that intensifies with each bite, but doesn't overwhelm the delicate flavors. Typically it is served with green beans, basil and chicken, but I always throw in some shrimp. I've probably made the recipe for Green Curry at least three times since December, diminishing the last of the beans from my garden and making a frozen bag of shrimp a pantry staple. It may be the second favorite thing to have entered my life from Thailand in recent years;) 

This blog started as an exercise in exploring the intersect of culture and food in the life of our family, and in recent entries (sporadic as they may be) I've strayed somewhat from that intended goal. An article that I read this week changed that for me and I find myself drawn back to the computer to sort it all out in the name of my beloved Green (shrimp) Curry!

Just a week ago, the Associated Press shared a year long investigation into the use of Burmese slaves in the Southeast Asian fishing industry that supplies upwards of 20% of the seafood in US markets. The report literally followed the fish from the boats with the slaves to the supplier, Thai Union, and onward to the US companies that contract for their seafood, Kroger, Safeway, Wal-mart, and Sysco to name a few. There are additional reports that Darden Restaurants, which owns Olive Garden and Longhorn Steakhouse among others, had been aware of this link to human trafficking and chose not to change their suppliers.

So what can we do about the scourges of human trafficking from half a world away? It breaks my heart to know that the beautiful homeland of my son is listed along side North Korea, Syria and Iran for its human rights violations. But I cannot wallow in my helplessness with a broken heart. In this case, I need to follow the story, Thai Union has already taken steps to sever ties with suppliers, but I can wait to see what happens in the US as well before I spend my valuable dollars on any sort of seafood. My money makes and difference!

This season of lent we spent time with a small group from church examining our own practices as people of faith. Often what we realized is that small choices and actions can lead to a larger impact. Here is my list of how to start to process and affect change.

Educate yourself on difficult topics. Read the news, analysis, and commentary, even when it is difficult to digest and consumes a lot of time. 

Ask questions. Where does my food come from? In the store, in restaurants, and in my own home, I must be diligent AND prepared to walk away from companies that ignore violations in human rights.

Share your voice. I'm doing that now, but in this day of viral media posts, word travels fast, and many times one voice becomes many, and that pressure makes a difference. Look at what is happening in Indiana. A national outcry by citizens and businesses alike might just change the tide of intolerance and discrimination once again.

Be vigilant and demand justice, especially in your own backyard. Human trafficking isn't just limited to faraway locales. In every state in the US, our young and vulnerable neighbors are being pressed into sexual slavery. As our own city prepares to host the Super Bowl in 2018, an event notorious for high levels of human trafficking, we must demand that our leaders prevent the exploitation of our neighbors.

Sometimes justice is lonely, exhausting work, but it must be done, on the smallest of scales and the largest of stages. What can you do today?

One Per Family

Yesterday, I volunteered during one of the amazing Chinese New Year programs put on annually at my children's school. These programs are put on in a venue that seats over 1,700, and each of them were sold out. The children have worked most of the school year to this point on their singing and dancing, and while the shows are long, they are a joy to watch.

With two performances to attend, we decided to volunteer some time during the performances to contribute to the day, save on ticket costs, and break up a long period of sitting. I ushered while John supervised the kindergarten boys' bathroom. One might assume that the easier of those two jobs would be the one that didn't involve masses of 5 & 6 year old boys attempting to tear a public restroom down to its studs.  One might assume that handing out programs to the incoming audience would be simpler, quieter, and drier. Only one of these assumptions is correct though, so if you guessed that I didn't need any towels to perform my job, you win!

I arrived an hour before the show in my black pants, red top and comfy shoes as instructed. I was given a name tag, a door assignment and a basket of programs with a festive red bow. I was paired with a college student, who worked in the theater and would direct people to their seats.  And then I was sent on to my station with the words, "Just pass them out, one per family."

The programs were beautiful. Over-sized white card stock in tri-fold emblazoned with the red print of a sheep intertwined with Chinese characters amid a backdrop of blossoms and other new year symbols, the lovely work of a very talented student. Information on the inside, in both English and Chinese, about the performance of each grade level, as well as the gracious thank yous on the back.  The school always  does a fine job of showcasing and appreciating the varied talents of its students and staff.

But oh, how those three little words...one per family...brought out the spectrum of humanity at its most privileged over the next hour. Perhaps I was naive, or in denial, to ways in which people would react to hearing those words. Some people were indignant, and insisted they receive more than one. Some people left for their seats in a huff. Some of those people returned a short time later claiming they had not received a program and must have one now. Some people looked shocked or puzzled and wandered off in a daze. Some people looked irritated or disappointed, but accepted the words. Some tried to rationalize their need for more. Some tried to bargain for another. And yet, some were gracious and accepting as they moved to their seats.

No matter how they responded, if someone pressed me for another program, I gave it to them. i wasn't going to fight that battle. But I didn't give it to them without a little judgement.

(okay a lot)

I think there is a name for this phenomenon: First World Problems. Isn't that how the hashtag goes? Having to share, being given a limit, conserving resources that one feels entitled to. That's what the school was doing...managing resources in a responsible way. When a non-profit organization undertakes an event of this magnitude, the details are hard to even imagine. Over three hundred adults and almost 600 students worked to put together this show on grant money and meager ticket prices to cover the basic costs. The programs were designed and printed with a spirit of celebration and well wishes that I don't know if everyone in that audience truly appreciated.

The lessons of this event were about celebrating Chinese culture and wishing each other "magnificent beginnings for an auspicious and prosperous year!" While the children embraced this message with the enthusiasm of their songs and the spirit of their dances, it seems some of the adults in the audience still have some work left to do.

Getting the Words on the Page

I don't spend as much time writing as I used to.

There is a part of me that feels empty when I don't write. A void where the ghosts of projects past float suspended in the middle of a scene, echoing bits of dialogue, beckoning with promising ideas that I deflect to the back of my mind.

There is a part of me that is full though. I wrangle two boys after a full day of teaching and meetings, occasionally land next to my husband for a quick check in before falling into a book, Netflix, or bed. It is a happy sort of busy with karate classes and math workbooks and library visits.

I'm also partly distracted. In between these few words I've shuffled a child out of the shower, let the dog out, listened to a child read 1.5 easy readers, and played two card games.

So I wonder if the authentic me needs those words on a page, the character notes scrawled on scrap paper as I'm falling asleep, the plot twists added to the bottom of a grocery list as I wait at the light. And maybe I'm afraid that the delicate balance of keeping it all going my be tipped if I light up the void, let out my old friends for new adventures.

But maybe I need a little faith that this gnawing in my soul for stories is real and right. That's why my Lenten commitment this year is not to fast, but to feast on my own creativity and see where it all leads.  

Survival Tacos

Tonight I had one of those parenting survival moments. I'd been home from work for exactly one hour, and I found myself in front of the stove in my sweatpants, listening to Adele, surreptitiously stuffing a brownie in my face while browning a pound of hamburger with no idea what we were having for dinner. And the box of wine on my counter was so temptingly close.

It doesn't matter what circumstances brought me to that moment of emotional-eating and panic-cooking (seriously, it is a Monday), I was just keeping on in the best way I knew at the time. It took a moment, about three bites in brownie years, and the sound of my boys filtered in through the cotton of too many essays, too much puppy pee, and too many math problems. My guys were sitting behind me at the counter drawing funny faces, oohing and aahing over their brother's creations. And then I suddenly knew I would make tacos with my hamburger, one of their favorites and easy to serve with our never ending supply of bulk tortillas and shredded cheese from Costco. Kept on hand exactly for these occasions. Survival tacos.

 From the little moments of exhaustion at the end of a busy day to those gut-wrenching moments of terror in the unknown, survival is about feeding your soul, sometimes via your face, with enough energy to carry you through until your breath takes hold and the darkness fades. So wear your sweatpants, eat the brownie, put the puppy in the kennel, turn the music up as loud as you want, whatever you need tonight.

Tic Tac Toe Cookies

A couple weeks ago at the dinner table I noticed a cookie recipe on the back of the ketchup bottle. Peanut butter tic tac toe cookies with a very special ingredient. My curiosity got the best of me and the next day the boys and I made a batch of very orange cookies with a slight ketchup finish. One of the boys loved them, the other was disgusted, and I could only draw the conclusion of...huh. 

Every Thursday of this summer, the boys and I have done a science project (or two:). We started with a few kits and sets that we had saved from Christmas for the nicer weather before moving on to a couple books that have been gifted to the boys over the years. We have grown magic water crystals, 'excavated' dinosaur bones, created chemical reactions, and soaked celery in colored water. When they are curious about something, a concept, an idea or even a recipe, I want them to feel empowered to explore and pursue their inklings. They pick the projects that appeal to them, anticipate them during the week, gather the supplies and theorize about what the outcome might be.

One outcome that I had not expected was the disappointment that follows all good scientists. A couple of our projects have not turned out like we thought, and dealing with the let down together in a healthy way has been good for the boys to experience. When the boys tore into their blocks of clay with chisels to excavate their dinosaurs, one block contained no bones. When it became apparent that one of our kits was a dud, I had to think quick (all the while composing an email on quality control for the manufacturer). We talked about what paleontologists might learn from an empty dig site. We decided that instead of solo fossil hunting, we would work as a team on the bones that were provided as promised. When one of our liters of soda was too flat to react to the Mentos we dropped into it, we talked about the science of chemical reactions, how the conditions have to be right for certain interactions, and how we can always try again.

And we talked about how  things don't always work out the way we want or expect them to. Sometimes life is disappointing. It's okay to feel sad if something doesn't work out. We can try to find some meaning it what happened, but it isn't always there. One thing we can count on is each other. Our family works as a team, and sometimes that means supporting the pursuit of curiosity or supporting each other.   

Salmon with Lemon and Dill

We are just home from our major camping event of the summer, having spent three nights at Crow Wing State Park. In our effort to visit all of the MN State Parks with the boys, we hit #16 with Crow Wing and #17 with Cuyuna Country Recreational Area, both beautiful parks with lots of deer, fish, birds and trails to keep us occupied.

Camping is one of those love it/hate it activities. Some people can't get enough of the campfires and sleeping bags, while others abhor the thought of sleeping in a tent amid the mosquitoes. As much as we love sleeping outside on a clear night, camping is a lot of work. It all takes twice as much stuff to work three times as hard for all the pieces to come together. And then you get home and have to clean it all up while checking for ticks!

It's easy to get distracted by all this effort from the very reason we keep finding new and creative ways to haul our gear to far corners of our great state. We live in a beautiful world, surrounded by clear lakes, diverse wildlife, tall trees, colorful flowers and buzzing insects, and if we aren't mindful of the bounty in our own backyard, we can't truly be good stewards of our earth.

This camping trip we tried a couple new things in an effort to be more mindful of our surroundings. First, I of course tried some new recipes. When the boys were younger, we ate easy heat and serve camping food as the boys needed a lot of supervision to keep them away from the fire and poison ivy. Now that they are older, it was time to try some actual camp food. This included fire roasted chicken skewers with peanut sauce, roasted corn on the  cob and coal cooked salmon with lemon and dill, all of which were delicious! There is something very primal and grounding about cooking over a fire with nothing but some wooden skewers and a little aluminum foil between you and the heat and the smoke. I had to build the fire, tend to the flames and coals, all while cooking our meals.

The second new activity we added to our trip was a series of meditations based on Thich Nhat Hanh's book A Handful of Quiet. Over the course of the first day, each of us looked to find four small rocks that appealed to us in some way. This required us to be aware of our surroundings and to help each other keep an eye out for small treasures. That evening, around the fire, we took some time to consider the space around us, breathing in the fresh air and listening to the wind and creatures in the woods. Each of our four rocks represented an element tied to strengths within each of us that we held in our minds as we breathed.  We did an abbreviated version of this at an outlook before we left as well, where we each picked our favorite stone and element to focus on as we gazed out over the Mississippi River.

Meditation, in addition to bringing us closer to our surroundings through mindfulness, is a tenant of Buddhist practice. Our youngest son was born Buddhist, and this is one practice we can use to remain close to a vital part of his history and culture. We are half a world away from Thailand, but we can find peace and closeness as a family with the spiritual practices of his homeland. That is why we go through all of the effort to go camping, to have new adventures and build lasting memories as a family, each with our own strengths and histories that bring something beautiful to the world.

Summer Detox

Over the years I have found that each summer break develops a theme of sorts. A few summers ago, with our youngest just home, it was cocooning. Then it was reemergence back into the world around us. Last year it was mind and body health, and this summer it has been thus far about detoxification and restoration. I just wanted to let go of the baggage of the last year and feel light and whole again. The process has actually been simpler than I thought with great results.

The last day of school for teachers is a misnomer because most of us work beyond that magic date on the calendar to write curriculum, catch up on technology practices, teach summer school, go to workshops, or all of the above. Last year I worked three extra weeks over the summer, away from my kids, paying for daycare, which is time that is just too valuable for me. This year, I worked one extra day on tech stuff, but then totally disengaged myself from school. I am not working on committees, doing any training, or going to meetings. I'm not even thinking about work to be honest, which feels healthy and good!

One easy place to continue the detox was with my diet. My first week off started with a three day detox diet program of fruits and vegetables. After a year of medications, pain pills and steroids, all linked to my surgery, I wanted to cleanse my system with clean and wholesome foods. The program consisted of smoothies for each meal, which was okay for the first two days, but by the third day, I was starving and my energy was low! I managed my morning smoothie, and then took the warning signs seriously and went back to solid food, though healthy choices.

I also recommitted to baking for the family. Each week I have a 'baking day' in which I put together the bread for the week, a breakfast selection of muffins or bread loaded with whole grains, fruits and veggies, and any dinner options for the week that I can make ahead, like a quiche or tart. Spending the afternoon in the kitchen listening to the soundtrack of my children playing outside the window is good for the spirit. I am assured of the quality and nutrition of the ingredients that we consume and can pour in the love for my family in with each spoon, cup or whisk.

There are many other ways I am trying to bring in the pure and good and purge the yuck. Each day I take the kids outside, whether in the backyard or at the park. We spend all school year in cramped and dusty rooms, and I just want to breathe in the fresh air and feel the sun on my skin. In my continued therapy for my Achilles problems, I have turned to massage and acupuncture, taking no pain meds, even over the counters. I have embraced the use of essential oils (another blog topic for sure!) for healing, relaxation, therapy and more in a natural and balanced approach. Each little bit helps to feel renewed.

One area I need to work on is my digital detox. My phone and Kindle travel most places with me. I do read a lot, but I don't really have any reason to check the celebrity gossip sites or play Candy Crush multiple times a day.  The phone can be a nasty habit, so I am going to work on this one in the coming weeks!

As I write this, I really need to consider, what habits and coping mechanisms do I want to pass on to my children and which ones do I want them to avoid? What can I learn from them, as they chase moths and play Captain America in the backyard, that can help me with my own bad habits? I have the time, a luxury of days off, so I need to use it well.

Summer Reads #1: Sixth Grave on the Edge

A few years ago I started keeping track of the books I read over my summer vacation, just for fun to indulge the book nerd that claims a pretty sizable chunk of my inner residence. This summer, at the suggestion of a few folks, I am going to blog about just some of my reads, mainly because blogging about 20-25 (on average) books would seriously cut into my reading time.

Now, I approach my summer reading with some strategy. I need a mix of genres and titles, required texts and trashy palate cleansers, hard covers and downloads. I never leave the house without a book, which means that I always carry a bag that can fit a book or my Kindle, though my latest phone with the Kindle app works in a pinch. I'm not afraid to read more than one book at a time, especially if one is particularly long, tragic or work-related. I have titles on a reserve list from the library, a fully stocked e-library on my device, and several thrift store finds on my night stand at the ready. My prime reading hours are afternoon rest time and an hour or so after the rest of the house is asleep, though I catch quite a few pages in the backyard or at the park. I am a fast reader, and I never finish a book without starting a few pages of the next one.

My first book of the season was Sixth Grave on the Edge, by Darynda Jones, part of an urban fantasy series about a private investigator who discovers that she is the Grim Reaper and must assist the departed in whatever prevents them from crossing over. Oh, and she has fallen in love with the son of the devil, who is really a good guy despite his demon tendencies. It really is a trashy as it sounds, which is why I started with it to clear away all remnants of in-depth analysis of To Kill a Mockingbird and As I Lay Dying. This book, and series really, is entertaining and easy to read, without too much violence and gore. But it is not among my favorites, a few of which I have listed below.

The urban fantasy and paranormal romance genres are ones I enjoy as pure escapism, but not all books alike, so I put together my own guidelines for what I like to read.

1. Beware of urban fantasy that takes itself too seriously. There should be a bit of irreverence in books about vampires, witches and werewolves.
2.  The alternative world needs to make sense, with consistent rules about how all things magical and mystical work.
3. The characters shouldn't be too quirky and annoying. That really applies to all genres (hello, Janet Evanovich!), and is one of the reasons why this first book was merely okay.
4. Another one that applies to all genres, the main character should not be stupidly impulsive, thinking she is the only person who can solve the problem, which puts her in grave danger that requires a man to come and save her. Again, a problem with this series by Jones.

If you want to read some good, trashy in the best sense of the word books in urban fantasy, try some of these of these:

The Dresden Files series by Jim Butcher
Think private investigator noir with a wizard on the streets in Chicago.

The Hollows series by Kim Harrison
This one is close to my heart, mainly because it is set in my old stomping grounds of Cincinnati.

The Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris
This is the series that the show True Blood is based on, but the books are NOT as dark, bloody or gratuitously sexual as the series!

Let me know if you end up reading any of the books on my list or any of the suggestions above. I love to talk literature, even on my summer break:)

Summer Reads 2014

Finished:
       Sixth Grave on the Edge, by Darynda Jones

Currently Reading:
       Middlesex, by Jeffery Eugenides

Next Read:
       The Good Lord Bird, by James McBride

Rhubarb Pie

It seems like many a time I've started a blog post with some iteration of "I'm back," and this one isn't so different. I'm never really gone you know; it's just a matter of sitting down a putting the words to screen;)

This year has been a dark and difficult one for us. Surgery, unemployment, injury, more injury, a horrific winter as the frosty cherry on top it all. The lessons from it all are pretty universal: pain sucks, losing a job strains a family, the polar vortex is a menace. BUT people are kind and you soon learn who you can really count on to be in your corner and if you're lucky, which we are, you emerge into the light with scars that will eventually fade under the strength of survival.

The light for us is healing with good medical care. The light for us is a new job with old friends. The light for us is a late spring with blossoms near perfection.

And so we have celebrated our gratitude in the warmth of this light, in big and small ways. We threw a "We Survived the Winter" party. We adjusted to a new routine with two working parents. We made a pie with rhubarb fresh from the garden on a sunny afternoon.

I'm sure that there is a whole enduring the sour to appreciate the sweet connection between my pie and the paragraph above, but I'm moving forward from that trope to another theme I always seem to circle back to on this blog: gratitude.  I am so grateful to be moving into the summer with plans for science experiments, new recipes and a full garden. And as I reflect on the joys of renewed joy and energy, I'll try to put the words to the screen when I have the chance.

12 Days of Blogging: Zucchini Muffins

This week I started a new meditation practice. I take a few moments to quiet my mind with deep breathing exercises. Once my mind is clear, I begin to focus on a single word. Gratitude. As I continue to breathe, I draw on the word with each breath in and as I exhale slowly I release from my mind something for which I feel grateful. I try to just let that something spring forth from a clear and genuine place, sending my gratitude out into the world as a positive force.


As the recovery from my foot surgery winds down, I am working to reestablish and maintain my focus on the mind-body connection for good health. This has been hard to do when I've been tired and sore and frustrated from the rigors of healing. But as the weeks have passed and the fog of pain meds have cleared and the daily aches have faded, I feel a renewed energy to focus on mindful exercise, healthy eating, relaxation, writing, meditation, and above all gratitude, which is a balm for the spirit.


So in this moment of gratitude, I am thankful for zucchini muffins. The family really loves them, and I froze several bags of grated zucchini from the garden this summer for the purpose of making them this winter. I have not been able to cook much in the last ten weeks, but tonight I made a batch of zucchini muffins, with the boys at the counter keeping me company, and it felt so good and natural. For the next couple days, I am going to mindful of each bite that nourishes us all.

12 Days of Blogging: Polar Vortex

Happy New Year!

So it turns out that two weeks on pain medications put a bit of a hitch in my plans to blog towards twelve posts during my recovery from surgery, but because the spirit of the holidays is still in the air, I am going to continue in that same spirit:) Plus, my winter vacation was extended an extra day by the governor of Minnesota due to predicted cold weather on Monday, so I will take this as an opportunity to write and reflect!

I have to admit, I love a good winter weather event. Or I should say, the build up to a weather event. With the impending "polar vortex" descending upon us this evening, bringing potentially record breaking frigid temps, we are snuggling in for the duration. I made a last minute trip to the library for books. John went to the store for provisions. The boys took advantage of the lingering 16 degree heat of the afternoon for one last sledding adventure.

As teachers, there are undocumented numbers of us that are unofficial meteorologists. In the days before a predicted winter storm, we study the forecast with intense scrutiny for any indication of that great, rare conglomeration of factors which lead to the greatest part of snow, ice and cold: The Snow Day (Or Cold Weather Day). The conditions have to be perfect, the timing has to be precise, and we study the words of the newscasters for those magic words "Snow-Ice Mix."

There are rituals surrounding weather events that teachers employ as well. Some never speak the words, so as not to jinx the forecast. Others deny any possibility while secretly harboring hope deep inside. Some recall in great detail conditions of Snow Days past, remembering a better time with that other superintendent when the alarm was turned off or the extra pot of coffee put on. And the most industrious of us (certainly not me) put an extra set of papers in the bag, just in case.

As Minnesotans, there is a certain point on the thermometer every year where cold loses its number and just becomes cold. Self preservation takes over and all egos are checked somewhere around frumpy as we pile on the layers of underwear, tights, thermal garments, wool and polar fleece. The heavy boots get dusted off, and if you're lucky, you remembered to toss a pair of dress shoes in your bag on the way to work.

In the end there are only a couple things that matter regardless of the event. Stay safe and stay warm friends!

12 Days of Blogging: Lessons in Kindness

I have this very clear memory from few years ago, right around the time Suki came home, where I was pulling into the driveway with the boys in the backseat when a sudden realization sent me into a mild panic, the kind where your breath is stolen away right as your heart starts to pound in your ears. All of the sudden it came to me that "Holy Sh*t! I am responsible for making sure my children know how to swim!"

Now I might have been a wee bit emotionally vulnerable given that I had just become a mother for the second time, and since teaching your children to swim is as easy as driving them to any of several qualified professionals in the immediate area, the panic may have been more about the overwhelming number of important, life-saving lessons we must teach our children than this one in particular.

Something that has been a priority for our family is teaching our boys how to be kind; to themselves and others. This has only been reinforced for me in the last few weeks as my family and I have been blessed with the kindness of family, friends and strangers.

My husband John is probably the kindest person I know, as his kindness is rooted in patience and commitment. He is also kind in the clears the snow from the neighbors' walks, volunteers with veterans, helps friends move with a smile kind of way.  My first two weeks after the surgery, I have had to keep my foot elevated 23 hours a day, so with basically no mobility, he has not only taken care of me, but our boys as well, and never complained. I know with such a wonderful role model, my boys will grow up to be kind men as well! I am so thankful for John's kindness!

My mom has always been one of my models for kindness. Her welcome embrace and forgiving heart extends to all people.  She has taken over as caregiver as John visits his family, driving me to the doctor, cooking me Grandma Lois's tacos (the ultimate comfort food!) and reminding me to ice, medicate and rest as needed. I am so thankful for my Mom's kindness!

My extended family has surrounded me with the kindness I need to heal and recover from my surgery. My brother Elliott has come to take care of me a couple of days while John is gone, bringing my nephew for the positive energy that comes from a happy, healthy toddler. My sister-in-law Katie provided healing touch to encourage my incision and body to heal. The many phone calls and text messages to check in or send love and prayers have been so appreciated. I am thankful for my family's kindness!

Today I am also thankful for the kindness of strangers. My brother Nick and his wife, along with his in-laws, were in a serious car accident a few days ago. We will forever be thankful that there were only minor injuries, as well as for the good Samaritans that stopped after the crash, taking action to help in many ways. I am thankful for the kindness of these brave strangers!

I want to teach my boys to be kind, and I have many role models for them to turn to for lessons on how to treat others, especially in times when it is needed most.  

12 Days of Blogging: Seven Super Years

Happy Birthday to my sweet boy Ian who is seven years old today! My big boy is kind, hard working, so funny and always ready to learn something new.  Here are a few highlights from the last year that I will cherish always.

The Lego invasion swept through one year ago today on Batman's motorcycle, scooped up Suki in the process, and is here to stay with the vehicles and characters of Lego City, Lego Chima and Ninjago. And while Legos rival sand in their ability to work their way into the carpet, shoes, and every crevice in between, I am always amazed at the complicated structures that appear in blue, yellow, red and green out of such a joyous imagination.

The story of the summer was this boy with his fishing pole, his trusty worm master (Suki) at his side, with Mom to unhook the fish with a ready supply of juice boxes. After a few lessons at Uncle Nick's "fishing camp" we hit the lakes for sunfish small, smaller and really small. Each catch was a new joy, each cast a new opportunity, and as my fisherman exclaimed during one summer sunset cast, "It's just so peaceful, Mom."

We started a new reading venture over the summer with Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, worked our way through several Series of Unfortunate Events, took a quest with Percy Jackson, and now find ourselves waiting for that special time each night where we snuggle in for the next chapter of the adventure. The Guardians of Ga'Hoole, along with a decent pile of birthday books, will keep us turning the pages well into year seven.

This has been the year of the yo-yo. After seeing a yo-yo master at school, Ian has taken it upon himself to learn the yo-yo well beyond the basics into several tricks that are complicated beyond my ability to process the steps on a youtube tutorial. But Ian is determined, and is making strides with moves that may or may not also be yoga poses. At this point, his expertise has advanced well beyond my own.

First grade has been all about the math this year! Ian works hard in school each and every day, enjoying his math and Chinese lessons, learning about Greek mythology in art (a big highlight!) and taking piano lessons. We are so proud to hear from the teachers and other parents that Ian is kind and generous to other students, making sure to include everyone. These days he goes to school with several rainbow loom bracelets that he gives away, coming home with a selection of new ones from other friends.

There are so many things I could write about what a special son Ian is and the wonderful experiences he has had this year, so I will end this post knowing that Ian's adventure is in progress and still being written with so many exciting days ahead!

12 Days of Blogging: Twas the Night Before Surgery

Twas the night before surgery and on the back of my foot

a pesky little bone spur had take root.

Tomorrow I am having a bone spur removed and a tendon reconfigured in a surgical procedure. I have daily pain in my foot from an injury that changes my gait, triggering the very painful arthritis in my back. The more my foot hurts, the more my back hurts. And since all the other therapies haven't stabilized the condition, the darn thing is coming out.

The actual procedure is a fairly routine, out patient venture (though it feels pretty significant to me right about now!). It's the recovery that looms large. For the next two weeks I need to elevate my foot above my heart 23 of 24 hours a day in an effort to reduce swelling and aide healing. My foot will be immobilized in a boot and I will not be allowed to put any weight on it for six weeks. Forced rest and relaxation wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the promise of that significant pain and boredom.

Tonight though I'm focusing on the many blessings I've come to realize about my situation. Yes, there are a few things I've learned as a frequent patient with chronic pain in the health care system these last eighteen months.

The first blessing is the support of my family and friends. I have a wonderful partner in my husband who takes very good care of me. I have family and friends that are coming to appointments, watching the boys, bringing meals, running errands, keeping company, sending prayers and even wrapping presents if needed. I have compassionate children who want mommy to feel better, which keeps me grounded and focused on recovering well.

 The second blessing is that I have a job that provides health insurance and benefits that allows for quality medical care for my family with providers of our choosing that will not bankrupt our household. I have some sick days that will combine with my scheduled holiday break to give me almost three weeks of rest and healing, without worrying if my job will be waiting for me.  We have not had to make the choice between our health and our home, job or other necessities.

The third blessing is how I have learned to advocate for myself as person with chronic pain. I knew to do it for my kids as instinct, but when it came to my own needs, I had to learn to ask for, and sometimes even demand, what I need to live a quality life. Rather than relying on pain medications, I perused exercise, meditation, massage, and other lifestyle changes to keep me healthy.

So send some more positive thoughts, blessings and prayers my way over the next couple of weeks. I'll be filling a little bit of that time with my seasonal blogging adventures of course, but I do believe that every positive effort will help!

12 Days of Blogging: Christmas is almost here!

A couple of days ago, after being asked for about the millionth time if Christmas was tomorrow, I sat my five year old down with some red and green construction paper, scissors, and a glue stick  to make a paper chain. With palpable enthusiasm (I seriously don't know if he has any other kind) Suki cut the strips in alternating colors, glued them into circling links, and created the art project to save my sanity this holiday season.  Each night he tears off one of the links in the chain that takes us closer to Christmas with an enthusiastic (seriously, it's his go to emotion these days) declaration that "Christmas in almost here, Mom!" It is a paper chain miracle.

This holiday season I am determined to win the fight against the insane pressure to spend money on presents, decorations, food, gift cards, that elf on a shelf thing, ugly sweaters that are now trendy, when all I want is the delight of having young children who still experience each holiday season with fresh eyes, and of course, unbridled enthusiasm (like a little bronco, I'm telling you).

So far we've been successful. Decorating the tree was rediscovering each ornament and its history with awe. Baking gingerbread men with raisin eyes and candy buttons only to gobble them right up. Listening to Christmas carols with the hope that the next song will be Jingle Bells, Batman Smells. Making paper chains decorated with a bright tree and shining star that reminds me that each day closer to Christmas is a day to cherish my kids and the innocence of the season and the enthusiasm that shines so bright (it's pretty much blinding, in the best way possible.)

12 Days of Blogging: Two Stories

This week I started teaching a course new to me, a college level multicultural lit course for seniors in high school. One of the objectives of the course is for the students to understand a text from multiple perspectives other than their own. This is a challenge for students who simply by nature of their development are quite focused on their own story. 

On the first day of the course I asked each student to share a story of a defining moment in their life. Each one was unique, though we were able to see a common thread; that defining some aspect of ourselves is almost always done in relationship with another person who opens our eyes to something new.

Here is one of my moments that I chose to share in class that day. It is much more personal than what I typically share, but if I am asking my students to open themselves to new experiences, I need to make myself vulnerable as well. This version is a little different from the story I told in class, certainly more personal I would say, because the nature of stories is that they change overtime, with reflection and perspective. Here is today's version.

When we travelled to Ethiopia to pick up our baby son, Ian, I was on the precipice of motherhood, without really understanding the changes to my identity that were about to take place. I was filled with such overwhelming excitement, joy and anticipation, for this was something I had waited for a very long time. For weeks I had carried a grainy photo of a sad-eyed baby who was now in my arms warm and wriggly and wonderful.

The day after we met Ian for the first time, we had the opportunity to travel to meet his parents. During the long, dusty trip I clutched a notebook full of questions to ask, my thoughts with my baby back at the care center. Pulling into the courtyard of our meeting, I immediately recognized the mother of my son, as he bears her features, most strikingly in his eyes, and before we knew it, we were all ushered into a tiny room with an interpreter to begin.

But what was so very clear is that this beginning for John and me, was an ending for this couple before us. Grief washed over them, filling the room, drowning our silly questions and splashing us with the realization that our joy was their heartbreak. So we decided that the most appropriate action was to simply grieve with them. Now, the rest of this story lies with our son, of private conversation that belongs to him.

When I left that room, I had a more complete understanding of what it meant to be Ian's mom. And when we finally arrived back in Addis, I broke some major protocol, and literally raced through the dusk toward the care center, a weepy, dusty mess, unwilling to be turned away at the gate until I held my child close, carrying the love and grief of two mothers in my heart for him always.

What my defining moment was about is really the collision of two stories. And how when I understood that my own story of adoption was incomplete without realizing, accepting and embracing my child's Ethiopian story, the love, tragedy and heartbreak.

Two stories, now three, incomplete without the others, forever intertwined, full of the tragic, complicated, all encompassing love that is my identity as a mom to my two precious sons.

The Twelve Days of Blogging: On the First Day...

I am embarking an a writing project for the month of December. Join me here for my Twelve Days of Blogging posts, scattered throughout the holiday season, and catch up on what is going on here in my world of teaching, parenting, cooking, surviving, thriving, and living life.

This week marked the first week of a new trimester at school. One of my opening activities is to talk to each student one-on-one. I have them share their name, interests, and then they have a choice of asking me a question or I will ask them a question, which ends up about 50-50 with the asking and answering. Most of our questions and answers run from an overview of our favorite things into the silliness of superpowers, animal hybrid fighting machines, and hypothetical match-ups.

One of my favorite questions I received this week though was "What do you love about school?"

That was an easy question! I have always loved the first day of school, and really the first day of a new quarter/trimester/semester, having done them all. I love the anticipation of staring with fresh with a set of new supplies, the notebook full of possibilities, the challenge of learning names, revisiting hallowed texts with the promise of new insights, and even the satisfying exhaustion of the seating chart, syllabus, and stubborn students.

Everyone needs a fresh start sometimes, another first day. Sometimes it feels like we need one every hour of every day. Sometimes its hard to ask for the forgiveness and open mindedness that is often needed to move forward. Sometimes that exhaustion is not so satisfying and comes with a tension headache that makes the blank page an impossibility.

But when the page is turned, the expanse of space is ripe to be filled with hope, creativity and joy.
So here is to 31 first days of school, and to a fresh start of a new writing project, in the spirit of the season.

Tembleque (Puerto Rico)

Recently, the scourge of lactose intolerance has hit home, literally in our house, and within my extended family. Certainly not an uncommon condition, nor a dangerous one, thank goodness, but still one that requires a change in our daily eating habits. The intolerant are forced to become tolerant of less than tasty alterna-soy substitutes and passing on dishes with buttery, creamy deliciousness that the very soul wants to gobble up.

Really though, changing and substituting some ingredients has not been that difficult. In fact, it has actually been fun to experiment with new recipes and products. That's how this recipe for Tembleque, coconut pudding, was chosen. I wanted to find a dairy-free dessert, and with its base of coconut milk, it fit the requirements.

And let me say, this recipe is a game changer. It is creamy, with a smooth coconut flavor that grows with each bite. Topped with only a bit of cinnamon, it is absolutely delectable, and that is not an understatement. This dessert is going to live a long and happy existence in the belly of our family. I want to find other dairy free dishes like this one that make me want to lick the bottom of the bowl until I am blissed out in a pudding-drunk stupor.

But...It's not ice cream. It's never going to be ice cream. And while some of us want to bathe in a coconutty tub of Tembleque for eternity because, seriously, it's that delicious, when one's favorite food is ice cream, and has been for a very long time, the reality of letting it go is so very difficult.

Because it's really about the loss of a shared experience. Spontaneous trips to Dairy Queen might not be the same when one person is left with a lame-o slushy type drink. Our favorite homemade mac and cheese can't be replicated with whatever faux cheese substitute exists to torture the intolerant.  Eating a meal together, sharing the flavor and texture of foods that comfort and delight us all, cannot be substituted if one person is left out. And as such, this requires a change in our eating habits, as a family.

That doesn't mean the rest don't ever get ice cream again. The intolerants our family knows and loves are gracious and forgiving even as they watch a scoop of ice cream get added next to the birthday cake or raspberry pie.  And they smile wide as we all eat our coleslaw made with veganaise. Which is a real thing. I swear.

A Prayer for My Son and Black Boys Everywhere

Thank you for my precious boy, who was created perfectly, in your image, with a sharp mind, a tender heart and cinnamon skin.

Since I first held him in my heart, and then my arms, I have prayed for wisdom and strength, with gratitude and joy, to be the mother he needs, now and always.

Now I pray for his life, his future, his sense of purpose in this world that breeds injustice and intolerance even as you have taught us to love first, always first, and love most and love best.

Please enter the classroom where my son will sit on the edge of a chasm between himself and his white classmates that is filled with lowered expectations, higher rates of suspension, suspicion of cheating even as he is so articulate.

Turn the pages of his book, lift his ballpoint pen, build the connections in his mind despite the depths of that chasm, so he can prove himself over and over and over.

Hold in your hands the inferno of his curiosity so the pervasiveness of institutional racism does not extinguish his light.

Please walk alongside him in the store while he clutches his allowance in search of the perfect reward for a dollar earned, all the while tailed by suspicious security, a concerned cashier, a secret shopper.

Help him not to lose the lessons we have imparted in the excitement of his purchase.

                 Never touch merchandise you do not intend to buy.

                                Never wander aimlessly in a store.

                                                Always ask for a bag and a receipt, no matter how small the purchase.

Hold in your hands his carefree spirit that he must leave at the entrance to be ever alert, on guard, in control, until he can resume a relaxed posture, perhaps in the privacy of his home at least, and always in the arms of his family.

Please sit in the passenger seat when my son is pulled over for a burned out taillight, not using his turn signal, drifting too close to the center line, driving while black.

Speak the words ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ through his lips, even while spread eagle and cuffed, without hesitation, as if his life depended on it, which it does.

Hold in your hands the hurt, the anger, the attitude, the humiliation, the questions, until he is among his own, who will be ready to hear it and bear it, every time it happened.

Please keep my son alive.

Please keep my son safe and healthy.

Please keep my son motivated, passionate, and loving…

                …even when he has every right not to be.

Please hold my son in your hands, along with every other black boy who sits in that classroom, walks into that store, and drives down that street.

 

 

 

Cinnamon, Caramel...and Pita Bread.

One of my favorite memories I have of my son Ian is from when he was about three years old. He and I were baking something in the kitchen which required cinnamon, and as he stirred the ingredients in the bowl my little guy broke into a spontaneous song, a joyous little ditty that went a little something like this:

My skin is brown
My skin is like cinnamon
I am brown
And I am strong

Ian sang these four lines with such gusto and certainty that tears sprang to my eyes.  Ian knew he was brown, like his favorite spice, and he felt powerful in his own skin. I will always remember that day, and my goal as his mother is to always help him maintain that joy of self discovery and confidence in his own skin.

Today as I put away groceries with the boys circling my legs, clamoring for snacks, I found a bag at the back of the cupboard with three caramels, one for each of us, a treat we decided to consume immediately. As we enthusiastically unwrapped our caramels, I held mine up to Suki's arm, noting that his skin was the exact brown of our caramels.

With many kisses and tickles, I said "I have a cinnamon son and a caramel son! I could eat you both up!" But Suki immediately asked, "Well, what are you?"

That took some brainstorming, and after discarding many types of wheat based products, Ian settled the matter with some determination, declaring that "Mom is pita bread."

These comparisons may seem simple, but in our family we do acknowledge that our skin is not the same. Yes, we are different from each other. God makes people in all shades of perfect, and on the inside we carry the same love of family in our hearts. Yes, we are a family, full of flavors and textures and colors and love, love, love.