Truly Enjoying the Holidays as a Parent with a Chronic Illness

Recipe for the holidays: combine beautiful traditions, gatherings with family and friends, gifts to purchase, crowds to navigate, extra commitments here, there and everywhere, and oh – don’t forget parenting duties and taking care of our chronic health needs. Mix well, and what do we get? A perfect opportunity to pause and remember what really matters to us!

Instead of letting holiday stress wear us out, perhaps this year we can let the symptoms of over-doing it (for me it’s fatigue, grumpiness, and complaining!) be a signal to sit down, have a nice cup of tea, and celebrate the true gifts in our lives – our family, our health, our happiness together. After all, what will really make a difference to our children and our health in the long run? Another holiday party, another toy soon outgrown? Or a commitment to take care of ourselves, so we can feel more relaxed, happy, and healthy and enjoy our time with our children?

May we truly enjoy this holiday season with our families, by remembering to first give ourselves the gift of self-care.

No thanks, autopilot, I'll take it from here

I’m sick again. I probably don’t need to tell you how tired I am of being sick, what with the pneumonias and asthmas and whatchamacallits I’ve been talking about for the past year.

I told a couple people recently, there really does come a point where you have to make a choice: give up, or choose to live your life anyway. Given those two options, that’s a pretty easy choice for me, especially with two amazing kids to watch as they learn and create and grow.

But I’m realizing there’s a third option too. It’s the option of no-choice. It’s not expressly giving up and being immobilized by depression, but it’s not really living my life either. I think I’m going to call it the autopilot choice.

This autopilot choice, it’s tricky – it sneaks in whenever I’m just going through the motions, just picking up my son from school and getting the food on the table and not overtiring myself. Yes, there are days when it feels like all I can do is attend to these basics. But more and more, I’m realizing that if I’m just barely getting through the routine, I’m not really here. I’m just the housekeeper or maid or whatever.

Well, I’d like to state clearly for the record, I WANT TO BE HERE. As me, Sarah. Bringing forth who I am, no matter how sick, no matter how little energy I have. I want to connect to life in some creative way, which sends a spark of life to someone else who might be stuck in autopilot. I want us all to wake up and really be here -- can you imagine what this would be like?

Yeah, life is tough sometimes. Or a lot of the time. But I refuse to numb out and just get by on autopilot from now on. I choose to engage my life as profoundly as I can from wherever I find myself that day. Maybe that means giving myself permission to have a really good pout for 10 minutes first. But then, finding some way to connect in between taking care of tasks: making up a silly story with my son, sketching designs for a handbag, submitting ideas for talks & classes.

Because when I do these things, I feel awake, alive, connected to others, regardless of how I’m feeling. And that’s the real me I want to share with the world.

The Very Picky Caterpillar: a story by Isaac and Sarah

One morning a tiny caterpillar woke up inside an egg. He could only think of one thing. He was HUNGRY!

He looked around and couldn't see any way out. He thought to himself, "I guess I'll EAT my way out!" And so he did.

"Hmmm," he said. "That egg was not so tasty. I want to find something REALLY tasty to eat."

So he began to crawl around the garden where he hatched. He tasted turnips and munched on melons. He chewed on chives and sampled sorrel. "Tangy, but not quite what I was looking for." On he went.

He licked limes and ate asparagus. He was eating an eggplant when all of the sudden, out of the sky, KERPLOP!

The caterpillar was startled and curious about the big brown ball in front of him. He circled around and wondered to himself, "Could this be a giant egg? I will have to crack the shell to find out."

So he began to chew through the rough brown shell. It was tough and thick. He chewed and chewed and chewed.

Finally he took a bite and tasted something different. It was white and flaky. And it wasn't at all like turnips or melons, chives or sorrel. It wasn't like limes or asparagus or eggplant either. No, this taste was something entirely different. And it was entirely DELICIOUS!

"I love this!" exclaimed the caterpillar. "I wonder what it is?" Just then a butterfly flew by and landed on top of the big brown ball. "Maybe I'll ask him."

"Excuse me, please, but do you know, what is this delicious... thing?"

The butterfly smiled and chuckled. "Oh yes, I remember when I was a wee caterpillar your size, and I tasted my first coconut."

"Coconut?" repeated the caterpillar. "And what do you mean, when you were a caterpillar my size? You're a butterfly!"

"Oh sonny, life has many more beautiful discoveries in store for you. Take some advice from an old-timer like me. Enjoy every minute!"

"Well, I'm certainly enjoying this coconut," said the caterpillar. "I wonder what's next?"

And he couldn't wait to find out.

THE END

An Embarrassment of Happiness

Yesterday a creative mood came over me -- I moved around all the potted plants on the front porch, imagined what our front yard would look like with a pebble "streambed" rain garden meandering through it, and then came inside to make a snack.

Something about the feng shui of the bamboo cutting board inspired me, and I took some time to arrange the apple slices in a pleasing way, found a pretty bowl for my hummus, and laid one sprig of parsley for some diagonal interest. The camera was nearby so I snapped this shot of the scene. Then Andy walked in the kitchen, and I quickly put away the camera and stood with my back to the cutting board, embarrassed to be caught having fun in such a simple way.

This is far from the first time I've found myself embarrassed to be happy -- there is something unguarded about joyfully participating in my life that I am afraid to let other people see. It goes back to when I was a teen, at least, and continues even today. If I'm caught in the act of moving to a good beat, or saying hello to a bright yellow daffodil beaming up at me, I quickly dissemble and try to look "ordinary" -- busy, fretting or fussing, doing something productive.

Only around my kids can I sing and boogie and talk to plants with abandon, and it feels like this is a clue as to where the embarrassment originates.

I delight in watching my kids continuously creating and participating in their lives, with a minimum of self-judgment. I can already see the inhibitions creeping in with Isaac (now 9 years old), but Josie (age 5) is still pretty freeform with her constant movement, wonder, and delight. It feels like somewhere around Isaac's age we start picking up the judgments, the critiques, carefully deciding what's cool or not cool, what is socially acceptable and what isn't. We begin painstakingly constructing a suit of armor around the truest, most unique and therefore vulnerable parts of ourselves, each chink comprised of some behavior or attitude or identity that we deem will best help us fit in.

And it feels like when I'm happy, really just happy for no reason and having fun with what's around me, that suit of armor is off; I'm like a child exploring, not afraid to be silly or make mistakes. But being seen by another in this state is like being seen naked, for who I am, with nothing to cover up my perceived weaknesses or oddities.

It seems to come down to self-judgment, a core feeling that there's something inherently wrong with me, and that it is better to fit in than to risk showing my true self to the world. Which is why I created that suit of armor to begin with.

But why should I fear being who I am? For what reason could it possibly be better to hide and just try to fit in? If I really pause and consider it, I can feel how happily being myself will bring infinitely more joy and healing to the world than hiding inside my defenses. After all, anybody can fit in, but only I can be me.

Besides, I'm getting tired of dragging around this armor. And letting myself be who I am -- however vulnerably -- makes me happier than hiding ever did anyway. So please watch your step if you should come by, there may be random bits of chainmail strewn about and me dancing under the trees, singing a catchy tune.

Dispatches of creativity past

I'm writing from my comfy faux hospital suite at home here, pampering my lungs to the max to avoid a real hospital stay. It's working out pretty well so far. So well, in fact, that I decided to dabble with a blog entry or two. You may have noticed the previous little ditty I just posted. This time I'd love to show you a purse I made over Christmas break.

I've never made a purse before. I was digging through my bin of fabric for inspiration when I came upon an old pair of Isaac's corduroys, frayed beyond repair. Somehow in looking at these pants, I envisioned a purse. I cannot explain why this idea was so appealing to me. I even came up with an idea for my marvelous new imaginary line of clutches and totes: On the Fly Handbags. I think it's catchy.



Over Christmas I actually finished one of these. I was fortunate to be at my parents' house when I began, because I was inspired to do some beading and mom had a nice sampling of beads to try out. I've never beaded before, and I can't tell you how satisfying it was to string the beads on the thread and slowly pull them taut on the fabric. Instant eye candy. It made me happy just experimenting with colors and designs.

But enough talk already, here's the bag.

Unidentifiable Josie Art

O daughter dear, what have we here?
Mohawked fish? Planet Ear?
Fringed sailor hat? Buttoned hula gear?
How freely your ideas flow from imagination to here.