today i am thankful

for family

for the times when we feel aligned

for the times when we feel out of sorts

for the ways in which we keep coming back

to be in each others' presence

a fine line

abuse cases are difficult for me.

first, because the scenarios are often horrible.

second, because i struggle with how to respond when talking with colleagues

"around the water cooler."

for instance, we recently had a case where the alleged acts of parental abuse were egregious.

{truly truly  horrifying}

all night and into the days to come, 

people were incredulous about how this parent "could do such terrible things to a child?!? "

i heard lots of "i would never..." 

and variations on how even the death penalty would be too lenient in this situation. 

we had lots of judgment to throw around.

{and i get those sentiments}
i, like my colleagues, felt sick to my stomach.
to imagine what this child had endured in its short life.
indelible marks.
an inescapable narrative.

but i also found myself countering with:

it is not our job to judge; we don't know all the facts

reminders that parents are often driven to a place beyond the reach of their right mind

and sometimes it doesn't seem to take much of a push

{and sometimes, i think} 

it is but for grace that any of us parents are able to 

stay within the the bounds of a right mind

i do not excuse the abuse.

i do not condone the actions of one who abuses.

but i am sympathetic to the moments a parent faces 

when it takes all the protective resources one has in their life

{and then some}

  to rail against the wall of risks, depravity, and insecurity

and to

rise above the demons of our personal narrative

some days you need a little pretty in your life

{the end}

a biter

last month, i wrote this post:

there is a biter at our youngest's school.

actually, there are three biters.

our kiddo comes home with marks almost every day he is there.

and today he came home with a report that he bit someone else...and broke skin.

as a parent of a child bitten, i feel indignation and frustration that the other parents and the school are not able to get a handle on this.  as a parent of a biter, i feel shame because he is biting someone else. as a therapist, familiar with child development, i know this behavior is within normative boundaries and it will pass.  

it is really hard to balance the rational and emotional when it comes to issues like biting.  

so i sign the incident reports. 

check in and support the teachers' efforts. 

reinforce the "no biting" message with my kiddo. 

and i wait.

 today, we celebrate 4 weeks of biting sobriety...

the great cursing experiment

"I know the b-word" he called out from the back seat.

{Oh yes, what is that?}

"Bitch," he says.

{Do you know what that means; can you use it in a sentence?}

"Well, I don't really know what it means but you might say to someone What a bitch! or Don't be such a bitch!"

{Hm, do you ever use the b-word?}

"No, because I don't really know what it means and it is not a good idea to use words if you don't know what they mean.  And besides, I think that one is a hard one to use without making someone feel bad."

{Sounds like a good way to discern the use of a swear word, bubby}

------

Back before we had kids, my husband and I peppered our language with curse words.

I, moreso than he, as most will attest.

Back before we had kids, we decided we still wanted to pepper our language with curse words - 

even after the kids were born.  And maybe even in their presence.

And so we have.  

It has been the great cursing experiment.

Our logic is this:  

We do it. The movies and shows do it. Other kids and adults do it. Our friends do it.

Our kids will do it.

And we would like to be able to influence how and when they do it.

There are rules {of course}:

1. Assess your audience
2. Use it in context

3. If you get in trouble, you face the consequences

4. Don't curse at people {don't use your words to make another person feel bad}

It took our eldest 6 years to really use any curse words.

And now, he uses them intermittently 

{and primarily while playing video games} 

with a 

"Mom, these enchiladas are fuckin' awesome!" to keep it real.

giving props

in discussing plans for the upcoming holidays, i realized i am thankful to have choices.

we have invitations to be with family or friends and those invitations are wide open - no expectations.

but beyond feeling good about having choices, 

i feel deeply grateful to my parents and my in-laws because:

while they love to see us and spend time together {holidays or not}, neither party holds too tightly to us having to be one place or another for holidays.  

the traditions we have are bound to people, rather than a particular place at a particular time.

i am sure they have preferences.

but we don't feel the pressure.

furthermore, they seem to recognize our family unit's tendency to develop family-like friends and 

are encouraging about our choosing to use our sparse resources to make those regular connections.

i am thankful.

and

in this important regard, 

i feel known.

boss of change

Reality check:

All things change.

In general, I really like {and have a need} for things to change.

But as I encounter a number of changes taking place, across numerous life spheres, I realize:

I do not like change as much as I thought I did.

I do not like change being put upon me.

I have too many questions. I have too many opinions. 

I have too many things to say about the changes being made.

To put a finer point on it:

I do like {and possibly love} change.

as long as

I am the boss of change.

quiet living amongst the dead

We attended a viewing for family of family and took our nieces, who had been at the funeral home all day, out for dinner with our kids. 

Just beyond the doors of the funeral home, the city was hosting a School of Rock concert. 

There was no way you could miss the music. 

The kids, all under the age of 9, were enthralled and stopped on the sidewalk to stare.

Once we started walking again, one of the kids said:

"they really shouldn't have a rock concert tonight outside the funeral home."

{Why do you say that?} I ask

"Because someone has died and rock music doesn't respect everyone's sadness."

We continued on and talked about the role and power of music to help people cope with grief.

How sometimes rock music or even heavy metal music or a genre of music that feels to us as 

"too much" might help someone else feel less sad.  

And then we arrived to our destination.

But I was thinking more about our conversation.

{imagine that}

About the accuracy of her statement.

Because the music did feel a little bit inappropriate as we walked out from 

the quiet living taking place amongst the dead.

But it also served as permission to take our dinner to the playground to play.

And felt, in some way, a tribute to a life well-lived.

good friends

tonight i am thankful for good friends.

those friends with whom 

you can pick up where you left off and

experience the fullness of life and love wherever you are

together

those friends with whom

you are able to laugh and cry in the same conversation

and find companionship in those life details that seem novel

and mundane

those friends with whom

you discover new tidbits about yourself and

become reacquainted with tidbits you thought were long past

those friends with whom

time spent together is never enough

tonight i am thankful for good friends.

a glimmer of hope

this week has been marked by loss. brokenness. injustice. and despair.

in the lives of family and friends.

in the lives of my clients.

 i feel like i have spent a long while on the mourning bench.

last night was no different.

i sat with a family as they tried to take in the neurologist's words:

"right now it is not looking good...this medication is the only chance...for some sort of recovery but we just don't know..."

medication administered.

hurry up and wait.

one hour later, i walked by to provide support to the family before they moved the patient to the ICU.

the mourning bench was moved away from the bedside.

the patient was talking. joking. touching the faces of family members.

that moment. that miracle.

doesn't erase the loss. the brokenness. the injustice. the despair.

but it goes a long way to remind me that amidst all of the sucky-ness in life, 

there is light. 

there is good-ness.

there is hope.

uh uh uh, should've said...

we used to play an improv game called "should've said."

a scene would commence on stage and when the narrator said, "uh uh uh, should've said" we would reformulate our last line, which had the effect of changing the course of the scene.

i play this game by myself now.

most often saying {uh uh uh, should've said} in my head when confronted with a situation needing fixin'.

for example, a couple of weeks ago:

we took our kiddo to the emergency room {not the one where i work} for the first time ever.

he was fine {and tubing} in the morning and then had a fever of 104.2, complaining of severe neck pain after lunch.  none of it seemed to respond to ibuprofen, so off to the ER we went.

his fever finally started to break around the time the doctor(s) came in to examine him.

{of course}

the medical team asked "so why did you bring him in again?...clinically speaking, he looks in perfect health...it is probably just a virus and the swab will come back negative but we will run one anyway.  although, if it comes back positive, he is likely just a strep carrier..."

an expensive ER visit, with a side of condescension to-go.

{uh uh uh, should've said...}

"you know, with a fever that high and complaints of neck pain, you did the right thing to bring him in.

especially if it didn't seem like the medication was bringing his fever down.

given his reported history of recurrent strep throat, we would like to run a swab to rule it out but clinically speaking, we are not seeing anything at this point to indicate infection...so it is probably just a virus..."

yo! it is the same clinical outcome, just with a side of validation for the parents

{who contemplated this decision for 2 hours, skipped dinner, drove 30 minutes to get there, and are out-of-network}

i know there are many people who misuse the emergency room for medical care. 

but those patients do not represent all patients and, furthermore, our family is not one of them.

and even if we were, a medical team has no right to treat us like we are idiots.

there are ways to both validate and educate, without resorting to condescension.

{just sayin'}

p.s. 

our kiddo woke up 10 hours later with pus draining from his ear. 

it makes me wonder what "perfect health" looks like.

i love you but i don't like you

{i love you but i don't like you}

is one of the most revolutionary phrases in my marriage.

admittedly, I am a smidge of a hothead.

i don't like to have to say something disingenuous in order to make someone feel better. 

when in the midst of an argument, sometimes i need some more time to be mad 

but my spouse needs permission to reduce his attentiveness to the task of trying to "fix it." 

"is there anything I can do...?" he asks

{nope, I just need to not like you for a little while longer}

it is genuine.

it is not forever.

it is the best I can do.

How about you?

thou shalt not steal

i once stole a post-it pad from a printer shop.

it was an honest steal

{the nearby sign said "take one"}

but when my mother asked where i got it, her tone made me feel like i had done something wrong.

so i lied.

i told her i got it from a friend and when she called to check it out with said friend, i might have said i won it as a prize...

well, it is no surprise my lies were uncovered; my mother took me back to the print shop to reconcile.

the owner accepted my apology and the money i gathered from my red patent leather wallet.

then he got down on a knee, looked me in the eyes and said:

you see that building over there?

that is a juvenile detention facility {blah blah blah blah}...that is where you will go if you steal again.

nod. gulp. 

{breathe, daphne, breathe}

his words were not the whole truth but something about the interaction stuck with me.

i can't say with confidence that i never stole or lied or broke any rules/laws from that day forward.

though, with confidence, i can say each time i am confronted with a decision that might maybe come close to doing "wrong," my heart pounds and i get a lump in my throat reminiscent of that day.  

i don't agree with the owner's tactic {shame is never good for anyone} but there was a lesson in there...

three words

the thing about tragedies is they're unexpected.

and i have seen my fair share this year.

being present with people in those moments has changed the way i do things

{above and beyond the always-wear-clean-cute-underwear-when-venturing-out-of-the-house}

no matter my state of mind

no matter my level of cranky

no matter the flurry of activity we are engaged in at the time

i work hard to say:

i love you

before i leave the house

before getting off the phone

before walking away.

no regrets.

no take-backs.

no questions.

bargain hunting

The Costco magazine often offers a recipe so before I recycle it, I flip through the pages. 

This month my eyes wandered to an article featuring an interview with Clark Howard related to his most recent publication Living Large in Lean Times.  I'd never heard of him before and thought, 

 {hey, he might reveal a useful tip or two...}

 I didn't make it past the first question.

The interviewer asks: 

What do you say to the person who says, "I don't have time to go bargain hunting?

Clark Howard says:

I would say, 

"Are you occupying every hour of your day every day of the week?"  

If you look at time as productive hours, the hours we're awake, we're truly not productive all of them.  

There's downtime, there's leisure time...that's time that we can productively put to work saving money.

{um, are you for real?!?}

Listen, I am all for saving money.  

I am all for finding ways to incorporate bargain hunting strategies into my lifestyle.  

However, Howard's glib response to the valid feeling an average person has about life's time constraints leaves a great deal to be desired.  

His response is unbounded and out of balance.  

It is not reasonable for one to spend every awake minute accomplishing the essential tasks for daily living AND bargain hunting.  

Play is important.

Relationships are important.

Relaxation, recuperation, and recreation are important.

{Peanut gallery, any thoughts?}

a case against the (aging) man

www.smurf.com

Have you ever noticed that many popular cartoons cast an aging man as antagonist?

{kind of like feature-length Disney films cast witch-y women...}

When I started thinking about it this morning, I realized this has been the case for cartoons over a number of decades, not just the cartoons made since my kiddo has been watching television.  

Just off the top of my head I can think of:

The Smurfs

Dennis the Menace

Fairly Odd Parents

Sponge Bob Squarepants

Phineas and Ferb

Looney Tunes (think: Elmer Fudd)

This particular antagonist characterization serves well for plot advancement and humor, meeting general appeal across generations but I begin to wonder about the impact {if any} it has on our kiddos as cartoon consumption increases.  Consumption in overall screen time, as well as show quantity. 

Before the hyper-cable options, DVR, Netflix, DVD box sets, and streaming videos on the internet, we had to wait for weekly installments of our favorite shows and the number of overall choices was definitely more limited.  One might argue the former rate of exposure allowed for a more distinct line between real-life and fantasy.  I wonder, on the other hand, if increased screen time combined with the present ability to watch shows in a marathon fashion,  impacts a child's {or adult's, for that matter} ability to delineate between fact and fiction. 

I wonder if it impacts one's expectations for the people in their lives and the roles those people play?

I am sure numerous cartoons provide a counterpoint to my observation but this morning, as my kiddo watched Phineas and Ferb, I started thinking about the meta-message(s) hiding in the belly of this casting choice.  In a time when we are trying to encourage children to identify adults as allies, we have numerous media examples where adults, especially adult men, are not to be trusted.  

What do you think?

i told you so

This morning I had a date to the bagel store with our eldest.

"Ooooh, a marble bagel," he exclaims, "that looks delicious!"

 {Bud, the brown in a marble bagel is pumpernickel, not chocolate, I say.}

 "I don't care. I really really want one."

The bagel guy stood shaking his head but the boy's resolve remained undeterred.

{Okay, but you will need to eat it in its entirety...even if you don't like it.}

"No problem!" he declares.

Within one nibble, he discovered that marble bagels look better than they taste.

That was three hours ago.

One self-prescribed 90-minute rest, two errands, 30 minutes of pleading, and the resolution of "a tummy ache" later, he has problem solved a way to hold true to his end of the bargain: 

toasted, buttered, and loaded with cream cheese.

Now we sit at the dining room table. 

He is staring at his choice and I am trying really hard not to say:

{I told you so}

the economic value of sentiment

When my Oma died, I acquired her off-white writing cabinet.

It's a bit ugly, the knobs are a bit stripped, and the drawers are a bit wonky.

But Oma used to use it.

In fact, I can still envision her sitting at its open mouth, writing letters, paying her bills, and watching the news out of the corner of her eye.

After Oma died, a gaggle of us gathered at her house and sorted through her things.

Decades of accumulation.  A record of mental decline.  Secrets and family history.

Anyone who has gone through this process knows that "emotional" doesn't even begin to describe the experience.

An inevitable byproduct of this sorting process was a divvying up of Oma's belongings.

We each had our things: the items that held memories and little pieces of our hearts. Our souls.

The items that held our wish for life to remain as it was.  

Unchanged.

It's how I came to own this cabinet and the dusty bouquet of silk flowers sitting in the dining room; 

her paintings adorn our apartment's walls.

Looking at these items now, I recall the intensity of feelings I had when we were all together.

Sorting.  Remembering.  Claiming.

The intensity of feeling competitive and jealous and vulnerable.  Of feeling loss and grief and fear.

To lay claim to take something having belonged to her meant having to put into words the value it maintained...for me.  

Could my words be adequate enough to convey its value?  

Could my words be eloquent enough to trump the value maintained by another?

What currency are words?  Feelings?  Memories?

A while back some friends and I joked that we should write a manual for how to navigate the process of sorting and divvying belongings after a loved one's death.  We talked about how awesome it would be if we could develop a rubric for determining the economic value of sentiment and market it

as a tool for use in these complex family situations.  

We laughed about it over the remnants of brunch but I think about it often when I look at the cabinet.

Whose value to me is:

Priceless.

designation: crazy mom

We are leaving our eldest son with his grandparents for the week and they brainstormed a long list of activities from which to choose.   While reviewing the list with us, my father-in-law says:

"Oh, do you think he will enjoy riding the tractor?"

"Are the mower blades installed yet?" I reply.

"Well, yeah, of course."

"Then I'd prefer you not take him on the tractor," I hear myself say.

 {SILENCE}

{mother-in-law and father-in-law exchange a look; i feel my ears burning}

I know they will respect my wishes but it is clear they aren't convinced I am making a rational request.  

To be fair: I am not sure it's rational either.

I have a thing about lawnmowers.

When I was younger I would mow the lawn and the whole time I would be planning out the steps I would need to take in the event I accidentally ran over my foot - or another person's foot -  knowing the habit my siblings had of darting across the lawn right in front of me.  So it seems reasonable that I would not feel excited to seek out opportunities for our kids to ride lawn-mowing capable tractors 

{despite the sentimental attraction to the childhood event}

Added to my own internal neurosis is an external factor:

as an ER social worker,  

I have had to  sit alongside grandparents and parents as they wait for their kiddo who is in the operating room for surgery following a partial amputation from an incident with a riding lawnmower...

on which the mower blades were NOT engaged!

{a couple of cases came in just in the past 2 months}

So, yes.

I can appreciate how much fun our sons' cousins had on the tractor last week 

{the pictures and videos are totally adorable, i bet. and p.s. did you really think peer pressure would work?!?}

but I am not down with it.  This is one part of my crazy I can't tamp down - despite best efforts.

I will accept the paper plate award on this decision:

Crazy Mom

punctuality

When I was 16, my grandparents gifted me a watch.

The accompanying card said something about the 

importance of being punctual and 

maybe now that I have a watch, I'd be able to be "more on time."

{ouch}

Here's the thing:

Tardiness was our family culture.

{I mean, honestly, at age 16 I was barely able to get myself from point a to point b without a chauffeur}

Who am I kidding? 

Tardiness remains a notorious way of being when my family of origin gets together.

But as I gave myself high marks for punctuality on a recent self-evaluation at work, 

I felt a great sense of pride and satisfaction and wanted to say "So there!" to my grandparents.

{Obviously, I have taken their suggestion to heart}

As further evidence, last week, in an attempt to pull off a major surprise for my mother, I was significantly late for her celebration event.  In later conversation, she confided to me that she had started getting worried about me because
"that's so unlike you to be late..."

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED:

Importance of punctuality: Internalized.

SO THERE, Grandma and Grandpa!

happy anniversary

6 . 17 . 2011

{it's eleven years today}

{i came across this piece of goodness last month, written by my friend Jill - back in the day...}

"Why wouldn't he wait for you?"

I asked my friend who was leaving the love of her life behind in the states to study for a semester in Hungary. Her eyes had sparkled before when she spoke of other guys but never like this. 

I remembered S, the Q-tip-headed sophomore whose blue eyes cooled pangs of college freshman awkwardness like a good back rub. She liked S, though I doubt she'll admit it now. He would pick her up from behind and pretend to throw her into the puddles in the walkways. I tended to trip into them all on my very own. Still, I always envied her pick-up-able-ness and the way she could hold a straight face when she teased him. And oh, he was easy to tease. Frankly, I found him annoying and was glad when this year she told me with waving arms that "church-boy" had spoken to her.

Now, flaky-ness was neither a characteristic of her, nor I, but I saw what being looped can do to a person. She was geeked - as we said back then - and I was wired from the second pot of coffee we'd just finished off.  That was when I looked up from the napkin holder I was fiddling with and glanced at her face.  I knew that is was a man's eyes that attracted her but I'm not sure she realized the effect Trevor's eyes had on her own.  

Or TJ, as she later called him in all playful affection.  She made me swear not to call him "church-boy" though that's where she first saw his eyes--at church.  I should know what color they are after all the times she would mention them and let her head fall dreamily to her shoulder.  She did.
But like I was saying, his eyes affected hers and I don't know if she even realized it.  

Her face was her trademark.
Her laugh, her smile, the way she could cross her eyes, and the way she listened to my deepest fears and joys.  She was, from the start, one of the most enjoyable people to talk with and I could hardly blame Trevor for his attraction to her.
Besides the fact that they both picked their feet, their eyes bonded them.

Now Daphne, that is her name in case I forgot to mention it, could look at Trevor and read his thoughts.  After all, they were often hers. She called him on his mistakes with her eyes and watched to see if they were in fact laughing about the same thing...or person.  

Now, when she was just about to leave, her eyes were alive.  Perhaps there was an inkling of doubt about their relationship in her mind, for as far as I knew they'd spoken of "companionship" but the words "I dig you" were never said, but her eyes shone with one-hundred percent pure life.

To any outside viewer their eyes seemed perfectly normal - I mean, they weren't bug-eyed or anything - and each of them had two per nose, one per ear.  I don't want them ot come off as super-human, although I had seen Daphne's eyes bug out once in our reflection in the bathroom mirror when we filled the sink with toilet paper and lit it on fire.  Normally her eyes were fine.  This time they were lined with a little but of worry.  In steps turbo-friend. That's right, me the puddle-stomper.

In all seriousness, I did not see a reason why he wouldn't wait.  After all, not everyone graduates and gets married to the first person they meet on the street and Trevor had met Daphne in church.  Trevor seemed to be a good lad and loyal to the core.  I wondered if I had to put to rest her self-esteem doubts again but she had to see how beautiful she was when the mirror reflected healthy brown hair and a tan body.  She once said she didn't like the way she look much.  "Same way you wouldn't like child's tousled hair," I wanted to say.  I think Daphne is very beautiful and she's fortunate enough to have a hilarity about her to enhance it even more.  But I think she was more concerned about the wait.

Trevor is kindred.  She knows this.  

I also happen to know that she would wait for him forever and two days; two because he has two nice eyes. (Three because she's seen more than she'll ever let on).  That is a long time and, if I know anything about Daphne, she's been hurt before and would only wait if she knew TJ would wait for her.  And he would, for forever and four days--two because she has two nice eyes.  He would only not wait if he was sub-human but you will not find a worm with eyes like his and I told her that.  I think she may have taken that one wrong so I spread the butter out flat.

"Daph, Trevor will wait because he knows you wait for him as no one else does."

And I looked at her face and something clear and round and salty washed the life right back into her eyes.

{happy anniversary}

park hater

I am a park hater.

Although, that designation probably doesn't really capture the truth about how I feel.

I really believe in parks and public play spaces.

Especially in contrast to everyone having their own private play spaces in the backyard.

I mostly just hate taking my kids to the park.

That doesn't quite capture the hater in me either.

The hater in me hates:

that the park doesn't have anything for me to do...

except chase my kids around or

sit on a bench feeling pressure to play with them but wishing I could read my book or magazine

{meanwhile other parents chase their kids around and I sit there feeling like a bad parent - sounds like a personal issue, eh?}

The hater in me hates:

that most play equipment is simultaneously too big and too small for my kids

and most definitely is too little for me...to play or to assist my kids' play.

The hater in me hates:

standing around in the presence of other parents, 

not sure if it is proper etiquette to make small talk

while my kids have no trouble establishing one-afternoon stand friendships with their kids.

The hater in me hates:

how lonely and boring it feels to go to the park with my kids.

But it is easier to say "park hater" than to say

A-person-who-prefers-not-to-go-to-the-park-for-a-variety-of-selfish-reasons.

Ultimately, though, my hater status doesn't matter because

my kids love the park.

time is on your side

I have plans.  I have ambitions.

If you ask most anyone who knows me, I have something that I am working on.

Big plans

The kind of plans that get me rejected for a job because I am

"obviously not looking to stay here long-term - you know, to make this your career."

{Hm}

All my life I have had people say, "slow down, take it easy, don't kill yourself...!"

You've got so much time.

You've got so much time to accomplish what you want to accomplish.

Enjoy yourself!

And all my life those admonitions have given me a rash the size of Montana.

{Seriously}

a.

I am enjoying myself.

b.

I am enjoying myself AND I have plans.

c.

I do much better when life/a job/things are a little challenging.  

{this is for real}

d.

None of the above are mutually exclusive.

{and that might not make sense to you}

In fact, at this moment, life is a little crazy.

It makes me crazy and I feel a smidge claustrophobic but the truth is: I like it that way.

At this moment, I have plans that extend pretty darn far.

 I recently met with my supervisor, and she said to me,

"Daphne, the good news is, you have time..."

For the first time, those words felt like salve to some anxiety that was mounting.

She spoke wisdom into my life.

Statement of fact:
you have time.

No need to tell me to slow down 

{that'd be futile, obvi}

No need to tell me to enjoy myself 

{because she can see how much i am enjoying myself, even if things are not going according to plan}

No need to warn me against killing myself 

{because one might need a little sadomasochism to get where i wanna go}

And just like that, those words I hated so much were transformed:

Time is on your side.

{yes, it is}

daphne's bicycle season part two: advocacy

Now that I have garnered a bit of ego strength for my cycling habit, I find myself entering the part of the season where the advocate in me swells.  This is the part of the season where want to shout:

People!

Even if you cannot get your skinny rubber tires on the road, supporting non-motorists on the road has many benefits to offer you!

{yes, you, the motorist}

For instance, non-motorized travel has a positive impact on the environment, reduces traffic congestion {yep, even if someone is cycling below the speed limit in your lane},

lowers our collective dependence on non-renewable energy sources such as oil, reduces individual transportation costs, and has a positive impact on one's health and wellness.

Did you know that nearly 40% of all motorized trips are "short" trips that are bike-able or walk-able?

Even before the cost of gas rose so high, AAA estimated the average cost of operating one's car for a year to be approximately $9,600 {consuming about 20% of an average household's income}. 

In contrast, the annual cost of owning and operating a bicycle is $120.

Walking is free.

In 2009, AAA calculates total vehicle operation costs at $54 per 100 miles.  So anytime you are able to replace a short trip (4 miles, round trip) with cycling or waling, you are essentially saving $2.16.

That can add up.

{just sayin'}

How about the benefits for Mother Earth?

Replacing the same short, 4-mile round trip commute with a non-motorized option saves 15 pounds of emissions pollutants from the air we breathe.

In Washtenaw county {where I live}, 

the American Community Survey reports 164,127 employees commute to work. 

74% of those commuters drive alone.

12% car-pooled or utilized public transportation {not taxi}.

Almost 9% utilzed non-motorized modes of transportation.

Let's say, for the sake of argument, that the 14,260 non-motorized commuters each travel 4 miles, round trip, per day.  Calculations would suggest that they alone save

213,900 pounds of pollutants

from entering the air each day.

{that is one county, in one day}

And if the same group of commuters is choosing a non-motorized mode Monday through Friday, that is a savings of over one million pounds of pollutants from entering the air we breathe...
each week!

{that's a lot of pounds of pollution}

So every cycling season I start getting all sorts of riled up about non-motorized transportation.

And despite the complexity of advocacy, the things that get me the most riled up are:

cyclists not cycling safely, pedestrians not walking safely, and motorists not regarding the safety of non-motorists as they drive.

Here's the thing:

We know the benefits but we just need to make the decision to get out there.

And part of getting out there is educating one another on how to get out there safely.

Because a person considering using non-motorized modes of transportation feels the threat to their safety {here comes that cyclist-inferiority complex again}, which often acts as a primary deterrent -
despite what one knows about the obvious health, economic, and environmental benefits.

Yo.

I know many of our circumstances preclude the choice to utilize non-motorized modes of travel -
even the occasional choice.

However, we can all choose to learn about and educate one another about how to safely share the road.

And to use what we know.

Respectfully.

{It's a win-win}
and p.s. Don't forget your helmet.

behind bars

A prisoner came in to the ER with a significant health issue.

"Critical patient in Resus Alpha"

{This is my cue}

Partway to the trauma bay I am stopped by a colleague who states, 

"Resus A is a prisoner so you don't need to go down there."

{Hm}

My colleague continued,

"Prisoners don't have rights.  While here, the prison is their family; it is the decision of prison staff to determine whether a patient's medical condition merits family of origin contact."

{As if a prisoner is somehow less human, less scared, less ill...and what about the family...do they have rights...will they receive support?}

An urgent page took me on to the next patient but this exchange leaves me feeling unsettled. 

It feels a bit like a breach in my ethics...as a clinician but also as a human being.

What do you think?

daphne's bicycle season part one: ego strength

It is bicycle season again!

This week as I perch on the edge of a chair or climb the stairs, my body reminds me of this season.

But when I am on the road, I hardly notice my muscles and tuchus are sore as I pedal from place to place.  

{Love: Hate}

Beyond the soreness of getting back into the saddle, however, this season tends to start with a little conflict as I {re}develop my bicycle ego strength.

Each year I set a goal to replace at least two car trips each week with bicycle trips.  My goal was initiated out of the realization that I typically commute less than three miles to work or play and with the seasonal road construction, it takes me longer and longer to travel by car.   In addition, the rise in gas prices and my ever-increasing awareness  {ask me sometime what I envision/think every time I turn the key in the ignition} of emissions pollution from my car use make it difficult to ignore the benefits of non-motorized travel.

So every year, I pump air into my bike tires, strap on my helmet, and hit the road!

And every year my presence on the road {because that's where I prefer to ride and p.s. that's where bikes are "supposed" to ride} is met with motorists yelling {or displaying} obscenities, giving obnoxious honks {you try biking up this hill, yo!}, and motorists buzzing me as they pass or clipping me at intersections.

{I am pretty sure I am not invisible}

And for the first 3 weeks I ride, I feel exhilarated with the freedom from the confines of motorized travel but also discouraged in my efforts to share the road.  Every time I ride I have to tell myself: 

{you have a right to be here...you have a right to be here...you have a right to be here...}

You see, intellectually, I am confident of my right to be on the road but the experiences I have push back at that confidence, reinforcing what John Forester refers to as cyclist-inferiority 

{a false belief that cyclists are inferior to motorists}.  

In other words, I feel pressured to get off the road from motorists' {false} sense of superiority.

{Lame, yeah?}

One year, in an attempt to assuage my anxiety, I started looking in the Michigan bicycling laws and other related information to find what I already knew: bicycles are recognized as vehicles under Michigan state law and cyclists share the right, with motorists, to travel on the road.  As an additional note, cyclists are required to obey traffic laws, which include stopping at lights and stop signs, signaling when turning or stopping {which reminds me I need a refresher on how to signal when I am stopping}, and riding as far right in a lane as safely possible.

And so this year, I am once again reminded of my rights {and responsibilities} as I get on the road again - using my skinny rubber tires to get from here to there.

{I have a right to ride here...I have a right to ride here...I have a right to ride here...}

that moment on the couch

No one* ever talks about that moment on the couch.

That moment when you are in the midst of the biggest fight to date.

That moment when you think "oh my god, what did we do...why did we ever decide to get married?!"

That moment when you have no more fight in you.

No one ever talks about that moment on the couch.

The one where you feel so alone - even though there is someone sitting right next to you.

The one where you feel like everything you've worked for is on the verge of being gone.

The one where you and your partner have nothing left to say.

No one ever talks about that moment on the couch.

That moment when you think about leaving but where would you go?

That moment when you think about leaving but what about our kids? our family? our friends?

That moment when you know you should stay but staying feels a little bit like dying.

No one talks about that moment on the couch.

The one where it seems impossible the sun will come out tomorrow.

The one where you think "where do we go from here?"

The one where getting off the couch feels like defeat.

No one talks about that moment on the couch.

The moment when you have to make a decision.

Are you in? or  Are you out?

No one talks about that moment on the couch.

But we've all been there {in some shape or form}

We've done that.

Love is patient. Love is kind.
but Love is also that
 moment.

{*By "no one" I do mean very few...but it FEELS like no one}

essential

Time of Death. 

21:14

"I am so sorry for your loss."

The doctors remove their gloves, toss them into the trash, and walk out of the room.

Grief and the tapping of the nurse's keyboard the only sounds left behind.

The physicians go on to their next patients.

The nurses move on to their next patients.

The family is left alone with their loved one.

Uncertain about what happens next.

My way into social work was not straightforward and I was not a willing participant in the process.

{initially}

But now I find myself working in an Emergency Room.

And I love it.

People often ask me what I do.

A little of this, a little of that, I say.

{usually with more detail}

The truth is it is difficult to succinctly describe the social work role in an Emergency Room setting.

Sometimes it feels we are a valuable part of the medical team and sometimes not so much.

{it happens}

But in the moment of death 

When it's the job of the doctors & nurses & physician assistants & techs to move on to the next room,

It is my job to sit alongside a family as they come to terms with what comes next.

To sit alongside a family as the finality of death sets in.

At that moment my role is simultaneously vital and heart-wrenching; it is both ordinary and gritty.

And that is why I love my job.

rest in peace

advanced placement birds and the bees

Before we even had children, my husband and I determined we would answer our kiddos' questions openly and honestly, avoid euphemisms, and utilize accurate terminology...while maintaining developmental appropriateness.

Which is how, when our oldest was 3, he was able to tell me (after I'd been away leading a retreat) about how "a sperm and an egg get together and hang out to make an embryo and their cells divide and divide and make a tail and then the tail disappears and you get a baby.."

{exactly right, buddy}

Since then we have filled in some details...

sperm comes from a penis

eggs are housed in "fill-open" tubes

babies are born from a vagina - unless surgery is required...

and have been thankful for his restraint in asking more detailed questions.

{until last week}

gulp.

I had just returned from a trip.

We were reading together on the couch when he states how he would like a baby sister, as if it is just that easy, right?  I told him I appreciated his enthusiasm but we weren't in the market for any baby sisters at this point and besides, it isn't something you can just decide one day and make happen the next.

"i know, i know," he says.

{silence}

We continue reading for a bit and then he says, 

"Hey, how do the sperm and egg get together anyway? I mean, how does the sperm get from a penis to a vagina?"

{crap}

"Well, most often a man and a woman have sex in order to get pregnant..."  {holding my breath}

"Does sex mean the penis and vagina get together?" he asks.  {yes, i say}

"So you and Daddy had sex twice..." he surmises. {thank goodness he can't see me smirk}

"People usually have sex more than just to make babies," I say

{please don't ask why, please don't ask why, please don't ask why}

"Why?" he asks 

{of course}

{deep breath} "Mostly because they find it feels good," I suggest.

{silence}

"Does it feel good because the vagina is soft and squishy?" he asks

I inquire after his impression of the vagina and he says,

"A baby comes out of the vagina so it can't be hard and crunchy because then it would hurt the baby..."

{indeed, i say}

"Hey," he says, "did you know that there are some fish that are alive in the world right now that came from the prehistoric age...?"

And just like that, the lesson was over.

And now...

I wonder how this information translates on the playground.

I wonder after the wisdom of our candid approach.

I wonder how this impacts his perception of adults with children.

I wonder when he will ask the inevitable "next" questions.

I wonder how long he will continue to trust us to provide the information over the tales of his friends.

And I think:

Time will tell.

oh, for the love of pantyhose!

Everything I learned about being a professional, I learned from my first supervisor.

It was not an easy task - taming me into a professional.

I am fairly certain she had no idea what she was up against.

But she was stubborn and that counted for something.

There was that one time... 

when I had a rough morning with a few pairs of pantyhose (think dog puke) and I showed up to work with bare legs (I did have on a long skirt, mind you) for an "event." 

There were no pleasantries. 

There was no sympathetic listening.

Just this:

"...you need to get your little coat on...get into your little car...and go find some pantyhose before I see you again..."

It was not a good day.

But I learned...

...that you have less than 15 seconds to make an impression on someone.

...the impression you make often has a lot to do with what you wear and how you present yourself 

{beyond confidence. beyond your oration ability. beyond how well you "know your stuff."}

...it is important to wear pantyhose for "events" and "interviews."  

{Of course}

...it is important that you wear clothing that does not show nipples, or bra straps, or too much cleavage.

...it is important to wear pants that are neither too saggy nor too tight and skirts that aren't too short

{It's not really anyone's business to see what you are packing underneath, after all}

...it is important to wear a little makeup

{especially if that is what it takes to make you look "awake"}

...no one really wants to see your belly button when you are offering support or a sales pitch.

...it is fun to be a professional - when you know the rules - and are willing to play by them.

So, as I donned a pair of pantyhose in preparation for a recent interview, I couldn't help but feel appreciative of the lengths my supervisor had gone to "learn me" into a professional.  

I still don't like wearing pantyhose.  

But they, and the other lessons, serve me well. 

Every time.