Barefoot Essentials

My dear husband got me the Vibram Five Fingers for Christmas, and last night I broke them in. These funny looking running shoes with toes were an eye-catcher. I was the only one wearing them at the gym. Needless to say, my shoes were a magnet for snickers and furtive pointing, and will probably be the subject of conversation for many gym groupies. And once upon a time, I was one of those fools who laughed at these ridiculous shoes and labeled the wearer as some gung-ho freak for the next shoe hype.

But after reading that book “Born to Run” by Christopher McDougall and a little further research, I was convinced the true hype was from the expensive, highly padded shoes I’ve been buying from shoe giants like Nike, Asics, and Reebok. The shoe industry got it wrong. “Protecting” runners’ legs and joints with heavy shoes that provided padding and buffers and cushioning was doing more harm than good. Humans are natural runners, using only the beautiful feet we were born with. Our feet were designed with balls and toes that support and balance our bodies everytime they land on the ground. And as we use our feet more often, pushing our skills from walking, to tippie-toeing, to jumping, to running…we naturally build the muscles and develop strength to match our ever increasing needs.

Those cushioned shoes are preventing our feet and legs from developing those muscles and strength, hence foot and leg injuries occur. In fact, foot and leg injuries have increased despite the advances in shoes cushioning and padding. And it is clear why. The more we protect our feet, the weaker they become.

As I walked around the treadmills at the gym, I noticed the feet of other runners with their big shoes. They landed on their heels, which is the exact opposite of how we should land. Try jumping barefeet and notice how we land on our forefoot and toes, the natural way of landing and balancing. Our heels were not meant to absorb the shock of our whole body when it lands, the shoe supposedly absorbs it…but in the long run our knees and backs pay the price.

The Vibram Five Fingers felt so comfortable, and I could actually feel the ground with my feet. I felt a connection, a sense of awareness of the surface I was walking on. I felt that same nostalgia and summer glee of walking outside after winter months of staying indoors. It was like putting on a brand new pair of shoes and I couldn’t wait to run with the wind. My feet felt free to move, did not have that cramped feeling of imprisonments. My feet felt healthier and more balanced.

So come on, bring out that super-athlete in you. Go out there and run barefoot, it’s so good for you.

Vaccination Consternation

Yesterday, everything went to hell at the doctor’s office. The girls were getting their shots. Sophia had a total of 5!! Isla had 3!! The poor dears, their tearful screams were enough to send me to an insane asylum…I felt so bad! At first, Sophia had no idea she was getting shots, and she was all happy and cooperative, a perfect angel. But as soon as the LVN came in the room with the needles, there was no reasoning with her. It took a full 10 minutes just to get her sweater off as she screamed bloody murder. With all the ruckus, the baby put in her two cents and started her shrilling cry. And to top it off, the LVN was no help as she just stood there watching me and Cam wrestle with our perfect daughter to expose her arms just so 5 needles can be jabbed into them. Sophia was surprisingly strong, it was like tackling down a tarp in a category 5 typhoon (believe me, it's impossible). “I really don’t have all day,” the LVN said disapprovingly. Why don’t I stick those needles up your a$$ and see how you like it B!@tch! We finally called another person to help hold Sophia down. HOLY MARY MOTHER….it was so painful to watch. Her gushing tears were making me cry. Then it was Isla’s turn and I had to hold her legs down. I felt weak with guilt. With all the screaming and the LVN rushing about, I was concerned about her getting all the needles right.

When it was all over and after about 15 minutes of calming the girls down, we finally left and headed for Coldstone Creamery for well deserved treats. Candy Cane ice cream with rainbow sprinkles and marshmallows made all the owwies go away. That and 5 princess stickers. Let’s see what happens next year.

Where the wild things are

Traveling with children certainly changes the destination and adventure. When it was just Cam and me, we were free to wine and dine in the poshest restaurants; we scanned cities with thoughts of romance and relaxation; we jumped on tour buses at a moment’s notice, route unknown; our itineraries included words like “class 5 rapids” and “extreme downhills” and signed waivers were required before we let our adrenaline do the walking; we went to bed every night without really sleeping (wink wink) and woke up every morning to a new city; we signed up for dangerous missions and packed whatchamacallits with our unmentionables; and need I mention all the hot cars we wrecked and the bottomless glasses of martinis we drank – yeah, shaken not stirred.*

(*disclaimer: the last few events took place only in the author’s so called mind, but exaggerations are so much more fun to write.)

Now that we are traveling with kids, the adventure really begins in the airplane…no, at the airport…well actually, the trip to the airport. Okay, so the adventure begins even before we leave the house. Packing is pretty wild. It’s not just clothes anymore. We have to figure out a way to haul the car seat, stroller, booster chair, and toys along with our baggage. Then somehow stuff diapers, bottles, breast pump, snacks, books, lap tops, DVD’s, extra clothes, and more toys into a luggage that’s already ripping at the seams. And the trip to the airport is even wilder because we have to turn around and return to the house at least three times to retrieve items we’ve forgotten or think we’ve forgotten. But the really wild part is at the airport. If you haven’t gone through security with a stroller and a baby strapped to the carseat…well you haven’t really lived. And let’s not talk about the plane-ride if you are pregnant, have back pain, epilepsy, or heart-problems.

When we arrive and finally get to enjoy the city/resort/jungle/wasteland we’ve chosen to throw our hard-earned money at, the first thing we do is rest-up, and sleep, and rest some more, and sleep some more. We must always have a plan when we go out; our maps clearly show where the public restrooms and play-areas are. Dining choices are limited to “kid-friendly” restaurants and must have diaper-changing stations in the restrooms. There’s nothing wilder than using a beautiful restroom sink as a tub to bathe a toddler covered in poo (yes...sh!*t happened, it really did). Tipping the server is a wild adventure as the percentage increases with every utensil dropped, drink spilled, food thrown, and yes even glassware broken. The looks we get from strangers are no longer because we are a cute couple in love but because there’s a baby screaming and the other child is wrapped around my leg. Hotel fitness rooms are no longer essential with all the running around between zoos, aquariums, playgrounds, amusement parks, museums, ice-cream shops, toy stores and any storefront colorful enough to catch a kid's interest.

When we finally return to our hotel room, it’s a whirlwind to get everyone cleaned up and ready for bed. We are so tired but happy, smiles in our faces and all the wildness temporarily spent. As we hug and kiss our kids goodnight and tell them we can’t wait to visit all the wild places again the next day, Cam and I know just how lucky we are to have these adventures at all. We would not change a thing. Not one wild minute.

I (also) have a dream...

I dream of a day when the liberals and the conservatives elected to their thrones can walk together hand in hand and have civil conversations and not judge each other by the parties they belong to but not judge each other at all. I dream that one day, the news media will actually report the facts and not muddle the truth with insinuations and opinions that can sway the minds of those easily swayed. I dream of a time when I don’t have to worry about my daughters getting cancer or developing a chronic disease because of the air they breath, or the water they drink, or the food they eat. I dream of a place where my daughters are free to roam without fear of some stranger snatching them away. I dream of a fair world, not the one we live in now where families lose their jobs, then go homeless and hungry because the government chose instead to use billions of dollars to bail out a fat-cat on Wallstreet. I dream of a day when the budget for teachers is overflowing and students get the rightful education while the military has to hold bakesales just to fund another killing machine. I dream of a day when the healthy organic locally grown vegetables are a dime a dozen and those mass-produced, picked-before-ripened, trucked-in from another country variety packs rot on the shelves because they are too expensive for the average consumer. I dream of a day when huge, gas-guzzling SUV’s stop polluting the air and clogging my parking spots because people have come to realize that they are not driving on rugged mountain roads but smooth paved highways. I dream of a day when the government actually represents all the people and not just the top 1% who have the money and the means to sway officials to their elite causes.

Yes, I also have a dream today. I live in this imperfect world and struggle to make it better for my children. I strive everyday to exalt every valley, to lower the hills and mountains, and to straighten the crooked places. A better place, a better tomorrow, a better world. That is my hope.

Happy MLK day to one and all.

Pipe Dreams

We got together with some friends: 3 husbands, 2 wives, and a whole lot of kids running around in my tiny house (and this was after running around in the park for 3 hours!) I played the good hostess: pizza, chips, salsa, popcorn and beer all around while playing referee/coach to the kids and babying the baby (I’m really getting good with this multi-multi-tasking thing!)

The conversation: investing. Who’s money? Mine, his, ours. The idea: if each family had $10 thousand to spare, let’s all pool it together and make millions in the stock market! If not the stock market, maybe have a brilliant idea, invent something, and again make millions! The three guys were all excited, spouting out plans to lure investors, suggesting companies (evil vs. good) worthy of our time and money, checking out stocks in real time (the I-Phone came in handy), naming billionaires who have done it (and bygosh, why couldn’t we!)

The guys were about to pee in their pants with the excitement of spending money they didn’t have. The other wife and I ate the chips and rolled our eyes. Patiently, we listened to their pipe dreams, nodding our heads appropriately. They were like children who have just cracked open a piggy bank. They wanted the yachts, the beach house, the Learjet, and a small private island – all they had to do was play the stock market: buy low and sell high – just how hard can it be! Now, show me the money!

Calmly, the other wife said: if she had to trust her money with anyone in the room, it would be with me – the only other woman in the room. I beamed with pride. My husband laughed (laughter stopped short with my evil eye). He claimed I was too emotional and could not be trusted with money (such bravery to speak about me like that, even if in jest). He said I think emotionally. What does that even mean?

But then again, much beer was imbibed that night, and so the discussion and dreams became more grandiose and eventually dwindled down to nothing. The night ended and we returned to reality. Pipe dreams to be continued at the next smoke-out.

That night, as we snuggled in bed, I asked my husband again if he would trust me with his money. “Yes, of course I would trust you. You have really good judgement,” he said. Good answer, honey. See how fickle men can be depending on the company they are with? Now who’s thinking emotionally.

But why mommy?

This morning, I interrupted my 4-year-old Sophia from her morning cartoons to ask her to change out of her pajamas. However, she had other fashion plans and told me she really liked her Rapunzel sleep wear and would like to wear it all day. I argued that while the outfit looked really pretty on her, it was only for sleeping and she needed to wear something else for playing, and so in my most commanding-I-am-the-boss-here voice, I took my charge as a mom and asked her again to change for the tenth time. As she reluctantly marched to her room, in her whiny-I-never-get-my-way voice, she asked “but why mommy? Why can’t I wear my jammies all day?”

The same confrontation happened at breakfast when she wanted to eat macaroni and cheese instead of cereal. I explained that we can eat Mac and Cheese for lunch, it wasn’t appropriate for breakfast. Again, in that voice, she asked “But why mommy, why can’t I eat what I want for breakfast?”

For both questions, I gave a reasonable answer, but later I began to question my answers. Why indeed can’t we wear that or eat this at certain times of the day? Why can’t we wear pajamas all day if they are comfortable and why can’t we eat mac and cheese for breakfast? Why am I making my daughter follow a routine that I don’t necessarily follow myself. I sometimes go to sleep in my scrubs and go to the store in my jammies simply because they felt comfortable right then and there. And I admit I’ve eaten a cold pizza or ice cream for breakfast and cheerios for dinner because I wanted to. Why am I putting limits on my daughter on the littlest things, when I am trying my best to open her mind and teach her to be a free spirit? And who exactly says that we can’t eat what we want for breakfast? It’s the first meal of the day…we should be able to eat what we want. We have the rest of the day to replenish or reduce our consumption. And oh please, if that pajama is comfortable enough to sleep in, it certainly is good enough to play in. If Sophia is free to decide for herself what is comfortable and likes the clothes she wears at any time of the day, then that is the first step to being comfortable in her own skin.

Auld Lang sighhhh....

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?

For New Year’s Eve, my hubby dearest and I watched the fireworks over the Sacramento River at 9pm, snug and warm in our Subaru parked at Raley’s Field with a thousand other watchers. Our kids sleeping in the backseat, including the dog. Oh sure, we could have gone to a crazy party and drank ourselves to oblivion along with 99% of the population…but that wasn’t us anymore. Now we are just two loving parents whose late night escapades include feeding, burping, and changing diapers.

As we marveled at the spectacular light show against the city backdrop, we wondered when was the last time we actually partied on New Year’s Eve. It certainly wasn’t last year: playing board games with other parents while the kids watched TV isn’t actually partying. I can’t even remember what we did the year before that…but I’m pretty certain we were not wearing party hats and throwing confetti at each other. New Year’s Eve 2007 was almost a party, we were in some street in the Philippines, counting down the seconds along with other friends and many strangers…then went back to our hotel room to play cards with friends. 2006…we were in LA, and watched fireworks with friends, baby Sophia in tow…that was fun…but no wild crazy party.

No, all the wild partying and crazy morning afters where we couldn’t remember what we did the night before all happened…before the baby. Before parenthood, before being mommy and daddy…we were party animals. That last crazy New Year’s Eve Party at our apartment so long ago, where limbo rocked and champagne bottles rolled and neighbors threatened to call the cops, that party now serves as a reference point to the before and after of our lives. We think back and sigh; we look at our kids and sigh; we listen to the escapades of our single friends with no kids and sigh. Auld Lang Syne indeed, those were the days.