Thing Number Thirteen | Chores

This is how I perceive our division of labor:  I do the small daily stuff and he does the big weekly/monthly/yearly stuff. I’m not sure he’d agree, but that’s how I see it. And I don’t think I’d change it. I don’t want to be responsible for the big stuff like taxes. Paint fumes give me a headache. And I am not touching anything pertaining to technology or cars. No way. So I’m definitely grateful for all the big stuff he handles. But sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m grateful for the big stuff he handles when I’m doing the third load of laundry. Or loading the dishwasher with the dishes we used to eat the dinner I cooked. Or going back to Rite Aid, again, because he just realized he’s out of contact lens solution. Chores are a part of life, I know. But I was raised with a dad who did all the vacuuming, who always filled my mom’s car with gas, and who helped with the dishes. In addition to all the other weekly/monthly/yearly stuff he did. But, you know what? Come to think of it, my mom handled the bills. Maybe it really does all even out in the end.

Thing Number Twelve | Watch

I am watching my weight.

Wow, do I miss my 20-year old metabolism. I could eat anything with impunity and my weight never seemed to change. I avoided the freshman fifteen when I went to college. My wedding dress had to be taken in slightly just before the big event because I’d been accidentally losing weight through the summer. Well, that stood to reason; I was doing my hospital placement and it was very stressful and all I did was go to clinic and sleep. Mom used to heat up an enchilada microwave meal for me just before I got home and I’d eat it and then fall asleep on the couch. I did gain some weight a few years into my marriage; not exactly sure why but I took it right back off again.

Now I’m in my late 30’s and I’m 15 pounds over my ideal weight. In the good old days, I’d just eat a little less, move a little more, and the pounds would fall off me. Not anymore. Darn it. Now I have to eat a lot less (and I am really bad at that) and move a lot more (I’m better at that). I’ve been hitting the treadmill about four times a week. I walk at 3.5 mph or do intervals of walking at 2.5-3.5mph and running at 4.0-4.5mph. I’ve also been lifting 10 pound arm weights, doing a variety of leg exercises, and I’ve gotten back to my Pilates. I rotate through any of those about four times a week as well. Each exercise routine (treadmill, weights, etc) is 20 minutes long and I watch a DVRed episode of “The Big Bang Theory” while I’m working out. I’ve been working out for two months now and I haven’t lost a pound. Not. A. Single. Pound. It’s discouraging. I have, however, lost one inch off my bust, one and half inches off my belly, and a quarter inch off my thigh (well, presumably a quarter inch off each thigh but I only measure one). My upper arms definitely look better. My waistbands aren’t as tight. And everything’s a little less jiggly. I’m trying to focus on those positive gains but it still kills that the scale hasn’t moved.

Part of my problem is that I perceive myself to be less overweight than I am. In an America that is collectively struggling with obesity, where everywhere I turn I see people who are fifty pounds plus past their ideal weight, it’s easy to convince myself that I’m doing ok. That I look fine. But it’s really not ok. I’d be healthier if I weighed a little less. I know it and I know how to fix it. I just don’t really want to put in the effort.

Why is that? I feel better when I’m working out. My joints are more supple. I get less winded when I’m climbing stairs. So why don’t I exercise joyfully? After all, I’m watching tv while moving and I could just as easily be watching the exact same show while lying sloth-like on the couch without the added benefits. So what’s my hang-up? Here’s my answer:  I don’t know. I just know that I have to do it, it’s good for me, and I don’t really like it. Oh, well, gotta suck it up. But, wow, do I miss my 20-year old metabolism.

Thing Number Eleven | Nourish

I don’t like to cook. I used to say that I hated to cook but now I just don’t like it. I don’t enjoy cooking. My mother is an excellent cook; we almost always had a home-cooked dinner when I was growing up. She says she doesn’t like to cook but you’d never know it. My sister is an excellent cook and she likes to cook. Here’s my thing:  I can slave over a recipe and Jon may not like it. I may not like it. Even if we both like it, all that work is devoured quickly and then what have I got to show for it? The memory of a great meal?

Here are some of the things I cook well:  enchiladas  |  beef stew in the crock pot  |  Mom’s biscuits  |  Mrs. Neufeld’s plum cobbler  |  Aunt Liz’s spaghetti sauce (but now I like to add quinoa to the recipe)  |  Mom’s tacos (we include potatoes with the ground beef and we fry tortillas for the shells)  |  potato cheese soup (I use a “Black Angus” recipe)  |  lasagna  |  tortilla casserole (I think this one is Aunt Amie’s recipe)  |  steak (I am gradually weaning Jon from needing to have his steaks cooked well)  |  cheating (and lower-fat) fettucine Alfredo  |  omelets  |  Mrs. Field’s oatmeal chocolate chip cookies  |  quesadillas  |  Michael’s cheating (and lower-fat) refried beans  |  pizza (I use Trader Joe’s pizza dough and the pizza sauce recipe is from the Top Chef cookbook)  |  squash  |  jello eggs (embarrassing, but this is what Dad and Luke request at family gatherings)  |  pot roast with roasted vegetables  |  barbecue chicken (with Bone Suckin’ Sauce)

There are more things that I cook, but that’s the list that came to mind. Lately, I’ve been baking bread. I have Artisan Bread in Five Minutes A Day and I bought all the equipment (tubs to hold my dough in the fridge, a pizza stone, a pizza peel, all the different flours) and, so far, the breads have been a success! My favorite is pain d’Epi but Jon made an amazing French toast from my granola bread. I’m lucky that Jon is interested in cooking. He’s my breakfast guy:  pancakes, French toast, and crepes. He’s also a baker:  his molten chocolate lava cakes are unbelievable (the secret is almond extract) and his cinnamon rolls at Christmas are acclaimed throughout both our families. Jon also makes the only kind of sweet potato I like (besides sweet potato fries). He makes a mashed sweet potato, topped with caramelized apples, to take to Thanks-
giving and that is one yummy dish. Even my dad likes it!

I’m trying to cook more and to cook better. Luckily, Jon and I both love veggies. We’ve given some new foods a go:  quinoa, edamame, eggplant (that was a fail; it sort of poisoned Jon—did you know eggplant can be toxic?!?), yellow squash. Jon’s even given some old aversions a go:  he’s more accepting of onions and is almost able to tolerate bell peppers. Almost. But not quite. Last night, we had a light meal of carrots, grape tomatoes, and pain d’Epi. Jon ate that but I cut up my grape tomatoes, added some thinly sliced burrata cheese, topped it with chiffonade basil from my basil plant, and drizzled balsamic vinegar over it all for a modified salade caprese; sooooo good! I don’t like to cook but I do like to eat.

Thing Number Ten | Evening Routine

Evening is my favorite part of a typical working weekday and we’ve got it down to a science.

I get home from work first and make dinner. Jon calls me on his way home from work, so I can get the timing right. We usually eat between 5 and 5:30PM. Yes, I know that’s early but we go to bed early because we get up early. Basically our days are shifted toward “early”.

When Jon walks in the door, dinner is usually just about done. I try to meet him at the door and help him carry in his work stuff. After a hug and kiss, he goes to change out of his work clothes and I get dinner on the table. We eat at the pub table in our living room, adjacent to the dining room, and, after praying over our meal, we either watch the local news or a DVRed show, like “American Idol” or “Alcatraz” or whatever. After dinner, I clear and Jon goes to his office and works on writing reports or lesson plans. I usually do some reading (either a book or a magazine or I’m checking out blogs on the iPad) or watch something on tv or do a load of laundry. Jon is still working; he takes way to much work home, in my opinion, but he works in a litigious district and feels like he can’t afford to make even the tiniest mistake or let anything slip. If it’s not Wednesday (AWANA) or Thursday (Bible Study) or Friday (date night), I try to convince myself to hit the treadmill, often around 8 or 8:30PM. I’ve been pretty good about it lately. I mostly walk (3.5mph) and I occasionally run (4.0-4.5mph) a little, if I’m doing intervals, for 20 minutes while I watch a DVRed “The Big Bang Theory”, which is my guilty pleasure workout show. Then I take out my contact lenses, wash my face with my Clarisonic Mia, brush my teeth, and shower. I have always showered at night.

I like to be reading in bed by 9:30PM and I like Jon to be with me but he’s usually still working in his office. I double-check that the alarm clock is set properly and I slather my feet with lotion because if I don’t I get disgusting cracked heels. I generally fall asleep with the lights on (but I put my book and my glasses on the bedside table) and Jon eventually comes to bed. He turns the tv on to the news with the volume low. Then he turns the light off and comes to bed. He watches tv for a bit and then turns it off. I’m usually awake enough at that point for a good-night kiss and cuddle in bed before we both fall asleep.

This is a photo of the perigee moon or Supermoon, rising behind the San Jacinto mountains on May 5, 2012. Jon took the shot from our back porch. The perigee moon happens once a year when the moon’s elliptical orbit brings it to 221,802 miles from the earth, its closest proximity to the earth. The perigee moon appears to be up to 16% larger and 30% brighter than apogee moons.

Thing Number Nine | Money

I want things. I want a certain lifestyle. I want to be able to travel. I want to live in a nice house. I want to wear nice clothes and pretty jewelry. I want to be able to buy without counting the cost. I want. I want. I want.

But I can’t have it all.

Money is something I struggle with. I’m definitely prone to retail therapy and I know, I know, that this is bad. It’s hard not to indulge; a little treat at the end of a rough day at work feels so innocuous. I also feel entitled to spend because I work and I have two degrees and I bring in a good income. If we can pay our bills, reduce our debt (school loans and mortgage), tithe, and help those in need, then I should be able to spend some of the leftover money without a care, right? Right? Hello, can I get an “amen”?

I’m just barely coming to grips with the fact that just because we have money doesn’t mean I get to spend it profligately. Thoughtlessly. Recklessly. Right now, Jon and I are a healthy, two-income, no-kids, still relatively young household. All this could change in the blink of an eye. One of use could become sick or injured. One of us could lose his/her job. I could get pregnant. (Ha! I wish!). And we are definitely going to age.

We need to save. More. And intentionally. I want to watch our savings grow. We need to manage our money better. Should we put our savings into a mutual fund? A cd? An IRA? We need to pay down our debts. Hard to balance that with saving, though. Technically, we could pay off the house right now. But that would clean out our savings and we don’t want to do that. We need to plan for our future. Do we still want to move? Will we have enough retirement? What about healthcare when we retire?

I think I’m getting better at it. Maybe. At least a little. I’m exercising more restraint. I’m using the Southern California Digital Library to borrow books for my Kindle instead of ordering from Amazon. I’m baking a loaf of bread as a treat for myself instead of buying a new bag. I’m realizing that I don’t need to take a souvenir home from an excursion; I’ve got the memories and the photos. I’m trying not to window shop because that often turns into actual shop.

I can’t have it all. But I have more than enough.

I may indulge in retail therapy, but not at Tiffany’s. This is a necklace I bought for Robin Ann for her fortieth birthday. We’ve been drooling over the Tiffany’s Christmas window display at South Coast Plaza since we were college freshmen. We never give each other extravagant gifts but this is a milestone birthday and I really wanted to celebrate her in a special way.

The Essie Turquoise and Caicos nail polish was an impulse buy at Target on the same day as the Tiffany’s purchase. Definitely a silly little extravagance but I kind of love it and Jon likes it, too, and it cracked me up that it was pretty much the exact same color as the Tiffany’s packaging!

Thing Number Eight | Transportation

I like trains.

Sure, I can and do drive all the time. All. The. Time. To work. During work. To run errands. To church. To visit family. To go do something fun. Or, best of all, to the train station.

I live in Southern California, but not near Disneyland. I am about an hour and a half from Disneyland. Not near a beach either. I am about two hours from a decent beach (like Santa Monica). I live out in the boonies, kind of. Not a lot of traffic out here, so I can zip around in my car with ease.

But I like to do things in LA or Orange County. I just hate to drive in LA or Orange County! It’s truly awful. The gridlock is horrific and so is the parking. I can’t stand it.

Which is why I like trains.

I can catch the Metrolink in San Bernardino if going into LA and then start zipping around on the subway or the light rail system. If I have to, I can use a bus (I’m not as much a fan of buses). I can catch the Metrolink in Riverside if going into Orange County or connecting to San Diego. During the summer, Metrolink runs trains to Oceanside that basically drop you on the beach. No traffic, no parking, just a sandy beach and a beautiful ocean. The train to LA terminates at Union Station which is an unbelievably beautiful building. And, right outside Union Station, is Olvera Street. Better yet, a block or two down, is Phillippe’s, home of the best French dip sandwich in the world.

Jon does not love trains as much as I do. He points at that trains crash. Well, so do cars. He notes that trains run on a fixed rail system and have to stop if there is a problem ahead of them. This is true. When I’m zipping around on train/subway/light rail/bus in LA, he worries that I will be robbed/attacked/assaulted. This could happen. I guess. But my parents grew up in LA, so it’s never seemed scary to me. And I have only ever had good experiences with trains. The same cannot be said of cars. What is it about me that makes the driver in front of me want to back into me?!? Back into me!!! I’m right behind you! Just look in your rear view mirror! I wish that had been a one-time occurrence. But, no.

So, yeah, I like trains. Oh, and planes, too. I like planes.

Thing Number Seven | Work

Work is the expenditure of energy
In the service of others
Which brings fulfillment to the worker,
Benefit to the community,
And glory to God.

John RW Stott

I chose my course of study very carefully. Both my parents were teachers, so I knew that I liked the vacation time. Both my parents were teachers, so I knew that I did NOT want to be a classroom teacher. Mom and Dad were excellent, amazing, wonderful teachers; the kind of teachers that students remember throughout their lives. But, wow, teaching is hard work!

I happened upon communication disorders as my major in an odd way. I was an undeclared sophomore who was tending towards a math major. Problem was, I was a mediocre math student. At best. Mediocre math majors can really only go into teaching. I’m not saying that all math teachers were mediocre students but I am saying that mediocre math majors can only go into teaching. Or into some totally unrelated field. I already knew I didn’t want to be a teacher, so that was out.

Along with my math classes, I was clearing as many general ed requirements out of the way as possible, one of which was a “communication” class. I didn’t want to take the intro class. I also didn’t want to take public speaking. Not for the usual reason of reluctance to talk in front of large groups but because I already felt quite comfortable speaking in front of large groups. Then I saw a class called “Introduction to Communication Disorders.” That sounded interesting and different. I thought I might actually learn something.

And I did. I learned that communication disorders are fascinating! Why can’t this 3-year-old pronounce the /r/ sound? Oh, that’s pretty normal? Well then, why can’t this 8-year-old pronounce the /r/ sound? Oh, that’s a problem? Well, how can it be fixed? Why is that poor guy stuttering like that? Oh, no one knows why? Could be genetic? Or not? Well, how can it be fixed? Why is this 80-year-old woman speaking clearly but not making any sense? Oh, she just had a stroke? Probably with damage to the medial temporal lobe? And now she has a fluent aphasia? Well, how can it be fixed?

So I dropped off my math classes (taking just enough to complete a minor) and got my undergraduate degree in communication disorders, followed by my graduate degree in speech-language pathology (an MS or MA in Com Dis or SLP is the entry-level requirement for the field).

And that was that. I had a career. I could’ve chosen to practice in a hospital or a rehab center, or I could’ve gone into a private practice but instead I practice in the public schools. You know I liked my parents’ vacation time? This was a perfect fit. I work in the corner of classroom (shared by the resource specialist program, school psychologist, and reading and ELD coaches) at one school and I have a tiny little office all to myself at the other school. When I’m at preschools, I tote my supplies in a cart and work on the floor in any space the school can give me.

I’m not passionate about my work. I don’t love my job. But I’m interested in it. I know I’m pretty good at it. I still think communication disorders are fascinating. And it fulfills Stott’s definition:  I’m definitely expending energy in the service of others, bringing benefit to the community, and giving glory to God. And I find that all of this is fulfilling.