Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Growing old pains

The most embarrassing thing happened to me last week on my first visit to a  physiotherapist.

I was having problems with my upper back but I didn't want to go to the physio because I was too embarrassed to take my shirt off and lie on a table in a bra.

The pain continued so I made an appointment with the physio.

I get into his office, get up the nerve to take my shirt off and sit there in my belly rolls and bra. He first massaged my shoulders and my back and I was thinking wow I could really get use dto this. i couldn't believe that i was ever too shy to come. He then said he wanted to show me some stretches to help prevent the pain from coming back. Great I said, bring it on!

He placed his hand on my head and that was when I remembered that I just sprayed fake color on my hair to cover up the gray. I use this spray in between hair appoints.  However, at the slightest touch it comes off on your skin at the slightest touch.

And this stranger was all but pressing my head into a pulp with his wet oily hand. I started panicking as soon as he placed his hand on my head. But what was I suppose to say, I thought about falling on the ground or something dramatic. It was too late. He had a tight grip on me and there was nothing I could do but hope for the best.

I began to sweat buckets and realized that not only was my hair color coming off but also my deodorant , at least its effect. I could smell myself instantly, the smell of embarrassment, fear and garden onions.

To make it worse, he was talking to me, he was being friendly and I was dying his hand a dark shade of medium brown. I was so terrified that I couldn't answer him when he asked me where I was from in the States, I just said south and couldn't get out Carolina. 

To my relief, he let up his grip and then asked me to place my hand on my head to try the exercise myself. GULP! Do I have to I asked him, and reluctantly placed my hand so lightly that he immediately pressed up against my hand to apply pressure. SHIT! Now my hands were gonna look like I wiped my butt without TP.

I removed his hand from mine and I noticed he began frantically wiping his hand on a towel and the crisp, white towel began to look like used toilet paper. At this point my face was on fire and I wanted to run out of his office shirtless and all. I couldn't believe I was ever worried about him seeing me almost naked. This man had half my can of Toni and Guy beautiful brunette on his hand.

He quickly said I could get dressed and that we didn't have more time. I literally threw on my shirt not even buttoned all the way and bolted for the door. I couldn't look at his face, so I mumbled I had to hurry for a meeting and would call for an appointment.

I escaped out into the street and I looked down at my hand to see the damage, even my nails were brown.

The bravest thing I have ever had to do was face him a few days later, but this time with a huge gray streak running through the top of my head.

Saturday, March 5, 2016

When you can't take away the hurt

I have said it many times before: The hardest part of being a parent is seeing your child hurt. Physically or emotionally, doesn't matter. It hurts. I hurt when they hurt.

And I hurt now for my daughter. In the past few months, I watched a confident, fiesty little girl whither away into an insecure, sad shell of herself.

It didn't happen overnight, it was a slow process and it wasn't until she told me she didn't ever want to go to school again, I realized there was a real problem.

She was being excluded in her class and not able to fit into a group. I guess i was blind to what was happening because she had always been such a social butterfly, the kid in the class everyone got along with. 

And actually, by having these qualities, she was separated from her group of friends this year and placed in a new class. 

Her kindergarten teacher said they had to split the group up in order to assure equal class numbers in the first grade. However, my daughter was the only girl in the group to be separated. 

We confronted the teacher last year and begged to keep her in the class with her friends. But the teacher said she was sociable and easy to get along so because of these qualities she would easily make new friends.

And here we are, my baby girl is an insecure and unhappy little person hurting every day at school when she can not find anyone to play with. Her new teacher is aware and has tried inclusion, but my daughter continues to be left out. We have invited kids over and had playdates but she still feels no connection.

I can not tell you how helpless I feel at this moment. I want to tell her class how cool she is, how much fun she is and they would be lucky to have a friend like her. But I can't, I can only support her and wipe her tears away for now. 

My husband will have a meeting with the teacher next week and demand she be placed back in the class with her friends. He is so good at being our children's voice, advocate. And I give the hugs and love, and hope soon the hurt will go away. Fingers crossed, this too shall pass.

Monday, January 25, 2016

My first milestone

Walking, talking, the first day of school, the first loose tooth, these are all milestones children experience. But recently I discovered there are milestones that we experience as parents.

I realized this when my baby girl read a full sentence to me for the first time. She is in Groep 3 (1st grade) so I was aware that she was slowly learning how to read.

I had been through the process already with my son, two years ahead of her. I knew that that by Christmas she would be able to read simple books and that a new world would open up for her. I knew she had a milestone coming.

But what I didn't know was that I too would have such a milestone. This happened one night at her bedtime when she began to read a simple three word sentence to me.

She picked up a book and with no effort, read a sentence. I know, it doesn't sound earth moving, but hearing her read this sentence took my breath away.

This was my baby and with those three words she grew into this little person. She was growing up and  I could imagine helping her pack her bags to go away to University or move out to be on her own. 

One major string that was connecting her to me snapped at that instant. Of course it's not a bad thing to experience this as a parent. No one wants their kids to be dependent on them forever, but it took me by surprise because it was happening so fast.

I wanted to take that moment and put it in a jar to keep forever. I wanted her to stop growing and turning into a little person, just for a while, just so I could catch up with her.

Then I realized this is the part of being a parent that no one can explain to you. No one can explain that you spend your entire life waiting for this person to come into your world, you carry them inside you for nine months and then you have to slowly learn to let them go.

No one tells you that you have to trust that you are teaching them the right things and set them free one day into the world hoping they will survive. Not only survive, but thrive and shine and be the person they were meant to be.

I look at my two "babies" and I think it's just a matter of time and they will be leaving my nest. Until then, I have decided to enjoy all the little milestones in between. And slowly let go...

Wednesday, January 6, 2016

My big fat Albert Heijn sticker obsession

Turned this card in today for a fancy Japanese knife
Is there a support group out there for those addicted to collecting bestek zegels (silverware stickers) from Albert Heijn? If so, I need to join ASAP.

For you lucky ones who have no idea what I am talking about, Albert Heijn is a supermarket chain in The Netherlands that has a promotion: shoppers collect stickers from their grocery purchases in order to buy special edition knives and silverware (last year it was glasses).

So for every 10 euros you spend, you receive a sticker to stick on your collector's card. Once you reach 50 stickers you can purchase one of the knives or a one person set of silverware from the Villeroy & Boch collection.

I know, its the biggest marketing gimmick, but I can't help it. You buy 500 euros worth of groceries so you can pay 5 euros to purchase on overpriced piece of cutlery (I'm collecting the knives).

And for those of you not living here, Albert Heijn is no cheap supermarket. Normally, I would never shop there. I prefer the cheaper supermarkets so I can stay within our monthly budget.

But I walked into Albert Heijn just as the promotion started and I saw those sleek knives and I was hooked. You can even fill-up a card up to buy the ultra modern bamboo knife block. I was sold!

I filled three cards of 50 stickers in two months. Don't worry, I haven't spent 1500 euros on food in the last two months. I had enablers.

Colleagues have given me their stickers and a mother from my children's school gave me an entire card FILLED for Christmas! Best Christmas gift ever!

I am so obsessed I know which cashiers at which Albert Heijn will give you extra stickers. I even figured out ways to get them to give you extra stickers, like telling them how desperate I am to get the kiddie spoons before my due date in February. Ok, I haven't stooped that low, but I whined a time or two to get extras.

Just like any addict, I came to a point where I realized I had a problem. After only filling one card, I decided to give up and decided to buy myself a new set of knives for consolation. That was when it happened: Albert Heijn stickers fell from heaven! I was walking down my street and what did I about step on? You got it, AH stickers! Three of them! Thirty euros just lying there on the street.

I decided it was sign from the sticker collecting gods and I began to fill a new card. However, in order to control my problem, I no longer shop exclusively at AH. I decided only to buy my gluten free products there and if I fill up a card by the time the promotion ends in February, then it's meant to be.

But in the last 24 hours I turned in two of my filled cards and purchased the bamboo block and the fancy Japanese knife from the collection. For my first card, I like the rest of the Dutch population collecting, I bought the set of two knives (more bang for your buck). And I calculated I can fill one more card before the expiration date and I even picked out which knife I will get last (cue the Gollem voice) "My precious" bread knife.

My precious!
I know, psycho! I am trying to make excuses for my behavior, like how it reminds of me of my Garbage Pail Kids sticker collecting days. Or how I desperately need a new set of knives. However, in the back of my head, I keep thinking once it's all over I will have a knife block and four knives that cost 2000 euros but are worth maybe 100!

Crazy! It's sick and I am ashamed but seriously, if anyone has stickers they don't want, I'm up for negotiating. I traded half my lunch today for six!

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Why it's dangerous to shower with your daughter

The most dangerous thing you can do is to take a shower with your six year old daughter. It could potentially harm even the most confident, self-loving mothers out there.

I know because I recently took a shower with my daughter. Big mistake. There is nothing like someone pointing to every fat roll, patch of cellulite and saggy part of your body at seven in the morning.

I don't normally take showers with my daughter, but this particular morning, she came into the bathroom while I was showering and batted her sweet little eyes and said, "Mommy, I had a dream last night that I got to take a shower with you."

She looked so sweet and innocent standing there in her flannel Dora the Explorer pajamas. Besides, I thought to myself, what could it hurt, the worst thing that could happen would be she would go to school with clean hair and face.

So I agreed and before I knew it she has climbed in with me. And that was when it happened, I truly believe she was temporarily possessed by some kind of body-shaming-demon-from hell.

Her eyes glossed over and I swear in almost military fashion she began inspecting my body. I could see in her eyes she was analyzing every nook and fat-filled cranny.

First, she started with my belly, asking me if there was another baby in there, because it sure looked like it. Her glance went up my body slowly until she fixed on my breasts.

She pointed out that my breasts were really fat and asked why were they still so fat and full of milk. She was convinced it was for the baby I was carrying in my belly.

I told her there was no milk, but unconvinced, she advised me that once I had the "baby" I should lose weight.

And to put icing on the cake, she asked me if she too would be so fat when she was old like me. I tried to tell her I was still 25, but  she insisted that I was old.

She talked about my fat butt, as she called it and how big it was now. She asked if it hurt when I sat down. She asked why I didn't exercise more and try to lose weight. She talked about how she learned in school that people get fat by not eating healthy and that I must eat healthy.

I seriously could not get in a word, she just went on and on and on. And I couldn't wash my hair fast enough!

It was too early for this talk. I wanted to say so much to her, about how it's not nice to call people fat, that everyone is different. Most of all I wanted to tell her I loved my jiggly body. But instead I told her I was getting out of the shower, I was done. And it was true, I was done with her honesty, so I ran away.

But seeing myself through her eyes really helped me realize how it was time I stepped up and set a better example for her. Not to try to get skinny, but just to be healthy. For her, but most importantly for me.

So the next time I shower with my daughter she will say,"Wow mom you are looking good!"

And don't worry, after I had my morning tea, I gave her the smack down on body shaming. And most important I repeated myself like I always do, and told her:  I may not have the perfect body but it's mine and I love it, most of the time.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Why I smile when I hear a tantrum

Who knew watching a random child on the street having a tantrum could change my life?

Well maybe not change my life in a profound way like almost crashing in an airplane would, but it did make me start thinking about things differently.

It happened this morning, after I dropped the kids off at school. I was walking back to my car when I heard the loudest, most horrible blood curdling squeal you could ever hear. I turned around and behind me I saw a toddler lying on the side walk flapping around like a fish out of water. 

It immediately brought me back to when my kids were the ones cleaning the sidewalk with their backs. I remembered those days and I remembered when I wanted to run away and pretend like the child wasn't mine. 

I will never forget the time my son had a tantrum in the supermarket and an old lady just looked at me straight in the face and laughed as she walked by us. At the time, I thought it was rude, thinking how could she laugh at me during such a traumatic experience. But today, I realized why, and it was such a self-confidence-building-kinda- feeling.

She laughed because she knew what I was going through. She knew that in the grand scheme of life and raising a child, a tantrum was one of the easiest things you would  have to deal with, but it was an important rite of passage in parenthood. She laughed because she could see my future and she knew this too shall pass. Her laugh wasn't meant in a malicious way. 

And she was right about it all. It passed and I survived. And looking back on it, I can laugh now too. I can laugh about the time my son threw himself on the floor, kicking customers at the butchers because I wouldn't let him have another piece of worst. I can laugh about the time my daughter screamed bloody murder and began slamming her head against the wall at Ikea because I was trying to put her back into the buggy.

I can smile now when I see a random child hurling themselves down on the ground because it reminds me that I am a survivor. I am a good parent, maybe not the best, but my kids don't need the best, they just need me.

I will carry this with me through my parenting journey and remember it each time I am faced with a new challenge. I will remember that "this too shall pass" and to just be patient. And I will remember that all the important lessons in life my kids learned by having tantrums. It's all a process of phase after phase, and as my kids grow, I will grow with them. Just like I did each time they had a tantrum. I went from the cringing, embarrassed mother to a mother who knew exactly how to handle the situation.

From now on, I will smile every time I see a child having a tantrum and most importantly, I will pat myself on the back.

Friday, July 10, 2015

What it feels like when you think you are crashing

This was the cursed plane after we landed in Ireland
We all are going to die someday. Death is one of the certain things in life but the uncertain thing is the when and the where. And thank goodness we don't know these things or this information would dictate our our lives. There is a freedom in not knowing when you will die. And that was a freedom I took for granted until I thought I was going to die in a plane crash.

My two kids and myself set out last Friday morning to fly to on Delta Flight 73 to Atlanta, Georgia and then onto to Myrtle Beach, SC for sour annual trip to see my family. However when we got to the airport, our flight had been delayed by three hours due to a problem with one of the engines.

So we sat waiting at the gate and watched the mechanics work diligently on the plane and we then watched them test out the faulty engine. It was cleared by the safety standards and all 400 or so of us boarded this gigantic plane on our way to Atlanta.

I am usually quite nervous about flying, but not this time. I had flown a hundred times by this point and to be honest I was actually looking forward to the relaxation on the flight. I could read while the kids watched a film or two, or three, as they normally did.

And that was exactly what happened, we got into the air, the kids began watching a movie and I settled in with a book I had been dying to read all summer. Soon after, our lunch was brought to us and the entire plane was abuzz with passengers eating and the usual commotion.

Then, all of a sudden, a young lady sitting across the aisle from me started to scream. She screamed "There is something wrong with the plane!" over and over again. Not two minutes later the captain announced that there was a fire indication in the cargo area and we would be emergency landing in 5 minutes.

It was like watching myself in a movie. First of all, how did this lady know something was wrong? There was no way, not even the stewardesses knew anything was wrong.

The plane suddenly became very quiet only for the occasional sob.

My heart lurched out of my chest and I seriously could not believe this was happening to me. I immediately looked at my kids sitting on either side. They were watching a movie, oblivious thank God, to what was going on.

I had a sudden urge to reach out and hug someone. I wanted someone to hold onto especially since I could not see what was going on outside of the window, we were in the middle aisle. I could feel us dropping a little faster than normal and my ears were popping.

I looked around at the other passengers, strangers were holding onto one another while others really kept a calm face, like it was just any other landing.

But we didn't know anything, we only knew that as a precaution we were landing in Shannon, Ireland. To be honest, I would have preferred not knowing anything at all. My stomach was in knots and I couldn't breathe. I listened to the lady in front of me soothe her seat mate. I suddenly reached out and grabbed her too through the in between of the seats. I just needed her comfort, I was alone. I never felt so alone in my life. Sure I had my two kids beside me, but I wasn't about to share my fear with them. If their short lives were to end I wanted them to be happy watching a funny movie, not in the terror I was experiencing.

In those minutes, I thought about two things: I first thought about how stupid I have been in life worrying about really superficial, small things and my second thought was how I never had a chance to really follow my dream to be a writer. I know, maybe out sounds a bit selfish that I wasn't thinking about all the wonderful things in my life, like my two sweet kids sitting next to me. And looking back I think it was too painful to think about them at that point. They had their entire life to live and in just a few minutes it could have ended for them. The thought of it even now makes me cry.

I didn't think about anyone in particular, I just wanted human contact. I didn't make any promises to myself that if I am still alive I will live better or any of that cliche stuff. To be honest, I was just thinking about if it would hurt, so I frantically dumped our food trays into a plastic bag and put up our tray tables quickly. I thought maybe by some chance it could possibly increase our chances of survival. I didn't want to die in a tray full of gluten free bread and salad. Crazy thought but true.

I wanted to jump up and run out of the plane. I didn't want to sit there strapped in a seat belt waiting for my death. I wanted to do something and I couldn't. I had no control and I felt like I had lost my freedom of not knowing my fate.

I wasn't able to pray or confess my sins or anything like that. And up until this point, I wasn't afraid of dying and my soul moving onto another place. But I think the thought of dying from dropping out of the air in a metal capsule jammed packed with other people frightened me. And knowing that when we crash, it could potentially not be a quick death. It was like they say it was like  "watching a train wreck" except it was a plane and I was in it!

And then we landed. It was a rough landing, you could tell we were coming in fast and heavy and we stopped so abruptly that my daughter hit her head on the seat in front of her. The electricity went off in the plane and it immediately became warm. The fire trucks were waiting when we landed and I guess they did their thing because soon the pilot came on to say that everything was ok and no fire was found. Except, he wasn't being totally honest because I was later told there was a small fire.

We were towed to the gate, our tires were too hot and our brakes burned up. We were told to wait in the airport to see what was happening next and that was when we found out we would be spending the night in Ireland.

People were coming off the plane taking photos, FaceTiming loved ones and lots of crying.
People were upset. People were analysing and processing what had happened. I found myself talking to a stranger travelling by himself about our experience. He told me about his wife and daughter back home and how much he missed them. We said goodbye with a long hug and tears, no longer strangers.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep that night and ended up staying the weekend in Ireland since I refused to get back on the same plane.  The Delta desk attendant said to me "Well they won't fly1q the plane unless it is completely safe." I quickly replied, "That was what they said in Amsterdam and look what happened." So free weekend in Ireland for us.

And when I got on a new plane to finally travel to the US, a tear was shed for every bump and twist our  plane took on that six hour journey. I couldn't even eat the entire flight. My belly was in complete knots and all I could think about was that moment. That moment when my heart skipped a beat and I thought we were going down. That moment will live with me forever.

It has only been a few days and the shock has worn off, and now fear has set in. Somehow I have to get myself and two small kids back to Europe in four weeks. Maybe by then I can think about the lessons I learned in those 15minutes I thought we were crashing. Or maybe I can think about how statstically this could possibly not happen again. Or maybe we take a ship, either way, I have to somehow find strength so my kids will never know the terror I experienced.