Taking Time to Enjoy the View From the Ship You Captain

Ahoy 

Life for me the last few weeks has been harder than usual. Truth be told, the last year has walloped me good.

I tend to be a "see the glass as half-full" kind of girl, but the stress is starting to drain my wine glass. I need that wine, a Cup of Joe just won't do!

Of course, the day to day challenges seem so much more insurmountable with bigger stressors looming. It's hard to care much about the fact that the washing machine leaks when your father-in-law is fighting for his life. It seems trivial to care that the gifts are not wrapped when your family is fighting the flu at Christmas. What's more important, making sure you kid does her chores, or helping her learn to read better so she can study for her tests?

The last two weeks have really pushed me to the bow of my family's ship as I pondered it all while splicing the main brace. My younger daughter's health-needs peaked during the height of my older daughter's track season and my husband's busy work season. My own work demands vacillated from being too little to too much. It all took the wind out of my sails and I felt myself drowning, or maybe I was just three sheets to the wind.

Being a mom has a special burden that I do not think dads feel (at least that's what my husband tells me). My husband is a wonderful partner who cooks, grocery shops, cleans the bathroom, and takes the kids to the doctor. He does all of this because he knows that was the bargain when he said "I do." I expect my life partner to be just that, a partner. We are in this together or their might be "the devil to pay."

I am grateful to have his help, but let's face it, I sit in the crow's nest and at the helm. I still have to plan the meals, make the grocery lists, schedule the appointments and remind him to scrub the head. Nearly everything that every person in this family does is orchestrated or managed by me. I oversee the log book. Why, because somebody has to have watch over this ship, or it will sink. 

More times than not, in the family dynamic, the mom is the captain. Sometimes a mom's leadership is inconspicuous. In my case, I am "in their face" in-charge! At least that's the scuttlebutt.

Though it might not seem like it, I am not complaining. I am simply framing the demands in my life. They probably sound a lot like the things that overwhelm you from time to time too.

I the face of all of the chaos and stress, I try to remember to take care of myself to lessen my tendency to feel blue. I learned along time ago that I need wind for my sails. I force myself to take time for me. Otherwise, I might feel listless and be tempted to walk the plank.

Before I feel the need to call mayday, I try to make myself feel hunky-dorey. I know the ropes so I thought I would share them with you

Ten Ways to Manage Feeling Between the Devil and the Deep :

1. Take a walk without music. Listen, smell, feel, and see all the beauty around you. Breath in the fresh air and appreciate the sun or wind or rain or snow that touches your skin. Moving your body and being out of doors is healing and recharging.
2. Read a good book. Getting lost in a journey or a place or a great character's life is so amazing. It takes you away from your reality even if it is just for a few minutes.
3. Cook and eat healthy, delicious food. Planning and preparing nutritious meals makes you feel like you have accomplished something wonderful for you and your family. Going to the farmers market or growing your own food keeps you in touch with where food comes from and will open you up to trying new things.
4. Take a nap or at least close your eyes and rest. I try to do this outside as much as possible. I tune out the traffic noises and listen for the birds and wind. I let my thoughts wander but don't pay attention to them. You can also meditate.
5. Spend time with friends. Talk on the phone. Meet for a coffee or glass of wine. Even Snapchat has been a fun way to make me and someone else smile.
6. Spend time near water. My entire life water has soothed and calmed me. Whenever I am near water I feel my breath return when I hadn't even realized I was holding it. The effects are long lasting and undeniable. Check this out https://www.theguardian.com/sustainable-business/impact-sea-lakes-rivers-peoples-health
7. Hug and talk to your family. Put away devices and really listen and attend to what they are telling you (this is harder than it sounds).
8. Make sure you partner has time to recharge. Tell him or her to go and do something they love.
9. Go someplace you have never been. Find a new park or museum. Walk through a neighborhood you've never visited. Go to new restaurant and try a new delicacy.
10. Look at memorabilia. I love spending time reminiscing and thinking about all the people, places, and adventures that I have been lucky enough to be shaped by. I still make photo albums.

My ship was a bit listless this year but I am determined to keep her sea worthy and on course.I can fathom smooth sailing from here on out. We all encounter rough seas, we just need to keep our head above the water and stand on the bow as we journey, enjoying each and every view.

Thanks for letting me chew the fat.

http://www.navy.mil/submit/display.asp?story_id=98448

Mother's Day Reflections on Adoption

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Mother's day always fills me with mixed emotions. While I am happy and blessed to be able to celebrate being a mom to two amazing young women-once little girls, I struggle with knowing that their birth mothers don't get to know them and watch them grow. My heart hurts for them. 

My gratitude and admiration for the women who birthed my girls runs deep and endless. Each of those women has a unique story and reason for not being able to keep and raise her baby girl. The story is less important than the sacrifice and generous gift they indirectly gave to me, healthy babies, motherhood.

I dedicate this poem to them and to my girls:

The Legacy of an Adopted Child

Once there were two women
Who never knew each other;
One you do not remember,
The other you call Mother.

Two different lives
Shaped to make yours one;
One became your guiding star,
The other became your sun.

The first one gave you life,
And the second taught you to live it;
The first gave you a need for love,
The second was there to give it.

One gave you a nationality,
The other gave you a name;
One gave you talent,
The other gave you aim.

One gave you emotions,
The other calmed your fears;
One saw your first sweet smile,
The other dried your tears.

You were born from caring courage,
Nurtured with help from above;
You are the blending, my darling,
Of two different kinds of love.

~ Anonymous ~

It is my goal to support others who have considered adoption as a way to grow or start their family. I know it can be scary and daunting to start and pursue the process. By sharing my story, I hope others will feel less lost, and inspired to push through their fears and all the red tape. Their are children waiting for you and all the love, support, and guidance you can offer.

An excerpt from my forthcoming memoir on our journey with adoption          

___________________________________________________________________        
          Living my life on a whim meant that many unforeseen things happened, but that one day in particular provided the most astonishing change. It was a sunny late November day, crisp but warm for that time of year. Bare trees, that had just recently shed their fire red and orange leaves, framed the brilliant blue sky. This type of perfectly bright and clear day can only be found in autumn. I was sick that day so I left work early. Though I just wanted to go home, I forced myself to make a side trip. I needed to drop off the final paperwork at the agency.
          The smiling case worker who I had thrust the packet of paperwork, looked at me with concern. Because they had just denied us the child we had convinced ourselves to be "our" child, my relationship with the agency was tenuous. I was tired and angry. Seeing her was pushing me over the edge. I strode off not looking forward to the long drive home, dreaming of bed.
          Once at home, I sat slumped on the back stoop with my head in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Each magnificent drag filled my head with menthol infused smoke which vaporized the congestion so I could finally breathe. My head felt heavy in my hand and it thrummed with pain and pressure. Each swallow felt as if shards of glass sliced open the delicate tissue in my throat. Bed was on my brain, glorious sleep was what I yearned for when the phone rang.
          No one interesting ever called the house phone in the middle of the day, just telemarketers. The last thing I wanted was to be talked into buying something I did not need nor want. Nevertheless, I felt compelled to answer the phone even if just to stop the ringing which made my head vibrate and throb even more.
          The person on the other ended chirped a hello. She sounded happy and healthy and that irritated me more than the ringing. I could barely focus on her words. Was I dreaming? She was sorry to have missed me because she wanted to show me "her" photograph. Confusion enveloped me. Who was this and what was she talking about?
          The caller shouted, wrongly thinking that I was having trouble hearing her, “They told me you went home sick, I am glad I caught you!” Her shouting into my aching and bleary head perplexed and annoyed me. I must not have hidden it because she said with an apologetic tone, “It’s me, Jackie.” Jackie was our adoption case worker.
          Though still confused, the fog began to clear. Jackie said something else that I could not comprehend so I asked her to repeat it. She did.  Still uncertain with the meaning of her words, I asked her to repeat herself again. With a laugh, she obliged. That time the significance of her words shined through as she enunciated, “We have a three-month-old, healthy, baby girl and she’s yours.” I immediately started to shake as my eyes filled with tears. I thought, “How could this be?” 
___________________________________________________________________

That baby girl, and her sister to follow a few years later, made me a mother. They were born to another but they call me "mom." I work hard each and every day living up to that title, provide-ing them with a happy and fulfilling childhood while trying to nurture them into independent and competent women (at least, that's my goal). The job is never easy. It has equal amounts of tears and laughter, but I would never trade it for anything in the world. 

It is all worth it. The reward comes when I hear the word "mom" even if is 982 times a day.

Can't Stop, Won't Stop Moving: How Taylor Swift Shook Me Up

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Waiting for the start
photo by J. Kriston

Ow, Ow, Ouch! Ow, Ow, Ouch! That has been my mantra for the last six months as I trained for the 5K, or 3.1 mile run, I just completed.

I suggested running this race to my daughter many months ago thinking it would be a good way to share in something she loved (and to get back into shape after my perimenopausal state took my body away from me).

Of course, the moment that I clicked the buy now button to pay for our registration to the event, I remembered that my body is broken. Then, I became a bit smug. I thought to myself, No big deal. It’ll be fine.

Unfortunately, my herniated and bulging discs, my advancing arthritis, and my degenerative joint disorder did not have the same optimism and go get ‘em attitude that my brain had. 

They really need to get together on these matters.

I have never been a great athlete, not because I lack skill, but because I lack strength, stamina, and determination. My life long motto has been, If I am running call the police because someone is chasing me with a knife.

Nevertheless, I persisted

I found myself several times a week on the treadmill or in the neighborhood huffing and puffing myself through 2-3 miles of slow jogging. Inevitably and repeatedly, I injured myself either causing my Achilles to inflame or my ankle to throb or my hip to lock-up and cause shooting pains through my side. My chiropractor worked his magic coaxing the muscles, joints, and tendons back into place and forcing them to become stronger.

He even taught me that my running stride was incorrect. So, I adjusted my heel to toe foot fall, allowing the center of my foot to hit the ground first.

Click here for more on the heel strike

My training never went as planned. Aside from the constant injuries and pain, I became ill for several weeks forcing long breaks. Initially, I believed I would drop fifteen pounds, have abs of steel (like the real life models from that damn Title Nine catalog that keeps taunting me), and build enough stamina and speed that I would finish in the top ten of my age group.

A cruel model from the Title Nine catalog

The media would catch wind of my amazing feat. The headlines would read First Time Runner Places in the 5K at the Advanced Age of 47.  The world would be wowed by my athleticism.

That didn’t happen.

As I gimped and limped myself through my day to day activities, I wondered if I would actually be able to run the race. I knew I could always walk it, but I was in it for the run. I tried to convince my daughter to scratch the race. I used the logic that she had a big test and late night track meet the night before, she would be too tired to run. Plus, it was going to be rainy and cold. We should just stay home and rest.

She didn’t bite.

So, on Saturday morning we woke at the crack of dawn, after getting to bed at midnight, and drove our way through the rain and darkness to the city, an hour and a half away. We gathered in the parking lot with thousands of others who stood shivering in the cold drizzle listening to loud, upbeat music trying to stay warm by running in place.

Though shivering, exhausted, and hungry, I was truly glad we didn't scratch.

The runners started to gather in a queue jostling for position. In that moment, I became emotional. I fought back tears. Was I scared, happy, tired…? I am not sure what moved me, but I did not have long to consider it as the gun shot and the crowd of runners inched their way over the start line. It was nearly a minute of shuffling before I began my 3.1 mile journey to the finish.

My daughter left me eating her dust.

My playlist of upbeat songs, which I chose to keep me at doable pace, filled my ears as I focused my eyes to the ground and the various legging swathed butts in front of me. People of all shapes, sizes, and ages surrounded me then passed me. Kids zipped in and out of the foot traffic nearly tripping-up everyone in their way. Moms and dads holding the hands of their preschoolers passed me. A ninety-year-old man and his lovely wife passed me.

I didn’t care

I kept focused on my music, the pavement, and all the butts as I ran, well jogged, onward. After a mile, I kept running. My first goal was to not walk for at least one mile. Goal met!

I passed a water station and took my paper cup, drinking the cool liquid. My throat was dry. I spilled most of it on my face and jacket. My throat was still dry. I swiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and crushed that cup throwing it to the ground the way real athletes do.

Then I saw the row of garbage cans lined up for the empty cups. Oops, sorry about that clean-up crew.

I continued running, but I walked briefly after I realized my lungs might explode. Shortly, I re-started my jogging pace and passed a few people. The shuffle mode on my IPhone must have sensed when I needed a more upbeat song because each time I faded it would play what I needed to hear to keep me moving. Bruno Mars’, Up Town Funk pushed me out of my walk mode as did Avril Lavigne’s, Girlfriend.

Roberto Clemente Bridge

Though terrified of heights, I knew I was going to have to cross The Roberto Clemente Bridge which spanned across the Allegheny or Ohio or Monongahela river (damn Pittsburgh and it’s three rivers) which swelled and raged below. I anticipated fainting or freezing-up as I approached that bright, yellow, steel bridge. Like a dog who refuses to go into a tub or a pool, I would dig my feet into the ground making my body stiff and heavy with refusal as a race official dragged me by my shirt collar across the bridge, the rubber soles of my shoes leaving skid marks. Fortunately, this was near the end of the race so my exhausted and oxygen deprived body didn’t give a rat’s ass about the damn bridge.

Taylor Swift Running

But I keep cruising
Can't stop, won't stop moving

It's like I got this music in my mind

Saying it's gonna be alright

(Shake It Off chorus)

After I crossed that bridge, fatigue racked my body and I wanted to pass out. Then, two things happened. First, Taylor Swift started singing Shake It Off and I filled with instant energy. The beat of that song was what I needed to put the pep back into my step. Second, I looked up and saw the big yellow and black #3 sign. Holy Shit! I was nearly done. Just .1 mile to go.

I never miss a beat, I'm lightning on my feet

And that's what they don’t see, that's what they don’t see

(more Shake It Off lyrics)

I pulled my phone out to take a picture of the beautiful sign. With the music blasting in my ear, I barely heard the shouts of “Mam. Mam. Excuse me mam.” I hate being called “mam,” but I realized that it was probably the press or a photographer wanting to capture the moment that I, a 47-year-old, first time 5K participant completed the race with such amazing speed and grace.

I slowed my already incredibly sluggish pace to acknowledge my admirer. It was a youngish woman who waved a plastic card at me as she shouted, “You dropped this, mam. It fell out of your pocket when you got your phone out.” She didn’t even want my picture. She just zipped past, thrusting my hotel key at me, to finish in front of me. Sigh.

The Finish Line
Photo by Liz Kriston

I turned the corner and saw the big inflatable finish line. If I had enough energy, I would have cried for sure. Instead, I stumbled across the line, trying not to collapse, searching for my husband. I saw his dazzling smile and felt relieved and proud. The one thing I knew for certain in that moment was I AM NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN.

(I did notice that I met my second and last goal, I finished in 36 minutes. Later, I discovered my official time was 35.14! I was 60th for my age group which had 123 participants.)

I hobbled my way down the road accepting my medal and then my bottled water (which I threw into the recycling container when I was done, not on the ground) and my banana and I kept walking down the road and walking and walking between the barricades and barriers wondering, How in the hell do I escape this never-ending cage of barriers!

Me gasping for air, physically unable to smile
Photo by J. Kriston

My daughter led me to the exit. We hugged, took some photos, and then, my family walked and I gimped and limped, crying out my Ow, Ow, Ouch, off into the wind and rain in search of a cocktail for me, and secretly, for T. Swift too.

Lessons For My Daughters

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Me, my mom, & sister  Montana
Photo by C. Redhead

This morning my mother and I had a conversation about parenting. We both agreed that nobody is perfect that no such thing as a perfect mom exists. All we can do is try our best. It was comforting to know that my mother did not expect me to be a perfect mom, because I’m far from it.

I try to be the best mom I can be

Being my best means making tough choices. Being my best means becoming someone I never imagined. Being my best means challenging myself and my kids. Being my best means experiencing equal amounts of hurt and joy.

Jersey Shore
Photo by J. Kriston

Being my best means saying things like, “Because I said so,” even when I swore I never would.

Before becoming a mom, I promised myself, my husband, my baby’s birth mom, and a judge, that I would do my best to raise strong, intelligent, independent, and happy children who would thrive and enjoy life.

This is a monumental task that sometimes feels impossible.

I often feel like I am beating my head against a brick wall as I try to teach my girls the same lessons over and over and over. While I hope my psyche is strong enough to handle the challenge, I worry that nothing is getting through their thick skulls.

Cleveland Heights, Ohio
Photo by A. Redhead

I worry that I am failing.

Just when I want to rip my hair out at the sound of my own voice, I recognize a small victory or two. Sometimes these come from the words of their teachers or parents of their friends who compliment my girls on their politeness and generosity. Sometimes it comes from their own mouths when they talk to one another and reflect the ideals that I thought went in one ear and out the other. Sometimes I see it in their actions when they reach out to others demonstrating the values I hoped I modeled for them.

How often I see these things is not as important as the fact that I do see them. In those moments, I fill with joy and pride and allow myself a moment to bask in my ability to be a good mom.

There are many things I have read or heard that I “should” teach my girls. Advice on good parenting is abundant. Somethings I agree with and somethings are not a priority for me. I’ve narrowed down the lessons I find most important to ten.

Me and my girls in Montana
Photo by J. Kriston

The Ten Lessons for My Daughters

1. Nourish yourself in all ways: physically, socially, mentally, spiritually. First, learn to eat well and wash the dishes when you are done. Second, make good friends. Choose quality people to whom you will gift your love and trust. Remember I am here for you when you need me, but you need the kind of support only a friend can offer. Third, find joy. Find a hobby or discover your talents. I will force you to sign-up for a sport or an instrument if you refuse to volunteer. Fourth, experience all life has to offer, the good and the bad. You need a wide array of experiences to help you learn about life and its infinite possibilities. Fifth, I support your search for faith, for something to believe in, even if it is not my path. Nourishment in all its forms is key, it is the foundation for everything else.

2. Question everything. Believing what you read or what you hear is easy, too easy. Questioning the facts and researching the truth is hard and time-consuming. Having said that, it can’t be pushed aside. You must question and doubt, even authority. You must challenge others and yourselves to be better. Go beyond the headlines, the tweets, the Snaps. Read in between all the lines. Above all read the signs and trust your gut.

3. Be proud of yourself. Accolades are wonderful. Receiving a pat on the back or an “I’m so proud of you” is amazing. However, the truth is that none of that really means anything unless you are proud of yourself. It is something our culture does not embrace because it makes us seem conceited and self-involved. Who decided self-pride was a bad thing? Think about it.

For More on Self-Esteem Click Here

4. Be kind but strong. This is probably the hardest thing for me to teach because I am strong without always being kind. Figuring out how to not be a pushover, to stand-up for what you want and believe while not making others feel devalued or less-than is an art very few have perfected. I want you, my girls, to have hearts of gold but not be chumps. Translation: Cross to the other side of the street or wait for the next elevator if you question anything. Who cares if you hurt someone’s feelings.

5. Be honest. This is a challenge. I am painfully honest with you and I work hard to never tell a lie, even a white one, in your presence. It makes life a bit uncomfortable at times like when you can’t tell the person on the phone that “no, he is not home” when dad is standing right there and clearly does not want to take the call. I abhor lies and work tirelessly to combat them. This means catching you in your lies to the point of exhaustion. Sometimes I just want to pretend I can’t see the chocolate that stains your lips and cheeks as you swear “I didn’t eat the candy bar.”

For More on Lying Click Here

6. Have an open mind. You hate when I play devil’s advocate. You accuse me of being unsupportive. This does not stop me. I want you to know that I love you, support you, and empathize with your situation no matter what. However, you need to learn that not everyone sees things the way you do. Your vision of the world and what is right and wrong, fair and unfair is not the same as the next person’s. Once you truly realize this, it will make living in our world so much easier. By examining contradicting views and accepting them as human nature based on personality and life experiences, it will be much easier to not hate everyone who thinks or acts differently than you

7. Manage your money. I give you an income and teach you to keep track of it and plan for purchases. Be smart and don’t accrue debt whenever possible. The exceptions to this rule are college and a purchasing a home, but be realistic about what you can afford in the long-term.

For More On Money Management and Kids Click Here

8. Be responsible for yourself. This simply means, clean-up your own messes (including laundry), find your own rides (even if that means asking me), solve your own problems with your teacher and your future bosses, landlords, etc… (know I have your back if the problem gets too big), sort out your conflicts with friends, and if you pick a fight with your sister, you’re on your own.

For More On Raising Kids to be Ready for the Real World Click Here

9. Take risks. As much as you are frightened with trying new things, do it anyway. Know that you will fail from time to time, but you will succeed sometimes too. Those successes are amazing and can only be experienced with the risk. The losses can hurt, but believe me young one, you will eventually appreciate the lessons and knowing you tried

10. Do what you love. Finding your passion can be hard, but once you do, stick with it. Finding a way to make a living from your passion may take creativity and might cause you to alter what you envision your life to be. Be flexible, trust your gut and be happy.

Cambridge, MD
Photo by J. Kriston

I do my best to teach by example. I know we butt heads from time to time, but that is the greatest thing about our mother-daughter relationship. No matter how much we infuriate each other, I will always love you. You can count on me.