An Island of Life

The kitchen is where I spend most of my time, with the kids, without the kids, with friends, with family, all alone. Whenever I am "lost" I find myself occupied in the kitchen. Whether to cook foods I know, experiment with new recipes, clean-up after my mess, the kids' mess, the family mess, or just to be the kitchen is where I call "home." When I run out of things to take care of, I rearrange the pantry, the fridge, the closet. I take out the plastic bags and pile them back into their bin. I move the candy from this shelf to the next, I hide the sweets and move the "healthy" snacks forward. I take out the trash, empty the recycle bin, refill the soap.

Then I tackle the play kitchen. Perishable play food goes into the play fridge, fruits and vegetables into the basket, bread on the shelf. Pots and pans go in the dishwasher, kettle on the stove, coffee pitcher in the coffee maker. I hang up the apron and chef's hat, restock the plastic eggs, and stack the cups and glasses. The play kitchen is ready for playing.

Our current kitchen is huge. With a dining area on one side and a seating area rendered play area on the other, it is almost the size of our entire apartment in Ifrane, and half the size of our two-bedroom condo in Arlington. It has so much counter space and so many cabinets that I once thought would be impossible to fill yet somehow managed to crowd.

Other than the pantry, which is something I have wanted for a long time, my second favorite part of the kitchen set-up is the island in the middle. With two hidden closets and drawers underneath a wide counter-top, it conceals the overflow of utensils, plastic bags, handy tools, extra diapers and craft supplies in its belly. But it's on its top where life happens.

As much as I shun away from clutter and try to maintain at least one area free of the gathering of seemingly unrelated objects, having two kids means things will undeniably pile up where they shouldn't. And seeing how we spend a lot of time in the kitchen/play area, with the top of the counter an empty space begging to be filled, that's where every random object ends up.

Hair buckles, toy cars, little people, miniature plastic cups, kids water bottles, lunchboxes, empty and not-so-empty containers, parent papers from the school, crafts, bills, crayons, pens and pencils, used paper towels, things I don't want Yousef to have and things I want to give JR, anything and everything seems to find a spot on that white space. Then, the space is not so white anymore. Then, it is a pool of what that day, or that week has been like. If it was a good week, then the space wouldn't be so covered; it means I had a chance to put things away. If it wasn't as good of a week, then the space has no space and I am on the fringe of losing my mind over it. That's when I start moving things from the counter to the floor, and the stairs, and the trash. I try to move as much as I can to the trash. If it doesn't exist, it doesn't need to be put away.

On a great week, I have real flowers in the center and displays of wonderous objects JR put together for me, like the paper flowers that are still blooming many weeks later. Decorated pumpkins or plates full of play food JR cooked for me, cups filled with pretend lemonade and notes she wrote at school. Treasure she found at the playground and things her friends gave her. Things that mean something to her and then mean something to me.

On those weeks, I don't mind the "clutter," cause I do not see it as clutter. On those weeks, I enjoy walking past the island and seeing what life has deposited there. A freshly baked chocolate cake, the lunch box Yousef was carrying pretending to go to school, paintings JR made for the neighbors as a thank you. On those weeks I do not rush to clear out the space but bask in its fullness. It's on those weeks that I am reminded that it is best to enjoy life messy!

Happy new year

We are only 15 days into the new year and yet all it has brought has been happy news.

• I am still pregnant
• My cerclage is holding up, my cervix is still "long" and my uterus lining is thick
• I do not have gestational diabetes
• I saw the maternal fetal medicine doctor for the last time yesterday
• Our family is entirely up-to-date on vaccinations, so no more shots before the baby comes
• I pre-registered at the hospital for the baby's birth, and scheduled the delivery for 39 weeks
• The construction work on our patio is finally done and we have our "play room" back
• It has been a mild winter so far
• My mother-in-law will be helping us for two weeks, which gets me to 34 weeks
• Jeff started his last doctoral semester
• JR tunred 3 surrounded by friends and family
• I managed to cook some meals for my family, with plenty of help prepping and cleaning up 

While I am sure life will surprise us plenty in the days to come, having these positive landmarks to look back on will make the journey more pleasant and enjoyable.

Happy New Year!

Lessons from bed: Eating Mindfully

When was the last time you actually savored what you were eating? Took a good look at what was in front of you before you stuck it in your mouth? Smelled it? Inspected it? Appreciated it? Do you ever notice how a baby ponders new foods before introducing them into her system? Look at Jannah-Rae and remember how it was with first foods: a discovery, an adventure, an experience for the senses, an exploration.

Before bed rest I was lucky to even have time to eat. I was constantly rushed through meals, skipped meals, or ate whatever was on hand at the time. Like most moms, sit down meals were a luxury, not a right. When I had a chance to eat in silence, I would scarf down whatever I had microwaved and move on to the next item on my list. Eating was just "another" thing to get done, nothing worth "engaging" in, "appreciating" or "talking about." Even when Jeff and I went out to eat, I was in a hurry; in a hurry to order, in a hurry to get my food, in a hurry to eat, and in a hurry to get the check. It was never about the experience; food served one purpose: sustenance.

That was then. Now, I have all the time in the world, and pretty much nothing to do. So, what I get a chance to do, I do well. No more cutting corners, rushing through tasks, or running on empty. When I eat, I do it with purpose: to nourish my body and the growing body inside of me. I pace myself, take small bites, chew slowly and swallow consciously. I actually put the fork down between mouthfuls, and carry on a conversation during a meal.

I now start and end my meals almost at the same time as Jannah-Rae, when in the past I would sit waiting for her to finish her meals. This has made meals more enjoyable. I no longer feel like it is a "waste of time" to eat, but rather look forward to sitting at the table for however long it takes for the two of us to finish our meals joyfully.

I am eating less, I noticed, and differently. Although I have always been aware, and picky, of the food I eat, I now choose my food even more carefully: more rainbow colors, less medium rare; more fresh, less fried; more natural. less refined. What I eat matters for two, and being on bed rest is a constant reminder to bring mindfullness to every aspect of my life, including food.

Lessons from Bed: The crooked frame

Yesterday marked six weeks since I have been on bed rest. I wish I can say the journey to having held my unborn baby past the first medical milestone, 24 weeks, was easy and pleasant. I wish I could say I naturally took to being confined to the 943 square feet that is our apartment, or the 76 × 80 inches that is our bed. That I have been enjoying staring out the same windows to the same views watching random people passing by, and some times none at all, day in and day out. That it is pleasant looking at the walls and the frames and the mirrors and the floors for hours at end. That going through things that need to be done, dishes that need to be cleaned, potties that need to be emptied, laundry that needs to be folded knowing very well that I cannot do any of these things is not driving me crazy. That boredom is not so set in me that the mere thought of picking up a book to read or turning on the TV seems to require more effort, concentration and will than just lying down and slowly counting the hours until another day dawns.

One might think that I now have so much time to be productive: finish that baby book, work on that scrapbook, organise these photos, read, catch up with friends, when in reality having all this time is like not having any time at all. I am a person who thrives among others, who lives to be busy, who wants to have so much to do and so little time to do it. I crave deadlines, need chores, want to cook. I also like to have time to go to yoga, read a book, blog, get a facial, take a walk, talk on the phone. But not like this. I like that time to be carved out of the time during which I am already busy. I like that break in the middle of the day when JR is napping, or at the end of the day when Jeff comes home. I like that lunch date with friends on the weekend after I spend all week complaining about not having had time to get anything done. I want the time to relax to be part of my time, not all of my time. Bed rest is not my idea of having time to flourish and shine, to catch up and move ahead.

And so, I drag along. The days have turned into weeks, and the weeks will soon become months. What do I have to show for all this time? I proudly say nothing. The baby book is still unfinished, the scrapbook is still untouched and those photos are in no better shape than they were last year. I cannot say I have read any more books, watched any more movies, or talked any more to my friends than I did when I was not on bed rest.

But, I did do something I would not have otherwise been able to do; I started letting go. I let go of my ego, my to-do list, my timetable. I let go of my impulsiveness, my always wanting to make things better, to do things differently. I learned to sit still and observe, to ask for help, to silence my thoughts. I learned that not everything needs to be done right now, and that some things are fine just left undone. So, the frame still hangs crooked, uneven, lopsided; a reminder of what I can, but do not need to, do.

Lessons from Bed: Rules to Live By

I don’t do Halloween. Jeff doesn’t like it either. So, once we had our own family we decided Halloween was one of many celebrations we were not going to take part in; the others being Santa, New Year’s Eve, the Easter Bunny, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s day, and others not directly related to our system of beliefs. Although we have our version of Halloween in Lebanon called Eid el Berbara, celebrated on December 4th, in all my childhood years I remember having dressed up in costume only once, and even then I felt ridiculous. St. Berbara had donned on different characters in order to escape the Romans who were persecuting her. She used to hide in wheat fields. Cooked wheat with sugar, cinnamon, almonds and raisins, something similar to American-style oatmeal, is served during this "holiday" and a special song is sung. My late grandmother used to call on Eid el Berbara as her excuse to make that treat for her grandchildren although she really did not need to go that far to convince us to enjoy that treat.

 

This year, however, Jeff and I made an exception and JR got to take part in her first, and possibly last, trick or treating expedition. The timing was right, and the distraction was perfect. I had just been admitted to the hospital for an emergency cerclage and we enlisted Sonia to help with JR. We were not prepared for the surgery but were lucky that Sonia came to our aid at a moment’s notice. She dropped what she was doing, picked JR up and headed back to her place where she kept her two girls and their friend engaged, fed, rested and happy for the rest of the day. And since the surgery happened on Halloween dressing up and knocking on people’s doors proved to be a most successful form of entertainment for the 3 year-old. It was so successful that JR did not notice that I was not there until it was time for her to go to bed and Mama was not there. And, “facetiming” Mama was a poor substitute.

 

Choosing to allow JR to dress up like a frog and knock on people’s door proved to be a decision that we won’t regret. She came back happy with lots of stories to tell. And while this decision may not align with our overall parenting style, being flexible and allowing room for the unexpected is. And while I would love to raise my kids with “rules and regulations,” I love being able to offer them adaptability more. Life is full of surprises and having the skills to bend with the change is invaluable. So yes, there are traditions we won’t incorporate into our daily life; but when the choice is between bending the rules to allow myself and my family space to function, or being rigid and thus crippling, I will chose to bend the rules.

 

And that is one of the many lessons this bed rest challenge has taught me.

 

 

 

The Empty Drawer

It stands alone in a sea of possessions. A reminder that there is a way to live without, live with less. Among the myriad of things we own, this lone kitchen drawer helps me keep my sanity and maintain my balance.

While the pull to buy more, pile more, have more, is great, my need to have this island of a drawer is greater. So, I resist. I resist with a lot of force. I battle constantly with the marketers, the advertisers, and the sales people. Temptation is everywhere. At one point, my resistances break and I buy. I buy, yes, but soon after that I discard. For almost every new thing I acquire, I let go of another. I do not have room for more. I do not have a need for more. Life is a continuing circulation, and so is my house. It is the live example of “in with the new, out with the old.”

Growing up in a time and place where "hoarding" was a survival skill meant that I had a long way to go to reach that empty drawer. It meant getting over many internal hurdles and overcoming personality traits, old habits, and societal teachings. Living in a time and a place now where "consumerism" is a way of life means that keeping that empty drawer is an ongoing challenge.

We have 18 more months in this condo. I intend to keep that drawer empty for that time. I will try every day not to use it to pile more things. It will be my practice to save this drawer from a suffocating existence. It will be my meditation. My example to live by.