It was still dark when the wailing alarm clock rang out in my cave like room. How did 5:30 come so quickly? If only the days could pass as quickly as the night, I thought. My head felt like an oozing pimple ready to be popped, a very familiar feeling as of recent. I decided it was from getting up early rather than the possible twinge of depression I had been feeling the last few weeks. For the most part, I was fine, I am fine, yet if a friend were telling me her symptoms, I'd probably suggest depression. That thought struck a cord with me: what would I tell myself if I was my friend? What would I do if my friend were in my situation?
I don't have many friends; I've never really been popular. But the friends that I do have last for years and love me fiercely. They are the type of people that can be miles away, but I know they are still loyal and kind and deep with me. In fact, my best friends are stretched across the world from the West Coast to the Caribbean to the Middle East. They are distant and there are few of them, but I decided a long time ago that when it comes to people, quality is always better than quantity.
I was up that early because a friend was having an early morning surgery in the city and needed someone to drive her there and be with her the hours following her procedure. She was apologetic for it being so early and tried to reschedule, but I assured her that it was not a problem. That's what friends do. They care for each other, they love each other, and they help each other in times of need. I truly had no problem doing the favor because I enjoy being a good friend. I like caring for people that are important to me. It brings me joy.
Moving across the country, for whatever the reason, will always bring times of loneliness and adjustments. Being stationed somewhere because of the military is no different. There are some groups and people in place, such as your soldier's friend's spouses or the Family Readiness Group, that become the core groups of friends for many military spouses. Sometimes a few of these people become lifelong friends. Sometimes, however, there isn't any particular person that you connect with on a soul-to-soul level. Some people go their whole lives without finding a person like that and it seems to be just a matter of luck! I have found some good friends here that I am so thankful for, but I still feel an aching for my closest friends that know me best. Some are silver, the others are gold, as the song goes, and I have been lamenting the distance of my golden friends.
I had two hours to kill while my friend was in surgery so I decided to go on a little adventure. As I walked toward a nearby market, I had this idea of friendship on my mind. I thought about what I would do if one or more of my close friends were with me. Dr. Phil was in my head as I had just read one of his articles in the waiting room of the surgical center just minutes before. He was talking about being your own best friend. I wondered if I was capable of doing that, if I could find joy in doing things alone, if I could love on myself. I set out to do just that. I decided to try out what it would be like to be a friend to myself.
As I approached the market, a cafe whirled and whistled with the sounds of espresso machines and blenders. I ordered a spirulina and fruit smoothie and wandered outside to look at the flowers for sale. A flamboyant gay man struck up a conversation with me and told me that my beautiful green eyes matched my smoothie. I welcomed the no-strings-attached compliment and went back to admiring the orchids. The man then remarked that I really needed to touch up my roots, as all my gray hair was showing. I started to cover my part with my hand, self-consciously, but then broke out into laughter. There I was trying an experiment on loving myself, and some stranger is reminding me to take care of my appearance. The universe had dropped a comment into my lap that typically only a close friend would say. The irony just made me smile.
I knew the smoothie would not last long, so I found a place to get some breakfast. I couldn't help but notice the beautiful wrinkles on the employee's face. I caught myself almost starting an internal argument: wrinkles can't be beautiful; women pay thousands of dollars to get rid of them! Thankfully, my soul told my head to shut up and to enjoy the beauty, the wisdom, the life experience. How many times had those eyes smiled in glee or winced in pain to create such perfect crows feet? How many baby toes have those creased lips kissed? I finished my meal with only about 40 minutes left in my experiment. I decided to go for another walk. I crossed a busy street and a homeless, sidewalk preacher wanted to tell me about God's love. I began to tell him that I already knew God and His love and tried to continue on my way. He was adamant that I knew, "God loves you, He loves you, He really, really loves you!" he shouted. I took a deep breath, could we ever really know everything there is about God and love? I allowed myself to stay and listen to him for a few more seconds and to take in all the love he wanted to impart on me. A friend wouldn't stop a friend from being filled with love. I thanked him and continued down the street.
I saw a sign for a spa in the distance and thought a pedicure sounded nice. As I neared the spa, the surgery center called me to tell me my friend would be ready in 30 minutes. I didn't want to be late so I started to walk past the spa and just head back toward the surgery center, which was right across the street. Once again, I had to stop myself. 30 minutes was the perfect amount of time for a pedicure, and I had, after all, resolved to be a friend to myself today. I went in, picked out a pretty plum color, and got a pedicure. The massage on my feet and calves felt so great that I started to fall asleep. I jerked awake and embarrassedly smiled at my pedicurist. She looked at me and smiled at me with more depth and understanding than I've seen in a long time. She really looked at me. More so than looking at me, she saw me. For a split second, I felt known. She continued on the other leg, gingerly massaging my sore muscles. She had no idea, but I felt as though she was massaging away more than lactic acid. The human touch coupled with the human connection that we just had, almost brought me to tears. Those two hours were just what I needed.
In just two hours, I learned how to be my own friend. I learned to take a compliment, to see beauty in places that others can't, I learned to let love in, and to allow myself to be taken care of. I learned that it was not selfish to do these things. On the contrary, when I'm being my own friend and taking care of myself, I am able to be strong for my husband and positive for my friends. When I let love and care and friendship in, whatever the source, I am able to let those things flow out of me. I started off the morning wanting to stay in my dark, cool cave; the wail of my alarm clock brought a groan. However, I end the day with a new tenderness in the way I treat myself. I have been trying so hard to love others and be gracious to people, yet I somehow missed the fact that I need those things myself. Today, I learned how to love myself in a two hour experiment on being my own friend.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
What's so great about chocolate cake?
There are a lot of things in life that I don't understand that everyone else seems to just get ahold of. I've decided to compile a list of those things. Perhaps you can fill me in.
1. Is the toilet seat really that important? This seems to be an important issue in marriage: whether the seat is up or down. Ladies, is it that hard to put the seat down? Do you then leave it up for your husband? Is the toilet seat really worth nagging about?
2. What's so scary about turning 30 (or 40 or 50)? Is it a big secret that something awful happens when you hit these milestones? Does a creepy, ax-murdering clown awake you at midnight? Personally, I am looking forward to 30, but maybe that's because I don't know the big, terrible, awful thing that will happen at the stroke of midnight on my thirtieth birthday.
3. What's so great about chocolate cake? Or chocolate in general for that matter. Or cake in general. Do people really have orgasmic reactions when they indulge in the worlds most beloved substance, as the commercials would lead me to believe? This is serious guys, am I missing out on easy orgasms? The way women get so tickled over chocolate, I'd have to guess so.
Is there anyone out there that doesn't give a damn about the toilet seat, doesn't find aging daunting, and doesn't like chocolate? I'd like to know because I feel all alone out here.
1. Is the toilet seat really that important? This seems to be an important issue in marriage: whether the seat is up or down. Ladies, is it that hard to put the seat down? Do you then leave it up for your husband? Is the toilet seat really worth nagging about?
2. What's so scary about turning 30 (or 40 or 50)? Is it a big secret that something awful happens when you hit these milestones? Does a creepy, ax-murdering clown awake you at midnight? Personally, I am looking forward to 30, but maybe that's because I don't know the big, terrible, awful thing that will happen at the stroke of midnight on my thirtieth birthday.
3. What's so great about chocolate cake? Or chocolate in general for that matter. Or cake in general. Do people really have orgasmic reactions when they indulge in the worlds most beloved substance, as the commercials would lead me to believe? This is serious guys, am I missing out on easy orgasms? The way women get so tickled over chocolate, I'd have to guess so.
Is there anyone out there that doesn't give a damn about the toilet seat, doesn't find aging daunting, and doesn't like chocolate? I'd like to know because I feel all alone out here.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
understood
I read a book a couple of years ago called Sex, Lies, and Handwriting. The author, Michelle Dresbold, has worked with the U.S. Secret Service and various law enforcement agencies doing handwriting profiles. The theory behind handwriting analysis is that the brain controls handwriting, not the hand. Therefore, it is a picture into how the brain works. Experts claim that it isn't possible to completely alter one's handwriting because the wiring of the brain has more control over how the letters are formed than the physical mechanics of writing. In one chapter of the book, Dresbold focuses on the implications of a person's signature. She walks the reader through profiles of famous people simply based off their signatures. She explains that such a simple, commonplace task of signing one's name provides a huge insight into that person's personality.
My signature is clearly written out; it's basically "printing" my name but in cursive. There are no scribbles, large loops, symbols, or illegible letters. It's not overly neat or straight, but the letters are obvious. According to Dresbold, this means that one of the most important things to me is to be understood. It means I don't mind taking the time to write out each letter because I value clarity and don't want to leave any room for misinterpretation. Her claim would be that I prefer to be blunt rather than delicate because I want my message to be clear. Her assessment would be that I value clear communication and hate being misunderstood.
I would have to agree with that assessment. In fact, I didn't realize how important it was for me to be understood until I read that profile. While I have not thought about that book for sometime, there are many instances in life in which I am reminded of how much I value those things. I often find myself prefacing statements with disclaimers or qualifiers because I don't want people to misunderstand any statement I make. For example, I think the way we approach pregnancy and childbirth in the US is often all wrong. I believe we over medicalize childbirth and I often try to raise questions to make people think critically about the situation. However, childbirth is an intensely personal matter and people often get defensive about the choices they made. Health care professionals get irritated because they feel like I may be questioning their intentions or judgement. This makes it very difficult for me to talk about such things because I absolutely hate being misunderstood. I never mean to back someone into a corner or to make them feel like they need to defend themselves or that I'm judging them. All I mean to do is ask, "Is there a better way? Are we getting it wrong? How can we improve?"
My need for being clear and to be clearly understood has made it difficult for me to write on the blog lately. If someone misunderstands me, especially in a way that causes them to be angry or upset, I tend to shut down. If someone correctly understands what I say and gets upset or angry, that doesn't bother me. But if someone misunderstands me and it causes an adverse reaction, I lose courage to speak. There are things that I will absolutely not write about on here because they are way too personal. However, much of what I do write still requires me to be somewhat vulnerable. As I dip my toes a little more into the cold waters of transparency, I tend to pull back and retreat. I spoke with a friend about possibly shutting down the blog and she reminded me that this was an important outlet for me. She encouraged me to engage in the process even if I may be misunderstood. She told me that we can never control how anyone will interpret what we say, but that we have to speak anyway.
With that said, this is my journey, a telling of my personal experiences. My intention is never to devalue another individual's experience. I often share lessons that I've learned - after the fact. The process of learning those lessons is rarely pretty nor is it able to fit into a neat little blog post at the time. It is important for me to look back on life experiences, especially the ones that weren't all sunshine and lolly pops, and find the positive or the lesson. This is my avenue for doing that. I love hearing other people's life lessons, so that I may glean wisdom from them. The process of writing out my own life lessons is therapeutic for me and I often come away with more knowledge than I had when I started writing about it. I simply share these experiences with you for my own external processing, and in hopes that maybe you can benefit in some way from what I've learned. Thank you for allowing me to work through some nitty-gritty areas like marriage, deployment, and faith. Writing a blog in itself has been a lesson on vulnerability and courage, and one that hasn't been easy for me.
My signature is clearly written out; it's basically "printing" my name but in cursive. There are no scribbles, large loops, symbols, or illegible letters. It's not overly neat or straight, but the letters are obvious. According to Dresbold, this means that one of the most important things to me is to be understood. It means I don't mind taking the time to write out each letter because I value clarity and don't want to leave any room for misinterpretation. Her claim would be that I prefer to be blunt rather than delicate because I want my message to be clear. Her assessment would be that I value clear communication and hate being misunderstood.
I would have to agree with that assessment. In fact, I didn't realize how important it was for me to be understood until I read that profile. While I have not thought about that book for sometime, there are many instances in life in which I am reminded of how much I value those things. I often find myself prefacing statements with disclaimers or qualifiers because I don't want people to misunderstand any statement I make. For example, I think the way we approach pregnancy and childbirth in the US is often all wrong. I believe we over medicalize childbirth and I often try to raise questions to make people think critically about the situation. However, childbirth is an intensely personal matter and people often get defensive about the choices they made. Health care professionals get irritated because they feel like I may be questioning their intentions or judgement. This makes it very difficult for me to talk about such things because I absolutely hate being misunderstood. I never mean to back someone into a corner or to make them feel like they need to defend themselves or that I'm judging them. All I mean to do is ask, "Is there a better way? Are we getting it wrong? How can we improve?"
My need for being clear and to be clearly understood has made it difficult for me to write on the blog lately. If someone misunderstands me, especially in a way that causes them to be angry or upset, I tend to shut down. If someone correctly understands what I say and gets upset or angry, that doesn't bother me. But if someone misunderstands me and it causes an adverse reaction, I lose courage to speak. There are things that I will absolutely not write about on here because they are way too personal. However, much of what I do write still requires me to be somewhat vulnerable. As I dip my toes a little more into the cold waters of transparency, I tend to pull back and retreat. I spoke with a friend about possibly shutting down the blog and she reminded me that this was an important outlet for me. She encouraged me to engage in the process even if I may be misunderstood. She told me that we can never control how anyone will interpret what we say, but that we have to speak anyway.
With that said, this is my journey, a telling of my personal experiences. My intention is never to devalue another individual's experience. I often share lessons that I've learned - after the fact. The process of learning those lessons is rarely pretty nor is it able to fit into a neat little blog post at the time. It is important for me to look back on life experiences, especially the ones that weren't all sunshine and lolly pops, and find the positive or the lesson. This is my avenue for doing that. I love hearing other people's life lessons, so that I may glean wisdom from them. The process of writing out my own life lessons is therapeutic for me and I often come away with more knowledge than I had when I started writing about it. I simply share these experiences with you for my own external processing, and in hopes that maybe you can benefit in some way from what I've learned. Thank you for allowing me to work through some nitty-gritty areas like marriage, deployment, and faith. Writing a blog in itself has been a lesson on vulnerability and courage, and one that hasn't been easy for me.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Chinese torture
My brothers and I used to play this "game" called Chinese Torture. Basically, we'd be wrestling and then one would manage to subdue the other (usually the older sibling until my younger brother got bigger than me) and the dominant fighter would repeatedly poke the bottom one's head, yelling "Chinese torture! Chinese torture!" The pokes were mostly soft, unless the person poking was genuinely mad. Being poked repeatedly on the forehead really wasn't that bad at first and I'd just look at my brother like he was dumb and that it wasn't going to do anything to me. But after about two minutes, I'd get really irritated and start trying to swat his hand away. This rarely worked because he'd pin my arms down with his knees. Then I'd be calm again and pretend like it didn't bother me. However, just a few more minutes of the soft, but fast poking in the same exact spot on my head, and I would flip. I'd go into an all out rage screaming, bucking, attempting to head-butt, bite, or whatever I could to make it stop. I'd knee him in the kidneys and writhe until I could get free. Wrestling was almost always playful for us and I genuinely enjoyed it, but if "Chinese Torture" went on too long, I'd snap. Sometimes mom or dad would intervene at that point, but not always. Sometimes they'd let us fight it out; they wouldn't always come to the rescue. Because of this I learned to throw a punch, and how to take one too. I learned how to fight back, even when in pain. To those of you who are strongly against violence and may be judging my parents, know that my siblings and I have an extremely strong bond and even when angry we never let it go too far. We were extremely protective of each other and I remember multiple times when I was the dominant one in the fight and I'd call it off, and my brothers have done the same. This also taught us to know our own strength and when NOT to deploy it. When one is confident in their strength, they don't always have to prove it.
In many ways, I feel like I'm reaching that snapping point with deployment. The soft, but repeated loneliness and longing is sometimes easy to ignore. In the beginning, it's easy to look deployment in the face and say, "You're not going to break me." Then after a few months without reprieve, a temper tantrum rose in me and I wanted to swat deployment away. However, when R&R came, I felt a sense of calm and strengthening, but that was only temporary. I had to say goodbye AGAIN. I came home to an empty house AGAIN. I felt lost and heavy in my own home AGAIN. I got through the first week or so, but I feel it. Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke. POKE. POKE! It rings louder and louder in my head. I'm in that place where I feel the rage building up inside me. I want to kick, fight, and scream. I don't want to take it anymore. I don't want to do it any longer. I want to be done. I feel myself starting to whimper, "Make it stop." However, I've learned how to stay in a place of intense pressure. It's in my nature to not give up, but I've also learned how to stick with something even when I'm being subdued. I know how to come back up after a hit. I know my own strength and the damage my rage can do. I have confidence in my ability to endure. I know that my subduer will eventually get off my chest and the poking will stop. Sometimes our Father intervenes and puts an end to things, but sometimes He lets us learn that through Him, we're capable of enduring hardship. He lets us learn to not be afraid of the heaviness. He knows when we've had enough, but he also knows when it's NOT time for it to end because there is more to learn. And so I may reach a snapping point. I may rage and kick and scream. But even though I'm aware of my growing weariness, I'm looking for what else I may learn from this experience. I'm not afraid of the fight.
In many ways, I feel like I'm reaching that snapping point with deployment. The soft, but repeated loneliness and longing is sometimes easy to ignore. In the beginning, it's easy to look deployment in the face and say, "You're not going to break me." Then after a few months without reprieve, a temper tantrum rose in me and I wanted to swat deployment away. However, when R&R came, I felt a sense of calm and strengthening, but that was only temporary. I had to say goodbye AGAIN. I came home to an empty house AGAIN. I felt lost and heavy in my own home AGAIN. I got through the first week or so, but I feel it. Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke. POKE. POKE! It rings louder and louder in my head. I'm in that place where I feel the rage building up inside me. I want to kick, fight, and scream. I don't want to take it anymore. I don't want to do it any longer. I want to be done. I feel myself starting to whimper, "Make it stop." However, I've learned how to stay in a place of intense pressure. It's in my nature to not give up, but I've also learned how to stick with something even when I'm being subdued. I know how to come back up after a hit. I know my own strength and the damage my rage can do. I have confidence in my ability to endure. I know that my subduer will eventually get off my chest and the poking will stop. Sometimes our Father intervenes and puts an end to things, but sometimes He lets us learn that through Him, we're capable of enduring hardship. He lets us learn to not be afraid of the heaviness. He knows when we've had enough, but he also knows when it's NOT time for it to end because there is more to learn. And so I may reach a snapping point. I may rage and kick and scream. But even though I'm aware of my growing weariness, I'm looking for what else I may learn from this experience. I'm not afraid of the fight.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
more on r&r
I had some anxiety about John coming home for R&R, mostly because of all the unknowns. I have changed since he left and I knew he had too to some degree. I worried it would be an extreme change and I'd be left wondering who the heck was this man I was married to. Would we still work well together? Would we still like each other? If I let the wondering go too far, it could cause a lot of stress. In fact, when we were engaged, we knew that a deployment was coming soon and considered waiting to get married until after he got back. He wasn't sure how much being in a war zone would change him and didn't want me to be "stuck" with someone I didn't agree to marry. He wanted me to know what I was getting into. However, we decided that you never really fully know "what you're getting into" when you get married. Life happens; things change. You make a commitment despite the fact that things may, and probably will, change. Even though we had said we were both all in, I still couldn't help but consider that eight months apart, with one of us facing war, might cause some road bumps.
Many other wives had said that their husbands were a little more short-tempered than before. Some said that it took a few days for their men to relax and not be so tense. I was preparing for those things and expecting a bit of tension. The first few hours we spent together were in the car driving home. After he hugged his truck in the parking lot, he opened my door and kissed me before going to his side. He held my hand, made me laugh, and showered my arms and cheeks with kisses while I drove. I could physically feel the pent up stress and anxiety leave my body. My shoulders relaxed and my breathing slowed. This was the man I fell in love and married. My worrying about him being tense had made me tense; funny how worrying does that!
Surprisingly, I was the one who had a harder time with the transition. Other than being completely overwhelmed and on edge at the grocery store (head on a swivel, eyes darting everywhere), he was basically the same guy I know and love. I was the one who ended up being short-tempered. We had been in San Antonio and I was being snippy for most of the day. I could hear myself being that way and hated the way I sounded. I didn't want to be like that, but I was having a really hard time controlling the 'tude. It seemed like everything he did or said irritated me. The more I tried to hold it in, the grumpier I got. I started to pick fights over nothing, which didn't really work because John diffused my attempts to fight every time. That night I laid in bed and the tears just started flowing down my face. I tried to hide them from John, but being the detective he is, he asked what was wrong. I tearfully cried, "I don't know!" And I really didn't at that moment, which made me even more upset because I'm usually quite in tune with my feelings. He held me and let me talk it out, a process that lead me to the answer. I had been so used to being by myself that it was almost like I had forgotten how to live in a close relationship with someone. Having to compromise and communicate made me grumpy. Living for yourself is easy. When there is no other person in the equation, you almost always get your way and there is no need to communicate anything. I just wasn't used to having him around and that realization saddened me. My reality had become one in which he wasn't a factor in the day to day happenings of life.
On top of that, I wasn't dealing well with the emotional roller coaster. When he's away there is a wall up to protect myself, but good relationships require intimacy and vulnerability. I had to tear down that protective wall in order to connect with him, yet I knew that he was leaving soon and didn't want to fully let go of my wall. That caused some emotional discord. Once I was able to embrace all of it, I was a much happier person. The joys and bliss were so much greater once I let go of my fear of the eventual let down and heartbreak. Once I was able to let in the lows of life, to actually stay there and respect those feelings for what they are, I could reach the highs of life on a deeper level. Vulnerability isn't such a scary thing when you know it allows good things to come in as well as the ugly.
Many other wives had said that their husbands were a little more short-tempered than before. Some said that it took a few days for their men to relax and not be so tense. I was preparing for those things and expecting a bit of tension. The first few hours we spent together were in the car driving home. After he hugged his truck in the parking lot, he opened my door and kissed me before going to his side. He held my hand, made me laugh, and showered my arms and cheeks with kisses while I drove. I could physically feel the pent up stress and anxiety leave my body. My shoulders relaxed and my breathing slowed. This was the man I fell in love and married. My worrying about him being tense had made me tense; funny how worrying does that!
Surprisingly, I was the one who had a harder time with the transition. Other than being completely overwhelmed and on edge at the grocery store (head on a swivel, eyes darting everywhere), he was basically the same guy I know and love. I was the one who ended up being short-tempered. We had been in San Antonio and I was being snippy for most of the day. I could hear myself being that way and hated the way I sounded. I didn't want to be like that, but I was having a really hard time controlling the 'tude. It seemed like everything he did or said irritated me. The more I tried to hold it in, the grumpier I got. I started to pick fights over nothing, which didn't really work because John diffused my attempts to fight every time. That night I laid in bed and the tears just started flowing down my face. I tried to hide them from John, but being the detective he is, he asked what was wrong. I tearfully cried, "I don't know!" And I really didn't at that moment, which made me even more upset because I'm usually quite in tune with my feelings. He held me and let me talk it out, a process that lead me to the answer. I had been so used to being by myself that it was almost like I had forgotten how to live in a close relationship with someone. Having to compromise and communicate made me grumpy. Living for yourself is easy. When there is no other person in the equation, you almost always get your way and there is no need to communicate anything. I just wasn't used to having him around and that realization saddened me. My reality had become one in which he wasn't a factor in the day to day happenings of life.
On top of that, I wasn't dealing well with the emotional roller coaster. When he's away there is a wall up to protect myself, but good relationships require intimacy and vulnerability. I had to tear down that protective wall in order to connect with him, yet I knew that he was leaving soon and didn't want to fully let go of my wall. That caused some emotional discord. Once I was able to embrace all of it, I was a much happier person. The joys and bliss were so much greater once I let go of my fear of the eventual let down and heartbreak. Once I was able to let in the lows of life, to actually stay there and respect those feelings for what they are, I could reach the highs of life on a deeper level. Vulnerability isn't such a scary thing when you know it allows good things to come in as well as the ugly.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Get yo' folate, mate!
For those of you that read this here blog but don't know me personally, you may not know that there is another side of me: the unashamed nerd. I'm particularly passionate about women's health and there has been a pressing issue on my mind today: folic acid. Also known as vitamin B9, or folate (as it occurs in the body), this vitamin is especially important in women of child-bearing age and commonly lacking in the American diet.
Folic acid reduces the risk of neural tube defects in a growing fetus. These neural tube defects affect the spinal cord and brain (as the neural tube becomes those structures) and can result in conditions like spina bifida and anencephaly (parts of the brain missing). It is important for all women to get enough folic acid in their diet, 400 mcg, even if they have no intention of being pregnant because the neural tube develops in the first few weeks of pregnancy, long before most women even know they are pregnant. So if you have working lady parts and those working lady parts may be around a working penis, you need to be taking folic acid! The CDC estimates that increasing folic acid intake to 400 mcg just one month prior to conception (and during pregnancy) reduces the risk of neural tube defects by 50-70%. This stuff is no joke, man... er, woman. Not a woman of child-bearing age? That's ok, folic acid is for you too! Folic acid helps makes new cells, particularly red blood cells; we all need it!
Surprisingly, studies have shown that our bodies absorb the synthetic version better. A daily multivitamin or supplement with 400 mcg (600 if you're pregnant or breastfeeding) of folic acid is recommended. However, heathy foods like spinach and citrus fruits are good sources of folic acid and one gets other benefits from consuming such foods than just the folic acid. Plus, I don't know about you, but I'd rather eat fresh produce than pop a pill! (Although, I do both, just to be safe.) Some good sources of folic acid include lentils and beans, fortified cereals, spinach, collard greens, broccoli, cauliflower, romaine lettuce, parsley, brussel sprouts, cabbage, bell peppers, tomatoes, leeks, strawberries, papaya... is anyone else getting hungry? What kind of delicious recipes can you come up with that are packed with folic acid?
Being healthy is for everyone, but folic acid intake is especially important for those who may become pregnant. If you're like me and the thought of being a mother makes you ill, you may not want to think about taking care of a baby that doesn't exist yet. However, if your vagina is near a penis, there is a chance you can become pregnant (real talk). A simple change can reduce the risk of a severe birth defect; so get yo' folate, mate!
Folic acid reduces the risk of neural tube defects in a growing fetus. These neural tube defects affect the spinal cord and brain (as the neural tube becomes those structures) and can result in conditions like spina bifida and anencephaly (parts of the brain missing). It is important for all women to get enough folic acid in their diet, 400 mcg, even if they have no intention of being pregnant because the neural tube develops in the first few weeks of pregnancy, long before most women even know they are pregnant. So if you have working lady parts and those working lady parts may be around a working penis, you need to be taking folic acid! The CDC estimates that increasing folic acid intake to 400 mcg just one month prior to conception (and during pregnancy) reduces the risk of neural tube defects by 50-70%. This stuff is no joke, man... er, woman. Not a woman of child-bearing age? That's ok, folic acid is for you too! Folic acid helps makes new cells, particularly red blood cells; we all need it!
Surprisingly, studies have shown that our bodies absorb the synthetic version better. A daily multivitamin or supplement with 400 mcg (600 if you're pregnant or breastfeeding) of folic acid is recommended. However, heathy foods like spinach and citrus fruits are good sources of folic acid and one gets other benefits from consuming such foods than just the folic acid. Plus, I don't know about you, but I'd rather eat fresh produce than pop a pill! (Although, I do both, just to be safe.) Some good sources of folic acid include lentils and beans, fortified cereals, spinach, collard greens, broccoli, cauliflower, romaine lettuce, parsley, brussel sprouts, cabbage, bell peppers, tomatoes, leeks, strawberries, papaya... is anyone else getting hungry? What kind of delicious recipes can you come up with that are packed with folic acid?
Being healthy is for everyone, but folic acid intake is especially important for those who may become pregnant. If you're like me and the thought of being a mother makes you ill, you may not want to think about taking care of a baby that doesn't exist yet. However, if your vagina is near a penis, there is a chance you can become pregnant (real talk). A simple change can reduce the risk of a severe birth defect; so get yo' folate, mate!
Thursday, March 15, 2012
rest and recuperation
Well, hello there! I have not written anything in a while because I was enjoying some rest and recuperation with my soldier. From what I understand (and it's constantly changing), soldiers who have deployment orders for more than nine months get a 15 day mid-tour leave called "R & R." Soldiers are given an approximate date for their leave, but no other specifics than that until a few hours ahead of time. Since John was the last one to get leave out of our circle of Army families, I was trying to get more information from the others about what they experienced and how the process went. As I talked to other Army wives, it was quickly apparent that no two experiences are the same and that I couldn't really gain any clues about details for John's leave. John was given a two-week window for when he may leave. That's the only information we knew for about a month. Then a couple of weeks ahead of time, he was given a specific day in which he was to report to his superiors for more information.
Once he reported to his superiors, he was given a briefing on how he is expected to conduct himself en route and while on leave. He then was transported to a bigger base where he was to fly out of. He was able to contact me once he got to the bigger base and inform me that he was supposed to be leaving the Middle East some time that evening. I didn't hear from him at all overnight so the next morning I assumed he was on his way to somewhere in Europe. He messaged me shortly after I woke up, however, saying that he still hadn't left the Middle East. He was able to give me an approximate time he was to arrive at his final destination: 2 pm the next day. 24 hours later, I hadn't heard from him again and it was nearing the time I would have to leave to drive almost 3 hours to the airport. I was getting very irritable and anxious at this point. I hadn't slept well in two days and multiple people were texting me asking when he was coming. I just kept saying, "I don't know," which heightened my stress because I really didn't know anything about where in the world my husband was. At that point, I didn't know if he had left the Middle East yet, if he had left Europe, or if he was still supposed to be arriving around 2. Still, I got ready and headed out not knowing if/when/where he'd be arriving.
Because I was going to one of the largest airports in the states, I was stressed about going to the right gate. Knowing that he was most likely on a military flight, I called the airport to see if anyone had information about where military flights arrive. I called the airport's mainline and kept getting disconnected. I just started going down the list of phone numbers on the airport's website until I got someone. Finally, someone transferred me to the USO. The USO informed me that there was in fact an international military flight arriving at 2 in terminal B. I still didn't know if he was on that flight, but it was the best guess I had.
About an hour into my drive, John called me from the East coast; what a relief! He gave me information about what airlines he would be flying and his flight number. After I hung up with him, I called my mom and asked her to find out what gate that flight number was arriving at. She told me a gate in D terminal. I felt more calm now that I had a flight number and a specific gate. However, a few minutes later my dad texted me saying, "I think that gate was a typo because that airline doesn't fly into D, only E. Hold on, your mom is calling the airline." I'm pretty sure this is when the sweats and shakes started because it was also the time when people started flooding my phone saying they had heard that John was on his way home. Lack of sleep, trying to drive in an unfamiliar area, the emotions of seeing my husband for the first time in 8 months, distracting text messages, and numerous changes in information all started to result in me being on the verge of a breakdown. I texted my dad, "I'll be at the airport in 10 mins... where am I going??"
I got a gate number from my parents, found a parking spot, rolled down the windows, and practiced some deep breathing. I had arrived an hour early and took the time to (attempt to) calm myself down and freshen up. I went inside and spoke with an employee to double check that I was at the right place for that flight number; he assured me I was. As I was waiting, something just felt wrong. I had no context for knowing where I was supposed to be (no one I talked to picked their husbands up at this airport), but my intuition told me that something wasn't right. I found the airline's desk and spoke with some agents explaining where he was coming from and that he was coming for his R&R leave. They explained that the airline was contracted out by the military and that even though this was the terminal where that airline arrives, all military flights arrived in terminal B (the terminal I was originally headed to). My eyes got really big as I looked at the clock; his plane was arriving in 40 minutes and I was in the wrong terminal! Hello, sweaty pits. The gate agent looked at me and told me to breathe and that it wasn't far away. I got in my car and drove to the correct terminal, although that part is a bit of a blur. I was running through the airport in heels and a little red halter top muttering "B 33, B 33, B 33" as I scanned the signs. A middle aged woman was walking toward me and said, "Honey, are you coming for a soldier?" Exasperated, I replied, "Yes! Is it that obvious?" She smiled and said, "It's this way." She then took me back to an area I had already walked passed, an area with American flags and photographers. I told her that I saw that area but that the agent told me to go to B 33! She kept telling me I was in the right place and she was the first person I trusted. I probably should have hugged her, but I was way too out of it to think of that then. Plus, I needed to practice my deep breathing again.
As I was waiting, Veterans and patriotic citizens started to file in to welcome home the returning soldiers. Two other wives showed up. I handed over my camera to someone. A lady with a clipboard shouted, "5 minutes to touch down!" If my pits had stopped sweating, they most definitely started again then. USO volunteers shuffled us up to where the soldiers would be coming from. Someone turned on patriotic music and I think I jumped with every crash of a symbol. The soldiers came from around a corner very slllloooowwwwlllly, adding to my anxiousness. Each handful of soldiers that trickled through got a warm round of applause and handshakes from those thanking them for their service. Finally, I saw John. I wanted to run all the way to where he was, but I waited for him to get a little closer. When I couldn't take it any longer, I ran toward him, practically knocking over a Vet who was shaking his hand. I jumped up into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. He spun me around with his arms engulfing me. He then put me down and kissed me like I've never been kissed! I was crying and laughing at the same time, so overwhelmed with emotions. It had been 234 days since I held him in my arms and I didn't want to let go, ever.
Once he reported to his superiors, he was given a briefing on how he is expected to conduct himself en route and while on leave. He then was transported to a bigger base where he was to fly out of. He was able to contact me once he got to the bigger base and inform me that he was supposed to be leaving the Middle East some time that evening. I didn't hear from him at all overnight so the next morning I assumed he was on his way to somewhere in Europe. He messaged me shortly after I woke up, however, saying that he still hadn't left the Middle East. He was able to give me an approximate time he was to arrive at his final destination: 2 pm the next day. 24 hours later, I hadn't heard from him again and it was nearing the time I would have to leave to drive almost 3 hours to the airport. I was getting very irritable and anxious at this point. I hadn't slept well in two days and multiple people were texting me asking when he was coming. I just kept saying, "I don't know," which heightened my stress because I really didn't know anything about where in the world my husband was. At that point, I didn't know if he had left the Middle East yet, if he had left Europe, or if he was still supposed to be arriving around 2. Still, I got ready and headed out not knowing if/when/where he'd be arriving.
Because I was going to one of the largest airports in the states, I was stressed about going to the right gate. Knowing that he was most likely on a military flight, I called the airport to see if anyone had information about where military flights arrive. I called the airport's mainline and kept getting disconnected. I just started going down the list of phone numbers on the airport's website until I got someone. Finally, someone transferred me to the USO. The USO informed me that there was in fact an international military flight arriving at 2 in terminal B. I still didn't know if he was on that flight, but it was the best guess I had.
About an hour into my drive, John called me from the East coast; what a relief! He gave me information about what airlines he would be flying and his flight number. After I hung up with him, I called my mom and asked her to find out what gate that flight number was arriving at. She told me a gate in D terminal. I felt more calm now that I had a flight number and a specific gate. However, a few minutes later my dad texted me saying, "I think that gate was a typo because that airline doesn't fly into D, only E. Hold on, your mom is calling the airline." I'm pretty sure this is when the sweats and shakes started because it was also the time when people started flooding my phone saying they had heard that John was on his way home. Lack of sleep, trying to drive in an unfamiliar area, the emotions of seeing my husband for the first time in 8 months, distracting text messages, and numerous changes in information all started to result in me being on the verge of a breakdown. I texted my dad, "I'll be at the airport in 10 mins... where am I going??"
I got a gate number from my parents, found a parking spot, rolled down the windows, and practiced some deep breathing. I had arrived an hour early and took the time to (attempt to) calm myself down and freshen up. I went inside and spoke with an employee to double check that I was at the right place for that flight number; he assured me I was. As I was waiting, something just felt wrong. I had no context for knowing where I was supposed to be (no one I talked to picked their husbands up at this airport), but my intuition told me that something wasn't right. I found the airline's desk and spoke with some agents explaining where he was coming from and that he was coming for his R&R leave. They explained that the airline was contracted out by the military and that even though this was the terminal where that airline arrives, all military flights arrived in terminal B (the terminal I was originally headed to). My eyes got really big as I looked at the clock; his plane was arriving in 40 minutes and I was in the wrong terminal! Hello, sweaty pits. The gate agent looked at me and told me to breathe and that it wasn't far away. I got in my car and drove to the correct terminal, although that part is a bit of a blur. I was running through the airport in heels and a little red halter top muttering "B 33, B 33, B 33" as I scanned the signs. A middle aged woman was walking toward me and said, "Honey, are you coming for a soldier?" Exasperated, I replied, "Yes! Is it that obvious?" She smiled and said, "It's this way." She then took me back to an area I had already walked passed, an area with American flags and photographers. I told her that I saw that area but that the agent told me to go to B 33! She kept telling me I was in the right place and she was the first person I trusted. I probably should have hugged her, but I was way too out of it to think of that then. Plus, I needed to practice my deep breathing again.
As I was waiting, Veterans and patriotic citizens started to file in to welcome home the returning soldiers. Two other wives showed up. I handed over my camera to someone. A lady with a clipboard shouted, "5 minutes to touch down!" If my pits had stopped sweating, they most definitely started again then. USO volunteers shuffled us up to where the soldiers would be coming from. Someone turned on patriotic music and I think I jumped with every crash of a symbol. The soldiers came from around a corner very slllloooowwwwlllly, adding to my anxiousness. Each handful of soldiers that trickled through got a warm round of applause and handshakes from those thanking them for their service. Finally, I saw John. I wanted to run all the way to where he was, but I waited for him to get a little closer. When I couldn't take it any longer, I ran toward him, practically knocking over a Vet who was shaking his hand. I jumped up into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. He spun me around with his arms engulfing me. He then put me down and kissed me like I've never been kissed! I was crying and laughing at the same time, so overwhelmed with emotions. It had been 234 days since I held him in my arms and I didn't want to let go, ever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)