There are a number of reasons why this blog has been quiet but the past ten days can be summarized with two words:

Chicken Pox

Seeing Spots

On Saturday April 8 we invited friends over for dinner. The kids seemed unusually fussy that night and I was suspicious they might be ill. As they were undressing for bed, I noticed spots on Abigail’s and MIchaela’s backs. Two weeks earlier, the girls had been exposed to an adult who had shingles so I had been looking for signs. The older two came down first and are now returning to their normal activities along with their scabs although we have dropped out of our swimming lessons this month. Elisabeth our youngest started her spots on Wednesday night and now also seems to be in the scab state.

When I called the nurse that Saturday night, I was frightened by the list of potential symptoms and complications. But so far the girls have done well. The nurse said that 400 pox was average. Abigail had at most 275 or so, while Michaela topped off around 150. Elisabeth does seem to be having a more intense response than Michaela, perhaps because she was exposed more to the virus. She is the only one who had places on her body where all I could see were pox, but these places are few.

It’s viral

For a few days though I didn’t know whether Elisabeth would get the chicken pox too. I wanted her to get them this time, so I encouraged her sisters to cough in her direction and share utensils, practices this mom-with-some-microbiology-training usually avoids. At one point I was begging and joking with Elisabeth to get the chicken pox. She replied “I’ll get some soon.” It’s a bit strange to experience the definition of contagious, and to see it in visible red bumps on backs. It’s a bit strange to see a disease spread across my family members, to know I encouraged it, and to be okay, perhaps even happy about it. I’m actually happy they are getting it now, before they are older, and during a time when they are not missing many other activities or events.

Toolkit for surviving chicken pox

I’ll make note here, in case it is helpful to future chicken pox sufferers, of products and tips we found helpful:
At first I made oatmeal baths from wrapping oatmeal in washcloths, then I thought old socks would be a better vehicle and also disposable. Finally I discovered Aveeno Skin Relief Bath Treatments (100% colloidal oatmeal) which are convenient although expensive (about $1 a bath packet) compared to oatmeal-in-a-washcloth.

Baking soda is also an excellent bath aid – stock up! A 1 lb. box is good for 8 baths or so.

Aveeno also makes an Anti-Itch Concentrated Lotion that was easier to apply than the (cheaper) calomine lotion (generic Safeway brand).

Benadryl and Tylenol - I think we’ve gone through at least a bottle of each.

Frozen foods can be helpful aids for numbing painful areas. I will spare future embarrassment by not naming the child, but one of our girls has gotten a lot of comfort from juice concentrate placed in a strategic place against lots of pox.

Popsicles are great for swollen throats and fevers.

A fleece nightgown came in handy. I had bought some for the girls for Christmas, stocking up on a sale, but I had to open Elisabeth’s and give it to her this week. She couldn’t wear any other clothing for a few days.

And finally, lots of amusements can distract from the pain and help pass the time. Puzzles, games, construction projects, art helped the days disappear. Giving special treats helps motivate the kids too. Stacks of library books were enjoyed. A special CD sent by a friend entertained them multiple times as they peered over the pictures of the musical. (yes, you can survive chicken pox without tv or DVD!)

Survival guide for parents

A few tips too for parents and caretakers of chicken pox children. Here’s what has helped me get through the past ten days:

1. Having time to myself became crucial, especially during the itchy pox phases (days 2 through 5) when the kids needed my constant attention. Because Ted works from home, I was able to get out to run errands during naptime (this was mostly stops to pick up more Tylenol). Getting up early enough to exercise and have some time to think helped me survive the rest of the nonstop day.

2. Stopping soon after the kids went to sleep so I could take a bath and get enough rest for myself.

3. Telling myself and the kids that the pox wouldn’t last that long. My kids were like textbook cases and each one was better by Day 6, as the nurse told me. (This lifehacker piece on how to stay calm fits well: this too shall pass)

Everyone has a chicken pox story

Once I tell someone that my girls have the chicken pox, the stories start. Everyone has a chicken pox story. I’ve got a chicken pox story too. It’s a tale of irony and humility. In eighth grade I was still a varicella virgin. I had signed up to take chorus that year only because I wanted to be in the musical the eighth graders performed in the spring. The eighth grade musical was the place to be. Even though my singing skills needed improvement, I auditioned for a role in The Mikado (I think it was Katisha). I can still remember auditioning before my classmates: I was competing with one of my best friends. When I wasn’t selected, I then decided to work behind the scenes as the set manager. I was determined to participate in the musical. Of course, in this context, the punchline of this story is obvious. I came down with chicken pox at such a time, that I missed the entire musical performance. Both weekends of it, I believe. It felt a bit like one of those James Joyce short stories where the character looks at her reflection and sees how vain she is. Only I saw chicken pox dots in the mirror.

Chicken pox is a choice

Yes, I made a choice that my kids would come down with chicken pox. I could have had them vaccinated but I thought that the natural immunity could be obtained with low risk of serious complications. From what I remember, I had a mild case, and it seems so far at least my older two kids survived the virus well too. I also believe that the current vaccination schedule is rather intense for young children, so I preferred to postpone the chicken pox immunization. However, if my kids had not come down with it by age 10 or so, I was planning to give them the vaccine then, to spare them the possibility of a more intense case during puberty or shingles in adulthood.

It is strange, I confess, to have chosen this path. Chicken pox is becoming a disease of the Stone Age so to speak. People are no longer familiar with it. People have been surprised that I didn’t vaccinate my kids. It is a disease that seems to be disappearing.

Guilt, every parent’s companion, is also present in this decision. Looking at my kids covered with epidermal eruptions, at moments I wondered why I had let them get sick. It has been hard to see them suffer, knowing this was a choice I made.

A matter of convenience?

I remember hearing on the news that the chicken pox vaccine had been approved. In this news report years ago, one of the reasons given for this new vaccine was convenience. It was more convenient for families, specifically for working parents, to avoid the varicella virus.

Since we homeschool, and I am at home with the kids, it didn’t seem that inconvenient to take a week’s break to be sick. We did have to drop out of swimming lessons for a month. But my older two would have only missed four days of work/school. And while they were ill, they painted, shaped clay, watched tadpoles grow, built a replica of an American fort (from a kit) and read stacks of books.

Yet I can see why health providers and many families would prefer the vaccine. A week is a week and it can be quite inconvenient, as my own story proves. A week of sick time for a working parent could be a crisis. And I can understand why health providers who are already incredibly busy and pressured would prefer to have fewer chicken pox complications, office visits and phone calls. There can be complications and infections. Kids do die from chicken pox. Why risk it?

I believe there is solid science on both sides of the vaccination debate and I’m not going to enter into that discussion here. But I will say that while I have a better appreciation for immunization, I am also grateful that I am allowed to make choices for my children’s health. I’m glad I can make choices that I believe are the best for our family. And I’m glad I chose chicken pox.

Lessons learned

Community and generosity

Two families from our new church stopped by with gifts for the girls. I know not everyone has time or gifts to spare, but we appreciated the visits. It meant a lot to me, especially because we have been attending this church a short time. To see that people care about us and our family comforted me too. Of course the girls loved the treats, and the paper dolls and toys amused them for hours. Most of all I saw what generosity and care can mean during a rough week. I want to try to do the same for others.

Chicken Pox Box

In my bedroom closet I had accumulated a number of treats, gifts I had planned to give the kids for their birthdays this year or for amusement during conferences or rainy days, . This box of gifts was helpful this past week. I gave the girls one treat a day, sometimes two. The puzzles and toys kept us going through the days. I realized the importance of having a few extra gifts on hand, the importance of having a stocked Chicken Pox Box. You never know when you might need it!

Taking Time

Most of all, as our schedule has slowed, I’ve enjoyed quiet moments with my children. I spent Easter morning cuddling on the sofa with Elisabeth in my lap, playing games she invented with her Doodle Pro. The slower pace of the past several days has refreshed me, and reminded me of the simplicity we once had. In the past year, the kids and I have added more than 15 hours a week of lessons to our lives, including the time spent practicing piano and the transitions in and out of the pool. On the one hand, we want and need the lessons. Yet I’ve liked the extra time we’ve had in the day. Time to organize closets and refrigerator – time to discover long-lost items. Time to read books without looking at the clock. I want to see if I can find more of this.

This is the first time my kids have been this ill, with the exception perhaps of one or two infections in infancy. Opposites emphasize each other. And it is this time of sickness that makes me grateful for health and life. There are moments of slowness I want to savor, cuddles I want to keep, a closeness I want to continue as long as we can.

In the post Fine-grained treats = user happiness, Kathy Sierra quoted Iris Murdoch and a study in Scientific American Mind to make the point:

Intermittent, unexpected treats are more powerful than regularly scheduled expected treats.

I believe this is an important principle for relationships, especially marriage and parenting.

Wednesday afternoon at a local bakery, I bought three big flower cookies sprinkled with sparkling pink sugar. I gave them to the girls Thursday at a park, removing the treats from their white bag disguise.

Abigail asked me “Why did you buy us cookies?”
“No reason,” I smiled.

I don’t usually buy the kids cookies, especially big bakery ones with pink sprinkles. And I don’t usually give them edible treats. On hot summer days, I might give them a frozen Tofutti sandwich or frozen yogurt cone. But more often I try to surprise them with a sticker or a trip to a fun destination or a little toy. I wish I did it more often. Seeing the happiness on their faces when my girls get a little gift brings a smile to my face too and builds the path of our relationship further.

In our family, we celebrate birthdays and holidays casually, toning down the intensity. Instead, we enjoy giving and receiving in many ways throughout the year. For example, although I don’t expect brunch or breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day, I know I receive many gifts from my family in many ways every day.

Dave Pollard’s Whisper Campaign also fits into this principle of surprises.

So I have a proposal. I want to start a Whisper Campaign. Sometime in the next 30 days, identify someone you genuinely admire, and when the opportunity presents itself, whisper, or say in a low voice, when no one else is paying attention: You’re amazing. And then just smile, pat them on the shoulder or shake their hand, and walk away.

I almost wrote small surprises in the sentence above, but it’s not small. A sudden compliment, a whispered praise, an encouraging word can be huge. Hearing what someone else sees in us changes our perception of ourselves and gives us strength and reserve to go forward up a rocky hill. I say this as someone who has benefitted from these verbal bouquets, as a student, daughter, wife and mom.

My kids practice these principles naturally. They will spontaneously look at me and say “I love you Mom.” Colorful construction paper presents cover my desk and dresser. The other day one of them gave me a card that said surprise and I’m happy because you’re my mom. Here again is another area of life where I could afford to learn from my children.

Big presents are nice. Holidays can help happiness. But I believe it is the little things, the cookies and kisses, the compliments and construction paper cards that build love, sprinkled along the journey, sweetening our joy like a big pink cookie.

While considering Kathie McCarthy’s questions, earlier this week I read Jay McCarthy’s link (no relation to Kathie, I’m assuming) to Dave Gordon’s interview with Rabbi Shmuley Boteach. The rabbi, author of books such as Kosher Sex seemed to offer an apt explanation:

Something changed. It’s the inability to be vulnerable. No one can make love with their clothes on. How much moreso you can’t fall in love with your clothes on. We have this great fear of being dependent.

I’ve asked women in female audiences around the world, it’s so funny to see this – no matter where you are, be it a non-Jewish audience in the Netherlands two months ago, to Jewish audiences in New York, “who here needs a man?” You will see three or four hands go up. I don’t mean three or four percent, I mean three or four hands. And then I say to them, “Do you need a refrigerator?” All the hands go up. The inability to be vulnerable is the problem: it’s the depth personality not the surface personality that has to fall in love.

Now that we no longer see love as a need, but as a luxury, what’s the definition of a luxury? A luxury always has to be the best.

Vulnerability is not a value of our society. I know for myself that it was the way I felt crushed as a child that led me to vow I would never marry. I never wanted to be dependent on anyone. How I ended up where I am today is a long story of love.

Love requires vulnerability. Love is not a luxury. Love is a need. Love leads you to becoming dependent, not co-dependent, but needing someone in a way that feels uncomfortable according to our cultural standards. [note: even using the word dependent here seems strange - it;s a word that seems more appropriate for tax returns than marriage, but perhaps that is my own bias. What word best expresses that deep bond?]

I was frightened when I realized I loved Ted enough that it would hurt if our relationship ended. I had to let go in order to let love work in us. It is scary to be dependent, to see that I had released part of myself to someone else, to know that I had become fragile and vulnerable with another person. As a girl, all I wanted was to be a woman. I wanted to be an independent adult, someone no one would hurt again. I made detailed plans for a life that would make me successful and strong but also ensure I would stay single. It didn’t take many years of womanhood to show me that the life I thought I wanted was a lonely one, devoid of love.

When we give of ourselves in an intimate way with another person, whether physical, emotional or spiritual, a bond is formed. I believe we can separate the physical from the other aspects of ourselves. Or at least we think we can. Love and sex divorce. We can seem to separate our bodies from our souls. Yet no matter what we do with our outsides, invisible imprints are left inside us.

Like Kathie, I also am disturbed to see children experimenting in a casual public way with what is private, personal, intense and intimate. However, I wonder whether these adolescents who seem to separate their outsides from their insides and deny their own vulnerability have been forced to grow up fast. Perhaps if we treasured our children in their dependency rather than encouraging independence as soon as possible, they would understand more the intricate and intimate connections of relationships. Protection is crucial. In my own childhood I didn’t feel protected, and the pain led me to long for a life of impermeability. Perhaps if we protected our children better, they would protect themselves more.

Postscript: Insight from Dave Pollard on emotional disconnection:

I’ve known a number of very wealthy people, and in those environments emotional disconnection seems almost endemic. Parents are detached in showing affection (or any other emotion) to their children, they’re often physically absent, the kids go to private schools where they associate only with others of their ‘station’, they learn all the social graces but never seem very comfortable with other people, almost as if they’ve lived their lives in a bubble. They tend to either conform to a disturbing degree or all-out rebel at some point in their lives, and substance abuse and other addictions are common among them in adolescence and early adulthood (sound like any politicians you know?)

This was the first time Ted and I sat in the audience and watched one of our children perform. We homeschool and try to keep our schedule simple, enrolling our kids in few activities. The recital was optional and Abigail decided she wanted to participate. So it was a strange experience to leave her backstage, adorned with costume and cosmetics, and take our seats in the theater, waiting for her performance.

I don’t know who was more nervous: my daughter or her mother. What would she do on stage? Would she remember her steps? Would she dance? What would the group do?

Her class of six and seven year olds was welcomed into the theater with gasps – not the audible nerves of parents like myself but the delighted coos of audience members commenting on the girls’ cuteness. They were the youngest ones in the recital and although I don’t think of my oldest daughter as little, it was easy to see in comparison to the accomplished students how young they were. And as an audience member, not as a mom critiquing my work with hair and makeup, I could see they were cute too. Their choreography was challenging but they all did well, turning with their partners together in time to the music. How fun to look and see my daughter smiling and spinning on the stage with her friends!

The community aspect of the recital was also fun. It was great to be greeted at the door by Philippe who is a Bainbridge blogger and father of dancers. I enjoyed spending part of an afternoon selling cookies for the performance. Although we parents often maintain our own orbits and distances, appearing in the studio only when it is time to drive our daughters again, I enjoyed spending time working together with other mothers to help benefit the studio.

Due to my mistakes – or my mothering -, I don’t have any pictures of Abigail dancing on stage. The opportunity to take photographs happened at the dress rehearsal. But I was so excited for Abigail that once she came on stage with her ensemble, even for the rehearsal, I forgot about the camera, enchanted, watching to see what would happen. I had to apologize to her later and I’m grateful she forgave me. Now I understand what happened to Ted in the delivery room. When Michaela and Elisabeth were born, he too forgot about taking pictures, so involved and excited was he.

But I do have a couple pictures I’d like to share from the rest of the recital, taken at the dress rehearsal. I was amazed to see what the other students are accomplishing. I only know what the six and seven year olds can do.

One of my favorite pieces was Almost Nirvana in which senior Lindy Piehl danced with a ribbon, forming elegant lines and movements to Coldplay’s song Clocks

The dancer spun the ribbon around her, creating a romantic and enchanting scene. As the song played, the ribbon turned into spinning circles, like clocks turning through time. I confess I was partial to the turquoise lights and dress as well as the music but I think the silvery rotating ribbon and Lindy mesmerized many. Almost Nirvana was an exercise in physics and an example of beauty and mastery, nearly nirvana indeed.

Another fun piece happened to Napoleon Dynamite’s “Whatever I feel like” soundbite, followed by the song “I Want Candy”. The Gears group, which encourages creative movement and fun, immersed themselves in bright costumes, becoming animated faceless figures bouncing a baseball, with the help of their teacher, Guy Sidora, like a scene from a cartoon come alive.

After this piece in the dress rehearsal, my four year old Michaela proclaimed “That was fabulous!”

Our two year old came home from the performance talking about being a tummy dancer. Yes, the studio has belly dancers.

Abigail, after the dress rehearsal said Now everyone knows who I am because I’ve been on stage

No, I wanted to correct her. Everyone knows who you are when you have a blog!

Our dancing daughter went to her bed that night (after her bath to remove the layers of hair gel!) bouncing about in excitement spelling b-a-l-l-e-t.

I don’t know if Abigail will become a ballerina. From statistics it’s clear that odds are against her. But I’m glad she likes to dance. I want her to dream. I’m happy to see her happy. I’m glad to see the ways she is learning and growing through the experiences. I see also that I am learning and growing through my own fears and feelings as she dances. As a ballet mommy, I am becoming more grateful for the gifts my daughters are.

Yes, she danced. My daughter danced on stage. And something inside me danced with her too.

Via Ghost Words ( found via Susan Kitchens) Sunday morning I discovered Ayelet Waldman’s New York Times piece describing her relationship with her husband Truly, Madly, Guiltily. Several angles of the article could be explored: differences in libido between individuals, post-partum desires for physical affection, the foreplay of dishwashing, Mommy and Me class attendees (I’ve never had her experiences), and perhaps even the author’s strength in confessional writings (as also noted by Susan Mernit). I do think these are all interesting issues, especially sexuality after children, but for the purpose of this post I will focus on the topic related to my own recent family discussions.

Ayelet Waldman’s theme, simply stated, is that she must be a Bad Mother (title of her former blog) because she loves her husband more than her children.

If a good mother is one who loves her child more than anyone else in the world, I am not a good mother. I am in fact a bad mother. I love my husband more than I love my children.

Even this essence has several angles. I believe many mothers worry they are Bad Mothers and carry guilt for failing to buy the right type of diaper or notice a learning disability. It is a common fear, no matter its manifestation.

Maternal love is different from romantic love. I’ve heard of mothers who bonded with their babies intensely, connecting immediately with their child in ways they couldn’t with a man. Our children are our own flesh and blood: they will always belong to us and represent us, carrying our chromosomes and characteristics. And it can be easier to love a baby who is helpless and needy than a man who may seem demanding or insensitive. Especially if the mother is at home all day with her child, she may feel closer to the baby who shares and schedules her life than to her husband whom she only sees an hour or two a day. It’s easy to be consumed by children and to be caught up in their innocent unconditional affection, to become devoted to their devotion.

I don’t think it is good to compare loves. Measuring one relationship against another is only asking for trouble. Unless of course one is asking a question such as whether I love my blog more than my husband…;-)

Then again, in cases of abuse or other pain, women may have to choose between their children and their partner. Sometimes a good mother will have to make a difficult decision to put her children first (or even herself first) and love them more.

I wish some learned sociologist would publish a definitive study of marriages where the parents are desperately, ardently in love, where the parents love each other even more than they love the children.

But I do believe that the relationship between man and woman, husband and wife, is the center of the family. Although children may add challenges to communicating and enjoying each other, the two should still strive to be one. Ideally, the love between a man and woman endures, beginning before babies and enduring, one hopes, long after the children have left home. Parents desperately, ardently in love is the way it should be, I believe.

There is a love a woman can have for a man. And there is a love a woman will have for her children. They are potentially equally powerful. Both involve her body and her soul. Yet they each take and tug at her heart in unique ways.

There are different kinds of loves. There are different kinds of kisses.

something I didn’t know until my 2-year-old told me…

The connection is often intense. “It’s not like some automatic pass into this club,” stresses Chris Stills. “It’s just that we might be hip to — how would I put it? It’s kind of like we grew up behind the stage, so we’re privy to the smoke and mirrors and the strings holding up the puppets. Most people just have their eye on the puppets. So that knowledge bonds us.”

I don’t think I know any rock stars or children of rock stars. I do know the parent of a rock star: my reason for searching on Rolling Stone in the first place was to try to find news about the child’s new album. But I think any parent can learn from the insights and stories shared in the article.