What's On Your Mind?

In last week's post, I briefly mentioned a conversation that took an unexpected turn. A lady complimented my little silicone straw tips. I like them because they provide some protection for my teeth from metal straws. It surprised me that she wasn’t concerned about her teeth at all. She wanted to prevent a metal straw from impaling her brain in case she got into a car accident while she was sipping! It must be exhausting to worry about such things all day long.

I have since learned that THIS IS A THING! My sister sent me a link to a story of a woman whose metal straw stabbed her eyeball. Ugh. So gross. Are you squeezing your eyes open and shut right now? ‘Cuz that’s what I did ALL DAY after reading that story!

You just never know what’s on a person’s mind. I mean, unless you’re that lady with the stabbed eye. We all know EXACTLY what’s on HER mind…..A METAL STRAW. *blink*blink*blink*

I realize how random and nutty my OWN thoughts are. Not because I am self-actualized but because people consistently let me know. Quizzical looks. Uncomfortable laughter. My mom straight-up tells me, “You know, you sound a little crazy.” My mom don’t play. She says it in an amused, only-slightly-concerned way. I'm pretty sure she tells me because she loves me.

Sometimes this makes me feel misunderstood and out of place. One time I was talking to my sister-in-law, Sandi, about a topic that had me really excited. I had just listened to Oprah’s Super Soul interview with Ainsley Macleod about past life traumas and Spirit Guides. Who knows whether any of it is true, but the conversation stirred me all up and I was eager to bounce ideas around with someone. Sandi’s eyes glazed over like a Voodoo donut. My sister told me I was being “too weird”. Whatever. It wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. I estimate that I am weird approximately every 30 minutes on average.

This past week, I met someone else who listens to Ester Perel podcasts. It was like finding a unicorn! I love, love, LOVE therapy podcasts! These are recordings of actual therapy sessions. Where Should We Begin? Other People’s Problems, and Motherhood Sessions are my favorites right now. I have listened to certain episodes over and over because they seemed so personally relevant and I wanted to absorb every bit of information that was being offered.

Several years ago, my oldest went through a really tough time, and Albert and I attended family therapy regularly for a couple of years. Once we found the right therapists, it was such a valuable experience. Learning to express yourself clearly. To be understood deeply. Interpreting your own words and actions from another person’s perspective. We did a lot of work between sessions, but an hour a week just seemed like we were scratching the surface. So these therapy podcasts were like extra-credit, having the answer key ahead of time so I could figure things out even faster.

Therapy also provided me with a reality check. I can get so wound up in thoughts and ideas that do me no good. Someone who is aware, who knows me, and who has a different perspective through vastly different experiences offered me a peek at myself through a different lens. Radical Acceptance was modeled for me, shoring me up when I thought I might crumble. And now that those seeds are planted, I practice and grow in them every day.

There is no other way to learn some of these lessons unless someone (or something) teaches us. Through therapy, I have learned to be more comfortable with my feelings, even when I feel like I might die from sadness or fear. Feelings can’t kill me. On their own they can’t even harm me. Embrace your feelings and don’t be scared. But while you're doing that, watch out for those metal straws.

What are your favorite podcasts? Do you love Ester Perel as much as I do? Thank you for reading! You can subscribe here to get new blog posts delivered right to your email inbox.

Drinks On Me

We got these fancy tumblers from a thoughtful friend. They are insulated for hot or cold beverages and come with lids and metal straws. My love of straws is likely a coping strategy arising from my drinking problem.

It is quite impossible for me to drink a glass of ice water without at least 25% of it ending up on my shirt or in my lap. No matter how slowly and mindfully I proceed, invariably an avalanche of ice dislodges suddenly, flooding my face with a torrent of sweet, chilled water.

Many years of observation and evaluation have led me to believe that this is some sort of genetic defect, likely linked to a recessive gene. Here’s my evidence:

When Albert and I started dating, he used to chuckle at me. “You do this almost every time you drink water, and I’ve never seen this happen to anyone else.”

Are you KIDDING me?? EVERYONE IN MY FAMILY DOES THIS! He thought I was joking and being cute. Nope! Never joke. Never cute.

I thought HE was kidding. My dad, my brother, and my sister….were we really the only ones with this drinking problem? Because once I started paying attention, I noticed that this never happened to my mom. And it wasn’t just a dislodging-ice problem either. One time at dinner, I looked at my brother as he sat stunned, his shirt soaking wet, holding half a glass of water.

Me: “What happened?”

He: “I forgot to put my cup to my mouth.”

You see, he started to drink but got mixed up. Most people drink in three steps:

1.    Raise glass.

2.    Put glass to lips.

3.    Tip glass to drink.

But while Step 1 went off without a hitch, he got Steps 2 and 3 mixed up. He raised the glass, tipped it, THEN put it to his lips.

Almost all my cousins are afflicted with this condition as well. Follow the trail of spilled water and you will likely find a Ling. Many years ago, my cousins all convened for a meal when we heard an exclamation. We looked up to see my cousin holding his iced tea and rubbing his eye.

He: "OW!"

Me: "What happened?"

He: "I thought this was a straw."

Me: "Huh?"

You see, he had iced tea in a tall glass. After adding sugar, he left the long spoon in the glass. While we were all chatting, he mistook the spoon for a straw and tried to drink from it. Realizing that it was not a straw, he quickly accommodated and tried to drink from the glass at which time the spoon attacked and impaled his eye. All of this happened in a split second. He is very, very smart and can process a lot of thoughts in a flash. But he’ll never get a job as a professional drinker.

All of my children are also stricken with this disorder. Albert shakes his head and laughs but clearly doesn’t comprehend the complexity. “Drink more slowly! Don’t tip your glass so far! Swirl the ice first!” You think we haven’t tried all this, Bruh??

My favorite part of these new tumblers are the little silicone straw tips. Every once in a while, my teeth clack on my metal straws. While I’ve never had an issue with a chipped tooth, I often feel like I’m tempting fate. Like you only have a limited number of times you can drop your phone before it shatters. I didn’t know these silicone tips were a thing, and I use them almost every day!

I used one at the gym this past week. We have a new flavored sparkling water dispenser at my gym, and I am in love with it. It usually feels too indulgent to crack open a La Croix or Perrier, so it’s plain still water for me most of the time. But with this fancy dispenser, my life feels like “Princess Bride!” I’m Buttercup and my gym is Wesley. “As you wish.”

Or my life is “Coming to America.” I’m Prince Akeem and my gym is my QueeeeeeeeenTo Be!

It didn’t take long to discover that you can’t really put sparkling water in a vacuum sealed water bottle without a potentially dangerous EXPLOSION when you open it. So I switched to these cups with metal straws. But often I’m tired and comically uncoordinated while I’m working out, and my front teeth get clacked often.

This past week, I got a compliment on my new little tip. I was so happy to share about my handy new accessory when the lady asked where I got it. She went on to tell me that she consistently worries about getting into a car accident while she’s sipping and the metal straw skewering her through the head. Dude. THAT’S what’s on your mind right now? That’s a tough way to be!

Knowing that so many people I love have this same drinking problem has helped me feel much less self-conscious. We’ve all got our “things,” and sometimes sharing these “things” with others whom you care for and admire makes our life journey a little less weighty and a lot more delightful. We don’t always drink Dos Equis, but when we do, half of it ends up on our shirts.

Thank you for reading and not calling me a weirdo!

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I Love ToFU

Vegeta is a character from the Japanese anime series Dragon Ball Z. I like his name. A little-known secret is that labor room nurses withhold babies from new moms until you’ve practiced saying, “Eat your veggies,” a hundred times.

Vegeta is a proud warrior prince whose vanity constantly compels him to remind others of his status. I’m quite certain that his name is derived from “Vegan,” which explains his urge to incessantly announce his status.

How do you spot a vegan? Here are several tell-tale indications:

• They'll tell you.
• Their lunch will consist of a full pineapple, 6 melons, 25 bananas, and a coconut tree.
• If someone in the company of a vegan eats meat, they'll hurl abuse at them until they stop.

I’m going to start calling these folks Vexatious Vegans. V-Vegans. Double-Vegans. Call them what you want, but we can all call them ANNOYING! Last summer, I wrote about Stealth Vegans, those who practice veganism without talking about it all the damned time. They exist in the wild and avoid detection by blending into their environment and not attacking people.

These gentle souls practice what they don’t preach. And many have influenced my eating habits over time. When you spend time with people you love, you start sharing ideas, and sometimes those little seeds blossom unexpectedly into something beautiful.

I grew up eating meat. LOTS of it! My dad frequently barbecued platters full of rib-eyes. When I was nursing Chris, I epically ate TWO of my mom’s acclaimed pork chops along with FOUR bowls of rice and savory gravy. Albert and I were looking out onto Monterey Bay at the Tickle Pink Inn when he proposed to me over a rack of New Zealand lamb. I was completely comfortable with animals being raised humanely for the purpose of consumption.

And then the Stealth Vegans sidled in. It started when I was in college and learned about gavage and the production of foie gras. “Ugh. Grody to the max! I’m never eating foie gras again!” exclaimed my horrified 18-year-old self who had never eaten foie gras ever. As teenagers long for scandal and outrage, I also learned about veal and shark fin. These were two rare dishes that were easy to forego. Well, KIND OF. YOU try saying no to a bowl of shark fin soup when you’re surrounded by 30 family members all telling you how it promotes healthy qi and beautiful skin. PLUS it’s expensive and grandma wants to see you EAT IT.

The next stage of evolution happened when Chris was obese. My second son has always been a big, healthy boy. But when he was eight, his pediatrician told me that he was “too heavy,” so we met with a dietitian for guidance. At the same time, I started reading about nutrition and listening to the Nutrition Diva podcast. A million little changes over 10+ years have really turned us Fus around.

At first I was inspired to learn that vegetarians are thinner and look younger. WHERE DO I SIGN UP? Please don’t judge me by my shallowness. You gotta start somewhere.

I jumped on board with Meatless Mondays. Except we did Meatless Wednesdays or Thursdays, because…..surprise! I’m ALWAYS RUNNING LATE. Albert was my toughest sell, always commenting about my new vegetarian attempts, “This is pretty good. But it would taste better with some bacon or ground beef.” Worst brat. (That’s meatless bratwurst.)

Little by little, my vegetarian cooking skills improved while my family’s taste buds evolved. After learning about factory farmed beef/chicken and gestation cages for pigs, I became more mindful of where I purchased my family’s meat and also amended my recipes to use less of it. Pretty soon we were all singing the “I Like Vegetables” song. “The party don’t start till I show up with my carrot!”

We watched “Supersize Me,” which introduced us to the concepts of factory farming and turned us off fast food (POO BURGERS!) for life. “Cowspiracy” enlightened us to environmental impacts of consuming beef. As the seeds of animal compassion grew, I found that I could no longer eat pork without feeling sad. And food doesn’t taste as good when you’re sad. So I would opt for something delicious without the side of sadness. I completely honor others’ choices to eat meat; it is unrelated to my choice to mostly abstain.

Lamb hit me like a brick. I had been told that lamb is the most humane of meats because the little babes only live for six to eight weeks, and they get to stay with their moms, so they suffer less in life. But after becoming a mother, I started to think about the lamb's moms, and it gave me a yucky feeling. And then came our little Ollie. He legit looks like a little lamb. And while I’ve dressed him up as a taco, an angry banana, and a cupcake, I would never eat him. Taco ‘bout cute.

To be clear, I don’t call myself a vegetarian or a vegan. I’m as comfortable eating animal products as I’ve ever been. But just as was comfortable eating tons of animal products 20 years ago, I’m comfortable consuming just a little bit of animal products now. I consider my choices carefully, paying attention to the taste as well as how my mind feels as I eat. No label necessary.

I thoroughly enjoy a slice of bacon from Sweedeedee, a piping hot bowl of oxtail soup on cold days, and a plate of cheese and crackers with my wine. I used to believe that there would be no substitute for ice cream, but LIKE MAGIC Salt & Straw recently created some delicious and impressive offerings for Vejanuary. (Since certain components of female anatomy are associated with milk, I guess Salt & Straw assigned a different component to not-milk….you know, for Vejanuary.)

I feel totally fine getting my eggs from any place that is Certified Humane. When the kids were living at home, I got the five dozen eggs we ate each week from my friend, Judi. Her chickens and I have met. I have petted their soft feathers, and they have nibbled on my fingers. I feel confident that they are very happy to make eggs for us. Conscience = clear.

Body and mind work together to create harmony. Sometimes when you’re stressed out, you can’t feel it in your mind, but you get unexplained stomachaches. And sometimes when there’s something going on in your body, it’s only detectable in your mind, like when you KNOW you’re pregnant even though the test was negative. (True story, Bro.)

It makes me really happy that my kids are open to reducing their meat consumption. They send me pictures of their delicious meatless meals because they know it makes me smile to see them eating well and enjoying their food. Even Albert-the-Stubborn proudly reports to me that he chose a vegetarian meal and enjoyed it! That, my friends, is progress!

Last summer, Chris and I watched a movie called “Game Changers.” It was interesting and informative without the shame that so often accompanies nutrition education. If you’ve watched it, I’d love to know what you thought of it!

As always, thank you for reading! You can subscribe here to have new blog posts delivered right to your email inbox.

Fu Bomb

There’s no other explanation for this mess. It must have been a bomb. A bomb that was packed with dirty dishes, crumpled napkins, and half-imbibed cans of La Croix. This shrapnel litters every surface of my home.

My two college kids were home for the past three weeks. The first week was exceedingly rough. I was super excited to see my kids but also intentional in managing my expectations. This is a challenging age and stage; everything is in-between and in flux. These young women and men have fresh, new control over life, and yet no control at all. Deceptively, they don’t yet realize that, while the turbulence of life periodically lets up, it never ceases. Most twenty-somethings still strive for an orderly existence in this universe that is as fluid as T2.

This fight to manage the world is exhausting and frustrating, and I got a lot of distress barfed up on me at the beginning of Winter Break. Being ignored was probably the easiest part. Feeling unimportant was not as painful as being attacked and insulted. “How can you stand to cook with these knives; they are SO DULL. I never noticed how primitive your kitchen was. You don’t even have a standing mixer.” Dude. I’m standing and I’m mixing. I AM a standing mixer. 

I didn’t even have energy to point out that this primitive kitchen has turned out about 20,000 delicious meals over his lifetime.

“Why don’t you EVER watch TV? Why is it SO COLD in this house all the time?” *sigh* Every Fu likes a different temperature and this Fu right here is freshly menopausal. We’re all making adjustments. Even the dogs accommodate without complaint. See? Buddy runs hot but Ollie tends to get a little chilly so he cheerfully tosses on a sweater.

This is how God protects us parents. These messy, uncomfortable stretches prevent our hearts from shattering into a million pieces and completely dismantling us each time our children leave. MY heart is like KEVIN Hart when he eats cake in Jumanji. It feels like sudden, alarming, utter destruction. And then.....restoration.

As our kids transition to thriving on their own, we parents are also in a time of change and growth. We are learning how to be competent parents of adult children. Not one of us really knows what to expect or what will happen next. We’re all making this up as we go along!

It is NOT. EASY. “Closet Time” is what Albert calls it when I hide from my family. All by myself in my walk-in closet in the back of the house where nobody even thinks to look for me. With a blanket, a back pillow, a book, and a glass of wine. I can hear them faintly sometimes, “Where’s Mom? Has anyone seen Mom?”

As tempting as it was to hide from all the disdain and to retreat into my closet in defeat and despair, I got angry instead. But in the best way. A defiant, fierce love swept through. “You are my child and you are perfect just as you are and I LOVE YOU, DAMMIT.” I begrudgingly practiced radical gratitude, hissing out thanks through my clenched teeth. “I appreciate that you are alive and willing to spend time in my home. I am grateful that your eyes remain healthy and undamaged despite the ceaseless rolling.”

Like magic, grace seeped into my exasperated bones and replaced my fury with peace and patience. It was not the VOILA kind of magic but more stealthy. I was softened bit by bit. So by the time I heard, “I wish I hadn’t even come home,” I did not flee. Resentment had been pushed out by acceptance and love. It’s hard to be home sometimes, especially when things don’t go as expected. We are happy to see you and want you to find some rest after a challenging term at school. We don’t expect you to spend all of your time with us. We trust you and honor your choices.

Darkness cannot survive in the light. And mustering the courage and insolent tenacity to face that darkness square on seemed to give it the light and air it needed to dissipate. 

The second half of Winter Break was pure joy. We shared our first Trailblazers game experience. We took in the two most important movies of the season: Jumanji and Star Wars. We shared meals, played games, talked, laughed, and spent easy time together.

So when Saturday night rolled around, I cried as we send Chris back off to Philadelphia. And the next afternoon, I cried again as we saw Audrey off to Eugene. These kids literally used to be a part of my body, and it truly felt like chunks of my heart were being ripped away. Beautiful, sweet, funny, smart, messy, grumpy, eye-rolling chunks of my heart.

Fortunately, the heart is a miraculous muscle that grows stronger as it is challenged, stretched, and cared for. Tonight, our house is tidy. It’s a little less chaotic and a little more lonely. There’s more space to move and breathe. Time to gather up the pieces of my heart and restore it in preparation for our next visit.

Thank you for reading! I hope this next year brings you just enough struggle so that you can bask in the glorious peace. You can subscribe here to get new blog posts delivered to your email inbox.