Heroes and Villains

In almost every movie or novel, there is a hero and a villain, a protagonist and an antagonist, a person who saves and a person to be saved, or a combination of any of the aforementioned. The time that I spent fighting sexual violence in conflict with Physicians for Human Rights ("PHR") is marked by this dichotomy. The good versus the bad.  Those who are harmed and those who harm. Obviously, it's not so black and white and there's much gray that resides here. But in the last six months, the hero and the villain of my story of combatting sexual violence have come to the fore.

Today, my hero, Dr. Mukwege, and Nadia Murad both won the Nobel Peace Prize "for their campaigns to end the use of mass rape as a weapon of war". Apropos to the person he is, Dr. Mukwege was in the operating room at Panzi Hospital performing a surgery when he learned of this news.

I met Dr. Mukwege almost four years ago as I started my job at PHR. PHR and its Program on Sexual Violence in Conflict Zones was in deep collaboration with Dr. Mukwege and his Panzi Hospital to create a cross-sectoral network of doctors, nurses, law enforcement and judges to more effectively prosecute crimes of sexual violence. We met in Washington DC in October 2013 as Dr. Mukwege was advocating for more resources and political support for his hospital in the Kivu Province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It was an uphill battle for Dr. Mukwege to get the attention of the global community for sexual violence and this small region in Eastern Congo, but very personal. As we sat down at dinner, he discussed his motivations, his experiences and his dreams for his country. Here was a man, a MAN, who understood and promoted the rights of women. He understood that women were human, that women were equal, that women were to be celebrated and that women needed to be protected. Why were his views so very different than the men that he was surrounded by? Over the course of the next few years, I visited Panzi Hospital in Bukavu, DRC and met the many survivors who were helped by Dr. Mukwege and his incredible team. I visited Dr. Mukwege in his home and met his family.  He is as authentic as they come. He is real and is good.

But every hero needs a villain, every protagonist needs an antagonist. Earlier this year, I opened my email to find that one of my former interns at PHR was charged with child sex crimes. Joel Davis spent his gap year between high school and college with us in the Boston office of PHR. I had known this young man personally and went to many lunches and walks with him.  I had provided much support, guidance and mentorship to this then-teenager. He would go on to found an organization called Youth to End Sexual Violence. He was granted access to well-known international organizations including the United Nations.  He was the youth ambassador for the highly publicized Global Summit to End Sexual Violence in 2014. He was friends with Zainab Bangura who served as the United Nations Special Representative for Sexual Violence from 2012-2017. We had been in touch over the years. He was my friend on Facebook. We had discussed his pieces for the Columbia student newspaper over messenger.

I couldn't sleep for nights. I read the complaint. It was damning. How did this happen? What did we miss? He claimed to have been subject to sexual abuse as a child. And in this regard, perhaps demonizing him is incorrect because of the cycle of abuse. But it's hard not to do especially knowing full well that he deeply understood the consequences of his actions and the impact he would have on these children's lives. He had studied sexual violence, its impact on survivors.  He had met countless victims of sexual violence (and allegedly was one), both domestically and internationally.  He became a subject-matter expert on sexual violence. He founded an organization particularly for youth and ending sexual violence.  Beneath the disguise of credibility and legitimacy, his actions towards these children seemed especially cruel.

So as I rejoice today about Dr. Mukwege's well-deserved accomplishment, I am reminded that there is still much work to be done to combat sexual violence. I am grateful that heroes exist in everyday life and I am fortunate to have met one of them. However, I am deeply aware that villains exist everywhere as well.

A Second Chance

Yesterday, as my children and husband cheered me on, I finished running 20 miles.  I know that this may not sound like a huge accomplishment, especially for those who are marathon runners, but for me, this was huge.  And my family understood that.

Almost 10 years ago now, I was training for the Boston marathon, which was to be my first marathon, to ring in a new decade (the Boston Marathon coincidentally fell a few days after my 30th birthday).  Three weeks before the Boston marathon in 2009, I embarked on what was to be my longest run to date, 21 miles.  When I hit mile 12, something was off with my shin.  I've always suffered with shin splints so I thought it was my shin splints rearing its ugly head.  Mile 18 the pain got worse.  By Mile 20, I was in tears.  I should have stopped running but I was a novice at long-distance running and I wanted to finish 21 miles.  I barely crossed the finish line, aided by my Dana Farber marathon teammates.  As I got in the car, I knew that something was terribly wrong.  It was confirmed by the doctor the following day that I had sustained a stress fracture in my left leg.  I was devastated.  I had been so diligent in my training, followed the training schedule, trained during the harsh Boston winter, and had nothing but a boot on my left leg to show for it.

Fast forward nine years and I started thinking about entering into a new decade and what I wanted to accomplish before I turned 40.  I revisited my bucket list and finishing a marathon was still on there.  Dare I attempt it again?  With my children older, logistics not as menacing and an ever-supporting spouse, I entered the Chicago marathon lottery with three friends.  The Chicago course is supposed to be flat and it's in October so it would not require training during the winter.  Plus the added bonus of not having to qualify or raise money to run.  My friends and I were selected to run the Chicago Marathon!  I was thrilled but also super nervous.  Now, almost ten years older, would my shins hold up?  I was worried about repeating past mistakes.

I started training in March in earnest.  I decided to ramp up mileage gingerly through the spring and early summer to allow my legs to adjust and my shins to recover after each run.  I bought special compression socks to provide additional support.  I invested in good new running shoes along with an Apple watch (I love it on my runs!).  Also, I started strength training to build up muscle.  One of my friends running the marathon with me had worked with her running coach to come up with a marathon training plan (thanks S!).  I tweaked her plan a little bit to suit my running times and marathon goals.  During this time, when discussing my training with my strength trainer, we realized that I was running too fast during my short runs.  So I adjusted my mile times and ran slower (this sounds easy, but it's not)!  Taking these extra steps and being deliberate and patient with my training are lessons I could have only learned after having experienced failure during my first marathon attempt.

Needless to say, I was a ball of nerves all week leading up to this long run.  I iced my legs every night trying to reduce swelling and inflammation.  I went on two shorter runs during the week and diligently stretched and rolled out my legs afterwards.  I stopped drinking wine and ate relatively well.  I was ready.  My legs were ready.  I was in the zone.

Crossing the 20-mile mark yesterday felt surreal.  I was stronger both mentally and physically than I had been back in 2009.  I was prepared and more experienced.  Even though I suffered the usual aches and pains of having just run 20 miles, it felt good to be able to run across this finish line, by myself and smiling.  And having my children there to see me reach this milestone truly was icing on the cake.  Chicago marathon, it's been almost ten years in the making, but here I come!

Unexpected Grief

Last week, I found my son crying in his bed as he went to sleep. I rushed over to him and tried to soothe him. I didn't know why he was crying and showing so much emotion. My heart was breaking. After much pleading and prodding, he finally confessed as to the reason. Earlier in the night, as he had turned on the light in the playroom, he had seen his late grandmother's eyeglasses piled up in a heap on a shelf. Upon seeing her eyeglasses, it had hit him, months later, that his grandmother had passed away and that he would never see her again.

A little over four months ago my mother-in-law passed away unexpectedly in Delhi, India.  Thankfully my husband made it to her bedside as she drew her last breaths. I brought the children with me so we could pay our last respects for the very important Hindu rituals on the tenth, eleventh and twelfth days that follow the passing of a loved one.  Before, during and after our trip, we had discussed my mother-in-law's death with the kids, what it meant, whether there is an afterlife, and our feelings of sadness.  But it was the sanitized, non-alarming version.

Death is a very difficult concept to explain to children and even more so in our manicured, curated, picture-perfect society.  When my mother-in-law passed away, I was in India. As part of the rituals and similar to a wake, my mother-in-law's body was displayed in her favorite sari for friends and family to pay their last respects. Clouded by my grief, I remembered that a few cousins had brought their young children to the viewing. I was shocked.  I remembered thinking what seeing a dead body would do to these children at such a young age and how I would never expose my children to this.  But the children at the viewing seemed to not be phased by the whole episode. Dutifully they paid their respects and then carried on as only children can do; they played, laughed and had fun.

In hopes to protect my children from discomfort, pain, sadness and ultimately, grief, I feel like I may have missed the mark entirely.  Perhaps the way that other societies expose children to the realities of death, cancer, illness, and poverty better prepares them for the journey that is life. While I'm loathe to talk in generalities, it seems like that there is a culture in the United States of trying to preserve a  child's childhood to make it as perfect as possible.  In the era of helicopter parenting, we fail to see that our children are stronger than we think they are and more resilient than we give them credit for.   From the Tooth Fairy to Santa Claus, American childhoods are marked by illusions of grandeur, magic, and fantasy. Don't get me wrong, I love playing along with the masquerade of Santa Claus, but what messages are we sending children when we only expose them to fiction while simultaneously protecting and shielding them from reality?

So when my son, months later came upon the eyeglasses and made the leap for himself of what these eyeglasses signified, it was a reminder to me that reality catches up with even our littlest citizens despite vain attempts at protection. That while his grief was not immediate or showy, my son had absorbed the meaning and permanence of his grandmother's death and because of this, he was sad and grieving.  And that despite the tears, sadness and grief, my son ultimately will be a little more prepared for life and will become stronger and more resilient in facing our new reality, without his beloved grandmother but with her eyeglasses. And maybe that's not so bad after all.

First Gray Hairs

Today, I found my first gray hairs. It was my reaction to finding these gray hairs that surprised me even more- I was actually upset by it, rattled and shaken. It's not a logical reaction especially as I near 40. So much of my body has changed from my youth- from the loss of definition to my body and the appearance of fine lines on my face to the inability to bounce back after a night out, these are all the new realities of a body that is slightly worn and dated. My father turned gray by his early 30s and it was a look that he carried well. My mother started turning gray when she was in her early 50s. My younger brother has quite a few gray hairs as well. It really shouldn't have come as a surprise. But this discovery hit me like a ton of bricks. In the moment of unearthing these grays, I mourned my youth, what remained of my feelings of immortality, and my impending older age. As I stood there taking in the full weight of all that I felt was lost, quickly I was comforted with all that my body has done and continues to do.  The same body that produced these gray hairs has also birthed and fed two children, attempted to run a marathon and played collegiate tennis.  And the story of my body is not done as I train for the Chicago marathon this Fall. I suppose we all need these moments of humility and reminders of the fragility and brevity of life. It's funny how a few first gray hairs can provide one with that perspective. I'll take all of this with me as I cross that finish line in Chicago, gray hairs and all.

Pursuits of Perfection with the WLC

Last night I struggled to sleep.  I am doing the Whole Life Challengeand one component of my challenge is to get at least 7 hours of sleep a night.  At 10PM yesterday, I panicked. I needed to get to bed by 10:10PM so I could wake up at 5:10 in the morning to make it to my spinning class.  And then I remembered I needed to soak the overnight oats! I ran downstairs, prepared the almond milk, banana, dates and sunflower seed butter blend, placed the oats in a bowl and ran back upstairs.  10:08PM.  Good.  I proceeded to turn off the lights. And then sleep wouldn't come to me. It wouldn't envelope my body the way it does for my husband every night.  I begged it to come, closed my eyes, talked to it, but it just wouldn't listen to me.  It was now 10:30 PM and I was going to miss my target and lose 5 points.  Anxiety took over my body.  I am generally an anxious sleeper especially when I have to wake up early for an exercise class or for work, but now, the Whole Life Challenge was causing me stress.  And thus started the night of restless sleeping and 5:10 AM could not come any sooner.

In my quest to maximize my points and achieve "perfection" in my daily score count, I missed the entire point of trying to achieve 7 hours of sleep a night: to feel rested, calm and rejuvenated for the next day.  The point of the Whole Life Challenge is to make changes to your habits such that you feel better all-around.  Also in my haste to sleep, I had dispensed with my nightly routine of watching a little TV to decompress from the day and reading a book before I turn off the lights.  Tonight will be different.  As long as I feel rested, calm and rejuvenated in the morning, the number of hours I sleep should be secondary.  At least that's what I need to keep telling myself when I lose the next 5 points!  Zzzzzzzzzz......

WLC Warriors

Tomorrow, January 20, 2018, I will begin the Whole Life Challenge (WLC)- six weeks of trying to eat clean, sleep, hydrate, exercise, stretch and be mindful of various behaviors.  I completed a WLC at the end of last year with varying results.  This time, I hope to be more strict with myself, to hold myself to a higher standard and to truly challenge myself.  What I like about the WLC is that it truly encompasses your entire life- from morning to night, the different habits that you exhibit during the day.  Each category, of which there are seven. earns you 5 points. Some categories are all or nothing (for water/hydration, did you drink the minimum ounces of water that you were supposed to? if yes, you get all 5 points.  If no, then you get 0 points).  Other categories are on a scale, like nutrition for example.  You start out with 5 points for nutrition, and depending on the level you have chosen at the outset of the WLC (kickstart, lifestyle or performance), you deduct 1 point for each serving of non-compliant food consumed for your particular level.

This time around, I have selected the vegetarian lifestyle level that means no dairy except for yogurt, kefir and butter, no grains except for rice and corn tortillas, no sugar except for naturally occurring sweeteners, and limited quantities of legumes and nuts.  Oh and 1 glass of spirits or wine allowed per week!  I hope to strictly adhere to this food/beverage list this time around (last time I would have frequent "cheat" days or meals.  The last time I attempted the WLC, I found nutrition to be the hardest category to maintain especially on those days that I ate out at restaurants or attended an event.

Which brings me to my conundrum.  While I want to adhere to the food list and follow the WLC as much as possible, I don't want to be one of those people who makes a fuss when going out and have to restrain myself from the yummy non-compliant foods (bread basket anyone?) while the rest of the table happily indulges in these treats. And we all know that having that person at their table somehow reduces your own joy in eating the said non-compliant food. I have had friends who have shunned social activities both professional and personal during their times of intense dieting/food restriction so as to not be that annoying person. I don't see this as a sustainable way of living and being the social person I am, the six weeks of the WLC would be absolutely miserable if I couldn't see my friends or go out!  I had a trainer last year who suggested that you just don't make a big deal about it. You don't announce you are on any type of diet to the table or are restricting certain types of foods.  You order what you can eat without bringing much attention to what you are doing.  And by operating under the radar, you can hopefully still enjoy company while dining out or attending an event.  So this is the approach I am going to take and if you find dining with me annoying, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be "that" person!

If you are interested in joining our team, we are the WLC Warriors- click this link:  http://www.whole.lc/wlc1801/t/wlc-warriors-52344b8b-7b71-40c0-8661-9dcf54118a8a/join

And wish me luck!  It is going to take much willpower to complete the WLC!

My 2018 Word: STRENGTH

Happy New Year!  Perhaps it's the Aries in me, but I love all things new. New beginnings, new hobbies, new stationery, new goals, new dreams, new years.  One of the meanings of my daughter's name Navya is "new" and that wasn't by accident.  A new year brings with it the promise of hope, change for the better, and the practice of creating new year's resolutions. We can shed the images of our prior selves for the promise of a more improved version. For many this will mean the aspiration of a slimmer, thinner version or a more fit version or a kinder, more relaxed version. Whatever the fix is to improve oneself, a new year allows for time to readjust, re-calibrate, and reassess one's life.

And yet, for many including myself, sticking to their new goal is extremely difficult. I read somewhere that most new year's resolutions fail by February.  February! We start the new year with such gusto and resolve and then life gets in the way, stress takes over, and planning goes by the wayside. And within days or weeks, the first victim is usually our new year's resolution.

A few years ago, a work colleague introduced me to the concept of the one-word resolution.  Instead of creating a resolution that you will most likely not follow, you choose a word to which you aspire.  The process of choosing just one word removes the noise from selecting resolutions that are hard to formulate and keep and brings focus and clarity to your intentions.  Simply put, the word encompasses who you want to be or what character trait you want to exhibit, improve or solidify in the next year.  While the origin of this one-word practice is religious, I've adopted its secular aspects.

My one word for 2018 is STRENGTH.  I hope to become stronger this year mentally, emotionally and physically. I hope to cultivate my inner strength through affirmations, meditation, yoga, breathing, nourishment, laughter and joy. Simultaneously, I plan on developing my physical strength by routine exercise, good nutrition and sleep.  The culmination of my efforts will hopefully see me cross the finish line of the Chicago Marathon later this year!

Do you make resolutions? How successful have you been in the past?  What would your one-word be?

Have a happy new year and thanks for reading!

Finding My Forgotten Self

On Sunday, while my son took his tennis lesson on the court next to me, I played tennis for the first time in ages. Thankfully, the boy who shares lessons with my son has a father who is a good, consistent player. So after a few years of talking about playing tennis with him (we've been frequenting the same club since Kabir was 4.5 yrs), we took the opportunity to play tennis while our sons took their lesson. Playing tennis felt amazing. I was rusty, my shots were not as crisp as they once were, my backhand certainly needed some help and I was not able to chase down the balls like I used to. But it never ceases to amaze me what the mind and body remember- strokes, moves, reflexes that took years to develop came back effortlessly. I was having fun. As I hit a forehand down the line, I had a flashback to freshmen year in college where my forehand winner cinched the match for my doubles partner and me. I smiled as I hit the next ball. We continued playing until our sons' lesson came to an end. I left the court on Cloud 9, beaming and happy.

On Monday, a few girlfriends and I met to run the Tufts 10K for Women. I didn't plan to run this race but decided to join my friends last minute. And I am so grateful that I did.  While I didn't train for this specific race, running has become my default form of exercise mostly because it is efficient, doesn't require too much planning and coordination and can be done in the early morning.  As we started to run the race, my goal was to run the entire time and to cross the finish line with a decent time. Running with thousands of women felt great and empowering. With my music blaring, I hit my stride and had a flashback to when I was training for the Boston Marathon eight years ago. In 2009, I had been training all winter to run the marathon on what was to be my 30th birthday. Devastatingly, three weeks before the marathon, I had to pull out because I injured my left leg with a stress fracture.  Running yesterday reminded me of why I had begun the journey of wanting to complete a marathon. It reminded me that what I love about running is that it is all personal- why one runs, who one runs for, and what motivates you during the hardest parts of training for a race.  Holding my arms up in a sign of victory, I crossed the finish line with a smile.

Both of these experiences this past weekend reminded me of who I was BC (before children) and even before marriage. I used to love playing tennis, opening new tennis balls, anticipating the next shot and talking "shop" about the game. I loved pouring my energy and thought into training for the marathon, running with a purpose and challenging myself. In both of these experiences, I was reminded of what I used to enjoy doing and who I used to be. These parts of myself I had forgotten amid the chaos that is life right now.

Even though we have made tennis a priority for the children, I had stopped playing because I was scared I had forgotten how to play and that I had lost my skills. I had stopped training for running races because I didn't want to get injured again and have to go through the heartbreak of training for something and not completing it. I let fear get the best of me, denying me parts of myself that were buried for so long.  No longer. In the coming months, I want to incorporate my past hobbies into my future life and bring back parts of my forgotten self.

Have you forgotten parts of yourself or let parts of yourself get buried by life?

Mommy Tantrums

ast week, I broke down. As my children watched me while sitting on the stairs, I had a mommy tantrum. A complete and utter meltdown. I was crying in desperation, pleading them to cooperate, and feeling bad that I lost it in front of them, all at the same time. The kids became silent, absorbing what they were witnessing, trying to process what this meant, and figuring out how to respond. I emerged from my tantrum feeling slightly better and a bit embarrassed. I imagine that’s how my kids feel when they lose it too.

As I sit here, reflecting on my behavior last week, I am torn between acceptance and denunciation of this behavior. Toddler tantrums are largely seen as bad and they indicate a child who is unable to handle their emotions in a mature and reasonable manner. We tell toddlers who experience tantrums to take a deep breath, or many deep breaths, to remain calm, to think and to react only after you have taken these measures.  I get it and largely agree with that. But what happens when this happens to you? When you are the one throwing the tantrum in front of your children?

I swear that I had been using all different coping mechanisms to get me through the week before my tantrum. But by the time this moment came around, I had been solo-parenting for days; I lacked sleep, I was overwhelmed at work, the children started to bicker with one another relentlessly, and they stopped listening to me altogether. Screaming and yelling didn’t seem to get them to listen. So I literally started crying and melting down because I didn’t know what else to do. I was alone, at my wits end and had had enough. And I was late for work.

I know I am making excuses to explain my behavior and making it acceptable in my mind. But, in the moments and days after this mommy tantrum, the kids were nicer, kinder and helpful. Perhaps they saw me as a human being and not their always-right, controlling mother.  Perhaps they started to see me as somebody who was fallible, who makes mistakes and who has emotions. Perhaps they could relate to me more because I had shown them that their behavior does affect me negatively. And perhaps they felt bad to have sent me over the edge. Regardless of the reasons why, after this mommy tantrum, we seemed to hit a groove, the three of us. We were the 3 musketeers, fighting together to make it through the day, resolving to help one another instead of bringing each other down and accepting of one another’s mistakes in stride.

Truth be told, this lasted for all of about a few days, and then we were back to our usual ways, but maybe having a mommy tantrum once in a blue moon (not all the time) is a good thing for the kids. Or, I am simply trying to make myself feel better for my deplorable behavior. Regardless, today ends my solo-parenting stint for a while and I couldn’t be happier. I only hope the next time I’m faced with these feelings and emotions, my mommy tantrum is even more effective and a tad bit prettier. I am kidding, but you get the point.

Jasmine and Family

As I looked out on my porch this morning, I was greeted by the most pleasant sight.  My favorite flower had bloomed and with it, a flood of memories came rushing in. The jasmine that can be found in South Asia, particularly South India, is unparalleled in smell and composition. From this small white flower, the most heavenly scent emanates.  I remember so vividly falling in love with this flower as a six-year old girl, and mostly because this scent was strikingly different from the odors and fumes of the rest of India. Not only was I taken by the smell but also with the tradition of wearing flowers in one's hair. And from that moment, wearing jasmine in my hair became my "thing". Whenever I visited India, my family would greet me with strings of jasmine (side note- I almost named this blog Strings of Jasmine).

I stared at these flowers from my kitchen, sipping on my morning coffee, reminiscing about my family back in India. My aunt, older cousin and I used to spend hours on their veranda, picking jasmine. I would then sit next to my aunt as she skillfully crafted these flowers into long strings to be worn by the females in our family.

My most vivid memory was when I was 12 and another aunt had collected all the jasmine from her house and her neighbors' houses. She set to work for hours upon hours of threading the jasmine onto cardboard to later be affixed to my hair (see pic below- this is not exactly what it looked like but it was pretty darn close!). As I sat there patiently waiting for her to complete her work, it wasn't lost on me how much time and effort she was putting in making me happy. And how much she loved me and my love for these flowers. When she was done, she turned to me with the most amazing smile and gave me the flowers that had taken her so long to complete.  That gesture of selflessness, kindness and pure joy still warms my heart. While my aunt has since passed, I cherish this memory still. And smelling that jasmine today reminded me of that moment and how much she had taught me to give onto others selflessly and with joy. 

Staring at the jasmine this morning also flooded my heart with sadness. At the moment I write this, one of my paternal uncles is dying. My dad left this evening to spend his last days with him.  The last time I saw my uncle was last year at a party my aunt had thrown for us while we were in India. And I wore jasmine in my hair that night. If I close my eyes, I am transported back to that night, to the laughter and the smiles, to the hugs and the good fortune of being surrounded by my family and my uncle in particular.  It's amazing how smell has the ability to transcend time and place and help you relive moments as if they are your current reality. As I reminisced about all of this in the morning, my daughter crossed the porch and plucked a jasmine from the plant, inquiring about its pretty scent. I told her about the flower, its origin, and its connection to my family. I told her how much jasmine meant to me. She then asked if she could wear it in her hair.  Of course, I said yes.

High School Confident

A few weekends ago I attended my high school reunion. While I initially thought it would be a great idea, as the day got closer, I started feeling anxious. I started remembering how much I had hated high school. I started recounting the embarrassing moments, the moments that made me feel little and small, the moments I felt invisible and lost and the moments that left me feeling like I couldn't wait to get the hell out of high school. Why had I chosen to return to this place that had caused me such angst? Immediately, I regretted my decision to attend.

Flanked by my best friends from high school, I entered the reunion of Bethel High School Class of 1997. It was like entering the twilight zone. People whose names I had stored in the deep recesses of my mind were suddenly appearing before me. Thankfully, social media had helped create a present-day yearbook so I wasn't totally surprised by what people looked like now, their marital status, how many kids they had, etc.  As I started talking to the people in my past, I was surprised by my lack of the anxiety and embarrassment that had plagued me when I was a teenager.

As I danced from one conversation to the next, the person who I was in high school was overshadowed by the woman I was now.  I was able to talk to all different types of people, was able to joke with them and converse with them in ways that were unthinkable two decades ago.  I blurred in and out of high school that night, the flashbacks and memories presenting themselves in funny ways. Approaching one woman, I had a sudden flashback to when she was an all-star athlete in multiple sports, but present-day enjoyed doing a whole lot of nothing and rejoiced in "being lazy".  I talked to a boy who I had a mild crush on and while talking to him, the teenager within me was sweating bullets at finally having the guts to talk to him now.

I started talking to one woman who I had idolized in high school.  As she started talking, I realized the the pedestal I had put her on in high school was a product of my own low self-esteem and social status in high school. As she continued talking, I no longer looked at her through my teenage goggles and saw her for what she was twenty years later: a normal person who like me had the same anxieties about success and accomplishment, the same fears about raising children who were socially conscious, well-fed and nourished intellectually, and the same complex of trying to have it all while working a full-time job.

As I finally walked away, I felt a pang of nostalgia and of innocence lost. However, in that moment, I also realized how much I had grown from high school and how different I had become. Life experiences seemed to be the equalizer in that 20-year high school reunion. There were no longer classifications of people based on their "coolness factor"; it seemed now that all of us were in this same boat of life and most of us were just trying to make it to the next day with an ounce of self-preservation and dignity occasionally aided by a glass or two of wine.

I took all of these important lessons with me as I walked confidently across the room to my best friends and we celebrated and rejoiced in our 38-year old selves at a teenage party.

Sometimes Breast is NOT Best

I just read this story about a mother, Jillian Johnson, losing her days-old son due to starvation and dehydration caused by exclusive breastfeeding. It is a heartbreaking and devastating account of one family's tragedy. Her son Landon should have lived. According to Jillian, Landon was born at 7lbs 7oz, a healthy birth weight, his Apgars were 8 and 9 and he was stabilized. By 53 hours of life, he had lost 9.72% of his birth weight. Despite the weight loss, Jillian was encouraged to exclusively breastfeed and she faithfully complied ("...there were these doctors and nurses who kept telling me, ‘Just keep feeding him. Just keep him on the breast. You’ve got a great latch. You’re doing fine.’ ”). Her son Landon was crying non-stop and she was unable to console him. To pacify her son, Jillian fed him constantly but with no relief. It turns out that nothing was coming out of her breast because she wasn't producing milk. Landon went into cardiac arrest within hours of going home. Landon died in the hospital of starvation and dehydration.

This story makes me so angry. My anger is NOT directed at the parents but at the medical establishment and our broader culture. Have we gotten so rigid in our thinking and dogmatic in our ways ("breast is best") that we cannot even recognize a hungry newborn!? The fact that Jillian didn't have the support of the nurses, lactation experts, and doctors to properly diagnose her child and tell her to feed a bottle of formula to him or that this first-time mother felt so ashamed of even trying to reach for formula means that there is something inherently wrong with our current culture and expectations. While I gratefully did not go through the heartbreak of losing a son, I can relate to Jillian's story of the difficulties of breastfeeding and the enormous pressures to keep trying.

When Kabir was born, he was born 3-weeks early (due to some weird circumstances- a story for another day). He was born at 6 lbs, 6oz. Like Jillian, I read all of the baby books and did my research. I was going to exclusively breastfeed my child because "breast was best". However, Kabir was not properly latching on and my milk had still not come in creating a perfect storm of an unsatisfied and hungry baby. His birth weight dropped below 6 lbs by day 2. The lactation consultants made their rounds, spent extra time with Kabir and me, but we just never were able to make it work properly. I was steadfast in my commitment to breastfeeding much to the chagrin of both my husband and my mom. We tried and tried, spending hours trying to make it work. I was encouraged to keep trying, to use herbal supplements to increase my milk production and we were sent home. We dutifully recorded Kabir's wet and poopy diapers and feeding times as well as duration on each breast. Day 3 we returned to the hospital because Kabir had developed jaundice.

Kabir was visibly yellow by this point and required to spend hours under a UV light. It was so difficult to see my baby so vulnerable; he was very small (his weight had dropped to 5 lbs, 3oz), naked save for a diaper and alone under a light. I would feed him every few hours. By the second feeding, the doctor came in to discuss Kabir's prognosis. The fastest way to overcome jaundice is to "pee it out". To maximize Kabir's time under the UV light, I was asked to pump so that our feedings would be quicker. Because of that, I could see how much milk I was producing (not that much) and we were measuring and feeding Kabir what little milk I produced. Simply put, it was not enough and I could visibly see that Kabir needed more.

Thankfully, we had the guidance of a very thoughtful but stern male doctor who insisted that we supplement with formula. I cried. I had read about the horrors of supplementing and that once done, it was a course that was very hard to reverse. I argued with the doctor. In my post-partum state, I felt like a complete and utter failure. Another blessing was having Kishore by my side. I thank my lucky stars that he did not grow up in this crazy American culture and thus, is not susceptible to its pressures. He gave me a pep talk, assured me Kabir would be fine, and helped give Kabir his first bottle of formula. Kabir guzzled down that bottle; he was super hungry. Over the course of the following day, the formula helped him rid his body of jaundice and we were discharged from the hospital. Thankfully, with the proper nourishment from the formula, Kabir started gaining weight.

The following few months were rough. I was still trying to breastfeed my son but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Kabir being the smart boy that he was realized that he could satiate his hunger much faster via a bottle than my breast. By the third month, he had rejected my breasts completely. I was devastated. Still believing that "breast is best", I then proceeded to pump my breasts for the next 5 months. I was diligent and pumped every few hours for fear my supply would go down. I pumped when I went back to work. I felt connected to machines all the time. I felt like a cow.

While I tried to help my son by giving him my milk, I was suffering because of these efforts. Coupled with the feeding woes, or perhaps because of it, I had post-partum depression. I was angry that I was not able to feed my son "properly". I was so worried that him receiving formula would mean that he wouldn't be as smart, healthy or vibrant as other children who received exclusive breast milk. I was scared that I was harming him for life by not feeding him the best for his little body.

“I want people to stop shaming each other,” Johnson told The Washington Post. “Regardless of how you feed your baby, just make sure they’re fed. It’s plain and simple."

Why do we do this to new mothers in our culture? Why must we shame one another and make one another feel "less" for things that may be out of our control? This needs to stop. Not being able to breastfeed does not mean that one is not a good mother. And it's ludicrous and illogical to even come to that conclusion. I wish I had listened to my mother during this time. I discounted her thinking (and years and years of wisdom by doing so) all for this notion that I read in a book, was peddled by lactation "experts" and backed by "science".  My mom kept telling me that my brother and I were products of formula as were so many of my peers and we all turned out healthy and fine.

At a newborn's age, the only things that matter are being well-fed, well-rested and loved. I wish I had not put so much pressure on myself and focused on the beauty and miracle that was my son. I wish that I had not been so focused on what I couldn't provide and indulged in what I could give Kabir, my love, attention and complete adoration. I am so grateful that Kabir did not meet the same fate as Landon. My heart goes out to Jillian, her family and to all the mothers out there that feel "less" for not being able to breastfeed. Sometimes, breast is NOT best and the more we can spread the notion that was it is best is a well-fed, well-rested and loved baby, the better off we all will be. RIP Landon.

Keeping up with the Millennials

Here's a fascinating trend: according to a Pew Research study in 2015, more millennials reported making personal improvement commitments than any generation before them. NPR reported a few days ago that "millennials spend twice as much as boomers on self-care essentials such as workout regimens, diet plans, life coaching, therapy and apps to improve their personal well-being." Working in a multi-generational environment, it is hard not to see the differences between the millennials and the baby-boomers with self-care the most evident. For example, most of the millennial women I know workout at one of the local exercise trends including Soulcycle, Orangetheory Fitness, Pure Barre or the plethora of spinoffs of the aforementioned places. They take these expensive classes several times a week and supplement these workouts with additional gym memberships/personal training sessions at places like Equinox, Healthworks or Boston Sports Club. And that's just fitness.

In addition, millennial women I know spend inordinate amounts on upkeep from manicured nails to perfectly sculpted hair including the frequent blow-outs that run at least $45 a pop at popular places like DryBar or Blo Blow Dry Bar (yes you read that right). We haven't even broached relaxation (i.e. massages), skincare, nutrition, self-tanners, laser technology and botox (again, you read that right). As a member of Generation X (or Y), I look at the millennials with interest, slight skepticism and of course, a little loathing. With two kids, a full-time job, and a husband, it is exhausting to not only worry about providing the basic necessities in life (i.e. putting food on the table both literally and figuratively) but also keeping up with the millennials.

In the NPR article, one reason for the focus on self-care within the millennial generation is the advent of the internet. Access to free information has enabled this generation to become more aware of self-care strategies. Once one is aware, the new tools and apps that have emerged make self-care more accessible and easier to achieve. Another explanation is that self-awareness has created a generation of self-absorption. "We might find ourselves comparing our lives to the perfection we see on the Internet, which leads us to utilizing online tools for self-care — and the cycle continues, " says Hyepin Im, as quoted by NPR, who is the president and CEO of Korean Churches for Community Development. While this self-absorption can be seen as a negative, it does have some positive aspects including the acceptance of more of the "gray" that occurs in one's life rather than everything being seen as black and white. For example, increased self-awareness has the added benefits of increasing knowledge and education, destigmatizing mental illnesses, and increasing acceptance of differences found among this generation. The concept of self-care is not in and of itself unique but it's the broad acceptance among an entire generation that is what makes it different.

While I am not denying the importance of self-care, my issue with this notion of self-care is when it becomes a burden on other women in other generations. It is wonderful that millennials have more disposable income, time and energy to spend on such self-care activities. However, the advent of technology and dependence on social media have now created increased expectations on women of all generations to incorporate self-care into their lives. These expectations can sometimes be overwhelming and crushing- I am not only supposed to be a mother, wife, lawyer and homeowner, but also have beautiful hair and skin like a model with a balanced physique of a ballerina and the strength and endurance of a marathoner? I am exaggerating but you get my point. If you are not able to meet this ridiculous standard, then you are made to feel like a failure by the constant feedback mechanisms built into this said technology and social media. What I take umbrage at is that these expectations, if not met, not only can create unhappiness, anxiety and depression (which are antithetical to the concept of self-care) but also may have professional implications in multi-generational work environments. While I would like to dispense with these expectations altogether, it's certainly easier said than done.

How do you try and keep up with the millennials?

The Happy Mess

While I'm at work, just after lunch time, I usually take a ten-minute break to peruse people.com. Don't judge me. It's my time to escape from work, responsibilities, and these days, Trump news. It's similar to reading my Facebook News Feed with the difference that I now know mundane details about celebrities' lives in addition to the happenings in my friends' lives. So today, I read that Molly Sims, the gorgeous former supermodel who now has 3 kids under the age of 5, wrote a new book called Everyday Chic. What caught my eye in the article was that she has a neon sign in her kids' playroom that reads "The Happy Mess" and it's a phrase that sums up her house and her life. Yes!  That's exactly how I feel and why I started Messy Bliss.

One of the areas that had been quite messy for me last year, mostly literally, had been dealing with and organizing all the stuff that comes with kids while also living in a small space. My husband and I used to live in a 1200 square foot, 2-bedroom condo and that was plenty of space before children. It was fine even when we had one child. But having a second put a strain on our spaces and stuff was everywhere. It didn't help that we lived in a loft with most of the square footage in one grand room. So that room housed the kitchen, TV, sofa, dining table with chairs, dining board, a piano, a plethora of toys and all the contraptions that infants/kids need (musical chairs, bouncy chairs, scooters, etc.) Unexpectedly, the mess was seeping into other parts of our lives. There was no space for us to just be by ourselves, to retreat to or to lounge and relax. We were always on edge and always cleaning. There was no designated space for the kids to play; every night after the kids went to bed, my husband and I would pick up after them, putting the toys away in a huge closet trying to recreate an adult living room. We were in each other spaces in ways that were nice to create a cohesive, tight family unit, but not in ways that would foster independence, relaxation or exploration.

For me, a "Happy Mess" place is one that is balanced between the happiness and messiness that coexist in one's life.

In our old place, I felt that our balance was greatly skewed towards that of messiness. We started to lose sight of the joy of having kids because all we could see and feel was their stuff everywhere. Moving to a larger home helped us find more of this balance and to eventually create these "Happy Mess" spaces. We now have the luxury of adult spaces void of clutter and toys as well as a room that the kids can call their own. The kids can often be found in their playroom (that doubles as an office when they go to bed), which is equipped with their toys and is a safe space; they can hang out and remain in this room without being constantly supervised. These separate spaces have helped in ways that we could not have anticipated. One day, we arrived to the kids' playroom to find a "store" set up by my kids of over 50 handmade paper fans, in different colors, shape and sizes (my daughter had learned how to make fans that day in preschool). In having their own space, the kids were able to use their imagination and creativity to create something new. This would not have happened in our old space.  And because we are not spending every night picking up after the kids and putting away their toys, Kishore and I are able to spend more time together. These spaces are not completely neat and defined but they do have less purposes than what our spaces did before. What I've found is that embracing our "Happy Mess" has meant creating separate spaces for our children and ourselves in which we can all explore our "messiness" and be happy in the pursuit.

Embracing one's "Happy Mess" can mean different things to different people- it could mean embracing the unpredictability of work/life balance or embracing the nuance in an alternative or non-traditional romantic relationship. Finding out what mess is creating anxiety and what can relieve or balance that mess is the first step in creating a "Happy Mess."

Have a Happy Mess of a weekend!

Lessons Learned from my Facebook Diet

I went on a Facebook Diet for two weeks. I started the diet without an end date in mind. I went on a Facebook Diet because I was feeling anxious and nervous, I was constantly checking my Facebook News Feed, and I was comparing myself to others to my own detriment.

The detox from Facebook was liberating. I felt free from the constant stimulation and connectivity with others. I started feeling calm and relaxed. I had more time and was more present for the real people in my life. These were all the positives of the diet and ones that I started feeling immediately.

While the benefits certainly outweighed the negatives, there was a downside of not being on Facebook. My fear of what I might be missing out on came to fruition. I was invited to and missed my friend's campaign launch for Cambridge City Council. She had sent the invitation via her new Facebook page announcing the campaign launch at a local bar. Not being connected on Facebook meant that I couldn't see the other mutual friends who were going, they didn't know I wasn't on Facebook (tsk tsk, they didn't read my blog!)... and so it goes. While it was not a disastrous outcome, I would have loved to show my support for my friend who is a woman of color running for local office.

The main lesson I learned is that I need to use Facebook as a vehicle of connectivity to the different friends' groups in my life. If I see it as that and nothing more, then I think my relationship with Facebook will be positive. Now, I am more mindful of my time on Facebook and try to show restraint in how many times a day I am refreshing my News Feed. When anxiety or nervousness arise, I take a break from Facebook. And when the feelings of inadequacy emerge because I am comparing myself to others, I am quick to recognize these feelings and squash them. My Facebook Diet showed me that I can live without it and I will be perfectly fine. Now, whether I want to is another question entirely...

Feelings of Wanderlust

Lately, I've had major wanderlust. BC (before children), one of my favorite hobbies was traveling with my husband. We loved discovering places, trying different cuisines and indulging in the art, culture, and fabric of a new place. Lately, we have limited our travel to work travel or to beach vacations with the children. Last month, we went to Cancun for Spring Break (need I say more?). While it was a great vacation complete with cocktails and french fries poolside, we might as well have been in Florida or any other tropical destination. Other than the Mexican food and having to use our passports to get there, we didn't experience real Mexican culture. Of course, this is our fault and a consequence of the limitations we feel in having two young kids. What this last trip taught us and helped us see is that we are ready to travel to more exciting and adventurous locations as a family. We are freeing ourselves of our self-imposed expectations. Now, we are ready to explore, discover and experiment with the children and embrace any messiness and chaos that may come with such a journey. How liberating this all feels!

So what does this look like for us this summer? Personally, being the Europhile I am (a topic for another time), I would love to go back to Europe. I fantasize about skipping through the cobblestoned streets of an Italian coastal city with Kabir or meandering through a French local market carrying a white straw basket with Navya. Or I dream of renting a farmhouse in a vineyard or olive grove, indulging in and cooking with the fresh produce and spending quality family time. I picture riding bicycles through the poppy fields, talking to local people and endless glasses of wine....

For me, much of the fun of traveling is the planning and the anticipation. We are currently reviewing the map of Europe (a fun exercise with the kids!), debating the pros/cons about the different countries, researching new places and ultimately, selecting the destination. While I like the familiar, explaining why I've been to Italy 6 times, my husband loves to try new things. I am petitioning for another trip to Italy, however, Kishore is advocating for a jaunt to one of the Scandinavian countries. Where we will end up is anybody's guess, but simply the possibility of this adventure brings a huge smile to my face and fills me with gratitude.

Where do you escape to? What do you look for in a destination? Where do you think we should in August? Suggestions welcome!

Weekend Traditions- The Feast

Last year during a snowstorm, I assembled the items that I had on hand and made a hodgepodge brunch. It turned out to be a combination of my favorite breakfast items. My kids savored their favorite cheeses and fruits and the adults indulged in avocado, eggs and tomato. Best of all, because we were cooped up in the house, we had a lovely meal complete with laughter and smiles. We ended up having a similar brunch the following weekend during which time my son coined the brunch we were eating as "The Feast".  And what an appropriate name that was!

The idea for this spread originated from my time backpacking through Europe after graduating from college. We had stopped at a friend's place in Germany and woke up to the most glorious spread I could remember at the time. Our German friend's mother placed fresh cheeses, jams, veggies (and meat but I don't remember that part as much!) on a board and served it with fresh bread procured from the local market that morning. I was in heaven. Years later, I suppose what I was trying to do during that snowstorm was to bring some of that warmth from that memory to my house in Cambridge.

During the week, Kishore and I scramble and rush to get my son to the bus stop and my daughter to preschool so we do not have the time or luxury to sit and enjoy breakfast as a family. The Feast has come to symbolize leisure, family, grazing and reflection. We talk about our weeks, share funny stories and take the time to appreciate good quality food.

Now that The Feast has become our weekend tradition, I can prepare and shop for The Feast in advance. I try to group the items by food groups and color. I usually have at least two fruits, two vegetables, 2 proteins (cheese and eggs), whatever spreads I have on hand (a fig spread and honey are default) and the anchor of the board, a sliced French baguette. I purchase fresh, local products when possible and try to include an item that is different so the kids can experiment with tastes and textures.

I love that The Feast developed organically.  We indulge in The Feast every few weeks and each time that we do, I am beyond grateful for my family and the food on my table. How do you celebrate the weekend?  What weekend traditions do you have?  Have a great weekend!

The Phones We Love Too Much

I'm Day 5 into my Facebook diet and it feels similar to a food diet. The first day was really hard. Every time I opened my browser (I had deleted the Facebook app on my phone to curb use but that didn't help much), I wanted to refresh Facebook. I thought many times during the day "just this once" and "nobody will ever know" but I'm trying to keep my word to my readers and to my blog, so I didn't cheat. But boy did I want that "chocolate chip cookie"! Day 2 was a little better. I thought about checking my Facebook News Feed about half the amount of times that I had on Day 1. I wondered what I was missing out on, whose birthday I was forgetting and whether anybody was feeling my absence. On Day 3, I started visiting new sites that I had never really done on a regular basis like The Boston Globe and other blogs like Cup of Jo other than my usual New York Times fix. And whenever I felt the urge to look at Facebook, I turned to People.com instead. Trolling celebrities' lives, while not the same, satiated that urge to know what is going on in someone's life.  I know it sounds pathetic.  Day 4 was easier as I found myself letting go and not so preoccupied.  I wasn't turning to my phone in the same way that I had been when I was checking Facebook constantly. So today, Day 5, is much like Day 4. I am still nostalgic about Facebook, but I am no longer feeling the anxiety that I was feeling before the diet.  I find myself having time now to think about other things  and caring less about what XYZ person from high school (who didn't even like me back then) is doing with their time.  I'm losing the "weight" that compelled me to go on this Facebook diet in the first place.

One of the reasons I forced myself to quit Facebook for a while is because I felt addicted to my phone. Ironically enough, the other day I stumbled across this article called "The Phones We Love Too Much".  I read with extreme interest. There is a professor at UConn that founded a Center for Internet and Smartphone Addiction. The motto for this Center is to "plug back into life."  Need I say more?

Technology and the use of technology is one of the biggest sources of tension in our household. Both my husband and I have demanding jobs where we are expected to respond quickly to client and colleague emails. I've done my research and read the negative effects of cell-phone use generally and especially in front of loved ones including children and how such use makes children (and apparently spouses) feel inadequate, unimportant and anxious. So I've tried to put in place times in our house where technology is not to be used including while eating, especially at the dinner table, and on the weekends (unless to respond to friends' texts to coordinate plans for the day/evening). While I feel that technology has taken over our lives and impacted them in ways that we are just beginning to understand, Kishore feels that there really is no problem at all. He only sees the benefit of being able to come home to spend time with our children despite the demanding job. I say that we are not truly "present" with our kids when we are on our devices.... and so the argument continues.

What I am learning with this Facebook diet and that was reaffirmed with this NY Times article is that I was overusing tech and quite dependent on it and that this overuse and dependence were a sign of overcompensation for other things such as fear of being alone with my own thoughts, loneliness, boredom and feelings of inadequacy. Cutting off access to something so addictive like Facebook is helping me see what might be amiss in my own life. With this self-imposed Facebook hiatus, I hope that instead of loving my phone too much, I can spend quality time with and show and express my love for the real people in my life.

On a Facebook Diet

I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook. I know many feel this way and that I am not alone. There has been much that has been written and studied about the negative effects of social media- everything from how many friends are the optimal number to enhance happiness to how smartphone use by parents can negatively impact their children. We know that the data is out there but there is something so addictive about Facebook (N.B. Facebook addiction has also been studied). I can't stop refreshing my News Feed. It's like a nervous tick. And the more that I focus on not doing it, the more I want to.

My husband, Kishore, is not on Facebook and I envy him. Yesterday, he was looking over my shoulder as I refreshed for the hundredth time. I then showed him a picture of somebody at which point he started to look at my News Feed. Watching him read my News Feed was like watching somebody go to Times Square for the first time. He was overwhelmed with all the information. And I was overwhelmed watching him. He was able to look at my screen for only 10 seconds at which point he handed my phone back to me and said "TMI!"

There are three reasons I hate Facebook. The first is that it is potentially damaging to my self-esteem. I start comparing myself to everybody's news feeds and wondering why I'm not as happy as this person, why I'm not as skinny or pretty as that person or why somebody's children always look so  coordinated and relaxed. And then I have to talk myself down from the precipice of unhappiness after recognizing for the umpteenth time that what I am watching is everybody's best self. People are only posting those pictures in which they look the best, their children are complying or they are doing interesting things. They are not posting their disappointments, failures, missteps, frustrations, aggravations and if they do, they are usually met with silence or judgment. The second is because I use it as my babysitter. Yes, you read that right. When I am bored, have a spare moment (standing in the grocery line or on the T), I click my News Feed and start reading. I don't know what I am looking for, but I am looking. I click articles, memes, photographs mindlessly. And then afterwards, if you were to ask me what I just looked at, I would probably give you a blank stare. Checking Facebook has become a gross habit of which I am ashamed. And lastly, this past presidential election highlighted to me the dangers of social media and the "filter bubble". Over 2 billion people use Facebook now, about 1.2 billion of them daily according to The New YorkTimes.  According to this New York Times article, a team of researchers at M.I.T. and Harvard found that social media created a "right-wing echo chamber" and that people were using social media to create "self-reinforcing bubbles of confirmatory ideas, to the detriment of civility and a shared factual basis from which to make collective, democratic decisions." The problem is that of the "News Feed"- a curated, personal news feed for each user. The News Feed that you are presented with every time you open Facebook has been sorted and prioritized for you by a series of algorithms based on what you have liked or whose page you have visited in the past. If you are only seeing those news articles and items that you agree with it, it surely creates that "echo chamber" that distorts your reality. And it potentially creates an alternate universe in which untruths and fallacies become mainstream "facts."

When I start feeling anxious, nervous and unfocused, when I'm constantly revisiting the site thinking that something will change in the second that I haven't been on and when I start to feel ungrounded, unconfident, and dazed, I know it's time for me to take a break from Facebook. Crazily enough, these are all tell-tale signs of addiction. Hmmm....

My major beef with giving up Facebook is FOMO or the "fear of missing out." It seems like we are the FOMO generation. Those of us who grew up without the technology and then were suddenly gifted with its presence 15-20 years ago now suffer from serious FOMO. Now that FB has become a socially accepted way for people to share important personal news (marriages, babies, pregnancies, retirements, special birthdays, etc.), the fear of missing out is great. And it's not even just with major life milestones, but also with keeping up with my real friends' lives. Many of my dear friends do not live in Boston, so a way that I am able to still feel part of their lives is to see their photos immediately and to respond by "liking" said picture. Staying connected and feeling part of something larger is definitely a benefit of FB.

Benefits aside, I need to start feeling good about my interactions with Facebook. So I am going to go on a FB diet starting tomorrow. Until then, you can find me hitting that refresh button (and promoting this blog post). Now the real question will be how to promote my next few posts without Facebook and whether I'd be cheating if I ask my friends to do it?!

Achieving R&R After Returning Home

We came back from our beach vacation on Friday night. After a harrowing day of travel that started at 6AM, multiple delays, we finally made it home before the clock struck midnight. By the time I got the kids to bed, it felt like the only R&R that remained of our Cancun rendezvous was the golden tan that I had acquired.  Thankfully, we had the weekend to recuperate from our vacation and I couldn't be more grateful for this time.  While we were readying for our return trip back on Friday morning, Kishore and I kept remarking how we should have stayed another day. However, come Saturday morning, I was happy we had a few days to settle back into our lives and meet the grind of work and school head on come Monday morning.

On Saturday morning, we slept in and the hour time difference to Cancun worked in our favor; the kids woke up at 9:30AM!  I made my way downstairs, made myself a cup of coffee and started reading the New York Times. We started getting the weekend paper again a month ago mostly because we wanted the kids to understand what "reading the news" meant, the cyclical nature of the news and that the world was larger than just the small microcosm that they see on a daily basis. We also wanted them to understand the physical manifestation of what we meant when we are reading the news on our smartphones before such a notion becomes obsolete. Also, as Kabir becomes a stronger reader, we wanted him to start exploring and taking sections of the newspaper that he found interesting. Funnily enough, Navya immediately claimed the Travel section mostly because it has the best pictures. She usually just asks us to read the captions under the pictures, but it's a good sign that we are talking about different parts of the world.

We had no plans for the day. No activities for the kids. No birthday parties. No social commitments. It was a day that we could do whatever we wanted. It felt like a continuation of our vacation, just at home and not in Cancun. So I read. I read the whole newspaper cover to cover. And boy did I enjoy it. I read about the TV-adaption of Margaret Atwood's A Handmaid's Tale. I read about how an author found love in Spain and the impact that such love had on the rest of his life. I read about the French elections. I read.

We had three meals together as a family, two of them more nutritious than the highly-caloric resort food we had been consuming all week. We laughed, talked about our vacation as if it were a distant memory and started planning our next one.  By the end of the day, the R&R that I had nursed during the week came back. I was no longer dreading going back to work on Monday, but in fact, looking forward to it. Mostly, to earn my next vacation of R&R.