Where Do Our Thoughts Come From?

I just stubbed my toe, and that's when it occurred to me: the first thought that pops into your head shows who you are!  The first thought that popped into my head was to use arnica to prevent bruising.  That was a very surprising thought, so much so that it distracted me for a moment from my pain (see! arnica works!)  The reason it was a shock is because I have never been a fan of  homeopathic remedies.  I am all for tylenol and ice packs.  And sometimes even an epidural, when the situation calls for it.  But here in California, homeopathic remedies are part of the common culture, and even doctors send their patients to Whole Foods instead of CVS.  When I first moved here, I was resistant to trying any of it.  But over time, more and more mothers have told me they use Rescue Remedy to calm their children (and their own nerves,) or that Arnica will prevent bruising, or that a little colloidal silver in a child's ear will get rid of an ear infection.  I heard it often enough, and eventually, this information made a little home for itself in my own head, and now these ideas are my own.

The place where you live, and the messages you hear over an over, have a significant impact on your thoughts.  It took a few years, but I have become a real Californian, in thoughts and actions.  I have a bottle of Rescue Remedy and a vile of Arnica in my medicine cabinet.  Not to mention that I use controlled, deep breathing to relax when I'm stressed.  And I think this is great, because, first of all my toe already stopped hurting and I only took the Arnica 10 minutes ago, and second of all embracing your city's culture is great.  As long as it is done with common sense. When will I consider myself to have gone completely over the deep end?  When I hear myself saying, "Marijuana isn't any worse than alcohol."  That's when.

Leiby Kletzky, A"H

My heart sits heavily in my chest, and my breathing doesn't come as naturally as it usually does.  This morning, every parents worst nightmare became a reality when 8 year old Leiby Klatzky was found brutally murdered.  He was one month shy of his 9th birthday.  His parents let him walk home from daycamp himself for the first time.  His mother must have been very nervous waiting for him to make it safely home after his first time walking alone.  Every parent knows that feeling, barely breathing until your kid makes it home safely.  But Mrs. Kletsky never got to breathe that sigh of relief upon seeing him running to her, cheeks flushed and proud of himself for being so independent.  Instead, two days of searching came to a bitter end as she and his father laid him to rest tonight.

Every parent is shaken to the core by this disturbing story.  The internet is abuzz with the news.  And, sadly, some people see this as an opportunity to point fingers.  I am reading comments online judging the parents and saying that it is wrong to let a child of 8 or 9 walk home alone.  This conversation is going on while his funeral is taking place.  Where is the consideration and respect for a mourning family?

There are two sides to every argument.  Some people say it is dysfunctional to hover over your children and never let them become independent, and some people say it is not worth the risk to let your kids go outside alone.  There are valid arguments on both sides.  But this is certainly not the time to make those arguments.  Nor do they need to be made, because for the rest of their lives, Mr. and Mrs. Klatsky will be battling that nagging thought that he was not ready yet to walk alone.  May God grant them strength to get through this terrible tragedy.  My thoughts and prayers are with them.

The Mommy Workout

Its a great idea to go to the gym every day, but sometimes you just don't have the time.  Luckily, being a mother means you get a great workout just by spending time with your kids.  On days that I don't make it to the gym, I still get a complete workout, albeit an unconventional one.  But that's okay, because I was never known to conform to any standards, and this includes exercise norms.

On non-gym days, I do the Mommy Workout.  Instead of a 60 minute kickboxing class, I spend at least as much time exercising my patience.  Instead of weight lifting, I flex my smile muscles.  Instead of doing bicept curls, I lift the baby up and down playing "swingy swing."  Instead of training for my 5K, I train my toddler to use the bathroom.  Instead of touching my toes, I reach down to pick up the laundry dropped on the floor.  Instead of yoga, I stretch my imagination.  Instead of mile repeats on the track, I have the kids favorite song on repeat on the CD player.  Instead of bootcamp drills, I do multiplication table drills.  In place of the cool down, I do story time before bed.

At the end of the Mommy Workout, I know I had a great workout because my muscles are sore, I am fatigued, and I feel a satisfying sense of exhausted accomplishment.  And I'm craving carbs.