Let It Be.

Today I had one of those mornings. The kind where you're hunting for your lost shoe, while your one year old is pulling at your leg crying, and you're simultaneously trying to brew a cup of coffee, while wiping baby boogers off your blouse, forgetting where you put your keys, while looking for your toddler's lunch box, but he's looking for his missing sword, and the dog won't stop barking, and can we just get out of the house already? Yep, one of those.

Then we get in the car, and its peaceful. Bliss. The building up of anxiety and mayhem suddenly subside into a quiet calm that makes you forget how chaotic and painful the morning was. Kind of like childbirth. Specifically Mia's birth.

Last November my parents were transitioning into a vacation property and we were moving into their New Jersey home. During the transition, they lived with us for several months. Perfect, since I was 8 months pregnant at the time with my second child and loved their help and support. By this time, I knew that I didn't want to overly think my delivery as I had with Daniel.

With Daniel being my first pregnancy, my controlling personality kicked into high gear and I drew up a very detailed birthing plan, complete with instructions on how to go about pain medication. It included my ideal of avoiding pain medication and having the nurses hand me the baby so that I could nurse him immediately. I gave them specific instructions on how to do their job.

While I did manage to labor at home mostly, my water broke on the way to the hospital (not planned). As soon as I arrived, I was screaming (not planned). And, part of my screaming included my new, revised birthing plan (not planned):

Nurse: Ma'am, can you sign here.
Me: Nooooooooo!
Nurse: Ok, we're going to get you into your room and changed. Are you going to want an.....
Me: YESSS!! Give me an epidural NOWWW!!!!!!

And that was that. I had an epidural and baby Daniel was born three hours later. Although the doctors said it was a perfect delivery, I felt far from perfect. I felt disappointed that I didn't follow through with my plans.

Fast forward to December 2010. I promised myself I would not decide on a birthing plan, or any plan for that matter. I would just "let it be." Let God and life do its thing and I would go along for the ride.

On December 31st I did not sleep. I was restless and all I could think of was the baby being born. At 6 am, hubby sees me awake and asks me if I'm ok. I smile, say "yes" and add, "Get ready. I have a funny feeling she's coming today." Hubby tells me to call him if I start laboring and goes off to work. I get up, make my family breakfast and as I'm cooking, I feel a slight cramp. No big deal, I'm not uncomfortable and I continue to enjoy breakfast with my family, and feel another cramp, 10 minutes later. And another, 10 minutes after that.

"Yes," I concluded in my mind, "Mia is coming today". At this point I had two main goals. I didn't want mom to get anxious and I didn't want Daniel to see me in severe pain. So off I went to call David at 10 am.

Me: Babe, you should head home. My cramping is consistent. I should get to the hospital soon.
Hubby: Ok. I'm on my way.

I head into the shower to start getting ready for hubby's arrival but can't help feel the crampings are slightly stronger and closer together. Still very bearable. Now 6 minutes apart, I calmly tell my mother not to panic and explain that hubby is on his way to get me. I tell her my plans to take a hot bath and relax while waiting. Mom agrees but asks me to not close the door, "just in case."

I set the ambiance. Fill the tub with warm water and bubbles, and bring in my radio to play Maxwell. It's now 10:10. Daniel walks in and starts playing with the bubbles. My cramping is now stronger but I feel calm and relaxed. Daniel has no idea that I'm starting to get uncomfortable. I start rocking back and forth to work through the pain and suddenly mom walks in to check on me. It is now 10:15. And just like that, in one instant, my water breaks and I feel the baby's head drop. Hard. I jump out of the tub in a panic and as I'm walking, I feel her head dropping even more. I yell, "Mom! Call 9-1-1". And she replies, "But David's on his way." And I yell back, "but her head is coming NOW!"

Mom runs to grab the phone as I manage to waddle to the nearest bed. Daniel is trailing behind me with bubbles in his hands. "But mommy, your bubbles." He proceeds to rub my back and ask me if I'm ok to which I yell, "I'm fine! I'm fiiiinnneee!" As mom runs back with the phone in hand, Mia's head is out and she drops the phone to catch her. I overhear the 9-1-1 dispatcher tell mom not to touch the umbilical chord. She places Mia on my chest and hands me the phone. Daniel is staring in shock. Mia is crying and mom is crying. I am blissful. I am the quiet after the chaos. I pick up the phone and tell them we're ok. The paramedics arrive 10 minutes later and whisk us away to the hospital.

This day I learned that life can be chaotic at times. It can be mayhem and it can be painful. And although you sometimes have a plan, sometimes the best plan is to "let it be" and let God and life do its thing.

my angel cakes...

my superhero...

my backbone...

my bliss...

Easygo with The Weight of the Nation

Last night I caught the end of The Weight of the Nation, a documentary about the industrialized food industry in the US and its correlation to our nation's obesity and disease epidemic. It got me thinking.

We all have multiple sides to our personality and I have a laid-back, go-with-the-flow part of me that likes what's easy and status quo. And she - let's call her "Easygo" - sometimes doesn't want to know about documentaries like The Weight of the Nation. About how, for the first time in history, our children are expected to have a shorter life expectancy than their parents. How we are raising a nation of the sickest children in the world who are plagued with diabetes, ADHD, asthma, and food allergies. Easygo would sometimes rather not know. Maybe its a sense of powerlessness, or maybe its simply that she doesn't feel like it will ever affect her. But the reality is, it has affected some of her friends and family. And who is to say it can't affect her in the future too?

If you watch the documentary in its entirety, which I recommend you do, they get into some of the trends of our food industry and how it parallels with the rise in obesity and disease. I won't get into details here, but some of what they touch on includes the mass production of corn, primarily used for corn syrups in our processed foods as well as grains used to bulk feed cattle that are later slaughtered for fast food burgers. The bottom line is that big (and very wealthy) companies have mastered a way to mass produce processed foods bigger, faster, and cheaper. So we grow up finding these foods easily and cheaply, and it becomes a staple in our diets. The issue then becomes some of the supposed harmful ingredients being used to mass produce and how it is negatively impacting our health.

A few months ago a friend of mine introduced me to Lisa. Lisa is a 32 year old mom and wife who read a book called In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan. Just like me, she never cared much about what she used to eat or buy for her family to eat. And just like me, she got to thinking. She decided to institute a 100 day challenge of eating and feeding her family of four only "real" food. They completely eliminated processed foods and she made everything from scratch for 100 days. Her journey is incredible. Here is a snapshot of what she describes as "real" food.

"Real" food is defined as:
1. whole foods that are a product of nature, not industry
2. fruits and veggies
3. dairy products
4. 100% whole-wheat and whole grains
5. seafood
6. locally-raised meats
7. water, milk, all natural juices, naturally sweetened coffee & tea, wine, and beer
8. dried fruit, seeds, nuts, popcorn
9. all natural sweeteners like honey, 100% maple syrup, and fruit juice concentrates

"Real" food is NOT:
1. refined grains such as white flour or white rice
2. refined sweeteners such as sugar, corn syrup, can juice or artificial sweeteners
3. anything out of a box, can, bag, or package that has more than 5 ingredients listed on the label
4. deep fried foods
5. "fast foods"

Doesn't this seem impossible with the way we live today? We're just not surrounded by real food at every corner as we are processed foods. But just as Easygo would rather not care, my alter ego kicks into full mommy mode and I feel like I need to make some changes. Small at first, but something.

I will be the first to admit, it is not easy. As a full time working wife and mommy of two, I would much rather pick out a can of this or a bag of that, and sometimes I do. But my hope is that I can do that less often than not and will share my recent mini experience with the hope that it gets you thinking too.

Daniel (and mommy) loves mini-muffins. Our favorite were the Entenmann's Little Bites...mmmm. One day I flipped over the box and tried to read the ingredients. Tried. Now your turn. You try to figure it out.

So Easygo went to bed early this day and I went online to find some alternatives to make our own version of mini muffins and Eureka! The kid actually likes them! These are carrot and walnut. You can find this recipe and many more at naturalhomeandgarden.com.

(above image from igniteinsight-er.blogspot.com)




xoxo, MG

Locally Grown.

A few months ago, I really didn't have a preference whether or not my produce was organic or not. I didn't care if it was grown on a local farm or if it was shipped here from South America. As long as it was cheap and attractive, it was going in my shopping cart.

Then, The Daily Green began circulating their research on the dirty dozen - a list of the top 12 fruits and vegetables that are most impacted by the chemicals and pesticides used by larger farms abroad. The list includes:

1. apples
2. celery
3. strawberries
4. peaches
5. spinach
6. nectarines
7. grapes
8. sweet bell peppers
9. potatoes
10. blueberries
11. lettuce
12. kale and collard greens

I was pretty convinced that I would make it a point to buy the dirty dozen organic. So I did, and secretly began patting myself on the back. But just as I patted, I realized, what about local farms in New Jersey? Should I be considering them for some of this produce also? And so control-freak, analytical, make-everything-a-mock-trial questionnaire Marilyn, began research on locally grown foods. And here is what I found. Local foods:

1. are fresher and last longer
2. are seasonal and taste better
3. have less environmental impact
4. preserve green space and farmland
5. promote food safety
6. support your local economy
7. promote variety
8. create community
9. don't contain harmful chemicals and pesticides

In Middlesex County alone there are at least eight local farms. The website www.visitnjfarms.org lists them by county. And so this weekend we decided to take a stab at Giamerese Farms, a farm we visit annually for pumpkin picking. Success! The kids loved picking (and eating) their own strawberries. In fact, I couldn't get one of the guilty culprits to stop eating...take a guess who?

 

See the World Through Their Eyes

"There once was a tiger, tiny little tiger,

playin' with his tiger toys

But his nurse-maid made him so afraid,

he didn't dare make a noise.

What happened to the tiger, tiny little tiger,

who never learned to roar?

He's just a mat, stretched out flat

on somebody's bedroom floor.

What we're saying is...

Hey Jimmie, Joe, John, Jim, Jack

Even little tigers lose their knack

When somebody twice their size

Can't see the world through children's eyes.

Don't do this. Don't do that.

You might as well just be a statue.

That's how children lose their spark.

But if grown-ups would take part in 

things that children have their heart in

They'd never end up hiding in the dark.

(Lyrics to Hey Jimmie, Jack, John, Jim, Joe)

My parents always make me laugh when they're around my children, one of the many reasons I can't wait for them to arrive in August. They will get on all fours and pretend they are horses, sword fight, dress up as police officers, princesses, hide under make-believe fortresses, and sit on the floor to have a tea party with the king and queen. They have a gift of seeing the world through Daniel and Mia's eyes. They always say "you have to become a child to understand your child." 

In today's hustle and bustle life, it's so easy to rush through the every day tasks we need to get done. Get the kids bathed, dressed, fed, educated, mannered, here and there and everywhere. But when is it ok to just let kids be kids? When is it ok to let them just be? To..

Run. 

Hide.

Scream.

Cry.

Pick out their favorite red shoes...

run after their shadows...

smell the weeds...

...especially if they look like clouds..

make believe branches are magical swords...

Today I'm reminded to slow down. To savor life. To appreciate the unimportant. To live shamelessly. To not hold back.  To live honestly.

I'm reminded that each day is sacred. That I don't want to rush my children through life.

Today, I'm reminded to sing the Hey Jimmie, Joe, John, Jim, Jack song...and share it.

Preschool Boy Vs. Reality

If you are somewhat like me, you don't take decisions lightly. You make simple decisions like choosing what to wear in the morning or selecting which fruits to buy for the week into mental mock trials, complete with conflict, rebuttals, evidence, and ultimately a verdict.

There are some decisions in life that feel like your very own grand jury trial. This one all-encompassing choice will seemingly determine the very outcome of your life. You pressure yourself with the burden of feeling as though little 'ol you has the power to sway your and your family's future, whether it's ultimately spectacular or eternally gloomy. This is exactly how I felt when I was faced with deciding where Daniel would go to school next year.

Let me rewind. Daniel was born in 2007 and was a quick learner from an early age. By 18 months, he knew how to say about 15 words, point to his body parts, identify and say the numbers 1 - 10, and imitate five or six animals sound. I kid you not. He was a brilliant infant. So much so, I felt compelled to put him in a daycare setting two days a week shortly before his third birthday. I theorized, "if he's this smart now, I can't wait to see what he'll learn in a school setting."

And so began my extensive research on daycares in my area. My research at the time had two main criteria: structure and academics. I had a vision in my head of how 3 and 4 year old little boys should behave. How they should sit, walk, speak, read, write, and play. Call it "Marilyn's Mock Trial of Preschool Boy vs Reality". Reality quickly won.

We enrolled Daniel in a private, religious, traditional school known for its academic advancement. And while the academic program is excellent, I couldn't help but feel like he was missing something. There were other aspects of his education that felt more important to me at his age. I began unraveling a mental narrative of a school environment that felt a bit more whole. Where the curriculum incorporated life lessons of empathy, caring, and kindness. Where daily activities incorporated practical life skills about how to chip in, cooperate, and help. Where the children were given opportunities to be creative and explore their talents. And while his school gave them some of these "lessons", I wanted Daniel to live them.

I was expecting a decision process that would involve some time. I was not expecting, a process where I would have to sift through so many choices...

Homeschool

Unschool

Self-directed

Teacher-directed

Private

Public

Religious

Secular

Montessori

Traditional

Some of the choices were naturally weeded out. I would have loved to explore homeschooling, but that wouldn't work because I work. I also visited a self-directed school that I loved, but it was almost an hour away from home. Then there was a fabulous Montessori school that we almost chose, but it was very expensive.

Ultimately, each child is unique as are their needs. You know your child better than anyone and what may be best for him or her may not best for another. Through careful thought and prayer, we finally reached a verdict and found Daniel's new school. A small private school that feels warm and right at home. It is a creative, project-based school that encompasses a philosophy based on four key values: Caring, Honesty, Respect, and Responsibility. Whether or not he remains there the following year or ventures out to our local public school will be yet another decision process we'll have to face next June.

So although my criteria has changed, ultimately my goal remains the same. To make the best decision I can for my child's future.

Thank You For Being a Friend.

This is the video that made me start thinking...

A lot.

Today I'm thanking my friends. Thank you for starting me on this journey. 

Thank you for sharing your life stories with me. One day, you made some new choices. Thank you for helping me see that their are choices. 

For some, your healthier living began when you were a child. For some, it began when you became a parent and your child had severe food allergies, developmental issues or health issues. For others, you were battling a disease. For all, you began questioning.

Choosing.

And Sharing. 

Thank you. 

Thank you for being...a friend.

I Love Carl. (My Mother's Day Memory)

Today we celebrated Mother's Day in the US. Mothers around the country slept in, were given a break, and told they are loved. At home, I try to celebrate Mother's Day every Sunday. It is the one day where I get to sleep in. On Sundays, sweet Sundays, hubby is home to intercept my alarm clocks (the kids) and I'm given a morning break to catch some extra zzzz's.

Today was slightly different though. As I rolled over in bed savoring the extra sleep, I felt the soft shoves of  little hands as Mia and Daniel nervously woke me up. Mia proceeded to climb on top of me and laugh while Daniel cheered enthusiastically, "Mommy! Mommy! It's Mother's Day!" He then shoved a card in my face with a huge grin anxiously awaiting my reaction. "Aww, thanks papa," I whispered trying to rub my eyes awake and make a sleepy smile. In the card he wrote "Love Daniel" and Mia wrote her own baby scribbles that meant just as much. He then delicately placed his hands on my lap. "Mommy. I made this for you. Here's your Mother's Day gift. I named him Carl."Carl was a little snowman looking thing he carefully crafted from play dough.

"Carl? Why Carl?" I wondered. But who can ever tell the reasonings behind a four year old's thoughts. "I love Carl," I mustered. "He's awesome."And I carefully placed Carl on my nightstand so as not to accidentally dismember him. God forbid. Then off Daniel went, skipping along contently because he knew he had succeeded in making me smile. Which to him meant, mommy was happy and loved.

I savor these moments as I reminisce about Daniel's rough start in this world. Four and a half years ago Daniel was born. It was a hot summer night and I labored mostly at home, trying desperately to withstand the pain. By the time my contractions were a minute apart, my family rushed me to the hospital just in time. The delivery was text book and the doctors said he was perfect. He nursed immediately and I thought everything was going to be just as easy as it looked on TV. But then, he cried. Exhausted beyond belief, I remember holding him continuously and nursing him around the clock. I slept a total of four hours the entire three days I stayed in the hospital.

Being overly exhausted and a new mom, the anxiety of doing things right got the best of me. All I wanted was sleep. But Daniel cried. He cried and cried. He cried when we held him. He cried while he nursed. He cried while falling asleep. Cried. Cried. Cried. Worried that I was going to have a nervous breakdown, I called the pediatrician who told me to bring him in. He was two weeks old. They immediately admitted him in the hospital for an evaluation. Daniel had an infection. They placed him on an intravenous antibiotic for three days while his little body fought off the virus. I remember not wanting to leave the hospital. I felt safe there. And rested.

After we were discharged, we came home and I thought things would get better but Daniel continued crying relentlessly. I wondered if I was doing something wrong. Was I a bad mom? My parents encouraged me to take him back to the pediatrician where they ultimately diagnosed him with colic. I read about colic but didn't think it could happen to my child. To me.

I spent the next few days obsessively researching colic online. After too much reading, consulting with my mother and mother-in-law and much trial and error, we finally discovered our winning combination. A mix of soothing techniques that calmed Daniel and kept him at peace. His magic combination included being carried in a sling during parts of the day (also known as attachment parenting), drinking small amounts of chamomile tea, having a daily stomach massage with lavender oil, and supervised naps on his belly.

Initially, I was opposed to some of these ideas because of what I had read or heard. But I think that's just it with motherhood. You learn pretty quickly that what is right for one, may not be right for all. That you can't read your way through motherhood. You have to live your way through it. That although you may find a mom or two that you trust and confide in, you have to learn to trust in yourself. God put that instinct there for a reason.

Four and a half years later, Daniel is a happy, silly, inquisitive, intelligent, old soul. His joys are making people laugh and playing outside. Especially if it involves water. His health has never been better thanks to his vitamin and nutrition regimen. A far cry from were he started as a newborn.

So Yes. I love Carl.
I love Carl and what he represents. A happy, healthy little boy trying to make his momma smile.

 

Breaking Down the Fortress.

On my journey towards holistic health, I've discovered I'm on a road of uncovering and healing. I look at my past and remember that our bodies are resilient. That though we may have done some not-so-great things for our bodies before, our bodies are forgiving. And we can do some awesome things going forward, to recover.

Once upon a time...

There.

Was.

Me.

And I was fifteen. Fifteen year old Marilyn was known by many as "Mar"(pronounced Mare) back then. Mar lived in a magical little fairyland named Suburbanville where good things happened to good people. The people of Suburbanville were good and meant well. No one wanted to harm anyone and everyone watched out for one other.

Then one day, Mar was hurt. She began questioning the goodness of all Suburbanites and began to build a tiny fortress made of invisible bricks. Although invisible, the bricks protected her from all Suburbanites. She was shielded from all. The problem with her little fortress was that it also kept her away from the other inhabitants that truly were good. Nonetheless, she lived in her fortress quite content, knowing that she had control over her little universe. And in that fortress she smiled along and thought, "my world is perfect in here".

As time went on, Mar forgot about the hurt. She found a place to bury it and slowly began taking down her invisible fortress, invisible brick by invisible brick. Nervous about how she would survive in Suburbanville without her fortress around her, she knew she needed a plan to protect her from ever getting hurt again. She needed armor. Something that would help her have control over her new surroundings. So she stopped eating. The power of restricting her food was her safety blanket. Her body was now powerful enough to survive on its own, without depending on food, and to Mar, that meant it was powerful enough to survive anything.

At first, the hunger was so loud, it yelled "Feed me!" But soon, the voice quieted down to a whisper, until finally disappearing. Mar continued day by day on little to no food until finally the Suburbanites began to worry. They questioned her health and wondered if she was ok. This made Mar smile. "I'm strong," she thought. "I can do this on my own." And on she went, withering away until she could no longer sustain the energy to walk and smile as much. The days dragged on until Mar was only 85 pounds. "I'm fine," she would proclaim but not even she believed it anymore. Life in Suburbanville was no longer pleasant. It was a chore. And Mar was tired. Very tired. And sick. No longer living. Surviving.

Then one day, one miraculous day, a fairy came to visit Mar. The fairy was warm and loving and caring. She nurtured Mar and held her, and loved her. Mar wondered, "where did you come from?" And the fairy  knew, "your parents prayed me here." She found Mar's buried hurt and threw it into the air. Up it went into the skies and never came back. In its place, the fairy handed Mar a ball of hope. And Mar held onto the hope and embraced it near her heart. Days passed, and Mar began eating. Weeks passed, and Mar began believing. Time passed, and Mar was healed. Mar was healthy. And Mar was hopeful.

I recount my story in the hopes that it will bless someone to believe. To believe and to hope that there is healing. God healed me then and I've never looked back.

So you see, life is a balance because back then, I had the power to harm my body, but now I've been given the power to help my body. Having this, how can I not try to do the best for my body and my family's bodies? That is why I have begun the process of choosing. Choosing to use natural remedies, instead of reaching for the quickest over-the-counter fix. Choosing to limit preservatives from our diet, even though now I have to travel to a different supermarket. Choosing to avoid certain household chemicals. Choosing.

And although I am not perfect, I am hopeful. Hopeful that my choices today will help my body and benefit our family's health in the long run.

Chip In.

They say children learn through imitation. Scary. Scary to think we adults have so much influence over these little creatures. What's even scarier is that they believe everything we say and do. They grasp onto our words and actions as though we are walking, talking encyclopedias. Scary...but empowering. Just to think, I - nose wiping, butt cleaning, family feeding, dog bathing, grocery shopping, car messing, tiredly managing, simply thanking momma - have the power to positively impact my children.

Growing up in a conservative, traditional Christian, Puerto Rican family, my parents had strong beliefs in certain traditions that were important to them. One such tradition was the cleaning of our home on Saturday mornings. This tradition meant much more than simply cleaning. The significance of this act meant we were taking the time to help one another and to collectively help our home. Simply put, "chip in."

We had a routine. Every Saturday morning my parents would allow my brother and I to have some bonding time and we'd camp out in our family room, blankets and pillows sprawled across the carpet, bowl of cereal in one hand and remote control in the other. We would digest our cartoons for a good hour in preparation for the chores that awaited us. Soon after, we would hear my mother's flip flops clicking across the kitchen to find us and remind us of our duties. Our Saturdays would sometimes look like this:

JR: Mowing the lawn or picking weeds
Me: Folding the laundry, dusting the living room, washing the dishes

Sometimes we would trade. It really didn't matter and my parents didn't care as long as the chores got done. It was such a part of our life that I always remember it existing. Just as we always brushed our teeth in the morning, we always had chores on Saturday. We always chipped in. And that was that.

Fast forward 20-25 years and here I am, married with my own two children, ages one and four. It is now my turn to begin instilling values and traditions to our children. The thought of it completely overwhelms me as my mind begins outlining all of the values that I was raised with:
...be polite
...respect elders
...respect authority figures
...be kind
...be loving
...be thankful
...be educated
...be proud of your heritage
...appreciate music
...be accepting
...count your blessings
...
...
...and the list continues...

In true Figueroa fashion, I have begun the tradition of Saturday morning cleaning with my children, AKA, help your family and chip in. (Mami and papi would be so proud). We get up, have breakfast, chat, and then begin cleaning. Our routine is adjusted obviously because my little ones are just that, little. They mostly imitate me by taking a wash cloth and wiping anything they see. This is what we lovingly call the Clean Up game. But it is also one of the powerful ways I can positively influence them, even if by just imitation. I decided to also make our cleaning into a Science lesson and now involve Daniel to help me make natural cleaning products. This past weekend he learned how to measure and mix the amounts needed to make a cleaning solution out of vinegar, castile soap, water, and tea tree oil. We then labeled the bottle and he happily began spraying our kitchen, while Mia toddled behind him wiping the residue off anything he had finished wiping.

So although on the surface my parent's philosophy of cleaning may seem mundane and old fashioned, at its core it instilled values of honor, family, and helping that I still carry with me today. Taking these values and using them to educate my own children is empowering and not scary at all.

(Image by Young Post)

Her Courage. (Dedicated to Sis.)

Life is short.

Isn't that one of the first catch phrases we memorize growing up?

They say it when we're in college, unsure about life. Life is short...live it up!

They say it when we fall in love. Life is short...don't let him/her go.

They say it when we have children. Life is short...enjoy every second.

Tonight this catch phrase stinks. I hate it. I hate the reality it sets in when we realize just how sacred time and life really are. What I hate even more is that it usually takes a tribulation to really understand the significance of it.

A tribulation I will call "disease." Disease and I don't get along. I never liked him from day one. On day one, I was about 12 and one of my dearest friends, who I'll call "Sis", was about 9. She sat next to me in the corner of our church bench and whispered in my ear "I have lupus."

Me: "You have what?"
Sis: "Lupus. My mom said its an autoimmune disease."
Me: Look of confusion
Sis: "That's why I'm always tired. And that's why my hands and feet sometimes turn purple."

That was the start of Sis' long journey battling lupus. I can't possibly recount all of the physical and emotional ordeals she has had to deal with. The numerous stays in the hospital, hip surgery, heart surgery, dialysis, medications, steroids, therapies, body pains, hair loss, weight loss, nausea...should I continue? Just today, Sis was admitted in the hospital for severe leg pain. So severe that she is having trouble walking.

What amazes me is her undeniable Faith in her ultimate Healer, God. Her beyond-the-shadow-of-a-doubt belief that He has her in His hands. Safe. Healed. But do you know what makes me in awe even more than her belief? It is her ability to touch other's lives because of it. Her courage.

Most of Sis' close family and friends know the severity of her lupus. What most people don't know is that her doctors call her a Miracle. Just last week they told her they have never seen a patient in her condition as healthy and vibrant as she is. What most people also don't know is how good Sis takes care of her health through her nutrition. A daughter of a West Indies native mother who raised her children holistically, (not knowing we now call it that) Sis' mom believed in all natural foods and cooked everything from scratch. I remember their meals mostly consisting of whole grains, fresh vegetables, fruits, and homemade soups. Her mother was an encyclopedia of natural herbal remedies and teas to treat ailments. Sis has carried a lot of these customs with her and continues to nourish herself the way she was raised.  Her doctors attribute part of her vitality on how she cares for herself, including her nutrition.

Sis attributes all of her vitality on God.

So part of me appreciates and admires how Sis has been able to mitigate some of the side effects of lupus through her innocent holisticish living. But all of me just wants to thank God that she is ok and that she will pull through.

Be strong, courageous, and firm;

fear not nor be in terror before them, 

for it is the Lord your God Who goes with you;

He will not fail you or forsake you.

(Deuteronomy 31:6)

For more information about Sis' journey, follow her on www.lupusmyjourney.hubpages.com.

Live Marvelously.

In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous. 

(Aristotle)

There are certain memories from my childhood that are a blur and yet others are so crystal clear its as though I just lived that moment.

The scenic picture above was from a vacation hubby and I took to Puerto Rico in 2006. Two years pre-babies. If you've ever been to Puerto Rico, you'll know that to get across town, you typically have to travel across at least one of many winding or hilly roads. It's along these roads that you can look to your left or your right and see scenery like this. 

Although Puerto Rico has become much more commercialized over the past two decades, I vividly remember my stays there as a kid. I would spend my summer vacations in a small town called Trujillo Alto, with my grandmother Abuelita or my aunt and uncle, Titi Lucy and Tio Manuel. My sneakers and jeans would quickly find a home underneath the bed and get replaced with much more convenient flip flops and cotton shorts. 

I remember life was simpler then. I would spend my days with my cousins climbing trees, hunting down mangoes, or racing to the river behind Tio Manuel's property. Sometimes we would sneak into my neighboring uncle's property and feed the pigs on his farm. We had fun. We lived. I also remember never playing video games or watching TV. Nature surrounded us and everything we did. 

On some days, Tio and Titi would make arrangements to take us to a nearby stream to swim for the day. I remember how cool and refreshing the water was. How the large, slippery rocks would transform into our water slides. Or sometimes we would go to the local beach and spend the day building sand castles, resting from the moments we were skipping through the clear, blue ocean waves. On special days, Tio would take me to the nearby brook to bottle water for the next few days. We would wait our turn under the almond tree. As we waited, Tio would crack the fallen almonds with a rock and we would share our treat.

In Puerto Rico, I lived differently. Closer to nature. Life was simple but balanced. Time didn't exist. We let the sun and the daylight lead our days activities. It was peaceful. Marvelous. It was through these moments as a child that I learned to appreciate nature. Live with nature. 

My hope is that somehow my children will get to live and love nature in our busy hustle bustle New Jersey life. That somehow, we can sift through the commercialism and find nature. That we take the time to visit a NJ farm. Get around to plant our garden. Or organize ourselves enough to go on hikes on a nearby trail. My goal is that we take the time to be in nature. Live with nature... and live marvelously.