Go. Heal Thyself, Girl!

Go.  Heal Thyself, Girl!

A story of personal healing

Ever since I gave birth to Thing 1 I’ve struggled with slouching.  I figured it was a combination of things;   engorged breasts, that would have won money in a wet t-shirt contest, muscle fatigue from holding a well fed baby, and stomach muscles that had been stretched beyond reason.  Two more babies and nine more years under my belt and I’m still struggling with slouching.  In fact it’s been getting worse.  For at least the last year and a half I’ve been consciously trying to fix the problem.  I check in with myself regularly throughout the day, “Am I slouching?  Yes!  Stop that!” I’ve been working on my core trying to bolster those muscles and give my shoulders a break.  All to no avail.  What is my problem?  I was a dancer for heaven sake.  Dancers don’t slouch!  They have lovely posture (and small breasts, I might add).

Yesterday, I woke up and put on a real new bra.  Not a nursing bra or the bandeau bras I’ve been sporting for the last 9 years because they are comfortable and what’s the use with real bras anyway when every hour your size seems to change.  It took me two hours to get this real bra picked out.  I asked the sales gal where the A cups were.  She said that Victoria’s Secrets doesn’t carry A cups.  Then she added, “And you are definitely not an A cup”.  Uh, yes I am.  In collage I was a 36B and now, well, now I just have pocket flaps.  She smiled and measured me.  I was pretty sure she was trying to boost my ego along with my boobs because she said I measured at a 34C or a 32D.  What!!!!  If I told my three nicely endowed sisters and mother that I was a C or D cup I would never hear the end of it.  Whatever Victoria’s!  Low and behold I walked out of there with three 32D bras that are way more comfortable than my 36Bs ever were!  How was I supposed to know? Victoria’s wasn’t even around when I started wearing bras.

Yesterday I woke up and put on my new 32D bra.  I brushed my teeth.  I checked in with myself, “Am I slouching? No!  Cool.  Maybe all those exercises are finally paying off?”  I moved on.  I check in throughout the day as usual.  Each time my answer was the same, “Am I slouching? No!”  I can’t believe it.  I have never given myself a positive answer to that question and now three in one day.  Unreal! I get ready for bed, put my PJ’s on and brush my teeth.  One last check in, “Am I slouching?  Yes!”  Huh???

When I weaned Thing 3 a couple months ago I actually cried for my sorry droopy little sisters.  Poor things! They worked hard for me and now their usefulness is over.  Done.  Never again will they nourish another human being, of course, my husband has a different opinion.  But I just wanted them to live out the remainder of their deflated little lives in contentment knowing they served faithfully and well.  They were troopers and maybe they even deserve a little purple heart tattooed over the top of them. 

I have discovered, however, that my sisters have will.  They shall not let life pull them down.  My sisters have been lifted and they are singing hallelujah!  These girls have life left in them yet.  They are standing ready to take on the world.  You go girls!  As it turns out my new 32D has miraculously healed me.  My slouch is gone.  Those maybe two pound weights have been slung back into their rightful position and I find myself over compensating, leaning back even, with the change in weight distribution.  As if my whole body is rejoicing with the ease in which I can stand straight now.  I find myself asking, “Was it really that simple?  All I needed was a new well fitted bra?” Amazing!

Here is my plea for all of women kind.  Please, if you slouch, go get your sisters lifted.  No matter how small you think you are give them the support they deserve.   Go.  Heal thyself, girl!

The Egg

The Egg

By Kristen S. Sandoz

2013

 

The other day my five-year-old son had a friend over and they spent a lot of time with our hens.  Later that day when I went to check on the ladies I found two eggs smashed against the fence and evidence of a cover up.  If you have ever raised your own chickens you know how precious eggs are.  I was not happy about this and handled the whole thing very poorly.  That night I was really disturbed by my reaction and it brought to mind an experience I had as a five year old.

 

It was small, black, exquisitely hand painted, and edged with gold gilding.  It was lovely and delicate much like a teacup with gold trim.  You know the kind that even as an adult you’re afraid to touch its dainty handle with your comparatively large and clumsy fingers.  Only a teacup doesn’t quite compare with the fragility of nature.  In my hand I was holding an egg.  It was a gift to my mother from our Japanese neighbor, who moments before had delivered it to our door.  At the age of five I was fascinated with its elegance.  I had asked my mother if I could hold it.  Without hesitation she handed it to me and then turned and left the room.  What was she thinking?

 

I remember exactly what I was thinking as I held that piece of art and stroked its fine detailing.  The thought just came to me.  Not out of naughtiness but out of genuine curiosity.  Somewhere in my short little five-year-old life I had heard that an egg shell was so strong that you could squeeze it and it would not break.  Lord knows why at that moment I chose to test this theory with this particular egg.  I was not thinking about action and reaction.  All I was thinking was how good it felt to squeeze the impressively strong orb in my hand.

 

It’s hard to describe how it felt in my grip.  Perhaps you will have to try it yourself to understand.  But it felt GOOD.  It felt satisfying.  Like pushing myself to an extreme, like holding my breath under water until the very last of my capability and then holding it just one second longer.  I was truly amazed and absorbed in its strength.  Just how much pressure could it handle?  Was I strong enough to break it?  Was it even possible?

 

Then it happened and it was as if the whole world around me slowly imploded into the palm of my hand and I saw for one second, at five years old, a glimpse of the tragedy of many people’s lives.  My chest tightened, my heart stopped, my hand quivered and the feeling of utter despair, irrevocable damage, and life long regret swept through my entire being.  I was left standing with nothing but the shards of a once whole, precious, and beautiful object. 

 

I did what all of us want to do when we experience this type of regret and loss.  I immediately ran to my mother.  I sobbed uncontrollably into her arms for my loss, for her loss.  She let me cry until my tears were dry and then without anger and with true grace she said, “It’s okay.  Accidents happen.  It was only an egg.”  At the time I thought she was putting on an act to get me to stop crying.  After all it was probably the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life up to that point.  Now as an adult I understand.  It was only an egg. 

 

It was a gift to learn deep regret for such a small price.  I have often remembered that egg broken in my hand when I am on the edge of an impulse.  That feeling of immediate satisfaction or pleasure warms itself in my being and then I see a lovely black egg nestled safely in the palm of my hand.  Suddenly without warning my heart stops and instantly my muscles seize up and I am filled with that feeling of regret once again and I am saved.  What cemented this lesson in my mind was my mother’s reaction. She comforted and mourned with me.  If she had yelled and raged or punished me I might have felt duly reward and moved on. 

 

I often wish I could recreate this scene for myself adult.  I wish that some how I could learn the pain of regret before the stakes are too high.    I wish I could trust myself with this precious gilded egg and let myself break it.  I wish that I could react as my mother reacted with grace and forgiveness and open arms.  But I can’t help but wonder about the balance between grace and justice.  If my boys were to make a mistake that couldn’t be nicely mended how could I keep them from throwing the baby out with the bath water?  This is not the message I want my boys to get.  This is not grace.  Is there not a good and whole life to be led after regret?  Is there not repentance, redemption, and reconciliation?  Did Christ not die because there are fragile eggs that we just cannot put back together again?  I want my boys to know that I love them no matter what.  I want to echo God’s grace, healing, and love, so they can come to truly understand that neither life, nor death, nor angles, nor demons, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, can separate them from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus, our Lord.

Book Review: Q & A a Day for Kids

"What color of the rainbow do you feel like today?  Why?"

"What does someone else have that you want?"

"What do you think about when you wake up?"

"What silly thing did you do recently?"


These are a few of the questions you'll find in one of my new favorite Healing Story games. This post is for my sister-in-law.  She sent me a text asking what games we play at the dinner table because they needed a little something to direct conversation.  This is a must in our house!  If we don't have something ready for the boys to talk about they will choose the topic themselves.  It always goes one of two ways.  Either poop and body parts are the subjects or a not so friendly debate about who's the best.  Neither of these give us a very fine dining experience. To avoid these dinner talks I've learned to come prepared.  Here is one of my latest tools.

Q&A a Day for Kids by Betsy Franco is a delightful conversation starter that will end up being a cherished keepsake.  It is meant to be a three year journal for one kid but we use it for our whole family.  Each night we answer the question for that day and mark family members answers with their initials.  I have the adult version of this book for myself, which was a gift from my good friend Lanny (thank you friend!) two December's ago.  It has been fun to look back and see what my answers for last year were.  I was in such a different place with a newborn baby on my hands.  I can only imagine how my six year old and nine year old will change in three years.  Even better in three years I'm sure my now one year old will be putting in his two cents.  When I'm 80 years old this little book will make me cry! 

I consider this a Healing Story game because its fun!  But this book also helps our children tell their own stories.  Even more importantly it helps us, as their parents, listen to their stories.  This is HUGE for kids!  Most of the time we are too busy to catch the small things our children are trying to communicate to us.  Sometimes we just don't even realize they have something going on upstairs that is worth listening to.  But they do.  We just need to force ourselves to listen.  Not only are we listening with this book but we are recording their stories, too.  What better way to let our children know they are important?  It is a good way to do a little healing. 

So turn dinner time chaos into something more with this wonderful journal for kids.  It might still be chaotic but at least you'll have a record of it!

Happy Tales!
Kristen

Justly Story Ch. 5: The Baker's Windows

Chapter 5:  The Baker’s Windows

by Kristen S. Sandoz

 2013

Tonight our story returns to Copper and Justly.  After Justly saved Copper from an untimely death he had to find a new place to sleep at night. Before Copper Justly slept under the outdoor oven at the Baker’s complex.  It was such a warm and dry place to nestle into, even on the coldest and wettest nights.  This clay oven was stoked every day for the baking of the finest breads in the entire kingdom (so the Baker thought) and it would therefore emit warmth long into the night.  Justly received the privilege of sleeping under the oven by cleaning the windows of the Baker’s shop.  I know you think that I am making a mistake, but I am not!  Despite being blind Justly had an excellent reputation for window washing.  How did he do it, you ask?  Well, let me tell you his secret for it is one all of us would do well to know. 

 

Every month Justly preformed this duty for the baker. He had heard that a window could show you what you looked like.  As he washed the windows he would imagine what he might look like in the window’s reflection.    Did he have a cleft chin or big ears?  Was his hair the color of warm sunshine or of the cool forest?  Did he look like thin string beans or thick tree trunks?  He had a hunch that he looked like thin wiry string beans but it would be nice to know for certain.  Sometime he would take to imagining what he wanted to look like.  He wanted his arms to be like the branches of a strong walnut tree.  He wanted his face to be like the rays of the sun, warm and welcoming. 

 

Then his thoughts would drift away from what he looked like on the outside to what he looked like on the inside.   As he meditated on this while he washed the window’s spots a magical thing happened to both Justly and the Baker’s window.  Justly was actually washing away the things inside himself that were making him spotty and unclean.  He would wash away his own desire to tell little innocent fib, or he would wash away his fear of water, or he would wash away his hatred for the boys in town who bullied him.  As those dirty spots in Justly were wiped clean so were the window’s spots with them.  All that was left was crystal cleanness. Both inside and out!

 

It was in this way that the windows of the Baker’s shop were cleaned each month.  What a way to start a day with self-evaluation and meditation!  The Baker was so in awe of the boy’s ability to perform this duty with such a disability that he let the boy claim the warm spot under the oven as his own.  The Baker regularly left day old bread for Justly as well, but you did not hear that from me as the Baker prided himself on his firm hand with the beggars of the community.  With Justly he had a fondness and often couldn’t resist giving him these little gifts.  He felt, too, that it was better than letting the rats or pigs have his marvelous bread.

 

I have gone down a rabbit trail with the Baker and his windows.  Now I will have to save Justly’s search for a new bed until next time.  In the meantime, wash a window and meditate on what the Witch Hazel tells every young person who will listen, “Handsome on the inside is handsome on the outside.”

 

1…Now my story is done.

2…I love you!

3…Please kiss me.

Sleep Problems, a Book Review, & an Ah Ha Moment

Sleep is a problem in our house.  First, Thing 3, now a year old, wakes anywhere from four to six times a night to nurse.  Thing 1 will lay awake until 10 pm waiting for his Melatonin to kick in.   My dear sweet husband often doesn’t fall asleep until 2 am thanks to a crazy work schedule, restless leg issues, and the failure of his Melatonin to do its job.  Finally, Thing 2 wakes frequently with nightmares.  All of their sleep problems become my sleep problems.  Nice.

Out of sheer desperation I recently bought an Ebook titled Ready,Set, Sleep by Malia Jacobson.  It was only $10 so I thought I had nothing to lose buying a self-published book.  I was drawn to the book because of Jacobson’s statement “that parents are regularly given outdated sleep advice laden with value judgments instead of simple, fact-based tactics that work”.  That has certainly been my experience.  She went on to say that sleep science is an emerging field where new discoveries are constantly being made that help us to understand how sleep works. 

 

I ended up getting a lot from this book.  I loved that there was no let them “cry it out” suggestions or admonitions that my baby is simply trying to “manipulate” me.  Which I absolutely hate!  Instead Jacobson explained how you cannot force a child to sleep you can only create an environment which supports their natural inclination to sleep.  That made a lot of sense to me.  What person doesn’t want to sleep?  It is an essential part of our survival.  Without sleep we would die.  We all get to a point where we are willing to do anything to sleep.  Why wouldn’t this be true for a baby?  Also, I feel like I’ve tried just about everything to make my children sleep and it hasn’t worked.  It has only made me feel like a major parental failure. 

In her book Ready, Set, Sleep Malia gives 50 ways you can support your child’s sleep and she educates you about sleep science along the way.  I walked away with well over $10 worth of things I could try or change in order to help my kids, and even my husband, into better sleep patterns.  Jacobson ends her book by saying if you have tried all of these tips and you have created a great sleeping environment for your child and they are still waking in the middle of the night to eat, then sorry, but your baby needs to wake up and eat.  This one piece of advice gave me some serious peace of mind. 

I realized after reading this book that I’ve fostered a major fallacy in my thinking of my role as a mother.  I am not called as a mother to “make” my boys into three honest, kind, sensitive, God-loving, strong, men.  But rather my calling is to create an environment which supports their natural inclination to be those things.  Who my boys are and who they become is not entirely my responsibility.  They have a part to play as well.  I can only support them and encourage them in the right direction and the rest is up to them.  If this is my calling I cannot fail.  Ah ha!  Thank you Malia Jacobson.

Sweet Dreams!

Kristen

Book Review: May B. A Novel

Maybe she can?  Maybe she can’t?  That is the question that May B. has to answer for herself while stranded on the Kansas prairie alone and abandoned until Christmas.  Can she grow past her fears and insecurities and find it in herself to overcome?

May B. A Novel by Caroline Starr Rose is a true healing story.  Its raw, awkward, and uncomfortable rhythm mimics the main character. Yet the more I read it to my boys the more freely the words ebbed and flowed from me.   Just like the Kansas prairie in the 1870’s this story is sparse and simple requiring commitment to get past the first half of the book before the reward of hard work and a good story pulls you in.  The beauty of this book is the way Rose develops May B. throughout the story mirroring her internal struggle to read with her external struggle to survive.  Sometimes a bad situation often does make a person better. 

This story offered me and my boys plenty of opportunity for deeper conversation.  Its general feeling of depression disturbed me at first.  It was not the feel good story I was looking to read right after Christmas.  The author’s unusual use of prose made me worry that my boys would get frustrated trying to follow its lack luster story line.  Fortunately, by the middle of the book they were hooked!  Comments like, “those kids are being mean to her” and “I feel bad for May” showed that both of them could relate just fine to May and her struggles. 

The part I loved most about this story is that May B.’s struggle didn’t just go away at the end of the story.  What did go away was May’s lack of confidence in herself.  In the end my boys and I saw that maybe she can do some things and maybe she can’t do others but either way she was loved!   That is something I want my boys to know and understand about themselves. 

Two Birdies Who Couldn't Fly

If there is one thing that pushes me over the edge with my kids it's their incessant "It's not fair!"  I've come to the point where I don't even no what to say to that statement anymore.  Of course it's not fair.  Life never is.  Besides, I don't want it to be fair IF fair means every one gets the exact same thing.  Because to me that doesn't seem fair.  If one child gets a broken leg it's silly to break the other child's leg too. Right?  For me I'm realizing that fair means each child gets uniquely what he or she needs not necessarily what they want.  Which is never enough for them anyway.  Can you relate?

On the other hand, I have one child that is always hungry.  He eats because he's bored and needs stimulation and sometimes lacks a little imagination to supply these things for himself.  Should I just feed him to keep him busy and shut him up?   I have another child who gets so engaged in what he's doing he doesn't want to stop and eat.  It really is a fight to get him to eat when he's in a groove, but if he doesn't eat he has major meltdowns. Sometimes it's easier to ignore both of these different needs just so I can have a little peace and quite, but inevitably that backfires.  So what's a girl to do?

I thought maybe a healing story might be helpful for this issue of fairness.  The following story only begins to address the issue but it's simple and I think gets a clear and easy to follow point across to my kids.  Please feel free to try it out on your kids and tell me what you think.  Oh, and if inspired definitely make up your own healing story around this subject!

Enjoy!
Kristen
 

Two Little Birdies Who Couldn’t Fly

By Kristen S. Sandoz

Copyright 2011

There once was a momma bird that had a beautiful nest with two lovely eggs in it.  After some time the first egg hatched and an awkward baby bird came out.  From the moment this bird hatched he was a lot of work for the momma bird.  When he wasn’t demanding worms to eat he wanted his momma to cover him with her soft downy feathers and keep him warm.  He was often lonely and wanted her to sing to him in her pretty bird voice.

 

“Momma, I’m hungry.  Give me some worms!”

“Momma, I’m cold.  Keep me warm!”

“Momma, I’m lonely.  Sing to me!” 

These were the baby birds demands day and night until the momma was wore out.  After all he was a baby and babies need lots of love and care.  Soon the baby bird started to grow feathers in place of his downy fluff.

Then one day the second egg hatched and out came another awkward little baby bird.  He was a timid quiet bird and didn’t ask his momma for a lot of things.  Sometimes he went hungry because he never told his momma he wanted worms to eat.  Often he’d be cold and lonely because he never asked her to keep him warm and to sing to him.  He was after all a baby and didn’t quite know how to tell his momma what he needed.  The momma did give the second baby some of the things he needed but she was frequently overwhelmed and distracted by the loud demands of the first baby bird, who was even bigger now and required much more work than before. 

“Momma, I’m very hungry.  Give me some worms!”

“Momma, I’m very cold.   Keep me warm!”

“Momma, I’m very lonely.   Sing to me!” 

So the first baby bird grew bigger and bigger and the second baby bird grew weaker and weaker.  The momma didn’t notice the difference between her two baby birds.  She was too busy to see what her babies really needed.  She didn’t see that one could hardly move from his fatness while the other could hardly move from his weakness.

Then one day it was time for the two birds to learn to fly.  But can you imagine?  The first bird was too fat to fly.  He would only complain to his momma and say,

“Momma, I’m too hungry.  Give me some worms!”

“Momma, I’m too cold.  Keep me warm!”

“Momma, I’m too lonely.  Sing to me!” 

The second bird was too weak and frail to fly.  He would just lie in the nest limp and quiet, hoping his momma would feed him, keep him warm and sing to him, but she rarely did.

Sadly, neither of the birds ever learned how to fly!  The momma gave one bird too much and one bird too little.  She never gave either bird just what he really and truly needed. 

 

1…Now my story is done.

2…I love you!

3…Please, kiss me.

Book Review: Healing Stories for Challenging Behaviour

In preparation for an upcoming post I wanted to share a bit of my story journey with you.

In my pursuit to teach my first born son, Thing One, through his insatiable desire for stories I stumbled across a book called "Healing Stories for Challenging Behaviors" by Susan Perrow published by Hawthorn Press, Gloucestershire.  This book was so affirming to me.  It encouraged me to make up stories to tell my boys that would address specific problems I was having with them.  Or even to make up stories to address problems we were having in our relationships with each other.  After a while this developed into making up stories to hopefully preempt problems, like the story I'm going to share with you in my next post.

A Healing Story is just that, a story to heal.  In some cases Healing Stories can work where medicine can't.  They aren't for healing broken arms or burns of course.  They are for wounds of the heart, soul and mind.  At the very least Healing Stories have no negative side effects.  In her book, Susan quotes Ben Okri from his own book "Birds of Heaven":

 It is easy to forget how mysterious and mighty stories are.  They do their work in silence, invisibly.  They work with all the internal materials of the mind and self.  They become part of you while changing you.

 This is the power a Healing Story is trying to tap into.  There is so much more to say on the topic of Healing Stories, but for now I'll leave you with the above thoughts.  I know for most people this is a new concept and might be a little unnerving.  If you want to learn more on this topic I highly recommend Susan's book.  Below is a review on it from www.waldorfbooks.com.

Susan Perrow has developed the art of pedagogical stories to a luminescent degree. In her beautiful book she offers dozens of stories, some her own, some traditional and retold by her. Each story carries with it the seed of healing for just about any childhood problem, from unruly behavior to deep grieving. Her voice is one of warmth and caring, her stories are richly engaging to young and old alike. Having her book at hand is like having a medicine chest filled with homeopathic remedies for all conditions - and, like homeopathy, Susan's stories are guaranteed to produce no unwanted side effects. Healing Stories includes chapters on creating stories and on the art of storytelling, as well as stories selected for their ability to heal. This is a resource that is so vast in its usefulness that we predict it will become one of the most sought after parent/teacher resources ever printed.

Enjoy!
Kristen

For the Love of Stories

Anyone who knows me well, knows I love stories.  Especially stories for kids.  Even more particularly I love making up stories for my own kids.  It gives me a way to connect to them a way to reach their heart a way to tell them I love them.  No matter what happens during the day if I end the day with a story and a back rub then at least the last thing I've done with my children was positive.

I have stories that want telling.  So I've decided to tell them and share them with you.  I am not a professional storyteller.  I can't spell nor do I claim to be a writer.  Thankfully my kids don't care. They just want to be told a story.  My hope is that you will pass these stories from my heart on to your children.  And that eventually they will become your stories.  I will here and there post a story for you to read or practice telling to your kids.  Sometimes it will be a story game, a story challenge, or a book review. 

Perhaps you have stories to tell, too, but feel you lack ability.  I hope to inspire you.  Trust me.  Children are a very forgiving audience. 

Warmly,
Kristen