Goslings

Walking back from the farm at the end of the road, with the baby wide-eyed and content in the stroller, I see two geese and four goslings crossing the road.  I hurry forward to see them up close.  The geese have long, elegant black necks.  The smaller one is in front, the larger behind.  The four goslings are muddy golden in color and look impossibly soft.  I cross the road just as they are pushing through tall grass to the newly mown corn field.  They are scared by me and my giant orange stroller bearing down on them, so the parents abruptly hustle the goslings back across the street.  The little goslings have to go at top speed and their huge flat webbed feet go flap whap flap as they paddle across the street.

A car has pulled up behind me.  Are they worried I am about to dart in front of them?  No, they are also admiring the goslings.

"Wow!" says the old woman in the passenger seat.  "We've never seen that up close before!"

"I even have my camera here in the car," lamented her husband from the driver's seat, "but I was too slow."

'They were adorable!" I cry.

"And their parents take such good care of them.  One in front.  One behind.  Most parents don't take such good care of their children," she teases me, with a glance at my contented baby in the stroller.

"I ought to have my husband walking here in front of the stroller!"

A car and a tractor have appeared in the road behind their car, and the two geese and four goslings are small, determined figures moving away from us far across the corn field.  So they pull off down the road, waving cheerfully at me.

Spring

Spring has truly and gloriously arrived! This morning the house is wrapped in morning mist. While we are breakfasting, the edge of a golden disk suddenly appears out of the mist halfway up the sky. We realize that it is the sun, rising over Canaan Mountain, which is directly east of us. I had never realized that it was so high.

Go for a long ambling walk with the baby and one of my two new mama friends and her baby. We climb an incredibly steep hill, and I feel absurd, looking at the angle my body makes in order to push the stroller up the hill. We reach the lake and small public beach and picnic area and are not alone. An athletic sunbathing woman, a barely-clothed man sporting tattoos, two bikini-clad teenage girls, one of whom boldly dives into the water. My baby has fallen asleep in his stroller, and I watch him sleeping, his legs in the sun, his bare arms caressed by the breeze and wonder if he can possibly remember warm air on his skin. He was so impossibly little when he was last outside and not bundled up.

We take off our babies' onesies and pants, leaving them impossibly adorable in just their diapers. Our own feet in the water of the icy lake, we squat down and put their tiny toes in, too. My baby screws up his face at the cold, but then leans forward in eagerness and I let his hands in, too. He manages to cover himself in wet sand, which I wipe off on my yoga pants, now more brown than blue.

We take gorgeous pictures of the babies in the sun. We try to keep them from eating too much dirt and from choking on sticks. We discover a lovely path through the woods which we manage to traverse with strollers. We get back to town and are in sudden, desperate need of ice cream. We head for the SoHo Creamery and stand astonished in front of its closed doors. A young couple and a middle-aged man in a car have also arrived in desperate need of ice cream. We are all disappointed. We backtrack across town to the other ice cream place and find the young couple there ahead of us. They recommend the dolce de leche, and they are right.

Home again. 25 degrees outside. 24 degrees inside. Our thermostat is German, and we are enjoying beginning to understand Celsius in our bones. I drink a lot of water because I feel a headache coming on.

My husband arrives home sooner than I expected. Partly because I chose to expect him at a time later than I believed he would show up, so that I could have the delight of him arriving home sooner than expected. It worked!

We played with our gorgeous almost-naked baby. A happy family in the springtime.

Mama's Gonna Buy You a Mockingbird

I read this terrifying, beautiful, heartbreaking essay about what it means to be a mother if you know your child will die. My seven-month-old was asleep in my arms, his little chest rising and falling, his breath sweet on my cheek, his skin unimaginably soft. Tears flew out of my eyes and coursed down my face.

Reading her article was a gift. How lucky, how blessed I am beyond all my imaginings, to have this precious son. I read her essay on Tuesday, and these last two days have been richer.

I did less. I didn't watch the next lecture in the computer programming class I am auditing online. I skipped yoga class on Wednesday. I was pleased when a student canceled his math tutoring session.

But my days felt dense, like an unbelievably decadent cake. I gazed at my sleeping baby. I felt his weight. I stroked his cheek as he nursed. I played with him on the floor. I listened to each little sound. I marveled at each lunge and grab. I tickled and sang to make his eyes sparkle, his laugh gurgle.

I read a parenting article the other day that spoke of "striving for unconditional love", and I thought that was ridiculous. My love for my son is unconditional. There's no striving. That's the whole point: the love simply is.

I never used to like the lullabye "Mama's Gonna Buy You a Mockingbird". The words seemed wasteful and materialistic. I disliked the image of the broken and discarded gifts piling up as the mother continues to buy yet another gift for her child. But the tune would often pop into my head. Soon after my son was born I created my own words, beginning with:

Hush little baby, as sweet as silk

Mama's gonna give you some good fresh milk.

But I have been thinking about the original words more over the last few months, and there is something there that resonates with me. I love my baby so deeply, and I would do ANYTHING for him. Buy him a mockingbird? A looking glass? A golden ring? If such gifts could bring him joy, health, or safety, YES!

One evening a few years ago, I came home from teaching tired and ready for a cozy evening. My husband called to tell me that his car wouldn't start, and I was pleased that I could show him how much I loved him. I joyfully jumped in my car immediately to drive the 40 minutes through traffic to him.

Maybe my baby son doesn't need a mockingbird, but when I sing to him, I think of all of the things I would do (or give up) for him happily and joyfully.

Hush little baby, don't say a word

Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.

Books & A New Mom's New Life

After the baby was born and I had enough sleep to not always make sleep my top priority (about six weeks later), I started looking for books to read while the baby was nursing or napping. I read a number of books before realizing my current criteria for books:

1. Lightweight.

I picked up Cryptonomicon (which I adored when I read it the first time and am slightly shocked at myself for not yet having reread it) and, although it is a paperback, it is a heavy paperback. On the second page an acute pain shot through my wrist. For the next two days I could not use that hand to pick up the baby (Have you ever tried picking up a baby with one hand? In the middle of the night? It's hard.) and it still is a little twinge-y.

2. Heartwarming.

I enjoy reading cozy books. Somehow that often turns out to be British books. James Herriot, D.E. Stevenson, Jane Austen, Ellis Peters, Agatha Christie, children's books like Caddie Woodlawn or Jane of Lantern Hill. When I read a disturbing book (even one that fascinates me like Gone with the Wind), I am less at ease. I become frustrated at the baby, grumpy towards my husband, and cry for no reason. So I try to resist the temptation of edgy books for the sake of my and my family's happiness.

3. Featuring moms and babies as main characters.

I pretty much failed on this one. Are there such books? I could not find them. Perhaps writers don't consider there to be enough mystery or romance in being a new mom to be worth writing about. Or perhaps new moms are too engrossed in their babies to do much writing and later they forget their adventures. So this blog is being written for me and any other new mom who wants to read about the delights and struggles of a new mom negotiating her new life with her new baby.

Five Homeschooling Books

A friend who has never thought seriously about homeschooling just asked me if I had any book recommendations for her about education and homeschooling. Here's the list I put together for her:

The First Year of Homeschooling by Linda Dobson
My husband and I read this book together six years ago when I was first becoming involved in the homeschooling community in Portland, Oregon. It gives a lovely introduction to the spectrum of homeschooling styles. We read it out loud together and loved all of the anecdotes and positivity. I would recommend it as a good first book to read about homeschooling.

The Well-Trained Mind by Susan Wise Bauer and Jessie Wise
One of the styles we read about in The First Year of Homeschooling which interested us was the Classical method. This book explains that particular method of homeschooling. If you are wondering if homeschooling can provide a rigorous and comprehensive enough education, this is a good book to read. I am not planning to adopt the entire Classical structure, but I am very excited about the idea of tying literature to historical era and going through all of history three times: in elementary school, middle school and high school. I wish I had had a more thoughtful and thorough exposure to history, so not only am I excited about giving such an education in history and literature to my son but also about learning it myself at the same time.

Punished by Rewards by Alfie Kohn
This book espouses some extreme and controversial ideas, such as that all rewards (for example, grades or even praise) are inherently demotivating. I found this book upsetting when I first read it (every time I was about to say "Good job" to a student I found myself tongue-tied and unsure) but ultimately thought-provoking in a very positive way. (The book actually distinguishes between generic demotivating praise such as "good job" and very specific valuable feedback.)

Weapons of Mass Instruction by John Taylor Gatto
Another upsetting book that sometimes reads more like a rant, this book gives the dark history of the history and current state of the American public school system. I found myself saying "That's impossible!" often as I read it, but again I found the information and ideas to be ultimately thought-provoking and to ring more true after I gave them more thought.

Multiple Intelligences by Howard Gardner
This book is a more serious research-heavy book. It is a completely fascinating and clear rewriting of what constitutes "intelligence" and a useful reminder to me again and again that every person or child is unique and uniquely intelligent. It helps me to question what and how an individual should best learn.

Personal Change

My new hypothesis: Exercise is the best and easiest first step towards any form of personal change.

So, the problem with all of the revelations I have been having about exercise in the last month is that they are all cliches I have heard over and over, and so they don't sound impressive. Things like "Begin where you are", "the key thing is to stick with it", "make it routine" or "you'll have more energy if you exercise every day".

But they are all true!

Here is my current exercise routine (five weeks in):
Monday: Strength training and cardio on the stationary bike, postnatal yoga
Tuesday: Lap swimming
Wednesday: Yoga
Thursday: Strength training and cardio on the stationary bike
Friday: Lap swimming
Saturday: Ashtanga yoga, climb the rope in my barn
Sunday is a day of rest.
Everyday: heft 17 pound baby everywhere

I feel so much happier and content. I can feel myself getting stronger. I feel more energized about everything else in my life: tutoring, cooking dinner, cleaning my house, writing (is it a coincidence that I began writing this blog just days after beginning my exercise routine?), my relationship with my husband, caring for my baby.

I was trying to think of other candidates for a best or easiest first step:
Losing weight?
Now, I haven't ever lost a substantial amount of weight (except for the 20 pounds I lost the day my baby was born) and I have heard a lot of people who have lost weight talk about how great they feel, but could they be feeling great because they are exercising regularly?
Eating better?
Certainly exercising and eating well have a lovely symbiotic relationship. It is easier to exercise when you are eating well (I once went for a five-mile run right after demolishing a cannolli and that was a miserable experience.) and easier to eat well when you are exercising. I have a vivid memory of eating carrots as a teenager after going for a run and they were so delectable and I could feel their good nutrients traveling through my body. Just yesterday I was drinking a tall glass of water and noticing how sweet it tasted. Certainly eating more healthfully is a good thing to strive for, but I maintain that beginning an exercise routine (going for a walk, to a yoga class, to the gym) is a simpler step than eating better (deciding what "better" means, going to the grocery store, using the vegetables you bought before they rot and you have to throw them away, trying out new recipes, gathering the spices you've never heard of that you now need, being starving but needing to wash and chop strawberries to stir in with your yogurt because that's the readiest-to-eat thing that you have in the house) and more likely to be effective in inspiring you to establish other personal changes, perhaps mostly because of the energized yet relaxed feeling that follows exercise (as opposed to the heavier, sleepier feeling that follows even a healthy meal).
Writing?
I have been a consistent diary writer for 21 years, ever since my first light green plastic diary that I started in third grade and a blogger for one month. I do love the ritual of daily writing. I find it meditative, clarifying, illuminating, healing. . . While diary writing is mentally and emotionally healthy, it has not physical aspect. I find that exercise, being primarily physical, has many of the healthy-for-the-mind-and-soul meditative aspects of writing simply as side benefits, and so soothes and invigorates me as a whole person. Again, writing is a complementary activity as my state of mind while exercise is conducive to generating ideas for writing.
Visual art?
I easily enter a flow state when I am drawing or painting. It is one of my favorite single activities. I find it challenging, rewarding, and gloriously all-consuming in its focus. I feel that it is the one aspect of my life still missing right now in the new life as a new mom I have been building up for myself. So, the very fact that I have not yet managed to work art-making consistently into my life makes it clear that for me at least it is not as easy a first step as exercise.

I'll keep you posted on how well the exercise and other personal changes go!

A Tale of Two Geometry Classes

A friend asked me the other day my philosophical reasons for intending to homeschool my six-month-old son, and I began by telling her this story. As a mathematician, I like this story because it controls many variables. . .

One year when I was working as a freelance math and drama teacher in the Portland, OR homeschooling communities, I taught two geometry classes in two locations: a homeschooling center and a charter school for homeschoolers.

The homeschooling center was a privately-run non-profit where I had virtually complete control of my geometry class. Students (in some cases influenced by their parents) took my class by choice.

The charter school was government-funded, so it needed to prove that its students were learning. So, I was required to give grades. In order to give accurate grades, I gave my students tests. It was possible to receive a diploma from this school, so the school had requirements (including some number of years of math) and there was a sense of needing (not choosing) to take the class.

The homeschooling center and the charter school served overlapping populations. Quite a few students attended classes at both.

So, I was the same teacher teaching the same course to the same students, but. . .

At the homeschooling center, my geometry students and I had a blast: there was a sense of energy and fun in the room. I focused on the idea of building up a mathematical theory from first postulates and they grasped it. If they found a certain series of steps in a proof irksome (because it appeared so often and seemed silly to have to write out so many steps) we would prove it as a class lemma, name it (We came up with some awesome names!) and from then on any student could use it as a single step in any proof. We came up with our own acronyms and symbols for common (or uncommon!) theorems to save us time in writing.

They were curious about all sorts of aspects of geometry, and I often launched into historical tangents. We spent some time looking at Euclid's Elements and his wonderful definitions (such as a line is a "breadthless length"). At the end of each chapter, I assigned a set of about twelve problems which I corrected at home (all other homework problems solutions were provided in the book or in class) and I spent time going over every concept that a student had struggled with, not moving on until I felt that the class had mastery of the material. I built in an extra day at the end of each chapter for hands-on projects: building all of the Platonic solids and a truncated icosahedron, measuring the height of trees using similar triangles, drawing a flower of life using a compass. . .

I was able to be a guide and a mentor to my students. They knew me as an individual, enjoyed my company, and appreciated my knowledge of math and teaching ability. At the end of the year, they had increased appreciation for, understanding of, and skills in geometry.

On the other hand. . .

At the charter school, students were more confused about the material, never really understood how to write proofs, complained about test scores but seldom asked me for help understanding the concepts behind the problems they had gotten wrong, and at the end of the year were confirmed in their opinion that math is confusing and not much fun. I struggled to connect with each student; they thought of me as an authority figure doling out grades and I had to work very hard to combat that impression.

I was a better teacher at the homeschooling center than at the charter school. The constraints of more traditional schooling made it harder for me to teach well, establish rapport with individual students, create an energized and fun classroom culture, and help each student to enjoy learning and achieve mastery of geometry. It is the (more) traditional school system itself that impedes learning and stifles curiosity, joy and positive relationships.

And keep in mind, the "more traditional school" in my story is a charter school for homeschoolers with more flexibility and less structure than a public school.

First Date: Ashtanga Yoga

My husband and I just went out for the first time without our baby since he was born six months ago. The baby stayed with his grandparents while we went out on our first date on Saturday. . .

. . . to a yoga studio at 8 am.

It felt amazing to be side by side on our hot pink mats (his little sister gave him hers) beginning to learn something new together. Our teacher was a delightful, eager young woman, gratifyingly impressed by our strength and flexibility. We were each focused on our own practice but I was very aware that he was just behind me. Not having the baby there reminded me that we are more than a Mommy and Daddy loving the same precious child, but are also still two individuals in harmony who choose to be side by side taking on the world together. It was exhilarating to be so present in my body and to find such clarity in my mind and emotions. When we stepped out of the studio together, our impressions and thoughts were spilling out of us, and our conversation coming home in the car felt full of meaning and revelation.

And here's why I think that was a better first date than dinner and a movie:

1. You come away feeling energized (not full).

2. You are making good use of your time.

The ideal flow state of yoga requires focus which is almost impossible when your baby is there (I do actually do postnatal yoga with my baby and that is wonderful but is a very different activity.) so you are making optimal use of baby-free time. Whereas, we can take our baby with us out to dinner. (He is still only six months old and is a smiling and contented baby most of the time.)

Or, if this is a "real" first date, even if you don't click, you had the experience of a yoga class (not an awkward dinner) together.

3. You are experiencing something together which gives you something of substance to talk about afterwards.

This helps avoid awkward first-date conversation when you don't yet know each other well and also frees you from first-date-after-baby conversation that revolves around the baby.

4. You are actively engaged in an experience together.

Watching a movie together does give you something to talk about afterwards, but it is a passive not an active experience. Doing something such as yoga together gives you the opportunity to share how you felt in your body and how you learn.

5. You are beginning something new at which you can continue to work together and gain mastery.

As opposed to decadent indulgence or comfortable laziness, this date is mindful engagement in the moment and reinforcement of a healthy habit. If all goes well, an obvious second date presents itself.

6. You will be particularly open to connecting with each other afterwards.

Yoga was designed to prepare you for mediation. Mediation is the easing of stress and striving: a sense of openness and one-ness in which revelations and relationships easily bloom.

If I Had Been Homeschooled. . .

I would have. . .

1. Done a lot of research into my family and family tree. I would have interviewed my grandmother and my great aunts and compiled stories about their lives and their parents' and siblings' lives. I would have written down the story about Aunt Francina missing the Lusitania (she had tickets) and the San Francisco earthquake and marrying a count (I think), and the story about my grandmother Erie being the fastest ice cream-eater in Queens because her German immigrant parents opened an ice cream parlor. I would have drawn an elaborate and accurate family tree. I would have tried to correspond with distant relatives still in Mandal, Norway.

2. Continued writing and illustrating stories. I began a trilogy about horses when I was five; I planned the whole thing and did, I believe, about 2/3 of the drawings and half the writing. Throughout elementary school I still had time to write and draw. I created the town of Newport News, Wisconsin and a cast of 10-year-old friends - Kathy, Robert, Lorrell, Carrie, and more - and wrote maybe a dozen stories about them. I included illustrations, plan views of their houses, family trees and maps (the maps covered more than 20 sheets of paper that could be laid out together on the floor). After fourth grade I did very little writing and illustrating on my own (mostly because I was so busy with homework). I would love to know what I would have created in those eight years.

3. Researched the history of my town extensively.

4. Spent substantial time at all the living history museums in New England: Plymouth Plantations, Historic Deerfield, Strawberry Bank in Portsmouth, NH, Old Sturbridge Village, Mystic Seaport, etc. I would have figured out how to make my own soap out of ashes and fat.

5. Begun the lifelong mastery of an individual sport (like running) and competed in local races.

6. Learned to sail.

7. Done more construction projects with my dad.

8. Knit a whole blanket and some scarves and hats.

9. Learned to cook sooner, sew well, and garden with my mom.

10. Split wood.

11. Apprenticed long-term to adults I knew and respected in several fields: mechanical engineering, advertising, architecture, publishing, and teaching.

12. Read so many books!

13. Gone on some Outward Bound type hiking trips.

24 Names We Call Our Baby

1. Squirtyhead
2. Milkface
3. Whingey-whingey
4. The Baby
5. Scrunchyface
6. The Little Red Monster
7. Little One
8. Little Guy
9. Mr. Squirmy Pants
10. Professor Squirmy Pants
11. Professor Squirmy Pants on Holiday
12. Grumpyhead
13. Happyhead
14. Sleepyhead
15. Cough-y Head
16. Hiccup Head
17. Squirmy
18. Precious One
19. Squirt
20. The Chompion
21. The Chomp Champ
22. Bitey Bitey
23. Twoteeth Druliman
24. Hairp'ler

GRADUATE unSCHOOLing

I have no plans to go to graduate school. But I have big plans for all the things I want to learn. Two years after graduating from college, a few months after I had discovered and was teaching in the vibrant homeschooling community of Portland, Oregon I had the empowering and delicious revelation that every single adult gets to unschool all the time!

Now eight years away from college, looking back, here is the transcript of my GRADUATE unSCHOOLing:

Literature
Classic Fantasy Novels
Shakespeare
The Genius of Neal Stephenson
Greek Tragedy
Mathematics
Computer Programming: How to Program RSA in C
Recreational Mathematics
Math and Art: Penrose Tilings, the Golden Spiral, Fractals, Moebius Strips, Labyrinths
Calculus: A Review
Geography
World Map Part 1: Draw the U.S. freehand
World Map Part 2: Draw Europe freehand
Education
Practical Teaching Techniques
Homeschooling: Philosophies, Styles, Teaching, Appreciating, Scheduling for a Center
Curriculum Creation (Girltalk, Cryptography, Fibonacci)
Life Skills
Culinary Arts (Final Exam: Thanksgiving Dinner)
Beginning Gardening: Herbs, Berries, Tomatoes, and Weeding
How to Have a Strong Marriage
Feel-Good Pregnancy and Natural Childbirth (Final Exam: Labor & Birth)
How to keep your Baby Happy
Business
How to Earn a Living as a Theater Electrician in New York City
Stage Management
How to Create my own Career and Build up my Business
Financial Recordkeeping and Tax Preparation
Physical Education
Running
Ballroom Dance (Final Exam: Wedding Rumba)
Vinyasa Yoga
Acrobatics: Partner Acro, Trapeze and Rope
Kayaking
Art
Lighting Design
En Plein Air Painting
Create your own Illustrated Stories

I love being in charge of what I learn. I love choosing how to prioritize my life and divide my time.

I choose my own homework. For example, just the other day I was trying to recite "Paul Revere's Ride" while working out on the bike at the gym, but I could only remember the opening section. I memorized the whole poem when I was nine and knew it well for a few years, but for the last fifteen years or so from time to time I'll say, "Gee, I really should rememorize Paul Revere's Ride". So, when I got home from the gym, I googled it, spent ten minutes reading it through and practicing, and now I have it at the tips of my fingers again! Think how different an experience it would have been for me to have been told: "Your homework is to memorize Paul Revere's Ride." And how much more challenging and less interesting to me!

Similarly, I have been excited about the idea of learning enough geography to be able to draw a map of the world including all countries and capitals given only a blank piece of paper. (There was such a class at MIT when my dad was there.) So, two years ago I set in motion my own seven-year study of geography. Each year I set myself a new challenge, and December 23rd of each year is the day of reckoning when I and any family or friends who so desire are given a blank piece of paper and see what they can do. At this point, I can draw the U.S. (including all states and capitals) and Europe. This year's challenge is Asia!

I make a conscious effort to replace "I have to" with "I choose" in my conversation and thoughts. For example, changing "I have to get up now because I have to go to work" to "I choose to get up now because I choose to go to work to earn money and support myself and my family" reminds me that I am in control of my life and choose my priorities and my actions. I think recognizing for yourself, as an adult, that you are unschooling all the time is a similar reminder that you are at choice all the time and there are countless beckoning opportunities all around.

In Praise of the Stationary Bike

I love biking. Sometimes I power up a hill until my lungs are bursting and the sweat is pouring off of me and I crest the hill with satisfaction, pride and relief, but mostly I amble along enjoying the day or coast gloriously down hill. (Coasting downhill is the closest that I get to flying on a regular basis, and I would love to be able to fly. I can fly in my dreams which is a true delight. When people ask me what one superpower I would choose, I always choose flying despite how cliche it is) I like the speed of riding a bike for exploring. Walking is too slow and driving too fast, but when I am biking I am traveling fast enough to encounter many sights but slow enough to take them all in. I can appreciate a homemade sign for tomatoes for sale, a sudden glimpse of a lake, a sunshine-dappled bend in the road, a corner deli. Biking I can feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my arms. What could biking on a stationary bike possibly have to offer to rival that?

Biking outdoors is an experience; biking at the gym is pure exercise.

On the bike at the Y down the street, the display displays my heart rate, my distance, my RPM's, my calories and my time. There is no fascinating scenery or intoxicating whiff of spring air to distract me, no shady stone bridge to tempt me to pause and sketch the horses in the field, no long downhills to soar down without effort (I always choose a single level and leave it at that for my whole workout) to distract me. The room is dull, the view out the window is the parking lot, the lights are unpleasant flourescent lights, the closed caption TV giving me the daily business news or a long infomercial on something that looks like a fanny pack that supposedly zaps your abs away does not interest me (and without my glasses I have to strain to read the captions anyway) so I am completely tuned into my own experience of my body and to the constantly-updating data in front of me.

I can begin to quantify the qualitative experience I always have running: About 30 seconds into the run I am already tired and at two minutes I hit my low point. Two minutes into every race or run I've ever run I think "I'm this tired already. . . There's no way I'll finish!" And yet I always finish. I experience just this on the bike at the gym, too. I try to keep my heart rate and my rpm's steady and so I can see when I am working steadily or flagging. So I can also tell when my subjective experience differs from those objective outputs. On Friday during my cardio workout on the bike everything suddenly felt easy at 14 minutes. This morning that second wind hit at 8 minutes.

I am also completely fascinated by being able to track my heart rate. In general, I had always thought of my heart rate as a constant (or as something that would slowly decrease as I improved my fitness) and concentrated only on increasing my distance and improving my speed (running). To be able to monitor my heart rate throughout an entire workout is a boon. When I warm up on the bike before my strength training session, I have to pedal as hard as I can for four minutes before finally my heart rate creeps up to 165, where I then keep it for the last minute. After my strength training session, when I get back on the bike for a cardio workout, my heart rate first registers at almost 150 and is about to 165 after one minute and by ten minutes I have to struggle to keep it below 175. To what degree is my heart rate increasing because I am working harder and to what degree is it increasing because I am getting more tired? Well, I get to watch the RPM's to try and tease those apart.

The uninteresting surroundings are allowing me to focus all of my attention of my body and the data constantly flashing in front of me. I feel that I have only just begun to scratch the surface in interpreting the data about my heart rate, RPM's, time and calories, and there are so many variables that I have not even begun to play with (or consciously hold constant). I may not be admiring scenery while biking in the fresh air, but on the stationary bike I am off on an odyssey into the workings of my own body.

Bring on the Puns!

I love puns. I find them almost impossible to come up with myself. (I thought the title of this post ought to be a pun, but I couldn't think of one.) Which makes me that much more delighted when other people come up with them.

In general I'm often slow to get a joke. And if it's based on a popular movie, I'll probably never get it. I think it's a combination of my general gullibility and the way I understood jokes to work as a kid. I thought someone would tell a joke, then you would look blankly at them, then they would explain the joke, and then you would groan. I thought this because of my dad's jokes. Here's an example (told to me and my sister when we were very little):

"A man was climbing a mountain. He came across a group of natives throwing rocks at birds. He asked them why they were throwing rocks at the birds. 'Up here,' one man said, 'we believe in never leaving a tern unstoned.' "

My sister and I looked blankly at my dad. He explained stoning and defined a tern and told us about the saying to "never leave a stone unturned".

"Ohhhh. . . " we said.

Anyway, a few weeks ago my husband made some pun and I was inordinately delighted with it. I'm not sure how he had failed to notice before that how easily pleased and impressed I am by puns, but he was clearly struck by it, and for the last few weeks has been missing no opportunity to make puns.

"What's for breakfast?" he asked me two weeks ago on a lazy Saturday.

"Egg on toast," I said.

"C'mon toast! C'mon toast! You can do it!"

I smiled but looked a little questioning.

"I'm egging on the toast."

"Ohhh, of course!" And I was delighted.

A few night later, I was busy at the stove with the tiny cast iron pan.

"What are you doing, baby?" he asked.

"Toasting nuts," I said, bringing them over to the table to spoon over our dinner, some Asian-style noodle and broccoli dish I had made up.

He raised his glass. "To nuts!"

Obligingly I raised mine too, pleased that he liked nuts so much. I myself thought they added a definite classiness to the dish in question.

And then I figured it out. "Ohhh! You were toasting the nuts!"

And then just a few days ago the whole family was hanging out on the living room rug. The baby was chewing on one of his beautiful hand-knitted hats, I was folding laundry, and my husband was eating a chocolate chip cookie.

"What's wrong, Baby Bruz," he asked. "Did something not turn out as expected? Was there a shocking turn of events?"

I knew this was a joke of some kind, and I cudgeled my brains. Could it be something about "shocking"? Like a shock of hair? Can't you have a shock of wheat or something?

My husband took pity on me. "He's eating his hat. Y'know, if 'blank' happens, I'll eat my hat!"

And I laughed and laughed.

Discovering New Math

One of the things I love about math is that I can make a mathematical discovery (sometimes thousands of years after the first person who made that discovery) and find it as satisfying as they did. Today I had the delight of discovering new (to me) math.

I was tutoring a student this afternoon in Algebra II who was learning about parabolas. One exercise asked her how she can tell from a parabola's equation if the parabola opens up, down, left or right. She asked me if parabolas could open diagonally. I told her it was an excellent question and that I was not sure. Specifically there were two things I was not sure about:

1. Does the definition of a parabola allow for a diagonally opening parabola?

2. Given a focus and a diagonal directrix, would it be possible to derive an equation for that parabola? What would the equation look like?

As to the first question, the definition that popped into my head during the tutoring session was that a parabola is a conic section (a curve generated by "slicing" through a conic: an infinite double cone). The Greeks who studied mathematical constructs as pure geometry certainly thought of parabolas that way. Our diagonally opening parabola would be just fine with this definition. We wanted to know if we could just rotate it about in the Cartesian plane. Having never studied or taught parabolas in any but horizontal or vertical orientations, I thought perhaps there was a precise definition that for some reason disallowed other orientations. The student and I agreed to both try looking it up after our session.

Regardless of whether or not it could be defined as a parabola, I was curious as to what its equation would look like, so my student and I started playing around. We drew a particularly simple diagonally opening parabola: One with a directrix of y = -x and a focus of (2,2).

To derive an equation, we could begin by saying that any point P(x,y) must be equidistant from the directrix and the focus. So PF = PN (where N is the closest point on the directrix)

Using the distance formula, we can easily write out PF:

PF = sqrt((x - 2)^2 + (y - 2)^2)

PN is a little trickier and during the tutoring session I couldn't think how to write an expression for it involving only x and y. But, as almost always happens to me if I am stumped by something while tutoring, the solution occurred to me as I drove home. I solve a lot of math problems while driving; I often even create visual proofs which my husband worries must mean I am not devoting as much attention as I should to my driving, but I think it is an entirely separate part of my mind and does not interfere with my driving.

Anyway, here's what I figured out while driving home:

Let N = (x_2, y_2). Since N is on the directrix whose equation is y = -x, we can say that N = (x_2, -x_2).

The shortest distance between P(x, y) and N(x_2, -x_2) lies along a line with slope 1. (This line is perpendicular to the directrix and so must have a slope which is the negative reciprocal of -1, i.e. 1)

So we can write an equation in point-slope form:

(y + x_2) = 1(x - x_2)

So we can solve for x_2 in terms of x and y! x_2 = (x - y)/2

So, we can now apply the distance formula to P(x, y) and N((x-y)/2, (y-x)/2)

sqrt((x - ((x+y)/2))^2 + (y - ((y-x)2))^2)

Setting PF equal to PN, we get:

sqrt((x - 2)^2 + (y - 2)^2) = sqrt((x - ((x+y)/2))^2 + (y - ((y-x)2))^2)

After a few rounds of simplifying, we get:

(-1/2)x^2 + xy + (-1/2)y^2 + 4x + 4y - 8 = 0

A lot more complicated-looking than a nice y = a(x-h)^2 +k! And this was a very simple diagonally opening parabola!

Anyway, I then looked into the formal algebraic definition of a parabola and was delighted to find that the diagonally opening parabola does satisfy it! Here it is:

A parabola is an equation of the form Ax^2 + Bxy + Cy^2 + Dx + Ey + F = 0 where B^2 = 4AC and A and C are not both zero.

In the case of our example B^2 =1 and 4AC = 4(-1/2)(-1/2), so yes! B^2 = 4AC! And neither A nor C is zero so we meet that condition as well.

Now that I know that a parabola can open in any direction, it seems obvious and I almost feel silly that I didn't know that before (since I am tutoring math for a living!), but no, I don't feel silly, I feel delighted, awed, and proud that mathematics is such a rich and fascinating subject and that I can continue to discover new things every day, hopefully also inspiring my students and giving them a taste for the joy of discovery.

Unexpected Baby Strength

Yesterday I took my son to the pediatrician for his six-month check-up.

"Is he rolling over from his back to his tummy?" she asked me.

"Uh. . . no."

I think she thought he was developmentally behind the average six-month-old, but she was kind and encouraged me to put a toy out of reach to his side so that he would reach for it and get to practice rolling over.

She lay him on his back and took hold of his hands.

"I'm going to pull him up to sitting and see if he can keep his neck in line."

My baby engaged his core and held his whole body straight so that he levered straight up onto his feet.

"Wow! He's strong!" she said in surprise. And afterwards said that most likely he could roll himself over now if he wanted to, but has a contented temperament and doesn't choose to.

That's right, baby: serenely defy expectations and keep your contented temperament and unexpected strength!

6 Things I Wish I Had Been Told About Strength Training and Fitness

1. Being thin is not the same as being strong and fit.

I actually didn't know this as a teenager. I had an attractive, stick-thin, hipster friend in college whose dorm room was on the second floor of her building. One day she told me that she couldn't climb the whole flight of stairs without getting out of breath. That was a revelation to me. I had assumed since she was thin that she was strong and fit. It shocks me that I had never realized the difference.

I think that "being thin" is a superficial and potentially unhealthy goal while "becoming stronger and fitter" is a worthy and healthy goal.

2. Strength training helps to prevent injury.

For years, I didn't understand the purpose of strength-training. I worked as a theater electrician throughout college and afterwards and that was my main source of exercise. I was very fit from scurrying up and down ladders and carrying lights and lighting equipment. My strength-training logic was: If I want to be strong enough to carry two 10-K Altmans, wouldn't the best method be to just carry two 10-K Altmans? This system seemed to be simple, elegant, and effective. Why invest extra time into pointlessly lifting heavy metal objects when I could get paid to productively lift heavy lighting equipment?

Answer: Because. . .

3. Women (or at least me!) get more injury prone in their early 20's.

I set out for a 13 mile run on a lovely Saturday morning in October 2007 in Portland, Oregon. I was training for the NYC Marathon that November. (I had run 10 NYRR races in 5 months in 2005 before moving away from New York so that I could qualify for the marathon the following year. I had broken a bone in my hand hours before flying to New York for the 2006 marathon and so had withdrawn, giving me a spot in the 2007 marathon.) Suddenly and inexplicably my right knee began to hurt. I tried walking a little, stretching a little, and at last decided to turn around and walk the 5 miles home. By the time I reached home I was limping such that I could barely walk.

I am still hoping and working to find a reasonable solution to that knee pain that allows me to run (at least 5K's!) again, but that pain (which a physical therapist told me is at least partially due to muscular imbalances in my legs) has been the most dramatic instance of sudden frailty. Could I have warded off that mysterious injury and be running right now if I had been consistently, safely, and evenly strengthening my legs? Maybe.

Whether or not strength training will help my knee, I know that it will help my arms. Which I have discovered need all the strength they can get, because babies are heavy! (17 lbs 4 oz as weighed today by the pediatrician)

4. Keep (or increase!) your arm strength when you are pregnant.

Kind friends and family, especially my considerate husband (who is known to enjoy lifting heavy objects) carried things (even small things!) for me throughout my pregnancy and whatever arm strength I had withered away, so that when my son was born in July I could barely lift him. Of course I do pick him up many, many times a day and carry him for much of every day and have gotten stronger (a la my old strength training philosophy: if you want to be able to lift a baby, just lift a baby!), but there has been a very noticeable cost: I have strained (at various times and multiple times) my wrists, my shoulders and even my elbows.

When being a new mother stopped feeling quite so crazy (right before New Year's), I decided that I desperately, passionately wanted to become stronger: to be able to easily, carelessly, gracefully lift my growing baby, all his paraphernalia, or anything else with out strain or fear of injury. Imagining moving through my life in a body strong and supple filled me with awe.

Could I do it? Well, it helps that. . .

5. A strength training session only requires three exercises and ten minutes, twice a week.

I am blessed with a personal trainer who is not only knowledgeable about strength training but uniquely knowledgeable about and in love with me: my husband. All of the following information can be cited to him.

The three most important exercises in any strength training program are:

1. A leg exercise. (I'm doing a leg press with a machine at the Y: currently 20 reps of 182.5 lbs)

2. A pulling exercise for your arms. (I'm doing a pulldown machine: 10 reps of 67.5 lbs)

3. A pushing exercise for your arms. (I'm doing a forward press machine: 10 reps of 75 lbs)

That's all that's needed, but it is important to be warmed up (i.e. physically very warm, for example after getting your heartrate up to 165 for 10 minutes on a stationary bike, just say.) and you can add a few more exercises if you want.

These are my four minor exercises:

1. Sit ups (10 reps but they are really good sit-ups!)

2. Shoulder external rotators (20 reps each side with a 3 lb weight; this is a fabulous shoulder injury-prevention exercise!)

3. Toe raises (or are they called heel drops? Anyway, I do 20 of them and they work my calves)

4. Back extensions (These are fun! I do 10, holding a 5 lb weight)

Anyway, I never knew that strength-training could be so simple, take so little time, and by so exciting.

6. The joy of sports/exercise is long-term dedication and mastery.

I dabbled in gymnastics, track and field, field hockey, and lacrosse in middle school and high school, as well as taking a few dance classes and suffering through a bunch of P.E. classes. It never occurred to me that my goal should be to find a physical activity that I enjoyed and devote years to increasing my mastery. Now, I am still just at the beginning of those years of devotion, but I have found three that thrill me:

1. Running

It was all over for me when I watched the 2004 New York City Marathon from 4th Avenue and Carroll Street in Park Slope, Brooklyn. The rush of runners and color and noise and sweat and exhilaration and exhaustion was intoxicating. The sea of runners - everyday, amazing people of all kinds - left me awed, hoarse, and desperate to start running. I started with the New Year's Eve run in Central Park where they hand out fake champagne at the water station, earned a mug for running so many winter races including the Frostbite 7-Miler when it was 5 degrees out and I had to run with my hands in front of my mouth, and improved my times throughout the spring with my best time being in the Coogan and Salsa Blues 5K where I raced past dozens of bands and local cheerleaders.

After moving to Portland, Oregon, my running became a more solitary and meditative activity, thrilling in a different way. I went on long runs exploring new neighborhoods, proudly cresting Mount Tabor and then soaring down, or meandering through the nature paths down behind Reed College, delighting in watching my mileage increase and my times decrease.

When I read inspirational running stories, like The Perfect Mile, I know that I need to sort out my knee and get back out there. This spring I plan to begin again slowly, looping my large grassy backyard in my Vibram 5 Fingers shoes and steadily building muscle evenly in both legs. I hope to run local 5K's, maybe as early as this fall.

2. Acrobatics

I had the luck to fall into the vibrant and inspiring circus arts community in Portland (originally as a stage manager and electrician). The last year we were in Portland, my husband and I were regulars at a partner acrobatics class as well as students in a trapeze class and rope class. I had never been so inspired to be strong or found such joy in becoming stronger. To be mastering a beautiful art form and expressing myself through my body while gaining strength and balance was exhilarating.

My husband just gave me a climbing rope for Christmas which is hanging in our barn. I have been climbing it once a week to gauge my progress back to (and beyond!) my former arm strength. When my core strength returns and it becomes possible to leave our son happily with his aunt for a few hours, we are looking forward to taking occasional open circus arts classes in Easthampton, MA.

3. Strength Training

I am thrilled to be beginning a lifelong practice of strength training to allow me to live a life both full and full of ease, to keep me strong and supple, and to prevent frailty even into old age. . .

Why didn't anyone tell me that this was supposed to be what gym class is about?

Haikus

I thought I couldn't post tonight, because the baby was asleep in my arms, and I took him off to bed. But I composed these while gazing at his little face (and remembering this afternoon when I came back to him after tutoring math for an hour) and just laid him down in my warm body imprint and snuck off to my computer to type these:

Like a hungry chick

My desperate baby cries

Lashes dripping tears

Like a mama bird

I fly to hold and nurse him

Now soothed in my arms

My New Mission Statement: Baby Feet

In 2011 my husband and I moved to a new town, bought a new house, and had a new baby. So at the beginning of 2012 I brought out a freshly-sharpened Dixon Ticonderoga #2 and a pad of yellow paper.

"Let's make a new family mission statement!"

The first family mission statement we made (after reading and discussing The Seven Habits), hung on the wall over our kitchen table in Portland, Oregon for the five years we lived there and was the source of our best man's best-received jokes in his wedding toast for us. I liked glancing at it while eating breakfast or checking the mail or drinking tea.

Now we live in the Northwest Corner of Connecticut and we are three and not just two! (And I put a photo in a frame that had held the mission statement and hung it in the hallway.)

"Maybe we should start by thinking of categories. Like family. . . and home, and health. . . maybe community? Or work?" I was getting into the brainstorming zone, writing everything down. "What do you think, baby?" (This was addressed to my husband, who I usually call "baby". He also usually calls me "baby", which, with the addition of an actual baby, who we - guess what? - often call "baby", can be a little confusing.)

"How about baby feet?!"

I thought that was not terribly helpful, but in the spirit of brainstorming and improv (always say yes!) wrote it down in small letters above my list on the pad of yellow paper.

"So, for home, we want it to be clean and inviting, right? So. . . " A long conversation in which we discussed when and how we could vacuum the rug, do more dishes and purchase two more laundry baskets ensued.

Hmmm. . . not the mission statement I had in mind. I decided to wait and think about it.

The next day I glanced at the yellow piece of paper and there at the top it said:

"2012 Family Mission Statement: Baby Feet"

And I thought. . . y'know, that's a good mission statement.

Baby feet.

Don't get caught up in "accomplishing" things (that will be a frustrating experience right now). Don't worry about doing everything. Enjoy this tiny, precious, adorable, smiling, messy, silly, whingeing, thrashing baby who opens his mouth as wide as he possibly can to let out baby gurgles, show off his brand new two teeth, and see if he can chomp my whole face.

There, I just looked over at him, leaning on his Daddy's knee, and he smiled wide-eyed back at me.

There's my whole mission: baby feet.