The Key Jar

2 Comments May 12, 2015 drworobec

I hope that you had a Happy Mother’s Day weekend, as I did. There was lots of family time in the sunshine for us, and that suits me just perfectly. I’m not at all about gifts and commercialism, in case you missed my ‘Gifts, and gifts, and gifts, oh my‘ post from awhile back. I’m about thoughtfulness, and experiences, and time together; but I’d like to share the knock-your-socks-off present that made my day, and perhaps my year… cue the melodrama.

My children, who are now six and three, came home from Kindergarten and Preschool with handmade loveliness in the form of decorated flower pots, butterfly canvases, and Mother’s Day cards. My husband added a sleep-in (I made it to 8:45am!), some fresh cut flowers (my fave!), and a homemade Whole30-approved brunch (today is Day 12 of my first Whole30, if you happen to be following along). Brilliant. I was a happy girl. And then they gave me this:

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This is a key jar. The premise is simple: the jar is filled with questions- thoughtful, exploratory, insightful questions. At family meals, we pull a ‘key’ from the jar and it unlocks beautiful conversation from our children’s hearts and minds.

But as wonderful as my husband is, and he really is wonderful, he did not come up with the key jar idea. In fact, it is a brainchild from the Momastery website, written by Glennon Doyle Melton. She writes:

“Getting to know ourselves and others is the greatest adventure. We are explorers of ourselves and the people we love. Love is the ongoing process of unlocking each other and keeping safe whatever we find. Thoughtful questions are the keys we use to do the unlocking and safekeeping.”

Here’s my (unsolicited) advice:

If you have a child, you need a key jar.
If you know a child, you need to give them a key jar.
If you have a key jar, you need to treasure what it unlocks.

To make your very own, please find instructions by clicking here.

Happy Tuesday, my friends.

Be Yourself, For Yourself

2 Comments April 21, 2015 drworobec

Running makes me cry. Exhaustion makes me cry. Come to think of it, a lot of things make me cry. I’m an emotional sort. I’ve been known to sob mid-Crossfit workout (you didn’t know that, did you, 6am crew?), and wail over Facebook videos of elephants reuniting and Johnson & Johnson commercials. Oh, my poor husband. And here, for your viewing pleasure, is the most unflattering ugly-cry picture that I could find in my preparation for this blog post:

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This picture was taken just after I’d finished the Toronto Marathon in 2002, which subsequently qualified me to run the Boston marathon. My qualifying race happened at a very pivotal time in my life- I had just moved to Toronto six weeks prior, not knowing a soul, and I set my sights on seeing the city through my long training runs, with the ultimate goal of running a Boston-qualifying time that October. The first week of September came and went, and I was immersed and swallowed up into the intensity that is Chiropractic College. I made fast friends, and those friends rallied around me and supported me like true friends do, even hosting a carb-loading potluck for me, and crawling out of bed on a cold Sunday morning to watch me cross the finish line and cry, cry, cry.

April 2003 rolled around, and Boston came and went. The actual race is a blur for me; I was too high on adrenaline and I-can’t-believe-this-is-actually-happening to take it all in. But I remember the hills, I remember the sunburn, and I remember scanning the finishing stretch on Boylston Street for my parents, who had stood five people deep for four hours just to catch a glimpse of my dream coming true. And it was a dream come true, as it is for many distance runners- the ultimate goal, the Shangri La of races.

After that, I ran a few more marathons. Five in total, actually, until I realized that my desire to slog through 26.2 miles was waning. I embraced the half-marathon, where my brain and body seemed to find a better fit. Then I finished school, got married, started my practice, and had my babies. And I ran through it all. A jogging stroller is my must-have, my running wardrobe is ridiculously large, and pre-dawn runs are still common. But running has become less I-have-to and more I-need-to; I need to feel the air in my lungs, I need to hear my feet on the ground, I need to do my very best thinking.

And now there’s another I-need-to: I need to show my children passion. For me, that passion manifests in running.

But whatever your passion is, I hope the people around you can see it.

My three-year-old daughter and I sat together yesterday and watched the elites cross the finish line. I tried to explain that “Mommy ran that race” and “Grandma and Grandpa came to watch.” She asked me if she can “get big, and run that race too?” “I’ll do it with you Mommy,” she said. “No, I’ll do it myself,” she reconsidered. And then she jumped off the couch and ran through the kitchen, in her sparkliest shoes and brightest pink tights, and showed me how she can “do it myself.”

Exactly, sweet girl. Find your passion and follow it. Be yourself, for yourself.

Another Spring, Another Eye Patch

1 Comment April 7, 2015 drworobec

It’s April. Spring cleaning, windows open, and for my family, another child with an eye patch.

If you’ve been following my blog, you’ll know that last April my then-two-year-old daughter was diagnosed with amblyopia and prescribed occlusion patching of her strong right eye three hours per day, along with prescription glasses. That little firecracker is now approaching 20/20 vision, and her patch has never been an issue. She’s been a textbook case of resiliency and progress.

But we took my six-year-old son, who also wears glasses, for a follow-up appointment with our optometrist last week. He’s got a similar condition to my daughter, albeit much less severe, in that one eye is stronger than the other. If left unchecked, the strong eye will take over and the weak eye will worsen. And he’s approaching seven years old; the magical age when visual improvement dramatically lessens. In other words, if we don’t nip this in the bud now, we’ll miss our window of opportunity. So he was just prescribed an eye patch daily as well, likely for the next 9-12 months. Although his vision has improved since his last appointment, we are hoping occlusion patching will hasten the process further.

A year ago, when we were given my daughter’s diagnosis, I freaked out. I worried, I stewed, I lost sleep. This time around, the unknown is known. I know this can be fixed. I know my son will handle it, as my daughter did. I know this is not the end of the world.

For a long while, throughout most of high school, my career aspiration was to become an optometrist. Sometimes I wish I had, so that I could have a better understanding of the what/why of my children’s vision struggles. And today, as a chiropractor, I live and work in a world of science and anatomy. Every day I talk to patients about compensation injuries and about how “our bodies are very smart.” So how is it that I have two children, both visually challenged enough to require occlusion patching? My logical brain has crunched the numbers- the likelihood of this is 0.09%.

Oh, but mama guilt is a hard one to overcome. Could I have done something differently during my pregnancies? During their infancy? I’ve thought about Vitamin A and Ultrasounds and maternal viruses. I’ve replayed toddler moments, re-read baby books, looked over midwife notes. Or is this just a combination of genetics and luck-of-the-draw?

Rather than drive myself crazy with the what-ifs, I’m going to believe that technology advances in vision care have helped to detect deficits that may have remained hidden decades ago. We live in an age of medical knowledge and discovery, and with that comes human advances that weren’t possible in times gone by.

We’re lucky. They’re lucky.

And we’re all gonna be pirates for Halloween.