Lee turns fifty today.

Yeah–it’s kind of a big one.  I don’t usually make a big fuss about birthdays, just because we’re all usually too busy, but this one is definitely on my mind.

Rosen men don’t usually live to see 60.  I know there are no guarantees–for any of us–and Lee has certainly spent the last thirteen years improving his odds, but it’s hard to ignore the family history.  I don’t want to be morbid, but I also don’t want to be in denial.

The early manifestation of Lee’s heart disease was, in a lot of ways, a good thing.  It prompted him to get his health on track.  It reminds us (and still does, daily) to live our lives intentionally and without regrets.  We try to be conscious of appreciating each day, because we know, more clearly than some people seem to, that our days are numbered.

But I’m really not ready for our days to be over–not even close.  We’re having too much fun.

Here’s to the love of my life–I can’t wait to celebrate your sixtieth birthday with you, my darling.

Little-known fact:  Lee used to be a professional photographer.  I never knew him as an artist; he had given it up and become a lawyer long before I met him.  He didn’t take many pictures at all for years, preferring to live in the moment, rather than constantly ruining the moment by trying to document it.  But as the children have gotten older, and camera technology has changed, I’ve noticed that he’s starting to be more creative.  I’m totally fascinated by this side of him.

He took the three photos above while we were in Miami, with the camera on his Droid.  I love the geometry.  I was with him in all of those places, but I didn’t see what he saw.  My brain just doesn’t notice those shapes, or know how to frame them.  He not only sees the world with an artist’s eye, but he manages to capture his vision without any fancy equipment.

The man still surprises me, after more than twenty years of marriage.

When I got in from my long run this morning (technically it was afternoon, but we’re ignoring that fact), I tweeted that I was done, and had actually shaved a few minutes off my time. I got lots of virtual pats-on-the-back from my twitter friends, but the best one of all was from–Lee. He’s out of town for a conference, and I talked to him on skype right before I walked out the door, so he was paying attention to when I should be finished.

His message: “Sweet. Good job.”

For some reason, that made me as giddy as a schoolgirl.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this here on the blog, but he’s also training for the Kiawah Marathon. He’s going to walk it (the cardiologist doesn’t like for him to run long distances). He’s been following my training plan, but walking the mileage instead of running. We don’t go at the same time, obviously; he generally does his long walks on the weekend, while I try to do my long runs on Thursday or Friday. I figure if we were both catatonic on the same day, the children might burn the house down. One of us has to be functional.

But training for the same event is the coolest thing ever. We have a history of not seeing eye-to-eye on the subject of training. I love to run (and cycle, and swim), but I assume it’s like many things that give me pleasure–I don’t expect every second to be fun. As a matter of fact, sometimes it’s downright hideous, and I’m quite vocal about my misery. Lee has not always been especially sympathetic.

His favorite line: “It’s a hobby! If you’re not having fun, just stop.”

But now? Heh-he. He gets it. He walked 18 miles on Monday, and he was absolutely miserable Monday night. Miserable. I felt so . . . understood. It was great. In all seriousness–any difficult endeavor (be it running a marathon, losing a hundred pounds, or getting a PhD) is easier if you have someone in your corner, supporting you in the tough moments, and celebrating the small victories with you.

Thank you, m’dear. I’ve got your back, if you’ve got mine.

School starts tomorrow (I’ll be doing a small happy dance, all alone in my quiet house).  With the return of order and routine, we’ll be re-focusing on Delaney’s weight-loss effort.

She did pretty well over the summer, just maintaining, until the very end–that last hurrah of freedom included a last hurrah of junk food that wreaked a bit of havoc.

The break was important, I think, if for no other reason than this:  she learned an important lesson.  Structure works, but unregulated chaos doesn’t.  She tried to be careful, to make conscious food decisions.  But every meal, all summer long, required those choices, and that’s hard even for an adult.  For a 13-year-old, with a normal 13-year-old’s decision making tools, it’s nearly impossible to maintain the level of discipline required for weight loss.  She decided, of her own accord, that she prefers the regulation imposed by a plan like Nutrisystem.

It’s boring, it’s not very tasty, and it’s sometimes logistically challenging, and socially awkward.  But it works.  And sometimes the results are the most important thing.  We’re just going to buckle down and get it done.  I hope.

Lee got mad with me a couple of weeks ago.

We were at a birthday dinner, in a nice restaurant.  We were a party of eight, several of whom were children.  It was a little raucous, but a lot of fun.

Lee ordered scallops (and something else that I can’t remember).  When the scallops arrived, they were fried.  He was not happy.  He pouted.  I said something along the lines of “I was wondering why you ordered those.”

He said he didn’t know they’d be fried.

I pointed out that they were listed on the menu as “Panko-fried scallops.”

He wanted to know why I had let him order them, if I knew they were fried.

I wanted to know why he hadn’t noticed the word FRIED when he read the menu.

Things went downhill from there.  He pouted for the rest of the meal.  I think he’s still a little annoyed.

It’s not that I was trying to kill him (he may have accused me of that)–I was just distracted by the group, and the menu, and I assumed he could order for himself.  As a matter of fact, I usually assume that he would prefer to order for himself.

I walk a thin line as a worried spouse.  Before Lee’s heart attack, I would occasionally comment on his food choices, and be met with impatience and leave-me-alone frustration.  I was a nag.

Post-heart-attack, I became the authority.  “Can I eat this?”  “What should I order?”  “What does braised-sauteed-dredged-seared mean?”  Now don’t get me wrong–I like being an authority.  As a matter of fact, I’m willing to speak with authority on a wide range of subjects, about many of which I know absolutely nothing.  But it’s tricky.  Sometimes he doesn’t want advice; he just wants to eat what he wants to eat, and doesn’t want me making him feel bad about it.

I guess it’s just part of the balancing act that is marriage.  No matter how long you’ve been together, or how well you know each other, sometimes one of you is going to step on the other one’s toes.

Balance.  The necessary, but elusive secret of life.

The funniest thing about Lee’s heart disease (admittedly, there hasn’t been much to laugh about–I suppose this is the only funny thing) has been the change in his appearance in the last 12 years.

He lost something like 60 pounds, plus most of his hair (and shaved the rest off), and he had Lasik, so he stopped wearing glasses.  In the 2 or 3 years after his surgery, he reached the point where he could move around in certain circles pretty much anonymously–people who had known him for years didn’t recognize him.

Well, he had to add reading glasses 3 or 4 years ago (pretty much everyone does), but in the last couple of months, he’s had to go back to correcting his distance vision, as well.  So he’s back to glasses.  But otherwise, he still looks completely different than he did pre-heart attack.  There’s a link here to a photo of him taken last week.

The before-and-after contrast cracks me up sometimes.

Here’s why we chose Nutrisystem:  it works.

If you follow the plan, you will lose weight.

Here’s why:

It’s calorie-restricted.  That, after all, is the secret behind any diet that works (to lose weight, remember, you need to burn more calories than you consume).  So if your best friend lost weight on the Atkins/South Beach/grapefruit/twigs-and-acorns diet, it wasn’t a function of what she ate as much as a function of how much she ate.  Nutrisystem food is packaged by the serving, so there’s no overestimating or having just another taste.  You eat the serving of soup, or pasta, or chili, or whatever, and that’s that.

It’s planned for us.  We don’t have to count calories or add and subtract points or anything complicated.  Nutrisystem sent us a box containing an entree for each meal, and we supplement with fruits, veggies, dairy, and protein servings from a very specific list.  Open package, nuke, eat.  For Delaney, particularly, who thrives on order and structure, the simplicity of the Nutrisystem plan is especially appealing.

It’s balanced.  This was important to me, as a mother worried about my kid’s health.  I really don’t want to stunt her development or cause her a nutritional deficiency or anything; because she’s such a rule-follower, I think she’s actually getting more fruits and vegetables on this diet than she was before, when I was the one pushing them.  Now, they’re “on the plan,” so she’s more open to them.

There’s just enough variety.  We chose which entrees we wanted to try, and we choose our supplemental foods from a pretty long list.  And because we’re coming up on spring produce season, I know the fruits and veggies are just going to get better in the coming weeks.

The food is well-spaced throughout the day, so just as I’m starting to feel really famished, it’s time to eat again.  Never underestimate the importance of the afternoon snack.  It’s what keeps my head from exploding most days.

It’s a really excellent way to sort of “re-program” your mind and body to understand what is an appropriate amount of food.  It’s really hard to maintain perspective on portion control in this country, where we’re surrounded by super-sized and venti and jumbo.  I’m reminding myself daily that the time I spend eating Nutrisystem-sized portions will help me re-learn how little, really, my body needs to function healthily.

There are a few drawbacks:

The entrees are not the tastiest food I’ve ever had.  Delaney, being her mother’s daughter, has pretty high food standards, so the adjustment to food that’s not quite as delicious as she’s used to was a little rocky.  But we’re coping–Lee’s theory is that the first month is exploratory:  figure out which things you like, then load up on those for the second month.

It really cuts into our social lives.  I’m not so worried about that for myself–I’m creative, and I’ll figure out work-arounds–but I don’t want Delaney to start feeling like this diet is ruining her whole life.  We’re working really hard on making sure she is learning how to balance her emotional needs with her body’s requirements.

Ultimately, while I would love for her to lose some weight (and of course I want to lose the pounds I’ve gained recently, as well), what I most want is for her to absorb some life lessons that will serve her well for years to come.

That’s the title of an article in the March issue of the Cleveland Clinic’s Heart Advisor newsletter.  The headline jumped out at me, and has lingered in the back of my head since I first saw it.  Specifically, it worried at me late at night, thinking about Delaney.  She is, to put it bluntly, overweight.  Her blood pressure is creeping up.  Her last bloodwork showed worrisome signs of pre-diabetes.  Combine all that with the giant genetic risk factor coming from Lee, and I think I’m justified in being concerned.

We’ve tried every subtle technique we can think of to help her get it under control, to no avail.  We’ve increased her activity level.  We’ve encouraged sports.  We’ve stocked the house with healthy foods.  We even went through the Healthy Lifestyles Program with her, over at Duke Hospital.  Nothing has helped her figure it out.  I know she’s concerned, and starting to be self-conscious.  And the weight is impacting her daily life–she doesn’t have the energy or stamina of a normal 12 year old.

So several weeks ago, I did something sort of risky:  I floated the idea of a diet.  Together.  The two of us.

Last weekend, when we were in Asheville, she decided she wanted to give it a try.  So we ordered a month’s worth of Nutrisystem food for each of us, and got started last Thursday.

These first few days have been . . . hard.  Lee was out of town, I was tired and cranky from calorie-deprivation, and trying to hold myself together so that I could support Delaney.  BUT–she’s an amazing (and determined) kid, and after hitting a few hurdles in the first couple of days, she’s on track and already seeing results.  Having Lee home has made a huge difference; he’s joining us in the effort (except he’s going to eat Lean Cuisines instead of the Nutrisystem stuff–he’s been down this path before, and knows exactly how to make it work).  We give different pep talks, and can support her in complementary ways, so (hopefully) she feels like she has a real team in her corner.

Toby is, of course, 16, and not particularly interested in family meals anyway, so the whole endeavor doesn’t even seem to be that much of a disruption to our dinner-time routine.  That first afternoon, when we were both hungry (and Delaney was a little shell-shocked), he tried tormenting us a little with talk of pizza and ice cream, but he seems to have gotten the message since then, and is, if not being openly supportive, at least not trying to undermine our effort.

It’s an adjustment.  I’ll keep you posted.

This is our exercise room.  What’s that you say?  You don’t have an exercise room?  Oh.  I knew that–most people don’t have an exercise room.

Would you like to know why we do?  Good, because I’m going to tell you.

We have an exercise room because Lee wanted one.  Ten years ago, when he was totally focused on getting healthy and taking care of his newly-minted arterial grafts, he decided that the best way (for him) to get fit was to have all the necessary equipment right. here. in. our. house.  The children’s play room ceased to exist–the bonus room above the garage became The Exercise Room.

I might have resented that a bit, at the time, for a couple of reasons.  First of all, none of that equipment was cheap.  But did I complain? Only a little.  Also, the children and I really liked having a playroom.  But did I complain?  Well, possibly. I couldn’t really say no, though, because he presented such a good case (lawyers are like that).  It’s also possible that he always gets what he wants because I remember seeing him in the hospital, and my resolve and good sense just disappear.  It’s a small problem.

But I quickly discovered the hidden benefit of Lee’s obsession with exercise equipment–I got to use it too.

Fast-forward a decade:  Lee mostly can’t be bothered to work out in the exercise room.  He has an incredibly short attention span, so he can’t really focus on any one kind of exercise for an extended period of time.  I can’t remember the last time he lifted weights. But all that equipment is still up there, and now–it’s all mine!  I set the seats and the weights just like I want them, and I don’t have to share with anyone.

It has taken me a lot of years to accept that I have really puny muscles.  I’m not sure if that’s just how I’m built, or if it’s the long-range effect of a distinctly bookish childhood and youth.  Either way, the upshot is that I have an annoyingly high body fat percentage, and not much in the way of muscle mass.  If I work hard for a while to build up some muscle, and then I slack off, those hard-earned muscles disappear almost overnight.  So I’m working hard right now (while it’s winter, and I don’t enjoy being outside so much) to make good use of all those machines.  They came in very handy over the weekend when we were snowed in.

And that, folks, is the upside of being married to a guy who always gets what he wants.

We’re stressed at my house.  This is often the case, but it’s been worse than usual lately.  Ordinarily, we have a system.  I run around like a chicken with its head cut off, and Lee calms me down.  He’s usually a rock–sensible, relaxed, unflappable.  But not always, and sometimes he has to really work to keep himself settled.  He does–it’s a priority–because stress is really tough on the cardiovascular system, in a whole host of different ways.  But it’s not always easy.

He has a lot of reasons to be stressed (the flighty wife and two obnoxious teenagers come to mind), but the most significant culprit is work.  I’m sure this is true for lots of people; I don’t want this to sound like a whine, but an explanation.

Lee owns a small business.  Unless you live under a rock, I’m sure you’ve heard that the economy stinks, and that small business owners are taking a big hit.  Well, I’m here to tell you–it’s true.  People are losing their jobs, running out of money, and sitting tight on whatever savings they have left.  I don’t know about you, but I’m thoroughly sick of this recession, and I know Lee is too.  He has something like 27 employees–that’s a lot of people to be responsible for and to worry about .  Yes, it’s great to not have a boss–no one to answer to, no worries about that pink slip.  But all those employees?  They get paid first.  It’s stressful.

That small business is a law firm.  Lee’s dad was an attorney, too.  I mentioned yesterday that Maurice (my father-in-law) died of early-onset heart disease that was just like Lee’s.  Lee is convinced the job is part of the problem.  Not long after his heart attack, he made an analogy between what he does, and mercenary soldiers.  He’s a hired gun, going into court and fighting other people’s battles for them.  The occupational hazard may not be the obvious risks of warfare, but the hazard is there, nonetheless–stress.  It keeps a steady stream of cortisol and adrenalin running through his body, throwing his hormones off balance, pushing up his blood pressure, roughing up the insides of his arteries, and damaging his heart.*

He’s tried meditation, yoga, running, biofeedback, hobbies, denial, and avoidance.  His television and reading choices tend to be pretty escapist.  I don’t really blame him.  Mostly, we just muddle through, using whatever cliches and platitudes we have to in order to maintain some semblance of calm.  Life is short, right?

But I just felt like I needed to explain:  if it seems, sometimes, like my husband is kind of stressed–he probably is.

*I should point out that he has, in fact, dealt with stuff like death threats and crazies with guns and the need for police protection.  I’ve answered phone calls that start with that recorded message about how this call is coming from an inmate in a detention facility, and I still sort of freak out when the electricity goes out for no apparent reason–I learned years ago to immediately check the phone line.  But luckily, he has narrowed and limited his practice over the years to the point that we don’t have much of that stuff anymore.  Thank goodness.