Spaces

When I was in my 20’s I lived by myself in a lovely studio apartment in San Francisco. It was a great spot. And very comfortable.   I had a cozy bed with big fluffy pillows, hardwood floors, and bay windows – which, if you strained your neck just so, afforded views of the bay… I had my own kitchen and a bathroom with a shower and tub. The closet was huge (one of my favorite things about the place, truth be told). It held a million pairs of shoes, and lots of clothing.

But when I graduated from college I decided to pack what I could fit in a backpack and travel around Europe for several months.  I had this notion that it was important to do this alone, and so I did. I had a very finite (small) amount of money. This meant I spent many nights sleeping on narrow bunk beds in hostels. I shared showers and toilets, and when I woke up I sat bleary-eyed at community tables drinking coffee with other bed headed travelers from various other countries and walks of life. We talked. We became friends. We shared bread, peanut butter, wine and stories. Sometimes it was awkward… But it was also wonderful. Sometimes I slept on trains -- in route to the next town. It saved money *while* traveling. Needless to say, I didn’t have fluffy pillows. Or, my own bathtub. Or, a closet that held a million pairs of shoes. But I couldn’t have felt more alive.

I was thinking about this today. I was thinking about the “spaces” in which we live. It seems we think we need so much. We need square feet, and thread count, and high quality and comfort. But we really don’t. The space that we need (I mean, really NEED) is so very small…

I think this is true in a literal sense, but (more interestingly, perhaps) in a figurative sense as well. The space I’ve been living in (figuratively) is rather small. It is boiled down – condensed. There are not wide open fields. I think this may seem distressing to some. But although my “living space” is compact, it is very economical. I use every square inch of it, and sometimes I can stretch and twist and bring just a bit more space into my day – my life. The thing is, I like the space. A lot. I’ve worked hard for it. It isn’t always comfortable, it certainly isn’t perfect, and at times it’s not too pretty. But it’s the space I inhabit and I choose to love it.

Motherhood. A Life of Humility.

Motherhood has taught me many things. Right up there on the list is humility… It’s hard to be proud when you have little ones in your midst.

 One thing I’ve learned about my kids… They will humiliate me every step of the way. If you have children, be prepared for your cool-factor to drop 10, no…  20 notches. My cool factor is in the toilet. It’s not as if I had far to fall… I remember when I was in my 20’s I decided one month to spend a large portion of my paycheck on a pair of (what I considered to be) absolutely fabulous platform slides. Nevermind  they were extremely challenging to walk in. Nevermind I walked to work. They were great shoes. The first day I wore them was a sunny San Francisco morning. I took the cable car down to the Financial District and hobble-walked three blocks until I was just across the street from the office in which I worked. My feet hurt already. I waited at the crosswalk debating whether I should take off the shoes for the duration of my journey to the office. No, I thought. I’m wearing these stupid damn shoes because they’re beautiful. And because I sacrificed a good deal of my grocery budget for them. Halfway across the intersection I accidentally kicked off a shoe. It flew a few feet in front of me. I stumbled in the crosswalk and had to limp the rest of the way to work.

I only tell this story to assure you, my humiliation as a parent is not completely unfamiliar ground.

I remembered this moment because just the other day I was carrying Owen through the crowded parking lot in to Trader Joes. We were darting between shoppers pushing their carts, cars trying desperately to find a parking place, and other pedestrians heading in. Owen grabbed my tank top, and with all his baby strength, pulled it out as far as his baby arm could reach. Which felt like 10 feet. In actuality it was probably one good foot – but certainly enough to view every stitch, piece of underwire, each thick strap and seam of my bravado nursing bra. I quickly and deftly pulled my tank top back. At which point Owen, realizing my hands were momentarily occupied, seized the opportunity to grab my sunglasses off my face and throw them on the ground. I found myself scrambling on the parking lot ground for my glasses, while trying to balance Owen and my diaper bag. The lady walking next to me tried to crack some commiserating  funny jokes, but I think what she was really saying was, “sucks to be you. lololol.” Owen is very good at these types of antics.  A few days earlier I was talking to Brooklyn’s kindergarten teacher before the kids filed in for class. Mrs. S, as best as I can describe, is a mix between a Disney princess and J.Lo. She’s lovely, and I think all the little boys have raging kindergarten crushes on her. Brooklyn emulates her quite a bit when she’s at home. She sets up her little “classroom” in the living room with all her dolls and stuffed animals and “teaches” them, all the while speaking just like her teacher. It’s very cute.  At any rate, in the middle of the conversation with Mrs. S, Owen sticks his fingers all the way up my nose. This hurts – don’t try it. I kind of gasp and pull his hand away, and then he grabs my neck skin and twists it. Brookie’s teacher, who doesn’t have kids of her own, looks rather aghast and just then the bell rings and they file in to class.

Speaking of Brookie, she is no stranger to embarrassing her mama. Recently at the grocery checkout Brookie was rifling through my purse looking for some gum while I was paying. She didn’t find any gum, but she did manage to find a tampon that had dropped to the bottom of my purse. She pulls it out and carefully inspects it. “What is THIS?” she wants to know. “It’s nothing,” I tell her, trying to pull it out of her hand. The young man at the checkout gets a good look and turns away, pretending he didn’t see. But we both know he did. “What IS it, Mommy?” Brookie insists – clearly not letting it go. “I’ll tell you later,” I semi-hiss. But this isn’t good enough…  “Well what does it DO!?” I blush in spite of myself. I really do – 40 years old and a rogue tampon from my purse makes me blush.

Pure humiliation.

Quincy doesn’t do this. She’s my middle child and sometimes it seems she can do no wrong. My Quinny angel...

Peyton is capable… But in the sense that she is more likely to say something sassy or snotty right after I’ve publicly explained how well behaved she is. She is generally very sweet and kind, but if I happen to tell somebody that, it seems inevitable that she will prove me wrong on the spot.

It’s okay. I laugh – at myself, and at my kids. They humble me on the daily, but it’s all good. Life with kids is never dull. And often hilarious.

First Swim Day of the Summer

Today was the first family pool day of the year. And also the first time I've worn a bathing suit in over two years. I prepared myself by doing 60 minutes of hot power vinyasa. Then eating a not-insignificantly-sized sandwich, and two peanut butter cookies. Because that's the way I roll.
My basket of bathing suits has been on the upper-most shelf in my closet collecting dust and cobwebs... I haven't even glimpsed in its direction since I put it there when we first moved in last summer. I spent all last summer at the pool, but I wore my yoga pants and nursed Owen in the shade while the girls swam.
But today was the day... so I begrudgingly eased the basket down and put it on the edge of the bed. I don't know why I was hemming and hawing about it. It's just a darn bathing suit. But the basket seemed unfriendly and daunting sitting there on the edge of the bed. And I felt vain for caring in the slightest what a stupid bathing suit would look like. I rifled through the suits carefully. I picked one and put it on. It was relatively painless. Brooklyn came in just then and asked to see my suit. She was very interested in my selection, and it mattered to her deeply, as her serious face could attest. I took off my cover up and let her make her discerning assessment. "Mommy," she breathed. "It's beautiful." She may only be six, and she may be my biggest fan, but that was all I needed...
Next it was Owen's turn to put on his big boy bathing suit. Boy bathing suits are new to me, and I spent a good 10 minutes just admiring how adorable he looked in his swim trunks -- his chubby soft belly hanging over the waistband,  his pale bare arms chugging back and forth.
Next, after we got the 14,000 towels needed for our family and the millions of snacks required for a two hour trip, we hit the pool.
The big girls picked their chairs, dumped their stuff and immediately canon-balled in. I took O to the baby pool where he dipped his feet in, and found himself immediately digging the pool vibe.He splashed and played, while the girls swam their hearts out. It was a super fun afternoon. Looking forward to many more of the same this summer.

100 Days of Happiness Day 100

Can it be? 100 days have gone by? You know what that means... many of you can unblock me again and no longer be subjected to my daily happy posts. It also means that I somehow managed to find 100 things to be happy about -- for 100 days in a row.
It sounded easy initially... And really, there is always something to be happy/grateful about... But sitting down and writing about it each day has proven to be challenging at times...
I am happy that I did it.
Even when it was hard.
It has shifted my perspective just so slightly.
Now I am looking. And more than before... There are so many opportunities to reach your hands out and hold on to happiness.
And really, for most of us... we are so fortunate.
Thank you to everyone who read my posts and took the time to respond in a positive way. It meant so much.
I plan to continue writing -- because it has been incredibly cathartic and enjoyable. But now I won't limit myself to "happy" posts.
This 100 days has made me happy. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

100 Days of Happiness Day 99

This may sound a little bit out there... but I have a thing with birds. It hasn't always been this way. I think I realized in my adulthood. I always notice them. My eyes are drawn to the sky, and what they're doing seems significant...  though I can't always put my finger on why. I hear them as well. Really hear them -- in the middle of the night, on walks, sitting in the backyard. I suppose it's more true to say that I'm listening for them.
The day I found out I was pregnant with Owen, I woke up early as was always the case, so that I could let Henry out for a morning walk. When I opened the door, my eyes were immediately drawn to a tall skeleton of a tree outlined in the breaking morning light colors. At the very top was an enormous bird. I tried to figure out what type it was, but I couldn't determine... It was very still and imposing sitting up there. And it might sound odd to say, but it seemed to be quietly looking down at me. I had that feeling anyway. I shuffled around to get Henry on his leash and when I looked back it was gone -- nowhere to be seen.
I know. It sounds like no big deal. I mean, a bird in a tree... so what?
I guess it's that some things seem important, like there is a message or a sign there just waiting to be heard, or caught, or noticed. When I have those feelings, I trust them because usually I find a meaning that makes sense. Sure enough, that afternoon I discovered I was pregnant.
There are countless other times that birds have come to me at significant moments. After deaths, during heartbreak, when I've been struggling physically. Once on a run I remember feeling really down about where I was athletically. I think it was shortly after having Brookie. The negative voice in my head was on full blast and I was listening. But something caught my attention -- a loud, dry whooshing sound. I looked up and an eagle -- beautiful, powerful, enormous, heavy feathers, was flying low directly above me through the trees. I felt the breeze it made as it flew over me... I was immediately uplifted.
But without a doubt, the most powerful bird that made an impression on me was a dove. When Quincy was just under two years old I found out I was pregnant. We were elated. Shortly after, I was sitting in the living room and noticed a white bird circling the house. It flew in big circles around the greenbelt to the side of our home, over the neighborhood, and would return again to sit in a tree right outside the window. It did this for a few days, and I realized it was a dove. I had never seen a dove in the wild before. It was quite beautiful and I took it as a very positive sign. It came back everyday for days, and would always rest in the same tree -- right where I would see it. One day it came and landed right on the tippy top of our roof while I was in the backyard. It was so close I could see it breathing. I felt it was a blessing. Then, it didn't come back. Only a few days later, we found out we had lost the pregnancy. I grieved and mourned... and kept thinking about that dove, that never did come back again. I came to feel that perhaps it was a blessing after all. Perhaps the dove was there to tell me that it would be alright. That though I was devastated, God was there in that grief. I was comforted. I researched what doves symbolize and I was amazed.
I once read that if you stop listening to *that voice* in your mind -- you know the one... the one that tells you things. The one that maybe isn't logical or practical or pragmatic... If you stop listening, it will soon speak softer, until it is but a whisper. And then it will die and won't bother to speak to you at all. Listening is important. I love the presence of birds in my life... It makes me happy.

100 Days of Happiness Day 98

We all wander away from our center. It's how we learn. Some of us take the fast track away from our true selves -- speeding recklessly into a tangley jungle we must find our way out of. Some of us stick fairly close -- maintaining a more cautious distance. Either way, all roads lead back to our true hearts, and eventually, if we choose to keep our eyes open, we will make it back.
The same is true for family. Our journeys may take us different places, either literally -- like maybe even two states away... Or some journeys may put a more intangible space between the ones we love. But the deep bonds of those we love will always be there. The roads that lead back to our family members are made of blood and memories and pieces of a shared soul. We are intertwined inexplicably.
My mom is a piece of my soul. She is wise and open-minded and strong. She is also soft and caring and loyal. Sometimes it is strange to be a part of someone, and yet be so different. I admire my mom, but we are each our own very unique person. At times it has made us clash. But it has also made me love her fiercely. My mom makes me happy. 

100 Days of Happiness Day 97

You know what's relaxing? Cooking dinner for a big family... Just kidding. It's about as relaxing as sitting in rush hour traffic. While doing your taxes. I'll admit... my healthy family dinners in which we all sit down together have become fewer and farther between. It's hard with activities, events, and you know, Owen. But tonight I wanted to cook something special for my Mom, who drove 2 days to be with us. So I found some pretty recipes and told everybody I was going grocery shopping for dinner ingredients. Quinny followed me out to the car. "What are you making?" she wanted to know. She likes to stick to the three basic food groups: noodles, taquitos, and/or pizza.  I told her, "Buffalo chicken salad... and also a peach/basil and prosciutto salad." It was as if I had thrown ice water directly in her face. "What!?" she practically shrieked. "What are you making *for the kids*!?" I wanted to tell her that when I was a kid I would have killed for a peach/prosciutto salad. That I would have walked two miles in the snow just to eat a salad like that. Then walk two miles home in the snow. But that would be a lie, so instead I said, "Macaroni and cheese." I buckle so easily. But the weight of the world was now off Quincy's shoulders.
I got the groceries, came home and unloaded, and just as I was in the thick of cooking and mixing ingredients, Owen decided he had better have his dinner asap or else all hell would break loose. I fed him and got back to cooking. John took O outside to play with his new lawnmower and I got cracking. The recipe said that prep time should be 20 minutes, but I don't think they could have anticipated the state of perpetual chaos in my house. If they could, they probably would have at least allotted 45 minutes to an hour, which is how long it took.
But look, I finished my pretty salads. And they were yummy, too. Sitting down at the table -- all 7 of us... I found myself thinking sentimentally... I really really need to work on the girls' table manners in earnest. We are out of practice. And also, I love my family... and having family dinners. Cooking for everybody makes me happy.