February 7, 2011 ~ Day 60 Mothers and Sons

My husband and I just spent our evening watching "Nowhere Boy", a biopic about John Lennon's early years. I've been a fan of The Beatles for as long as I can remember but never knew anything before tonight about his traumatic childhood and complicated relationships with both mother and aunt.

Abandoned as a child by his parents, John was saved from foster care and raised by his aunt and uncle. He enjoyed a brief reconciliation with his mother before her tragic and untimely death when he was just 17. Horribly enough, a car struck her down as she was returning home from visiting the house where he lived.

John Lennon had one of those childhoods that you would think his publicist had invented, it was so full of drama and loss. The absence (and presence) of his mother throughout those early years made a profound impact upon him, infusing much of his poetry and music with pain and personal truth. He also forged a significant bond with bandmate Paul McCartney who lost his own mother at an early age... the two boys shared a profound void.

Now that the movie has wrapped up I'm left a bit bleary-eyed and sad, hoping mightily that my own small sons never find themselves in a similar situation. I suppose one could argue that the loss of his mother may have spurred John Lennon to express himself in LARGE and PROFOUND ways that he might never have done, had he enjoyed a quiet suburban childhood far removed from pain. Still, I'm guessing that the man himself would have gladly traded most (if not all) of his global notoriety for more time spent with his mother while she was alive.

What is it about mothers and sons? (For that matter, there's a really special relationship between fathers and daughters too!) My sons, especially the younger one, look out for me and treat me with such affection in a way that I can't recall anyone else doing - ever - not even my father or brothers. They paint me picture after picture, ask me how to spell the words in the love notes that they pen to me in huge and unshapely block letters (MOMMEE I LOV YUU), wrap themselves around my legs, tell me I am beautiful or that I look like a princess. They demand that only I pick out their clothes, read them stories, tuck them in. My older boy has just learned how to text (hmmmmm.... thanks, daddy) and he now sends me texts that say "Momee I miss you I love you come back" when I am running errands on my personal time. They know all of my flaws better than anyone yet they beg me all of the time to be with them, "Don't leave us to go to Mima's house, we want you to be HERE mommy".

It is almost like God is making up for all of the wasted hours I spent waiting around from age 14 to 26 for various blokes to get it together; for the two men I truly loved during the decade before I met my husband... for every other guy who made promises for fun.

THIS is my positive karma... the reaping of all of the warmth and tenderness I had poured into the Universe. I am now awash in a sea of boy love, much stronger and more pure than anything I ever experienced before becoming a mother. It is obviously not a romantic love but something so much MORE. I am they; they are me. My blood flows through their veins, they emerged into the world from the deepest recesses of my body. We understand each other. In some way, we will always be one.

Right now, my sons and I have the same agenda. They want me to adore and take care of them all of the time - which is easy to commit to. I DO adore them and want to take care of them all of the time.

I know the day will inevitably come when my sons are ready to break away from this phase... when I am no longer the beloved mommy that they want to grow up and marry. At some point I will likely become the butt of their teenaged jokes, their ridiculous graying mother who worries too much and loves them too hard. I know that is coming down the line, I am steeling myself for the time when my sweetest sweethearts need to pull away from me and form sentimental attachments to kids their own age.

Letting go will be the healthy thing for all of us -- I'm just grateful that it isn't anywhere near time for me to relinquish my claim upon their precious hearts yet. Right now at the ages of 3 and 5, my darlings still need and want a mother.

I pray every day (every hour) that I will stick around long enough to see my sons through their childhood and adolescence, hopefully into adulthood. I visualize myself attending their high school and college graduations, meeting their significant others, taking such pride in their unique accomplishments. I will be so elated if I can dance at their weddings, even hold and cuddle their own children.

I don't know yet who my sons will turn out to be, but it doesn't really matter to me. As their mother I reserve the right to find them perfect under all circumstances.

And when someday my boys have at last flown away from our nest and gone forth boldly to greet the wide world, I will thank my lucky stars every day that I have been not doubly but triply blessed. Thank Heaven, another priceless treasure thrives within the core of my heart and our lives ~ a daughter.

February 6, 2011 ~ Day 59 Roots

This afternoon an accident snarled traffic on the freeway that I've been traveling to take my son to his new school and pick him up later in the day. I saw the highway patrol officers arriving on the other side of the cement divider and realized that it would be politic to choose a different route home, so after joyfully reuniting with my boy we turned our car in a new direction as we headed back to our house.

Navigating mainly by instinct, I drove further up the hill beyond his preschool and then veered in the direction where I thought there might be another freeway onramp. Rounding a corner - out of nowhere - we came face to face with a panorama that I can only describe as Divine. If God had a face, this vista might resemble its magnificence. A vast blue sea stretched out before us, blending into the equally blue sky right at the horizon line. I literally caught my breath in surprise, it was so unexpectedly stunning. Green foliage tumbled down the hill at our side, extending at least a mile below to the edge of the cliffs.

"Oh Wow..." I breathed, and my little son piped up,
"What is it, Mama?"
"Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" I sighed with shivers running down my spine. "Honey, we LIVE here now! I can't even believe it."

I have enjoyed and mainly thrived in this city for the better part of my 35 years, with a brief collegiate hiatus. Yet even now I find that it is rich with surprises... new vistas, nooks, even neighborhoods that I have never seen or explored before. I can literally round a bend and experience something unexpected and surprisingly lovely for the very first time.

An extremely close childhood friend (still one of my best friends today) grew up just two blocks from the house where I lived for the first 17 years of my life. She lives a few states over now, and throughout the years I have often encouraged her to come back to reclaim our city. I hope some day she will. In fact to this very day, many of the most amazing people I have met in my life just happen to be friends that I literally grew up with here - riding bikes, roller skating and taking long walks along these same sunny streets. Was there something in the water, I wonder? (Yes!)

For me this town is vibrant and full of possibility. This will actually be the eighth neighborhood I have lived in here and I find that each time I change neighborhoods everything else opens up as well. There are so many pockets of culture here completely dissimilar to one another... in one area I would be completely at ease in flip-flops, eating fish burritos and watching the surf at sunset... while another neighborhood lends itself to dark jeans, fashionable blouses, big sunglasses and popping in to local galleries and cafes. A wide variety of cultures intermingle - all infused to some degree with a delicious Latin flaire.

We have a great indie music scene here, completely disparate from ample beach reggae and ska music offerings. We have our own incipient foodie revolution with Slow Food events and Farmer's Markets on the rise all over town. If you want it, you can find it - excellent theater productions, successful sports teams, a symphony, campgrounds, amusement parks... whatever one could wish for.

If I sound like a walking advertisement it's probably because I realized a long time ago that the rhythm of this desert beach town hums in my blood and flows through my veins. Whenever I have moved away for any length of time I have deeply missed it... most of all I have missed the way that people look you in the eye when you pass them on the street here: and then THEY SMILE. Eye contact and smiling ~ basically the two most important things I could ask for in a home town.

It's pretty lucky (coincidence? destiny?) that I managed to find a life partner who feels even more strongly about the city where we live than I do. Like me, he grew up here. In fact, we grew up only a fifteen minute drive apart. My husband is just one year older than me so we share much geographic and cultural history. We listened to the same radio stations in high school, hung out at the same coffee shops, frequented the same all-ages music venues, went to the same beaches, traveled to the same local mountains... all essentially at the same time. (We never met.) Even now twenty years later a retro song will begin to play on the radio and we can reminisce about what our lives were like when it first came out, and what our city was like back then.

I can talk to him about the way the sunsets looked after a particular volcanic explosion or where I was during a specific event - earthquake, fire, 9/11 and he shares essentially the same (or a very similar) memory. This creates a special closeness -- there is much less to explain, much more which is simply understood. We spent a good deal of our post-college twenties living a single block apart (still never met) and have many similar experiences from that time, that neighborhood, those streets - that stretch of beach. It seems like before we found a home in each other, we'd already chosen the same plot of land to tend.

Many close friends that my husband and I cherish have left our city for greener pastures, only a handful of them choosing to return so far. Most of our siblings also live far away in more urban hamlets... having discovered that they too beat to a different metropolitan rhythm. They will probably never come back for more than an occasional visit - yet is is comforting to know that they will always have a second home to return to as long as we are here.

Despite our plan to spend a year abroad with our children, it's pretty much a sure thing that our family will be rooted here for the long haul. I do wonder where our children will end up down the road as they spread their own wings and look for the perfect place to create their unique nests. With three children, it's a fair bet that at least one of them will feel drawn to the East and we'll rely on Skype and other technologies to stay closely linked. I hope at least one of them falls as deeply in love with this city as we have done.

I wrote in December about yearning to find our home in the world. In retrospect, I think I should have said "house" rather than home. The truth is, I was lucky enough to find my true home in the world 35 years ago... the city I was born into which has since brought me the abundant joy of a husband and children who now represent my home as well.

February 5, 2011 ~ Day 58 Dreaming of Travel

It's a beautiful Sunday morning here in the coastal town where we are lucky enough to live, and I'm up to my ears in newspaper and boxes as I wrap kitchenware for our big move to a new house in six days.

It feels so exciting to be embarking on a completely new adventure, almost as good as getting ready to take a trip to a city I've never seen before. I'm thrilled by the notion of discovering new bakeries, new restaurants, new walking paths, new friends. Even if it turns out to be less wonderful than we imagine, it is SO exciting just to bust out of our daily grind and try something novel.

As I sit here wrapping glass with newspaper, I've run across many headlines about events in France, Russia and Latin America - and it makes me think about all of the countries I long to visit someday. There are so many things I yearn to see and experience before I die, my bucket list is very long and it involves an infinite number of cities that I always assumed I would have spent time in before I turned 35.

Nearly seven years have passed since I flew in an airplane! That is probably hard to believe, especially for friends who know how much I love to travel. As I read of old comrades traveling the world, I am reminded of how much broader the scope of a life can be than the narrow one in which we are currently inhabiting. One of my old friends flies commercial airplanes professionally and has probably traveled to almost every country in the northern hemisphere in the past fifteen years. Another old friend lives with his wife and family in Argentina, and recently posted on Facebook that the passport he is about to turn in has seen thirty countries in the last ten years. Amazing!

Although I haven't managed to fly anywhere since 2004, this hasn't stopped me from traveling to at least a few lovely places. During that time we've made one 24 hour drive to Puerta Vallarta, Mexico when our first son was only 9 months old... an extraordinarily beautiful drive that opened my eyes to the breathtaking, verdant beauty of mainland Mexico. Our favorite stop along that trip was "old" Mazatlan, full of brightly painted neoclassical buildings and classical music in the streets. The warmhearted people we met along that journey could not have been kinder or more accommodating toward families - we felt welcome and embraced at every turn, in every small town and along every winding road.

We've also made the pilgrimage not once, but twice, to Vancouver BC by car... about a 20 hour drive from our home in Southern California, stopping along the way in exquisite metropolis areas like San Francisco, Portland and Seattle.

We were lucky enough to find a fantastic couple who rents out their Granville Island condo in Vancouver for a reasonable price, and enjoyed "living" like real residents in that amazing city - with our own three bedroom home with full kitchen, DVD player and view of the harbor. Nothing like cozying up with fresh fish n'chips from the Granville Island Farmer's Market on a rainy afternoon watching the fog roll in... or hiking in the insanely beautiful rainforest just outside of the city proper.

I'll never forget our sons' first experience with rabbits and goats, their first time in a real pumpkin patch, or their first trainride... all of which happened on these trips. (I'm a little bit in love with Vancouver and have often spoken with my husband about the merits of living there permanently... or maybe retiring there someday. He points out that we would miss the California sunshine.)

Other than these three big vacations, my husband and I have also traveled on at least four or five occasions to our favorite local getaway - Catalina Island. I consider it to be as close to the Italian Riviera as we can get from 6,000 miles away: Looking out from the Zane Grey Pueblo Hotel over Avalon Bay, I am greatly reminded of Capri and Positano... twinkling lights, bright stars and a vast blue sea extending into the horizon. Catalina has been perfect for us, offering wilderness, rugged bike rides and ocean swimming for my husband coupled with an elegant ballroom and movie theater, delightful shops and restaurants, world class fish n'chips and fun local hikes for me. They've even got a zipline tour now!

On our last journey to Catalina we actually brought my mother and our three children, and it was perhaps the most fun I have ever had there - introducing our boys to the fun of miniature golf, practicing their swimming in the harbor, taking them for ice cream cones and to see 'Toy Story 3' at the Casino ballroom... they still haven't stopped talking about Catalina six months later and keep asking when we will return. I love traveling so much, I think the only thing that can make it even better for me is the opportunity to experience new things WITH these precious children and to see the world new through their eyes.

I'm not sure where our journey will lead in the coming year or so... just moving to a new home may be the big adventure for us for now. I am very excited though that we have decided to spend a year in Italy, as a family, when the children are a bit older. (We're currently planning for 2014, but that timing is of course subject to change.)

We want to go when our children are old enough to get a lot out of the experience but not so old that we interrupt the critically important years of their education - middle and high school. Our current idea is to settle in a small town outside of Tuscany where we will live and work remotely, send our children to the local school, and celebrate life just as we are turning the corner into our 40s. Our mid-life crisis will be expressed by purchasing shiny expensive new bicycles and biking our blues away around the Mediterranean!

As much as I love to travel though, no adventure I could ever take anywhere in the world will equal the adventure of parenthood. I cannot fathom a journey that would even come close to changing my world view and perspective as much as that simple trip to the local medical center where we entered as a (pregnant) couple and left as a family. I don't regret the nearly seven years I have spent in this beautiful city raising our three children and I am so excited for all the years we have left to discover new things and experience new places together.

For now though it's time for me to wrap another dish, tape up another moving box, and dream of all the wonders our future surely holds.

February 4, 2011 ~ Day 57 Time Is On My Side

In June it will be two years since my father’s death from a protracted (excruciating) bout with Alzheimer’s disease. I cannot believe the time has passed so swiftly, yet I am grateful for every additional day that I can put between myself and the sea of pain we had to navigate at the time.

As I’ve written previously, one of the best parts of going through the past two years has been witnessing the transformation of my mother from devastated widow to thriving and vibrant woman. She has returned in every way to being the best of herself and now appears decades younger than she did in 2009.

Today she confided in me that she plans to get in really great shape for the trip she is taking with a close friend to Spain in May 2011, so that she will be at the top of her game along the journey.

“Mom, you already look amazing,” I interjected - but she quickly responded,
“This is just something I am excited to do for myself”.

I’m a little slow on the uptake, but it struck me a few hours after our conversation (while washing the dinner dishes) that my mother *may* actually be getting ready to date again... a brave and quite terrific thing that we (her five children) have all encouraged her to do. Just because dad died doesn’t mean that she would diminish in any way the memory of their 34 year marriage by going on dates with other gentleman callers and perhaps even finding a new love in the golden years of her life.

I can’t guarantee that my dad would have “wanted” this for her - seeing as he coveted her attention fairly jealously during his life... but I do think that my mom deserves all of the happiness in the world. Even if dad wouldn’t have wanted it, the rest of us want it for her.

Whether or not my mom ever decides to date again, it is rapidly becoming clear that the ground has shifted beneath our feet. Things change, sometimes drastically, and we have to be open to changing with them or we run the risk of getting stuck in a rut or missing out on great new opportunities.

Time soldiers on.

I can scarcely believe it but two full decades have nearly passed since I lost a close high school friend to ovarian cancer and leukemia. Nearly twenty years! I can still hear the sound of her voice and laughter in my head, still see how beautiful and vibrant and full of life she was up until the very end of her struggle. How is it possible that the length of my life has doubled since her passing? I wasn’t ready to lose her when I did; and she certainly wasn’t ready to give up on life at age 15. Neither of us were given a choice in the matter.

When my friend passed away, some small part of me felt really guilty for continuing to live and thrive while she missed out on everything - growing up, dating, going to college, fulfilling her career dreams, getting married or having a family of her own. I felt ashamed for having so many opportunities that she did not; “Why her, and not me?” I wondered.

I thought often of a phrase from the W.H. Auden poem “Funeral Blues” honoring his own dead friend - “Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, / Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; / For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

Yet despite the profound depth of my grief, time continued to move forward and pull me further away from her. To cope with the seeming callousness of time to her loss, I dedicated myself to living the rest of my life as fully as possible in honor of her memory. "I want to suck the marrow out of life," I told my mother, "See the world and do ALL of the things that she never had the chance to do".

Time proved to be an ally in that endeavor. Over the years I have been able to fulfill almost all of my childhood dreams... and I have never taken life for granted for a moment. I find it hard to believe that any human being has ever been more grateful for each new day than I am. My first thought upon waking every morning is literally, "I'm still here! Thank you for giving me another chance."

It turns out most of the cliches about the passage of time are based in truth. I've now been through a variety of painful and humbling life experiences for which the only real cure was the passage of time including breakups, poor career choices, health challenges, private sorrows. By putting one foot in front of the other, a single step at a time, I have walked through many bad days and found my way to the good ones.

Here are some quotes about the passage of time which are both true and comforting:

“Time nor tide wait for no man”
“Time marches inexorably on”
“Time heals all wounds”
“Nothing lasts forever - not even your troubles”
“Time is the great physician”
“Time is the longest distance between two places”
“If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves”
“Don’t waste time living in the past or the future... embrace the present for it is a gift.”
"Time is the currency of love"

and my favorite

“Life is too short to wake up in the morning with regrets. So love the people who treat you right, forget about the ones who don’t, and believe that everything happens for a reason. If you get a chance, take it. If it changes your life, let it. Nobody said that it would be easy, they just promised that it would be worth it.”

None of us know how long we've been given in this existence, what the span of our lives will be. For that reason it is critical not to waste time, but rather to embrace it as the most valuable gift of all.

February 3, 2011 ~ Day 56Looking For The Good

Despite all of the reports in the media daily that lend themselves to the impression that the world is a terrible and dark place, I have to say that I am constantly gratified to see just how much good there is in the world. So many people that we encounter throughout the course of each day are kind, helpful, gracious, generous and patient.

I have especially noticed this since becoming a mother - strangers are constantly coming to our assistance. They hold open doors for our stroller, give my children small toys and smiles, offer an encouraging word when I'm dealing with tantrums, offer to carry packages... the list goes on and on.

I spent four hours today driving around with my 20 month old daughter doing errands while we waited for her older brother to get out of school. During this time we encountered innumerable acts of kindness - from the cashier who generously gave us store credit for my son's Christmas toys without a receipt - to the bank teller that entertained my daughter while I filled out paperwork - to the man at the fish taco shop who brought her out extra French fries and stickers.

I also like to believe that all people are inherently good inside, and that no matter how terribly a human has acted at some point in their lives, they are all capable of redemption and decency. I remind myself of this any time I see a photo on a magazine cover of a serial killer or some other monstrous type - "Once long ago, you were some mother's baby and they loved you just like I love my own children."

Then you hear stories sometimes about people who are trying to rob a bank or take a hostage and yet they end up turning themselves in or making a better choice, because in the process they've unexpectedly made a meaningful connection with the person they were attempting to rob or harm.

My gut instinct on this is that it is in seeing the goodness and humanity in everyone that you can actually connect with them even through moments of disconnection, fear and stress. At the end of the day, there are no real monsters... just humans who have mental instability, addiction or poor decision making skills.

I'm not making excuses for terrible behavior with disastrous consequences. I'm just stating my own personal belief that at the very core of every human there is good... that there is something worth loving.

One of my friends recently posted an article on Facebook that supports my belief about this - Julio Diaz is a 31 year old social worker in the Bronx who looked for the best in his teenaged mugger and ended up helping him to make a better life choice.

The inherent goodness of most people was validated yet again when I spoke with the officer in charge of "Lost and Found" at our local police station who reported that statistically, eight out of ten wallets lost in our town are recovered or turned into the police station. She said that in general, people tend to be very honest. Which was quite reassuring to hear!

My daughter and I ran into a little situation today while we were running errands - we encountered a manager at a garden store that was less than kind. I wrote a check for a small potted plant that his computer system 'reader' did not like. He not only refused my check but he also implied in front of the line that I had tried to pawn off a bad check on him... sort of a weird thing to think about a mommy with a toddler buying a five dollar plant. Unfortunately I still haven't found my wallet and I had to cancel my ATM and credit cards. The new ones aren't here yet, so I wasn't able to give him another form of payment right then, and we left the store fairly embarrassed.

After a thirty minute ordeal wherein I traveled to my local bank branch to find out that no, there was no problem with my checking account and yes, my checks were clearing just fine... the problem must be with the computer software at the garden store... my daughter and I returned with cash in hand to pay for our plant. We waited in line again and watched as the same manager struggled with a customer in front of us whose credit card stumped the same computer system. This time the manager was flustered and a bit less brusque - "Sorry ma'am, our system has been running slow today" and he asked her to try using the card as a debit instead of as a credit. He glanced at me in the line, perhaps a bit surprised that I'd returned.

By the time I got to the head of the line, I weighed the moment. I could have chosen to tell the man off for accusing me of trying to pass a bad check. But why? In the end, what did I have to prove? I don't know anything about this man or what he goes through on a daily basis. I don't know who his supervisors are, or if he had had trouble in the past with customers committing fraud. I don't know what personal struggles he faces. I don't really know anything about him at all, other than the fact that he was less than gracious about a single check.

A good friend of mine (who is an incredible writer) recently blogged about a story from Oprah where a woman recovering from a stroke could literally sense the energy of the nurses who entered her hospital room. If they were having a good day or a bad day, were hungry or wanted to get off of work early, she could sense it. So she had a sign made for her door that read: "Please be responsible for the energy you bring into this room".

When I read about this on my friend's blog I was really struck by the many ways in which I need to be more responsible for the energy that I bring into any given situation. I like to think about myself as being a good person with good intentions but I am not typically conscious of the actual energy I'm giving off. When he first rejected my check this morning, I'm pretty sure the energy I was giving off amounted to frustrated and humiliated... definitely not peaceful or appreciative.

Trying harder to be aware of my own energy when we returned to the store, I decided while in line that the mere fact that we DID return with money to pay for our purchase was a clear enough indicator that I wasn't trying to 'pull one over' on that manager or the garden center. I politely paid for my plant and walked out with no fanfare and a clear conscience. In the end, the man will recognize that he overreacted (or perhaps he will not) but I feel comfortable with the energy that I brought into our interaction.

I believe that despite what newspaper headlines blare every day, most people on Earth are good or at least operate from a place of having good intentions. I hope that as the years pass I am able to better control the vibe that I myself bring into a room - and that I can teach my children how to withhold judgment and look for the best in everyone. It's in there, somewhere.

February 2, 2011 ~ Day 55Silence is Golden

Ahhhhhh.....

Do you hear that?

(I know you can't hear it but I'm smiling just the same.) Do you know what that sound is?

Perfect. Rapturous. Silence.

For the next twenty five minutes I get to sit in my own home in complete quiet.

Did I mention that it isn't even 2pm? Daylight is flooding into all of the windows and French doors of this house. I just heard a noise outside and had to pinch myself with happiness when I realized it was only the sound of the wind blowing leaves around our back patio.

I could dance for joy, or perhaps tiptoe.

Silence is the most important thing that I have lost since becoming a stay-at-home mother and ILOVEIT IMISSIT ILOVEIT. I never realized before I lost the silence just how amazing it really was. I didn't know how much I needed quiet to re-center myself on bad days, or that I did my best thinking and dreaming in perfect stillness.

With five and three year old boys and a raucous little baby princess now on the scene, silence is in short supply around our house. Even in the middle of the night, children are screaming, snuffling, whining, chatting or talking in their sleep. My husband actually loves background noise and he's the kind of guy that will turn on NPR while he works or reads just for 'company' but not pay attention to what the voices are saying. Sometimes I'll come in when he has it on and ask him about the event or story they've just discussed, and he responds: "I don't really know, I was't paying attention". He just likes the chatter and hum of the voices and melodies.

I am therefore the ONLY person in our house who currently values silence, craving it and going to extreme lengths to score myself another hit of tranquility. (What? You can take ALL THREE kids to the park for an hour? Have I mentioned that you are my *favorite* grandparent?)

Silence is glorious!

Right now I feel like my brain is resting. Here is a brief list of what I *don't* hear right now:

• Crying, whining, complaining, fussing, yelling, shrieking, tattling, roaring, running, slamming, ripping, hysterical giggling, crashing, remote control cars, Handy Manny workshops, LeapFrog computers, business telephone calls, the Discovery Channel, Olivia and Caillou...

...and best of all, I don't hear my own stressed out voice entreating, "Please don't do that" or "I would really appreciate it if you could stop."

Sudden quiet during the daytime is unfortunately typically not a good thing - when it gets too quiet around here my husband and I have learned from experience that this is usually a RED ALERT signal that our children are getting into mischief and are possibly in danger. When our children are quiet, something is probably wrong. (Examples ~ cutting their own hair with cuticle scissors, filling up the bathtub with themselves in it, drawing in marker on the walls, stealing chocolate from daddy's stash, covering themselves with temporary tattoos and stickers.)

I once read about a man who tried to sail solo around the world and his mother described how he was a quiet-loving guy who used to walk around the house wearing ear plugs when his children were small. I had a visceral reaction to reading about how he craved silence: "I TOTALLY GET IT."

I stay awake every night after my husband goes to sleep, just to get an hour or two of perfect peace. Those are actually my favorite hours of the day -- the quiet ones when my family is sleeping peacefully just feet away from where I sit. I can adore them and be grateful for them (secure in the knowledge that all of my little chickadees are sleeping safely in our nest) but still have a little bit of mental space.

I can vaguely remember, about ten years ago as a single girl, feeling like my apartment at the time was way too quiet. That stillness wasn't peaceful; but rather lonely. The mention of phrases like, "Do I hear the pitter patter of little feet?" might at that time have brought a lump to my throat as I cooked dinner for one every night and wondered whether I would ever know the joy of hearing my own children scampering around the house.

For this reason, I'm not really complaining. I've got it good and the loss of silence is a price well worth paying for the life I'm lucky enough to lead.

However, 'scampering' and 'pitter-pattering' turn out to be a bit of a joke. The only pitter pattering I am likely to hear in this house might be the sound of my 20 month old daughter carefully scattering her father's cold coffee in little brown drops all over his laptop computer keyboard. Pitter. Patter. Pitter. Patter.

"Mama, UH OH! gigglegigglegigglegigglegiggle".

"Honey.....? What are you doing? Are you being naughty?"

"YEEEEAAAAAAH!" (She scampers away gleefully.)

Oh well. So much for silence ;-)

February 1, 2011 ~ Day 54Two Blue Lines

We called our babysitter a few hours ago to see if she might be able to watch the kids this Friday night so that my husband and I could go and enjoy some of our good friends performing live music - outstanding live music - at the indie bar where my husband and I first met nine years ago. It will be a tremendous show, the first performance for one of these two bands in three years. We would love so much to be there. My husband and I share a huge passion for live music; it's one of the first things that brought us together.

Unfortunately our babysitting options are limited right now, with one grandparent out of the country traveling and another grandparent struck down with the flu. Our babysitter Mary* is a brilliant and talented 24 year old college student who routinely garners awards and scholarships for her outstanding work, and we've been so lucky and blessed to have her in our lives over the past three years. Fortunately for her (and unfortunately for us) Mary is about to graduate from her university with honors and has already been offered a nearly full-time job which she begins next week.

Mary called a few moments ago to let me know that she was very sorry but she has other plans on Friday. Of course, we totally understood.

As I sat back down on the couch reflecting on Friday night and the fact that we will not be able to attend the show after all, I listened to the cheerful shouting of my boys in the bathtub being bathed by their dad. I felt a little old and a little trapped.

There are probably thousands of 35 and 36 year old American couples right now planning their Friday nights, and maybe most of them are like us - going to be home sitting in front of a movie On Demand instead of out at a bar listening to music with friends, because we have three beautiful children who can't be left alone.

Some of those 35 and 36 year olds however are probably not parents yet, and some may not even want to have children. Within that vast pool of mid-30s couples there have got to be thousands of folks who will actually be AT their local pubs on Friday night, sharing a pitcher, playing pool, hanging out, gossiping and even kissing in a dark corner.

Not long ago, that would have been us! How did it all change so fast?

Well let me tell you...

It happened one Saturday in November.

I remember the day vividly. November 5th, 2004 was a crisp, cool and extremely sunny. For weeks my fiance and I had looked forward to a special conference taking place at a prestigious 100+ year old hotel in our town... our Bay Area alma mater was putting on a day of lectures here in southern California hosted by university professors and it happened to be taking place at this really beautiful hotel near to our home. We were both enthusiastic about attending.

As alumni we were offered a special conference rate and had our choice of which lectures to attend. We chose to attend two - one on sustainability and climate change, and the other on stem cell research. The talks were interspersed with a luncheon and late-afternoon cocktail party.

We ran into a few old college friends throughout the day, happily sharing the news of our September engagement. "You look radiant!" one told me, and I blushed as I showed off my lovely new engagement ring which had just been sized to fit my hand. I remember watching the facets of the rows of tiny diamonds sparkle in the bright sunlight, then looking over at my fiance and thinking to myself that I was the happiest and luckiest girl in the world.

We'd been engaged nearly two months and were deep in the throes of planning a July wedding, investigating venues and trying to match our ideals (simple, homey, warm, connected to nature) with the ideals of our families (200+ guests to invite, the yearning for a church wedding, a formal reception). We'd managed to settle upon a few key details... we would be married by a dear friend expert in Buddhism (I'm not sure we've ever told him that we planned to have him officiate!) and we would follow along in the tradition of my husband's parents by holding our wedding reception in his grandmother's lavish back yard.

I really loved my fiance and after more than two years together I was beyond elated when he got down on one knee and proposed to me. (Another story for another time...) Picking out the ring together, planning our future and our honeymoon, every day was starting to feel like a dream come true.

So that Saturday as we mingled with other alumni at the conference and I watched the light dance and sparkle on my hand, I was truly aglow with pride and joy.

We were crossing the main street in front of the hotel, standing at the corner waiting for the stoplight to change, on our way back to our car. Chatting amiably about our honeymoon plan to go to Spain, with my husband telling me about his old friend in Barcelona that we would definitely want to see while there. In a total non sequitur I added, "You know I think I'm going to take a pregnancy test when I get home, my period is pretty late."

"Oh yeah? Isn't it always a little late?"

"Yeah I know, it's no big deal. I'll just take the test to relax about it, and watch, then it will start like ten minutes later. So anyway, what other cities should we try to see beyond Barcelona?"

And that was it. Neither of us thought about it at all, we got so wrapped up in our honeymoon planning that I almost forgot to take the pregnancy test. We started to cook dinner, and then I remembered.

"Be right back," I said.

This wasn't the first pregnancy test I had taken in my life. I was twenty eight years old, and my cycle could be erratic. So it really wasn't a big deal to me, especially since I suffered from debilitating endometriosis. My OB/GYN had told me just 6 weeks earlier that it might be very difficult for me to achieve and maintain a pregnancy due to my condition... "Only time will tell," he said. "You never know with these things. Some people have terrible endometriosis and get pregnant easily. Others have a minor case and are infertile. You never know what will happen."

So on November 5, 2004 it wasn't so unusual for me to take a pregnancy test completely convinced that it would be - as usual - negative. I had even taken to purchasing the generic store brand of test because I didn't want to waste any more money than necessary simply convincing myself that yes, my period was indeed on its way.

Except that this time, it wasn't.

I waited the obligatory two minutes and returned to check the test, completely stunned to find that there were not one, but TWO blue lines filling the plastic window. Momentarily confused, I checked the package to make sure I was reading it correctly. "Oh. My. God."

All I could think of that moment was my fiance, cooking our dinner in the next room. Who had been my boyfriend, only two months before. It had taken over two years for him to propose and on the night when he finally did, and I accepted with tears and laughter, we had sat on the back porch for hours under the stars making plans for our future. We'd agreed that we both wanted to have three children and also that we wanted to wait for a while after getting married before starting to try for children. Our plan was to start 'trying' for a baby when I was 31... in three years.

Three years, not six weeks.

Yet before I could even open my mouth to speak the words, "I'm pregnant", I knew beyond a doubt that I would keep the baby. This was a baby created in love with the man I loved and who had asked me to marry him. I was 28 years old with a stable job, health benefits, and a warm and supportive family living in the same town. I had always wanted children, and this was the first time I had ever fallen pregnant. It was an unexpected miracle, a blessing straight from God.

At the same time, I felt terrified. I did not want ever, for a single second, to worry that my fiance would feel trapped into having children before he was ready. 'Instant Family' was not part of the plan we had made together. It wasn't part of the relationship we had built. I decided that the only honorable thing to do would be to offer him a way out. I needed assurance that he was making his own choices based upon his heart and dreams, not due to a sudden life-changing surprise.

"Honey," I came into the kitchen.

"Uh-huh?" Stirring the pot. "What, babe?"

"I'm pregnant."

"What?" He dropped the spoon he'd been stirring with.

"I'm pregnant."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I think so. It's the only positive test I've ever had."

"Let me see it."

Both of us were pale and wide-eyed. He followed me into the bathroom of our house and stared with me at the small plastic window with the slashes of blue like lightening bolts hurtling through our lives. "Oh. Wow."

Unlike the lovely day spent at the conference, that evening flew by in a blur. We took two more pregnancy tests until they were lined carefully along the bathroom counter, POSITIVE POSITIVE POSITIVE. We sat side by side on our bed, holding hands and staring into the future, and spoke quietly and deeply.

"I am going to have this baby," I gently told my fiance, "because I love you and I have always wanted to be a mother - and I am old enough and in a good financial position to take care of a child even on my own. However, I want to release you from our engagement if you would like to be released, because I don't want you to feel trapped into becoming a father before you are ready."

Decent and warm-hearted, he responded in less than a millisecond. "No way," he replied. "I love you and I asked you to marry me because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We always said we wanted three children. I just didn't think it would happen so fast."

"I know. Me neither."

"Wow. I'm going to be a dad. I'm someone's father!"

"We're going to have a baby!"

We held each other and cried.

My mother sometimes reminds me of a simple Yiddish saying she learned as a child: "Man plans and God laughs". God may have been laughing at us that day, but it was a rich and beautiful kind of laughter filled with treasures and miracles.

For six weeks we'd planned a summertime wedding on July 9, 2005. Instead we married quietly and privately at the end of November at City Hall in San Francisco. We returned to our home and town eager to attend our first prenatal appointment to hear our baby's heartbeat together... and were stunned to learn its due date: July 9, 2005. "There are no accidents in life," my now-husband smiled broadly. "This baby has been waiting for us. He or she is truly meant to be with us."

And that is how it happened that six-and-a-half years (and three healthy children) later my husband and I will be sitting home holding hands on the couch this Friday night rather than listening to our friends do magical things with their guitars, drums and voices in a dark and smoky room... because we were once blessed with such an unexpected, life-changing, awe-inspiring gift. Fertility.




*Name changed to protect the privacy of the person in question