Adoration

Since my brain is mush tonight, someone else's words to take in, to ponder:

"A person will worship something, have no doubt about that. We may think our tribute is paid in secret in the dark recesses of our hearts, but it will out. That which dominates our imaginations and our thoughts will determine our lives, and our character. Therefore, it behooves us to be careful what we worship, for what we are worshipping we are becoming."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Adore what you will, but know that you will become like that thing or person. For some, this is quite frightening. For me, this gives peace and hope.

Overwhelmed

I am overwhelmed right now. I am in charge of our church's Harvest Fair. Preparations began in June and I will not emerge from underneath the pile until sometime late Wednesday night. I have many, many people helping me, encouraging me, working for me, yet I am still overwhelmed.

My overwhelmed is one of worry, not knowing if what we planned will really happen as we hope, trying not to think about bad weather or wind, the pressure of being the decision-maker.

Overwhelmed. Waves crashing over my head. Unprotected. Being buried under heavy loads.

Being overwhelmed is a strange thing...sometimes it makes a person freeze where they stand, or it can make somebody work even harder. Overwhelming circumstances even have the power to inspire. Right now, its just making me more tired than I already am.

A couple weeks ago, I took Hope to Disneyland where we proceeded to wait in a forty-five minute line to see the Princesses. We had never done this before and I gave her many chances to get out of line to do something else. No, Mama. I want to see them. Neither I nor Hope knew what REALLY lay behind the faux-royal-wall of mystery. All we knew was that there were more than one Princess, but we didn't know which ones.

A long, hot line...a lot of wiggling and a little whining. Finally, we were ushered to the other side of the wall and there they were. First, Belle with her enormous yellow dress was waiting (it seemed to this little girl) ONLY for Hope. She beamed at Hope and spent several minutes talking to JUST HER. She asked her questions, they giggled together and Hope was overwhelmed. Good, overwhelmed. It was too much, because then there was Cinderella in the same manner (just her, waiting for Hope by herself), and Snow White and Pocahontas (a princess? I know.).

These pretend Princesses sitting on artificial thrones on a fake dais, each one waited and spoke only to Hope, making her feel special and unique. This overwhelmed her. I saw it on her face and she was a little shy and hesitant, but also accepted the attention and giggled back.

This overwhelmed, this good-inspiring-awesome overwhelmed, this look of amazement on my little girl's face, this is all I need to remember when I feel like the waves are crashing on top of me. I know that its okay to be underneath the pile, because this what I am doing is all for them.

If this Harvest Fair was only for my two little girls, it would be worth all of the work.

Imperfection

On this cool afternoon armed with a camera, I once again was set on trying to find the perfect family photo. Even with my parents in tow to assist, of course it didn't happen. This is our last trip to the pumpkin farm, picking vegetables, watching the PUMPKIN LAUNCHER pitch squash like a cannon hundreds of feet into the air. Pumpkins exploding, children squealing and my husband's face open with awe was enough for me. I don't need a photo to be happy about today.

The warm midday air has begun to withdraw from the closeness of the small valley and a cooler ocean breeze is taking its place. The kids are free because they've finally been allowed outside after a week of indoor play hiding from the smoky air.

The farm is wide and open so the busyiness of all of the other families doesn't bother me. Naomi runs what seems like miles through the field and Hope is enthralled with the launching pad. Nobody sticks around any one place long enough to get a happy picture in; a mother's afternoon dream unfulfilled, but a child's dream found.

Happy because they are, I don't really care that my "perfect" photo isn't captured. My family surely isn't perfect, so now I am convinced (finally) that my "perfect" photo might not even exist either.

Kissing Pumpkins

There is nothing more precious than a sunglass wearing toddler kissing a pumpkin. This is what she did on Friday afternoon as we left for our flu shot appointment.

After our shots, her pain and agony, her anger at the nurse, all of these are quickly forgotten. In a toddler's world, this might be forgotten forever. She will never be able to recall this afternoon, the shot in her leg. Her friendliness and affection for everything and everyone returns almost immediately. She sings all the way home, about the moon and about the pumpkins (monkas) she sees. When we do get home, she kisses the pumpkins on our step again.

Is it possible that we are born with this ease of forgiveness? A natural ability to forget the things that have hurt us?

Hope, however, both dreaded the appointment all day and quietly whines about the "painfulness" of it all on our way home, asking Naomi to be quiet because she is trying to rest.

Hope could not forget.

We all start out with the forgiveness factor built-in somehow. Babies forgive mothers for changing their diapers in public (no embarassment yet) and they forgive sisters for taking their toys (no vengence yet). As they grow, somehow a memory also grows. They, we, can't forget wrongs done us.

This forgiveness, what we are supposed to have cultivated by adulthood, this is a learned trait and a learned response. It is not natural, in fact, it goes against our human nature.

Even as the weekend has gone on and now it is Sunday, Hope still proudly "wears" her badge of getting shot for all to see; she tell everyone the she had to get a shot. She still complains that her arm aches a bit.

So I wonder how often I try to remember the pain, refusing to forget, relish in the grief caused me by someone because somehow that makes me feel better. It makes me feel safer to live inside hurt in a strange, twisted way.

Naomi, of course, will grow and forget to kiss her pumpkins. She will begin the process of holding on to hurt like we all do. And I am optimistic that Hope will also grow, and begin her process of letting go of hurt, attempting to forget like we adults strive to do.

Saturday Hot Lunch

There is nothing better than a Saturday lunch of leftovers, spaghetti, soup or whatever you can wear as a hat.

Let them get messy sometimes and you let go of the stress of a marinara-stained floor.

Let them wear their lunch on their head because the bathtub is close by (and whoever saw a better hat than a spaghetti bowl, anyway?).

Let them get dirty hands and noodles in their hair because when they are our age, its way too late!

Don't make them grow up before they are ready. They will most likely live for another hundred years.

Blue eyes and tomato-y lips make a beautiful combination, in my opinion.

It was worth it just to hear her sister laughing!

Waiting

I wait. Always.

I wait in lines, for my husband, for bedtime. I wait for milestones to pass and I wait for difficult times to be done. Sometimes, I think...

"If I can just get past....then I will be fine."

This is such a lie.

In November, our family is travelling to England to visit Chad's sister and family. LAX to London is about 11 hours with no stop, no break, no wiggle room, no playground or bed on which to stretch one's legs. There will be no place to change a dirty diaper except on my lap or on a narrow plane seat. I know I am over-worrying things, but right now, I am ONLY thinking about the departing plane ride. I am waiting for this to be over.

So then, this morning, this is what I think. How far into our 9 day trip will I begin to think about the return flight, and start to wait for that to be over? Ohhh, no. I could wait and worry for the rest of my life and never be done.

This is the lie: there will always be something to "get past", and once I "get past" it, I really won't be "fine" because there will be something else...

Solution? Don't worry, Sarah. The 11 hour trip will be just fine. Yes, there might be crying and snot, and there will certainly be poop. There will be sleepy heads and cranky words from every mouth and upset tummies and "when will we be there?". There will be wide awake eyes in the middle of the night because of the eight hour time difference and there will be emotional outbursts for sure.

I must live in today and cherish tomorrow, not worrying about it getting over. I must relax in the now and look forward to the adventure of taking my almost-six-year old on the adventure of her life!

So today, I am waiting. But I am waiting for the good, the lovely, the beauty of a country-undiscovered and relationships renewed. I am waiting to hold my baby nephew for the first time and see his new smiles. I am waiting to relax in the comfort of my sister-in-law's kitchen over coffee and letting the cousins play on Thanksgiving. I am waiting and I am happy to wait for all of this.

Brown Moon

Last night it was a brown moon and this morning, a red sun.

A brown moon. Not a wide, welcoming harvest moon of yellow and gold. But a pinched, dirty and smallish moon that seemed too far away.

A red sun this morning. Not a sun that casts pink glows on the hills at sunrise or at setting, but a red, apocalyptic sun that hurts the eyes.

This heavy smoke cloud that rests over the city filters all of our light. Strange oranges and dingy greys are the palette today and the sky rains ash. It gets in every thing (including my lungs) and then swirls along the pavement in mini dust storms at ankle level. It really is an odd landscape. Worse than the worst smog, the smoke makes any outdoor exertion impossible.

It all saddens me, then makes me wonder at human frailty. We are so fragile and delicate and dependent on clean air and cool weather. Heat and smoke weakens the body and depresses the spirit. Our lives are brittle, short and therefore, precious. We are so easily broken.

But, the smoke will pass. The cloud will be swept ocean ward, and will dissipate. We will all breathe deeply again and I can resume my running outside. The fires will be put out for the last time this season (THIS season), most people will return home and some will rebuild. Cool and damp autumn air will replace this hot dryness and we'll shiver when we let the door open (rather than cough). Those who lost everything will find it in their soul to move forward. It will be November soon.

And there is always hope.

Reminder

I'm tall, Mama. I can hold your hand when you walk, but you have to walk slowly so my little legs can keep up. Pay attention to my soft hand, not what you need to do.

I can talk, Mama. I try to say new words every day so listen well. Learn my new beautiful language so we can whisper secrets to each other.

I am learning, Mama. Try not to yell or speak harshly, but teach me and show me what is right. Help me understand how to live in this giant world.

I need you, Mama. Sit with me and watch a movie. Play dress-up with me or build a house with my blocks. Show me how to share.

I love to play, Mama. My favorite things to do are running and climbing. I want to be strong like my sister, so take me to the park and let me fly!

I'm a big girl, Mama. I want to be just like Hopey and I love to follow her. But I know that I am still tiny and small and I need you to give me limits.

I love you, Mama. I am learning every day what it means to have a little heart full of a big love. I have learned to hug and kiss because I watch you every day. With my little eyes and open mind, I watch everything you do.

Between Doing and Being

The gap between doing and becoming is vast. For me, it is difficult to make the leap between being a participant and taking on an identity.

Running. I have run for exercise and pleasure for about 7 years. I run. I've ran races and I've had running partners, running friends. I've spent over two hours on a treadmill before. I run. But when someone asks me if I am a RUNNER, I really find it hard to say yes. Saying, "I am a runner" denotes an added responsibility, a commitment to being something. It means that running is no longer an activity for me, but a part of who I am. It says I am experienced. It is taking the bounding jump between the doing and the being.

Writing. Someone asked me on Friday if I was a writer...I stammered, stuttered. "Well, yes, kindof, I blog, I write, maybe..., if blogging is writing, then yes, sortof". The bounding jump between the doing and the being. I hadn't made a decision yet about my level of commitment or of how much I am dedicated to identifying with writing. How much of this is a part of my identity? Is this part of who I am.

Incidentally, while I was running on Saturday, I reached the top of the hill. I slowed down for a couple minutes to touch the pole before I turned around to go home. I think I decided to become, rather than just do. I made a conscious choice to become a writer than to merely write. I guess it is part of growing up, to take the bounding leap to the other side, to the side of responsibility.

I am a runner, a writer, a wife and mother. I am a lover of God. These are the things that I claim. These are the things I am. Other things, I do. This is what I am becoming.

Crazy-making News

Oh, where do I begin?

All of the fires in our area seem to affect everything and everyone. Even though my house is in no danger, my chest hurts from the constant breathing of smoky air, and my heart is hurts because I know people who will probably be losing their home.

People on the news have already begun to blame the federal government for lack of immediate help. They, I think, turn their fear and grief into anger at something or someone...many people need to direct their anger at another person. Nothing good will come from that.

We have federal air tankers waiting for the wind to die down so they can drop water and flame retardant on the flare-ups and on homes that are close.

But, you see, the news makes a person crazy. It really does. I had to turn it off last night because I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to know how our area is being affected, but then again, watching just made me more scared. All morning, I listened to the radio news in the car, and that made me crazy and fearful too. I am hearing angry residents of Silverado Canyon one minute who actually are saying they want to shoot the Fire Chief because they think he hasn't done anything. Then, the next minute, here comes the Fire Chief so frustrated because he doesn't have enough air resources to actually fight the fire (they are just trying to save everyone's lives right now).

They say we are still in the first stages of this. You see, its making me crazy. And this is only one of about 16 or so fires in this part of the state. 750,000 people are under forced evacuation in San Diego County. Whole cities have been deserted and nothing is under control. Hundreds of homes, now, have been burnt. A few people have already died and there are dozens who have been injured. Just in our little fire in Orange County, almost 16,000 acres have burned.

Nothing is under control and the news is making me crazy. I have to stop watching and pray more. I know that Someone is in control and He isn't crazy. In fact, he is All-Wise, and All-Powerful, and All-Mighty.

The winds, they say, will continue through the night. I know Someone who speaks to the winds, however, and they obey.

For those of you in Southern California, these websites are very helpful:

Orange County Fire Authority

Fire Season 2007

Cnet News Image

Fire, Monday Afternoon

The wind is so strong and the air is so bad...no one can really breathe outside. The sun is hidden behind huge brownish grey clouds of smoke, dust and haze. Everything looks dingy and washed out. The local news now says about 16 different fires in Southern California, from far north of Los Angeles in the the canyons, way down to Northern San Diego in Rancho Santa Fe. San Diego County has evacuated 250,000 people. Wow.

Right now I feel fortunate. I am home, in air conditioning. I have power. (My market was closed because they lost power). My family is safe and there are no immediate fires right here. The closest one from last night is still "close" but about 8 miles away. I am fortunate.

Who knows what will happen before the winds cease? Fires can change direction, jump freeways, burn up homes and businesses. Nothing truly is certain.

I would even be fortunate if I lost everything. I know this. Because I have my family. Even though everything is grey and ashy outside, and there still is a little remaining fear stemming from claustrophobia (looking on a map, our counties seem surrounded by fires and road closures - many major highways are shut down to accommodate fire personnel), even with all of this. We are fortunate, no, truly blessed.

Keep praying for the people who won't sleep at home tonight.

Fire, Monday Morning

Thank you for all of your kind prayers.

All night the winds up here have been consistent at 30 mph with gusts of twice that. The trees have been hitting the house all night and Hope has been scared that they were going to fall over. I wouldn't be as worried about the fire if the wind wasn't so strong.

The fire seemed to burn toward us and then held at the top of a ridge (we watched this from our bedroom on the second floor) and then is moving south. Our church and many of our friends are actually much closer than we are to this so we are praying for them.

We can still see the peach glow, even as the sun has come up. We are praying for the people now who are in immanent danger. We are far out of the fire's path, although the black smoke makes the sky dark this morning. And everything looks orange when sun is filtered through firesmoke and ash.

Last night I had a nightmare that the fire had jumped because of the wind and was now coming down the hill right behind our house. It looked like lava and I was running in and out of our house trying to find what to take. It was so real that when I got up this morning, I had to look at my nightmare hill to make sure it was dark and not fiery red.

We are praying for firefighters' safety and for rain.

The Fire Authority says that it has burned 8000 acres, it is only 30% contained and they have no control. There are 500+ firefighters working on this fire alone.

Fire...

Pray for us, this is quite close.

The Biggest Pumpkin I Can Carry

At the Kindergarten farm trip on Friday morning, the rule for the children was this: you can pick ANY pumpkin to take home with you as long as YOU can carry it without help to the car. No parents. No chaperone help. All the 5 and 6 year olds, with small (smart and timid) or large (wishful and expectant) pumpkins in hand, walking, some (mine) in tears because it was becoming too heavy.

I walked next to her, disallowing her to pass it off on me. I helped her stop, readjust her grip, reminding her that the rules needed to be followed this time. If she couldn't carry it, we would have to return and choose a smaller pumpkin. She was determined to get all the way to the car, a good five-minute-walk. Five minutes of hell for little hands and arms. I had no problem enforcing this rule, knowing that this was something she should learn.

She needed me to help her win this battle, show her that it was within her physical power to carry this large thing. I only once suggested she choose a smaller one, because I knew it was well within her personality to find the biggest one she could get away with. And she did it, only half-way suprising me.

She carried it all the dusty way back, tears running down her face. I have come to expect her dramatic tears in situations like this, but its okay. I knew she could do it.

Nothing is gained, in truth, without a little sweat and a few tears. A lesson for her, and for me making me question myself: Do I find the biggest pumpkins I can carry? Or do I try and timidly get away with the smaller ones, doubting my abilities all the while wishing I could take home the giant one. Maybe, like Hope, I simply need someone to encourage me, tell me I worthy and able, help me stop, readjust and walk my dusty journey with me. Thank you to all who have uplifted me.

Safe Spot

She opens her eyes before dawn. Something in her young mind spurs her to pull up her quilt and make her bed in the dark. She feels for her doll and walks down the hall to her parents room. Sleepy, eye-rubbing, quietly.

Her quest is only to fall back asleep.

And she finds her safe spot, between her parents' shoulders. She climbs in, under the covers, snuggles deeply and begins to breathe. Regularly, the breath of slumber, again. She finishes the dream she began in her own bed.

She needs her daddy and her mama and she isn't ashamed. She needs the safety and the familiarity of her parents after a long childhood night of being independent.

Her mother won't make her go back to bed, because even though she is forced to the edge by long legs and bony elbows, she cherishes the sweet, even breathing of her daughter's sleeping. She knows this stage won't last forever.

Five Years Innocent

Really, how long can this possibly last?

How long will she, in her 5 years-innocent, be able to stomach the wonders of Its a Small World? She still wants to ride, and she still laughs at the obviously artificial birds and monkeys and dancing dolls. I smile too, but in her direction.

Really, how much longer will she beg me, no plead with me to stand in line for almost an hour to have about 3 and 1/2 minutes with the Princesses? How long until shyness is replaced with nostalgia or even disdain for something so silly?

When will she lose interest in the newness of it all and become bored, satiated, filled-up? When will picking her own radishes on the farm trip feel old and childish to her?

To be quite honest, I really don't know. She is my oldest, my first baby, my experiment in child-raising. I know her like I know my own room, yet there is always the "other" in her, the part of her I DIDN'T create. This is the part that I will spend my life trying to understand.

I don't know when this all will happen, when her "innocence" will be exchanged for something else.

My prayer tonight is that through all of this growing up, we'll always have afternoons of laughing; that I will welcome her stage-changes as regular parts of living and look forward to the next phase; that I will have the wisdom to give as it is needed; and that she will seek it.

I hope that even if Small World fades from desire, it will never from her memory; that her growth upward will be accompanied by nostalgia, and not scorn. And I hope that the part of her that is JUST HER, will always be at the forefront of my heart, to seek to know and understand.

A Complete Life

This would be a great picture of us. It would be if Naomi were in it.

It would look great on a Christmas card (because I usually have mine ordered by Halloween). Our Christmas photos usually have the pumpkin patch in the landscape, but I don't think its going to happen this year. We are missing somebody. Here is the real picture.

Of course our family isn't complete without the baby and I can't even dream what life would be like for me without her (or of sending out a photo with her missing). She is part of the US that is our family. She is part of me and of her sister and her father. Hope wouldn't be the same. In fact, Hope can't remember anything before Naomi was a part of our family. Hope was already 4 when she was born. I think she has inserted Naomi into her pre-sister memories. Life with the baby is just how it has always been.

And I can't remember life before her, really. I can't remember life before Hope, for that matter; I didn't know what I was missing. I mean, I do. But maybe having them completed something in me that was unfinished, and the whole time I had no idea. I was wholly unaware that the job of mothering would be so fulfulling and heart-completing. Life before these princesses, for me, was just empty.

So goes the never-ending quest for a COMPLETE family photo with smiles all around. What do you all do with 4 or 5 or 6 of them? I guess we will just have to wait until our Thanksgiving trip to try to get a family photo in a once-in-a-lifetime place. Hopefully, then, we will all be able to smile for the compact at the exact same time in history.

Translation

"Icy Monka".

Translated, it is Naomi's first three word sentence. It is. Don't believe me? Any ideas? It would help if you know what "monka" is. This is how Naomi's 20 month old brain has decided to say PUMPKIN...Monka. I can hear it. Say it out loud, monka...pumpkin. It sounds similar.

"Icy" of course is "I see" but it comes out as in one mush without the correct intonation, so it sounds more like "icy". So you can understand what my car life is like lately as I drive down any road, residential or commercial.

ICY MONKA (the pumpkins on the steps of the neighbor's house). BYE-BYE MONKA (with some tears). ICY MONKA!! Again, we pass by the local costume extravaganza with the giant inflated jack-o-lantern. BYE-BYE MONKAAAA!! More tears. She doesn't understand that she will see fifteen more monkas before we get home.

And so it goes with toddler-speak. Tiny talk, as some friends call it. Words that only mothers know, and fathers catch on to and laugh with the rest of us. Sisters know these words too, because they are whispered in carefully built, dimly-lit bedroom tents, or under covers when everyone is pretending to sleep. Mothers and fathers are not privy to this special sibling-speak.

These words, that are unitelligible to the rest of the world, even other mothers, are what our hearts speak to each other. When I hold my baby, almost too big to be called baby, and nuzzle her soft cheek that smells like blueberry yogurt, and she says these toddler words to me, my heart gets bigger, and my world becomes more defined. Things are sharper in focus and I see more. I understand her words because I am her mother and I care. I know that I may be the only other human who understands her. So I pay close attention. It goes this way with love.

I am not trying to get her to say "pumpkin". Her monkas are perfect and her translation of this world is exactly how it should be. As we drive, I laugh and ask her if she sees any monkas...she says, ICY MONKA MAMA!!!! I know that her monkas will probably be pumpkins next year. I am in no hurry.

I Chose Meadow

So, 43% of you said if you could take a vacation, just for the afternoon, you'd rather sleep on a beach than hike in the mountains, or picnic in a meadow. I think its a matter of taste, need and desire. To me, sleeping on a beach right now just sounds sandy. Maybe I am still coming off of the highs of summer or maybe I long for the open spaces of the country. Or maybe I am just being nostalgic. I chose meadow.

When I was a little girl, we used to vacation in Yosemite every summer. We'd camp. We'd camp in canvas tents. We'd trek to the bathrooms, and the showers, and everywhere else. We'd ask my dad, "DO WE HAVE TO WALK". Of course, that's what you do when you camp. That's the point.

If you've never been, the Yosemite valley is a narrow gorge surrounded by granite cliffs of breathtaking stone "monuments", domes and half-domes, waterfalls, all carved by glaciers long ago. The valley is a pine forest dotted with sweeping meadows, green in the summer and icy in the winter. The Merced River rushes through the valley in the spring, meanders in the summer and almost trickles in the autumn and winter. As soon as the snow melts, there it is again, in glory and the waterfalls are full and wide, toppling over the cliff walls down into the valley.

It is a must-see. In fact, it is a must-KNOW.

And it seems like I know it like I know my own home. I've been there so many times I cannot count. I know it's trails and it's dangers, it's beauties. It is familiar to me and comfortable. I've been there in every season.

The Valley is only a tiny part of Yosemite. In the high country, (most of which is only accessible on foot), is Tuolumne Meadows at about 9000 feet. You can drive there, but beyond that, its all about the backpack. The meadows are green, and cold even in the summer. There is a beautiful stream that runs through it's grasses. All around, like an audience, are the Sierras, high and grey and strong. And its quiet. Even voices are almost swallowed up by the grandness of it all.

I chose meadow. This is what I thought of when I made that selection. This is where I would take my afternoon.

Becoming a Grown-Up

"When I grow up, I want to be a scientist, a horse rider and a travel agent." I ask her if she really knows what a travel agent does. She replies that they travel, of course. I guess I probably shouldn't burst her bubble that they really mostly sell travel packages to other people who travel. These are a five-year-old's dreams today. And they will change endless times between here and then.

I was talking to a friend awhile back and she commented that sometimes you just have to be okay not to realize your dreams, that some things will never happen and there are many things you cannot change. This is true for many dreams, the ones that can't be changed: things from the past or things far beyond your control.

But, then again, there are some things you can.

When I was a small girl, honestly, I can't remember what I wanted to be when I grew up. I think it was a mix of dolphin trainer, zookeeper, and the girls that rode Shamu at Sea World.

When I was in high school and I began to read good things, I wanted to be a writer. I didn't realize that a person must live a little life in order to be a significant one and to really write.

At my University, I should have taken the jump off the edge of practicality, safety and sureness and plunged into things that I was good at. What is the thing that sits in my soul and breathes? What fills me and exists within quietness? I should have studied writing, but I was too scared.

I made some sort of internal compromise and taught school. I loved it but it wasn't my dream.

Is it too late to realize a dream? Is a person too old to begin something? I have been in writing-silence for ten years. Maybe its time to jump off the edge.

Fake Smile

Naomi has begun her fake smile early. I think its usually around age 3 or 4 that kids get their "fake" smile, when their grins for photos are some sort of pained attempt at making their own smile look better than it does naturally. In the case of my toddler, I just think she's trying to please me. She is trying to make me happy when I say SMILE, or SAY CHEESE! Its super cute and it comes out all wrinkly and scrunched up. Every kid gets one of these at some point, I think. It looks nothing like her true smile.

So I think, when do we really begin to fake smile at other people? Really. Is it in toddlerhood? Or do we develop it over time, building our neat little walls around our hearts and using our fake smiles as tools for this.

As adults, its different. Our adult fake smile is usually imperceptibly the same as our true smile. I use it all the time: on the phone when I am trying to sound happy (you know, they tell you to smile when you talk on the phone - you sound happier), when I am rushed and I don't have time to talk, to the girl at the market, even to my friends when I am tired (but then everyone is tired, aren't they?). Only those closest to me know the difference between my fake and real smile.

I want to use my fake smile less. I don't mean I want to walk around with a frown, but I do want more joy (so that my fake smile becomes my real smile). I also want to make other people smile for real. It would be a fun day if we went around trying to make others laugh, truly deep-heart laugh so that their real smiles would replace anything artificial.

So, less pretense and more authenticity.

Unless you are only 20 months old, then you can fake smile all you want, because Naomi's fake smile makes me smile, honestly and genuinely.

Thankfully

Traditionally (if there really is "tradition" in blogging) bloggers create a list of 100 things for their one hundredth post. This is mine.


These are things and people for which I am thankful, in no particular order. One hundred, only, might not seem like enough. This is a list I could add to for the rest of my life:



1. My husband, whom I don't deserve.
2. My firstborn, Hope, who reminds me to laugh.
3. My baby, Naomi, who makes me see life anew.
4. My sister, Charity, who is now in her thirties.
5. My church, which is as close to a family without real blood ties.
6. Rosie, the cat, who anoints everything she is near with her soft, grey fur.
7. Justin, the horse, who treats my daughter kindly when she rides.
8. My father, without whose wisdom I would not have made it this far.
9. My mother, who has taught me to mother my own girls.
10. Davese, who knows all my dirt.
11. Laurie, whose courage I envy.
12. Stacia, who reminds me to breathe.
13. Vanessa, who I miss just about every day.
14. My bedroom at dusk.
15. My new set of knives.
16. My passport photo =).
17. Lisa, who has inspired me countless times.
18. Chrissie, who is becoming a mother.
19. Kathleen, who is direct and true.
20. Tiffany, who is strong and faithful.
21. Running, because it focuses me.
22. Baking, because it forces creativity.
23. Writing, because it is who I am.
24. The scent of the sage in the hills.
25. The scent of homemade chili in my slow-cooker.
26. The scent of my husband's clean skin after his shave.
27. Grace, because I need it.
28. Faith, because it is difficult.
29. My home, because it is a little cluttered, but always warm.
30. Golden Spoon
31. Irvine Park
32. Disneyland
33. Tamara, who loves my children deeply and without whom my family would not be complete.
34. My grandmother, who is fearless.
35. Hawaiian breezes.
36. Parisian coffee.
37. My mother-in-law, who amazes me with her humor and warmth.
38. My father-in-law, whose follow-through is unrivaled.
39. Hope's love for reading and books.
40. Chad's love for song and worship.
41. Naomi's love for, well, ummm, stickers and toothbrushes.
42. Chocolate-chip scones.
43. Peanut butter.
44. Honey-wheat pretzels from Trader Joes.
45. Dora the Explorer, because she has bought me a lot of time over the past 5 years.
46. Sesame Street, because I watched it too when I was a little girl.
47. Harvest moons.
48. Ocean air.
49. Eucalyptus trees.
50. Washington, D.C.
51. Carmel-by-the-Sea
52. Palm Springs
53. San Francisco
54. Dan and Heather, who make us laugh.
55. Norm and Rhonda, who are the oldest of friends.
56. Dan and Janna, who make us remember we are all in this life together.
57. Chuck and Jani, who make us think.
58. A slow jog in the rain by myself.
59. A meandering walk in the evening with my husband.
60. A push on the swings with my baby.
61. A run through the park with my oldest.
62. Misty afternoons in the fall.
63. Wintry mornings at beach in December.
64. Breezy evenings in the spring.
65. Summer days, long and wonderful.
66. Yosemite Falls with full glacier-melt beauty.
67. Snow on the lip of Half Dome
68. Deer in the meadow at sunrise.
69. A lengthy hike in the Mariposa Grove.
70. A late evening dinner at the Ahwahnee.
71. The gardens at Chenonceau.
72. The Tea Room at the Empress.
73. My family in Indiana, whom I don't see as often as I would like.
74. My family in Florida, of whom I have amazing memories.
75. Written words, because they are helpful.
76. Spoken words, because they are my soul's water.
77. Music, because my life is lived to a soundtrack.
78. Museums, because they are quiet.
79. Arguments, because I can learn from them.
80. Lawsuits, because we have learned how to be wiser in business.
81. new thoughts that I am having.
82. new words that my pen is writing.
83. new happinesses I am discovering.
84. new friends I am making.
85. new reasons to smile.
86. every breath I have taken.
87. every road I have walked.
88. every mistake I have made from which I have learned.
89. the women who are teaching me what real girl-friendship is.
90. being able to cry in front of them.
91. My years in AWANA, because I really know a lot of Bible verses.
92. Mrs. Ottoson, because she is learning who Hope is and giving her loving boundaries.
93. The years I taught school, because I learned a lot about people.
94. My education, because I really did have good teachers.
95. My Father, who knows all my needs.
96. His Son, who has lived this same life that we walk.
97. The Spirit, who speaks to my heart.
98. My Bible, because it is broken in and Genesis is falling out.
99. My blog, because it is my therapy (and a whole lot less expensive).
100. today

Unencumbered

"Nothing you do for children is ever wasted. They seem not to notice us, hovering, averting our eyes, and they seldom offer thanks, but what we do for them is never wasted."

Garrison Keillor

Someone elses words today. My own will be brief as I am posting my one hundredth tomorrow. (The first milestone in the life of a rookie blogger).

I really don't like to waste anything (I call my husband Mr. Wasty Wasterson because he has tendencies to leave half-drunk glasses of juice or soda around and take more food than he is hungry for - he doesn't mean to, I know). I tell my children not to waste their food or their construction paper. Save the scraps.

And I agree with this, that the things I do for my family are not wasted. Cleaning the kids' bathroom, taking Naomi to her play and music class, sitting down for 20 minutes to read a story when I am in the middle of something, being consistent with discipline even when I am rushed or not in the mood - these things are insignificant, but never wasted.

Things can feel wasted sometimes. There are few thank-yous, and I know that my husband will never actually see all the zillion tasks I accomplish in any day. My kids are far too young to realize the sacrifices that go into mothering.

My prayer today is that I waste not words, or actions but that each thing I do, I do with intention and thought. I also pray that I will not become encumbered by expecting gratitude.

The Highlight Reel

What does it say about me that I still smell like a mix between tempera paint and sweat? It means that I am living in my normal life; that I still haven't had the time to take a shower after helping with Kindergarten easel painting (thank you for the new orange swish on my running jacket) and working out this morning. I exist inside this unglamorous, sometimes unbeautiful, perfect life.

Sometimes when I think about my normal life, about my daughters, about my marriage, I think I will remember this time of my life not as distinct memories, but as a conglomeration of feelings, a mixture of thoughts and scenes - all of the tastes and scents mingling together, running into one another. Memories, dreams, songs, all of it blending to create this amazing, beautiful family of mine.

I think about today and how normal it was. I won't remember the silly things Hope's friends said to me or why I laughed so hard. I won't remember the little girl she met at the nail salon or the name of her mother. I won't remember rushing to the bathroom in Smart And Final because my Kindergartener almost had an accident. I surely won't recall the wide-frozen-yogurt-drip down Hope's chin as she exclaimed that she ate the whole thing! I might not even remember these things next week.

Sometimes, when the air is right, and the smile is there, and the giggles are flowing, I stare into one of their faces and try to freeze the image in my mind. I am afraid that my memories will be reduced to stilled photographs, and snippets of video, a highlight-reel, so to speak. While I might forget the day to day living of my here and now, I won't forget how my heart surges when they clutch me tightly for fear, or love or joy.

And judging from the past, it is probably true that I will forget a lot. But I will hold these babies in my heart and in my soul for as long as they will allow me. I do know that these days, these normal days, are good. Actually, I think they are great!

Thirty

My sister turns thirty today. October 11, 1977. Happy birthday, Charity.

She and I were put in the same little family for good reasons. She has taught me to laugh more than I'm prone to. She's provoked me to ask good questions and think about hard ideas. She has helped me understand that people are the most important things in this big (and sometimes small) life.

She is auntie to my babies and mommy to her dog. Charity teaches children every day who need special attention and have more needs than other students. She has compassion for them. And funny stories too.

Just ask her. She is witty and interesting and a person is lucky to have a conversation with her. She is an artist and dreamer and could probably give lessons to the rest of us in those areas. She makes most people laugh or smile. Those she loves, she loves with fervor and earnestness and holds many things dear. She is simply beautiful!

I love you, dear sister. Happy thirty!

I am Mama

Mama.

Its whispered, its yelled. Sometimes it is said in exasperation. But it is still me. Muttered or sang by two little girls at various times every day. I am mama.


When I was pregnant with Hope six years ago, I was relaying a minor complaint about pregnancy to another young mother and she brushed it off by saying, "People have babies every day, you are no different." True. But I was still uncomfortable and my bulging belly didn't do much for my self-esteem. And this was my BABY. My baby.

She devalued my upcoming motherhood and did it by lumping me in with the teeming thousands of women who do give birth each day in the world.

I also run into mothers who smirk and say, "Ohhhh, you'll understand when you have teenagers. You think life is hard now??? You just wait, then you will REALLY know." Maybe. Maybe my youthful family is nothing like a family with a group of teenagers, and I am naive in my day to day tasks. But this devalues my current mothering of my little ones. Maybe they have forgotten what its like to change a diaper that has exploded out of every possible seam, or screams from the backyard when someone spots a minuscule spider. Maybe they've forgotten chubby hands rubbing their cheek and wet kisses.

I also wonder what moms think when they treat me like I am less because I only have two children. Like I am not a real mother unless I at least have three or more and that I can never be a veteran if I somehow find a way to maintain my sanity. I am made to feel like it is a selfish act to stop having babies after two. I heard someone say once to someone else, "Oh, now you're a real mom" (this after she had had her third). This devalues what I do every day, the love and effort I expend each morning and afternoon; the exhaustion I feel each night when I tumble into bed.

I know exhaustion. I know stubbornness. I know the feeling of each minute and hour of the day being accounted for; taxiing children from one place to the other and spending all day in the car.

I know I am just on the cusp of mothering, that I have a long road ahead, but I am still Mama to two little, beautiful girls. I know that, even unspoken and probably unnoticed, they see value in what I do.

Running YOUR Marathon

I am looking over there on my sidebar and I am watching the poll:

If I could I would...

• climb a mountain
• pilot a plane
• bungee jump
• ride a wild horse
• run a marathon

If you view the results, just under half of the respondents chose the marathon. Of course this is totally confidential and untraceable and I could never hold anyone to account for this....

So, what stops us? Of the five, running a marathon might be the most accessible for the common person...really. Think about it. And perhaps the cheapest (big races like that usually cost somewhere between $35 and $75 to register).

So really, what stops us? I am not about to get on my running-soapbox because I understand not all of us can run, like to run, live in a place where we can run, or are physically unable somehow. I do have to say that I have been, well, "athletically challenged" all my life for various reasons, and honestly, running is about the only thing I can do (I like to swim too but I'm not very good). But, let's use this as a metaphor for those things that we deem unreachable, unattainable, too difficult, or too painful.

MARATHON...26.2 miles. I've only done one. I am not what I would consider a "marathoner" but I think that I can put myself in the train-myself-from-the-ground-up category. It is my firm belief that if a person can run between 3 and 6 miles, that same person can train for and complete a marathon. My time was not horribly embarrassing, but not great either: 4:37. Four hours and thirty-seven minutes of running, jogging, crying, spacing-out, yelling at my husband. Its hard, and there are parts of it that really aren't fun.

I won't lie and say that it doesn't take a lot of TIME to train and DISCIPLINE (pretty much the old "I don't want to do it but I know I need to") to increase your running-shape from a 3 miler to a 20 miler.

But watching that poll climb this past week has made me think about all of you, and me, for that matter: What are we NOT trying that we COULD DO but just haven't taken the plunge, because of fear. It really does just boil down to fear. Really, I am not advocating all of you to go out and train for a marathon (some bad stuff happened in Chicago on Sunday, I hear). But, truthfully, fear keeps us locked down, stuck in one place, never trying, never venturing, always doing the same thing all the time. Fear that I will be in pain if I try to run a marathon, fear that I can't finish and I will be embarrassed, fear that I will look silly if I tell others I am going to do this, fear that I can't mentally stand up under that pressure.

If you make the choice NOT to run your "marathon" (or whatever it is), don't let it be because of fear.

Long Shadows

At dawn, when the sky is clear and the air is dry and warm; when the eastern sides of the hills are glowing peach, and the sun is still quite low, shadows are long and distinct. My own shadow is exaggerated behind me, stretching way farther than I am tall. If I were to lay down in the outline of my own morning shadow, it would double or triple my own height.

Sunrise is like the setting sun, however the light's flush on the world is a bit clearer and inviting. On the opposite side of the world, the glow signifies the beginning of the day, rather than the ending. I still cast a long shadow in the cloudless morning.

What I leave in my wake is unique to me. What I leave in my wake as I walk through my own life, raise my children, this is also unique to me. It is the magnified outline, doubled or tripled behind me, of myself, my individual shadow. And it stretches far beyond what I could attempt to create intentionally.

I know that the effects of "me" stretch beyond what I know, much taller than I really am. My words, actions, affect my children and those people I love in both good and bad ways. Today I am thinking about my shadow, exaggerated and long, and I move through this life and run toward the east. This shadow extends behind me and I can't always see what it touches.

Hush

Sweet-heart, I know that inside you feel just fine. You don't "feel" your fever, and you can't see your lethargy. You don't know that you are sick and that what you need most is rest. Your tender 5 year old mind doesn't understand.

Don't be sad. Don't be worried that everyone else is having fun without you. Today will pass just like other days and you will be kicking your soccer ball soon and chasing your friends during recess. You will be laughing, and crying, playing with your sister and then tormenting her.

For now, for this morning, let's just rest. Let me take care of you like I need to. Let me be a mother, a nurturer, a maker of decisions for your well-being. I know that you need to be still this morning.

In a small way, I am grateful that you must be still, because it quiets me as well. It has made me take a retired hour, one that I have needed. Your mild fever will probably be gone tomorrow morning, but it has settled me, and hushed me.