List: Little Loves

In honor of Valentine’s Day, I’m thinking of all the people and things I love as well as those which may never receive valentines, but nevertheless warrant my recognition and affection.

Here’s my Little I Love You list:

1.  Mittens and pacifiers and stuffed animals, etc. dropped out of strollers but picked up by someone and hung in a noticeable spot (fencepost, bench) in hopes that the owner will discover and recover that lost and loved item.
2.  Little kids sporting backpacks of disproportionate size to their growing bodies and featuring numerous dangling thingamajigs from zippers, etc.
3.  Plants that grow in seams and cracks of brick walls, freeways, bridges and other seemingly uninhabitable spots.
4. The transportation workers who are installing spikes on our bay bridge to prevent people from dying by suicide.  I hope they feel as important as they are in saving lives.
5. Yarn bombers and Banksy and Shepard Fairey and other folks who spread messages of goodwill or needed change through visual magestry.
6.  The kid in the class who, in moments of teacher exasperation, makes meaningful eye contact to convey, Yeah, I feel you. And every other form of similar kinship that happens subtly out there when two people share an empathic moment, even strangers in a crowd, traffic, subway car, etc.
7. People who feel little disappointments every day—not being picked for the team, not winning the classroom raffle, not getting the top score ever, not being asked or invited to the group thing, but who pick up and dust off and show up everyday cheerfully nonetheless.
8.  Hummingbirds and butterflies.
9.  Hilarious (and harmless) people on the internet.
10.  Elderly people with walkers or canes who walk their dogs daily, even in the rain.

13 Ways of Looking at 16

In advance of their daughter's sixteenth birthday, friends of ours asked family members and friends to write her letters including memories, advice, and inspiration.  Here's my contribution (and my favorite is #VII):

Dear Tess,

Wallace Stevens wrote his poem, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” and it occurs to me that it’s like a little Instagram account (whereas William Carlos Williams’ poem “Red Wheelbarrow” is like one Insta post, and “This is Just to Say,” also by Williams, is more like an apologetic message on a friend’s FB wall—oh hey, we could compare poems to social media moments! But I digress). So here’s a moment in time, your sixteenth birthday, for which we are creating snapshots, reflections, messages on your “wall,” so to speak. I am offering you “Thirteen Ways of Looking at Sixteen.”

So much love,

Fer

Thirteen Ways of Looking at Sixteen

I
Among the people at dinner that night,
The most memorable ideas, references, and insights
Issued from the sixteen-year-old.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a sixteen-year-old
In which resides child, teen, adult.

III
She, sixteen, danced in the sand, arms thrown wildly to wind and sky.
It was one movement in the choreography of her life.

IV
A man and a woman
had one.
A man and a woman and a sixteen-year-old
Are one.

V
They are all evidence of her,
Words, actions, body
And her slept-in bed, clothing, and acquisitions:
The sixteen-year-old’s being
As well as her props.

VI
Music from the turntable filled the room
With sounds like.
The limbs of the sixteen-year-old
Crossed and curled and extended along the couch.
Her mood
Represented in her postures:
Shifting landscape.

VII
O old folks of society,
Why do you imagine hoodlums?
Do you not see how the sixteen-year-old
Walks the world in feet
That become yours?

VIII
I know great minds
And inventions, accomplishments, triumphs, and talents realized over lifetimes;
But I feel, too,
That sixteen-year-olds influence
What I know and believe and love.

IX
When the sixteen-year-old drove out of sight,
It marked one edge
Of the polygon of independence.

X
At the sight of sixteen-year-olds
Delighting in their own company,
Even the most cynical observers
Gaze with longing and approval.

XI
I dreamed I was late to class
And dashing without progress.
Many times, fear grips my slumber,
When I am convinced
I’ve forgotten my chemistry homework
At sixteen.

XII
Time is flowing.
The sixteen-year-old is thriving.

XIII
She was young and she was old.
She was child and she was adult.
The sixteen-year-old was
Nevertheless always Tess.

List: Tootsie's Gifts

After my sister traveled from the Pacific Northwest to visit me and our baby, I wrote her to say how much I loved all our conversations while she was here.  She wrote back, "Me too.  Grateful for the one-on-one time.  It's rare...a sweet gift from Tootsie."

I had the epiphany then that my sister recognized something important about this six-week experience I've had with my new daughter:  it has strengthened relationships, given me time with people who are very very important to me, given my daughters time with people who are important to us, and facilitated some chance encounters with local friends with whom I wouldn't have otherwise caught up.

A dear friend and colleague wrote me an email suggesting that our journey (as chronicled here) may have influenced others as well.  "Pound for pound," he wrote, "Tootsie is having quite an impact."

We haven't endured a tragedy; I would not characterize our baby as a "miracle" unless we all are miracles in some form; the magic is in the reaching out and creating community, which she has encouraged me to do.

Tootsie has offered other gifts as well:

1.  Boston:  I thought, before we arrived in July, that I was more familiar with Boston.  It turns out that attending the Harvard-Yale game in 1990 (I mostly remember a discotheque called "Spaghetti," the tailgate area at the stadium, and the rocket MIT pranksters launched from a field goal post during the third quarter) and running the marathon in 1996 did not afford me many memories of the city itself.  My recent time here has, though, and I've joked that the little girl who brought us to Boston is still the only family member who hasn't gotten out and about in the city yet.  Massachusetts General Hospital is conveniently located within walking distance of just about everything.  While visitors were here, we used time between every-three-hour feedings to make field trips to the Inner Harbor, North End, Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market, the Esplanade, downtown, Long Wharf, Beacon Hill, and Back Bay.  The other day I even gave directions to a tourist on the street.  I loved the city from the start, with its parks, family-friendliness, safety, incredible infrastructure, history, and warm people.  We will return here someday as a family to visit Tootsie's birthplace and all it has to offer.

2.  Empathy:  When Big Sis had surgery for kidney reflux six years ago, I wrote on this blog that one generally comes away from hospital visits feeling grateful and fortunate. This experience is no different.  Though we endured a scary time early on when Tootsie's meningitis was raging, she began showing remarkable signs of recovery and strength very soon, and continued her upward trajectory fairly consistently.  We are surrounded in the NICU by more sober stories--babies born earlier and with more complications.  I met two mothers during dinner in the lounge last night, both of whom gave birth to babies under one-and-a-half pounds at birth.  Both babies have serious lung complications and tracheotomies.  Both parents have already endured months in the NICU.  Both expressed empathy for me when I explained that we were from California.  There's no competition among difficult experiences, only empathy and understanding.  There's struggle, hardship, endurance, and hope.  We all feel it, and living with Tootsie here on the NICU has deepened my sense of empathy for all of us on our journeys, wherever we are.

3.  Patience:  While I've felt anxiety and stress and the desire to get home, I've practiced patience in new ways during the past six weeks.  My initial hospital bedrest foisted patience upon me:  there was nothing to do but wait and accept my circumstances.  And because I was no longer in control, I was able to do so.  No amount of yearning to be home with my children and husband made me want to accelerate our baby's exit from the NICU against better judgment.  She's been the captain of our ship, and I've been the patient first mate.  I feel a remarkable inner calm and lack of urgency now.  We will get home.  The next chapters of our life will unfold.  I am not pushing.

4.  My Littlest Sister:  After living on the east coast for seven years after college and teaching abroad in Kenya for a year, I made the decision to return to California and my family.  My youngest brother and sister were still in middle and high school--I'd left home when they were eight and five.  I have always been glad I made the choice to come home; I credit that decision for my close relationships with those two siblings (now my brother's wife is even my colleague!).  The plan for this trip was that the girls and I would spend time with my sister and her husband before and after a week in Maine.  Instead, my sister spent nights with me in the hospital and was by my side at Tootsie's birth, and I've shared weeks of meals and conversations with her and her husband.  I'm able to more closely admire the life they've built together, their marriage, and their generosity.  And this week I'm here for my sister as she copes with unexpected bad news.  I wouldn't have been otherwise.

5.  Letting Go of Control:  I'm a planner and organizer (though my home and desk don't suggest so) and like to have a firm sense of what's coming.  2013 has been a year of unexpected events:  pregnancy (though wished for, not counted upon), a new house, and a new job.  I must be honest and admit that I've wondered if I could manage it all.  I planned to open the school year with enthusiasm and a little trepidation.  I hoped I'd resume parenting an infant with relative ease.  But I wasn't sure.  To cope with some anxiety and insecurity, I began carefully planning, mapping out the six weeks I'd be back to work in August and September pre-baby with to-do lists and calendars.  And then Tootsie disrupted my scheme--and my worries about "the other stuff."  I wasn't at work in July and August to hire new staff, to set things up and train folks.  I'm not there now to set tone, model, and represent our high school as its leader.  Because I'm not in control, I can only worry so much.  Instead, I focus on the tasks I can actually accomplish from afar, the ways I can help, the reassurances I can give, the questions I can ask on behalf of others, and the decisions I can make.  I feel trust in the team.  I feel confidence in our community.  I know that if I were there--if this hadn't happened--I'd be running on a few more cylinders, spinning out a little, perhaps.  And maybe that spinning is why our top landed here, idle for the moment.  I suspect returning to my job later this fall will be easier with my new perspective and acceptance of the unexpected.  We will see.  But I am grateful to Tootsie for helping me let go and be right where I am.

6.  Time:  Between the waiting upstairs and the pockets of time between infant care and long snuggles now, I've had time to read books, write, and think.  No house to clean, meals to prepare, others to care for except sweet baby girl.  Time, even alone with one's thoughts, but particularly with an infant, is a luxury indeed.

7.  Bonding:  I fell in love with our baby the moment she raised her arm high in birth and made the reassuring squawks announcing her debut.  I felt I could pick her out of a lineup after a few hours.  I believe I know her and her little personality--as tenderly developed as it is thus far--intimately well.  She takes long to awaken, grunting, stretching, wagging her head back and forth, sometimes for half an hour.  She rarely cries, but when she does, it's a sweet "ewww WAH" followed by a longer "WAAAAAH."  When she starts to breastfeed, she often stops to take in the view and contemplate her surroundings and task.  She stops everything when I sing to her, save for furious chomping on her pacifier.  She is "stingy with her burps," according to the nurses, but noisy when one is on its way.  She's alert and watchful and remarkably calm.  She can raise her torso by planting her feet on her bed and pushing upward.  She's learning to put her fingers to her mouth.  She makes the "ooh" face for which her older sister was known.  We've had precious bonding time--almost as if we were relegated to a cave together.  And because I don't live in the Boston area, I've had nowhere else to be and a laser focus on nurturing Tootsie's growth here in our NICU "home."  I suspect we'll long reap the benefits of this unique time together.

8.  Gratitude:  I've always preferred giving to getting, more comfortable offering others assistance than receiving it.  But circumstances sometimes dictate being open to the love and warmth of others without guilt, obligation, or anything but deep gratitude.  The doctors, nurses, therapists, and support staff have offered us such personalized, tender care.  I have been overwhelmed by the unwavering love and generosity of my family members, willing to fly far to be with me and our daughters.  Anything I've needed has appeared, or been offered or procured without question.  Friends and colleagues have sent messages of love and encouragement and thoughtful gifts, and cared for our daughters.  I've been particularly moved by those who've shared their stories of childbearing and parenting with me, memories and anecdotes unearthed through our own storytelling.  We feel so incredibly blessed, nestled in a nurturing cradle of community.

9.  Tootsie, Herself:  She's a caboose of a kiddo, with siblings seven and ten years older than she, but I can feel already the joy she's bringing into our lives.  I look forward to discovering all the other ways she will influence and enrich us.

Thank you for the gift of your presence, sweet baby girl.

Lack of Organizational Skills

Premature babies are often referred to as "disorganized" by nurses, doctors, occupational and physical therapists, lactation consultants, and their own parents when they're eight years old and up (I can just see the excuse from Tootsie now:  "But Mom, I've been disorganized since birth!  I was born this way!").

What the professionals are referring to is the babies' tendency to flail arms and legs around, crane neck from side to side, and generally exhibit entropy from their core.  Unlike full-term babies, they don't have the motor skills and neuro pathways developed enough to keep things centered and calm.  If you watch Tootsie, she's still trying to figure out her hands as they're related to her mouth (and her arms!).

It all makes sense if you consider that at almost 35 weeks gestation, our baby girl should still be in the womb for a month more, curled in a ball, organized.  Almost everything they do here in the NICU is meant to replicate that experience (lots of sleep, quiet, swaddling) so that her brain and body can continue to develop, as was her only job inside of me.  Now, though, she is charged with learning to eat from the breast and bottle, too, and fatten herself up so she can regulate her own temperature outside the consistently warm environment in utero.  It's quite a transition, and she has a lot of work to do that would normally be accomplished by amniotic fluid and the umbilical cord.

Since she can't only focus on the skills that will bring her home--feeding and fattening--and since brain development is so crucial too, her Care Team restricts the number of time she breastfeeds (and bottle feeds) for now, ensuring that she not only gets enough extra calories through her tube feeds, but that she also has plenty of opportunities to sleep.  The process of getting her home is slow and steady, and the discharge date on her board still reads "TBD" as I suspect it will for some time.

Yesterday's leap was, after recording weight gain to 4lbs. 12 oz., lifting the pop top of her isolette and having her sleep in room-temperature air.  Last night's nurse bundled her up and watched her temp closely, and so far so good.  She may even graduate to a big-girl crib soon!

In the meantime, we're keeping her organized:  Legs tucked, arms and elbows oriented to her midline.

It will be interesting to see what her backpack looks like in middle school...

Organized baby:  swaddled, tucked in, binky deployed, and doll from the USVI providing support

Family Action Plan 2013

At the playground a week ago, just after new year, a friend shared that someone she knew was creating a categorized life plan.  Having an avid interest in the Strategic Planning process (which we follow for goal setting for our school district, site, and programs), I was intrigued, particularly by the notion that our entire family could be involved. 

I happen to love charts; one year we made a Family Goals Chart and we currently have a Family Chores Chart on the fridge (with illustrations generously provided by Big Sis).  This year, with the structure of various categories in mind, I started thinking of verbs that might guide our decision making and planning for the year, like "give,"  "learn," and "visit." 

And thus our Family Action Plan was born:

On Monday night at dinner we filled in the chart together.  We decided "visit" was for people (so many we want to see this year!) and "go" for places; in the margin we wound up adding "do" because there were some actions that didn't quite fit the other verbs. 

One of my favorite categories is "try," where we have "grow watermelons, asparagus, and strawberries"; "golfing"; and "Thai food."  The "make" list will be fun to refer to on rainy or unscheduled days.  The "fix" category helped us prioritize home repairs, and "buy" to identify some worthy investments, like a new bike for Big Sis and a computer that works properly. 

 

 

I'm thinking my personal action plan might include "read," "clean," "give up," "accept," "start," "finish," "acknowledge/thank"...

How are you structuring your goals, plans, and dreams this year? 

Buckle Up: Minivan & Mini Cooper

There are so many joys to a nice long winter break; topping the list is time with family and friends. 

On Friday night I spent A LOT of time with some high-school buddies, whom I met for a drink after our high school girls' soccer game.  Spoiler alert:  I got home after 2 AM.  And what's even more perfect:  Husband and I and the kids were staying at my parents' house while our kitchen cabinets were being painted.  So I not only stayed out WAY LATE, but I had that weird guilty feeling of coming home to mom and dad's in the wee hours of the morning, sneaking in quietly-ish and trying not to wake anyone. 

Another spoiler alert:  it was more a night of hilarity than a night of debauchery.  But it felt really great to crack up with old friends and even shut down a few bars in our sleepy, touristy home town. 

We occupied ourselves for much of the time with a game of Who's in Your Minivan?  A colleague introduced me to this mental exercise back in 2008, which involves populating your vehicle with well-known folks you wouldn't mind sharing a long road trip with, based on your own criteria:  crush-worthiness, entertainment value, navigational abilities, snack provisions, etc. 

Note:  you and your friends can spend a long time debating and discussing criteria alone, and whether or not your passengers have to be currently living, and if you're driving a Honda van with eight seats or mini-er version with seven...

I had Lenny Kravitz in my 2008 Minivan, which led us to an analysis of his maintenance of the "It Factor," and the recounting of the time one of my friends inadvertently crashed a party he was hosting. 

Salma Hayek and Stephen Colbert emerged as popular choices.  I was talked into dropping off Matthew Fox, Brad Pitt, and Hilary Swank at the next rest stop, but I'm keeping Jon Stewart in shotgun and Brandi Carlile at an audible distance in my van.  I'd have to add Eddie Redmayne from Les Mis and Dax Shepard from Parenthood, as I am charmed by the passion of the former and goofiness of the latter, and the earnestness of both in their respective roles.  Robert Redford will round out my crew for obvious reasons, including his dedication to environmental issues and the possibility I'd get a discount for the Sundance Catalog. 

Let's face it; I could probably fill two minivans (Hey!  Who's in Your Caravan!), particularly if I expanded criteria beyond more superficial rationale and included the many figures I admire.  Okay, not that kind of figure--I meant people.  Sheesh.

Our discussion grew more serious when a friend challenged us to name "the one that got away," or the "what if" or "sliding door" people with whom we'd had brief encounters or missed opportunities.  We dubbed these revelations as "Who's in Your Mini Cooper?" acknowledging that most of us were unlikely to rattle off a long list of fish that got away.  There were high school sweethearts, college buddies and post-college people to consider as we pondered the might-have-beens. 

Spoiler alert:  there will be no great revelation of the occupants of my Mini Cooper.  Ha!

But who's in your minivan?

List: First-World Gratitude

Some luxuries I'm appreciating:

1.  Havarti cheese.

2.  My first-generation iPad.

3.  Live music.

4.  Artichokes, blood oranges, butternut squash.

5.  Soap.  So many kinds.

6.  Books.  Books I can read right now on my iPad.

7.  Art supplies.

8.  Fun party shirts.

9.  Holiday outings and doings.

10.  New running shoes.

11.  Programmable coffee maker.

List: Ways I Increase the Likelihood I Will Exercise

Formerly, I was only a runner.  I did a good amount of running, and that's all I did.  But as I mentioned recently, last year I joined a P90X "club" at school, which has broadened my exercise repertoire.  We meet at 5:45 AM in the gym on Mondays and Fridays, and as one can imagine, I've had to maximize the potential that I will actually leave my bed and my home to go make my body hurt in the wee hours. 

List:  Ways I Increase the Likelihood I Will Exercise (with an approximate 75% success rate):

1.  Assign husband the role of preparing and setting coffee maker to auto-brew at 5:15 AM.
2.  Set alarm for 4:45 and push "snooze" until 5:20.
3.  Have gym bag packed COMPLETELY with work clothes (try not to forget undies, bra, towel, or dress shoes, or endure awkward results), ready to grab by the front door.
4.  Go to bed dressed in workout clothes instead of pajamas:  jog bra, tee shirt, shorts.  Place socks and running shoes right next to bed. 
5.  Lie in bed between 4:45 and 5:20 thinking about the potential for chiseled arms, contoured legs, and ripped abs.  Get up despite necessary reality check.
6.  Lie in bed between 4:45 and 5:20 thinking about how lame it would be to skip the workout and have to change out of not-even-sweaty workout clothes.
7.  Lie in bed thinking about the reward of an amazing meal. 
8.  Fear the reprisals of colleagues in the club who will be there without you. 
9.  Drive fifteen minutes to the gym with a to-go mug of hot coffee:  just enough time to wake up and caffeinate.
10.  Acknowledge, as the car engine ignites, that it's too late to turn back now--high-five self about inevitable workout!  It's almost like it's already done. 

Almost. 

List: First-World Burdens (for Which I Am Ultimately Grateful)

1. I ordered $200 of groceries from Vons.com, including free home delivery and a free turkey, only to have my credit card fraud department cancel the order (seemed suspicious, all those groceries).
2. The duvet cover tumbling in the dryer: swallowing socks, sweaters, and skirts, and necessitating its unrolling every ten minutes.  Drives me a little nutso.
3. Songs by Adele and One Republic overplayed on the radio: It's gonna be a good life when she finally finds someone like you.
4. The kids keep needing feeding.
5. Our freezer is overfull and something cold and hard falls out and onto my toe each time I open it.
6. The remote for our (non-flat-screen) TV no longer turns the TV on and off.
7.  Marcona almonds are pricey.
8.  Pretty sure I can't drink a pint of IPA and drive. 
9.  The Jason Mraz concert is sold out.
10.  One of the sliding doors of our van fills with water every time it rains.  Slosh, brake, sloooooosh. 

On the flip side, I'm able to buy $200 worth of groceries; own a clothes dryer; can listen to the radio (and turn it off); have ample food for my kids ($200 worth, for now), a full freezer (see groceries), and a TV; can splurge for Marcona almonds and enjoy an IPA at home; saw Jason Mraz live with Colbie Caillat last month, and drive a minivan. 

It is a good life, One Republic.

List: Things That Give Me the Heebie Jeebies

1. Used sofas left out on curbsides for free.
2. Crawl spaces under houses.
3. Proximity to fluids I shouldn't but could accidentally drink, like a cup of water soaking dentures, or a retainer.
4. Cars parked in strange places with someone sitting in them, doing...I am not sure.
5. Undergarments abandoned in public spaces.
6. Strangers who stare.
7. Organs as food.
8. The thought of having my palm read or consulting a psychic.
9. The certainty that I am about to encounter a Bad Smell.

List: Nine Years

Husband and I have been married nine years today!

Nine of the amazing memories we've amassed:

1. Lying in the sand outside our hut on our honeymoon in Belize, watching the stars and talking.

2. Taking Big Sis to dear friends' wedding in Guatemala over Thanksgiving when she was just over one year old. We felt adventurous and had a magical time.

3. The Lilith Fair concert last summer, dancing and singing with our daughters.

4. Overnight at a hotel in La Jolla a few years ago...a luxurious gift from my brother and sister-in-law, who watched our kids, too.

5. Weekend snugglenests with the girls, curled up on the floor or crowded on the bed or couch, watching movies.

6. Camping trips to Palomar Mountain: fishing, hiking, sleeping in a tent.

7. Husband sleeping on the floor next to my hospital bed, where I lay awake and cuddling newborn Little Sis.

8. First time skiing together, Mammoth, California.

9. Our wedding: fish tacos, Sade, dancing like mad, family, friends, a little bit of rain, sailing into our next chapter together.

List: Signs of Summer

1. Kids took their first bath in five days last night.

2. I am wearing the same outfit for the third day in a row. Yesterday, I changed earrings for variety.

3. There are unpacked bags all over the house: a bag from the beach, a bag from the pool, a bag from the zoo (with, oops, half-eaten lunch inside), a bag from Concert in the Park, a bag from a sleepover, and, uhhh...a few bags from camping. We are too On The Go to concern ourselves with the artifacts of the last activity.

4. The pile of garage sale/Goodwill items outside is growing. The enthusiasm for a garage sale and momentum for loading things up for Goodwill? Diminishing.

5. Gritty coating of sand on the floor.

6. No bread or milk in the house. We are subsisting on dry cheerios, juice boxes, cheese sticks, apples, trail mix, and the occasional peach we find on the ground at the neighbor's.

7. Bathing suits and towels strewn on the front porch. Which is convenient, because we just grab them and go, and then return them to the porch to dry. Front porch=summertime closet.

8. Girls still in bed asleep at 7:19 AM. We call that sleeping in. And a by product of late-night summer fun.

9. Doo Dads and crafts from playdates, camps, fairy projects, and sleepovers decorating our home.

10. I am feeling blissed out. Happy. Satisfied. Fulfilled.

Inspire Me to Expound, Please

Call it a failure to launch.

What I am Thinking About but Not Writing (More) About (Yet):

1. Bullying
2. Face Painting
3. Bible Stories and My Children
4. People Retiring
5. Marijuana and Its Possible Legalization
6. Being Overweight but Also Sort Of In Shape
7. What It Is Too Late To Do and What It Is Not Too Late For
8. Dress Code
9. Sensory Integration
10. Summer Camp for Adults

Feel free to nudge me in the direction of your curiosity.

Mother's Day Mix

Happy Mother's Day, moms!

1. "Mary," by Patty Griffin
2. "Apron Strings" by Everything but the Girl
3. "Good Mother," Jann Arden
4. "Mother," Tori Amos
5. "Sand and Water," Beth Nielsen Chapman
6. "If I Needed You," Townes Van Zandt (Emmylou Harris version)
7. "Downpour," Brandi Carlile
8. "Teach Your Children" by Crosby, Stills, and Nash
9. "Take Your Mama," Scissor Sisters
10. "Parents are People," Free to Be You and Me Soundtrack
11. "Children and All That Jazz," Joan Baez
12. "Daughters," John Mayer
13. "Blood from a Stone," Jonatha Brooke
14. "It Was You, Mama" Jude
15. "Peaches," Kristen Hall
16. "Pearls" by Sade

Isn't This the Playlist Generation?

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

I had a conversation with some of our senior boys on the quad this week. They were mulling over what to do about February 14 and their significant others.

"How about...a mixed...CD? You know, of good music?" I offered.

A chorus of groans. "Oh, c'mon, Ms. M. That is like, so...1994."

Well, okay, sure. I did pour my heart and my ego and my pride in my taste in music into Many a Mixed Tape in my day. And they usually had clever titles, often alluding to a song lyric within. Not without innuendo, of course. But wasn't that the beauty of the mixed tape? It was a menu of mixed messages.

Sadly, I have a lot of mixed tape left in me. If the dang CD burner on my computer worked, I'd be giving all of you some awesome Melody Mixes whenever the spirit moved me.

To make myself feel better, and to show those boys that the music hasn't died, I offer you Valentine's Variety 2010:

1. Happy-in-love song of 2010: "Therapy" by India.Arie.

2. U2's best make-out song: "Love Comes Tumbling"

3. Goofy love song: "If I Had $1,000,000" by BareNaked Ladies

4. Unrequited love: "Ghost" by the Indigo Girls

5. Long Distance Love: Kristen Hall's "Peaches"

6. I finally found true love, and I hope I don't screw it up: Paul Simon, "Something So Right"

7. Friends with benefits: "Say Goodbye," Dave Matthews Band

8. Sappy love (and because there had to be a Carpenters' song in the mix): "You," The Carpenters

9. Celebration of enduring love: Cowboy Junkies' "Anniversary Song"

10. One Night Stand love: "Love Song for a Stranger" by Joan Baez

11. Shout out to my little girls' current taste in tunes: "Love Story" by Taylor Swift

12. Try not to smile while you're listening to this song (I dare you): "Gotta Have You" by the Weepies

13. Could be the soundtrack for newlyweds driving away from their wedding: "Favorite Adventure," K's Choice

14. Just a rad song: "Bus Ride," by Alex Lloyd

15. Finally, our wedding song: Sade's "Kiss of Life," which makes my husband all misty...

List: Rainy Ruminations

We're on day four of rain and wind here in Southern California, and that's just plain weird.

1. We needed rain; we're having a drought with water restrictions, etc. But this deluge falls into the category of "be careful what you ask for": just because you have a craving for ice cream, doesn't mean you want to gorge yourself on the 20-scoop sundae. Everything in moderation, right?

2. We're being chided by our more weather-weary friends to the north and east for whining about the rain. But I claim that the degree to which weather is severe is related to general expectations. If you live in a place where you EXPECT it to be cold and snow to fall from the sky, you've got the snow boots and proper gear to stay warm. You EXPECT to scrape the frost off your car--it's part of the deal. Using this logic, I deduce that San Diegans in a cold snap (say, 40 degrees outside) actually feel colder than their Alaskan counterparts. And we're wetter, too. Why? Because we're wearing our sandals. We don't own rain boots. And we have cheap, flimsy umbrellas. If we have an umbrella at all.

3. Last winter (last time it rained?), I sat at this desk and watched sheets of water pour along the window into the crack between the pane and the molding and down into the wall. The storm drain was clogged, so water was flowing like a waterfall over the edge of our flat roof. There was no doubt that the wall under the window had filled with water; bulging paint bubbles were proof. But, you know, the rain passed and it got dry again and stayed dry and we never hired anyone to look in there and check if brain-cell killing molds were growing.

So, here we are a year later, suffering the consequences yet again of Deferred Maintenance. Storm drain isn't clogged (we're not that dumb!), but there's a nice gap where the window pane meets the molding, and water has wound up in the wall again.

3. Which brings me to the garage, which has always had a roof leak on the left side. Which, again, we haven't fixed. From time to time, there's been dampness, but this week we earned our inches on the floor. We join the ranks of folks who've become so accustomed to, well, no weather, that we've let our homes be holey. There are leaks and floods in dwellings and garages across the county. Maybe we all learned something this time.

4. If you live in a semi-arid region without regular rain, you begin to notice how dusty and dirty everything gets. By the end of the summer, despite our glorious, sunshiney weather, there's a certain dullness to the trees, plants, and buildings. They need to shower. So I appreciate how clean our city is after a good rain. How shiny it must be in Portland and Seattle all the time!

5. Rain at random times--and unseasonal warmth, too, say, in December--means we've got daffodils in January. Poor confused plants.

6. On my way to work today I totally hit that huge puddle at the intersection and sent a tsunami over a poor man on the sidewalk walking his dog. So sorry, dude.

It happened to me once, and it made me cry. Okay, perhaps it wasn't the splash that made me cry, but the parka and the boots and the ridicule and the Chemistry class AND THEN the slushy, dirty spraydown that took me over the edge.

It was freshman year of college, second semester, probably February. When New Haven is gray and cold and wet and somewhat demoralizing (my college actually established "Feb Club" to combat the inevitable February Blues, with a party every night for the entire month). I was trudging my way up Science Hill, against the wind and rain, dressed in my Lands End clearance-sale winter wear: full-length, shapeless, raspberry-pink parka and aquamarine-colored rain boots. Of course, these fashionable items were ordered during the summer before I arrived on my East Coast campus to find earth-tone Patagonia jackets and L.L.Bean duck boots to be all the rage--or, at least, what Everyone Else was wearing.

The necessity of hiking up Science Hill on an inauspicious day was merely adding insult to the injury I was beginning to ascribe to my choice of pursuing pre-med courses, particularly Chemistry. How I loathed that course and the lab.

And so there I was, slogging uphill, rain pelting my angry face as I cursed February, early-morning classes, and titrations, when one of a pair of giddy, probably upperclass science majors heading downhill, shouted at me across the waterlogged street, "Hey! Nice BOOTS!" I stopped and turned to look, just as a passing car soaked me in a wave of gritty slush.

They laughed and I cried. And blamed my dad, east-coast-college grad himself and my winter gear fashion consultant, for outfitting me so outrageously, albeit cost effectively.

7. I have gained greater respect and sympathy for regions plagued by monsoons.

8. The moral of this list is: too much rain (and wind) is not fun rain of the puddle-jumping variety. Power outages, car accidents, floods, trees falling on cars and houses, and deaths pretty much take the pleasure out of precipitation.

We need some good rainbows at the end of this week, methinks.

Checking It Twice

Dear Santa,

One of our teachers presented me with this challenge: Choose one item that is on your holiday wish list (or one item that is not on your list) and reflect on what this item's presence on (or absence from) your list reveals about where you are in your life right now.

I have an answer, but not a comfortable one.

I'm reminded of the time I sat in an important interview for a Rotary Club study abroad scholarship, and one of the questions asked was, "If you could be any animal, which would you be and why?" Inexplicably, "beaver" popped into my head.

Beaver? Really?

Like a character in a comic strip, I tried to push off that thought balloon, but it bobbed there stubbornly.

Beaver became my answer. And I got the scholarship.

Now here I am, trying to be careful what I wish for. Because what I really want this year, Santa, is a new baby.

On the Want/Need Continuum, this wish is as far on the Want end of the spectrum as possible. It's maybe even greedy. Not only do I not need a baby, there are plenty of reasons why I might expect you to put this desire in the "I Hear You, but...Try Again" category.

You know I am a lucky woman with two healthy children, a husband, and a home. Our daughters, six and three, are at pretty self-sufficient ages and with help from family and friends, we manage our busy two-working-parents household.

I come from a large brood and didn't think I would follow in my parents' footsteps and have five children. But I always imagined three. Two would be too few; four would be too many. I never pictured myself in the "2.1 kids" column.

But who am I kidding? Not you, Mr. Claus, who knows when our daughters are naughty and nice. Much of the time, two is more than enough for us. We've got man-on-man defense down, but we're still outwitted at times.

Nevertheless, after some years of overwhelm, we're in a good groove.

So it's hard to explain why I want to upset our tidy apple cart. I just want a baby. I do. I want to not want a baby, but, I don't.

It's not that I'm hoping for a boy, Santa. And I'm not dying to be pregnant again. I'm willing to explore a variety of Stork Options.

Truth is, I think I want a baby so it won't all be over. You know, childhood. Our house currently has no crib and no diapers and no highchair. Our youngest is careening toward kindergarten. Soon, it seems, I'll be the mother of older kids, cooing at and longing to hold the babies of my younger parent peers. I see it already: both daughters will be in high school together and then a few years later, both graduated and gone.

I can't help wanting one more toddler, one more learning-to-talker, one more footy-pajamaed snuggler. I want the soccer games and school shows and chaotic family dinners to span more years than the three between our two. I want another one at home to keep us young.

Ultimately, Santa, maybe that's what I'm really after: my youth. A sense that I am not marching too quickly through life's stages. Career? Check. Enough Time for Myself? Check. Family? I want more of that.

I know what you're thinking, Santa. If I get what I want, my stocking will be full of Sleepless Nights, Diaper Changes, Crying, Drooling, Spit-Up, and more Laundry and Whining.

I'll admit I have to wonder if we have room in our house for another inhabitant and enough money in the bank for daycare and college. Love in our hearts, though, we have to spare.

Santa, over the years I've come to expect your wisdom applied to my wishes. So, whether or not 2010 brings me a bundle of joy or a carton of contentment, I figure something good is coming my way.

Your Friend,

Fer

List: Nickel and Dime

At my first Administrative Cabinet meeting as a new vice principal in our district, I remember the superintendent asking principals to submit a weekly "5/10." The exact concept of the 5/10 I do not remember, but I think it was something to the effect of "write the five most important events or reflections of the week, and don't take more than ten minutes to do it." The brief summary was a simple way for the superintendent to stay in touch with what was happening at each school site.

That first week of school as an administrator, I wasn't required to turn in a 5/10, but I created my own modified version and sent it to my principal. My rule: summarize the week in five things that made you go "hmmm" (or, "grrrr...") and ten things that made you smile. The 5/10 became a weekly routine for us, thereby creating a record of our first year's notable events, hilarious episodes, and poignant moments.


This last week has been a rough one at work and a good one at home, with no appropriate story on the tip of my tongue. So instead, I summarize it below in a 5/10.

Hmmm...


1. The untimely passing of a colleague and friend
2. Swastikas
3. 9th Grade Girl Drama
4. Mutual Combat
5. Hair dye allergy


:)


1. Post-dinner Family Walks
2. Husband and I coaching Micro Soccer
3. Mid-week extended-family dinner at Mammom's and Bampa's house: swimming and soup and the best part of our day
4. 1st grade Homework Journal
5. Saturday Night Padres' Game with our girls: ice cream, peanuts, fried calamari, and the Frankenfriar
6. The California Ballet's Alice in Wonderland
7. Super Hero capes
8. Seven Daughters red wine
9. Halloween decorations
10. A friend's gift: new mix CD playing in the car

List: Ten Awkward and/or Uncomfortable Moments

1. Like Ross in that episode of Friends: Prior to our wedding, along with getting a haircut and shedding some pounds to fit in my mom's wedding dress, I whitened my teeth. My buddy the dental hygienist hooked me up with an appointment for the trays and bleaching gel. A novice to this process, I kept the trays in for hours two nights in a row. On the third day, aching pain that made me cringe at the mere notion of air accessing my teeth rendered me speechless. I told my English classes that day I wouldn't be talking and silently endured the throbbing shame of vanity.

Upside: my teeth matched my dress on my wedding day.

2. Don't nettle with me: Tracy Chapman gave an outdoor concert in the piazza of a hillside Italian town while I was studying abroad in Florence during junior year of college. It was an extroardinary experience, only marred by the fact that as we waited for "Traaaahhcy" to appear, I had to go to the bathroom bad and there were no public restrooms in sight. Desperate to both relieve myself and not miss a single tune, I scrambled over the edge of the stone wall surrounding the square and tripped down the hillside to a reasonably secluded bushy area. And into a bed of stinging nettles my bare bottom descended. Which felt like relief followed by a warm, spreading burn.

Since then, there are Chapman songs that always bring a sting.

3. Probably should've sprung for the hotel: I traveled the Kenyan coast with a new friend during the Christmas holiday the year I lived in Africa. We were on a budget, so spent many nights camping but one particularly memorable night when a local we met over dinner offered to put us up. The evening began with beer and chicken curry, which, I described in my journal, "wasn't really curry and had a smell that reminded me of rotting dead fish." Kenyan Ben overheard us talking to our waiter about options for shelter that evening and generously mentioned that his dad and he lived in the police barracks and had plenty of space for us. I was skeptical, sniffing for a scam, but how shady could a Kenyan cop's son be? And how bad could police barracks be?

Bad, it turns out. We slept that night atop dirty laundry in a filthy, hot, airless room crawling with both cockroaches and mice and buzzing with mosquitoes--and no netting. From my journal: "I hoped the beers would help me sleep, but with chicken stomach, cabbage burps, and the entire 'ambience' at Ben's dad's place, I counted the hours till dawn instead." I've never felt sweatier, nor more trapped and crazed than I did that long night.

4. Why pregnant women coughing make me wince: I contracted bronchitis during the last month of my second pregnancy, and one afternoon a deep cough resulted in a POP! No, not broken waters, but a cracked rib. Ouch. The only comfortable sleeping position for a few days was sitting up straight, cross-legged like a Buddha.

5. Shut up while they talk about me, please: Not long after moving back to my hometown and meeting my now-husband, we went out on a date at a popular local eating establishment. At some point I realized that the subject of conversation of the party of four seated at the adjacent table was my very own family--a sort of "Who's Hot and Not." Fortunately, I had been away from home long enough that they didn't recognize me, while my husband-to-eventually-be kept talking despite my shushing, preventing me from shamelessly eavesdropping.

6. Dear Classmates, where should I begin?: In the earlyish days of email, a close friend of mine initiated and hosted our college class's listserv. Excited to touch base with my buddy, I responded to his greeting with the details of a recent break-up and my new teaching job in Southern California. When I opened my email a few days later, I found my inbox full of responses...including the message from myself. I recall the cold pit that grew in my stomach as I read email after email kindly informing me, "Hey, not sure you wanted everyone in the Class of '93 to get this!"

Thank you friends and strangers, and a special shout-out to the helpful guy who wrote me, "By the way, I'm single, and I live in San Diego!"

7. Like What About Bob, only different: I grew up taking intermittent sailing lessons and even sailed a season on my college's sailing team. "Skipper" is not a title I would ascribe to myself until fairly recently, however. Nevertheless, in 1997, when I lived in Africa and a friend came to visit, we made a trip to Lake Naivasha, and were offered use of friends' sailboat. It wasn't longer than a fifteen-minute sail before the boat capsized and my hapless friend and I were trying futilely to right it. We--and the boat--required a rescue of sorts from the hippo-inhabited water. As we recovered from our misadventure over some lunch on the deck, a young man who clearly missed the events of the morning approached me. "Hey, I hear you can sail?" Of course, we all laughed. But there was a race that afternoon, and he needed a crew. So, what the heck.

It would be my first time in a harness, and the first time this poor guy dragged his crew outside a boat, when I lost my footing for a spell. "Hold on!" I remember yelling, as my backside and I dragged in the water beside the boat, "I'm out of the boat! I'm GONE..." and his response, "Yet strangely still with us!" Then he turned the boat in a precipitous direction and I snapped back onto its side like a rubber band. He was super glad he met me, I'm sure.

8. If it sounds like a strange idea, you'll look strange trying it: My high school cross country team competed one season in an invitational meet on a course of dirt trails after several days of rain. We watched runners in the heats before ours slip and slide in the mud, and someone brilliant in our crowd suggested that we wear a pair of socks over our shoes to increase traction. I opted to try out this strategy, borrowing a pair of tube socks from a teammate. About half a mile into the run, the socks began inching their way off my shoes, creating a soggy, floppy "tongue" hanging off the toes of each sneaker. When it became clear that the situation was only going to get worse--increasingly stretched-out muddy sock ends slapping my ankles with each stride as bemused and amused spectators laughed--I paused to pull them off.

Not my best race.

9. The straw that broke the camel's back, which made me fight to get him back: The time my now-husband and I were on a break but living in the same town...After an early-morning weekend run, a friend and I lingered, chatting, on a corner equidistant from our homes. And who should drive by us right then but Almost-Not-My-Husband, with a female in his passenger seat. I remember her hair was wet. And I remember seeing the light.

10. Seriously: Did you just say what I think you said? (Sorry, Mom...): On a family ski trip over New Year's when I was in college, and my boyfriend got to come along. My parents and their old friends were celebrating New Year's Eve with champagne and fresh oysters. I'd never tried an oyster on the half-shell, so I expressed interest and was offered one. I gulped it down and looked at my mom, who is not a fan. She raised an eyebrow at me: "So. Remind you of anything?"

On Mother's Day: A List

1. I'm very grateful to be a mother.
2. I am fortunate that my mother is living, and living nearby. My heart goes out to those who have lost theirs...
3. As far as mothers-in-law go, I hit the JACKPOT. I love you!
4. I appreciate the mothers and other-than-mothers who have helped mother me.
5. I rely daily on the mothers and other-than-mothers who help raise and care for our children. Thank you.
6. I have learned a ton about parenting in my job working with students and their families. I honor the moms who stand by their children but guide them in taking accountability for their mistakes; I honor the guardians who serve as mothers for students without them; I honor the moms who sacrifice their own happiness for the sake of their children's; I honor the moms who despite all best efforts, watch their children struggle with substance abuse, failure, and unhappiness.
7. I am one of five children; I know people who have four; I have two. And sometimes two is more than I can handle. When I am in the weeds, I remind myself that there are mothers doing it all alone. Single moms are amazing.
8. Adopting children is a brave, generous endeavor. I admire so much my friends who have chosen the role of mother in this way.
9. I think of mothers who are mourning the loss of their own children.
10. Here is last year's Mother's Day post, featuring a poem I wrote for my mother after the birth of my first daughter.
11. Finally, I wish for all mothers a day like today: luxuriating in the joy of family and the gifts that children bring (okay...and a little bit of Alone Time). Happy Mother's Day!