Being a Mom

Logic and I occasionally talk about having kids. Sometimes it will come up after we spend time with our family and other times it is when we see a real brat in a restaurant. The first scenario leads us to think that we might want them, the second has the opposite effect. But whenever we have 'the talk' we both agree that we'd be screwed if children really are like their parents. Logic was a difficult child and I was a handful as a teen. Put those together and we'd have one helluva nightmare on our hands.
But with Mother's Day tomorrow, and the recent death of my Grandma, I can't help but admire the women in my life and think there might just be enough of a reward to outweigh the difficulties that come with being a mom.
Take my relationship with my mom, for example. As I previously stated, I was a handful as a teenager. I was mad for having to move to Montana during my Sophomore year of high school, among other things, and I chose to focus all of that anger on my mom. After taking a particularly brutal assault, she suggested that maybe I was taking all of my agression out on her because I knew that no matter what I said, she would still love me. I wouldn't admit it at the time, but she was right. And the next few years of our cohabitation would prove just how strong her love was. I would yell and scream and insult her every chance I got and her love for me never waivered.
Shortly after my 18th birthday I moved out. Amid tears and hurt feelings, my parents were supportive of my decision. And to my surprise, I spent more time at home than I did when I lived there. It was the beginning of a new phase in my relationship with my mom.
Of course, after moving out from the comforts of home, I started to see all the little things that my mom had done without acknowledgement for all those years.
I started to see her in a new light. She was not just my mother anymore, but this amazing woman who made unlimited sacrifices and had an all-encompassing heart.
Living on my own was quite an awakening in many respects but there was one particular factor that changed our relationship completely. That factor was anxiety.
When I started having panic attacks, there was nothing my mom could do to help. For the first time in my life, I had to take care of something on my own. As hard as it was for me, I think it was even harder for my mom. Her faith gave her all the comfort and support she needed and she couldn't relate to my ambivalence for it. She wanted to pray with me and try to resolve my fears through religion. And while I wish it could have been as easy as kneeling down and doing some serious praying, her answers were not mine.
I had to find alternate ways to solve my problems. Prayer was eventually replaced with meditation and instead of church, I found my weekly comfort in yoga. Even though my mom could see that I was finding comfort in these new forms of spirituality, she had a hard time understanding how those answers could be any better than her own. It was scary and exhausting for both of us, but in my search for new resolutions we've learned a lot about each other.
I can't pinpoint when it was that I finally started to appreciate all that my mom has done for me, but I know that I haven't even come close to understanding her love in all its capacity. As I look back on the last few years, all the anxiety and fear has been worth it if for no other reason than to bring us closer.
Ten years after all the fighting and even some hair pulling, I am so proud of the progress we've made. And should I ever decide to be a mom, I know that I'll do just fine. Mine set a pretty great example.

The Bus Tunnel

I took the bus tunnel from work to the heart of downtown yesterday so I could quickly do some shopping before meeting up with Logic and Daniel. My office is where the tunnel starts so the bus was empty when I got on. At the next stop a man got on, dragging a bag full of his life's belongings. He looked like he hadn't showered in a very long time and may not have even known where he was at. He chose a seat in the middle of the bus that is elevated and facing inward. I had a clear view of him.
I tried to close my eyes because I didn't want to be rude but I kept finding myself peering through a squinted eye - just to see what he was doing. At one point, my eyes had been closed for a while and as I slowly opened them - almost forgetting he was there - I saw him licking his finger and then wiping the arm rest and then licking his finger again. It's as if he were testing it to see what it tasted like.
It was at that moment that I made a conscious decision to NEVER, under any circumstances, touch anything on a bus ever again.

Happy Birthday Logic

I am 9 months older than Logic. 8 months and 27 days, to be exact. I like to joke that his parents miraculously knew of my birth and, in an effort to bring me into their family, knew they had to get busy. In honor of that, I'd like to take this day to thank them for all their hard work. For it was 27 years ago today that their plan took action.

Email Forward

Lessons on the Seasons of Life



There was an Indian Chief who had four sons. He wanted his sons to learn not to judge
things too quickly. So he sent them each on a quest, in turn, to go and look at
a pear tree that was a great distance away.

The first son went in the winter, the second in the spring, the third in
summer, and the youngest son in the fall.

When they had all gone and come back, he called them together to describe
what they had seen.

The first son said that the tree was ugly, bent, and twisted.

The second son said no it was covered with green buds and full of promise.

The third son disagreed; he said it was laden with blossoms that smelled so
sweet and looked so beautiful, it was the most graceful thing he had ever
seen.

The last son disagreed with all of them; he said it was ripe and drooping with
fruit, full of life and fulfillment.

The man then explained to his sons that they were all right, because they
had each seen but only one season in the tree's life.


He told them that you cannot judge a tree, or a person, by only one season,
and that the essence of who they are and the pleasure, joy, and love that
come from that life can only be measured at the end, when all the seasons
are up.


If you give up when it's winter, you will miss the promise of your spring, the
beauty of your summer, fulfillment of your fall.

Friendship

Saturday afternoon my friend, Liz and I walked through the Washington Park Arboretum. It was a first for us both and we were equally amazed. Miles and miles of walking trails zig zagged through fields and along the Causeway between Lake Washington and Lake Union.
Equipped with my camera, I took a lot of photos. I was mostly enthralled with the landscape; shooting ponds, boats and pathways. But as we were walking through a clearing I saw these two women, deep in conversation and oblivious to the image they portrayed.
I wondered to myself: "what is their story? why are they wearing those hats and do they do this often?"
Not wanting to be rude and ask, I decided to make up my own story:
Mary and Julie were friends as children. Mary's parents uprooted her family and moved to the East Coast when she was just 10. On Mary's moving day she made a promise to Julie to come back to Washington every year to visit. Correspondence was strong at first. Weekly letters in the mail, monthly phone calls permitted by their parents. But as time wore on and the girls grew up, they're conversations became few and far between.
Mary grew up to be an ER nurse while Julie travelled the world and spent many years in the Peace Corp. After Julie had a nearly fatal accident in Brazil the summer of 1992, she packed up and moved back to the Pacific Northwest. The transition was hard at first, but with the support of her family and friends she managed to pull her life back together and became a Spanish teacher at a local community college.
It was the first day of school and Julie was taking attendance. Her eyes grew big as she recognized a unique last name on her roster. After class she took this familiar stranger aside and asked if she happened to be related to her long-lost friend. At her amazement, the young girl not only knew her, but was her daughter.
It turned out Mary divorced her doctor/husband and moved back to the West Coast only 2 years prior. Not knowing Julie's new last name and finding that both of her parents had passed, she stopped searching after a year. But that afternoon, on that first day of school, the two friends reunited in the courtyard.
They discovered that they'd only been living 3 miles from each other these past two years and immediately picked back up where they left off. They watched each other's children, cried on each other's shoulders and giggled at the little things they used to find so amusing. One of their fondest memories was dressing up like the Queen and having high tea in the back yard. They told and re-told the stories of how they put on ridiculous hats and pranced around in the grass, laughing merrily the whole time.
For Mary's 45th birthday, Julie surpised her with hats and a walk through the Arboretum. They sporadically broke in and out of character; one moment pretending to be the Queen and the next laughing uproariously. From that day on, they made a habit of this silly tradition and took weekly walks together. In time, the concept of playing the Queen wore off, but the hats remained. And so it was on the 7th of April, 2007 that they were meandering through the Arboretum when they were noticed by two friends on a similar path.

The China Lady

As an adult I realize that title may sound a little un-PC. But before PC was PC, I was a young girl who had just moved from Washington to Oregon. I was befriended by Lanie despite our many differences and we were inseparable for many years.
Lanie grew up in a house that encouraged performing. Whether that be singing, playing the piano, starring in a local play or winning at charades. This provided many a late night in her house. (My family was more reserved when it came to entertaining and most of us were in bed by 10:00. Still are, actually.)
So whenever Lanie and I would have a slumber party she would struggle to keep me awake past my bedtime. I would usually make it through whatever we were doing, but as soon as we got ready for bed my eyes would droop and I would start to fade. That would drive Lanie crazy! She wanted to stay awake and talk all night. Often times I would try to oblige but as soon as it was her turn to talk, I would be out. So she came up with this idea to tell each other stories. It would be completely random and stream-of-consciousness which made it very entertaining for both the story teller and the listener.
I don't remember who's story started the tradition, but somehow we would always manage to include The China Lady. She would always shuffle her way into the storyline just as you thought you had the plot figured out. Her understanding of American culture always provided a laugh and kept the listener wondering if she was going to do something silly.
Years later, Lanie and I are still friends but are far in proximity and lacking any good sleepover time. When we do get together, The China Lady usually comes up in conversation, along with other inside jokes. But the laughter that those stories evoked will never be duplicated.