Marisa, Motherhood and Rain Rain Rain

So, today was an unexpectedly, dreadfully, downpouringly (it's a word) day. Gray and overcast with big heavy rain, from the time I woke up in the middle of the night when a small boy and his bunny crawled into bed with me and through now, as I sit here and type. A day tailor-made for staying in bed and eating pancakes and chocolates and warm apple pie. Instead, I went to work. Fought the crazy traffic, slogged through the rain, felt overwhelmed at the discovery of this week's workload, and tried to remember it was my birthday.

Another year. This one has been a whirlwind (shocking, I know, as that never seems to change for me). Working part-time (thank you, universe!), having more time, over-filling said time. Such is the way. Because for as much as I got everything I asked for, it turned out to be really tough. No piece of cake getting your dreams handed to you on a silver platter. Not as easy once I had it all. Specifically, when talking about the whole "mother of a three-year-old" part.

I think some people are born mothers. They're the women who babysat nonstop as teens, and who even today fawn over any and every baby, toddler or child in their view. I was never, and am still not, one of those kinds of women. I'm not that mom at the playground that gasps loudly every time my child stumbles. I let Grif fall -- trusting (sometimes too much) that he'll be alright, trusting that a kiss from mommy will be enough to heal all things gone wrong, trusting that things won't go that wrong in the first place. I'm still not overly touchy-feely when it comes to (other) kids in general. But I have a new respect for the magic of children -- one I never could've experienced without one of my own. Perhaps that's why Grif is blessed with gorgeous brown skin and amazing blue grey eyes -- he's simply too beautiful not to love with all your heart. He can melt you with a laugh or a look from under his eyelashes. He can imitate my expressions and tone with perfect (often hilarious) exactness. He takes my breath away. He wakes me instantly from a dead sleep with the quietest cry of "mommy" in the night. But he also makes me crazy. Maddeningly, totally, sometimes out-of-control crazy.

I'm a big believer in asking -- and thus receiving -- your heart's desire from the universe. In many ways, I'm proof positive. And (always) grateful to be so. But what I found myself doing this year, as I spent more and more time with a growing, maturing, willful, independent, high-high-high-energy child, was doubting my abilities as a mom. Getting mad at my failures to control him, or understand him, or even want to play with him when I had so much to do around the house. I'd lose patience with him. Yell at him. Spank him. Lose my temper. Wash my hands of him. Walk away from him. Deny him, in so many ways. And then I would be contrite, in tears, painfully distraught and wrung out, guilt-ridden at my lack of control, my lack of ability, wondering why I couldn't just be better at this. Thinking, over and over and over again, that I was a bad mother. Telling myself so. Again and again. Practically flogging myself (self-pity and all) for my impatience and temper and angry reactions. And in the universe's perverse but oh-so-consistent manner, thinking and talking about my subpar mothering skills started to become truth. Thought transcends matter, after all.

So I had a spiritual healing done. Which helped with my broken heart and blame and guilt. I came away feeling lighter, more determined, with a mantra to Shiva to break the cycle of temper and anger and impatience. I attended a restorative yoga class. Which added to the light, re-teaching me how to breathe, to let the anger and hurt go, to renounce that behavior with "that's not me." I bought books on how to deal with my willful child. All of it helped. Temporarily. For a day. Or a week. Or a month. But I still felt that ache of doubt -- will I fly off the handle here? Am I reacting (or over-reacting) the right way here? Why can't I stay calm? Why can't I just redirect? Why can't I think of some new way to react instead of losing my temper and yelling?

And then I came back to Marisa. For a few years now, Marisa de los Santos has been among my top three writers. Which is saying something, as until last month, she'd only written two books. Her new one came out, and it was as lovely and poetic and compelling and wonderful as the last two. I loved it. I love her. She's lyrical about love. In all its forms. And it wasn't until this week that I truly understood that.

When I read her first book, Love Walked In, I was bowled over by her description, her discovery of real, true, soul-deep love. How it surprises you in its fullness, how even more surprising is its reciprocation by the same being you love with all your heart. She was so right on the money -- describing everything I'd held out for all these years until I found my pilot. She made love come to life and reveal its true meaning inside this simple paperback. I was moved by her. I felt in sync with her, as a newly made wife having found and married the love of my life. But what I failed to realize, what I never could have seen even though it was right in front of me the entire time (often spelled out in blatant yet lyrical language) was that her book was really all about motherhood. About a mother's love. A mother's undeniable, all-encompassing, fiercely protective, unselfish, wonderful kind crazy love. And even more crazy, all three of her books have that all-important theme at their core. Somehow, I missed that.

This all has a point. What the healing and yoga and daily prayers started, Marisa's books finished. Or rather, reminded. Enlightened. Like a key that finally turns the lock. No more pity -- no more doubt, no more anger at myself. No more blame. The universe has heard these fears of mine and manifested them all too often at my very request. And above all, both Griffin and I deserve better. In Marisa's words, it's "time to get back to the business of loving this child who needs me -- my life's work."

Tonight, for the first time, Grif and I read The Polar Express. My boy, who loves all things trains and mountains and really gets Santa this year. It was the best birthday present ever, to share this book (that my lovely sister Jeannine had gotten for me so many years ago) with this child of mine. This small boy who fills my heart so full with love and wonder and joy. I am overwhelmed by him, the gift of his life, the gift of this life Jim and I have made together with him, for him, for each other.

So this year, today, on my rainy and dark birthday, I made the boy and myself and my husband and the universe a promise. Not a resolution, but a bone-deep re-belief, if you will. On this day that marks the celebration of my own birth, I have become more patient. More kind. More loving. More imaginative. More competent. More calm. More thankful. More forgiving. More peaceful. More joyful. More accepting. More understanding. More gentle. More generous. More fun. More lighthearted. More supportive. More attentive. More responsive. More happy. More joyous. More present. More rooted. More committed than ever to mothering and nurturing and embracing my sweet child with love and light and goodness. More and more and more... better. And yeah, it's a word.

It's been HOW long?

Ok, so, um, I've been busy. Thank the Universe -- busy beyond belief. Probably too busy, in all truthfulness. But working part-time has been amazing. I've had the opportunity to bite off waaaaaay more than I can chew, spent the last six months trying to potty-train a three-year-old (and not lose my mind), adjusted to my new part-time-crazy-working-mom-loving life. And had a blast doing it.

The only thing I've missed is this. I've missed it a lot. I haven't made time for it -- but in truth, it's because I've made time for so much else (although you don't want to see the state of my home office. I'm truly afraid that if I don't get in there soon to organize, purge and, I repeat, ORGANIZE, that my husband will submit me for an episode of Hoarders. I digress.).

Time -- it's always been about time, hasn't it? And now that I have more of it, I've filled it to the absolute brim so that I've got even less these days. Ironic, no? Even my husband complains that I'm always going somewhere, doing something, with the boy, with friends, with yet another project. Driving way too much. Taking too much on. But it's been fabulous. Hard, at times (such is the life with a 3-year-old). Crazy at others (such is the life of a mom). Truly insane at even others (such as it is as a writer, late nights and long hours writing and editing and writing and editing....). But, I repeat, so very good.

So here's to getting everything I wanted. Here's to being crazy busy but still having the days off to go to the zoo with the boys, the pool with Grif, the off-days to do errands or just play in the driveway, or stay up way too late with my pilot watching silly movies or talking into the wee hours, planning our next days, our next dinner, our next dreams.

Here's to it all. Thanks, everyone, everything. Proof positive that dreams do come true.

And a wee little promise, to myself, to the boy, to my pilot. To come here more often. Just for a few minutes. Oh, and to write in the boy's journal. And clean up the office. And get those pictures hung. And get back to yoga more often. And... And... enjoy all the rest.

With love, with light, with hope and peace. Thank you for this good, good life.

change is a comin'

Well, who knew, eh? Who knew that this day would finally, finally arrive? This day where the focus, the hope, the crux of all my dreams and desires from the past two years would unfold itself in one neat little package? For those of you following along, this is where I would obviously and convincingly say, "Well, I did. I knew it was coming." And though there were days when I lost patience (but never hope!), I believed this day would come. Truly. And yet, it's still so amazing to know that it is finally here....

Last week, I went to yoga. A mom's night out. No boys, no distractions. The decision just made and final that although I believe in long shots and miracles, my current place of employment simply had not been able to keep me -- the hours? the pay? doesn't matter -- the decision finally final and done. And although I was so very excited about my new part-time job (read it again, PART-TIME JOB...ok, now shout it to the rooftops), I had, in fact, been holding out more than a little bit of hope that my long shot of being able stay would come through. It did not. And frankly, I was more than a little disappointed. Ok, that's an understatement. I was sad. Supremely let down. Broken-hearted. Scared too at the thought of leaving this very comfortable place I had created for myself as writer, editor, brainstormer, concepter, valued employee, friend.....and that's when I realized that I had let myself lose sight of the most important part. That. My. Dream. Had. Finally. Fully. Absolutely. Perfectly. Come. TRUE!

So, yoga. Arriving in sadness made me angry. And those are two things that just don't belong there. At my hot yoga practice, I find it easy, natural even, to really be able to focus on and deliver the deep, deep breathing that is so critical to every yoga practice, but even more so when it's 110 degrees in your studio. And I always use two words to inhale and exhale throughout my practice there -- a mantra of sorts, depending on my mood. Usually some sort of reminder. Often a wish....any one of these my focus for the past year....Inhale (when?). Exhale (soon)....Inhale (peace). Exhale (hope)....Inhale (strength). Exhale (hope).

Last week, last Thursday, with my somewhat broken, fearful, anxious heart in hand, I lay there on my mat before class trying to relax and focus. And I suddenly realized how ungrateful I was, how my expectations had overshadowed the most important part -- that my wish, my dream, my want had come true. Entirely. How easy to forget in the mess of all the crazy details that had just that day worked themselves out. And now how critical it was to put them all aside and embrace, believe, remember what was truly, truly important.

Somewhat contrite, I put all that hurt and disappointment aside. I had just been handed the thing I wanted most in life -- a place to do what I enjoyed (writing and editing) and the amazing gift of two extra days to spend with both of my boys (without compromising too much of my overall funds). More time. More time with Grif. More time with Jim. More, more, more. Time, time, time. How amazing. And so I dedicated that practice to being uncompromisingly, totally overflowing with gratitude and joy. To thanking everyone who worked so hard to make this come true for me. To not just saying thanks, but fully feeling it. To being full to overflowing with joy and thanks. Fully reaping the rewards from the sheer amazingness of it all. To being overwhelmed at this amazing gift -- this gift that sometimes goes by the name of Grif, but so often is just my good, good life.

And so I inhaled (joy). And exhaled (thanks).

Repeat. Infinitely.

seeing, listening, believing

And somehow, another month (plus) has passed, a new year has begun, and the craziness of the holidays has come and gone without a word here. Instead of apologizing, vowing to change, or wishing that I could do something different, I'm trying -- no, doing -- something new. Slightly different. Instead, right now, I'm simply thankful that I'm able to carve out these few minutes now to be here. To do this. And that you're here along with me. Everything as it should be. Kind of an interesting twist on looking at things, no?

I've been listening to the universe a lot lately. Both the universe at large, and the universe as it speaks through a favorite source. Even better, not just listening to the universe, but really hearing it. I saw a sign the other day while driving -- one of those digital road signs that usually blinkingly proclaim "road work ahead 2 miles, proceed with caution" -- only this one actually said, "You are blessed. Be thankful for this good life." Ok, I thought, I'm listening. I get it. And I think it's awesome.

Another day, I got a note from the universe, telling me to "ask my question, feel the answer. Ask, feel, ask, feel. It's that easy." It is that easy, isn't it? My question was of course, "when?" (can I find the right job that will let me spend more time with my husband and boy and still be financially viable) and the soothing, believable, obvious answer was immediately, overwhelmingly, absolutely "soon." Ask. Feel. When? Soon. Ask...feel...when...soon. WHEN? SOON! Even more striking, I believed it. Truly believed it. Still do. It's become my mantra, especially during yoga. Inhale when. Exhale soon. It's perfect, really.

For the new year, I was tempted to do the same-old start over, wipe the slate clean, set new goals thing. But again, at a suggestion, instead I'm looking at it this way....I'm giving thanks that life is just as it is (and always has been). Knowing that what I want is already mine by divine law (and I'm not worrying about how I'll get there) and just focusing on the ownership, the absoluteness of this and letting the rest take care of it itself. I'm following my impulses and instincts, and above all, I know that 2011 is going to be my year (more to the point, it already is).

I even had my tarot cards read the other night, out of curiosity and compulsion, to know if everything I was thinking and feeling already this year would shine through somehow with a turn of a card. Suffice it to say, much of it did. And although I didn't need confirmation to know that the path I'm on is unequivocally the right one, the best one, it certainly was comforting and lovely to hear a voice of resounding agreement.

I've started wearing a yoga charm made by the fabulous Rachel at The Yoga Bar, which reads "Salutations to Ganesha" -- remover of obstacles and the symbol for new beginnings. I'd even go so far as to say it called to me. I love what it represents -- the hope, the knowledge, the certainty. It just seemed too perfectly right.

So -- this may seem a wee bit more mystical than usual, and much of this I've shared with some of you already via email, coffee or conversation, but it simply had to be the first post of this wonderful new year. And even though we all have those same dreams and aspirations and hopes for change and discovery as a new season begins, the difference -- the one I believe and know and feel with utter happiness and certainty and peace -- is knowing (not just believing) that everything will work out as it should. Oh, yes, it will. That I will move mountains (and they will say, "thank you, dude!). And that there is simply no such thing as thinking too big.

Wow. Pretty cool, no?