Epic.

Ok, so here in Colorado, everyone's buzz word is "epic." That run was epic. That party was epic. That lunch? Epic. It's said in reverence, or excitement, or awe. Consider it the CO version of awesome or amazing or wow-worthy. I've heard it a lot in the last few days. But it wasn't until today that I finally got it.

Today, I did something waaay out of my comfort zone. And I did it alone. Epic. Today I hiked 30+ minutes, above 11,500 feet, to get to the top of a mountain. Epic. Many times during this hike, I wanted to turn back, give up. Especially when I came over the first hill, ski boots trudging and heavy skis over my shoulder, and realized that what I thought was nearly the end of the hike was not even halfway. And I was sure that I couldn't do it. No way. But somehow, someway, I kept going. And kept going. And made it to the top. Epic. Today I hiked to 12,000 feet, just to ski some different terrain. Because I wanted to. Epic.

Today, I almost decided not to ski at all, cuz I'd be going by myself, skiing by myself, and doing it all with a very tired body and mind. Today, I went anyway. Epic. Today I heard song after song, some of which I had forgotten, all of which brought a huge smile to my face and a skip to my step (and ski). Epic. Today, I rallied, when I'd rather have slept. Today I hiked, when I'd rather have given up and gone back. Today, I remembered what it was like to be me -- strong, beautiful, healthy, free, amazing me. Epic. Epic. Epic.

And today as I drove back down the mountain, Into the Mystic blaring on the radio, I was overcome with gratitude. Tearful, overwhelming, fabulous gratitude. For my wonderful life, for my amazing family, for my good, good health, for this truly epic day that I had given to myself.

I think more of us deserve truly epic days like this, don't you?

Taking a journey

So I missed yesterday's post in the craziness of our friend's giant 40th birthday party (the reason that prompted this trip in the first place). But both this pic and the top are from yesterday, so in my mind, that counts.

Where do I begin? Let's keep it simple, else I could wax poetic and ponder the thoughts and words swirling in my head for much too long, and probably still never get them all out properly or fully. I've long considered Grif's godmother my spiritual advisor, but I've always known that one of Jim's friends exuded that same quality of peace and spirituality and coolness and wholeness and sheer giving. It's why I've always been so attracted to her. It's one of the many reasons why I love her. And it's why I opened up to her so easily, why I trust her, and in a not-so-round-about way, asked her for help.

Last night, we talked. Really talked -- talked about her former job, and one that she is very active in as a part of her lifestyle and being. And for as much as I feel I am in control of my own breathing, my own life, my own role as a mother, if you've been following along (or if you're a mom yourself), you'll know how often and how easy it is for me to spin out of control. Lose my temper. Yell. And for as much as I know exactly what Grif will do in a certain situation, for as much as I don't like the way I've reacted to it in the past, I find myself over and over again powerless to change my reactions to him and it. Yoga and spiritual healings and my daily gratitude and work on this blog go very far in maintaining my health, both physically and mentally (and spiritually!). But that's all they do -- maintain. I needed something to break out of the maintenance phase and finally get on the path to fixing what ever anger/guilt/sadness/despair/grief/impatience issues I have, the ones I let surface much too often, the ones I can't keep from coming out.

And well, suffice it to say, thanks to Val, I think last night I started that journey. That journey of discovery and acknowledgement, of acceptance and forgiveness, to heal and change. I don't know where it will take me, or how I'll get there, but now that I have a direction, I know it's coming. It reminds me of that Shawshank quote, "It's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain."

Oddly enough (or not), I got a note from the universe yesterday that said "What do you fear now? How will you use it? You're welcome, the universe." I think that sums it up.

Feelin Good

So before we left on this trip, I made the commitment to keep up with my yoga practice while I was on vacation. And after a long, long day of traveling, and a long night of barking dogs and dueling guitars, and landing and playing all in a much higher altitude, I wasn't sure that I'd be able -- physically or mentally -- to make it to yoga today. I was worried about my fatigue, my choice of yoga studio out here in CO, my crazy, crazy, crazy sore body from training, and did I mention the altitude? The altitude was already kicking my butt, and I was planning to go to a hot yoga class and try to breathe for an hour? I had to be kidding.

But I wasn't. The studio was awesome -- I felt the yoga love as soon as I walked in. The class was amazing -- and even more importantly, I felt just as amazing. The teacher was fun, the class full, and much cooler than I expected (thank you, Moksha, for upping my tolerance for hot hot hot studios). My breath never got away, my muscles never got too fatigued, we never did anything that I wasn't already well familiar with. And I did all the vinyasas. All of them. And they felt good. Really, really good. I can't wait to go back on both Sunday and hopefully Thursday. 

But what really cemented my choice, what really made me thank the universe that I did the work and motivated and went and practiced this amazing class, was the closing song the teacher played as we came down for our last shivasana... it was a song I've long, long loved. One that has always brought a slow, sensual smile to my face right before I my heart bursts out into song and joy and fun and love and light. A song that was a Jeep song. A singing song, a breathing song. And because the universe is good, and my life is as well (and grandma unknowingly kept up my daily Grif photo promise), because technology is so, so fine, I can share that lovely Nina Simone song with you. I share it with you here. Enjoy. Smile. Revel. Sing. 

Long time coming

So begins our vacation. We’ve been away from the boy before, and I’m not usually one of those overly emotional clingly mom types who cries and wails whenever we leave the “baby” -- granted, this is the longest we’ll have been away from Grif, and the longest he’ll have stayed with grandma, but that’s not what had me in tears. Cuz yes, there were tears when I walked away from Grandma’s car, his little life of toys and clothes and bunny and dog filling up the back of her car. What choked me up had to do with, as usual, time. 

I’ve finally come to a point in the year where the freelance work is done (but hopefully more coming down the pike), so no outstanding work or obligation or task is pulling me away from the boy’s constant cries of “come play with me, mommy.” The holidays are over, the baking, shopping, wrapping and traveling are over as well -- so much so that everything is put away and stored for another year. Most of the laundry is done, caught up, as is the house in its current state of “pretty clean.” The packing and prepping and double-checking for this trip is complete as well... and so this afternoon came the time to finally, fully relax. The time when I could finally put everything down, not have anything pressing me to get done, the time when I could finally focus all my attention on the boy... and then we left. 

Which is not to say that I’ll be in any real crazy insane working mode when we return. Sure, they’ll be the obligatory unpacking and putting everything away and the new batch of laundry to do, but time-wise, I’ll still have the same (luxurious, glorious) copious amounts -- no upcoming events, no crazy side-work, nothing to prep and pack for. And maybe, hopefully, after some time away, time where I can catch up on sleep -- lots and lots of sleep and napping and movie watching and yoga and hanging with friends and skiing and all the rest this lovely, magical place in the mountains brings -- hopefully I’ll be more refreshed than ever, so the times I’ll have with the boy will be that much more fun and focused and free. He deserves it, and so do I. 

But for now, I miss him a little. I miss the time that I’ve already wasted trying to get to this point, sometimes at his expense. I miss his smell and his little face and his heart-melting laugh. But I’ve missed my pilot too, and with the craziness of editing and working and holiday rush, we’ve missed spending good time together as well. We’ve missed each other, and for this trip, I’m so thankful that we have the time to recharge and relax with each other, for each other. So for as much as I miss the boy and the fact that this “down” time could be solely dedicated to him, I know -- and am soooooo very thankful for -- this time is just for the pilot and me. Cool, no? 

Packing up

There was a moment today when I didn't think I would make it. The amount of work I needed to get done, the writing project after writing project, on top of the packing, organizing, cleaning, and all the rest, seemed totally insurmountable. I was sure I'd have to bring more that a little of "real" work home, to complete over vacation, and I was both upset and sick at the thought of that. And I'm sure it showed... I'm famous for that. And then there were the nerves I was feeling about my training appointment today -- the last way I wanted to start off my vacation was with disappointment and frustration....

But somehow, I got the writing done. Most of it was even done really well, turning out much better than I expected. And as a writer, that's often the magic of just putting your head down and plugging through -- at the end, you come back to the surface and realized you churned out something worthwhile. I love it when that happens.

And the training? Went great. I'll be sore tomorrow, but now more than ever, I'm committed to working out and losing weight before an April wedding and before our May music fest. I'm even taking yoga clothes so I can "get my heat" on along with a few vinyasas while on vacation. The skiing... well, I just hope there's snow. I'm psyched to get back on the slopes, if even for only two days.

But packing? I'm still behind on. Cleaning? None done. And I'm rapidly, rapidly losing steam (blaming most on my post-training fatigue and nausea-laden exhaustion)(and a mini spat I had with the pilot)(I hate it when we do that). But for now, here's to making it this far today, which was much, much father and much better than I thought I'd be. And that's something to be proud of, no matter what is still left to do for the night, no matter how I feel physically or mentally. I'm just sooo thankful to even be going, so thankful that we can go and recharge with each other, in that most wonderful, amazing of states. Here's to vacation. And Colorado. And me. And falling asleep one more time with the boy before I leave him for over a week. Goodnight, all. See you soon.

Acknowledgement

So, I think it's worth noting that as of today, I have posted more blog entries in this first month of 2012 than I did in all of 2010 and 2011. For the past three weeks, it's been an interesting journey, finding shots to take of the boy each day, finding time to sit down here at this computer every day, finding heart to write about something new and poignant and blog-worthy every day.

Some are better than others. Some have made me sit back, after re-reading, and smile in awe and wonder, at my talent, at my life. Some have made me sigh. Some cry. Some are just ok, and even more importantly, I'm ok with those that fall into the realm of mediocre. Only a few have garnered any comments, and I'm ok with that too. Although I do wonder if anyone is following along... or if this will all just become something amazing for Grif and me to look back and read together someday. Either way is perfect.

So here's to writing, every day. And to forgiving myself and being easy on myself if I choose to break that cycle this week -- as we go on a (for me, MUCH-needed) vacation to Colorado, I'd love to promise that I will continue these daily pics and daily posts. And I truly intend to try. But if for some reason I miss one, or choose to miss one, to take a little break, a little breather, I'm not going to beat myself up over it. I'm not going to go crazy trying to take time to post something just to check off another day. That's not what this has been about.

Instead, I'm going to relax. Unwind. Sleep in. Nap. Hopefully do some yoga in Longmont, hopefully doing some skiing in Salida, hopefully see a few movies, and I know catch up with good friends and generally enjoy life. And we'll just see what the rest of the time brings.

So if you've been following along for the last 20-odd days, here's to you too. And if you're reading along and looking back, my future self, here's to you as well. To these and many more. Cheers!

Yoga lessons

I've talked before about my favorite yoga teacher, Joe. Even before Rachel at the Yoga Bar (who has brought a whole new level of light and love and understanding and peace to my life as a whole, not just my yoga practice), there was Joe. I've had good yoga teachers in the past (Katherine, way back in KC who introduced me to real yoga in the first place), but it was Joe who really taught me what yoga was, what it meant to practice yoga, how to practice yoga, what it meant to be a yogi. Truly, fully, completely. It was Joe that brought that gentle wisdom and breathtaking enlightenment to my practice, and my life. It was Joe, and the studio he taught at, who brought gave me yoga again at all. Even when Joe left last year (moving to a new city to start anew with his wife and little girl), I channeled him in most of my practices. I quoted him to others. I thought about all the things he would say and teach and tried to keep them present in my mind, tried to keep them part of my life. And then he came back.

He's only back for awhile -- til April, is the current rumor. And this time, before he leaves, I'll be sure to take the time to finally tell him how much he has contributed to this change, this understanding, this appreciation and fulfillment that yoga brings to my life. I'll express my gratitude for his guidance and gift.

In the meantime, I'll continue to revel in his quiet calm, his slow way of talking and teaching, his gentle yet oh-so-important reminders. It occurred to me tonight that these reminders are not just for yoga, they're about life. And in the wake of a really good practice, I thought them worthy to share. So take a breath, and listen...

Joe always stresses the importance of no judgements, no opinions during practice. To just observe. To acknowledge the changes, invite them in, and let them move on. How refreshing to think we could do this in our everyday lives -- about ourselves, about others, no judgements, no opinions, just acknowledgement. He talks often about the body, the breath and the mind, how when we are distraught or overworked or losing concentration and focus, to just come back to the body, breath and mind. Come back to our breathing. How wonderful it would be when things in life get really crazy and rough to remember to come back to our breath, and focus on the beauty and strength of our body, our breath and our mind. To just let the rest go, the things that make us crazy, the things that make our brains circle around in a frenzy of thought, the things that make us judge ourselves and find us wanting... to just let it all go with one cleansing, prana-filled breath.

How amazing that would be, no? Thanks, Joe. Thanks for the reminders.

So much, turned around

Today was uneventful, no big crazy editing project to complete, no mountains of laundry to do, not quite time to start packing and organizing for our Colorado trip, although I've shopped and prepped for our return already. I made a small mess in the kitchen, but Grif helped too - we made pancakes for breakfast and chili for the super bowl, and then decided to skip out to lunch (at, in Grif-speak, Pa-ner-ro) instead of staying inside, and where Grif was truly an angel. Ate all his lunch, stayed right by me, was simply a good, well-behaved, adorable child. High marks for a three-year-old boy.

Which says something for his adaptability -- poor guy, he's born the brunt of my quicker-to-explode-that-time-of-the-month-temper all by himself the last day and a half, but in the true magical nature of children, they both remember too much yet are sooo quick to forgive. Remember when you yelled at me? Yes, Grif, I'm sorry, I shouldn't yell like that when I'm mad. It's not nice. I'm sorry, honey. It's ok, mommy.... total forgiveness, complete and unencumbered.

So tonight, as we lay in his bed, and he was doing his usual toss around fidgety thing -- the thing that keeps him awake when he so obviously is exhausted -- I started to lose my temper again (on this, the last and worst day of those headachy, volatile, emotional days of the month), and from out of nowhere, this child of mine did something different. For the first time ever, he asked me, mommy, do you love me so much? He's told me that, stated his love (so much) already a thousand times, even though that "I love you so much, mommy" is something relatively new... but this, this questioning, as if he didn't know, or else just wanted to hear it, was a first. And it, as expected, floored me. Checked my anger like ice water on a fire. Gone, out, suddenly, completely. As if he knew, somehow in his little heart and soul, knew exactly that this was what I needed to hear to bring me down off that (silly) stormy mountain I was mentally ascending, as if he knew it would cut right to my heart and bring back only what was important -- my love for him, his for me, and deep, deep, deep thanks for this life that has brought both.

Mommy, do you love me so much? Oh honey, yes I do. With all my heart.

Dream a little dream...

Today, I had a startling, almost overwhelming moment of clarity and hope. The perfect words -- clarity and hope -- the hope I felt was deep-seated, overpowering, going so far beyond being moved to tears, it hit me hard enough to make me gasp in true wonder. I had a realization, so clear, so sharp, so real. And although it's going to sound ridiculous (in its obviousness), I guess it was because I'd never articulated it before, never fully acknowledged and admitted it before. Never hoped it with all my heart and all my focus and all my love and gratitude and strength and force before.

I realized that for all this crazy, unpredictable world has to offer, with all its twists and turns and tragedies, hidden and obvious, imagined and real, possibly being the last year we have to live (if you believe the mayans), I had one clear wish for the future.

Today, as I looked at my sweet child -- who drove me to tears this afternoon with his typical, fit-throwing, screaming, non-napping three-year-old self -- that I couldn't wait to see how his life turned out. To see how he grew up. What hearts he broke. What people broke his. How he handled both. What he grew up to be, and look like, and act like, and become. How he would move as a teenager, as an adult -- how tall and lanky, or sleet and lithe, powerful or quiet, or both. How long his hair would be, how much grayer his eyes would become. How good he was at sports, or what books he liked to read, or what his first car would be. What he would remember from his childhood. What he would remember about Jim. What he would remember of me. What our marriage and life together would have taught him. Would he travel or stay close? Would he grow up here or in Colorado? Would he sing? Would he dance? Would he build or tear down? Would he be strong and smart and healthy and kind and good? Would he create, or discover, or solve, or help, or fly, or fight, or serve, or sacrifice? Would he cry, or laugh, or rage or...

Please, I thought to the universe, whatever happens to us all, to this wonderful, mixed-up world, whatever destiny or chance is out there waiting to unfold, please let me get to see that. I can't wait to see that.

The many faces...

This one is for the silly, relaxing fun we had today. This is for my husband, who got up with the boy and let me lounge, guiltlessly, in bed for another whole hour then take a shower in complete peace (and privacy). This one is for the guys at the butcher, who always make me feel special and welcome and who I know always give me the best cuts. This one is for me, who took the time (and the mileage) to go to Findley Market to get good spices and buy local (including banana pudding). This one is for Jim again, who let me go to yoga (even though it hurt me a bit -- leftover exhaustion and trembling muscles from the training). This one is for my dad, whose 70th birthday was today, but didn't get the fanfare and specialness that he most assuredly deserved, and was ok with that -- and a simple phone call.

But most of, this one is for Grif. Who wants to grow up to be Santa. And the Polar Express. And also a snake. You want to be a snake when you grow up? Daddy wants to be a snake when he grows up. And mommy... and nana... and popo... and grandpa jack... and super g... and thomas... and percy... and shawn... and alex.... and the entire litany of every family member, friend and toy that he can list off the top of his head (and the list is long). This one is for the many faces of Grif... all of them hilarious, all of them so uniquely him.

Chronos, Kairos

Once again, I find myself exhausted -- after a truly long, hard day of copywriting at work, still a bit exhausted and tired-out from yesterday's first training -- and it was tempting once again to skip tonight's endeavor. But I had something to share, something I read today, about motherhood and time. Right up our alley, no? So here I am.

The full article is here, and I highly (highly!) recommend reading it, as more of this will make sense. But the gist of her article centered around, as a mother, getting through the chronos times -- when the kids are screaming, or throwing fits, or when we are just watching the clock thinking two more hours until bedtime. The times that we get through, that are difficult to make it through -- but somehow we do -- during these days and weeks of motherhood and mothering.

But then there are the kairos times, when everything slows down, and we look, really see our children, and are overwhelmed by their beauty, their humor, their gloriousness, their childhood. We're overwhelmed with gratitude and love and hope. These are the times we live for. Chronos is the time we live through, and it's ok that chronos is so much more of our regular days.

Chronos -- driving home late in traffic and almost getting hit head-on by a truck not paying attention and crossing the line (on the phone?). Kairos -- tonight as we brush teeth and with his mouth full of brush, Grif looks right up at me, in my eyes and says Mommy, I love you so much (it's the "so" that always gets me). Chronos, making dinner and prepping and plating, even though I'm tired and headachy. Kairos, coming in the door to a shouted "mommy!!!!" then lounging on the couch, on Jim, with Grif splayed across us both, watching Thomas and relaxing, truly, from the day.

Chronos, making the effort to get out the computer even though all I wanted was to crash on the couch. Kairos, seeing, feeling, knowing it was worth it.

Reality check.

So today was my first day with my new personal trainer. I was ready, excited, pumped. And for the first 30 minutes, I was good. Challenged, really challenged, and I could already tell that I had much farther to go that I'd hoped, but I was fine with that. I was working hard, but hanging in there. And the pushups? Ppssshaaw. I rocked them (thank you, chaturanga!). I was even rocking the standing lunges... until the second set came, and the 31 minute mark. And then it all went downhill. Fast. And badly.

Ok, so at my yoga studio (the place where I'm master of my chaturanga -- which, for those of you who don't know, is basically a pushup. Hence, I do about 50 pushups during each practice... in 110 degree heat...), I belong. I'm comfortable. I'm confident and calm, even when I'm stretching my limits and my endurance. I don't judge (myself or others), I avoid opinions (especially about myself, both about how well I'm doing and how poorly). I just do the work, embrace the workout, stay in the moment, focused, and enjoy it. That's not what happened at the gym.

I lost my breath, I lost my cool, I lost a small part of my lunch (yeah, I know), and then I lost my confidence and was wrapped in disappointment. I wasn't able to finish the hour, I wasn't able to complete the last few circuits, and I was right on my way to heartbreak. My trainer, Julie, was great -- she was understanding, supportive, encouraging -- but I felt like I had disappointed her, and me. And I left with my head high, but my spirits low, my head dizzy, my stomach nauseous.

Until I remembered my first moksha yoga class, where the post-workout results were much the same. Where I went back despite the difficulties and challenges and doubts, where I learned the mantra of I am breathing in, I am breathing out, no judgements, no opinions, just be present, just do what I can.

So, right now, I'm exhausted, headachy, sore. But already ready for the next session, even if the exact same thing happens. I refuse to be disappointed, I refuse to be discouraged. Bring it on!

Goodness.

Today, I saw goodness. Real, honest-to-god, kindhearted, genuine, overflowing, noticeable, palpable goodness. Even more miraculous, I saw it twice.

Waiting at the doctor's office this afternoon, I saw a young girl walk in with her (over-tired, disinterested, texting-focused) mother. From her speech, her volume and the features of her face, it was immediately apparent that the young girl had Down's Syndrome. She was friendly, exuberant, joyful from the moment she walked in and recognized an older girl she went to high school with, but with whom she had never talked. Hi, do we go to school together? What's your name? I know you, don't I? It was obvious that this was the first time they'd ever met and talked, even though they'd recognized each other. What followed was an excited conversation where the young girl tried to convince the older to vote for her for Prom Court (Prom Court! the young girl beamed. I'm going to be on Court!). To watch the older girl respond, again and again, to truly engage the younger girl with genuine interest and sincere kindness made me smile. I nearly laughed out loud when the younger asked the older to "swear" she'd vote for her, and the older returned with "pinky swear?" (which they did). The younger thought this was wonderful -- and it was delightful to hear them both laugh. When the older girl was called into her appointment, the younger told her she loved her, jumped up and gave her a heartfelt hug, which was returned by the older along with "I love you too." 

Having no one to talk to (her mother was patently avoiding her), she turned around to say hello to a boy behind her. What followed was another of the most sweet conversations two high-school-aged strangers could have ever participated in. She asked where he went to school, he answered Blessed Sacrament. He asked in turn, her answer, Simon Kenton. Did he know Great Wolf Lodge? No. She was going to a bible study program up there -- he should check it out. It sounds really cool, maybe I will. What do you like to do in school? Want to hear what my teacher said to me today? Yeah, tell me. Ok....

Now don't get me wrong. I did not expect either of the older kids to treat this lovely younger girl with Down's poorly. I didn't expect them to roll eyes, or ignore her, or uncomfortably, rudely put her off simply because of her disorder. Of course not. I believe in the goodness of people, but I also have this notion of teenagers (these days) being less aware, less caring, less giving, more selfish, more standoffish, more mean, I guess. Too much TV? Probably. Since the ones I know as neighbors act nothing like that.

But what struck me, what had me in tears -- pure, wondrous, awestruck tears -- was how they both engaged this girl. They listened. They reached out -- both physically and emotionally. She was a perfect stranger, and they opened their hearts to her as she so easily did to them. And it was genuine. Real. 

I watched both moms as they watched their children talk with this special young girl -- and I mean special in the literal way, she had something about her, a glow, a magnetism that drew you to her and wanted to turn her attention to you -- and both moms had the same small smile about their face. As if being a generous, kind-hearted, attentive, time-giving teenager was positively the norm and nothing to be called out or noticed or remarked upon. A tiny approving smile was enough.  

Well, I noticed. And here I call it out. Goodness, it exists. And my parting thought was that I wished with all my heart that I could pass on that same pure quality of kindness to Grif that I saw from three strange kids at the doctor's office today. And that I might pass it on to you. 

The Universe speaks

Some of you might know that I get messages from the Universe. Some of you out there get the same messages, so you'll know what I'm talking about. What I'm not talking about is strange voices or communications zapped down from on high (or the product of an overactive imagination). Although sometimes, I admit, they can feel that way. I get them from here, and I've been getting them via email once or twice a week now for well over a year.

Some of the messages are (scarily, wonderously) perfect for the day or week I'm having. Some just cause me to take a breath and reflect. Some make me laugh out loud. Some make me cry. Some make me really take stock and think. Some inspire me, truly inspire me, awakening something deep inside that I've known was always there but either forgot about, let lie dormant for much too long or didn't realize was in there at all. Some are just nice notes that seem to be exactly tailored to my life in general. All of them are personal. Mine. For me. Even if they're the exact same note that someone else (you, perhaps?) has received as well. And that's what makes them special.

I have a huge folder of the ones I've saved -- ones I thought especially noteworthy or poignant. You'll remember a few posts ago, I was trying to find one (unsuccessfully). I have this crazy (or not) notion that one day, I'll cut and paste them all into one long, lovely book, that I can read and reread -- and be inspired and amazed and awed all over again.

I'm not all that "into" the website from which these lovely notes come, nor have I been actively interested in attending the live seminars from the site's founder that occasionally pass through my area, nor am I interested in the book (which is not to say that if I took the time, I would be, or that you might be as well). But what I live for, what I look forward to, what I really appreciate and believe in, are the notes. They're not trite, or overly anything. They simply are. And that's what makes them perfect.

Today's was (as usual) a good example of something I needed to hear, coming right off the heels of a marathon editing and index checking weekend, with the laundry still in the dryer, a blog post still to (again!) compose, dishes in the sink, Christmas decor still piled and un-stored -- including the still fully assembled tree -- all in the days before a huge Colorado trip for which I have a ton to do and pack and prepare and....

Anyway, here's what it said. I share it with you:

Today, just do a little bit, so I can do a lot of bit. That's how it works.

 - huge love, The Universe

The Island of Sodor...

One of my old friends from Kansas City has two boys (forgive me if I don't know their exact ages -- I think five and seven, possibly six and eight?). Not too long ago, she posted on Facebook that she'd come to a sad day in the life of her (usually hilarious, always brilliant) boys -- the day she packed up the Island of Sodor and all the associated Thomas and friends trains. Looking into my future, I know that I will cry like a baby when that day comes.

I don't remember why I even thought that Grif, as a wee one-and-a-half-year-old, might enjoy a wooden train set. If I remember correctly (and if I'd kept up with his journal, I wouldn't be guessing, I could just check, sigh), we got him a basic figure-eight set and some extra cars for his 2nd birthday. Suffice it to say, miles of track and 50+ cars and blue-based paraphernalia later, he was a fan.

Thomas, oh how I love him. Most of his cars don't make noise, and the few that do don't get "played" all that often. Grif does all the work, imagination overload. The wooden track -- watching Grif progress from needing me or Jim to build it entirely for him to now he often can do it himself with only a little engineering assistance -- simply amazing. Brain building. And the way he knows ALL their names, how his favorites only rotate on a small basis, how just today, he gave Molly a kiss on her "bruise," I thank Rev. Awdry every day for bringing this locomotive magic to my child's world.

And the movies? At least the current ones -- good lessons, funny voices, guiltless (un-scary) entertainment for my little one. And I'm not above the being subject to the marketing or sales -- we went to see the "live" Thomas show last year (and those people put on a SHOW, I tell you). Grif loved it -- was utterly mesmerized by the song and dance on stage, and sat motionless, entirely still for the entire 90-minute performance, a feat I would have thought impossible for my ever-moving child. We visited Thomas the Train in person, too, rode on him and made general merriment with the life-size engine up in Lebanon. That was an amazing day. And despite the widespread influx of all things Thomas, I have to say, I'm a fan too.

But it's simply the expanding of his imagination and the developing of his brain that I see unfold every time we get the track out -- how he choo-choos, puff puffs, how he chooses how long each train line is, how he knows which cars go together and how he wants them to exactly appear. How he talks to them, about them, for them, as the hours upon hours while away.  Come on, Mommy, get your train. Go, go, go, GO!

You want to come play trains with me? Forever, honey, forever.

Short and sweet.

I almost slept through this one... and honestly, there was a moment (brief, but there) when I almost deliberately decided to skip today's post altogether. Not for any reason really, outside of the general lateness of the hour, general tiredness from the day, and the fact that I'd been asleep in the boy's bed with him for the past hour after we got home from our respective parties... but none of that seemed a good enough reason. I have tons of editing and indexing to review tomorrow -- which means (hopefully) the last of the days where I can't play with Grif much as I sit at the table at work. And which means that I'll (probably) miss the Golden Globes (yeah, I'm one of those people -- I LOVE the awards, I love the speeches, I love the dresses, I love it all). I should stay up and do some more editing, and maybe after I'm finished here I will, for just a bit.

I almost skipped this one cuz I didn't have something profound or deliberate to say. So far this year, something, some "theme" has come to me, either as the day progresses, or as I put Grif to bed, that is both the perfect match to the picture I've captured today, or is close enough to spark something else.

I almost skipped this simply because the walk from Grif's room to the computer seemed impossibly, horribly, exhaustingly long. But at this last thought, I realized that was just silly. All of it was just silly. Today was nothing extraordinary, but neither was it not special. We celebrated a friend's surprise birthday. I spent time with good, good friends. I (once again) chose the wrong thing to order at the restaurant (and once again had that funny food envy). We cuddled, Grif and me, and I held him tight as he fell asleep tonight. And although that's nothing out of the ordinary these days either, when I hold his small body close, when I smell his little boy smell, when I marvel in this good, good life we all have together, I realize that today was still totally extraordinary.

For me.

Friday the 13th? Bah. Granted, it was coooold here. And Grif and I (unfortunately) had to actually run out in the first really bitter weather we've had this winter, but that was more a case of bad timing than bad luck.

So what did happen today? Oh, not much. We played. We made old-fashioned strawberry pretzel salad (which in light of the good luck that came my way, I indulged in... heavily). We napped (translation, I got Grif to nap, a miracle of good luck in and of itself). And, my illustrious cookbook writer/cohort/friend informed me that we were on Amazon. Us. Our cookbook. Even more stunning, me. My name. Top billing. On Amazon. Right there for the whole world to see. And enjoy and appreciate and celebrate and read.

Now most of you might think this is silly (sort of like googling yourself), but I was struck. Still am, if my staccato writing here is any indication. I've been writing a book for awhile now, on and off (mostly off, in all truthfulness). I even wrote about that book here once, and I always knew (still know) that I would one day finish it, sell it, publish it, and then see it on the shelves of my favorite bookstore, and ultimately... on Amazon. The pinnacle. The ultimate. What I never imagined was that I would get there first as an editor. What I forgot to be specific about was that I wanted to get there at all -- and so seeing my name up there on that familiar Amazon template was akin to having all my dreams come true, even the ones I had forgotten about.

Deep in my heart, upfront in my head, ever-present in my soul, is the utter conviction that this is just the beginning. Both as editor and writer. As editor, another cookbook (dare I say, cookbooks?) with my name (and Kelly's and Court's) will find its way to that (official)(epic)(amazing) book-selling, book-reviewing, book-making site. And as a writer? Well, that too. I'm sure of it.

So thanks, friends. Thanks, Kelly and Courtney. Thanks to all my neighbors and friends and family and hubby and boy who helped me get here. And I'm not just talking about the cookbook on Amazon. I'm talking here, on Friday the 13th, with the biggest, most satisfied, Cheshire-Cat grin on my face. Thanks, universe. This day has been so, so good.

Building anew

It's appropriate that today we got a new set of blocks for Grif in the mail. Today, I laid the foundation to build something new as well. Today, along with getting a million errands done and sending a boatload of emails, I followed up with something that has been at the back of my mind for about a month now -- today I met and committed to working with a personal trainer.

Nothing to do with resolutions (cuz if you remember, I don't really believe in them), more to do with just finally doing something more, today, now, finally, about toning up and getting better into shape. I won't be trite or silly and bemoan my current weight or how fit I'm not -- cuz I am, fit, that is, and not all that overweight. At the end of every yoga class, I give heartfelt, deep-seated thanks for my power, my strength, my beauty and health. I believe in those things -- I am those things. But for as much as yoga helps me maintain (and cleanse and renew and detox and relax), I needed (wanted) to do something a little extra to help me lose that little extra "extra."

Suffice it to say, I'm excited -- proud that I actually took this step and made this decision (and financial commitment) as opposed to just thinking about it or tossing it around as a "wouldn't it be nice if" idea. I'm anxious -- curious to see what kind of results I'll see in the next three to four months. I'm nervous -- to find out how either really behind I've let myself get or how crazy boot-campy my new trainer is going to be.

It's only once a week right now (but I can show up for solo cardio whenever I like), so I'm not expecting instant miracles or results the likes of which will drop me down to the dress size I was when I met Jim (but wouldn't that be cool?). But already, with this sense of accomplishment (and there THAT feeling is again!), I'm feeling stronger, straighter, leaner, lovelier. More powerful, more beautiful, more healthy, more happy. And isn't that what life should be all about?

I'll keep you posted. Literally.

Mornings, a study.

I feel divided about mornings. On the one hand, I despise them. My least favorite part of the day, the time when the darkness and warmth of my bed call me to stay just a little longer and put off getting up as long as possible. I've always been more of a sunset, twilight-time kind of girl. That relaxing of the day, the reflection, the pause, the settling as the day wraps itself up in color and quality, just before the night comes in.

On the other hand, I love the mornings. Not only for the times when I can sleep in (rare, but occasional), but because they usually begin with the light clomp-clomp of bare Grif feet, and a boy with an armful of bunny and dog silently begging me to open the covers and let him in, so we can snuggle for just a few more minutes.

I dislike mornings when I have to rush the boy to hurry hurry hurry to get ready, change clothes, eat breakfast, put on shoes and bundle up in your coat so we can go go go go!! I love mornings when I can doze just a few minutes longer with a boy and a pilot on either side, all of us tucked in the warmth of "we three" before reluctantly letting the day truly begin.

I dislike mornings as that's usually when Jim leaves us to go on a trip. I love it when he's home and I can sneak out for my favorite yoga class, which begins before most of this city has started to stir.

I dislike mornings as they often signal a time when I must leave the boy at school and make my way into work. I love mornings as they now represent just a fraction of the time I have to spend away from him, as opposed to last year's full-time commitment.

Mornings are usually mommy and Grif time, as even when daddy is home, he's slower to get moving and we often tiptoe out to let him sleep. And then there are the mornings for just the pilot and me, which remind me of when we first met and would lounge and watch TV and nap until noon.

Mornings -- so promising, often painful, but usually worth it, when it's all said and done with, don't you think?

The Boys

The language of fathers and sons... it's something special. Something obvious. I often hear about the singular connection between a father and daughter (I'm living proof, you could say), but in Jim's case, I think he could only have had a son. Which is not to say that if we'd had a girl, he wouldn't have loved her with his whole heart. Of course he would have. But for some reason I feel he was always destined to have a little boy.

It was Jim, in fact, who was ready for it all before I was. I was still terrified of even thinking about having a baby, possibly looking for, but never finding a solid reason not to at all. It was Jim who reminded me that in everything we had done so far together, we had been so very good. What made me think having a child would be any different? He was right, of course. He usually is.

We both were positive Grif was a girl. And both (secretly) trying not too hard to hope for a boy, afraid to voice to each other the near certainty that we would soon be looking at pink paint for the walls. This time, we were both wrong. Gloriously so.

From the very beginning, we've absolutely shared all aspects of parenting. And I mean all. Unlike many dads, Jim was able to take off more time than even I could, and we were a true team from the minute we drove to the hospital. I often say that in those first three months after Grif was born, Jim was hands-down the better mother of the two of us. Even now, because of his schedule and mine, Jim gets to be stay-at-home dad for days at a time while mommy goes to work. Something very few dads get a chance at, a blessing I know he values so very much, especially during the times when he's gone six and seven days at a time. Even now, he and Grif play together in a so much more connected, full way than the boy and me. And rather than being even the tiniest bit envious of that, I can't wait to watch it unfold. To the first time they "have a catch," to when Jim teaches him how to ride a bike, or fix an engine, or mow the lawn, or build a campfire, tie knots, train dogs, fly kites, wash dishes, do laundry, drive, fly, care for, love, live.

Just today in the car, Grif was dreaming of the future. When I grow up, I'm going to be a pilot, just like daddy. It was the first time that I'd ever heard him say all the words together, in a full sensical sentence (some days he's going to fly planes and be a pilot, others he's going to grow up to be a plane, or a firetruck or a train... as if he could grow up to be the vehicle instead of its driver). To be just like daddy. Hard not to love everything about that, right? My boys. My blessings.

Phases and cycles.

Not too many moons ago, the boy was hands-off. Don't touch me, mommy. Please don't pat my back (at least I got a please, right?). Don't hold me. Funny stuff, really, coming out of a three-year-old's mouth. What's really funny is how I often let it hurt my feelings. Especially now that that phase is over.

I come from a basically over-affectionate family. My mother is Mexican, the youngest of 13, most of whom married loud, boisterous, demonstrative Italians. Which means, that at every wedding, weekend dinner, funeral, reunion or casual visit, I would be expected to kiss and hug every single relative (and there were a lot of them), whether I knew them or not. It's just what we did. So very different than my father's very reserved Dutch upbringing. At times, I shied away from the over-affectionation, so to speak. I didn't know half my relatives' names, and I'm expected to do the double-kiss and hug? And mean it? Quite quickly though, the more I did it (under my mother's approving eye) it made me feel adult, like I belonged in some super-secret (vast) family that knew everyone intimately enough to welcome them in arms, even if this was the first time we'd met. It's part of my upbringing that has branded me deeply -- I tend to judge people not by the quality of their handshakes, but by the quality of their hugs. The tentative, half-shoulder squeeze just doesn't do it for me. I'm a two-armed, all the way around, bear hug kind of girl, regardless if you're family or friend. And I expect it in return. 

Consequently, I've passed some of that on to Grif. Perhaps sometimes unwittingly so. That boy we met at the park the other day? As we said goodbye, I told Grif to give Louis a hug and tell him thanks for playing with me. Which he did. Enthusiastically, genuinely, without pause. I ask him to do this frequently, obviously for close family, but really, for anyone with whom we've just spent a few hours... my friends, Jim's friends, a sweet boy we met at a park. He passes this on -- bunny and dog (his go-to companions) often give kisses, hug each other, cuddle with us. He pats their backs, rubs their tummies, worries about them. He worries about Thomas the Train, when we're watching DVDs and Thomas needs help. He constantly tells me how his Wocket is sad, although we can never fully figure out why. He fusses over his trains that have "bruises." His capacity for care, at just over three years old, stuns me. And heartens me. I so want him to grow up to be "good" -- courageous and considerate, strong and dependable. I want his heart to always be this full of compassion and love and simple, innocent goodness. And although I know that this is not totally possible (he will be a teenager someday), I hope that his heart will always be this big. 

Now, his ever-present litany is a request to be held. First thing in the morning, last thing at night. Mommy, will you hold me? Yes, honey, I'd love to hold you. 

Big, contented sigh.

Today, for what feels like the first time in eons, and in all honesty, is probably the first time since March of last year, I didn't have anything to do. No writing, editing or indexing projects hanging over my head, no resume favors left undone, no "work" work that I should have been working on pressing down my day or my heart. Nothing left outstanding, nothing to feel guilty about not doing.

Which is not to say that I still didn't have a ton to do. My side of our office is still barely controlled chaos. My hotmail inbox is horribly overloaded. Don't even talk to me about laundry, mountains waiting, and Grif's journal, still not updated. Today, there were veggies to cut up and freeze in prep for Super Bowl chowder and chili, breakfast to make for today and tomorrow, xmas decorations to take down, dinner and dishes and all the rest. But I had time to do all that, without guilt, without being pressed, without feeling like I really should be doing something else. These tasks were optional, leisurely even. Even more amazing, thanks to my pilot, I got to go to yoga today (where my favorite moksha teacher of all time was teaching class, and so it was even more fulfilling and challenging and good than normal), got there early, left late, and still got to take a nap when I got home. And for that I was so thankful. I felt accomplished. Contented. Relieved, relaxed, good.

Today, I had time. And so this is what we did. You want to come draw with me? Yes, honey. Absolutely. And I did it without watching the clock or being anxious about how much longer I could play with the boy before I had to rush off to finish some endlessly unfinished task. Today, I had time. And it felt totally, gratefully, permanently, amazingly, wonderfully good.

Good stuff.

I'll admit, this daily writing and posting thing is getting harder. I know, I know, it's only been a few days, but it's days like today -- when I'm well and truly exhausted, after three grueling (no, really, grueling) days of editing and indexing into the wee, wee hours, followed by a full day today of top-to-bottom cleaning and high-maintenance dinner prep (but, oh, that salmon and orange-ginger-butter cream sauce were sooo worth it) -- that I can see how easy it would have been to let this go, just this once, for today. I'm the kind of tired where it gets difficult to type or complete thoughts, and would have much rather just gone to bed than haul out this silly laptop.

But no. I have just a few minutes to be true to this challenge I've unwittingly, yet willingly, set for myself. And this one is easy. This one is in thanks for the good friends I have in my life. The ones who listen to my silliness, my woes, my real problems. Really listen. The ones who ask the questions I didn't even know needed to be answered. The ones who offer advice, laughter, understanding and love. This one is for my dear soulmates who embrace my child and take his energy and silliness (and demands) into their whole hearts, and genuinely enjoy him, in turn helping me take a fresh (more patient? more understanding? more joyful?) look at my sweet little boy. This one is for the people who see me, really see me, and still love and accept and support me. Without fail, without question. This one is for Kristy, who is all of these things. And for Jim too, as he is as well (and also possibly because he took care of the HUGE mountain of dishes and pots and pans and mess my colossal dinner made, as he always does). This one is for the good stuff. Cheers. Happy, contented, thankful sigh.

We are three.

There was a short period of time today where I wished Grif was a twin. It's a feeling that I have often when I watch him latch on to 3-year-old he's never met, and proceed to laugh his head off and play with him for the next two hours like he was his "best friend ever." He was meant to be a twin, with his silly high-pitched (amazing) laugh and his noticeably stunning blue-grey eyes. He was meant to be a twin, with his endless, no, really, endless energy. His love of other kids. His delight in playing with another being his size and age and temperament. His, "you want to come play with me?" attitude of pure, pure innocence and delight that infects everything he does.

And then two hours later, when he's having a screaming fit cuz he's worn out from the park, I remember that this was the reason he was not a twin. Solely in service to my sanity, cuz two of him would surely push me over the edge I approach all too often as it is.

In truth, I wanted two kids from the very beginning. In truth, I was terrified of having (and parenting) ANY kids, regardless of number. And then between a pretty horrendous delivery, and an overly challenging first three months, coupled with my (ahem) age, and a myriad of other pretty selfish reasons, we decided to remain three and three alone. And lord knows that there are many days when I am sooo thankful he's a solo. Until days like today. When it's nearly 55 degrees and we go to the park to burn off some much-needed energy outside in the glorious, sunny sunshine. When we meet this sweet little boy Louis and his mom, and it feels like we should all have met years ago, our families and situations (and humor) so immediately alike and compatible, our natural affinity for each other. Louis' mom was 3 months pregnant, and so excited, that I couldn't help but pause for a minute and think, hmm. Should we have? Should we still? Regrets? And resoundingly, rightly, the answer is nope, none. Except for the fact that I should've exchanged numbers with Louis and his mom so we could meet another day and do it all again.

Fit to be.

A consequence of my very (thankfully) busy last year was that I did not (as planned) continue to write down the funny sayings and nuances of a quickly growing Grif. I love and am soooo thankful for the extra time with him courtesy of my (no-longer-new) job, equally blessed with the overabundance of freelance work that fell into my lap (including the illustrious cookbook), but writing in the "Grif Journal" was one of the things that got abandoned by the wayside quickly as the year and ensuing craziness and fun unfolded. My plan is to pick it up again (maybe tomorrow?), and fill it in randomly, in no order, with all the silly stories and snapshot memories that I have of him in the last year. Sort of like a "best of," stream of Grif consciousness, you could say.

So as I pondered what today's blog and photo would be and bring, I picked up the boy from daycare, and immediately was branded "bad Mommy" because I had forgotten (legitimately) to bring the usual, obligatory pretzel/raisin snack pack that Grif usually inhales on the way home. In a word, he threw a fit. A huge one. He is three after all, and everyone (medical professionals included) assure me this is normal. So in an attempt to distract him, I pointed out the awesome colors in the setting-sun sky, to which he immediately responded, "I don't WANT to look at that sky." And which, of course, he did immediately. Three seconds later, the fit ended when he spotted a plane in that gorgeous sky, crying, "Mommy! Oooh! A plane! Ooh! Look! Over there! Behind those trees! A plane! Behind those trees!" His eagerness and excitement over the plane making his voice high-pitched and stuttery and repetitive, a reaction that has happened many times before.

Which brings me, I guess, to the point. How amazing his capacity for wonder and excitement is. How huge. How quickly it can turn on a dime, from a screaming, fit-throwing, seat-kicking, crazy child to a high-pitched embodiment of laughter and light. A lesson I would do well to learn, and certainly emulate more. More wonder and joy, less fits and anger. How's that for a motto?

So much.

Last night, as I went to bed, I felt the most amazing sense of accomplishment. Even though I still had a ton of work to do, laundry to sort and wash, and a whole house to clean, I felt good. Really, really contentedly good. Optimistic, satisfied, happy. This was in part due to the fact that I actually finished a good chunk of some writing I had to do, and totally despite the fact that I was waaaay behind in some editing and indexing still needing to be done (which I'm once again putting off for just a few minutes here as we speak -- I'll get to it, next).

Even more amazing, I woke up with the same take-on-the-world attitude. And it even carried me throughout my day, most pointedly through my (as usual) rough writing afternoon. Rough writing, by which I mean that I have a terrible time (frequently) both remembering that I am a (great!) writer, and also actually getting the (great!) writing done. Yes, I know, hard to believe, but I often sit in front of my computer at my (great!) job as a copywriter, totally despondent and dejected because I know that this will be the day when the words just won't come. Or even worse, that this is the day when I really don't feel like finding the words at all, because of the project, the client, my lunch, my lack of sugar snacks, my overindulgence in sugar snacks, my lack of sleep, you see where I'm going here.

But last night and therefore today, something changed. Shifted. Regardless of what I had done and what I had left (yet again) unfinished. I felt like I had done it all -- and even better, done it well. Maybe this is what writing and blogging have been all about, all this time. This continual building of energy and optimism and inspiration and drive. And maybe this is just the start of the rewards, both spiritual and mental, that I have only now begun to reap. Maybe this is what I have been about, all this time. How amazing.

I'm quite sure that this silly bliss will have its down days, or disappear for moments at a time. I'm a realist about that. But for now, I'll take the "high." This morning, minutes after a groggy Grif came wordless into my room, silently begged me to bend down and take him in my arms, I complied. We sat on the floor, we rocked, we cuddled. A little frog tucked entirely into my body, as I hugged him so very tight. Five minutes later, or maybe it was ten, he finally spoke his first words of the day, "Mommy, I love you sooo much." And I can only think now, that maybe this too is what it's all about. Amazing indeed.

365... err, 362, I guess.

Ok, so I'm not a huge believer in New Year's resolutions. The Universe slipped me a little note last year, that oddly (or not oddly?) is the one that I have passed on to so many others, but somehow cannot find (even after searching for the last 10 minutes)(coincidence? you know the answer to that, I'm sure). Regardless, its message is that there's no such thing as "starting new" or "resolving to make things better" now that the calendar year has turned. What's real, what's important, is believing (ALWAYS!) that what you wish for, what you want, what you wish to change or feel or accomplish or be is always within reach. That instead of starting anew, it's more of a re-energizing, re-affirming, re-believing, if you will, in yourself and everything your life can bring you (and already is).

I've been wanting to do a better job of recording the magic of Grif. His craziness, his antics, his everydayness. And one of my photographer friends is taking and posting a new pic of her kids every day this year, 365 snapshots into the joy of her life and her family. As soon as I saw this, it struck a vibrant chord with me. Yes! This is the answer I didn't even know I was looking for (I love how that's always the way, right?). The answer to both my dilemma for blogging more and simply recording more of the boy's life.

So here it is. Day 1 (which is actually 3, but whatever). This morning, Grif and I got a late start, compounded by the fact that I let him cuddle into my bed, covers pulled all the way up to his nose, to watch Curious George while I hopped into the shower. I was so struck by his little face, the way he was mesmerized by the cartoon, his full attention on it, and the way I could only see the top half part of his head from the nose up. His sweet little cute button of a nose. It was the nose that got me.

Then tonight, we were playing trains before bed. And he was telling me a story about the one -- calling it the Spo-ler Esspress (Grif-speak for Polar Express), HOO-HOO!!!-ing around in circles, and telling me it was headed to the mountains. Pause. And also. Pause. The North Pole. His innocence, his energy, his stillness and motion. His youth, his joy, his very boy-ness. Click -- a snapshot of both, in my head and on this page forever. And although this photo does not capture either specifically, it's the start for both.

I love new beginnings, don't you? Consider this more than my happy new year to you (and me, and jim, and grif). Consider this my Happy Always.