Picture speaks for itself

A great compliment

A few days ago Daddy, you, and I were watching "The Lakehouse" on video and in one scene you looked at Sandra Bullock and said "Look! Mommy is on TV!"

Thanks honey!

Happy

Conversation, from two minutes ago:

Me: We have to go to bed early tonight because tomorrow we're going to go see a woman who hugs people and makes them happy.

You: Mommy, can I hug you?

Me: Yes, of course, yes.
(My heart melting into a sloppy puddle.)

You: So you can be happy.

Tears come into my eyes and I know I'm the luckiest mommy in the world.

A bit about life and sadness

Hi honey,

You may know this already, but there are days where running and hiding seem like a really good idea. Today is one of those days for me.

Yesterday I found out that the man who founded and funded my small start-up like company has a terminal brain disease. I find irony in writing 'terminal,' because life by nature is terminal, it always has an ending, the question is always, when, never if. The harder part to swallow is that he is believed to have less than a year remaining of his life sentence, if you will, and during the next year he will likely suffer from some really bad symptoms including big time memory loss, dementia, and hallucinations. Then to top that off he has a wife and three young children, ages 8, 6, and almost 3. The good side, if there can be one, is that he has a good amount of money and access to the best health care money can buy.

When I first heard, my response was "I'm in shock, and I'm sad." I mean, I know him. I've talked to him a number of times and even helped with the computers in his home. I've met his kids, talked to his wife, and when I start thinking what do you do, what do you say to those precious young kids to say that Daddy is not going to be around much longer, and in the meantime, he's going to be hard to be around. How do you package up and deliver that message? There aren't enough roses in the world to make that message smell good.

Being a dabbler in Indian religion this has me thinking about karma and this life he's living now. I wonder what arrangement he had with those in charge upstairs that he would stockpile a good amount of money, start a family late in life, and then possibly die, leaving them much earlier than intended. Did he really agree to that? What was his mission for this incarnation and did he succeed? More on this another day, it's too big of a tangent for me to take on right now.

But I also believe in miracles. I believe in the gigantic kind of miracles, like somehow a cure will be discovered or that a switch will flip from off to on and he'll be okay. Those are wonderful kind of miracles, but I also believe in smaller, more obscure miracles. Like this morning when I walked outside to see if blue sky meant warm temperature (it didn't, really) and right at that exact moment a beautiful "V" of Canadian geese flew overhead, honking. Geese flying over my San Francisco house is a miracle in my book. Or when sunlight hits the edge of the diamond on my new ring and sends rainbow spots all over the wall. Sure, I love big miracles, but it's the little ones that I count on to get me through sadness, remorse, and just plain bad days.

I believe that is why, when I knew I would send this family a card but had no idea what to say, I called my friend Becky who is so good at sending cards at all times, good and bad, she said "why don't you say a prayer and then write the answer?" I did, and the answer came this next morning as I was steaming the wrinkles out of my linen shirt. Miracles, what I want to pray for is miracles.

So I wrote on the inside of the card:

Dear _____ and _____,

Thinking of you
&
Praying for miracles large and small.

kindly,
Julie

I dropped the card into the wide mouth of the big blue mailbox, but the sadness remains. I came home early and curled into restorative child's pose, and the sadness remains. I made a blackberry turnover and gobbled it down, and the sadness remains. I picked you up from school, and the sadness remains. I want to run and hide from the sadness, but I can't outrun sadness. Perhaps that's why I wrote before that running and hiding seem like a good idea, but they aren't. The reason is that it's impossible to outrun and hide from sadness, it knows all the good hiding spots already. All I can do is sit still with the sadness, let it come as it will, as an ache in my shoulders, a lump in my throat, and a tear in the corner of my eye. I won't swallow it down and create my own dis-ease. I will breathe the life I have in deep, hungry, greedy gulps and dance with you madly on the hardwood floor.

Someday I trust this will make sense; someday these words will have meaning for you. As for now, know I love you, and you will always feel my presence when you wish. Perhaps that is the answer to my karma question. Perhaps it's about trusting that those we love are always accessible, whether they have bodies or not.

Yucky chicken for the piggies

This quote, direct from your cute three year old mouth, deserves to be blogged immediately:

"Mommy! I'm making yucky chicken for the piggies!"

Me: "Why?"

"Because he's old!"

You said this while watching Johnny and the Sprites, so I don't know if there's a connection, but nonetheless, if I had any idea of the relevance, I bet I could solve all the mysteries of the universe.