Deep Thoughts On A Tuesday Night

I had put Jonathan to bed an hour ago. I kissed his cheek, plopped him into his bed and tiptoed out of the room. But from the kitchen, where I was already cooking tomorrow's dinner (there is NEVER rest, I tell ya), I heard him beginning to stir again.

He rustled around in his bed and cried intermittently. Whatever had roused him from his sleep was making it hard for him to drift back to dream land. This usually happens one to two times each night and has taken on this pattern for the past month or so. A tribute to teething, I assume. Some nights, when I'm particularly exhausted, I'll let him just wail himself softly to sleep. Tonight, I couldn't bear the thought of my sweet baby crying along in his room. After five minutes, I put down the wooden spoon that was stirring a large pot of chicken fajita soup, and swooped into his room for the rescue.

He plopped straight up in his crib and smiled wide behind his binky. The edges of his mouth, peeked over the rim of the round plastic edges of his soother and erupted into soft dimples on his round cheeks. I picked him up, hugged his sweet little body through his soft footie pajamas. He immediately wanted me to put him down in front of his bin full of trucks and books. I don't usually oblige this request, I usually lay him back into his crib, wind up his lullaby giraffe, and walk back out.

But tonight, I wasn't ready to leave just yet. I put him down on the floor and sat next to him. I watched as he opened his books and pointed at the pages, babbling on in his little baby language.

Somehow, in the soft glow of the moonlight which crept into his room, my memory harkened briefly to when my first son was a baby. It was so long ago. I can barely remember him that way I recall that when he was small I rocked him and held him on several occasions and, in the sweetness of the moment, I swore to myself that that very moment would be imprinted into my brain forever. I would remember every detail. Seven years later, I remember nothing except that I had wanted so desperately to remember.

Here am I again. Faced with those same sweet moments with my third son. I don't pretend that I would be able to remember everything. The way his hair swirled into a circular pattern on top of his head. The crooked neck line of his first haircut. The happy and familiar gurglings of his own unique language. The way his cheeks encroached over his almond-shaped brown eyes as he smiled in my direction. There are so many things I wish I could remember about my sweet Jonathan. But I've come to accept the sad reality of life as a parent.

Life simply goes on. Every single thing is transient. The particularly rough stages that seem to consume life. The joy-filled moments that make you want to burst with happiness. The milestones. The phases. The routines. The activities. Even the way you communicate. The way you love. You can't harness it. You can't stop it. You can't direct it or control it. And, most tragically of all, you can't always remember.

If you step back and come to terms with the reality of everything- not just the fact that babies grow into children and children grow into adults. But the fact that our world, our lives, our reality, ALL of it is temporary, it makes everything seem so beautiful in a melancholy sort of way. The very fact that I will cease to exist in physical form. That I will someday have no eyes to see my children, no hands to touch my loved ones, and perhaps even no memory of them at all. If you come to terms with that harshest and most real secret of the universe, the entirety of our lives becomes one beautiful, difficult, joyful, challenging (but still beautiful) living photograph, or movie- a movie that you can only see once.

My little moment with Jonathan tonight was one flag on a garland of events that will happen over my life. I did not create that beautiful, tender moment. It was given to me, dreamed up and brought to life by an all-knowing producer/director much more masterful than myself. It's a moment that I wish would linger. That I wish I could conjure back at the wave of a hand, whenever it suits me. But that's not how it works. It was like every other moment, fleeting and impossible to fully recreate thanks to the limits of my inadequate memory.

Have you seen the movie Family Man? There is a scene in that movie that sums up what I believe to be the every day plight of the human experience. Nicholas Cage suddenly finds himself living a dream life. He wakes on Christmas morning to find that he is suddenly a father and a husband. Just as soon as he grows to love this strange new life, he learns that he will wake up the next day and the dream will be over. So he stays up late that night, clinging desperately to the new life and the people he has grown to love. It isn't easy or perfect, but he loves it nonetheless. He does everything in his power to avoid succumbing to the powers of sleep. But no matter how hard he tries, his will alone cannot change the course of time. He falls asleep and wakes to find the beautiful dream is gone.

That scene always makes me cry. It makes me cry because that is the simplest rendition of our own reality. That scene is all of us every single day, whether we recognize it or not. We are living in the dream life. Someday it will be forever gone. And that fact alone, makes every single second invaluable.

Love your babies. Love your spouse. Love your friends. Love what you are given.

Life Goes On, Careless To Our Turmoil

My mother in law is dying of cancer. For eight long, tough years she fought its relentless scourge. Treatments were harsh and took their toll. And yet she fought on, and was awarded the much-deserved Remission status. But Remission didn't last very long. It came back. Life seemed normal (to us anyway) for a year or two. But every time things appeared great, another obstacle struck.

Last week, when faced with disappointing news, she made the decision to stop fighting. She's at home, confined to a bed, just hanging on until she is claimed by a force much larger than she. She probably doesn't have many days left. She appears just a shell of her typically strong and commanding self.

She amazes me and I love her story. She met my father-in-law in the Philippines while he was in the Navy. After a very quick courtship, they had a shotgun wedding so she could come to America. From what I understand of her story, my father-in-law was deployed when she came to America for the first time, speaking little English, not knowing a soul. She met my father-in-law's parents, people she had never met before, at the airport that first time she set foot on American soil. She lived with them, among strange people, in strange country, far from family and home. My husband was born while she lived with her in-laws and while my father-in-law was in and out of the country on deployments. She was brave, strong, courageous.

I don't see that person now, as she sinks into the many folds of a hospital gown, eyes closed and primarily sleeping. Too weak to clear her throat. She's leaving and she won't be with us much longer.

I want to comfort her but I have no idea what to say. My mind is completely blank as I sit by her bed. I want to tell her thank you. She gave me the thing I love and treasure most. The thing from which all my greatest treasures of my life have come. She gave me my husband. He's responsible and loving, smart and caring, funny and fun. He's a lot like her in many ways. He's my best companion. My best friend. She has given me everything. And yet, I sit by her side and can tell her nothing.

The words are too profound to speak. I only have such a short time left to communicate with her. I may only have days left to express all the gratitude I feel. If there is anything I will ever want to say to her, I have to say it now. But I just don't have the words. I don't know what profound thing I want to say to her, if anything. And I worry that I won't find the words to do so in time.

I don't know her as well as I would have liked. I had hoped that time would have given me the same close relationship with her that she had with her own mother-in-law. But that never happened. And now, it looks like it will never happen.

As her end comes near, there is sadness everywhere. It's mostly unspoken. In my husband's silent eyes. In my father-in-law's dutiful actions. We've never done this before. Faced imminent death. It's hard and uncertain. It's hard to wait for someone to die. The grief is protracted and gripping. And yet, life goes on. I am expected to go to meetings. To prepare for hearings. To cook meals. To go grocery shopping. To celebrate Father's Day. To live as if everything is normal. But it's not. Nothing is normal.

It all just hurts.

Romance. And Too Much Romance.

My husband and I were spoiled by, not one, but TWO date nights this weekend. It's a rare occasion that we get a night to ourselves. So to have two nights without children back to back felt amazingly splurgy. Two consecutive nights of not being woken up in the middle of the night. Two consecutive nights of staying up late watching TV and not having to try to sleep with a 26 lb flopping fish in our bed.

We kept throwing out date ideas for Friday night (Valentines Day). The original plan was dinner at a fancy place nearby and a movie at the theater. But, I kind of hate the hassle of trying to get reservations on Valentines Day. We are both pretty low-key, low-maintenance, and low-expectations. I know, I know. So romantic! In the end, we changed out of our work clothes and stopped by Red Robin to use up some gift cards from Christmas.I'm such a cheap date!

After I politely declined my husband's offer that we go see Robocop (no thanks!), we just headed back home and watched three episodes of House of Cards Season 2 from the comfort of our own couch where I just may have worn some stretchy pants. In my book, this was a perfect date night.

Saturday we attended an event put on by my husband's work. He works for a large, well-known nonprofit organization. Last year, a couple of his coworkers formed a volunteer band and performed at an event for their work. Since then, they have had several requests to perform at other events. They practice once a week (at most) and perform at least one event a month. They are quite the motley group of band members but they are very talented.

Last night they performed at a "prom" for senior citizens. My husband invited me to come and be his groupie. It was the first time I had seen them perform and I was very impressed! And not just because I'm married to the bass player. The crowd was overwhelmingly 60+. But there were couples on that dance floor that out-danced me in every way! They could twist lower, go longer, and dance harder. When I had to take a rest because my knees started to hurt, I felt like the old one!

I'm slowly figuring out how to curl hair. It's only taken 29 years. That 's what happens when you grow up a tomboy. Cleavage brought to you by Special Bra! Toilet stall background brought to you by Fancy Bathroom!

Towards the end of the "prom" they had a contest to see which couple had been married/together the longest. The title went to an old Filipino couple who had been married over 50 years. They were crowned Prom King and Prom Queen and the crowd cleared the dance floor to let them have the next dance to themselves. Watching that sweet old couple slow dance around the room, white hair, stooped-backs, happy smiles, I shed a few tears. What a gift- to spend your life with the person you love. To share all the happy moments and the sad moments. To experience it all together and face life's unknowns side by side. To survive in a harsh environment, to embrace in the small pockets of warmth scattered throughout. Having the ability to believe that no matter what happens next in the mystery of time, you won't be alone.

That sweet old couple looked bent and withered and small. But I'm sure, to them, it felt like just years ago that they were young and immortal like us. How quickly time can turn the tables. In a blink of an eye, my husband and I will be in their shoes, wondering where our years have gone. It's hard to savor every moment, even when you are fully aware of how fleeting your time on earth truly is.

I kept gazing across the room at the man near the stage with a bass strapped across his chest. He is my partner. My best friend. Someone who I learn more about each day. Someone who is reliable but also capable of surprising. Our love started as infatuation. Materialism. But over the years, it has become so much more complex. Our commitments bind us together- kids, vows, mortgage, routine, convenience. But it's the intangible things (respect, understanding, patience, kindness, friendship) that make me look forward to spending every day of my remaining life with my husband.

Even though he had to play in the band, I figure out a way to sneak one slow-dance in with my guy. As 9pm rolled around, I was officially out of dancing commission but the seniors citizens were still going strong. Luckily the band stopped playing shortly thereafter and I made it safely home before turning into a pumpkin.

Still in a love-hangover, my husband and I picked up our kids this morning and spent the entire day making up for our two nights of freedom. We went to the gym as a family where I worked out (3.5 miles on the treadmill and a weights class) while the boys played in the pool. We ran errands and did chores the rest of the day while the kids played/fought with each other. Ryan is on a nap strike so that makes our afternoons/evenings....um, interesting.

Oh. And I just might be am possibly pregnant.

Heartbreak

My heart is absolutely breaking.

My cousin-in-law has been battling infertility for three years. I only suffered through infertility for 13 months. My journey is nothing near what she is going through. But when I read some of her blog posts, I feel like I'm reading my own past feelings. Her sentiments and thoughts mirror my old thoughts to the T. I had forgotten how incredibly painful that year of my life had been. Now that I'm surrounded by messy, loud, giggling children, the pain is nearly forgotten.

The sorrow, the bitterness, the helplessness, the anger. I feel it all over again when I read her posts and when I relive those feelings. I realize that the shadow of that experience still clings to me in some way (and now that I'm wanting another baby, I'm fearing that I will have to face that ugly animal again- shudder). It  has made me more understanding of loss. It has made me more grateful. It has made me hurt for others who are living in that darkness. But mostly, I'm just heartbroken for my cousin. Unless you have experienced infertility, it's a pain you cannot really know. I mean, as a mother, you can imagine it. But you cannot know it. And still, my pain is nothing near what her pain is. The pain and darkness I went through is only a small portion of her devastating experience.

Right now my cousing is going through something even WORSE than infertility, something I do not know. Something I could not ever imagine.

Last month, my cousin shared a video on her FB page announcing that she was 17 weeks pregnant with twins: a boy and a girl. She had initially been pregnant with triplets but lost one at 9 weeks. The whole world, it seemed, celebrated her immense joy. After all this time, so many failed procedures, a miscarriage, and three years of grief, she was finally getting her much-awaited blessings: not one, but TWO healthy, sweet babies!

But just days after sharing her news, the unthinkable....the water for one of her twins broke and she went into early labor. They tried to stop it, which worked for a while, but eventually she gave birth to her stillborn daughter. Despite her pain, she was able to hold on knowing that this improved the chances of survival for her remaining son. She was given the goal of needing to make it to at least 24 weeks before going into labor again, at which time her son would have a 39% chance of survival. Unfortunately, at 21 weeks, she lost her son as well.

She could feel her son's kicks. He was perfect and healthy and thriving. But delivering her daughter left her weak for an infection. And sadly, three weeks after the death of her daughter, she discovered that she did have an infection, which put her life and pregnancy at risk. Even though she could FEEL her healthy baby kicking, the doctors had to prematurely break his water and allow him to be delivered.

I can't imagine giving birth to one stillborn baby. But giving birth to two of them? In a short three weeks? After three years of ache and grief and heartbreak?

My cousin's story is dead and center of all my thoughts today. I can't stop thinking about her story, crying for her loss, trying to imagine that grief. My heart is broken too. To think that this type of pain can happen and does happen.

I looked on at my babies from a fresh perspective today. It hurts to know that I am so blessed when my cousin is going through so much. It hurts to know that our babies are both our greatest sources of joy and also our greatest vulnerabilities. Good things happen. Bad things happen. Wonderful things happen. Terrible things happen. We cannot control these things. My walk with God is a complicated one right now, but I like to think that we are helpless, but not forsaken. We are lonely, but not alone.

A tiny flower
Lent but not given
To bud on earth
And bloom in heaven

-Unknown

Happiness Amidst A Shitstorm

I'm stuck in a weird place right now. There are so many things that I should be happy about and yet I find myself obsessing over all the negative things. It boils down to the fact that I'm extremely frustrated about my work and life situation. It's all a jumbled mess with no easy solution. 

Where I live, there are absolutely no jobs in the type of law that I practice (or any jobs at all). I cannot change where I live because our mortgage is 40% underwater. Our 950 sq. ft. house is too tiny for our family of four but we can't afford the remodel that we have planned. My commute is horrible (because I cannot work where I live, see above). I can't change careers because I sunk way too much money in my ridiculously expensive education. Even if I could change careers (I seriously think about it every day), I am not qualified to do anything outside of law except for entry level jobs (I've looked!). I make up for my long commute by not working full time. But... you know... less work equals money. It's a perfect storm of shit.

BUT, I'm a naturally optimistic person and I truly believe everything works out in the end. While these things bother me from time to time, I don't fear them. I'm ever hopeful and strong and my outward happiness is genuine despite this perfect storm. While these worries and frustrations surface often, I acknowledge my frustration, let myself vent, and then move on. I just keep telling myself that, while my life would be easier if things were different, I have the capacity for complete happiness right now, just the way things are. External things and situations don't bring us happiness. And even though I'm frustrated and things bring me down, I'm still Happy. You know, Happy with the capital "H." This isn't obtained through objects, or money, or even from having everything you think you need. It's something you create from whatever you do have.

And, in that regard, I have just enough. 

For starters, I have these:

And this guy:

 

 

I live in the Pacific Northwest--one of the most beautiful places on earth:

 

 

I have awesome friends to enjoy things with...for example, chartered boats, adult beverages, and mediocre booty dancing skills:

Yep, I'M steering this whole Happiness business.

If you spend your life being miserable about things that cannot (for the time being) be changed, you will be miserable forever.

And that's my philosophically cheesy post of the week.

Not Too Terrible

I didn't want my last post to...well....be my last post. So, I'm forcing myself to write something at 1:00 a.m.

(BTW- thank you everyone who commented on my last post. It was the highlight of my lowpoint. Everytime I read a new comment, my heaviness was eased a teeny bit. You were all super supportive. It's so nice to know that other people have their struggles too. By way of an update, things reached an incredible low point before they got better. But I'm not good at staying angry. Even in the middle of a fight, I'm constantly looking for any excuse to drop my anger and just give my husband an I'm Sorry/I Forgive You/Let's Not Fight Anymore hug. Being angry takes SO MUCH energy. It's not worth it. This is why at 11:20p.m. all it took was a measly one sentence "I'm sorry" EMAIL for me to drop everything and let go. I saw that email, put all my anger in an invisible suitcase, and dropped it off an imaginary cliff. I may be quick to anger. But I'm also quick to forgive. Or maybe I'm just a pushover?)

Today, I invited my parents and teenage brother (I have a brother in the 9th grade, we're 14 years apart. My husband is SO getting snipped after baby #3) to spend the day with us. first they joined us at our church for Mass. Then we went to the Museum of Flight at Boeing Field. Then they came back to our place to eat my one-week-old-but-still-delicious white bean chicken chili.

After one full day with us out in public, I'm pretty sure my parents never want to go anywhere with us again. How do parents with more than two kids survive without being constantly drunk? I can barely manage two kids. And then I see all these large families at church with a pew full of well-behaved, quite children. Where do those parents buy their child-tranquilizers? And how do they hide the IV that they use to insert a steady stream of Reisling into their veins?

Todays highlight was, hands-down, the five excruciatingly long minutes when I had lost Jacob on the ferry boat. The worst-case scenarios were playing out in my mind: he fell off the boat!, he was kidnapped!, he was lost and scared somewhere!, he was in the women's bathroom peaking his head under all the stalls!After running up and down the boat screaming his name like a madwoman and getting many stares and ""what kind of mom loses her kid before the boat even leaves the dock?!" looks, I finally found him pretending to play an arcade game right smack in front of my face.

Today was definitely crazy. But crazy is good.

I LOVE this picture. Ry-guy loves his grandpa!

 

Hanging out on the ferry:

 

Wipe-out

 



 

My fighter pilots

Drooly, but happy

 



 

Very happy

Have I ever told you that I've been to Space Camp?

Other people dated in highschool.

I learned to fly a space shuttle. (Nerd)

Can't Climb Out -- UPDATED

I'm in a rut. Work is awesome and contimues to get more awesome. But everday stuff? Ugh. I feel like I do the same shit every day. As soon as I pick up the kids after work I sink into the same exact routine. Each day I swear it will be different. But it's not- usually because I'm too tired to do anything new. The baby is tired and clingy, the toddler is tired and whinny. By 6:00, I'm basically counting down the minutes until it's 7:30 and I can start the kids' bedtime routine. For some reason, I think that as soon as they are in bed, excitement will abound. But it does not.

After the kids are tucked in, I'm too exhausted to do any of the million chores on my list. My husband is back to staring at his computer screen all evening. There's nothing to do but follow suit. And like a zombie, I sit in front of my laptop clicking aimlessly around the internet. Sometimes, I'm so bored that I actually will work. Sometimes.

The past few days, this predictable routine has been frustrating. Mostly because my husband and I are so stuck in our routine that we barely exchange any words aside from the occasional text message about who is picking up dinner. When we do have free time, he's predictibly zoned-in on his computer. We've probably only had one real conversation this entire week. That conversation was on Wednesday when I asked him about a work event and he responded. It probably lasted two minutes.

Aside from that, he hasn't really said a word to me all week. At first I was slightly annoyed and would try to initiate a conversation here or there. But now, I'm furious. I've been purposely not saying anything to him to see how long it will take him to realize that he hasn't made any effort at communication. Sadly, either he doesn't even realize there IS a lack of communication or he doesn't freaking care. I can't decide which is worse.

Today I lost it. Jacob was having a tantrum in his room and screaming at the top of his lungs. Ryan was being clingy and fussy. My husband was, duh, sitting in front of his computer. Earlier in the week he had texted me about the possibility of going to a movie this day. I waited for him to bring it up all morning and afternoon. Nope. And stubbornly, I wasn't going to bring it up first. As 5:30 approached I realized there would be no date. With the screaming of both kids in my ears and the equally defeaning silence from my husband, I wigged out. Without saying a word, I grabbed my car keys, put on my shoes, and walked out the door.

I had no destination in mind. In fact, I didn't want to go anywhere. I just wanted to keep driving. I wanted to sit in the peaceful car and think. How hard is it for a couple to say "good morning" and "good night" and "goodbye" and "hello" every day? I never get any of those unless I say it first. When was the last time either of us actually said, "I love you." Not this week. Don't even get me started on our lame 5 year anniversary celebration last Saturday.

I started to cry. I fell into the self-pity trap. I thought about my ideal relationship-- a husband who kisses me goodbye every morning, who gives me a hug for no reason, who will randomly tell me that I'm pretty, who makes me feel loved without me having to seek out affection, who can sense when I'm upset and will actually care enough to ask me about it, who will tell me about his day, who will ask about mine. Then I compared that to what I got this week. Silence. Unacknowledgement. Apathy. Obviously whatever is on his computer screen, it's more interesting than me.

I continued to drive. Past the grocery store. Past the new housing development. Past the on-ramp for the highway. I drove in circles in a parking lot. Then I stopped the car. I sat there in the dark. In the quiet. I felt alone. Angry. Frustrated. I cried. I saw a couple holding hands as they walked to their car. When was the last time we held hands? I cried harder.

STOP. I forced myself to stop. I wiped away my tears. I stepped out of the my pity party and put my mom-hat back on. I ran into the store and grabbed something for dinner. I also grabbed a huge bag of chocolate to bury my sorrow in. I paid for my stuff and left the store. I arrived home to find everyone  sitting in front of the TV. Not a word from my husband. With tears left uncried and sadness still unresolved, I slipped back into that dreaded routine again.

Now the kids are asleep and here we are. Both back at our DAMN computers. I don't know how to break the silence. Why do I always have to make the first move. WHY?!

Appropriately, this was the fortune in cookie with dinner tonight:

I drowned myself in chocolate but it didn't help.

*****UPDATED******

I confronted my husband and....it turns out he's pissed because I "scratched his car" on Monday.

WTF.

A '94 Ford Probe that barely runs, sits in our garage, and that hasn't been driven since my husband bought his 2010 Jetta. A car that is less valuable than the sum of its parts sold separately.

The silent treatment continues....

Love And The D-Word

Growing up, I used to babysit alot. In fact, I babysat from the age of 9 (don't worry, I was supervised!) through lawschool and up until the year Jacob was born. I've babysat for may families from Seattle to Chicago. Out of all the families I babysat for, there is one family that will always stand out in my fond babysitting memories.

I started babysitting for this family when I was 11. I continued to babysit for them until I graduated from highschool and moved to Chicago for college. During that time, I watched the three children grow from kids/toddlers to young men and women.

I loved that family. LOVED.

The mom was beautiful. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up: busy, a bit frazzled, but always confident and stylish. Just like her, I wanted to grow up to have two older boys and one girl. I had a mini-crush on the dad and enjoyed the nights he would drive me home and ask me about what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Then there were the kids. I can't begin to describe how close we grew. Nine years of playing games, watching movies, making up bedtime stores, and tucking them in. They gave me the best babysitting stories. Like the time we were all playing hide and seek and the middle child locked himself in the bathroom, put the cat in the dryer, and turned the dryer on. Right at that moment, the mom called to check up on us. Ahhh, I always had an extra soft-spot in my heart for that kid!

I always saw them as the "perfect" family. They had their flaws, but their flaws were just how a family should be flawed, if that makes sense. They were everything I wanted in my own future family: loud, rowdy, loving, lovable. Not only did I look up to the mom and the dad. I spent hours imaging my future husband and myself being just like them. I often wished I could be a part of that family. (No matter how good your own family is, when you're a kid, you can never quite appreciate what you have).

It's been years since I've seen any member of that family. I never run into them when I'm running errands back home. But still, I'll occasionally remember them and look back happily on my memories.

Today, unexpectedly and quite randomly, I heard that the mom and dad are getting a divorce. I was bowled over by the news.  Just the thought devastated me. This was the couple that I'd grown up idolizing. The couple that I wanted to be emulate. Now the very family that I had set on a pedestal was breaking apart.

Oddly, even though I hadn't seen them in forever, I began to tear up at the news. It was as if some part of my childhood past was crumbling. Something I'd always held in high regard was no longer that perfection that I had remembered. The perfect image of a family that I'd held so closely throughout my own developmental years suddenly shattered. I thought about the kids and how sad this must be for them. Then I thought about my own family. If THEY, my "perfect" family, can end up like this, can't any family? I know I only saw them from the outside and was not privy the inner-workings of the family. But still...what kind of twisted road is it that takes you from strong to broken?

It's a tragedy. That people who were once so in love can at some point in their lives decide they want to spend the rest of their years apart. Or worse, with other people. With sadness, I immediately texted my husband and kindly asked him to never divorce me.

It may be weird but my husband and I talk about the issue of divorce every so often. We both look at each other and solemly agree that we can't imagine ever having to come to that rough breaking point. It's probably trite, but we continually promise each other, over and over, that we will never come to that. That we will alway be there for each other. That we'll always give our relationship the care and attention that it needs. That if we have to get old and wrinkled at some point, we will do it together.

But isn't that what everyone says? I mean, no one gets married with the plan of someday getting a divorce, right? I'd like to think that we are special. I'd like to believe the fact that we are very different people and yet get along so well is a testiment to how we are above the big D-word. But, in reality, we can't predict the future. It saddens me to know that while I can control my own actions, there are many variables (the actions and feelings of my husband) that are out of my control. Because it really does take two to make things work. If you can only control half of that effort, you really have no lasting assurance that things will work out.

But, that's the thing about love. Whether it's love for your husband, love for a friend, or love for your children. Even if you give your whole heart, you never receive a fire-proof guarantee that love will always be there in return. It's crazy. It's unpredictable. It's painful. But, we all do it anyway. We can't help it.

It makes me think that love is both watchful and blind at the same time. You have to love with your eyes open, by keeping a look out for ways to improve, tend, and strenghthen your relationship and its deficiencies. But you also have to love blindly--blind to the uncertainty, the unknown, and the "what-ifs." We won't ever receive a guarantee that things will work, but we still have to love as if we know that it will. Because, you cannot love truly if you love with reservation.

Romance With Children

Today is the anniversary of our first date. 7 years ago, my husband invited me to join him and his group of friends to Bumpershoot, Seattle's outdoor music festival. In an awkward turn of events, only one of his friends came. So there we were, my future husband and I and our first date...with his friend. Once we got to the festival, that friend had the kindness to ditch us for the beer garden where he presumably had a few and then walked 3 miles back to the ferry, alone.

My husband and I chatted that whole day. We shared a spoon over a bowl of ice cream. I later discovered that he had kept that spoon for months after our date. As evening fell upon us, he FINALLY held my hand (I'd only been waiting all day!) during the last songs of the last show. We parted ways at Coleman Dock, where he boarded the ferry to Bremerton and I, the one to Bainbridge Island. Separated by the glass windows of our respective boats and a few feet of chilly Puget Sound water, we waved our final goodnights, each of us grinning from ear to ear.

Our second date involved putt-putt golf and me betting him lapdances that he couldn't finish all the leftovers from our pizza dinner (he never did cash in on those lapdances). That date ended at 11 p.m. in the mall parking lot with our first kiss. A kiss which was broken up by a very intimidating mall cop.

I absolutely love our very first memories together. I can't believe how young and energetic and spontaneous and carefree we were. Fast forward to today, the anniversary of our first date. This is how we spent the evening:

I left the house to finish some last minute grocery shopping with Ryan while my husband was doing chores at home with Jacob. I was about to check out at the store when I got a frantic text from my husband asking if we had chicken noodle soup. I responded that we did not and then I headed straight for the soup aisle to pick some up.

When I got home and walked in the door, I was greeted by Jacob sitting on the couch screaming his face off. What's wrong? If nothing is wrong then why are you screaming? Tell me what's wrong or you can cry in your room. I plopped Jacob in his room where he proceeded to scream even louder, if that's even possible.

I looked to my husband who explained that Jacob was crying because he wanted chicken noodle soup. Good thing I had just bought some. I got out a bowl, poured the soup in, and nuked it. At this point, Ryan had had enough of being ignored. He was getting fussy. I rationally explained to him that I could pick him up as soon as Jacob's soup was done. He was less rational and joined in the screaming.

Ryan began to wail as loudly as an atom bomb siren as he pumped his arms dramatically into the air.  His face turned red. His eyes all but disappeared behind his red, tear-streaked, puffy cheeks. I guiltily ignored his cries as I pulled the soup out of the microwave, set it on the table and rushed to Jacob's room to console him. This required as much delicacy as talking a grizzly bear out of ripping out your eyeballs.

"Jacob, hey sweet guy. Please stop crying. Guess what? I made you some soup! It's your favorite! If you stop crying you can come out of your room and eat dinner."

WAAAAAAAAH! Ryan was still competing for my attention in the other room.

"Ok," Jacob said, sounding less than enthused.

I led Jacob out to the table and plopped him in the chair in front of his bowl of warm soup. He took a precarious peek into the bowl. Then he threw his spoon across the room and cried, "I DON'T WANT IT!"

"But Jacob, it's chicken noodle soup. Daddy said that's what you wanted."

"No! I wanted soup with TINY noodles. These noodles are too big!" With that the screaming hysterics began again and I made him have a time out on the couch. I picked Ryan up and fed him a bottle on the couch next to Jacob. Jacob stuck his foot across the cushion and slapped it on Ryan's stomach. Did you know it's possible to get time-out when you're already serving a time-out sentence? I'm doomed. He's a repeat offender. 

This time, Jacob served the remainder of his time-out in his room. The sound of Jacob throwing his arms and legs against his bed began to accompany his screaming. A couple minutes later, we let Jacob out of his room on a conditioned parole. Thus began the Battle of Dinner.

Usually for dinner, Jacob has no choice but to eat the same thing that we eat. After multiple time-out threats, this usually works out just fine. But tonight I hadn't made dinner. Dinner was pretty much a free-for-all. But, since his noodles weren't TINY noodles, Jacob wouldn't touch his soup with a ten foot pole. After much negotiation, we settled on a compromise. Thus was born the Treaty of Grilled Chicken And Peanut Butter Pancakes.

FINALLY, both Jacob and Ryan were fed. I anticipated at least a couple minutes of peace before bedtime. Unfortunately, as usual, they had other plans:

Jacob looked up from his Legos and asked, "Mommy, can I have more juice?"

"No, you can have milk or water."

This wasn't going to fly with Jacob. He scrunched up his face and screamed, "NOOOO!!! I WANT JUICE. WAAAAAH"

Not to be out-cried, Ryan joined in, "WAAAAAAAAAAH NO ONE IS HOLDING ME. EVERYONE IS SCREAMING. I CAN SCREAM THE LOUDEST. WAAAAAH."

And me? I curled up in a ball on the couch, "WAAAH. HOW YOUNG DO THEY START BOARDING SCHOOL?!! CAN I HAVE WINE FOR DINNER!!"

At that moment, my husband walked into the house and saved me. Then we finished up our night all gathered in the living room watching Jeopardy.

And THAT sums up our very romantic first date anniversary evening.

P.S. Do verbal lap dance vouchers ever expire?

So Let's Set The World On Fire

I was sitting at my desk at work today when I got an unusual call. It was a student. She needed to interview a lawyer for one of her college classes. 

She started out by asking me some basic questions, like "what type of law do you practice?" and "where did you go to school?" Then came deeper questions.

"What lead to you becoming a lawyer?"

I gave the cop-out answer. I told her I had graduated from undergraduate school with double majors in Political Science and International Studies. But after they handed me my diploma, I had no idea what was next. I mean what exactly are you qualified to do with a Political Science degree? So, at the last minute, I joined my fellow Poli Sci majors and took the LSAT. My dad was a lawyer so I already had some admiration for the profession. I decided to let my LSAT score decide my fate for me. In the end, I got a pretty good score so I went to lawschool.

After I gave my answer, I turned the tables and asked about her career goals. With a cheerful, optimistic voice, she told me she didn't really know what she wanted to do. But she wanted to dedicate her life to helping people, especially people in other countries. In short, she wanted to help save the world.

Her positivity and noble goals nearly bowled me over. I paused for a moment to reflect. What she said hit me. It hit me really hard. Eight years ago, I was her. I was EXACTLY her. Eight years ago, before I chose the path that led me to lawschool, I was desperate to serve.  I wanted to save orphans in India. I wanted to oversee U.S. foreign policy in countries around the globe. Administer foreign assistance in third world countries. I wanted to be a part of the United Nations. I wanted to give myself to the world and to all of her children. I wanted a career of sacrifice and love and diplomacy.

But I just didn't know how to get there.

After college, I had plenty of internship experience to help me land an entry level job somewhere. I had interned for the Governor's Office of Illinois (yup, that would have been the always-controversial Governor Blagojevich!). I interned for a documentary film producer. I worked for a small nonprofit arts theater. I volunteered at a children's cancer hospital. But none of that really led me anywhere that I truly wanted to be.

So I applied for a program to teach english in Japan. I had studied Japanese for four years in highschool. Everyone told me I was a shoe-in. I put tons of effort into my application. I prepped for my interview for HOURS. I was determined to get the job. But....I didn't. And I was devastated.

I had to think of a new plan quickly. I followed my Poli Sci friends to the LSAT and, somehow, stumbled my way into lawschool. When I entered lawschool, I still had my heart set on a career of service. I was certain a J.D. after my name would provide PLENTY of opportunities to go abroad and serve the world through some fancy organization or other. I was crestfallen to discover that those types of job were ultra-competative. My average lawschool grades would not put me in reach of those goals anytime soon.

Then life happened. I met my husband. We got married. We started a family. We gained a mortgage. We had car and health insurance payments. I left lawschool with a huge student loan debt. Debt that will likely stick around for the next 1.5 decades. Somewhere in all that life, I lost sight of my original goals. I landed an awesome summer internship at a litigation firm. I followed that internship into a job and that job has now become my career.

My ambitious, adventure-seeking, philanthropic self has morphed into a mediocre, boring everyday person. A person who dresses business casual and sits at a computer typing documents all day. Routine has replaced spontaneity. Bills have replaced travel expenditures. Contentedness has replaced my abhorrence for boring everyday life. And a family tethering me home has replaced my heart's desire to roam.

Sure, if I really wanted to, I could probably dust off those old dreams and follow them to the ends of the earth. But I'm a different person now. I've accepted the wonder and beauty of a routine life. I live like millions of other boring people across this country. And you know what? I'm even OK with it.

Sometimes I wonder if I am a sell-out. I mean, I practice personal injury law instead of feeding orphans or saving people from AIDs. Don't get me wrong, I really do enjoy my work. It's just not the fancy, set-the-world-on-fire job I always dreamed about.

BUT, you know what? At the end of the day, I don't care much about what I do....as long as I get to come home to this:

52.8 Years

In the 16 work days I've been back to work, I've written 7 demand letters. I'm a demand-cranking machine right now! It's funny because when I worked on the defense side, almost ALL of the demand letters that came across my desk were, at the most, a very minimalistic two pages long. Now I'm on the other side and I'm cranking out ultra-detailed demand letters. It's a lot of work but I honestly enjoy it. I love sifting rigorously through all the available evidence trying to piece together a demand. It's like a treasure hunt. How many claims can YOU find?!

BUT....there IS one part I'm not particularly fond of -- calculating future general damages. See, there's this handy little chart called a Life Expectancy Chart. It basically tells you, based upon some super complicated statistics and equations, how much longer you can expect to live based upon your age and sex.

It's depressing.

When I think about being a 20-something (even if that's a LATE 20-something), I feel very young. I feel like a huge portion of my life is still in front of me. (Until I realize I'm probably only 5-7 years from whar some would consider middle-age...ew!). But when the remainder of my life is reduced to a number....it seems....so final....and not so very long after all. I do NOT like a little chart reminding me that I can expect to live only about 52.8 more years! That chart makes me start to feel all itchy and twitchy.

52.8 more years.

52.8!

By that time, my baby will be 52.8 years old (see, I CAN do math!).

It seems like both a considerable amount of time and a very inadequate amount of time all at once. A lot can happen in 52.8 years. At the same time, it's just a tiny speck in the timeline of the universe. I kind of want to be more than just a speck. It's so overwhelming to think that eventually my life will be swallowed up by the sea of forever.

52.8 is not my favorite number. I think I'm going to count the remainder of my life in candy bars instead. If I eat one candy bar a day, thats approximately 19,284.67. I have just over 19,000 candy bars left! I like that number much better.

By extension, today, I am 10,226.72 candy bars old.

Why I Take Photos

I take a lot of photos. I can't help it. It's my desperate and pathetic attempt to make time stop. Photographs are my only weapon against a failing memory and the passing of time.

No one is more aware of the passage of time and the shortness of life than a mother.

Everyone tells you that your life changes when you have a baby. I expected the long nights, short tempers (for both me and the kids), and constant messes. But the real changes are invisible. The second you hold your child in your arms, a thousand pounds of reality drops on you. Before that moment, and in comparison to it, you had never really done anything amazing. Before your baby's first breath, you were hardly living yourself, unaware of the greatest gifts of life. Those things that had once been important and meaningful (your half-marathon goals, travel plans, and law school grades) shrink into trivial distractions when you are handed a small person who immediately latches onto your heart with the fiercest hooks.

It makes you queasy, to have your whole world shaken up like that.

Something about experiencing the birth of your baby also brings you face to face with death. As you welcome a new generation into the world, you realize, perhaps truly for the first time, that you are mortal. For the first time, you see your life, not as a continuing arrow, but as a line between two harsh, black points. There was a beginning (as you just witnessed) and there will be an end. And all we have on this earth is what's in the middle. Time, especially time with your child, transforms from an abstract into a precious, finite resource.

And, I've discovered, it only gets worse. As your kids gets older, you look in the mirror and suddenly recognize your parents in yourself. You can remember who your parents were at your age. And man, wasn't THAT old. At the same time, it was just yesterday. You can recall the color of your parents' matching t-shirts, acquired from a vacation long ago. You remember the meals your mom cooked. The smell of your dad's cigars. The feel of slipping your feet into your dad's oversized house slippers and stomping across the livingroom floor to conjure some laughs. Then you look at your own children and it hits you. They are gaining similar memories, memories of you, at this very moment.

And to think, I was once so eager to grow up.

In light of the limited number of baby kisses and toddler-isms, I grasp for my camera and snap away. I may not be able to freeze Ryan's smiles, preserve Jacob's enthusiasm, or bottle the sweetness of their childhood years, but at least I'll have some remnants of these things in the photos I take. Photos that will carry both the fondness and the sting of nostalgia.

I have the unfortunate enlightenment to know that I am living some of the best years of my life right now, while the kids are young. As I take in all the sights and marvel at the fact that it can't get any more amazing than this, it's hard to not be a little bit sad at the realization that it will end.

But for now:

I snap away.