dear temple, i owe you.  mama owes you.  i owe you a birthday post, a letter about you being four and the universe that lives inside of you and the magic and joy you bring to this world.  it is coming, i promise.

but something else is breaking through, this sudden clarity and emotional fullness that i've been feeling for weeks now.  maybe it started in chicago, at starbucks that morning when i saw a father with his two daughters, getting hot cocoa on one of the last rainy spring mornings in april.  i imagined the girls' mother at home, sleeping in or writing in her journal or lounging in her cozy bathrobe.  the father happy and delighted with his girls, enjoying the morning and letting the world fall away so that important shit can get done.  important shit like having hot cocoa with his daughters.  the really important stuff - the importance of that tiny moment, of claiming life in the midst of struggling to pull off the whole gong show, to put away adult concerns and live in child-time.  to enjoy hot cocoa in the drizzle of a saturday morning.

there was also something about realizing how far down this road i've travelled without really being aware of how fast life has been moving. incremental moments leading me so fully into the middle of my life.  once a city girl, an adventurer, i realized how i've forcably quieted my wanderlust and chosen a small town over a city. i've opened one door after another which has inevitably closed so many others.  how joy now includes chores and duty and obligations and showing up on a daily basis purely in the service of others.  how city streets and freedom have been replaced by mortgages and a garage. 

as i walked the streets of chicago remembering every city i've ever lived in and every city i've ever fallen in love with, and more importantly remembering how i fell in love with myself in new ways in every city i've ever been in, it was suddenly clear - i've become a new woman and mother leaving other pieces behind without knowing when or where it happened. there is a bit of grief in letting go, of parting ways with that former self, but the world is so rich and there are cities and adventures yet to come. 

i am overcome with a deep sense of gratitude and joy, filled so completely with this aching pleasure over my very imperfect life.  that in spite of the stress and my human failings and not giving my husband as much attention as i should, my children are healthy, well-fed, happy, wanted, a pure pleasure, one of the deepest loves i've ever known - we have each other and we belong together.  after struggling and deep doubt, there is a sense of wholeness so complete.

working so much and stretching myself thinner than i ever thought possible has put a microscope on my feelings.  that and how fast my life is flying as these children grow, i am suddenly, intensely focused on grasping moments to anchor myself to, moments that wake me up to this gift of time and health and breath to share. i am suddenly trying to wake up to life.

but this is not a sickening sweetness.  it is brutal too.  as soon as i count my blessings, i spiral into fear that this is all fleeting, that nobody gets this lucky for this long.  i wait for the hammer to drop.  the ax to fall.  i dream of the terrible, horrid things that can happen.

i once learned that hypnotism works on the power of suggestion.  that thinking about biting into a tart, juicy, green apple will produce the same physiological response as actually biting into one.  so i torture myself with fears of terminal illnesses, tragic accidents and my body reacts like it is happening.  to further plague myself with terror i watch movies about anne frank or orphans in haiti, poverty stricken immigrants or catastrophic events like modern-day cruise ships sinking or google again the loss of that one poor boy flying from brazil to boarding school in france in the fated flight of 2010.  by going there, i AM every one of them. just to prove to myself i should be grateful, i agonize over all the things that could tear this joy out from under me.  my heart and body a fragile mess of waiting and fear - so guilty over the great fortune that has blessed my family.

once, in a moment of clarity soon after satchel had been born, i told another new mother that parenting is like riding the razor's edge of pleasure and pain.  it is the most beautiful and the most terrifying experience one can know.  the depths of love are equal only by the opposite possibilities.  how do we live with this intensity??

maybe it is an addiction, this parenting thing.  it forces an adrenaline rush and endorphin surges and hormonal reactions that we cannot control.  i am addicted to my children, to motherhood, to love. once i challenged myself and tested my limits by taking the subway alone or landing on a grassy tarmac in west africa, by living in the ghetto or making friends with people because they were so different from me.  now i test my limits by mothering.  by being a wife.  everyday i work and struggle and try.

i live in the state of terror/joy for this:

lately i've been overcome with clarity that this moment is important.  every single moment is brutally important and that knowledge is both a gift and a life sentence.  who can live as though every moment is the last?  but it can't be helped.  the deep gaze as i say goodbye each morning before school, sending my kids off on their bikes with matt....off they go to school, one second away from a swerving car and texting driver.  but who stops their kids from the pleasure of a bike ride on a crisp and sunny spring morning?

i've found the tiny morsel of truth that i am in charge of this life, and that i can create a life that feels right for us. too bad i'm such a chicken.  that i want to live like an adventurer when i'm really a freak. luckly i've had a few good teachers - other mothers and friends who have shown me that freedom lies in being true to themselves even when their vision takes them to uncharted territory. they may be scared, but they do it and they find happiness not in the results always but in listening to themselves.  they are inspirations for me and i've learned to honor myself by witnessing them honor their own unique formula for life - crazy or idiosyncratic or blasphemous.  they live the way they do because they have to. because they deserve it. i love them because they know themselves - and what a beautiful thing that is!  to confidently be a mother and woman living a unique life, an authentic one...that is a poetic and transcendent and powerful thing.

so i've been overcome lately with listening in, tuning to my inner whispers about what is important, what i need to hear and know. it evokes such freedom! it invites so much possibility. this clarity and desire.  i'm intoxicated by it.  living in some free-fall of inner knowing.  the stomach in my throat, the sweating palms and grasping hands of freefall. clarity that isn't about rules but about questions and staring wide-eyed into space.  allowing fear to guide me more deeply to the story of my life and the joy that will make my family whole, happy, free. but only if i am happy, whole and free.  it starts with me.

the pendulum has somehow swung since april.  not only towards summer and all the mellow, sleepy, relaxed fun it can bring, but internally too, towards an unclenching, a release, a lighter experience of my emotions and less fear in my heart.  the death grip has released and i have somehow, unknowingly, returned to a softer place.

how it happened and why, who knows.  just as many tiny decisions and moments can add up to a feeling that things are off, that things aren't right, so too can the reverse happen. suddenly there is integration again, and recognition of being in synch with your life.  i couldn't force this to happen or wish myself happy.  in fact, i didn't even know what was wrong or what to fix. so i chose simply instead to stop doing things that didn't feel right. to stop going against myself.

this does not mean i stopped doing things that are hard or things that are unpleasant.  it means instead that if something made my internal compass cringe or i felt dread set in, i stopped or said no or revised the plan.  little tiny adjustments that has me claiming my life back. 

after saying yes for so long - yes to any job, any client, and work - i am saying yes to my whole life.  this brings balance.  i am no longer working at any price - which translates to ' at any expense.' 

i've also been deeply affected by the realization i had in chicago two months ago that this is my life and i need to play by my rules.  only when i honor my own unique, crazy, complex needs will i be living a life that makes me happy.  trying to create a life i think i want and methodically attack it, is way too big of a task.  it is much easier to choose in each moment.  tiny choices i can do.  and when i make these choices in line with my gut, with my 'belly mind,' things will work out a lot better than when i choose solely with my thinking, practical mind.

the question that kept haunting for many months now was - how did i get here?  so far away from my authentic self?  so far away from my joy?  there was no way to put a finger on which tiny choice it was that brought me to the present.  which door i opened or which door i closed that led to an avalanche of other decisions that landed me in the middle of my life.  lost.  uncertain.  afraid.  and sudennly unhappy in this life, that until now, had felt like a fairytale. 

here i was making choices i thought were leading more deeply into joy until suddenly, i realized i had gotten off course. not unhappy on the surface or moping about - because people around will say i'm pretty joyful - but unhappy in the reflective moments when i asked myself honestly if i was being fulfilled by my life. was i living this life in a way that i'd be proud of when i one day sit on the porch and ponder the past?

the answer was: not really.  in trying to do and have and be so much, i felt fractured instead of complete.  splintered into too many pieces without a cohesive center.  i was fragmented and stressed out, spending more time on things i didn't want than on things that were truly meaningful. dis-ease was taking over my daily experience of life as i lived on the surface barely skating by with way too much to do and not enough time to be. i missed my kids like crazy. i missed romance and dates and laughter with my husband. i missed fun.

so far all i've done to change this is:

1) choose with my gut.  when i weigh two clients, i choose the one that makes me feel positive and excited.  i say no to the one that puts my stomach in knots.  i say no to the one that won't pay me enough to cover childcare so i can handle their account.  i say no when being away from my family is a greater cost than the work will bring in.

2) not giving it away for free.  i've grown my business long enough now, and shown my value, that i won't work for free or trade anymore just build my client list or gain experience.  it was necessary for a time, but not anymore.

3) i've separated work from home.  i still run my pr and writing business from home but luckily we were able to get office space in matt's real estate office for our vacation rental business. getting the most stressful of our few businesses out of the house has been a huge relief. 

a friend of mine recently shared a 'game' that she and her husband use to check in with their marriage.  they do this once or twice a year, usually on a road trip, and when she explained it to me, i had that flicker of recognition - oh, this would work for me! kicking the concept around, i realized that i could use it in many areas of my life so i've been playing with the idea and seeing what comes up.

their game goes something like this:

taking turns, rate the marriage on a 1-10 in various categories like compatability, romance, fun, sex, etc..(i can't remember them all but that isn't really the point - each couple and each person will surely  have their own important categories :)  the ground rules are that each person's number is THEIR number.  there is no debate or arguing.  the only 'back talking' is about solutions - what can we do to bring this number up?

matt and i have yet to play, but i've started the game by searching for the important categories in our marriage.  i've also been using this rating system for myself.  how do i rate myself in different areas and what could i do to get the numbers up where i need to?

one of my big ones is pleasure. is there enough pleasure in my life? am i making space for it? am i valuing it as an important part of life?  am i sharing it with the people who matter most to me?  all of it got me thinking.  Big time.

so i've put more priority on pleasure.  insisted on it at the expense of other, more practical things, and it feels really good.  the funny thing is, by focusing on pleasure, i actually have a better attitude for work and for stress. i have more patience and i respond more calmly to all the little glitches in my life. 

last friday i put a call out for friday cheer.  one friends said yes, then two more, then a few more and before i knew it, i had an impromptu dinner party at my house to celebrate the first day of summer.  folding cloth napkins, making a lime pomegranate & rose punch, simmering spices to make curry & dal, lighting incense, putting on a summer dress, welcoming guests in my home...it made me feel connected, alive, happy.  every day can't be like this, but moments of every day can.

i am looking for happy moments in every day right now...the best kind of treasure hunt.  this morning it was hot croissants with butter & jam, making a joke with matt about a stressful detail rather than getting hung up on it, snuggling with temple for 2 minutes before making her jump out of bed and hurry off to preschool, saying yes when she asked me to watch her do a trick when i dropped her off at preschool instead of saying sorry i don't have time, looking at satchel's lego catalog with him before he left for summer camp.  by doing all of these little things, my cup is full.

temple:  mommy, tell me again about how satchel wanted me before i was even a baby.

satchel (chiming in sweetly while sitting next to her in the back seat of the car):  temple, i wanted you because...

temple: no, i want mommy to tell me satchel, not you. about how you loved me and called me lova.

me: well, temple, he wanted you because he knew you were coming. and he waited very patiently.

temple:  i know, but why?

me:  because before you were human babies together, you were spirit babies together and he was waiting for you to come play with him.

temple:  yeah, but he doesn't really play with me that much.

i need to do a great big brain dump here. downloading thoughts and events and photos just to put a place holder down for the hurt toes, the outrageously good experimental recipes, the guests who stayed, the plans just ahead on the horizon, the funny things the kids have said, the babies born, trips taken.  all of it. because if nothing else, if everyone is long gone from here (and i don't blame you if you are), these pages have always been a way for me to carve out and protect the memories of our life.  it is a modern day scrapbook, a social history, a family document of the way we lived.

my sister, shannon, right after chicago deep dish, right before labor

shannon - in transition - fiona, and another woman in labor

beautiful emil amadeus vargas

kaia, indy, temple and my dad waving back at the 4th of july parade

with leigh, late night in my kitchen, 4th of july

busha with her babies, millennium park chicago

temple with isabel, chicago

(and if i was a 'real' blogger, i'd be linking to all the past entries i've written about similar things and posting pictures of the past...but alas, i blog the way i parent which means you can never accuse me of being a helicopter mother and therefore, well, therefore ...)

on saturday morning, after i repurposed friday night's inaugural waffle iron waffles by putting them into the toaster and adding butter & syrup (and powdered sugar and chocolate chips), temple teamed up with me in the bathroom to get ready for the day. (toothpaste and a toothbrush that made me register the fact that it is high time i replace the toothbrushes in this family.) i can't remember exactly what it was, only that it was mundane.  a rubberband for her braid or maybe it was even the toothbrush itself, but she said something to me - the first part of which i only half-heard - about looking for her hair-tie or the toothpaste or some other mundane need and then she said the second part. the part i heard. 

it went something like this: mom, i need my rubber band...(long still pause)...that's an old bob dylan song you know.

of course i burst out laughing.  how did this newly-four-year-old understand the whole bob dylan mood and pull this joke out of her hat?  i swear, this child always slays me with her humor. she is a clown. with timing and wit and insight beyond her years. she'll draw a girl's happy face and then she'll add a pig nose, asking isn't this girl pretty? knowing that the pig nose ruins everything and laughing at us she tricked us into taking her seriously even for a second.

in her 'movie stars'

temple and fiona, eating italian ice, on the vargas's stoop, chicago

temple  holding her new cousin emil and giving her brother a run for his claim on the title of baby hog

while temple and i primped (sort of, it did not involve a proper shower, just a quick rinse and our hair in a bun) satchel lounged in his jammies, already well into the diary of a wimpy kid series which he got from the library with his grandmother.

summer reading in the backyard

my boy, one of the last kids in his class to read, can't stop reading. it's as if he is suddenly catching up with himself.  the way he all of a sudden decided to start eating solids, walking, being potty trained. a slow hesitance, a confusion or delay, and then... bam!  he just gets the next developmental stage.  heck, he was even born that way! three days of labor and waiting and then when it was time to come out, it. was. time. immediately. 

trusting him and being patient has never been hard for me.  my heart is still and full of sweetness when it comes to him. the goodness just radiates and the world is kind to him because he is kind to the world.

americana...this boy could be from another era

the baby hog

(as i write this, satchel asks temple if she wants to play with his legos, i'll let you if you are careful, always looking out for his sister. she replies: when i finish drawing the boogers on mom's picture. could the two be more perfectly suited as puzzle pieces? as siblings that make a circle?)

we have been having dance parties and sing-alongs. there have been late nights with good movies from our past (karate kid for example) and late morning lie ins on the other end to make up for going to bed so late. summer breakfasts and lunches are easier. morning summer camp is easier to get to than the first bell of school.  as summer brings its ease and we all surrender to the softness of the routine and the pace, i realize that the weeks are tick, tick, tocking past us at a face clip and summer is half over already. so we are making plans for the next 5 or 6 weeks.  let's make the most of it!

  summer is hard work

theater camp for satchel, swim days, zip lining through the redwoods, disneyland...all of it. and then, yesterday i get an email. an invitation.  a summons. an all-expenses paid trip to brazil to write a magazine story about the mining and gem industry in brazil.

pinch me.

for real?

but i have to get a visa and make it all happen in less than 2 weeks. there goes seeing satchel in his off-broadway debut at theater camp. there, possibly, goes disneyland. and i put myself in a plane in the sky, sailing off around the world without my babies. without my husband. who am i without them?

untethered is who i am. whole and untethered all the same.

all i want is to sail off around the world with them. the four of us, a family. being together feels so awfully good. it is exactly what i have happily built and created over the past ten years.

and then i imagine packing a suitcase - just one - with my pretty lingerie bag and 2 oz toiletries and no nighttime diapers or baby tyelnol, no first aid kit. its just a bikini and work clothes and vitamins. chia seeds or protein powder for my breakfast perhaps. a few luna bars. i can re-read the recent goop column on travel tips for world travelers. it's been years since i've done this international travel thing on my own.

...years since i was offered the bride price of 100 camels and 5 mercedes from a sheikh in morocco. since i bought a porcelain doll & visited winter markets in koln germany while dreaming of romance. since i've riden trains with parisian philosophy students or taken the ferry with swedish youth searching out a great windsurfing spot. and each of those memories are etched in my mind for a reason. traveling opens doors. traveling lets me fall in love with life, see myself in new ways.

traveling is what i dream of. it's just that travel now means one still-pudgy 4-year-old hand and one over-sized 9-year-old puppy hand in each of my own. to have one rolling suitcase and a carry-on, time to get a massage at the layover station in the airport, time to read a book, have a shot of whiskey, time to browse the magazine counter...that is all as foreign as exploring a new land. foreign and glamorous and very lonely in its own way.

good little travelers

matt is home now, pouring himself a stiff shot of makers mark. his career is taking off and he is happy. a happy husband is a happy wife. our dear friend dave in vancouver, he always said a family is only as happy as its least happy member. sad to say, matt and i have shared this role of least happy member - back and forth - over the past few years. between saying yes to every opportunity to make a dollar and growing four businesses at once with the hope of one of them taking root, we were exhausted and worried while we waited to see the outcome - to find out what was waiting on the other end and hoping that it was something good.

we just might be there. we just might be putting all the pieces back together.

on the fourth of july we decided to skip the big fireworks picnic downtown and opt for the nearby park instead. with great friends - local and from afar - we layed out picnic blankets and brought cozy warm blankets too since the night was cold and windy for july. kids in their jammies, a jar of cookies being passed around, wine being poured into plastic cups, we all hunkered down for the fireworks.

4th of july jello shots. shazam!

biplanes and small touring planes circled their constant hum overhead. waiting, like us, for the sky's celebration to begin. the wind blew harder, we huddled closer together and we piled together under blankets with hoodies tightly cinched under our chins.

just as the first test explosions went off - a white sparkling sunflower in the sky - the full moon began to rise over the foothills just beneath the fireworks. our vantage point was exquisite. had we chosen the downtown viewing place that everyone prefers, we would have missed it. instead, we all sat together feeling blessed and gifted by the view in front of us.

known as the valley of the moon, sonoma is a regal bowl of lunar nectar. the moon favors us here i think and so did the native people before us. the full moon is more magical here than many places i've lived. there have only been a handful of times in my life when i've seen the moon elsewhere compete with sonoma's moon. sure enough - on fourth of july - the moon rose, fat and yellow, directly under the fireworks. for an hour, as the moon rose, the fireworks glittered and rained and sparkled over the glowing, milky ball in the sky.

my dad was with us and he said the next time this happens you will be 69. (he calculates these things you know.) and the magic of the moment was then also nostalgic. 69. hopefully i am a grandmother by then. hopefully i am still alive by then! but the hair on my arms tingled and my family was piled up in a heap around me and the moon was being rained on by fireworks and this tiny bubble of hope was rising up from belly and saying that everything is going to be okay.

sitting down to write a post for the first time in a while, i decided to do a review of recent posts first. what i found - sitting in my typepad account - were 12 half-written posts from the past three months.

12 half-written posts.

i am stuttering. my heart and words and desires are all pushing up against each other, scrambling for the top. a writhing crab pile. a dark wood with branches seeking the prime light. something is emerging even though it is being strangled on its way. there is a narrative trying to be written. a story to be told. i just can't find the words yet.

friends of mine are buying yurts. birthing babies. having affairs. forgiving one another for having affairs. filing bankruptcy. moving out of the country. moving home. joining aa and getting sober. nursing their father through cancer. recovering from cancer. getting married in bali. getting divorced. selling everything to buy a sailboat. having makeovers & getting botox. going on holiday. walking away from it all. starting over.

each of them has a story that is unfolding. i sit here and i can see the motion, the details that add up to a story. a worthy, heartfelt story. a sometimes painful, truelife story. it makes sense from here, from where i watch. to them its probably as confusing as ever - disorienting like looking too closely in the mirror for too long and not recognizing the eyes staring back at you as your own. step back a few feet, shake your head and refocus. then you can see yourself again. this is the perspective i'm looking for. some distance in my own life to tell the story that is unfolding.

on top of being too close to really 'see' my own story unfolding, unlike some of my friends, with big things happening - whether they be tragic or joyful - my writing prompts these days are minimal. i am not pregnant (though i desperately would like to be, yet clearly not desperately enough for me to turn that into my story just now). we are not moving or going on vacation or taking a new job.

somedays i want an adventure. i want a story to wrap my days around. who am i? what are we becoming? what anchors the story that unfolds here on the pages of this blog?

rather than facing a challenge or marching off for adventure, our family of four is navigating daily things together - matt and i continue to link elbows and plow forward against vague uncertainties, a bit of monotony and occassional dark nights of standard angst but all of it is done with a singularity of purpose and hope for a bright future, with the certainty that there is nobody better for each other than ourselves. and all of this is puctuated by laughter and after-dinner dance parties and the happy voices of our children filling the house.

while important and incredibly fortunate when considering the alternatives, this doesn't all feel particularly story worthy.

is it naive then to expect one's life to be story-worthy in all of its phases and facets? maybe sometimes life is simply quiet.

some of my favorite stories revolve around tiny details.  mundane details like the shelling of walnuts or sacred details like offering forgiveness after a deep hurt. i guess it is just time i started mining my own life for the details. the quiet, simple details. to start living again with my writer's heart leading the way.

a writer is not one who is necessarily well-trained or who has perfectly honed their craft yet. a natural writer - even those of us still waiting to be born into our fullblown 'writer-hood' - sees the world through a writer's eyes. a writer is a collecter of moods and snippets of conversation. a writer is an observer of light and shadow. a writer is a listener to sound and to the lack of sound too - when the airconditioner hums or when the birds in the backyard suddenly go silent. a writer catalogues singular moments like when the palms sweat, when anger swells, when a warm glow of pleasure fills the belly, when the first sip of whiskey burns, when the body sinks into the bed at night and notices the smell of the sheets. we watch and remember. storing up moments that become our truth.

perhaps my stutter then is an invitation to slow down and pay attention again. to listen to the whispers in my gut, to attune my ears, to focus my eyes, to open my heart...to notice small moments like this one:

over the weekend i gave myself the gift of baking several cakes i'd been wanting to try. i had to be at home to work anyway and the kids were hanging with me and it was our last weekend of summer so i emptied the pantry onto my kitchen counter - 2 flours, 3 types of sugar, vanilla beans, butter, poppyseeds, balsamic & champagne vinegars, cream of tartar, baking powder, kosher salt - then i told the kids to wash their hands and we proceeded to measure, mix, blend & stir in between emails and phone calls for the next few hours.

baking can be a lovely way to pace your work day, as the smell of cakes in the oven and a lick of marscapone can bring a touch of sweetness to the otherwise single-minded focus of work and to-do lists and chores. it's also a lovely way for kids to weave in and out of their own play while spending time with mom between.

the first cake, while the best tasting in my opinion, was a disaster on the plate.  after many attempts at rescuing the presentation, i changed plans: i whipped up a batch of vanilla bean pudding and turned it all into a trifle. then the pudding was only so-so and i wished i'd just let it be an ugly cake which would have been more delicious. so this cherry cornmeal upside-down cake i took from smitten kitchen will be repeated.

(batter poured on top of black cherry & balsamic reduction)

(out of the oven - the bottom of an upside down cake)

(so ugly on the plate. not even humble or homely, a true mess.)

next, inspired by this cake, i tried to figure out a way to use the bag of plums someone had given me last week to create a french tatin. this was temple's favorite cake of the three and i brought it to a party on sunday where a chef told me that my cake was restaurant-ready. well, that's what you get when you use any ina garten recipe!

this poppyseed number by not without salt was the one i was most looking forward to making. here in sonoma we have the most amazing strawberry patch. i visit the patch at least once a week may thru october because the berries are *that* good. the kind of strawberries that are red all the way through the center. so with the strawberries playing leading lady to the poppyseed's best supporting actor in this recipe, i knew i had to give the cake a try while strawberry season was still in its prime. the cake was easy to make, quick to back and delicious. i also have visions of this cake in many other variations.

(you can see the layers here but i can't turn the image right side up!)

(marscapone frosting with strawberry and lavender)

after a lovely weekend with our family and a pool party and overnight guests - and lots of cake - i prepared myself for a tough week ahead. now in the middle of the tough week, it is turning out harder than i expected. on top of an excessive amount of work and our employee being on vacation all week, there is family drama. 

my grandmother is going through a very difficult time after her life savings "walked off" while my mom and i were away living in vancouver and chicago. this week we are supporting her through legal proceedings and it is tough to watch an 89 year old dealing with such heartbreak.(edited - sorry i can't go into more detail but there are legalities i must adhere to...someday i can finish this story.)

the cake though, the cake. it was a sweet swan song for the end of summer.

today, satchel started 4th grade. i told him that i met his dad in 4th grade...maybe he will meet his wife this year. which of course totally grossed him out.

after a summer of growing, he is so tall the top of his head is above my nose but still sweet enough that he fell asleep holding my hand last night. this age is incredibly bittersweet. so tender and innocent but growing so quickly. i've been tearful for days now.

(back to school lunch date with mama.)

temple asked me to dance with her this morning to a really sweet song and of course, i started crying. this song makes me so happy i'm sad too mama.  she gets it already, how joy can be its own agony. she understands that beauty can overwhelm us and in knowing the beauty, we also feel its absence.

i look at my children, our life, their joy, the amazing gift of their lives and our days together, and in this beauty i feel its absence too. their growing up does this to me. 

someday i will be that old lady in a wheelchair, almost all of my living behind me, and there will be so much joy gone and only absence ahead. these moments, in the summer of my life, i try to capture moments like the old children's book frederick where the mouse soaks up memories and colors and joy to sustain him through the winter.

weeks like this one - with more to do than can really be accomplished and the extremes of life experiences happening at once and deep emotions pulling hard - there is only cake and sleep and the warm hands of your children holding yours as they fall asleep at night to see you through.

for a long while now i've been neglecting the little touches that have always made my house a home - the flowers, candlelight, notes on the chalkboard wall, homecooked meals, bubble baths for the kids, cleaning the fridge every monday, purging the kids clothes & toys by season, throwing parties, making playlists for the ipod...and i hate to admit it, but even saying blessing before dinner. 

at first it was a kind of freedom - i was now a busy working mom with more on my plate than i used to have. it felt good to give myself permission to let some things go. to let homemaking habits slip while i cultivated working habits, while our family shifted and got used to our new routines.

but lately, it was making me sad. the lack of colorful blooms, the unmade beds, the scroungy mess of art supplies, the disorganized cupboards...the feeling that our home was becoming a place of function rather than a cozy and peaceful retreat that was a pleasure to come to.

with this realization, i started to put more effort in this part of my life. i've started to get my home back in order.  it started with a scented candle i was given in may...a nice little luxury that i put in the hall bath and left burning most of the day.  i enjoyed it and when both kids commented on how nice it was, i realized how important these little touches are. tiny pleasures like this were something they had grown up with and probably missed without knowing they missed it. when i replaced that first candle with a new one i'd purchased in town, satchel told me how very much he liked the new milk-glass candle holder it came with. once again, he noticed.

next, i brought home several bunches of cheap flowers from trader joes. temple shrieked with delight at the tulips in her bathroom and proceeded to carry a bunch of pink gladiolas to the nature table/altar in her bedroom where she placed them next to her framed baby photo. it was like i had given her a present.

for the first day of school, i promised the kids a pot of sunshine soup - one of their favorites. when satchel thanked me several times for making it and ate it for lunch 2 days in a row aftewards. same for the happy first day of 4th grade! sign on the chalkboard wall and the early morning bubble bath today.

their appreciation of these small efforts reinforced what i myself had been feeling and the important realization of how much we all need little pleasures and snippets of beauty in our days.

fall is a great season for celebrating simple, small pleasures which i still remember from my own childhood. my mom would simmer a pot of cinnamon stick & vanilla on the stove...such a lovely smell! hot oatmeal in the morning. sweet notes in lunchboxes. afterschool treats.

back to school - as much as i resisted it this year, as much as i wanted more summer and extended sunlight and morning lie-ins - is the perfect opportunity to build our days around rhythm and beauty. so i'm excited to pour a little more creativity into this part of my life.  if you are feeling inspired too, please share! what do you do in your house to bring beauty to your days? i'm not ashamed to say that i am easily inpsired and will steal your great ideas readily :)

i'm soaking an enormous amount of raw cashews for this recipe and this one too.

these videos make me smile. so much. tiny dancer at 2 years old& 3 years old.

loving this line of bags. and i think i like this one the best.

they are calling her america's worst mom, but i think she is onto something. you can see her interviewed here.

this milkshake sounds insanely good.

a brand that understands how to compliment a woman's curves.

his astrology reports are awesome for general astrological patterns. (thanks aunt sue!)

and if the state of the universe has you wondering what your own planets are doing, pj is the woman to call. (btw, she's the person who performed our wedding ceremony in 2003. i love and trust her *that* much.)

i think this song is romantic.

their story of young love, art and passion reminds me of what the early days with my own teenage parents must've been like.

a book i've been wanting to read for months, reviewed on my favorite celebrity gossip site.

i still have a huge design/family crush on these people. someday i want temple to have a room like their daughters'.

last week i tried the gluten-free lemon coconut torte from this bakery. soooo good.

isn't her apartment/workspace darling?

cannot wait for tomorrow night...family date night, popcorn and this.

i'm sitting here on a glorious fall afternoon, my life as good as it's been in awhile and it reminds of how precious life has been feeling lately.

always one to 'make love to life,' something urgent is waking me up to savoring more minutes in my day. it is making me say yes to going back into the art cupboard getting yet another piece of tape for temple's art project. yes to a trip to the dollar store for even more art supplies. yes to a matinee movie. yes to cuddling in bed, reading another book, yes to piggy backs and just yes to as much as i can. (i didn't realize how much i had started said no! and for no really good reason than just, ugh.)

maybe it is my grandmother meeting the end of her days and the loneliness i sense in her heart as she reviews her life. i want to feel full up when my time comes. maybe it is just me noticing the speed with which my babies are becoming these tall human beings with minds of their own. maybe it is the way my marriage is about to meet its 10th anniversary. or my birthday just around the corner...

i hope it is that list of things and not my intuition feeling something else, something darker. last week i sent an email to a friend and as i went with my rambling thoughts, this came out: where am i? that would be a very long email on its own :)  but in short, i am good. life feels amazingly, wonderously precious to me these days. i am full of gratitude and inspiration to live more fully present and awake. after feeling broken down the past few years, i am waking up to wonder. that's the only way i can describe it. on the flip side of that though  there is this feeling of foreboding. that my life is going to crack wide open with beauty, but it might be a tragic darkness that shows me the light. i can't put my finger on whether this intuition or fear, but it is there and has got me very curious.

even the stories i've been hearing lately feel prophetic. the beautiful, ragged, heart-wrenching stories of moms dying from cancer. children dying from cancer. my throat clenches. i gag. i hurt for them and i get scared. and then i realize their gift to me, in sharing their stories, is that - at least for right now, today - we are all healthy. i have the choice to enjoy a life not hindered by pain or illness and what a tremendous gift this.

when i think of it, it is overwhelming. the gift of health. the gift of precious loved ones. the gift of this:

and this:

in gratitude for this beautiful, glorious day - it is time to go out and make sidewalk art, lounge in the backyard, start up the grill for an outdoor dinner. and just hug my babies as much as i can. enjoy their smiles, their weight in my lap, the smell of their hair as they sit with me. carve pumpkins, give them a bath. and drift off to sleep filled up with memories of a sweet, simple day.

even though spring is the season of birth - when the world is reborn and green, when both my babies decided to come earthside, when hope rises like the sap in trees - i think autumn is my favorite season. because what i see (and feel) is another kind of birthing. the birth of the underwold, the birth of wisdom that comes from beyond, the time of ancestors and of holding both the abundance of harvest and the decay that quickly follows.

autumn is a time of appreciation for a season well-lived. a life well-lived. it marks the moment of gratitude for the past and releasing to the unrelenting future. of surrendering to the forces greater than us. i see beauty in this decay.

the wet and rotting leaves. the empty vines in the vineyards around me. bare and tangled branches. a moody grey sky and cold damp that creeps into your bones. brilliant bursts of gold and red outlined against the steely colors of a dying world.

winter solstice is the time of inner knowing. of the internal flame. but fall, it is the liminal space between here & there. between life & death. that fleeting moment of equilibrium. isn't there a fullness in that? a perspective of fate that we all must accept even if it frightens us. to me it says: seize the bloom. this moment is alive, live it.

satchel in leaves

shalom

this fall has been particularly special. the full moon at halloween. the cleansing rain. the gloriously warm days. a sense of peace in my heart. an exhale and a letting go of a heart that has been so tight for so long now. so many good days. moments. heartbeats. memories.

deconstructing

sunset on date night with matt at greens in fort mason

cozy morning

first skinny peppermint mocha of the season

waiting for matt to come home from work

finger math

dinner with friends

today over breakfast the kids and i talked about samhain and the pagan new year. we talked about dia de los muertos and our ancestors.  while they ate i named all the gifts our ancestors had left us...papa calvin's humor and strength and sense of honor. gramma shirley's love of encyclopedias and world travel. my busha's hard work and generous heart and kindness. on and on it went as these loved ones came to life for my children.

maybe it is the thinness of the veil between here & heaven today, but the kids were inspired by these stories - their eyes sparkled and a sense of knowing came over them, of recognition. there are traditions of setting a place at the table for our departed loved ones, to honor them -- today i felt like there was one at our breakfast table.

dia de los muertos on our chalkboard wall

halloween this year was simple but fun. i've mellowed a lot about making things perfect. we had 6 or 7 pumpkins but only got around to carving 3. temple wasn't into touching the pumpkin guts and she isn't really ready to do the actual carving so instead of creating an assembly line and cranking them out, i gratefully accepted my mom's help with temple's one witch pumpkin and let my sister and her boyfriend finish it up.  satchel did two of his own and is a really good artist. at 9, he can do the whole thing by himself. the battery-operated pumpking carving saw helped too. i mean, he's a boy and and any power tool is his friend.

jack o' lanterns 2012

while they carved jack o lanterns and ate caramel apple suckers, i made 'swamp soup' with kale, pesto and turkey sausage 'eyeballs.' after not having a tv for more than a year, we finally got a new tv last week so the world series was on and there was orange and black everywhere. i'm not much of a sports fan, but i do love the giants and i have a son who really loves baseball. having the game on tv made me realize how sports can make a household festive. each of us involved in our own activity like carving jack o lanterns or cooking a pot of soup or folding a load of laundry but all of us in one room being together at the same time, with something to cheer for. it was nice and reminded me of the days when my grandfather would listen to the game on the radio or we'd all lie around on a cozy sunday to watch the 49 ers play football. there is a solidarity in this. a homey feeling that is nice.

the rain came in last night just as it was time to go trick or treating. other than getting a little wet and not being able to see the nearly-full moon, it wasn't bad. my scary, living-dead boy and little maharani princess were happy to lead our crew of 10 through the streets of sonoma, knocking on doors, 8 or 9 doting relatives in tow...2 grandfathers, a grandmother, an aunt, a boyfriend and two family friends. Now that is dedication.  Especially in the rain.

satchel as the living dead. halloween 2012. (9 years old.)

temple as a maharani princess. halloween 2012. (4 years old.)

last saturday we went to a halloween party and we all dressed up.  even me. it made me realize that adults who dress up in costume are one of the many things i love about halloween. here is a list of a few more halloween traditions i really enjoy:

*caramel apples

*an early dinner & trick or treating with our big, crazy family

*candles flickering inside of carved pumpkins

*the month-long process of deciding what the costume is going to be

*our chalkboard wall with a list of ancestors' names

*incense and candlelight

*soup in a pot on the stove

*chili in a pot on the stove

*darkness coming earlier each night

*daylight savings

*the last brilliant leaves and berries

*enjoying the first rain puddles

*enjoying the last hot, sunny days of indian summer

*getting ready for my birthday

*examining the loot from trick or treating and then trading candy

*putting on our autumn pillowcases and adding blankets to the beds

*cleaning out the summer clothes and bringing out winter coats

*taking it one holiday and special event at a time...enjoying each one completely before moving onto the next

today the rain has passed through, leaving the world feeling swept clean and sparkling. reminding why i love this season so much.

and here they are, my two little hobgoblins, the morning after:

hawkeye

baby blues

last year i made hoppin' john for new years. friends & family rolled by. we sat around a roaring fire and had lots to hope for in the year ahead. hope springs eternal and this year, the good caught up with us in greater measure than the icky, the stressful and the sad.

i'd say that 2013 looks grand but i'm superstitious and i don't want to jinx myself.  so let's just stay i continue to be hopeful. and grateful for health and family and joy.

we've had a lovely couple months. november and december were just plain ol' fun in so many ways. here are a few glimpses of november (3 birthdays, an annivesary, thanksgiving and visits from my sister's family & our awesome vancouver friends) and december (a 10th anniversary trip to nyc and a merry, festive season!)

winter boots

peas in a pod

pals

i call this couple 'party in a box' because you could rent them to make an party an instant success!

autumn art project

he-man

fall feather project

satch and his great-grandmother

birthday fun

baking with busha

"autumn leaf" biscuits

beautiful leaves...already gone

treats for school

board games with cousins

dress-up with cousins

abundance abounds

communal art projects

swedish fish martinis

did i say that november was the birthday month around here???

birthday couple = love!

...always.

this...the world's perfect baby...just might trick him into doing it one more time :)

it's that time of year again.

morning reader.

waiting for st. nick

christmas in new york!

view from our honeymoon suite

first lunch in new york...oldest dim sum restaurant in china town.

wildlife in the village.  this majestic falcon was epic.

along the way from lower east side lunch at katz's deli to shopping at bergdorfs.

waiting for the subway.

anniversary dessert at jean-georges nougatine

christmas in new york - is anything more spectacular?

turkish coffee on a cold day

9/11 memorial

a moment in time.

christmas jammies

christmas jammies in action

girls lunch

winter moon

coloring with dada

magic

christmas party

union square, san francisco

gingerbread house party

 
big brother. little sister. one of each. lucky doesn't even begin to describe it.

christmas eve morning...delivering presents to friends.

sparkling elf. (or is that 'elfe'?)

santa suave-eh

christmas dollie.

in training for burning man.

first tea party.

all good mommies sparkle.

on our way to see the lionking

first limo ride.

i see more limos in this kids future.

stocked up!

and we prepare to say goodbye to 2012. you've been good to us.

bring it on 20-13!!!!

wishing you all a happy new year!

happy clowns.

happy new year's everyone.  may it be joyful & blessed!

Lately I’ve been stunned wide open by life. By the brilliant yellow lemon zest in my chicken noodle soup and the disarray of legos on my coffee table, strewn perfectly in 9-year old intensity; by the piles of dollies laid to rest earnestly here and there by a 4-year old throughout the house and underfoot, always covered tidily with a blanket and usually snuggled in groups of two or three. By Matt’s clothes shed nightly by his side of the bed, a dark and wrinkled puddle to find the next morning, still smelling of him – a sweet gift of memory and desire as I carry them to the washing machine.

After 4 years of struggling to find my place, lately I’ve been a housewife who happens to also have a job that allows me to work from home. My days are filled with errands like dry cleaning and check cashing (thank you universe for clothes to clean and checks to cash), with making a pot of slow-cooked soup full of black eyed peas, kale and the ancient rinds of parmesan dug from deep in my freezer. But instead of stopping there, I punctuate my chopping and stirring by writing a story I will get paid for, by planning an event that will advance the success of my client. This is an unexpectedly happy swing on the pendulum after so many years of desperately scrambling to figure out just where I might land. What balance I should strike.

Working from home means that my ten minute coffee break can be spent in our backyard hot tub, immersed up to my neck in slick warm water, breath steaming, while I watch squirrels navigate ancient oak branches above my head, a frozen lemon sun peeking through the trees while winter roses defy the cold and offer brightly colored spots of surprising beauty amidst the empty sticks of long-dead summer vines.

January has brought an unusual cold snap to California. A very cold winter for wine country where the mornings mean I need to scrape my windshield of ice before driving the kids to school. Where the roadside is crusted with a white dusty sheen that stiffens the blades of grass, the muddy ditches made pristine with frost.  The weather bright and clear like a beacon, cold enough to make us alert, to make me straighten my spine and take note. This moment, right now, is important.

The icy brown sticks, the sun setting later as the solstice moves towards a spring equinox, the cozy slippers on our feet, the hush while green buds simmer waiting to burst, while lambs wait to be born, a fire crackling still in our fireplace. The Christmas tree only just dismantled even though it is mid-January. Games played as a family to while away the long evenings – Boggle, pick up sticks, Catch Phrase, Headbands. Chapters from Little House on the Prairie read aloud. Harry Potter and Native American stories like Pasquala for Satchel’s 4^th grade curriculum and a book report due next week.

We hunker down. Make popcorn sizzled in coconut oil, doused in kosher salt, chili powder & cumin. Matt’s birthday comes and goes – a chocolate cake of course. Presents he never anticipated, dinner with his parents – long-divorced but united by some invisible string that sometimes keeps distinctly different humans lovingly connected because they created another human being together.

Days weave in and out. Only two weeks into the new year and life is steadily creeping, trudging, beckoning us along. The kids go to bed at 8:30 because there is school and they need sleep…and we need adult time. Cocktails and HBO series rented on Netflix – Boardwalk Empire, Game of Thrones, Breaking Bad. We twist ourselves up in dramatic stories, enjoying the thrill of well-orchestrated catastrophe. Later we giggle and celebrate how we’ve avoided being so fucked up.

Lack of sleep was a brutal torture for a long while now. It’s been better. I drink less & eat less at bedtime. Somehow going to bed empty helps. But also I’ve rached a certain mastery in my new careers, the to-do lists actually doing their jobs. And I trust myself to get my work done. To get it all done rather than awake in a panic and obsess all night. I’ve also fallen in love with a magnesium sleep aid that really works wonders! Sweet sleep. It makes me whole again. A new woman.

Hot coffee in the morning is the first prayer of the day. And then there are hugs and kisses for the children. Devotion of its own kind - the intoxicating smell of sleepy heads, each one hiding a secret mystery in the fragrance that hovers at the base of their skull.  And each one so different. I dream of a third child – wondering - what would their own smell be? Their secret infinity that will take a lifetime to unravel and understand?

But the alternate reality hits me too:  Here we are, the four of us and everything is just as it should be. Just as it is. The four of us.

Briefly, in the bustle of lunch-making and breakfast-eating and coffee-sipping, we find each other…I steal a warm snuggle from Matt. Leaning into his warmth, his tallness, his sturdiness, solid and true. His unspoken promise that he will always be here. We rest briefly together - lots to do, a day to start - but my cheek finds his heartbeat under the tender light over the stove where French toast is cooking. Nothing too bright yet, just a gentle beginning in the midst of making sure the kids brush their teeth and the smell of browned butter from breakfast and an 8:15 school bell waiting to be met.

Let’s welcome the day. It’s a beauty. It’s a gift. Good Morning World we all say – a remnant of my own childhood, a tradition bestowed by the mothers in my family. Good Morning World. As we peek behind the curtains, lifting our eyes to the morning outside. A greeting that says we are in this for the next 24 hours – in it for much more than simply getting by. We are here to live.

Thank you 2013 for welcoming us so gently, so hopefully. This is what it means – I think – to live the good life: a peaceful and contented heart.

Seven piles of tiny clothes, and seven more of bigger ones. Stacked towers of seven outfits each for our seven day road trip, ready to be packed.

skirts - denim, taffeta, transparent layers of sequined chiffon – in her pile, the silk and ribbons making it a bit unruly to keep neat. His, a nearly grown man’s stack of denim and corduroy and flannel taking up more space on the couch than I am prepared to accept – his clothes the same size now as my own.  

The most recent load of laundry is still warm and sweet smelling as I dig through searching for his favorite ‘dude’ tee shirt and for her striped kneesocks.

An outfit for each day set out in advance just like we do for school each night before we go to bed. Lined up together on the couch they are a riot of colors, a chidren’s palette of magenta dots, green sleeves on a baseball shirt, a Bengal tiger on a yellow background, hot pink and neon yellow stripes, purple tie dyed undies with white lace trim. Artifacts of their childhood, of this age right now,of their fancies and their preferences and the beginnings of their assertion of their own tastes over mine.

I’m a sucker for keepsakes, for the memories evoked by the newborn sweaters my  mother knit for each of my children. I ache over the tiny cloth diapers neatly packed away in transparent storage cubes and stashed in the attic. The infant gowns with drawstrings at the feet. The first pair of pants with holes in the knees, the shoes with worn down toes.

Looking at these piles of clothes about to be packed in duffle bags and stuffed in the back of a rented minivan, I realize that - though they seem large now - soon enough some of these too will be packed away in their keepsake boxes.

While details fade over time, these little clothes will remind me of Temple just as she is at 4 and a half. Dresses only, no pants. No tights either. So we compromise on knee socks to keep her legs half warm.  That she changes 4 times a day and creates the most outrageous combinations of fur and satin and ruffles and lace. That she truly feels strongly about her clothes and how they are worn and with what.

At nine, Satchel is nearly as tall as me and his brown leather Chelsea boots will be mine as soon as he outgrows them. This will go down as the transition year where our clothes were the same size - he borrows my sweatpants, my Frye motorcycle boots, my denim shirt, my wool fedora; I steal his hoodies and his flannels and his down vest. As the top of his head approaches my eyebrows I can’t imagine how his body has grown so much without me realizing that it was happening.

When Satchel was almost two, I took him on a roadtrip by myself. We went to Oregon for a friend’s blessing way and I still remember the antique brown leather suitcase my grandmother had given me and how I filled it with five complete little outfits – planned in advance and packed in tidy little stacks. It was winter and there were knit sweaters and hats from my mother, tiny jeans,  a pair of red & brown leather walking boots thoroughly scuffed at the toe. Things he wore every day. Mundane. Simple. Worn and washed and dried and stained and spilled on. A record of his artwork, his nature walks, his digging in the sandbox. I remember unpacking his things in the second floor bedroom of my friend’s farmhouse, light streaming through the window as I realized just how many memories could be awakened by a these simple daily items. All of those memories living in the fabric of my memories, of my heart, of his clothes. Take these for example - his newborn dragon tee from a store in Berekeley and then, at three during his naked phase. (I did keep those boots!):

About 5 years ago my mom cleaned out her garage and gave each of her children one huge keepsake box from their childhood. Memories flooded back for me – of my crocheted baby blanket, of my floral pinafore, the Christmas dress that matched my sisters both trimmed in black ric rac, my cheerleading letterman’s sweater – but as a mother myself now, I knew that each of these items had a different set of memories for my mother…how long it took her to crochet this while she was pregnant with me, where she found the pattern and bought measured fabric for the dress, what inspired her to make us a little house on the prairie bonnet.

The clothes in my keepsake box speak of an era – my era – and they say so much about who my family was, where I came from, who I grew into as I made the choices about how to dress and what I was interested in and who I would become. I am so grateful to have these tokens of the past.

Today’s laundry - the endless washing of taekwondo uniforms and party dresses and tee shirts cool enough to be worn to school in front of a jury of peers - this will become a record of their past. A quick glimpse through one lens of who they were, how they played, what they loved.

My sister once asked me which hand-me-downs I wanted back, which ones were important? I told her that I’d saved my few favorites from every age and the rest are better shared and well loved and used to create more memories.  Some of our favorites were handed down to us and likewise, I have no idea which of my kids hand-me-downs just might end up in someone else’s keepsake box. It makes me very happy to think about it.

Dear Satchel,

For your birthday, I’ve been trying to write the story of you. Of who you are this year, what you like, who you are becoming. You are 10 afterall. A milestone! 

But for the first time since I’ve been sitting down to write your birthday letter, I have more questions than stories.  It is fun, this change. How exciting it is to watch you become a truly separate person. At 10 you keep your own stories – in the polaroids you take and journals at school and drawings and hobbies…and in your knowing, daydreamy places that are yours alone. 

You are a great mystery unfolding…What do you know? What do you love? What are you hoping for? Who are you becoming?

I vividly remember being 10 and well on my way to storing impressions of the world inside the sacred vault of my own truth. I was building my library of memories and experiences, heartbreaks and fears, joy and curiosity. And so too are you.  You are the narrator of your life now. 

I see you absorbing this world. I see your meditative, daydreaming gaze. In the wonder and escape of the storybooks you read silently to yourself, exploring exciting worlds all on your own. It is in your wild giggles as your run free with your friends, laughing about things I cannot hear, making jokes that are only funny to other 10 year olds. It is in your stoic acceptance when hard lessons or disappointment come your way - the resolve of your chin, the piercing realization mirrored in your soulful brown eyes that the world is not always magical and happy – but that it can let you down too.  That is part of life. You forge ahead, walking solidly into the life that awaits you.  Always with your joyful, boundless, ‘curse of happiness’ spirit.

Knowing how real this is, how we have passed an era and enter a new one, this makes big sobbing gulps stick in my throat. I am stunned by the quick and relentless passage of time. The sheer beauty of our moments together moving along at a speed I cannot fathom…launching the joyful days of your childhood into the future. Sand truly slipping through my fingers, a blur of happy days with my boy as he grows.

Mothering you is like any other exquisite moment of beauty that won’t last. The unavoidable human condition of trying to contain fleeting beauty while we can. Childhood so precious because it is a shape-shifting, evaporating, transcendent moment that we never, ever get back. Neither the child nor the mother. Sacred motion. Nothing to be done but surrender. And celebrate all that we have.

When I held your tiny body, so wiry and warm, when your wise and ancient eyes met mine for the first time, it was the most perfect moment of my life. I was ready to be your mother. Holding you was a memory of what I had always known. Oh, it is you! I vividly remember thinking to myself.

What I couldn’t fathom in those early days though, was how glorious it would be to also mother you at 10. How mothering you would only get better with time.

The primal recognition I felt when you were placed in my arms, when we touched forehead to forehead and I smelled your primordial newborn skin – some of you and some of me mingled together - I felt complete.  Innately one being, a connection so powerful it made me a raw and pulsing creature, fragile and broken wide open to divine love.

As time moves on, you become more dear …and more of a mystery. Your karmic story is unfolding. You are the master. I have done my best to hold your hand and guide you and honor you, I have gone from your being your beating heart to your milky nourishment to your protector to your teacher to your witness. Not realizing in those very early baby days how powerfully achey my heart would be watching you grow up, stand apart, walk away.  

This is destiny, what children are meant to do. Parents? We hold onto that record of our oneness while you become the explorer of your world.While I will always belong to you, you only belong to yourself.

There is the saying to new mothers nine months in and nine months out.  Recognizing the vastness that a mere nine months can be.

And now you have passed the nine year mark. You are a whole decade old. Two whole hands. Do you know this snuck up on me? Where did 6, 7, 8 and 9 go???  Now we only have nine more years together until you are officially considered an adult – less time ahead than we’ve shared from birth til now. 

I snuggle in to watch you here in this liminal space – between child and teen. I watch you for the light in your eyes. To make sure that I can help explain things when you need me to and to let go when it’s best to stay silent. I struggle to know what you need and try to meet you there. Trying to trust myself now the way I always have when it came to your needs. Trusting that you chose me and I am good enough.

We’ve entered new territory. Thoughtful territory. As Steiner says, the mother is the child’s veil for the first three years. That, for me, was an easy part of mothering. Intuitive; a constant conversation between us as if we were two parts of one being. And then you became this delightful child. Happy, cheerful, polite, exuberant. That too was easy. Next, you were a good student. Helpful, kind to others, eager to learn. I’ve heard from other parents that 10-12 are the golden years before adolescence. Lucky for me this is another happy phase for us. I’m enjoying it all, enjoying you, so very much.

You continue to trust the goodness of this world, trust that we travel with you and are always here for you. You giggle when I tell you to stop growing, proud of yourself for becoming so tall, for nearly outgrowing me. You are enjoying life so very much.

In my heart you are and always will be the age you are now and the tiny seedling that took root within me – a love like nothing else.  The only love that would actually be my undoing. A love that made me become a new person. A love that makes me always want to be better, kinder, more patient. You are a gift Satchel. A precious and amazing gift.  You are a bright soul and an example for me. Your kindness and compassion and gentleness inspire me everyday.

Thank you for picking me to be your mama. I think we are a pretty good team.

(Thank you to Sophia Metzner for the beautiful images of Satchel!)

since weekends are pretty work-filled around here -- can you say: real estate and vacation rental management and an events-driven industry like pr? -- we decided to take advantage of spring break and have a little mid-week fun!

there were a few criteria to planning the trip:

1) within 3-5 hour driving distance

2) warm and (hopefully) sunny in april

3) unstructured play opportunities for the kids

4) water of some kind, preferrably ocean

5) fun excursions & outings nearby

6) mellow and relaxing

7) no lines or waiting

after an abandoned attempt to pull off Venice Beach + Disneyland halfway through planning (see # 6 and 7 above) matt suggested the central coast near los osos where he lived one year after college.

so later that night, after the kids were in bed, we opened a bottle of wine and started researching our trip - me on my laptop and matt on his ipad. within the next hour, we had our whole trip planned and hotel reservations made! (and had fun planning too!)

it was, by far, the least thought-out and quickly-thrown-together vacation we've ever planned. and in the end, it was one of the best trips we've ever taken! i can't say enough about spontenaeity, flexibility, lowering expectations and just going with the flow.

we settled on avila beach as our homebase and got mid-week steals at an oceanfront property with pool & hot tub. we had a large porch facing the ocean with sunset views over the mountain. at night we slept with only the wooden shutters closed so we could enjoy the salty night air and the sound of fog horns. we were literally steps from the beach and protected by a pedestrian walkway along the boardwalk where the kids could run wild. the kids really loved the hotel breakfast where they could make their own mini waffles in a belgian waffle maker :) we'd make breakfast and then eat poolside each morning, taking a hot tub while the fog rolled out and the sunshine came in.

the beach was so nice we could have just stayed right there for four days and had a blast, but we did a bit of adventuring too and headed each day to see something new.

on our way south we visited the freakishly dilapidated winchester mystery house and we bookended the return leg of our trip with the extravagently retro hearst castle. in between we filled the days with sand dunes and picnics, volleyball and sand castles, fish shacks and pubs, waves and wind, hot springs and walks, sunshine and beach towns, salt water taffy and sea salt cookies, sunsets and dinners with views, plaus the very lively san luis obispo farmer's market where we watched jugglers on unicycles, ate kettle corn and listened to live music.

perhaps the highlight for the kids was 'bubblegum alley' in slo - a recommendation from my mom who found this through national geographic kids. this is an alleway near the mission in downtown slo filled with gum from back in the 1960s. it was both cool & gross...the perfect combo for kids.

on our drive back north, we decided to enjoy the whole day as part of the vacation (which we rarely do, rushing home to start the work week instead) so we stopped in a cute beach town called cayucos for sea salt cookies (yum) and then made our way up to san simeon where we visited hearst castle. (i'd never been and it was beautiful - especially the underground roman pool!) aftewards we drove up highway 1 and through big sur watching the waves and catching a setting sun.

we came home feeling rested, relaxed and - best of all - really connected as a family. four days never felt so rejuvinating.

beachfront boardwalk at sunset

beach and pier all to ourselves

relaxed (that doesn't happen often enough!)

boy wonder. (it's pretty much true. and for the record, when he realized what it said, he decided that this tshirt is embarrasing.)

the beach is the perfect place for this girl! she shines, wild & free.

road trippin...one of my favorite things to do.

a cardigan and a bathing suit counts as 'dressed' in pismo beach.

now that this boy loves to read, harry potter even comes to the beach.

golden days.

babe-n beauty

fresh from a game of volleyball with satch

 loving the sunshine (even got a little sunburned to prove it!)

what trip to the ocean is complete without some salt water taffy?

fighting seagulls for our lunch at morro bay (fish & chips...yum! and the birds knew it too)

$3 on souvenirs never went so far!

fascinated and horrified in bubble gum alley (but we left our mark!)

the backstreets are worth a walk in san luis obispo

behind the nightclub

sunset

crescent moon and new orleans jazz band at farmer's market

morning under the pier

wave runner

the road home

hearst tower

morning cuddles, happy family style - back at home and trying to keep vacation alive.

if a picture is worth a thouand words, here is a quick way to catch up on the past couple months. (wow it's been a while!)

temple turned 5 and had a parisian birthday party.

jasmine bloomed in our yard.

and spring came to the valley.

we had a may faire

(yes, my 10 year old boy with long hair still wears flower crowns on may day!)

my nephew emil turned 1!

and my grandmother turned 90

matt and i had a few awesome date nights:

including bottle rock in napa (where we both drank too much - can't you tell?)

I got to go with two other main men to the macklemore concert

(my brother zak and satch - who dressed just like his uncle shotgun...down to the giants hat, chartreuse shoes and white bandana out of the back pocket)

we played lots of dress up

and entertained ourselves during satchel's baseball lessons

a memorial day trip to hog island oyster farm was cold, but fun

(and delicious...we had to order a second round.)

i went to vegas for work, and all i have is a picture of the hotel room bed - which was heaven.

We've had dinner parties with fun friends

(anyone who makes sugar daddy rum, limoncello and hooker's house bourbon obviously knows how to have a good time!)

father's day was spent on the russian river

and bob treated us to a giants game just because

summer solstice, a super moon and storms came too... so i charged some magical moon water under a rainy full moon.

satch had basketball camp, baseball camp and baseball lessons.  it's a summer of sports here! 

temple lost her first tooth!

(and i can't the image right side up but it's too cute to leave out.)

fourth of july was spent with ALL the family (including the Vargases who are coming home! HOME!) and good friends. and of course, the hometown parade.

cousins came...and are moving home to sonoma for keeps!

(did i already mention that? i'm pretty excited.)

i spent many early mornings drinking my coffee in the hot tub this summer

and one night i realized that satchel's hands are almost as big as mine

temple likes to wear bindis, tattoos and flowers in her hair

and just last week, we went on a family camping trip on the mendocino coast. cousins, uncles, grandparents, aunties.

tent city, aka 'the neighborhood'. a few of the tents in order of appearance:

mine, my mom's (busha's), aunt sue & uncle joe, sacthel & his cousin ike (the big boy tent)

busha & emil (world's happiest baby!)

zak at camp (aka uncle shotgun)

aunt sue's prayer flags and my dad's pavilion in the background.

all tied up

unle oso

rummy nights - cards with my brothers and mom

fueled by whiskey shots

(karaoke too but i didn't get a picture of that.)

sand dunes

sea glass and art projects

tide pools and magical beaches

guppy at camp with another mike conner gadget

(that would be a fire starter made from an air mattress pump and tin foil)

horseback riding

my nephew ike, so happy!

cousin justin

family pizza night at the fishing pier in point arena

temple in my dad's 1967 volkswagen camper van

(that would be her fifth tattoo on her thigh. it's a dream catcher in case you were curious.)

(they love each other most of the time...until she gets pissed.)

deconstructing camp

it's a wrap.

(uncle joe, aunt sue and my dad)

kids couldn't be dirtier. or happier.

let the next chapter begin!

i woke up to rain this morning and for some reason, this made me very happy.

my baby sister turns 25 today. i remember the day she was born. it was my freshman year of college and i came home just in time for her birth. tonight we will celebrate with mexican food, a chocolate cream pie and (don't read this camille) a cashmere sweater. every woman needs a cashmer sweater in her wardrobe by the time she turns 25.

waves of sadness over nanny being gone today. driving by the church, remembering all the monday's she and i would do our shopping day together, then standing in line at the grocery store and looking at all the flowers near the register. it made me think of her and how much she loved a vase of flowers on her kitchen table.

sneakers today, and running clothes. a run too of course. good way to start the week.

standing in the kitchen this morning, while i packed lunches, matt came up and kissed me sweetly on the back of the neck. married almost 11 years and i still get chills when he does this.

it is apple season. honey crisp. granny smith. beautiful small rosey ones straight from my cousin's farm. some with worms. some used to make pie and homemade apple sauce. apples with peanut butter too.

equal days and equal nights. moving towards the darkness of winter solstice. this shift holds me securely in its grasp.

ordering halloween costumes. and this year they flip flopped: temple wants to be a scary vampire just as sathel decides to leave scary behind and try a funny costume for a change.

satchel wanted to know if he is too old to trick or treat. the kid still believes in santa and the tooth fairy so i told him no, you are not too old to trick or treat. (i still think it's cute he was worried about it.)

i didn't sleep at aaaallll last night announces temple this morning. wonder where she is hearing this? matt and i decide to quit complaining about insomnia. it's a pact.

taupe nails are a good sign that it's fall. so are suede boots.

basketball tryouts, ballet class, dahlias and spider mums, share & tell at school and candy corn are also good signs that fall is here.

worried that satchel has been having daily headaches lately. keeping a log of headaches and possible triggers. going to see the doctor next week.

i've decided that condolence cards are another form of love letter. the peace and support i've felt from the outpouring of love for nanny has been incredibly healing...the people who showed up for her service. the people who sent flowers and cards...i'm reminded to never let another death go without telling theirloved ones how much someone mattered.

cousins make me happy. and they bring good farm treats. like apples. and blackberry jam. and family photos. and late night talks over wine and tea.

currently reading life after life by kate atkinson. what a wonderful novel with incredible twists.

tears are a really good way to feel instantly better.

so is writing. i've forgotten how much i miss it.

Today the key turned in the lock. I didn’t know I was waiting for it, or that it even needed to happen, but there it was, the undeniable click. Tiny grooves on a metal skeleton cracking an internal code. All of a sudden places were taken, lids screwed on, doors opened, hunger fed, skin shed.

Satchel’s hand reaching for mine in the grey early morning. Too feel into that space rather jump out of bed to hurry breakfast. 10 years old and reaching for his mother like it’s the most natural thing in the world. An intimacy left over from babyhood still not broken.  How did we get so lucky?

Dark purple berries on brown and wintry vines that just yesterday were a brilliant overgrown green.

Forgiveness for my broken places. For the promises I don’t keep to myself. It washed over me and stayed through the darkness of night and into the daylight.

Unbelievably painful ache of tenderness for Temple at 5. She is so earnest, hilarious, industrious, raunchy, helpful, inquisitive, certain, hopeful. I think 5 is one of my most favorite ages. Both of my children were crystallized versions of joy  and contentment at this age.

Blurry vision gone. Heart wide open. Certainty in my core. These things feel very good.

Imagining the first skinny peppermint mocha of the season but still drinking iced tea.

Aching for downtime. For a long weekend with nothing more to do than meet each moment with possibility. Sleep in? Sure. Hop out of bed? Why not. Lounge under a blanket with a book? Sounds good. Pack lunches and venture out on a hike? Okay! Head to San Francisco for a day of adventure? Let’s go!

This season of dying, why did it have to be real ones too? My grandmother and now our friend Pete. Leaving a wife and two children behind.  His story leaves me with both heartache and, sadly, fear.  Illness so random, so unfair…so easily anyone of us.

When in doubt, make good food. Feed people good food. Eat good food. Send presents. Send thank you cards too. And emails just letting people know you are thinking of them. Go to bed early. Read a novel. Take a hot bath. These things sustain me.

And if you are really wondering what to do, clean out a drawer. Make a bed. Do the dishes. Wash the car. Really, being useful and accomplishing something can change the day.

a month ago today nanny died. she slipped away, as unexpectedly as a 90 year old woman can. she also slipped away peacefully, holding my mom's hand. for that i will always be grateful.

here is the photo that went along with her obituary:

and here is the eulogy i delivered at her funeral. it was a hard thing to do, but in the end, a very healing experience. she had a rich life, with lots to be proud of.

******************************

Nanny was especially known for a few things: Her beauty, her love of a good party and her adherence to propriety.  Because of her high standards for the “right way” to do things, the first question we asked ourselves when planning her funeral – and the question we asked every time a decision needed to be made – was “What would Nanny want?” So as I sat down to write her eulogy, I asked myself “What would Nanny want me to say?”

We live in an era of disclosure. Of the personal made public. Nanny – and most of her generation – did not. However, I searched my heart about how to best honor her life, and I think my grandmother had a lot to be proud of. Things that give perspective and bring dimension to a life she kept mostly private. Things about Nanny that I feel are worthy of sharing and deserving of respect. Things I am proud of and want to share with you today.

So instead of writing a eulogy, I decided to share what I wrote the night she died, trying to gather my thoughts about her life:

Today, even in death as your head rested peacefully on stiff white hospital sheets, your beauty never betrayed you. Translucent, flawless skin. Your regal forehead and pretty lips. Your rosy cheeks and blue eyes, they were an ally to the end of your days.

Ladylike, elegant, devoutly Catholic, charming, flirtatious…Most people would agree that these adjectives described you. But what many people didn’t know is just how stubborn, tenacious and willful you could be. And these traits too were your allies until your dying day.

Perhaps being born to immigrant families just 6 years before the Great Depression, in an America paused between wars that would define important moments in your life, had something to do with the grit you developed. Mile markers like WW I, The Great Depression and WW II have a way of making life stingy, fearful. But instead you cultivated a life of plenty and laughter and family gatherings that reminded us all that it isn’t what we have but who we have.

Perhaps having a mother who worked three jobs and a father you adored but who liked his Irish whiskey a little too much also gave you the courage you would need to carry on. The rationed butter, Aunt Ann’s handmade dresses made from hand-me-down fabric, the non-divorce “divorce” between your very Catholic parents at a time when such things were whispered, shameful secrets…all of this gave you resolve.

The unexplainable jaw tumors that caused you to lose your teeth at 15 – just before your first prom (and yet you went anyway with a closed-lip princess smile so you wouldn’t miss the party) – and the broken back that sent you to a Berkeley Chiropractor three times a week (long before such things were cool)…the same back that plagued you with chronic pain to the end of your days…these painful experiences gave you the ability to tolerate pain with little complaint, to suffer in silence and instead to distract people from your distress with wit and charm and sassy jokes.  In fact, you were frustratingly good at changing the subject when you didn’t want to talk about something!

Perhaps being of an age to choose a husband in the middle of a war that sent young men to unknown fates had something to do with the tenacious way you and Papa stayed married through thick and thin for 60 years.  While I always knew the Oakie boy wooed the City girl, and that you were a wartime bride, it took me years to discover that you and Papa actually eloped instead of having a formal wedding! You, with all your rules of propriety, managed to sneak off during a summer vacation to Minnesota leaving only a note for your poor mother so you could escapee on a Greyhound Bus to meet Papa in Bremerton, Washington before he was shipped off to Pearl Harbor.

After only a day as a married couple, you bravely sent your new husband off to war, returning to San Francisco as a new bride with no husband beside you. Because there was no other option, you were forced to drive the car - a stick shift no less – back from Washington to California even though you had never driven before! Gasoline was strictly rationed so your only choice was to hopefully fill the gas tank with tractor gas stamps – sent by the father-in-law in Oklahoma you hadn’t met yet – if and when your tearful pleading could convince the gas station attendant to accept them.

Your love for Papa made you grow and adapt in ways I’m sure you never considered possible when his flashy smile and bright eyes swept you off your feet. His rough and raunchy humor against your proper ways. His late night kitchen raids and your endless bowls of chef salad. His childhood on the farm and  yours in the City. But you two made a good team, a balance that created a beautiful family. You cheerfully accompanied Papa on trips to Oklahoma throughout his life – in the early days by  Greyhound bus when Larry was an infant, changing cloth diapers in 100 degree heat with no where to put the dirty pants other than taking them along to the next stop and rinsing them out in cracked and dirty bus stop sinks.  Always a trooper, you bathed in tin buckets, snuck off from his Baptist relatives for Catholic Mass when you could, you drank sweet tea and ate fried foods or homemade ice cream…far cries from your San Francisco life.

Growing up in San Francisco was an important part of your legacy and would always be a source of pride for you. Born on a farm in Minnesota, you were the youngest of three children which earned you the nickname “Babe.” When you were 3 years old, your parents moved to San Francisco’s Mission District to raise you and your older siblings – Billy and Lauretta. Growing up in the city you raced down hills on metal rollerskates, rode the cable cars (or “dinky’s”) and made a general ruckus with your siblings and your best friend Claire.  There were tennis lessons, a walk across the Golden Gate Bridge the day it opened, and kick the can in the street. Once you even hid for hours behind a basement door after kicking a boy so hard you thought he would chase you home.

Your religious and social life centered around Mission Dolores church and Notre Dame, the girls Catholic school where you attended through 12^th grade.  While they forced you to become right-handed by pinning your left sleeve to your uniform skirt, in the end this sacrifice helped you cultivate beautiful penmanship that we all loved. One of my favorite stories from your days at school shows just how willing you were to dig your heels in and make a point, to right a wrong. There was a greedy rich classmate who was forever asking to nibble at your lunch. Week after week she wanted to take the best parts of your lunch even though she had the best lunches of all the girls. To get even, you executed an elaborate plan to give her a sandwich of thinly sliced Ivory soap the next time she asked for your lunch. It worked and she never asked for your lunch again.

Mission Dolores had other memories too. Your sister Lauretta was married to Leonard there, at Christmastime you always reminisced with happiness, with Poinsettias on the altar still.

After high school you amused yourself with dances and weddings, with brief stints at the post office and as a short hand typist. But you especially loved being an usherette at the Golden Gate Theater with your good friend Tootie. Here you met Ronald Reagan and once even ditched a famous actor after he asked you out for a date. You gave him the slip out the back alley – famous or not, you said, he was too short and fat for your taste!

Like anyone with a long life, you were no stranger to loss. You said goodbye to your gorgeous one-year old nephew and grieved with your sister whose loss no mother should bear. Then you lost your own father while pregnant with my mom. You lost a child of your own through miscarriage though women in those days really didn’t talk about that.  In the late 1960s there was bankruptcy and the loss of your home which forced you to move to an apartment where you were responsible for scrubbing and painting them, always worrying what the neighbors would think of your beautiful and bohemian hippy daughter who did her best to dress up in Catholic school uniforms…until she got pregnant and I was born and that was the end of that. Luckily this fortunate accident brought you my dad, who became another son to you, and who you saved from Papa’s wrath by placing him in the kitchen chair and chopping off his long hippy hair with your sewing scissors so that he could actually date your daughter.

Your fighting spirit was a pain to us all at times, but in retrospect, in light of all you have faced, you needed your stern backbone to stay alive.

I give you so much credit Nanny for being a fighter. I’m sorry if I’m telling truths that you kept secret for so long, but we need stories like yours for courage…to put in perspective our good fortune and easy lives. You could have told them all sooner, but your stories came out quietly, reluctantly, hardly at all really until the very end of your life. Fortunately, I had the privilege of getting to know you not just as a granddaughter but as a woman. You and I would spend hours together in the car, or sitting at your kitchen table and chatting while we paid bills or I organized your pills into little boxes for you. You were a new widow. I was a new mom. We helped each other through the last 10 years and in the process, I learned so much about you. I am proud of your story and I think you should be proud of your life in all of its grief and glory.

As a grandmother you gave the best back tickles, let us sleep in bed with you – staying up late and watching tv – you made sack lunches for school and took us on vacations to Disneyland, Oklahoma and to Circus Circus in Reno. You and Papa came to almost every school performance, sporting event and important occasion. We worked beside you in the garden, made jam together, and went to church with you on Sundays. You instilled good habits like making beds each morning, doing the dishes after dinner and putting our laundry in the laundry bin. And you had certain Nannyisms like bringing us to the window in the morning, opening the blinds and saying: Good Morning World! And you signed your birthday and holiday cards not just with “Love” or “I love you” but with: I love you TOO much.

As a woman you taught me three very important lessons:

1. A woman always needs her own rat hole. (Hidden pocket money for herself alone!)
2. Black catches everything but men and money.

And…

1. Never reveal your fragrance. Or your age. (While everyone knew you wore either Chanel No 5 or Shalimar, you did successfully lie about your age until your best friend Claire passed and it no longer mattered that you were a year older than Papa!)

I consider each of these to be very important lessons. Whether we choose to live by them or not.

As you got older, and life got harder to live, it never stopped you from attending basketball games or school functions for the great grandchildren. You forged ahead, wheelchair and hearing aid and Victoria’s Secrets and all. It also never stopped you from attending your annual Notre Dame reunion Mass and luncheon. (I am honored to have become an honorary member of the Class of 42 as your tablemate year after year.)

When it was time to say goodbye to living in your own home, you resisted, not very excited to move into a senior community. But you soon adapted and looked forward to your daily lunches with ‘the girls’ at Merrill Gardens. It often struck me that this was the college dorm room experience you never got to have as a young woman and I saw you thrive. Wheelchair and all.

Just two months ago you survived yet another health crisis, ready to return home but needing round the clock care. Luckily, this time, it was really home to a beautiful house with your family all around. The last couple months of your life was spent with 5 of your great-grandchildren under your wheelchair day after day – probably driving you a bit crazy! These were happy, glorious, fortunate days. You came home to a feast in your honor, a table full of loved ones and happy faces to welcome you home. In the weeks that followed there were many family dinners, parties, afternoon football with hors d’ouevres and your grandsons, manicures with the girls, Sunday drives and afternoons sitting around the table in the backyard making peach pies. You were loved and happy.

Once you finally realized that your family kept their promise to you and never let you die in a rest home, you had won the battle and said goodbye to the war. The war of constant pain, and exhaustion, and wanting to live life but just being too overwhelmed to actually do your favorite things anymore.

We were surprised to see you go Nanny. If the death of a 90 year old could be a surprise, yours was just that. We thought we had months left with you and we were all looking forward to at least one more Thanksgiving. One more Christmas. But the blessing was your peaceful passing. If death is a birth to another realm, then yours was the easiest kind of birth. You crossed over so peacefully. Your hand in your daughter’s, a quiet gift of closure and a goodbye.

Nanny, as you always said: I love you too much.

Well that is all I want to say to you: I love you too much. And I’m so proud of you.

spent the past two days with the tiny but mighty blogshop heroines! so now i am a photshop fledling on very shakey legs. (or would that be wings?)

today, during my practice time, i could not - for the life of me - get these boots onto a white background.

but you can see I did manage to put some (ugly) writing on them. (done on my trackpad no less - which is the worst tool for the job.)

hey, baby steps.

and while these animated clips actually drive me bonkers, i put one together so i had to show it off. let me know if it doesn't play. i wouldn't be surprised.

photo credit: the amazing megan clouse!

p.s. it does play but you have to click on the image like you are going to open it.

(lesson two, figure out how to have it play on its own.)

warning:

there will be lots of toddler-esque photoshop attempts over the next few weeks (and months.) so forgive me in advance. the goal for now is to keep at it a bit every week and to work on a new header for this blog. wish me luck.