Monday Mantra #40

Travel is like love, mostly because it’s a heightened state of awareness, in which we are mindful, receptive, undimmed by familiarity and ready to be transformed. That is why the best trips, like the best love affairs, never really end. –Pico Iyer


image of Cadenabbia, Italy, taken on September 11, 2014

Monday Mantra #39

Because when you stop and look around, this life is pretty amazing. -Dr. Seuss


One Little Big Step

Last week I sent my eldest baby off to Kindergarten.

And I cried. I did. I cried.

In the months leading up to this big day, I told myself I wasn’t going to be sad. I said he was ready and I was ready. He was excited and I was excited.

But in the days leading up to this big day, I found myself welling up all over the place just thinking about it. I cried real tears at the thought of him getting on the bus and walking into school. I browsed through old pictures and tried to squeeze in good quality time. I found myself hugging him more, being more tender and spending a few extra moments putting him to bed. I sighed about missed opportunities and wished I’d taken more trips to the museum, made more pancake breakfasts and packed more picnics. And I just kept choking up left and right.

I couldn’t really figure out where the tears were coming from because my heart was filled with hope and happiness for him and for me. I was excited and I was proud that we had made it.

So why was I so sad?

Was I sad because I was supposed to be sad?
Was I sad because everyone around me was sad?
Was I sad because I secretly wished he could stay a baby forever?

And the sadness was a visceral, deep down kind of emotion. It was one of those true and real and heavy tugs on my heartstrings.

Where were the tears coming from when I knew, I really knew, that there should be nothing but joy for him, for us, for this day?

So I sat on it. I thought on it. I cried on it.

And I finally realized that my tears were happy tears. My sadness was a happy kind of sad. A sad kind of happy.

I was wholeheartedly and undeniably…sappy.

Because I watched him take a step.

It was a little step in the scheme of all steps, but it was a big step in the scheme of all steps so far.

It was a step for him into a bigger and broader universe that extends beyond me, beyond his family and beyond his home. It marked the beginning of a lifetime of opportunities to make choices and to make mistakes. It was his very first step on his very own journey to find his very own way.

But it was a step for me too. In loosening the reigns and relinquishing control. In both letting out a little slack and letting someone else pick up the slack for a change. It was a step in embracing the unknown and placing a little trust into blind trust.

Though it was a little step, it was kind of a big deal.

And those sappy tears were well earned and justified. If I had to do it all over again, I’d cry all over again. And when the next little big step comes, I will cry some more.

Because he is kind of a big deal to me.

And all of those little big steps, they are a part of my journey too. We’re both finding our own ways. One little big step at a time.


Monday Mantra #38

If it can be solved, there’s no need to worry, and if it can’t be solved, worry is of no use. -Dalai Lama


image via Jesse Therrien

Monday Mantra #37

Listen to the mustn’ts, child.
 Listen to the don’ts. 

Listen to the shouldn’ts, 
the impossibles, the won’ts. 

Listen to the never haves, 
then listen close to me…

Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.

-Shel Silverstein


Monday Mantra #36

Just remember there is someone out there that is more than happy with less than what you have.  –Unknown


image via h.h.

Happy Birthdays


My mom celebrated her 62nd birthday this week, complete with pizza, cupcakes and three loony-but-lovable grandsons. We sang and she blew out a candle. We toasted to her and gave thanks for our family and a vast array of blessings. It was a great day.

This month we will celebrate ten birthdays in our family as well as the birthdays of several close friends. Included in that lot is an extra special 40th birthday that may or may not involve exactly 23 hours in Vegas.

There is something undeniably magical about birthdays. Beyond the hoopla and fanfare, birthdays provide a unique opportunity to pause, connect and grow in the ways that really and truly matter.

Birthdays are fence posts in our own personal histories. Each is a marker, a way to hold onto and remember our pasts, our very own time stamps. We can all remember those special days..where and when and how we celebrated. These posts brace together all of those long and short days in between. And if we’re lucky, our fences run alongside our road for miles and miles and miles.

Not only do birthdays connect us to ourselves and our stories, but they also link us to our loved ones, to those who showed up or shared in our celebrations. Birthdays remind us of the most important people in our lives, the people who recognize and love us because of, and in spite of us.

But, most importantly, each and every birthday is an incredible gift. A whole new year full of news…new experiences, new people, new joys from the highs, new life lessons from the lows, new adventures, new books, new movies, new photographs, new firsts and new lasts.

With every birthday we gain more understanding. We become more dynamic. We become wiser. With every birthday our circle of loved ones becomes larger. We have more reasons to give thanks. We have more chances to contribute. With every birthday we gain courage and we take a few more steps toward our potential.

Birthdays give us these gifts. Birthdays link up our histories and connect us to the ones who share in those histories.

So really, how can birthdays ever be anything but happy?

Don’t miss the magic.

And definitely don’t miss the cake.



Monday Mantra #35

Promise me you will not spend so much time treading water, and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, truly forget, how much you have always loved to swim.  -Tyler Knot Gregson


Monday Mantra #34

It’s not only children who grow. Parents do too.

As much as we watch to see what our children do with their lives, they are watching us to see what we do with ours.

I can’t tell my children to reach for the sun. All I can do is reach for it, myself.  

-Joyce Maynard


image via Calvin, age 5

Something to Love

At a recent birthday party, my husband and I crossed paths with another mom and dad of three boys. And when I say crossed paths, I mean, literally, crossed paths as we darted around them chasing after our hooligans.

While our boys were wobbling aimlessly, digging through drawers and pulling down every single expensive decorative item within eyesight and arms’ length, we struck up a “we have three boys too” conversation with this couple.

They were about twelve parenting years ahead of us (in real years, that’s eighty-four) and their boys, of course, weren’t within miles of that party. They were off doing teenage boy things with other teenage boys and would return home, as teenage boys must, at some point before curfew.

This patient couple stood while we made figure eights around them, and the four of us exchanged words of admiration: “Wow, it must be nice to be able to go to a party with your kids!” (them) and “Wow, it must be nice to be able to go to a party without your kids!” (us) and glances of nostalgia (them) and longing (us).

When the twins stumbled, again, literally, upon a random box of jellybeans, we knew their discovery bought us a few minutes to exchange complete sentences without interruption.

The mom told us about her boys. Her eldest was headed to college in San Francisco next month. Her youngest just returned from a fun vacation in Mexico. But the good stuff came when we asked about her other (middle) son.

She told us that he was a skateboarder and, in fact, the reason why he wasn’t at this party was because he was out skateboarding with some friends. I was almost ready to dismiss it and go back to San Francisco, but this mom continued on, telling us all about the skateboarding—where he likes to go, when he likes to go, how much he loves it, etc. She described his favorite parks with such detail that it was almost as if he was standing right there telling us himself. But what was even more remarkable than what she said was how she said it. She was all smiles, bursting with pride, enthusiastically describing her son’s skateboarding passion.

For someone watching us across the room, she could have been describing her son: the gold medal Olympian or her son: the Academy Award nominated actor or her son: the Nobel Peace Prize winning scientist. That’s how brightly she beamed.

It was impressive.

Here her son had found something he truly loved. And because he loved it, she loved it, too. Because he was passionate about it, she was passionate about it, too. Because he found it so interesting, she found it interesting, too.

It didn’t really matter that it was skateboarding; it could have been anything. She was proud and excited to tell us about it because her son had found something he was proud of and excited to do.

It was a good lesson for me. She taught me how important it is that a child finds his or her something. And how lucky we, as parents, are when that happens and how obligated we are to encourage and foster that passion, whatever it is.

That is my hope for my boys. I hope they find their something. Whatever it is.

Be it a sport or dance or music or art or chess, it doesn’t matter to me. It just has to be something.

And when they find it, I promise I will stand on the sidelines, or in the audience, or in the background, and I will cheer. I will encourage. I will be proud of their something.

Whatever it is, I hope my kids find something to love with their whole hearts.

And because I love them with mine, I promise I will love it, too.

Just as long as they wear helmets.