underrated and pleasurable


If you don’t know be by now…you know how the song goes…unless you are like under 20 and you weren’t listening to your mama’s playlist all these years. Anyways…by now most of you must be aware that it doesn’t take much to make me happy. I’m easily amused, distracted, entertained, aroused and I like to believe that it is not a bad thing to be that kind of person. Life’s too hard to not take a break and enjoy the little things, all the little things that are so easily within our grasp and there for us to enjoy. Unfortunately we often miss them, overlook them. If it’s not there on the screen of our smart phone or tablet it is oh so easy for us to miss it completely. At least it sometimes seems to be that way.

I am one week into a personal 30 day challenge which has been, well, challenging. Still it has given me much time to to notice and enjoy things that are always there, whether we appreciate them or not. Funny how sometimes the best things in life are often the most underrated. I found this the other day while distracting myself from studying for my NRP renewal wandering around the intrawebs and I had to bookmark it because so many on this list are things that I have enjoyed without realizing just how much I enjoyed them. Of course I have to share them with you all because I want to remind you all to enjoy the smaller things Sometimes we need to be reminded

From tickld

along life’s path


Look at those rocks over there, Mom. It’s like walking in life.

My son said that during our Sunday afternoon walk this week.

I know!

Nothing surprises me, challenges me, inspires me more than the way my kids see the world. I may not always see it in the same way but that is really okay because, after all, we all see from different angles. So we stop and regard this rocky road to the left of our route. Daniel sees the smooth path in between the giant rocks. I, on the other hand, see the giant rocks…the obstacles blocking the way. I point that out to him and he is quick to reply, “Yeah, but you just have to go around them.

Exactly.

He should know. Perhaps better than most.

car rides, spicy foods and serious conversations


I shared this on Facebook a couple of days ago because, wow, I had to! Daniel’s caregivers at Good Samaritan Hospital’s NICU, my colleagues, know too well how his story began so I had to share with them all…and everyone else. This child of mine, my son, is so amazing. Truly I am one blessed mama!

I love the chauffeuring of my clowns that is part of this juggling act of mine. No really, I do. If only because I get the added bonus of some of the best conversations with them. There is something about the being confined in the mom-car, staring out the window that makes it a safe place to talk about anything…really anything….OMG!…yes, anything and everything. Just the other day there was such a conversation between Daniel and me.

I really like super spicy food, don’t I?

Yes, you do.

I love Sriracha so much…and jalapeños…and lemons…and pesto…and…I just love spicy and sour food so much. Is that weird?

No, I don’t think so. You’re a man with very selective tastes.

Mrs. B. tells me most kids don’t like super spicy or sour foods. But it’s not weird that I do? Really?

Not weird at all.

But other kids don’t like foods like that?

Well, you are not other kids…

I go on to explain just a little about the years he was learning how to eat and his sensory processing issues. Oddly enough, I learned that someone with oral defensiveness like he had as a g-tube fed infant, toddler and preschooler is they learn to need foods with strong tastes and smells. The stronger the taste, the easier it seemed to be for them to put them in their mouth, chew and swallow. Lucky for him his mama loves to serve spicy, savory, tasty food.

The conversation flows through the explanation of how his need for strong tastes and dislike of loud noises and bright lights comes from his extreme premature birth. We talk about his five senses: touch, taste, sight, smell, sound are processed through his brain and how because he was born 4 months too soon, his brain really was not ready to process all the touches, tastes, sights, smells and sounds.

He interrupts me telling me that it was hard for him to be born much too soon but before I can answer he continues telling me that it was good that his Dad and I adopted him because he doesn’t think that his biological parents could love him the way that he is.

Oh if he only knew…maybe he does…even if we have never spoke of this part of his story with him or around him.

Daniel, you know I am pretty certain that your biological mother and father did love you very much before you were born.

Yeah?…

Oh yes. I imagine they were so happy knowing that you were going to be born and were very happy waiting for that day.

But you and Dad adopted me…

Yes we did. Daniel, when you were born you were so, so very tiny and honestly the doctors weren’t even sure that you would live. The doctors told me that they, your bio parents, were so afraid and they didn’t know if they could do what you needed for them to do to help you.

You have to be brave when your baby is tiny, huh?

Oh yes. Yes you do. The mommies and daddies I know at work in the NICU have to be fearlessly brave and strong for their baby in the NICU and after they leave the NICU. And they are.

Like you and Dad?

Yes. Just like that…

Well that’s why you and Dad are my mom and dad.

Yeah?…

Yeah! I’m glad you are my mom and dad!

Oh!

Right?!

Truth be told this is the first serious, lengthy conversation we have had about his adoption. The last time was maybe 3 or 4 years ago when he told me that he had to be born early to meet me, his mommy. Then he asked what was his bio mother’s name. Irina, I answered. He then declared that that was a pretty name and hugged me before he ran off to play. Daniel has always known that he is adopted and that I met him the night he was born as his nurse and while Bill and I had always resolved to be honest about our beginnings as a family, we also knew that it would be a very hard conversation to have. Truly his perception of it all could have gone any way. What we wish for, hope and pray for is that he will always know that he has always, always been cherished, wanted and loved today and every single day of his amazing, miraculous life. Meanwhile I am overwhelmed with the wisdom and the insight of this boy, my son. Oh, and I am thankful opportunity for another mom-car conversation…especially because it was in the car…while I was driving.

not creepy


It just might be a little bit creepy in the “Love You Forever” creepy mom fashion that I watched him sleep for what seemed to be an awkwardly long period of time.

Maybe.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t creepy at all.

My beautiful boy is turning 12 years old next Saturday. I drove from Manteca to Los Gatos then to San Ramon to say goodbye and lay to rest my aunt then spent the day and evening hugging my uncle, cousins, my other aunt and catching up with old acquaintances and extended family while we remembered a very dear woman who loved all with her whole heart and soul and strength. I’m very tired and yeah, I’m a whole lot of feelings right now.

No, staring at this beautiful child while he sleeps isn’t creepy at all. It’s exactly what I need.

play it again: angst stained


What?! You mean not every one gets all angsty, emo and philosophical when they are doing laundry?

Originally published October 29, 2013

A perfectly grey Fall day like today is the perfect day for laundry…especially because some of us are down to that last clean pair of socks and underwear.

Yes, I am slacking.

But today was the perfect day to get it done. At least most of it done. Okay, fine. Today was a good day to get some of it done…at least some socks and underwear. And thanks to my ever attentive, don-t-tell-her-she’s-clumsy-because-she-is-a-cat-and-cats-are-not-clumsy assistant, Zelda, I made a discovery.

When I am gone…remember me for who I am & not because I’m me. I know it makes no sense…but you’ll get it someday.

Teenaged angst all over one of my laundry baskets. I have no clue which one of my clowns wrote this and when and why. But I am sure they had their reasons to pour their heart out all over the bottom of this old laundry basket.

I get it. I had teenaged angst too. A lot of it. Too much of it. I poured it out all over the place. Funny how when I run across something I wrote years and years ago how sometimes I can get the pain and the emotion being expressed and other times I shake my head a little embarrassed because that really was tearing at my heart…that?! Perhaps at a certain age we aren’t supposed to understand that teenaged angst all that much…even if it was once ours.

I don’t know…

I get kind of philosophical when I’m doing laundry. And, as you can see it is hereditary.