I woke to the sound of our cat crunching on her breakfast. We buy her the good stuff. I’m sure that’s why she’s so nice to us. Then I heard her claws click across the hardwoods as she made her way down the hall and across my bedroom. I heard the pause before she jumped on my bed. She snuggled in for a morning nap after filling her belly. My bed sets beside a sliding glass door that looks out on the Poplar in the back yard. Just as the cat closed her eyes, I saw a Robin land on the shed roof next to the Poplar.
I don’t know how my cat saw the Robin with her eyes closed. There wasn’t a sound to alert her. Her body tensed, her hair stood on end, and she started making that chattering sound that cats make when all-systems-are-go, and there’s a victim to be trounced upon. Her instincts kicked in. She went from full belly/drowsy eyes to ready to pounce in 2.3 seconds.
That is the power of instinct.
I didn’t babysit much as a teenager. I wasn’t interested. I didn’t want to hold babies. Truth is, I was afraid of babies and their needs and their vulnerability. I didn’t think they were particularly cute, and they smelled weird.
As I got older, I got to a place where I actually wanted a baby. It was a foreign concept and a new feeling for me. I felt this longing, but I couldn’t conceptualize why I wanted this thing that I hadn’t been interested in. I won’t go into the clock ticking and the insatiable hunger and that stuff. It was just this low-grade hum that kept telling me, “You want this. Your life isn’t complete without this.” Continue reading →
I do follow the rules in unfamiliar situations. I read the signs, ask for directions, follow the guidelines and survey the expert opinions. But once I’m in my comfort zone, I start to look at things differently. I start to ask, “Why?” I’m not trying to be belligerent. I’m trying to understand if the reason something “has always been done that way” is really the right reason for doing it that way.
I’m lousy at identifying trees. My neighbor has a ginormous – Maple? Green Ash? – tree in his front yard that creates the loveliest umbrella over our driveway. On a hot summer day (please let us have a few this year) there isn’t a better place to stand than on the shady cool cement of the driveway, with a dripping popsicle, under the dense lacy shade of that tree.
I did it. Saturday night I 
Yesterday’s post was about beauty and insecurity and denying who I am. It was a difficult post to write. I’m not even sure where it came from. Getting that necklace in the mail was akin to jamming a stick of dynamite in a dam that I didn’t even know existed. Feelings, emotions and tears started flowing, and they weren’t going to stop. Apparently, they haven’t stopped yet. I’m not done with the topic, and I’m convinced that this flood is sending me further down the path that I’m supposed to be on. The tidal wave of emotions is pushing me faster, and I’m not afraid. In fact, I can’t wait to see how far it takes me. This is another exercise in authenticity and speaking truth. Both of those expressions are over-used. But if we set out in search of those things, with integrity, the pursuit of authenticity and truth gets us closer to who we are meant to be.
I can’t remember if I ever thought I was pretty. I have a vague recollection that I felt beautiful, for the first time, when I held my newborn babies. I was swollen, blotchy, sweaty and exhausted, but I felt beautiful.
“Will the rest of your party be joining you?” “It’s too bad your dad couldn’t come with on your vacation.” “Father couldn’t join the family on the cruise?” “Shall I wait until the rest of the family gets here?” To the last comment, I politely smiled and said, “This is the entire family.” I started to wonder if the cruise ship passed through some sort of Mexican Riviera version of the Bermuda Triangle and dropped us right in the middle of 1950.
When I tuck Will in at night, he wants to know how many pages he should read before he turns out the light. He wants to know the plan for the next day. He wants to know if he will be allowed a cup of coffee. He wants to know what we’ll be doing for learning work, if he’ll have time to golf, and what we’ll be having for dinner. (I should clarify that he doesn’t need any kind of approval from me on all these things – pages read, golf time. But some things like coffee and dinner and learning work, he does need to hear from me.) When I tuck Jenny in, she is busily putting jammies on her Barbies and barely makes eye contact long enough to say goodnight.
We are home with new freckles on our noses, brown shoulders, sand in our backpacks, some handmade Mexican necklaces that we’ll probably never wear, a new t-shirt for Will, three new stuffed animal buddies for Jen, some nice pictures and a much-needed attitude adjustment. I saw plenty of people squeezing ginormous sombreros into the overhead compartment on the plane. Instead, I came home with a stack of plates on my head.
