Thursday, October 25, 2012


It felt like someone was electrocuting my leg.

Which is a pretty big thing to say, considering I have never had my leg electrocuted.

But I'm pretty sure the pain that woke me up the other night would be a close approximation.

Having Googled this earlier, I tried the suggestions to point my toes and relax.  Can you relax when you're being electrocuted?  Neither could I.  I forgot how to breathe for pain.  As seconds ticked by I could feel a surge of adrenaline kick in with the panic that this was not going away.

And then in one instant, blissful moment, it was gone.  The switch was flipped and my whole calf only felt like it (and it alone) had just finished running a marathon.

Again, a pretty big thing to say seeing as I've never run a marathon, either.

I hobbled around the next day, unevenly sore and sort of baffled that my body could be so weird about this pregnancy deal.

Weirder still, I've had these before.  Until the moment that I woke up with one the other night, I had forgotten it beyond recall. I'm not sure how newborns perform a mindwipe on us, obliterating all memories of every trial and pain endured in pregnancy and labor, but mine sure did.  Maybe it happens while we get no REM sleep for weeks on end...the previous 10 months have no chance to log into long term memory.

However it happens, I proceed with this pregnancy like a person who has never been pregnant before, until BAM! Some difficult aspect of it emerges like a deja vu two shades stronger than average and I'm forced to admit that yes, I have indeed been to this boot camp and no, I cannot remember how I sucked it up and got through it.

Because to be honest, these BAM moments are starting to happen mighty frequently now.

What about you?  Anything surprise you on the repeat trip because it was new or forgotten?

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Soaking It In

Our house overflowed with family and I looked around and felt so happy.  19 of us gathered on the deck and ate homemade chicken tortilla soup, salsas and guacamole.  Two decadent birthday cakes and righteous chocolate chip zucchini bread were still ahead.  19 of us.  All squared away on what I have decided must be an enormous deck.

The cousins ran wild all over the yard.  They tossed and tussled and threw balls and jumped rope and made each other laugh.

The women danced a prep in the kitchen, with only small missteps as I often had to think pretty hard to remember where certain items had found their new home.

The men talked, and drank drinks from the cooler, refereed the kids, got wrangled into helping with odds and ends, and roamed in and out doing quality control on the dips.

Until all 19 of us ended up on the deck, with twilight approaching and a sunset starting to paint the sky spectacular.

I wore a huge grin on my face and my heart was full.

We have come home, I thought to myself.  We gather to celebrate my mom's birthday, a big decade one, and we come to laugh and remember and cherish and hug and talk and make the memories that fill this house with love and make it a home.

It's a bittersweet moment, how time marches on and not everyone I want to make these memories with can be here, but it's still a moment worth cherishing.

Our caterpillar of a collection of home repair projects is emerging as a butterfly of a cozy home, and I loved, loved loved having my family around for one of its first big flights.

Our lives are fleeting and beautiful and terrible and extraordinary, and celebrating my mom's journey today was a joy and an honor and causes me to pause and say to myself, "Remember this.  Soak it in and enjoy each moment. You will never come this way, exactly like this again."

It has been a great day Along this Beautiful Path.

Monday, October 8, 2012

Baby Bird

He is standing on his two-step stool at the counter improvising a song about pears.  The lyric: "Pears, pears, pears," and he is contagiously happy.

Why?  Because I let him cut the pears on his own.  With a knife.  A real one.

Am I ridiculous?
I mean, he is only three.

But they are the softest fruit I know of, those canned pears.  And I can't deny it makes me happy to see him filled with joy so uncontainable he must sing about it.

He scoops the pears into the bowl with the other fruit I had already cut.
He brings it to the table where Bill and I are waiting like guests at a restaurant.
He goes back for a serving spoon and chooses the exact one I would have: the slotted one from the silverware drawer.
And then he scoops us each a serving into the glass bowls and passes them our way with two hands.

I can't help it.  I'm kinda proud of this little person who can do more and more all the time.

I see my pathetically small serving of fruit salad and before I can say anything he tells me,

"Just start with that,"

and suddenly our roles have so completely reversed it feels uncanny.

But it's just a moment.  In an hour Bill and I will be back on full duty, endlessly parenting our baby bird with all of our energy and most of our patience.

It was fun to watch him fluff his feathers a bit, though.