Belong

"You belong" I whisper to my daughter as she sits, studying the world.

You belong here and now,
And there tomorrow,
And wherever you will be in the days after that.

The air you breathe belongs to you,
And when you exhale you give it back to the world.

You belong in the space you take up.
You do not need to puff up,
Or shrink yourself down.

You belong with your voice.
No need to tear others down,
Or allow yourself to be trampled.

You belong as the size you are.
No smaller, no bigger, just right.
Each moment of each day.

The paths you are on are yours to walk,
Where others have gone,
And will go.

You belong on your own,
And connected to others.
You belong wandering alone,
And here, next to me.

Each moment you exist,
You are not lost.

You belong.
You belong.

Dreams

My parents are not in the business of killing dreams.

When I was in fourth grade, I decided I wanted to be a stage actress. A dream that lasted far longer than most, all the way into my first year of college. My parents went to my plays, helped me film auditions, helped me apply to colleges, and helped me transfer colleges. All the while allowing me to decide I wanted to be a stage actress.

I would like to point out that my parents are not the dreamy type. While they have goals and aspirations and plans, they are usually logical and attainable. I as their daughter, have a new dream every week.

Last month I was going to open a cafe. Josh was going to do the drinks, I was going to cook something, and I was going to commission various family members to help us out. My parents and I sent back and forth some emails about my new cafe and talked about it on skype.

This month I decided what we really need to do is have a small farm. Chickens, sheep, a garden. We could be farmers. I could bake bread. My daughter could roam the land and grow up learning how to grow things. It still sounds lovely, but ask me next month and I'll have moved on. Instead of reminding me that I don't really like animals, have no knowledge of growing anything, and don't even really like dirt, my parents looked at the pictures of the farm we were going to buy and talked about mowing.

Together we have re-imagined my bathroom several times, talked about living in: Thailand, Australia, Taiwan, and Iceland, and discussed the life of being a writer. Part of this I'm sure is because they know I am just dreaming. I'm not going to start a cafe and short of winning the lottery we will never buy a farm, but that's not the only reason they support me. They also support me when my dreams mean flying to Kyrgyzstan by myself at 17, living in South Carolina even though I didn't know anyone, moving to California without a real plan, starting a grad school degree, getting married, moving, moving, moving, starting a family...

I could go on.

My parents are not in the business of killing dreams. They are in the business for letting me talk out any and all dreams. They are in the business of supporting me. And most of all, they are in the business of believing in me. And my dreams.

Stretch Marks

My third trimester comes with three dark purple stretch marks on the bottom of my stomach. A gift to ruin the bikini body I never had in the first place. The internet tells me 15 ways to get rid of them with lotions and oils and products that will leave me with perfect skin.

Meanwhile, the baby flips around once again.

Tips on food and fitness, on labor and delivery, on breastfeeding and vaccinations all come rolling in. “Have you done this?” “Here’s a list of the things you should do before you give birth.” “Top ways to love your husband before you have a child.” “What birthing classes are you taking? What books have you bought?”

And the baby pushes her tiny head so I can see it through my skin.

I sew skirts and burp cloths. I make a registry. I read the 5^th article on un-medicated births and how to make sure everything goes back to normal after birth. They say, “you’ll never know the difference if you do these 10 things”.

But the baby kicks and then punches.

Back to normal. Do I even want that? How can that be when the world is given one more life? How can anything go back to normal? Because even now I can feel her move and I've seen her tiny shape. And she has already changed everything.

So maybe I won’t mind the stretch marks, the sagging skin, the extra rolls. How can I mind these things when I’ve already been given a miracle?

And once again, she rotates inside of me.

So this is the New Year

When I was a kid I was told by various people what the best years of my life would be. They were usually college, occasionally high school, and even once middle school. Whenever I work with kids now I tell them it keeps getting better.

2014, you were great and full of wonderful changes, but 2015 is even more exciting. With a baby and possibly a house, with another year of my Masters program, with being able to see both sets of parents in one year, I can't wait. It's going to be amazing.

Never settle for last year, or the years before being the best. Each year has something to offer, even if it's hard, even if it hurts, it still can be even better than the last.

Happy New Year and welcome 2015.

Dear Mother

How did you know to sing to us?

Each night before we slept,

Keeping nightmares at bay.

How did you know when I needed help?

Trying to climb over rocks,

Trying to catch up to everyone else.

How did you know to let me be?

Sleeping under blankets on the couch,

Cocooned in warmth and safety.

You knew when to laugh

And when to hold.

You knew how forgive

And when to scold.

Now there is this tiny creature

Growing inside of me.

And I do not know how

To be the mother I am supposed to be.

How will I know when to stay

And when to let them go?

How will I know the right way to love

And how to help them grow?

I am so afraid that I cannot fill

This role I have been given.

One that you seemed to do

Without doubt or indecision.

Maybe all I really need

Is to remember how you helped me through.

With guidance and care,

I hope to be as great a mother as you.

Morning Snapshots of a Loving Husband

In the morning, when he leaves, he smells of coffee as he kisses me on the cheek. Barely awake, I see snapshots of him, a photo book of his morning. He wraps me in blankets which I have tangled into an incoherent mess in the night. I look up to see him moving the fan and closing the blinds so I can get a few more hours of sleep. He has already showered, he has already made coffee, he is all ready to go as he bends over me and whispers, "Hey, I'm heading to work," so I will know where he has gone when I wake.
I barely remember these moments. I only see them as fragments, still a dream. I do not thank him as he goes, I do not remember when he returns home, and yet, every morning he wakes to kiss me again.

Be Whole

Normally, I fly.
In flying there are separate sections, there is sadness at leaving, peace in the midst of an airport, and joy at arrival. While all these things mix interchangeably, flying over the land there is a separation from the leaving and the coming, from the sadness and the joy.

This time, I drove.
In driving there was loss each second as I watched the landscape fade away into unfamiliar, re-familiar, darkness, and light. Every minute was filled with a goodbye: goodbye Riverside, goodbye California, goodbye heat, goodbye western mountains, goodbye, goodbye. And every minute was filled with hellos: hello snow, hello family, hello old friends, hello flat flat Midwest fields, hello, hello.

Everything was felt more deeply as we drove. Anticipation mounting over the 33 driving hours, sadness declining over each new state. And while the pain was greater, the joy was greater too. As if the two had made a bargain to replace each other with the same amount the other had left. Like the sun rise after a night with only a sliver of the moon, like the sudden downpour of rain after months of drought, like the height of a mountain after the depths of the valley. This is beauty, this is tranquility, this is the juxtaposition of life's ups and downs knocking all at once.

And as we drove I heard my tires say, "be whole, be whole, be whole" with each rotation. "Be whole" in the sadness, "be whole" in the joy. "Be whole" in the loss and in the gain. "Be whole" in the memories of the past and the hopes for the future.

"Be whole, be whole, be whole."