The Prophet and Learning to Let Go…

 

This week’s book is a bit different because I have spent the last three days attending graduations for my two sons- one for middle school and another for elementary school. Needless to say I have been a mixed bag of emotions. That is how I came across  The Prophet– by a Lebanese poet named Kahil Gibran. It is a book of 26 poems published in 1923 that reflect all of life and the human condition- everything from love and marriage to friendship, life and death. I’ll admit to not fully reading it in its’ entirety- rather- I stumbled upon it just yesterday and plan to order it- but I am so touched by his words. His work is influenced by his religious upbringing as a Maronite Christian but also by other world religions and of course a reflection of the time period in which he lived in- war-torn Lebanon. An animated film based on the book was produced by Salma Hayek in 2015.

Yesterday morning- sitting in the 5th Grade promotion ceremony- the school principal read to us a poem by Kahil Gibran that really resonated with me. I listened and thought- yes- this is what I’ve been wanting- these are the words that somehow put how I’m feeling in perspective. Letting go is not letting go because they were never ours to begin with. Thinking of our children as they hit these milestones in life in this way makes the pain a little less.

On Children
 Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

 

Not Ready

His voice is changing. At first we thought he had a cold or his allergies were acting up- that’s why his voice sounded gruffer and lower- different. But the days have passed and his voice keeps getting lower and lower. He’s grown five inches in the last year. There is a sprinkling of acne across his forehead. There’s no denying it- our days are numbered. We will turn around someday too soon and he will be a full-grown man leaving our house. And I am not ready.

I was not ready when I received the phone call from our pediatrician of 14 years about one week ago, as I was helping my friend Keisha who is expecting pick out her registry at “Babies R Us.” There I was- standing in the baby breastfeeding aisle of all aisles and the phone rang. “Hello?” Sandy, her assistant on the other line replied, “yes, well I am afraid I have some bad news.” My heart dropped- had something happened to Dr.? Sandy says “well, it’s just that she is retiring and closing her practice as of June 1st.” What? I was not prepared to hear those words come out of Sandy’s mouth. I knew that Dr. had briefly mentioned the possibility last year at one of their wellness appointments but I had put it out of my mind- not daring to go there.

Now, you might be wondering but they moved to St. Louis, Missouri- how can they still have their pediatrician in Los Angeles? And that, my friends is part of this sad truth- that I cannot let go. I have not been able to emotionally detach myself. The rational mind says but you must! My heart says NO! So, call me crazy but whenever I fill out a medical form for these kids- I list Dr. as their pediatrician- down to her Los Angeles office phone number.  A month ago in fact, I made their summer appointments for both Big Boy and Baby Girl and built our California vacation around those appointments. That’s how much I am holding on. Which is why when I got off the phone with Sandy, I burst into tears, in that baby breastfeeding aisle of “Babies R Us” while Keisha stared at me with a wild confused look in her eyes. Without words, bursting with all types of emotion,  I could no longer hold back and just let it flow.

I grieved for the loss of the only pediatrician that we had ever known, for my children who had been welcomed into this world by her, she who had guided me and talked me off the ledge so many times, through so many cloudy and murky nights and days. For 14 years, she, oh wise one- had seen us through baby jaundice with a newborn hospital stay, ear infections, hand, foot mouth disease, norovirus, a horrible hit to the head with a baseball bat, terrible falls from cribs, playground equipment, tops of stairs onto marble floors, busted lips, heads, arms, knees and on and on. She had documented the lives of my three children with her records and growth charts and percentages. She had reassured us that it was going to be alright.

Didn’t she realize that right now- thousands of miles away from everyone I know and love and with my oldest, on the edge of becoming a man- that I had needed her now- more than ever?

A Confirmation and some BBQ

Big Boy was confirmed last weekend. My sister Melina flew out from Southern California to be his sponsor and visit St. Louis for the first time. So very grateful for the time she spent with us as she is in the middle of a move from the house she’s lived in for the past 15 years to a house closer to where our parents live. The weekend flew by much too fast and was filled with lots of sunshine, love, and all-around happiness.

I took her to Bikram Yoga with me on Sunday morning and then we squeezed in two lacrosse games around Big Boy’s confirmation. We were also lucky enough to have the honor of Big Boy being confirmed at the Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis on a gorgeous, 81 degrees blue sky day. For Big Boy’s confirmation gifts, we bought him his first NSV bible along with a book of prayers for young men. He has been reading his book of prayers every night since. I am so glad that the words he is reading there are resonating with some part of his soul. His confirmation marks the official end of Sunday School – a journey he has been on for 9 years. Our parish has a teen youth group he will now move into and hopefully create some great memories there.

Afterwards, we had ourselves some down-home BBQ at SugarFire Smokehouse BBQ. Dang- the veggie lover in me licked every bit of sauce off my fingers. Along with Pappy’s BBQ, these are some serious BBQ St. Louis institutions you must visit if you are ever in the area. Still thinking about those baby back ribs… mmmm. Enjoy your weekend friends!

 

 

Missing Avocados & Abuelitos

The avocado. Since moving to St. Louis, I have never appreciated the avocado as much as I do right now. Always took them for granted. In California, they are so plentiful. In St. Louis, they are rare. The other day at a deli- I asked for avocado for my sandwich and they looked at me kind of funny. Then I asked for hummus. They looked at me even funnier.

Growing up in Southern California, we had a very large avocado tree in our backyard. We had avocados all the time, pretty much year-round. My Dad loved the tree and he loved his avocados. My abuelita from Mexico City on one of her trips out to visit had literally thrown an avocado seed into the ground and then over the next 20 years, we watched that little tree grow and overtake our backyard. My abuelita passed when I was pretty young so I grew up thinking that tree was a symbol of her watching over us, even though she was physically gone.

Some of my earliest childhood memories from when I was about 3 or 4 years old, I associate with my abuelita and abuelito from Mexico City. Even though they’ve been gone for 30 plus years, there is a deep part inside me that has held on to them. The reason is because when I was that age, I went to visit and stayed with them for a full month- without my parents.

I remember.

Frosted flakes with a Spanish Tony the Tiger on the cover. Cafe con leche- so sweet every morning with my breakfast. Cold ceramic floors in the morning. Milk that tasted really funny. She wore an apron literally all day, every day and her hair in a braid down her back. Going with my abuelito to watch Heidi on the big screen. His love and protection. Visiting the marketplace and the food vendors. The colors. The stench. The overwhelmingness of it all. Huge blocks of cheese just sitting there. I refused to eat cheese for 10 years after this. City smells that combined diesel fumes, grit and human sweat. The zapateria that sold patent leather mary jane shoes with lace ankle socks. Honking cars, round-about intersections and busy one-way streets. You had to hold on tight or else. Mexico City in the late 1970’s – in all its glory. A four year old girl with her abuelitos. I wish they had seen me grow up. I wish I could have seen them grow old. Instead, I’m left with memories and a few photos and birthday cards. I will never forget that time, them and the person it helped me become- a lover of big cities, city grit, exotic tastes, smells, colors and people, anything foreign. A traveler of life and adventure. For all this I thank them. For I have traveled further than they could have ever imagined.

Now- can someone from California please ship me some avocados already?

You

You there. Yeah you. Just stop a minute won’t you?

I know you. I know you are tired. Your soul hurts. Your brain hurts from too much thinking, analyzing and creative problem-solving.

It’s hard to get up every day and be inspired. It’s hard to try to always look at the bright side of things- every single  day. People suck sometimes and no one likes or relates to what they can’t understand. It’s hard to be different. To always stick out. To always have to explain your story. To always be on your way to somewhere. Sometimes- you just want to be there already. You want to sit there and stare off into space and just be.

You’re too short or you’re too tall and you’ve got too many pounds you’ve been trying to lose for oh- three years now. There are way more wrinkles and gray hairs than you could have ever imagined at this age. Sometimes you get too emotional and say the wrong things. Then think- screw it- who the hell cares what they think anyway?

But you continue to get up, even if it’s half-ass. You never cook the pork chops all the way and end up having to stick them in the oven again and again until the pink goes away. You show up to the Girl Scout cookie meeting and listen to the ins and outs of cookie selling and smile politely at the moms you barely know across the table and ask about their Winter Break. You go on your 30-day sugar detox in the hopes of whittling away some of that layer around the mid-section and putting off that Type 2 diabetes that runs like crazy in your family.

You’re not dead yet. It’s not over. You need to keep up the good fight.

Just know that I understand, I get it. You are not alone. Rest your head just for a moment. Put your feet up. Grab your cup of coffee. Pull that blanket around your shoulders a little tighter. Cry in your car at the red light where no one sees. Go back to your daily meditation breaks, your hot yoga class, listening to Adele’s 25, to your podcasts, to your Spotify/Pandora stations;  reading the 3 sisters- the Washington Post, the New York Post, the Huffington Post- self-selecting those articles that get your heart beating  once again, scrolling through your Facebook and Instagram feeds, reading the blogs you follow, whatever it is that keeps you ticking and going and continuing to be inspired. Just don’t stop.

I won’t if you don’t.

Crossroads

“Well, I think it’s just wonderful that you are all moving and you know there is more to life than living on M Street.” That’s what Ms. Milly, baby girl’s preschool teacher said when we announced we were moving.

In my mind, I was thinking, um no there really isn’t. My brain could not wrap itself around the concept of letting go. Could not comprehend how she could say that sentence and actually believe it. What could be out there that I had not already experienced and seen? I’d seen plenty of the world- knocked plenty of things off my bucket list. Trips to Paris, Belize, Malaysia, Bali, Singapore, Japan, Venezuela, Peru, Mexico, Jamaica and throughout the United States. Celebrated my 30th birthday with hang-gliding lessons, went cliff-jumping in Mexico on a college spring break trip, spelunking in caves for my 10 year wedding anniversary.

I had already lived away from the place I grew up- had my 10 years of living in San Francisco to prove it. Beautiful time, enlightening years- working my tail off in corporate advertising for big ad firms, practicing Buddhism- meditating in temple, bar and restaurant-hopping across the Castro and Mission districts, waiting on Market Street for a damn 38 Geary bus to pick me up while waiting in my wool coat and Isotoner gloves at a bus stop while a homeless man urinated in the corner.  Had opened myself up to ideas and people living on the fringe, experimented and challenged everything I had been taught to believe in and now it was time to be HOME. Guess in my mind, thought I was done. Just put a fork in me. Walking around for 40 years on this earth, with 3 kids and a husband and a ton of life experiences. Now was the time to settle comfortably into middle life with its helicopter parenting, zanax prescription, house remodeling projects, anxieties, OCD, hold tight to  a security blanket that held excel spreadsheet charts, family calendars and plans- everything familiar and known to me. Or so I had thought.

I am a work in progress. I do dare feel and say that I am at a crossroads. It took 5 months of being stripped raw from every item in my security blanket and living a completely different way of life to understanding that yes, indeed – “there is more to life than living on M Street.” I take a breath and I understand it. It is there in all of the unfamiliar faces I see at Target and Schnuck’s- pushing their shopping carts with no understanding or concept of who I am or where I come from. It is the discomfort of not having anything you can hang your hat on or anyone who can vouch that you aren’t a complete freak. It is being able to uncover who you truly are- your locked-away little-girl dreams and values that you thought you knew and what you are not willing to let go of and those which you need to hold onto. It is also asking yourself why am I holding onto them? Should I let them go? If so, which ones?

Beauty and Rhythm

I swam laps in the pool this morning. Broke out my pink Speedo swim cap, pink goggles and TYR reversible swimsuit and carried them off in my bag. The swim cap had sand on it from the Pacific- from a very long time ago.  I noticed the gear in my bag of course and asked me – “Momma, you going swimming without us?” Yes, dear heart- Momma is swimming without you. I felt a slight wave of guilt. I dropped the kiddos off at school and drove right over to the gym. The water was slightly cold as my body slipped in. I swam tenatively at first- freestyle strokes to warm up and find my rhythm. It took about 15 minutes but I found my groove and just like that I was swimming again. Stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, breathe. Repeat for 20 minutes.

I seem to have found my rhythm again and it feels right and good. All 3 kids have started school and are thriving. Not just surviving but thriving. We are only 3 days into this journey but I am filled with a renewed sense of gratitude and optimism for our life and the people in it.

A monarch butterfly visited me yesterday as I was reading “The Lowland” on the back porch. Every now and then, a butterfly visits us and stays awhile. He does not fly away. He makes sure that we notice him and then hangs around. I silently push my tears away. I know that Trevor Sr. is near. He’s watching over us, keeping a close eye on our journey- this I know in my heart. We’re going to be okay and he’s okay too. The life cycle continues.

A Thunderstorm, a Letter and One Thousand Gifts

We had our first real summer thunderstorm last night. Thunder shook the whole house, lightning lit up the entire sky and rain poured like a monsoon. It went on for a good four hours. I think my state of mind can best be summed up by what I said as I held on to her for dear life in bed. She said “Um Mommy why are you hugging me like a baby hugs her mommy when I’m the baby and you are the Mommy?” I couldn’t stop giggling. These kids have adjusted to life in the mid-west better than I seem to have.

A dear friend wrote me a letter. Remember those? It was so much fun to receive a letter and as I read it out loud it was as if she was right beside me talking. One of her questions to me was what do you like about your new city?  It made me think about all the good things that have happened to us since moving here. It helped me turn the corner so to speak and was exactly what I needed. So this post is all about the good stuff, the positives that have come out of moving out of Los Angeles and to a small town in St. Louis, Missouri.

No more 2-hour work commutes for T. We have him around a whole lot more in our lives. He rides his bike to and from work- a nice 10 minute ride. In LA, his work commute was 2 hours each way. He also comes home for lunch. It’s pretty awesome. Dinner is no longer at 7 pm or not at all. We eat between 5:30-6 pm. One of us says blessing over our food and we eat, laugh and talk over big family dinners at the dinner table on a regular basis, not just on Sundays.

Life no longer stops on Sunday night. Since T is around a whole lot more, we enjoy family time during weekday evenings. Family walks after dinner or a trip to the park so the boys can fly their remote controlled planes. Or bearing witness to a great father-son bonding moment. Here’s a great picture of T showing C how to mow the lawn. A time-honored tradition that has fallen to the wayside partially the result of so many affordable Mexican gardeners in California. Here, in Missouri, not too many mexicanos  if any at all and so we find ourselves responsible for lawn maintenance. And let me tell you, come the fall season with all the leaves coming down, the boys will be crying and whining up a storm. I thoroughly look forward to it. He he he.

Settling In

It’s been one week since we arrived in this foreign land. Thank you to everyone who sent me some great homeopathic and natural ways to combat mosquitos. I intend to try each and every one!

Now that I’ve had time to process our surroundings- I wanted to share a bit more. The streets and neighborhood we are living in are picturesque. Trees, trees and more trees. The streets are tiny- in fact when you are driving down them- if you see another car coming at you from the opposite side, you have to make a decision to either go for it or pull over. The houses are all brick and look like they are out of a Better Homes and Gardens issue. At the end of our block there is a roundabout island of greenery with a cute picnic bench and table to just sit in and relax. Then you cross this bridge to take you downtown. We are all enjoying exploring the neighborhood with family walks in the evenings. The cicadas are loud and buzz all day long but really begin their song around 6/7 in the evening. It reminds me of my travels to Malaysia and Singapore- a long, long time ago, like a jungle. We saw our first fireflies. They just randomly light up as they fly around. The kids had a great time chasing them and trying to figure out where they would pop up next. There are a million and one bugs that I have never seen before in all these random places throughout the house. There’s this one bug that jumps I haven’t quite figured out if it’s a tick, a flea, a cricket or roach of some sort. All I know is I tried to vacuum it up and it jumped high!  We found this beautiful yellow caterpillar in the grass outside the pool club and thought it simply lovely.

Bugs and a Birthday

It’s been about 72 hours since we arrived in St. Louis. My legs itch like crazy- I’ve literally got dozens of huge mosquito bites. It’s so unbearable and I have got to put on bug spray – it’s just that I don’t want the chemicals on my skin. Argh. The mosquitos seem to like C’s and my skin the best.

We are strangers in a foreign land. Or so it seems. It is hot and muggy and there are bugs everywhere. Before, when people would tell me well it’s going to be hot and muggy, I would think well how bad can it be? I don’t think you quite understand until you are living it. You go outside for minutes and there is literally sweat pouring down your face, the side of your cheeks and down your back. This evening, we attended a kindergarten play date at the elementary school playground and I was talking to people- watching the sweat drip down the side of their faces and I’m thinking oh my god- I just want to go home so I can stick my head in the freezer for some relief. Then I looked down at their legs and counted the number of bug bites. They swear to me that it’s a particularly bad summer for mosquitos because of the wet spring and that it should only last one more month. Meanwhile, I’m thinking- one month- I’m not going to leave the house for the next month. Jesus, help me.

Today was M’s 13th birthday. So, we celebrated with lunch at a St. Louis institution- a place called Fitz’s. They’re an old time soda shop and on your birthday you get a free root beer float and a root beer bottle that says Happy Birthday on it. It came highly recommended by one of T’s work colleagues and she was also going today to celebrate her daughter’s 18th birthday. She was very sweet and printed out the menu for us beforehand so we could take a look at it. So- funny story. We were there,