It is hard to forget the devastation of [...]]]> One of the most precious and valuable benefits of travel is that it takes you out of your comfort zone, and if you’re open to the experience, it provides perspective. Travel teaches us about other cultures, but it also gives us the opportunity to learn about ourselves.

It is hard to forget the devastation of Hurricane Katrina when thinking of New Orleans. The city and the people are still recovering from that natural and man-made disaster. But they are recovering, and New Orleans showed my friends and me a grand time while we were there last month.

But as we strolled outside the welcoming, touristy areas of the French Quarter, I was reminded that there is a hard-earned need to be a bit self-protective here.

It also made me think about how guarded I can be in my own life, sometimes sharing information in one area to draw attention away from another.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

The streets were lonely, but for my friend and I. No signs of life. No movement aside from the occasional breeze. The picture below was different just because there was another person on the street. The quiet was eerie. There was no question we had wandered outside of the tourist area.

This sidewalk seating area looked like a page from a catalog to me. Different in that there were signs of life with the chairs and tree, and yet, I wonder how often anyone actually sits there.

The shutters faced outward, to the world, to the environment, but we learned that most of these homes surrounded courtyards that were the gathering places of friends and family.

Just a glimpse here and there, and we could see that once past that tough shell, the interior was a friendly and welcoming place to those invited.

____________

 More blogs with WW Linkups!

All the while I was complaining about the fatigue I’m still battling, and my ever growing list of things I STILL haven’t gotten [...]]]> It was a grey, blustery day, perfectly suited to my grey, blustery mood. I was dragging my cranky toddler and cantankerous husband through that most soul-suckingly dreadful chore: grocery shopping.

All the while I was complaining about the fatigue I’m still battling, and my ever growing list of things I STILL haven’t gotten done yet.

What happened to my inspiration, I wondered. What happened to that drive that kept me up all night, not because I had to do something, but because I was so passionate about that project that I couldn’t not work on it?

“You used to find inspiration everywhere,” my husband said – rather insensitively, I thought.

That comment pissed me off a little bit, mostly because he was right. (Is there anything quite so infuriating as a spouse who is right?)

I used to be able to look around wherever I was and find something, some little something, that lit something in me.

I looked around at the displays of produce. Those peppers are really orange. Look how the water beads up and sparkles on the broccoli.

It started coming back. Not the up all night because I’m so driven type of inspiration, but enough for me to come back to the store then next day with my camera.

Not a thing changed in that store to bring about that change in me, not the lighting, not the moods of my companions, just a little shift in what I was noticing.

Also: dinner tonight is rainbow chard, black beans, mushrooms, and quinoa. No recipe, I just felt inspired to put those things together. We’ll see how that turns out.

What inspired you lately? And, what’s for dinner?

Days after my diagnosis, before I learned to reign in my imagination and to view Dr.Google for what it [...]]]> In the cold, dark, fear of 3 a.m., when the cancer patient is most alone, I found ToddlerPlanet, a blog written by cancer fighting princess warrior, awesome mommy, and astrophysicist, Susan Niebur (also known as @whymommy).

Days after my diagnosis, before I learned to reign in my imagination and to view Dr.Google for what it is, I found Susan’s blog. I read for hours: post after post, page after page. It seemed she was speaking directly to me, addressing my personal concerns about life, death, love, cancer, and most important to me at that moment, the well being of my child.  No sensationalism, just an honest look at life and parenting as impacted by cancer.

It would be difficult and frustrating, and at times, extremely painful, she seemed to say, but my days would still be full of love and joy, and I can still be an awesome mom, and my child can still be happy. I read those pages through tears; I was so relieved and hopeful. In the two years since then, we formed an internet friendship, tweeting and commenting on each other’s blog posts. The internet has made possible friendships between people who have never met.

Who will never meet.

Today I read her blog again through tears. Susan passed away today. She touched so many lives, her husband and little boys, her friends and family, the science community, the blogging community, the cancer and health advocacy community… and me, a girl at a computer Seattle, whose life was blessed by knowing her, even though we never met.

Is it just me, or does the moon seem to be a bit bigger and brighter tonight? I’m going to think of it as Susan’s moon.

Thank you, Susan, for the love and hope and strength you shared with all of us. Godspeed.

I didn’t mind the snowstorm much at all. It was a minor inconvenience, combined with a bevy of benefits. My husband at home for a few extra days. Family play time in the snow. A little girl’s first snowman. Soup with grilled sandwiches. Hot chocolate (Gem would be sure to verify that her’s was [...]]]>

I didn’t mind the snowstorm much at all. It was a minor inconvenience, combined with a bevy of benefits. My husband at home for a few extra days. Family play time in the snow. A little girl’s first snowman. Soup with grilled sandwiches. Hot chocolate (Gem would be sure to verify that her’s was “warm”). Days packed with guilt-free snuggle time and togetherness.

Until my internet went out. Then it got personal.

Oddly, up until I noticed the outtage, I’d spent little time online. But in the hours, minutes, and seconds that have creeped by since that devastating discovery, I’ve thought of little else. We are all safe and well. We have electricity, heat, water, stockpiles of food, and an ever-deepening wonderland of snow and ice outside. It doesn’t matter.

I’m not connected.

I cannot share my every passing thought on facebook. I can’t pin pictures of food I will never cook, and clothes I will never wear. And since we dropped cable in favor of using the internet for tv, we might even have to break out the boxes of dvds that have been gathering dust in the closet. Even my phone is on Roam.

I’m quite certain I’ll weather this trauma just fine, and I’ll try not to spend my time counting the moments till I can post this message. In the meantime, I hope you are all safe and sound, warm and dry, that your problems are more frivolous than substantial, and that the storm leaves your homes and loved ones unscathed.

Her favorite toys laid out on a piece of pretty wrapping paper

Carefully wrapped

and topped with a pretty bow…

Berry Christmas, Mommy!

presented with both hands and a proud, beaming smile

It’s not just her toys. She’s used this one piece of [...]]]> She still has the Christmas spirit.

Her favorite toys laid out on a piece of pretty wrapping paper

Carefully wrapped

and topped with a pretty bow…

Berry Christmas, Mommy!

presented with both hands and a proud, beaming smile

It’s not just her toys. She’s used this one piece of paper to gift me with a book, a deck of cards, a shoe, my cell phone, the remote, and a dirty fork. But she has discovered the joy of giving.

The other day, she started our day at 6 am, by saying “adventure makes me happy, and I have my shoes on.”

I’ve always known she was adaptable, and maybe even adventurous, and she’s [...]]]> Every once in a while, my daughter says something that makes me look at her in a whole new light.

The other day, she started our day at 6 am, by saying “adventure makes me happy, and I have my shoes on.”

I’ve always known she was adaptable, and maybe even adventurous, and she’s happily rolled with the punches of every upheaval we’ve thrown at her, family illness, new home, road trip, frequent changes in routines…

But this time I saw another dimension. Not only is she adventurous, she’s a go-getter, she doesn’t wait for adventure. She’s got her shoes on, and she finds adventure everywhere we go.

The park is full of adventure, leaves, things to climb on, trails, squirrels to chase, and even in winter we can usually find a flower. The grocery story is full of colors, and signs with letters and numbers, balloons, magazines, apples, brownies, and the greeting card aisle can entertain us for hours.

Even the commute on those days we drive Aaron in to work is full of adventure, cars, trucks, signs, buildings, sometimes we can see an airplane take off or land as we drive by Boeing, and some of the trucks have letters and pictures on them!!!!

Life is just so full of adventure.  It’s wonderful to go somewhere new, but if you’re willing, you might even find a little adventure in your own back yard.

I saw a homeless woman with brown teeth grinning at my little girl.

*Stranger Danger* [Insert helicopter-mom posture here]

Seriously, what was I afraid of?  Their exchange was completely innocent, and grounded in sharing joy. There was [...]]]> She saw a woman with kind eyes and a big smile who was happy to play peek-a-boo with her.

I saw a homeless woman with brown teeth grinning at my little girl.

*Stranger Danger* [Insert helicopter-mom posture here]

Seriously, what was I afraid of?  Their exchange was completely innocent, and grounded in sharing joy. There was a full table width between them. Why the fear? Why did all my red flags go up? Am I really that shallow?

When we talk about listening to our gut, how do we know the difference between intuition and prejudice? Bigotry can feel a lot like instinct.

I consider her again as my daughter continues to play peek-a-boo and talk to her. She’s warming her hands around a cup of tea in a Pioneer Square coffee shop. Her clothes were tattered, but appeared clean. The coat had seen better days, as had her shoes. The clothes in the bags around her feet were faded, but neatly folded…

Oh, good grief. Really, Judy? Is that the best you can do?

I had to look back a couple times before I saw not what, but whom my daughter saw: A woman with kind eyes and a big smile who was happy to play peek-a-boo with my little girl.

I’ve got a lot of learning to do.

You notice [...]]]> The weather turned since the last time I wrote one of these letters to you. In just a couple months we went from temperatures in the 80s to frosty mornings and piles of multicolored leaves on the ground. You’ve changed so much, grown up so much, in that little bit of time.

You notice the change in the trees. You notice the weather. You notice so many things that just a couple months ago would have slipped right past you. I have to be a little more careful now. And watch my tongue. Not that I am the kind of person who would thoughtlessly say things in your presence that I wouldn’t want you to repeat. ahem.

The past few months have been pretty busy. Especially October. I’ve taken to calling it Pinktober, because breast cancer awareness month takes over everything, no matter what else we’ve got going on.

As if I wasn’t already all too aware of breast cancer.

I have a feeling that this is going to be a part of a new pattern in our lives, that we will need to learn to just brace ourselves for Pinktober every year. We’ll learn to let the wave of pink wash over us without dredging up too much trauma, while embracing the opportunities that come in at the same time. We need to remember that Pinktober is a time of reunion with those who have become close friends in this breast cancer battle, it’s also a time to celebrate life, and raise some money to help all those who will be diagnosed in the year ahead.

When I see myself in your mannerisms, the things you say, the way you turn a phrase, it reminds me that one of my most important tasks as your mother is to be a role model. And that responsibility has become a critical part of my decision making process.

Some people pay lipservice to the old WWJD: What Would Jesus Do? I take a different approach. When faced with a difficult decision, I ask WWIWGTD: What Would I Want Gem To Do? But I’m asking that question for real. I consider this question in all different aspects of my life from brushing my teeth even if I’m staying in bed all day, to how I interact with friends and strangers, to how I research and take a position on an issue, to how I react when people are cruel to me.

I don’t want to give the impression that I’m letting you make my decisions.  I need to make choices that are healthy for me, and I want you to learn to make decisions that are healthy for you.

The net result of all this is that I am living my life more mindfully because of you. I’m making more thoughtful decisions. I’m taking better care of my body. I now respond differently when people try to walk all over me, and while some may not like that change, I know it’s a change that needed to be made.

You inspire me to be a better person.

Thank you

I love you so much

Mommy