Look What the Tide Bought In

A couple of weeks ago I got an unexpected surprise in the mail--two letters that were sent over eight years ago. One was from my now sister-in-law who sent a letter asking me to be one of her bridesmaids, sent from the lovely island of Oahu, and the other came from my dear friend Freddie all the way from Muenster, Germany. I received them after reconnecting with a friend from the first building I lived in on the UWS in New York. After I moved (leaving no forwarding address) they arrived in the post and just got pinned to the bulletin board in our apartment building. He saw them, noticed that they came from exotic locations, and thought he would hold on to them in case our paths crossed again. Thanks to Facebook we found each other after all these years. The letters still had a journey ahead of them though. My friend, Bernard, has since moved to Brazil. At the time we reconnected he had a friend from the states visiting him so he sent them back with him and then the gracious friend dropped them in the post to arrive in my box just  few days later.

You can't imagine how much fun it was to get a letter that was eight years old. Bernard hadn't mentioned who or where they were from so the anticipation really built. When I got them I felt like I had been given this amazing gift of a peek into my past life. Laurel's was clever and creative and Freddie's was detailed and long. Both made me remember why I love the hand-written word so much. 

The receipt of the letters made me go into a sort of tech funk. I started thinking abut how much I used to love checking my mail and sorting though it looking for "homey" hand writing. When I would see a familiar print I was absolutely delighted. I loved the shapes of the envelopes, the well chosen stamps and even the texture of the paper. Each letter was unique, each was re-read and each was treasured. In fact I think I have almost every letter I have ever received, and I am not a pack rat. I rarely get letters anymore, except on holidays, and even then it is usually a hastily printed label and a store bought card with a family photo emblazoned on it. Don't take me off of your Christmas card list just yet, I like photo cards and send them too, but I miss the personal missives I used to send and receive. I miss my writing finger callous. I miss thinking about what kind of stamp to buy, paper to use or even individualized envelope to make (I used to make the most clever envelopes out of magazines and European chocolate bar wrappers) for certain friends. I miss the thought that went into figuring out how much to share and with whom and deciding who would get your deepest thoughts, dreams, worries and feelings. I miss my grandma sending little poems, my mom sending letters with sketches in the margins and my husband who used to send cards of a particular brand that you could only find at Kate's Paperie. I miss letters from family and friends who sent odds and ends from their lives, from music mixes and photos to eccentric items such as envelope with volcano ash like the one I received from my brother who lived by an active Japanese volcano and a tire flattened Cane Toad, that nearly made me fall down laughing, that an old roommate at BYU-Hawaii sent me. 

There is a short high that comes from hearing the you've got mail or a text tone, but there is nothing that compares to the eagerness of tearing open a letter before you can even get to your door, carefully reading it with attention to even the slightest nuance and then savoring each word. Our familiarity and ease in communication sometimes feels like it is breeding superficialness and lack of genuine and personal thought. 

Indulge me, send me a letter, or even a post card. The old school kind that is written just for me. It doesn't have to be detailed or long, contemplative or even creative, unless, of course, you want it to be. I think it will buoy me up just enough to get out of my tech funk and I promise to send one back. Or if you really want to make a fan, send my mamacita Claire one (who every time I call her that says, "No mommy, I am just a little girl). She loves letters and has even taken to grabbing every catalog that comes though our door and claiming that Grandma sent it to her. 

Little Ladies

Not to overwhelm you with cuteness, but yesterday my sister-in-law Aimee sent me the most amazing pics of my sweet little girls and their adorable cousin Callie she took when I was in Monterey last month. Aimee started out as an amateur photographer and is now making a pretty good living with her own wedding photography business. She pulls out the camera almost every time I go to town and here are the fantastic results. You might want to just wait for the next post if you don't have high speed. I couldn't just show a few.

Miss Claire (two years, three months)

Miss Kennedy (two months). And yes, occasionally, I do put clothes on her.

Miss Kalli (four years, four months). Love the retro look.

TEDTalks

As a woman of leisure (aka stay-at-home mom), I sometimes I find it difficult to keep my mind from collapsing in on itself. Claire is a very stimulating conversationalist and has taught me more than I ever thought possible about the excitement and wonder of bugs, princesses, her cousin Wo-Wo and owies. Kennedy and her budding consonants also keep me on my toes, but sometimes it is just not enough. I have to remind myself that I really do have a mind that was made for more than simply trying to remember the words to "I Know You" and the accompaning waltz. So when my brain seems a little dimmer than usual, I have taken to listening to TEDTalks when I am working and while the girls are napping.

I'm loving them and highly recommend these when you feel like you need some mind stimulation. The talks are pretty diverse and you can find something on almost any topic you like, from our buggy moral code and cool phone tricks to how the mind works and bold global predictions. Some topics are pretty eccentric, but all are presented by the thinkers, behind the think tanks. I find myself writing quotes down while I am watching and can't wait for Dave to come home to tell him something fascinating I learned.

For example, did you know that instead on using 411 when you need an address, or a phone number, you can text for free to google and they will respond with the info you need? Or, did you know that (horrifically) in Rwanda the word for rape and marriage was actually the same before the genocide? I didn't either, but I do now, thanks TEDtalks.

Here's some of my favorite quotes from the last few days:

Hope does not consist of the expectation that things will turn out exactly right, but is the expectation that they will make sense regardless of how they come out. -Sherwin Nuland

Every time I give it breaks the grip of materialism in my life. -Rick Warren

If we are not here in 10,000 years...it's going to be because...we underestimated the odds of our future pains and overestimated the value of our present pleasures. -Dan Gilbert

You can steal you heart from any kind of trouble or horror but a simple act of kindness from a stranger will unstitch you. - Chris Abani

Be sure to check out this one, this one and you definately can't miss this one.

Butterfly

Yesterday, as I was driving to the gym, I pulled up to a red light at a busy intersection. Something floating around in the middle of the intersection caught my attention. I looked closer to see what it was and it turned out to be a small butterfly. It was arresting and disturbing at the same time to watch it. Surrounded by cars speeding through the intersection the butterfly was attempting to fly through the middle of the street. 

While butterflies are usually graceful in flight, this one was frenetic and being tossed around by the wind created by the moving cars. It would soar high and then low, all the time flapping its delicate wings frantically to stay afloat. I was literally transfixed watching the butterflies trajectory. I felt myself rooting for its success and was alarmed each time a new car would zoom by. 

The butterfly made it through the intersection before the light changed and I made an audible sigh of relief which took me off guard because I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath. Without even knowing when it had started, I realized I was crying. Not because I am a particularly enamored with butterflies, but because it was so unreal to watch this delicate, beautiful creature make its way through such enormous obstacles. 

And then, as often happens these days, my thoughts turned to my girls. They are so small and so protected right now that it is strange that I think about them and what challenges they will encounter as they grow.  Almost daily, I worry about how women are marginalized and how young girls are sexualized and preyed upon. I worry that many women don't know their value and struggle with feeling worthwhile. I worry that in our culture beauty in women is rewarded and brains, strength and sometimes even compassion is looked down on. I worry that my girls could be like this fragile butterfly trying to make it through a life that is growing increasingly frenzied, shallow and indulgent. I worry that they could be tossed about on the winds of social pressure and changing values. I want them to stay afloat, to remember their course, to not get crushed by these real life challenges. Sometimes, it is unbearable to think of what trials they may encounter. 

Today, I feel brighter about the future and more committed to doing more to strengthen the role of women and children in my community, surround myself with strong, centered women, and to be a better role model for my girls. I know that they grounded. I know that they are strong. I know that they can make it. I just wish it could be easy. 

Herding Cats

Since Miss K was born I have heartily envisioned the day that I would fulfill the "twiner outfit" dream. Call me crazy, but I love to see little girls in matching outfits. However, you can't imagine how difficult it is to find twiner outfits for two. What is this world coming, too? I can only imagine if I wanted to get into the mix as well. 

Anyway, yesterday I found two cute, I mean cute, Easter outfits and despite these economic times had to fulfill my fantasy. Claire couldn't wait to get her hands on her princess dress this morning. Miss K was less enthusiastic, but did give Dave an open-mouthed grin as her head emerged from the neck hole of her dress. Once outfitted my girls looked scrumptious. We tried to get it documented on film, but this proved to be more difficult than originally thought with one squirmy and one tipsy kid. Dream fulfilled. Documentation of dream, foiled.

A Tragedy in Three Acts

Act I:

In Which Tara Should Have Never Agreed to Changing Claire's Diaper in the First Place.

Setting: The somewhat chaotic, but ever lovable primary room, where peace is often sung about, but rarely found.

Tara, a 30-something frazzled, yet always composed, mother of two is putting her newborn to sleep amidst the clamor of primary sharing time. She is sitting next to her dashing, yet distracted, husband. Just as the wee baby falls into a trance-like sleep (with gaping mouth to prove her utter coma), the even more frazzled, yet always composed, nursery leader shows up at the primary door and scans the room until her eyes fall upon the smug-looking mother with the sleeping babe in arms.

The even more frazzled, yet always composed, nursery leader points to a tender young sapling with golden locks at her side and pinches her nose with her fingers. The message clear, Tara, ever agreeable, hands the sleeping babe to her husband to go address her daughter's offending scent.

Act II:

In Which Tara Should Not Have Left the Offending Scent Behind

Tara enters the bathroom and quickly, but expertly changes her daughter. She gives her tender young sapling with golden locks a quick squeeze and on the way out of the door tosses the source of the offending scent into the garbage. The offending scent not happy to be contained spreads its aroma instantly throughout the ladies room. Tara, frazzled, yet always composed, momentarily pities her fellow church goers who may have to use the ladies room.

Act III:

In Which Tara Should Have Never Left Her Sleeping Babe in the
Cacophony of Primary Sharing Time.

Tara returns her tender young sapling with golden locks to the nursery, resumes her smug look of composure, and returns to the primary room. Instantly, she is greeted, by her dashing, yet distracted, husband carrying her once sleeping babe in his arms. The once sleeping babe is now yelping and sucking furiously on the dashing, yet distracted, father's arm causing an unsightly mark. Tara takes the child and returns to the ladies room, which unfortunately houses the changing station and even more unfortunately houses the nursing room, which houses the garbage with the offending scent.

As Tara sits down for a prolonged feed the offending scent wafts suffocating around her. Tara, reminded how mother's become frazzled, scrunches her nose briefly, then resumes her look of composure.

-The Curtain Falls-

Muffin Stories

When Claire was a baby, Dave came home from work one day and asked me how my day was, I proceeded to tell him this story. That morning I had gone to my favorite morning bake shop (the Corner Cafe for those who must know) on the way to Central Park for a muffin. I selected a plump muffin with the top just oozing over the wrapper, just as I like it. I went to the park, settled onto a bench, and prepared to eat my delectable treat. My first bite was astonished me. No flavor. The same moist fluffy insides but no taste. I had to have a few more bites to clarify, but there was literally no sweet. I was shocked. Who makes a muffin and leaves out the sugar. My morning ritual was ruined.

I finished my story and Dave looks at me blankly and then I said, "I think that is the most boring story that I have ever told". Dave readily agreed, almost too readily. So now, whenever we tell a boring story we call it a "muffin story". And let's face it everyone has some "muffin stories" in their repertoire, because at the bottom of it all sometimes you just want to talk, even when you have nothing interesting to say.

That is where I find myself today with the desire to talk, but not much interesting to say. I could tell you that I breast feed Kennedy 511 minutes so far this week, or nine and a half hours for you math challenged individuals, (I know the precise time thanks to an iPhone application that records my every feeding move--somehow it is so nice to have an accounting). Yesterday, I changed 17 diapers, okay, Dave changed one of those 17. This week, I got the mail, almost every day, just for an outing with the girls. I went to the gym three times and ran eight miles and did 375 sit-ups. Ate no bad-for-you carbs from Tuesday night on. Spent two hours at the park and many more in the back yard. Snuggled innumerable times with my girls and remarkably carried Claire to timeout only once. Took Baby K to her two month check-up (13 pounds and 24 inches, yikes, she is topping the chart). Logged 17 hours at work. I did get out with the ladies one night for dinner and a pedicure. And watched Lost (that may not be a part of the muffin story).

That's it folks, no juciy stories, no new material, no gasp-while-you-are-reading plotlines. Just life. Funny enough, at the end of it all it was a successful week. Nothing mind shattering, but at the end of the day, just pleasant. So stay tuned for more "muffin stories", cause sometimes that's all you've got.