We had quite the miserable time at the doctor's office today. We arrived early for the appointment--as all good patients do. I brought plenty of snacks and toys for my two year old and 10 month old. And we were set and ready to see the doctor. I'm a good mom, right? Minute after minute ticked by and I was so proud of my kids. No temper tantrums or screaming fits (as could easily have been the case). I thought we were doing quite well. I kept the boys in the stroller to contain the chaos and would walk them up and down the hall to keep them entertained. After a long endured hour and a half passed by, we were walking by an older man who then, in his broken English, took it upon himself to tell me how to raise my children. "This is a public space," he said. "You should teach your children to be quiet." Of course I rebutted in defense of my children that they are small and were actually doing quite well because it has been a long wait. Yet, over and over he yelled, yes yelled, at me that this is a public space and I should educate my children better. At first I was proud of myself to have contained my anger and still responded respectfully, but as I continue to think on the experience, I continue to think more and more about what I truly wished I had said. So, I write this to you all as my reading therapists to tell you what I really would have liked to have said and alleviate myself of the unending torture of what an appropriate response should have been. It would have been something like this... "I feel sorry for you sir that you life is in such a state of misery that you find it necessary to unleash your ignorance and intolerance on me and my small, cute, wonderfully adorable and completely innocent children. It is this very ignorance and intolerance that invites and fuels so many of the problems of the world. But how can I expect small minds to grasp and understand big concepts. So for now, I will simply dismiss your comments as nothing worthy of even taking a sliver of my time and go about my business, unruffled and undeterred". That's what I would have said had mother bear been allowed to be fully unleashed. But I didn't, so I thank all of you for being that listening ear to a disheartened mother looking out for her kids.

Recently, we had a death in the family. Our little goldfish Alfred passed away. About a year ago we bought little Alfred for my oldest boy. We settled on a goldfish because all the other more interactive, more personable pets were not a possibility. We have no room for a horse, which I would love. And to be honest, I am not ready for a dog. If I get a dog, why not have another kid? Don’t get me wrong; I would love to have more kids, but all in the right time. And so is the pet situation. My oldest boy would love a dog. He sees them on the street, on TV, at our neighbors and he just goes crazy over them. I feel like I am depriving him, so in my attempt to alleviate my maternal guilt we settled for a goldfish. If you ask me, I would say that the goldfish is at the bottom of the pet totem pole. They stink, you can’t play with them and let’s be honest, they usually die before any emotional attachment can be made. But we made a big deal about it and we went to purchase our first family pet. We took our boy in his little red wagon down to our local fish vendor, bought him a cute little fish, some food, a netted scooper, and some greenery to lighten up the seemingly boring existence of this poor creature. All in all the entire activity came to about $3.50. And my boy loves him! As a result, fish was one of his first words. Little Alfred the Goldfish lives high on a countertop to keep him from swimming on my carpet. My son begs to be held up for what seems like hours on end, just to watch the little fish swim monotonously round and round in his little bowl. If there is one thing I am learning from life it is that the ordinary carries with it almost always a hidden extraordinary. Perhaps having kids has taught me this. Perhaps I am just getting older and am learning to appreciate life more fully. Whatever the reason, it is something I am discovering. And I would say this applies to little Alfred as well. On the fifth day of May in Japan, there is a holiday called “Kodomo no hi” which means Children’s Day, but it is better known as Boy’s Day. (I always had known the fifth of May as Cinco de Mayo, complete with a great Mexican feast to celebrate, but life changes…). Come mid April in preparation of the holiday, families, namely those with boys, fly these enormous windsocks in the shape of a carp from their house, apartments, wherever they can. Even inside the house, carp decorations fill their homes. Extravagantly colored, even highlighted with gold trim, carp fly throughout Japan. Carp! You know, garbage fish. I hate to admit it, being the ethnocentric that I am, I had to laugh when I first came here and realized that everyone was flying these obnoxious garbage fish from their homes. And not only that, but celebrating them! Their image and my image were far from the same. If you have ever been to Lake Powell, you know what I am talking about. As a kid, I would spend the bulk of my summer at Lake Powell. Motor up river for a bit and there is a marina called Dangling Rope. The only access to the marina is via the lake. The highlight of the marina was the ice cream and the carp. As stupid kids do, we would spend an extravagant amount of money on some machine produced soft cream ice cream and then go throw it to the hungry masses of carp over the dock. The water was so thick with them, we were sure we could just step out and walk on them, though, no one ever dared. Instead, we would just toss them spoonfuls of ice cream and watch them fight it out. And when the ice cream would run out, we would spit, toss crackers, garbage, anything we had and they would eat it all. So, then as an adult, I move to this country with these same fish flying from the housetops as a proud banner. Huh??? In Japan, carp are called koi (pronounced coy). They are known for their bright, vibrant colors—orange, white, yellow, red and every combination in between. Even their professional baseball team out of Hiroshima is known as the Carp. From my limited and abbreviated understanding of Japanese folklore, the carp in its various form and color is believed to swim upstream despite adversity and upon reaching its final destination, become a dragon. Hence, why they are celebrated here. Every family wants their son to grow to be a dragon. Not bad for little Alfred, who has since become more than just a goldfish that stinks up my house. Instead, he became a great symbol illuminating the best of what I want for my boys—to voyage upstream against all that life can throw against them and emerge as dragons. Will we still probably get a dog one day? Yeah, but one day. Now that Alfred is gone, will we run out and get another goldfish? Only if my maternal guilt wins. But for the mean time—I am content knowing that Alfred—our little dragon in embryo—inspired and delighted my own little dragons in embryo.

I love the concept of having a family plan, but of course I have made no advances on actually formulating mine. I have had the thought tucked in the back of my head for awhile, though, hoping that it might just come together. I have been trying to come up with a family motto, but nothing seemed to fit. Then it hit me and the epiphany had finally arrived (no doubt it was in the middle of a downward dog pose, I tell ya, yoga is my new answer to the cure all, fix all, solve all problems that I seem to run into). Anyways, here it is--EVERY DAY MATTERS! So, that's it, for our little family. I was thinking about it first in terms of how I work out. I have all the usual excuses lined up on why I can rationalize my way out of it for the day, which I truthfully don't understand, b/c I actually love to do it. But, that's when the thought came to me, that each day matters in my life. And then I took it one step further and thought about my relationships with my husband and my kids. Each day matters--how I treat them, activities I plan for them, the little moments we share. And then I thought about it even one step further and thought, hopefully my boys will be able to use this as they get older and are confronted with tough choices. If they are presented with a choice that may seem small today, hopefully this little motto will ring in their ears and they will be motivated and feel challenged, to step up to the plate and make the right choice knowing that every day matters and each day counts. So, that's my bit of whatever for the day. Wanted to write the epiphany down so that I didn't lose it. Now, on to the rest of the plan...

How can you get time to stand still? If anyone has the answer to that question, please let me know. Growing up, I was always looking into the future, I want to become this…, I want to have this…, I just want to be older!! A frequent phrase I remember hearing from my mom was, “Don’t wish your life away.” I have tried my best to take advantage of what life has to offer and make the most of my life. I was happily cruising along until I became a mother. Now, I wish time could just stand still. I watch my kids grow and change. They are still really young, so literally every day, some new development occurs. My two year old will learn a new word. My baby will learn to crawl or pick things up with his hands. I love it! I love watching them and cannot even express the pride I experience as a parent. And then there are those nights, you know the ones after you have tucked them in and they have fallen asleep and you just watch them sleep, and my heart just breaks. They will never be like this again. My two year old will never be that little newborn that we brought home from the hospital. My baby, who loves to stare at me and who will reach up with his little hands to grab my face, will quickly grow out of that phase and I will never have that again. I seriously wonder how mothers who lived before this great digital age of video and yes, the thousands of pictures did it. How did they hold on to their memories? How did they keep those tender memories so vivid in their minds? How do any of us handle the reality that our kids will grow and change and never remain our little bundles? Yet, I know that time does win and my kids will grow. And what I have found that gives me comfort (because I have not yet figured out how to make time stop) is that my hope for them is that one day they will grow, have a family of their own and experience this same joy. Each time after my boys were born and my mom stayed with me to help out, I asked her, “Does it make you sad that I grew up?” And her response is always, “No, because I know how much you enjoy life now and that means all the world to me as a mother”.

Hmmmmm, let me see... What makes me laugh about being a mom? Is it when we go to the petting zoo and my toddler proceeds to pick up and hurl guinea pigs at the other kids? Or maybe its when we go for our doctor's visits and he screams literally non-stop from the moment we enter his office until we leave because of his already deeply rooted fear of any medical personnel? How about when we are on the train or subway and he decides he wants to get off and lets everyone else know about it? No, I know, when we are at the park and he thinks its fun to push the other kids (he's actually just trying to play with them, but still learning how, but of course the other shocked and dismayed mothers don't see that). Or the classic, vomiting all over himself in the middle of the grocery store on of course the same day I forgot to bring the diaper bag. All I had was my sweatshirt, so I took that off and tried to wipe him up or at least cover him up with that. But, he wanted nothing to do with it, so we walked out of the store and all the way home with vomit completely covering him with people staring and pointing, but what could we do? No, I know, when we are on a plane and he not only makes a mess of his diaper, but refuses to sit still while I try and change him. So, I am elbow deep in the best of what a toddler can put out in an airplane bathroom with no escape parachute in sight. Shall I continue? Ha!! So, what do I find most humorous about being a mom? That my once sane and organized life where my suits matched my shoes and my jewelry tied it all together and I left the house looking great and feeling refreshed has now been exchanged for a ratty old t-shirt accompanied by faded and ill-fitting jeans and tennis shoes to boot. Not to mention the faded hairstyle and, wait, what's that? Make-up? You mean, I am supposed to remember to where make-up too when I leave the house? (Hence, no photo to accompany my ceoMom book yet). And yet, I love it!! I love it all, my life, my boys, and my lack of whatever it was I had before that I don't have now (though, a little make-up never hurt anyone). And that's what I find humorous--that I simply just love it!! My life as a mom--nothing could be more fulfilling or bring more contentment to my life than this.

DAYBOOK ARCHIVE