be here now.

I don't think I have "resolutions" this year.

I've given it some thoughtful reflection, and ... nothing, really.

On a run the other day I listened to this song.

The lyrics, though simple, struck a chord in me.

This, this is what I want for 2013. {'be here now' by Ray LaMontagne)

Don't let your mind get weary and confused
Your will be still, don't try
Don't let your heart get heavy child
Inside you there's a strength that lies

Don't let your soul get lonely child
It's only time, it will go by
Don't look for love in faces, places
It's in you, that's where you'll find kindness

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

Don't lose your faith in me
And I will try not to lose faith in you
Don't put your trust in walls
'Cause walls will only crush you when they fall

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

This year I want to be here now. I want to keep my heart light. I want to look for kindness within myself. I want to trust what is temporary less and what is eternal more.

That's it, really.

generations.

There is a little boy playing at my feet. He is obsessed with wet washcloths, and wiping down ALL THE THINGS.

He is just barely one. A lifetime, completely blank, empty, stretched out before him. He is the driver, the writer, the steering wheel, though he has no idea.

At the same time my grandmother is dying. She is a few thousand miles away, lying in her bed, wearing a diaper, and being fed pureed food. Her now frail body bore & raised ten children, and she lived to see some of her grandchildren grow up to begin families of their own. She is the embodiment of selflessness, endurance, persistence, grace.

My sons will never know her, or all of the sacrifices she made in order for them to write their own stories.

There is something mysterious, magical, awesome about grandmothers. Within their state of frailty is a strength we have not yet known ourselves. The road stretched before her is brief, and the one behind her is long, winding, full of inclines & declines, falling & getting up again, interwoven with stories that live on in our children, and in our children's children.

Marvel, my grandmother, a miracle, wonderful, extraordinary.
She suits such a lovely name.

( baby Solo, 2009 )

white board diaries, vol. 3

(excuse my spelling error)

What do you think?

something beautiful.

in the moment it's gray.

there is no color to attach to it, no experience to assign.

everything before it seems distant, vibrant, full of wonder and also regret.

in the moment you don't know it's the best it'll ever get.

in hindsight everything sparkles,

it shimmers like the early morning sun stretched over clear waters.

there is no bad or good, it just is (was) how it is (was),

and in that lies the beauty; the existence of it, and how it is over.

in the moment your bones feel heavy, your skin old.

each hour stretches out in body lengths across a tedious winding road.

but looking back, you were light as a feather, young as the bottom of babies' feet,

and the hours they ran together,

slipping away like those last lingering jacaranda blooms,

or the fading song of the sparrow each morning as a new day looms

in the moment it's hard,

each trial an expense; emptying, depleting, exhausting your resources

shoulders lean on shoulders, tears fall into barren palms,

but in the end,

it's almost always

something beautiful.

{just write}

After six years of living in Mexico, I have come to strongly dislike being "busy."

The US mentality of busy=important sickens me. Sometimes just hearing the word makes me feel yucky inside.

Why is it being "busy" is so desirable? Why is it we tend to think busy people are cool, hip, important? Why is it we almost feel embarrassed when we don't have weekend plans or our calendars aren't booked weeks in advance?

I have come to embrace life in the slow lane. When our weekend is completely blank on the calendar (which is often), I feel giddy inside. Those are my favorite days; when we have no commitments but to spend time with each other.

I haven't even logged in to this blog in five days. And that bums me out. Mr. P was in Mexico City for four days, and now he's working his 2nd 14-hour day. So, that means I am on duty from 6 am until he gets home at 9pm & I can finally crash. Yuck. That doesn't make me feel important or proud. It just plain bums me out.

However, I know it will end. The beginning of the school-year craziness doesn't last much longer, and our lives will fall back into the steady rhythm of family dinners and 7:30 bedtime snuggles, feet propped up and episodes of Parenthood on the iPad.

I want to desire the opposite of busy-ness.

Slow days, rhythms that allow for quiet conversation, reflection and pauses, questions & time for their answers, seeking new ways to just be.

~~~~~~~~~~

{just write}

stillness. scared.

I'm sitting in Solo's room, it's dark & quiet. The laptop is on his dresser and his baby brother is in my arms, asleep, nursing, breathing baby sighs. My sweet Solo-boy is fast asleep beside me, resting under a soft blankie. Silent - not snoring, not struggling to breathe, just peaceful.

On Wednesday afternoon a doctor took out his tonsils and adenoids & conducted allergy testing at a hospital five blocks from our house. When he woke up from surgery and I finally saw him, I felt nauseous, dizzy and helpless. I cried. I couldn't help myself. He came home with daddy late that night at 10 pm to sleep in his own bed, legs covered with tiny dots, groggy, puffy-faced, and scared.

It's moments like these when I feel like a teenager again, lost and confused, small and fragile. I certainly am not really an adult, am I? And certainly not a mother and responsible for the health and well-being of two small, dependent and impressionable boys?

Ah, but I am.

And so often I feel so inadequate, so lost, not qualified for the daunting task before me. I'm tired, I'm scared, too. I'm confused and uncertain. But, in all of this, these boys look up to me for the answers, for the signs that it's all going to be okay. And even when I don't believe it yet myself, I assure them of their safety in my arms.

I hope they keep sleeping. I'm not quite ready for this magical moment of peace & stillness to end.

slump.

Today started out as one of those days.

When you drive all the way to Costco without your Costco card.

When you show up at the health clinic, wait for what feels like forever, only to be turned away.

When you get stuck in traffic with a very full bladder.

When everything and everyone annoys the heck out of you.

Sometimes the slump-y-ness is hard to shake. The gloom sets in & I feel like my life is stuck in the shadows, when surrounding me is sunshine. But then, out of nowhere, the stars align and both boys nap at the same time. And the fruit truck has a crate of bright red strawberries. And the fudge in our freezer is like magic. And Solo tells me in detail about his day at school & how he rode the red scooter with his friend Gael. And my mom rocks my baby to sleep. And I read a post from one of my very favorite bloggers that gives me goosebumps. And the house is silent. And the sky is cloudy. And my fridge is full.

I realize it's going to be okay.

Tomorrow is a new day.

(With more fudge for me to eat.)

in the middle of the night.

On Monday Rainer will be 12 weeks old. At this age Solo was still waking up once or twice a night, around 1ish and 5ish (I suppose 5ish is technically morning.)

Well, this little guy really likes his warm milk, lemme tell ya. He conks out by 8:00 at the latest, no matter what we do to adjust his routine. Then he is typically up to eat at around 11 or 12, 3:00 and 5:00. Give or take hours.

Ha. haha. ha.

With Solo I was at my wit's end trying to figure out what was "wrong" with him and why the heck he wouldn't "sleep through the night." (whatever that means.) I would analyze and adjust and bite my nails and ask the internets and pretty much STRESS OUT ALL THE TIME about what I could be doing differently and/or better.

With Rainer I don't care.

I mean, I guess I sort of care. A teeny bit. Like, in a "it would be nice to sleep more than 3 hours at a time" sort of way. But I don't really care enough to try to do anything to change it. (Granted, ask me again in a couple months if nothing has changed.)

The warm, snuggly nursing sessions when all is dark and quiet and it's just the sounds of him breathing and gulping as he latches on to me for dear life... literally...They are sweet. And they are not forever. And with this being my second go-around at this gig, I know that to be fact. In just a few months everything will be different. Babies are evolving, changing machines, and none of it lasts.

I look at my 3 1/2 year old "baby" and even the softness of his hands and feet has given way to hangnails and callouses. And I swallow the lump in my throat and caress his cheeks because that is the last evidence of baby.

Maybe this is strange (or maybe divine), but in the middle of the night, in its stillness and loneliness, I often think about all the other people around the world who are awake with me. The other moms nursing their babies, the teenagers crying over lost love, the couple grieving the end of a marriage, a grandma praying for her prodigal son. When I'm so bleary-eyed it hurts to open them, I remember my reasons for being up and moving against the protests of my body are sweet and good and wonderful. While others might be pacing an empty house, bodies wracked with fear or grief or anxiety (I've been there, too.); they might be fighting nightmares or flashbacks or visions of past lives, or overwhelmed with longing for lives they can never have again.

The middle of the night, it's an odd combination of sacred, still, somber, sweet.

If you are up tonight, let's think of each other, ok? Let's remember we are not alone in our toiling, we are never alone.

xo

Baby numero dos.

Granted I'm only six weeks into the mom-of-two-gig, but here's what I've learned so far.

- It's MUCH harder to remember things the second time around when you have a bigger little person distracting you (ahem, Solo, ahem.) If you have an iPhone or iPod touch then I highly recommend the Baby Connect app. It's my number one survival tool. Seriously. I don't have to remember anything because the app does it all for me. Last diaper change? Last feeding? How long? Which side? Last nap? How long? Activities? Mood? Medicines? Milestones? It does it all! ...And it wirelessly syncs with your spouse's phone or iPod. Win.

- A bigger diaper bag is necessary. Of course, with Solo, I didn't really have a diaper bag so there was lots of room for improvement. However with two children you now have even MORE stuff to lug around so it's worth the investment. I love mine! Yes, it's huge & yes, I'm mighty proud.

- Baby number 2 has to put up with a lot more noise than your firstborn ever did. Solo has no idea how to modify the volume of his voice, I swear. He's got one level and one level only - and it's loud! A sound machine has been super important this time around - and quality ear plugs. The ear plugs are for me, not Rainer, don't worry.

- Solo never took a pacifier. I never really tried that hard, because I always thought they were "bad." (not sure where I got that idea.) But, with baby #2 they have been a lifesaver! Sometimes you simply don't have the time or energy or patience to bounce hours on end, and a pacifier can soothe the baby much faster. Sometimes. I am very glad Rainer takes it from time to time, so I can have a break from being his human pacifier.

- It's okay to pump and have someone give the baby a bottle. With Solo I was paranoid about messing up breastfeeding, so I didn't even offer a bottle of expressed milk until after six weeks. This time around? I'm much more relaxed and more than happy for a longer stretch of sleep! Anyone want to give Rainer a bottle? Come on over!!! 5:00 a.m. okay?

- A baby carrier with infant insert is a must. I would have said it's a must with the first baby too, so with the second it's really a MUST. Since our kiddos are over 3 years apart we opted to not get a double stroller, since Solo doesn't really need to ride in the stroller much anymore. I'm so glad we have the Ergo with insert for the times when we all go for a walk together. And, oh, you know, for the times when he won't stop SCREAMING.

- Sleep. You thought it was crucial before? You thought it was lacking before? Bwahahaha. Confession: I go to bed with Rainer at 7:30 pm. Sometimes on a wild night? I'll stay up until 8:30. I've learned that lack of sleep is a huge anxiety trigger for me, so I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make sure I get enough. We've also hired a night nurse twice. Those nights I slept about 10 hours, getting up to pump once or twice. It was heavenly. And it keeps me sane, so I'm in.

- Time goes so much faster with number two. My memories of Solo's baby days seem eternal. Rainer is six weeks old today. I feel like he was born last week. It's flying. Which truly reminds me to treasure the moments. Especially the quiet ones where it's just his breathing and warmth against my chest and all is right in the world.

- My heart is bigger than I thought. I really do have room for abundant love for both my boys. And it's sweeter than I ever imagined.

self-portrait.

December 2007.

Palenque, Chiapas, Mexico.

In this picture I am about six weeks pregnant with Solo. Mr. P & I were at the end of a 3 week backpacking trip through southern Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras & Belize. Here, I am on the verge of the most life-changing experience I may ever encounter. Yet, I hadn't a clue just how much life would change, how much I would change. How there would come moments, days, weeks, months, years, when I would be hardly recognizable. Laying aside self for the tiny human depending on me. Relinquishing self to an illness set out to rob me.

Eventually, I reached the point determined to discover again the woman in this picture. The lover of nature, adventure, travel. The explorer of people, culture, language. The thinker, the writer, the wife, the friend.

And now I've come full circle. I'm at the beginning of an experience, caring for our second tiny human, that I really have no idea how much will change our lives. And, for a season, it may be hard to recognize that woman in the picture as me - with dark circles under my eyes, spit up on my shoulder, hands full of a noodly infant.

But, this time around, there is the confident knowledge that she'll be back. She'll be changed, for sure, in ways that are still unknown, but that woman up there? She's still in there somewhere.

10 lessons from Solo.

1. It's liberating to call someone "friend" after just meeting.

2. Sometimes, ok ALL the time, comfy clothes are best. Preferably soccer jerseys and nylon shorts, paired with crocs.

3. When saying prayers, words don't really matter, and mumbling is perfectly fine. God knows.

4. Chocolate milk can make any day better.

5. Drinking out of cute mugs totally makes the beverage taste more awesome.

6. Soaking in the bathtub is the only solution for dirt stained (literally) feet.

7. Sometimes it takes a few tries to go #2, and that's okay. Don't give up.

8. If you fall out of bed, go ahead and cry. Then get up and keep going.

9. When you hurt someone's feelings, say sorry and give them a hug. Simple.

10. You are never too big for snuggles. And tickling. Tickling is always fun.

keeping the rules within.

I posted last week (here) about feeling overwhelmed and bogged down by decisions I had to make. We had a 3-day weekend with no significant plans, and I was able to do a lot of thinking and reflecting. Mr. P & I went out on a date, gobbled Chai & paninis, took a long walk & shared our hearts.

One of our decisions was concerning Solo and his struggle in pre-school. (12 hours/week) There have been a few incidents that have left him with lots of anxiety about going to school. The details aren't really necessary, but there is really no denying how much it has affected him.

"Sometimes you have to break the rules around you to keep the rules within you" -Martha Beck

The "rules" of the world say: Don't be over-protective. Don't smother your children. Don't shelter your children. Make sure you socialize your children. Don't spoil your children. If your child struggles, don't "rescue" them. And on. and on. and on.

As I wrestled with what to do and weighed the pros & cons of keeping Solo in school or taking him out, these voices in my head began to gnaw at me.

If I take him out of school, it's like allowing him to give up.

What will people think?

Should I make him push through so that he gets tougher?

The "rules" of the world say what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger. Push through. Toughen up.

But the "rules" within me, as Solo's mother, say to protect him no matter what the cost. To comfort him. To be his safety net, regardless of what people may think.

I don't know exactly how it's going to look, or what my new schedule will be, but it's decided. No more school for Solo. (We'll try again in August.)

Another decision that was weighing on me, even more than the prior one, was what to do next year. There was a potential full-time job I was asked to pursue, and it was a great match for me. The location, the salary, the hours, the duties.... almost perfect.

Except not.

"Sometimes you have to break the rules around you to keep the rules within you" -Martha Beck

The "rules" of the world say to take the job for the money. To build my resume. To enjoy adult interaction and intellectual stimulation. To have the freedom to hang out with co-workers on breaks and spend parts of my paycheck guilt-lessly.

But the "rules" within say money isn't everything. The resume can wait. Freedom is relative and very fleeting.

Time with Solo is priceless.

I sent the e-mail that said I would not be applying after all. As I hit send, I felt a wave of both relief and sadness. Relief because I know it's the right thing. Sadness because every hard decision requires sacrifice.

 ~~~~~~~~

This post is part of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.

greener grass.

This morning I was playing with Solo-boy in his room, when Mr. P walked in and announced,

"I really do want to live in Southern California. I do."

(side note: who doesn't? just wondering.)

Since it was about 8:00 a.m. and we had not been talking about moving or future plans or anything, really, except for how glorious it was to sleep through the entire night without getting up for the first time in... weeks... months...?

I was stumped as to where in the heck this comment came from. So I asked,

"Um... where did that come from?"

With a childish grin on his face, Mr. P answered,

"I just took the garbage out and the air was so crisp, and the sky was a beautiful shade of blue, and I looked up to see palm trees swaying in the morning breeze. It just made me realize I want to live in Southern California."

I laughed.

Because, obviously. Mr. P is a silly, silly man.

"Not to point out the obvious, but why don't we just keep living here. This experience with nature did happen here after all, right outside our house."

"Yeah, but.. but.. California is just so much better."

He's got a point there. Even though inside I was chuckling at how funny the whole scenario was, describing our current situation and then suggesting we move away.

Isn't that the way life is though? We spend our lives working day in and day out, for what? To buy the next best thing we can (or can't) afford? To upgrade our cars, our homes, our clothes? We constantly wonder if changing our jobs, our locations, our relationships, our material possessions will make us happier, more content, more fullfilled.

I am absolutely guilty of this.

Ever since we moved to Mexico in 2006 it has been a struggle for me, a regular struggle, to reject the "grass is greener on the other side" notion. We probably re-evaluate our situation on a bimonthly basis. We constantly question our decision to live here, thousands of miles away from family. Since having Solo-boy we have agonized over whether or not we are doing the right thing, analyzing the pros and the cons, and struggling with what we sacrifice on a daily basis.

It's not easy. It's never been easy.

We long for the "greener grass" all. the. time. But, then, in the same breath, we must ask ourselves the hard questions,

Is the grass really greener over there?

Is it right to always long for what you do not have?

Are we content in our circumstances, content to live in the moment that we've been given?

This moment? Right HERE? Right NOW?

with both feet.

I've been thinking about the things in life that we jump into with both feet, never imagining how difficult they will be.

(Take note: God has a sense of humor.)

You know, I'm talking about the life transitions that, if we knew how dang hard they were, the world would be MUCH less populated.

Like marriage.

I just finished reading Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert, which was interesting and profound and fascinating and informative. In the book, she mentions telling a friend how scared and apprehensive she was to get married. And she asked her friend if that was normal. Her friend replied, with much wisdom, "It's only normal for people who actually think about what they are getting into."

So true.

If we knew how much work and effort and sweat and tears a good marriage takes, how many of us would still jump into the commitment?

Not as many, that I know for sure.

(Side note: I totally would. I am blessed.)

And what about puppies? If we really knew how much poop and barf and farts these cuddly little creatures would bring into our lives, would we still go through with it? Would we still invest the time and money and energy for a family companion?

(Um, let me think about that one.... no.)

(Kidding!)

(Maybe.)

And then there's parenting. The true test of backbone strength.

How many of us became pregnant thinking we would glow inexplicably for 9 months and have the excuse to eat as much chocolate as we wanted and of course only gain 25 pounds...?  Perhaps we thought we'd be soaking our feet while indulging our every craving while being brought breakfast in bed.

Pffffffft.  Cue: Nausea & swollen feet & back pain & insomnia & bladder infections & toothaches & stretch marks.

And the eventual baby that comes and ends this torture? (you are picking up on my sortof sarcasm, right?)

It goes without saying that NO ONE is prepared for this.

And yet, the mystery of parenting, is that it is so beautiful and so fulfilling that, after doing it once, most people choose to go through it again. & again. & even again.

The exhaustion. The frustration. The sleepless nights and piles of diapers. The temper tantrums.

The coos and giggles and wet kisses and extreme, indescribable happiness.

The sacrifice of putting another's life first. The denial of self.

It smacks you in the face, doesn't it?

But the purpose it brings is truly breathtaking when you stop to weigh it in all its intricate parts.

People?

With Solo-boy we jumped in with both feet, arms extended in the air, mouths open, eyes closed.

This time? We tremble at the water's edge, arms grasping desperately at each other, jaws clenched, eyes alert.

Because we know how difficult it will be. ::Parents with multiple children cackling uncontrollably::

Oh wait.

We don't.

Not at all.

But, I suppose, that is the beauty of it all, isn't it?

(No, I am not pregnant. At least I don't think so.)

(This post is just some ramblings of my reflections, thanks for bearing with me.)

reflections.

This weekend has been an amazing breath of fresh, restful, pj pants-til-noon air. Much needed after a hard week with Solo-boy very sick, and all of us severely sleep deprived. I have had some time to reflect and process a lot that has been going on in my head and heart this holiday season. Some of it has to do with this blog, so I will share with you.

I have been overwhelmed by the materialism that seems to have swallowed the blogosphere whole these past months. There I said it.

And as I've been reflecting the past couple of days, I realize that I, too, have been swept away by it.

A big reason we re-located to Mexico was to escape the obsession with consumerism and "keeping up with the Joneses" that goes on in middle class America. When I started this blog about 7 months ago I wanted to be a voice of compassion, humility and honesty in the mommy blogging world. I wanted to be different. I didn't want to be sucked into the comparisons and competitions and materialism that seems to dominate the internet these days.

In some ways, I've failed.

I've lusted after the elaborate birthday party decorations and invitations that I cannot afford.

I've greedily wanted the boots and the sweaters and the beautiful bags the other moms wear.

I've been jealous of the glimmering Christmas trees and wreaths and piles of gifts.

I've oohed & ahhed over the baby gear and name brand outfits and kitchen sets and tricycles.

I even went as far as to start a weekly meme to point out all the things I want that I cannot or should not have. Let alone, do not need.

But, I am the first to admit that peeking into other people's lives is fun and even addicting. Browsing handmade items is alluring. And it's not wrong. I'm not saying any of this is wrong. I just feel FOR ME that the sparkly, shiny, lovely things & ideals & images I see over and over on the internet affect me more than I ever thought possible.

And I realize, upon reflection, that I don't want this blog to be about things. Or fashion. Or trends.

I want this blog to be about innermost thoughts & passions & dreams & hopes & authenticity, above all else.

And I haven't been very authentic. In many ways, I have. But I can do better.

What does this mean? 

Well, you probably won't see Steppin' Out posts for awhile (but I will still participate from time to time!) Again, there is nothing wrong with these posts. It's just time for a break.

And "Me Like Mondays" will change. As much as I love pointing you all to beautiful Etsy shops and links to lovely things I find or win on the Internet, that is not what is important here. Please bear with me as I figure out what Mondays here should look like.

I hope nobody takes offense to what I've expressed. It is deeply personal and certainly not meant to make anybody feel bad. I hope you believe me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Completely shifting gears...

Last week I was honored to be named by Katherine Stone of Postpartum Progress as one of the Top 10 Postpartum Depression Writers of 2010. Seriously, an honor.

Here is the link if you would like to see my name in the bright lights! The other women listed are amazing & you should check out their writing if you haven't already.

grateful.

Yesterday I celebrated my birthday.

At about 5:30 pm friends started arriving with arms full of their children and foil covered dishes filling our home with the aroma of sweet potato and pulled pork and mac & cheese and bean dip and cinnamon and love.

I've never hosted an official "potluck" before, and I don't really know where I got the idea, besides simply not wanting the pressure to cook on a Tuesday evening. It was a total success in my book. Nothing gave me more joy on my birthday than savoring the home cooked food my own treasured friends made with love, and watching our kids giggle and tickle each other in the backyard. Nothing.

A few years ago I never would have guessed this would be my life. Semi-permanently living in Mexico, a semi-stay at home mom to a fun-loving and affectionate two year old. Watching my degree gather dust on the shelf, but not caring one bit. Enjoying marriage more now than I did 7 years ago when it all first began. A ginormous deer-like dog prancing in the backyard, horchata made from scratch in a pitcher on the table, and the promise of each year just getting better.

Sure, my day started out down the crap-hole. It's not all sunshine & fairy dust around here, in case you haven't figured that out already. Solo-boy screamed from midnight to 2 am. I got up at 7am to clean the house. Solo-boy got up about 8 am. I called in an appointment to the pediatrician. We went to the dog park. Nora's doggie friend PEED ON ME. Yep. Peed on my leg. Happy birthday to me!

We rushed to run a few errands at the mall, including the joy of paying the Gas bill. Then I proceeded to shuttle my son all the way across the city for his appointment. We returned home with a diagnosis of a bronchial infection, I finished potluck preparations, did the laundry, and as soon as he woke up from his nap we were off to the pharmacy.

Basically it was a day filled with reminders that my life is kind of boring. And regular. And just plain hard sometimes. And it doesn't cut a break just because it's my birthday.

But at the end of the day, to hear my home filled with love and laughter, good food and good friends (and good wine), it was all I could do to smile, take a deep breath, and enjoy getting older.

::end of cheesy nostalgic blog post::

how i see myself.

{Photo Credit}

Even though there are days when I don't believe it, I see myself as healed.  

Healing is feeling the sun hot against your arms, and allowing nature to reveal its marvel around & within you. Healing is wrapping yourself up in your child's arms and legs while he naps, and the silence of togetherness is enough.

Even though there are days when I don't believe it, I see myself as free.

Freedom is chasing a butterfly through a field, even though you know you'll never catch it. Freedom is knowing who you are, the ugly parts and the lovely parts, and respecting that person.

Even though there are days when I don't believe it, I see myself as whole.

Wholeness is being surrounded by beauty and realizing you are a part of it. Wholeness is accepting yourself and loving yourself and not needing anything more.

Even though there are days when I don't believe it, I see myself as forgiven.

Forgiveness is the hope that what's ahead of you stretches further than what you've left behind. Forgiveness is allowing yourself to grow, even when at first you don't recognize the person you become.

Mama Kat's weekly prompt: Share a photo that represents how you see yourself.

choo choo broke.

Yesterday we met up with our friends Tamy (mom) and Darius (babe) at the interactive children's museum. Which is AWESOME. There's everything from squishy obstacle courses to lego stations to bubbles to a baby version of a grocery store and restaurant.

And most importantly, of course, there is a Choo Choo. (aka Train) I made the mistake, again, of telling Solo-boy about riding the train waaaay too early. I need to learn my lesson and tell him as we're pulling into the parking lot, not 2 hours before. By the time I piled us into the car, I realized we'd have to make a pitstop at Starbucks since I had run out of whole bean coffee. As soon as we pull into the parking lot, Solo-boy looks at me quizzingly, with a little tilt of his head, and asks, "Choo choo?"

No, son, not yet.

(Side note: Anyone know at what age they "get" the concept of not yet???)

Upon arrival at the museum we find out that Darius is also slightly obsessed with the Choo Choo. Only his obsession goes deeper. Apparently Handy Manny had an episode where the Choo choo broke and they were trying to fix it. Only Darius somehow missed the end of the segment. So, he has been traumatized ever since, thinking the Choo choo is forever broke.

Tamy was hoping that the train ride would snap him out of it.

The boys were gleefully taking in the scenery and eating their snack. Giggling and bouncing and oohing and ahhing. As soon as the train came to a halt, however, Darius burst out WAILING. CHOO CHOO BROKE! CHOO CHOO BROKE! CHOO CHOO BROKE! 

We are talking sobs, wails, bright red face, AGONY.

We try to comfort him, soothe him, explain gently that the Choo choo is not broke, it's just taking its nap. Choo choo night night. Choo choo naptime.

He will have none of it.

In his mind the Choo choo is broke and that is the end of it.

I found myself chuckling at the irrational, illogical, unreasonable side of toddlers. Oh, they're such babies, I thought.

And then I really thought. Wow. How often have I been the same way? I get something so stuck in my mind, no logic or reason or explanation can pry me from my belief.

I think this is a flaw that we carry through life, no matter how old we are. We think: This is the way it is. Nobody can tell me differently. This is what I believe, and it's fact. I have no power to change it.

We couldn't be more wrong.

Since I didn't ask permission to use a photo of Darius, here is Solo-boy & Mr. P on the same train last month.