dearest daughters & son

pacific the adjective

Dearest Daughters,

There is nothing better for my soul than the ocean.

I’m a Pisces, which is a water sign and though I hate to get in the water, I love looking at it, listening to it, feeling it.

This past weekend, I spent with my best friend, who is also your Auntie Ninang. She is the second best thing for my soul.

She is intelligent, very well-read, fun and a simply lovely travel companion, able to both go with the flow and also set the flow to a pace that is perfectly relaxing (i.e. not manic).

As I typed the word “pacific” into my iPhone this weekend, I noticed that the word did not autocorrect to the capitalized proper noun “Pacific,” as in the ocean. Puzzled, I asked Auntie Ninang if there was a circumstance in which Pacific is not capitalized. And being well-read as I noted before she told me “pacific” meant “peaceful in character.” Which was sort of a duh moment, but also an epiphany, like: of course my favorite ocean would be named after peace.

But then it got me thinking about how the ocean isn’t always peaceful. There are storms and tsunamis, there is the pounding of waves eroding cliffs, there are dangerous rip currents and dark depths, there is a lonely vastness and relentless character to the ocean.

And, yet, I still find peace in that great blue beyond. Peace, knowing that the ocean is ancient, that it is unending, that it is teeming with life, that it provides both a steady rhythm and a placid surface, that if you listen closely, you can hear a million sounds in the single crash of a wave and if you look closely, you can see all the colors there are.

[Insert cliché thought about the nature of the ocean and the nature of life here.]

Here are some photos of our weekend at that tumultously beautiful Pacific Ocean from the shores of Laguna Beach and Crystal Cove, inluding some good company, food and drink.

Just what my soul needed, something pacific:

Love you no matter what,

Keep it Simple, Silly

Dearest Daughters,

Your daddy and I took a much-needed trip to the Sonoma coast/West Marin this past weekend.

It was simple. Just as life should be.

I crave simplicity, but it's something I have a hard time achieving. Perhaps, because I see it as just that, an achievement, an objective to be reached. Because I'm a recovering perfectionist. Perhaps, because I'm a detail person (to a manic, super-human degree) and a worrier--genetically, psychologically. Perhaps because of a society that doles out imaginary medals for Highly Individualized, Most Stressed, and Busiest; with a special select category for Mothers.

With you two small girls, getting out of the door to go to the park, let alone to run errands, seems difficult. I stop myself before we even start, with worries, concerns (and recently anxiety) over what to wear, what to pack, who will get hungry, whose nap-time will be interrupted all packed into a ginormous diaper bag.

Even when I imagine a simple life, it's complicated. I go on and on to your daddy about our little farm with goats and chickens. And a wrap around porch looking out onto my vegetable garden. And, oh, I guess we'll just have to hire someone to tend the orchard. And I'll go to Costco once a month, but I'll have to make sure to get enough butter. And does Amazon deliver to the country?

Life is not complicated.

I make life complicated.

Ironically, I'm finding that planning actually makes life simpler. And routines coupled with discipline in keeping to those routines (go figure!) makes life simpler. And not being a perfectionist, so hard on myself about what I feed or expose my family to (i.e. packing fruit snacks and buying Cheetos and eating spaghetti once a week--instead of never buying processed foods and making elaborate, organic, healthy meals every day, and NO TELEVISION EVER #yikes).

Here are some more practical and psychological things that I'm doing to make my own life simpler:

- keeping food and water, extra clothes, diapers and wipes in the car (more than what was in our earthquake kit already) so I hardly need to pack a diaper bag anymore, as long as our car is nearby

- stop obsessively predicting the worst possible child-related disasters that could happen in public

- pizza night, spaghetti night, fried rice night (Lola cooks!); we might carbo-load, but for anyone who plans meals for their family, you'll know what a relief it is to not have to give any brain space to planning what's for dinner

- taking naps with my kids instead of planning for dinner

- not expecting, forcing myself to run errands with two children

- sticking to our routines: park/outside play, nap, lunch, inside play, a movie, dinner, bath, books, bed

- discussing plans and expectations for our weekend with beadle, including planning in I-time and us-time, otherwise it doesn't happen; we're not so good at this yet

- unplugging. setting personal limits on computer time. not keeping up with my favorite blogs, news outlets and facebook posts. sad face/happy face.

- reading more books, listening to more music

- taking lots of walks and hikes, with and without you girls, breathing in nature, not worrying about a thing, not even the fact that I reallly reallllly realllllly have to pee; there's gotta be an out-house or decent log-for-stability/brush-for-privacy combo out here somewhere!

 

Our Friday Hike (with Lola) in the Chabot Regional Park.

 

Point Reyes National Seashore

Tomales Bay

 
Coastal pastoral: my favorite combination!

Nature at my doorstep!

Okay, off to take a nap with my baby girl!

Love,

 

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Have I Told You Tuesday: Mommy Panics

Dearest Daughters,

This is hard.

And a really new thing. New, like, baby chick new. Like, two days ago new. Well, my realization is new, but the history of what I'm about to tell you is at least as old as me.

This moment is very fresh and some would advise against publishing my un-vetted, un-in-retrospect feelings on the Internet. But, I thought, maybe someone out there can sympathize or tell me it'll be okay or give me some tips? I also thought: but, I don't want my in-laws or my sister or my aunts and uncles to know!

Ultimately, that thought compelled me to share this. Because, I present so much of our lives on this website; it was my original premise to be transparent, to share the good and the bad of parenthood, of being a family, of your beloved mommy; so it would be just plain wrong to act as if today was no different from yesterday.

Basically, I have anxiety issues. And, currently, am developing a self-diagnosed panic disorder. It's so melodramatic! But, I'm highly self-aware so, I both laugh and cry to think of it! LOL! Waaaah!

Well, there's lots that I can say and will continue to say, background and foreshadowing and a whole story that was and is and will continue to be.

For now, suffice it to say, I've endured two panic attacks in one week. (All on our sunny, happy vacation! Which, I do not mislead, was thoroughly happy and sunny in-between the panic attacks.) And that was the beginning of the end.

This is a stream-of-consciousness email I wrote to Lolopop this morning, so sorry if it doesn't all make sense or you're missing some background info, but here goes:

Thanks, Daddy.

I'm going to my PCP on Wednesday, hopefully to get a referral to talk to a psychiatrist or psychotherapist or whomever. I plan to insist on it.

Not sure if it's a curse or a blessing, but it's really been the past year that I've started to realize my "suddenly not feeling good" is related to my anxiety levels and are basically panic attacks. And I'm starting to recognize my triggers, primarily travel, crowds, social situations I have pre-existing dread about and being in places where I feel trapped. This is on top of whatever general stress, worry and anxiety I have in my day-to-day life, which I tend to discount, given that I live a pretty blessed life. But, it's become a vicious cycle, fueled by not taking care of myself, not eating often enough, not drinking enough water, ignoring headaches or other minor ailments, not exercising or having time to de-stress, drinking too much coffee (damn you, Keurig!), trying to do much for too many.

I think back to incidents as a child that I'd characterize as panic attacks, and to times in college, just getting on the airplane to leave that I thought I wouldn't make it. But, I always did. It's with the addition of children, of these little dependent creatures, that my anxiety has increased, that I've had more frequent and stronger, more uncontrollable panic attacks.

So, this realization is what's driving me crazy. I understand and can explain and intellectualize my anxiety, but I can't help it. While in retrospect I can see what triggered my recent panic attacks, in the moment I didn't know they were going to happen. It was unexpected, I thought everything was fine. And then I'm consumed by a rush of adrenaline, heart-racing, nausea and (yay!) diarrhea. Then, it's a snowball, a monster, I'd even go so far to say that it feels like a demon takes over and I can't control it. And I want to. And the anxiety about throwing up, about how to get out of the bathroom, let alone the HUGE Los Angeles Zoo (!), about beadle and the girls and their health and happiness, about my inability to take care of them, let alone myself; it all just builds and builds and I can't stop it.

Beadle's being good and supportive, as I talk and talk and talk about it. And I sound so sane when I talk, but I feel like a crazy person inside. I'm just living in fear of when another panic attack will happen. Especially since beadle is leaving for a week. I can hardly look at the girls without starting to feel sick with anxiety that I'll have a panic attack and be unable to care for them. I'm afraid to leave the house, my stomach turns when I think about standing in line to buy groceries.

Each night, since Saturday, I think: I just need to go to bed, to end this day, to reset and in the morning it will be better. This morning has been fine so far, but all we've done is dropped beadle off at BART. I have plans this afternoon to drop the girls off with Dina and go grocery shopping and I'm sure I'll be fine. But, this little demon looms in the back of my mind. I just keep trying to distract myself, to play with play dough and keep talking to the girls, to read something on my iPhone when my thoughts start to turn. But, even that feels strained, I know I'm just tricking myself and I feel a little fake, like I'm just numbing my senses, taking my glasses off, trying to concentrate on nothing at all while trying to concentrate on something specific.

I know, in general, what I need to do. I took some time to do some breathing and yoga last night. I took Maribel to the doctor yesterday, because I had to and I was focused enough on the task at hand to not even think about having a panic attack, until we were sitting in the waiting room and the downward spiral of "what ifs" and "where's the bathroom" and "what do I do with Maribel?" began. But, we were called into the office, I distracted myself with my phone and we made it home fine, my heart racing nonetheless. Beadle was home so I made us take a walk to McDonald's to get ice cream, but I couldn't go in, for fear of the smells and people. I didn't even feel like eating ice cream!!!

It's just the thought of a panic attack that gets my heart racing, so I feel paralyzed, I don't even want to enter that territory. And I feel so so so so mentally ill. Like, literally. I'm a crazy person right now, my brain is eating itself.

Beadle said, "you're just over-thinking it." To which, I replied, "that's exactly the point."

I'm pretty sure that over-thinking and excessive worrying are in my genetic code. So, I accept that my anxiety is a pre-existing condition and that I need to be intentional about, going forward, trying to maintain a general anxiety level 3 or 4, rather than the 7 or so at which I usually operate.

So, again: take care of myself, physically, emotionally, etc.

But, it's the meantime that worries me.

Maybe another day without incident, another night's sleep and I'll stop worrying about panicking?

Or, just give me the drugs for now!!! I'll talk coping mechanisms and guided imagery and general de-stressing-counseling and exercise later!

Can't wait until you guys get home! To give me big hugs and let me cry and tell me everything will be okay.

Love,
Lauren

Family Vacation in Ventura: ten things to do with toddlers on vacation

Dearest Daughters,

Thanks to your Ninang Auntie Jonelle, who offered us use of her timeshare, we were able to take our first ever nuclear family vacation, unrelated to business travel!

We usually travel in hordes, Lola and Lolopop's brood alone consisting of over twenty people. Or we're accompanying your daddy on his business travel, which don't get me wrong, provides amazing opportunities, but the trade-off is that he's often busy working. Anyway, it's significant. Trust.

We also were able to spend time with Ninang Auntie Katherine who drove up from Los Angles not once, but twice to spend her days off with us!

Also, got to spend some QT with one of Daddy's aunts in Arroyo Grande for a quick road trip layover. That was a very special treat for you girls who were lavished with toys, attention and a humongous and gorgeous home to stay and play in.

Here's a photo recap of our aptly-paced, lazy, beachy, puzzly visit to Ventura. And some advice for vacationing with young children. Some things are Ventura-specific, but could probably be applied to most any vacation.

First peek of the "real ocean". Not the "pretend ocean," by Bel's distinction.

1. Embrace and enjoy lots and lots of hanging out in our vacation accommodations:

(creating family folklore around "Blue" the sea gull who visited us at sunset every evening)

2. Find a couple of low-energy attractions. In our case: Downtown Ventura, the Mission and Ventura County Museum (perfect quick and effortless visits for short attention spans!)

3. Hang out at a local playground. We found Marina Park. Kids don't need nothing fancy on vacation. But, the view of the beach sure helps Mommy tolerate push-swing arm and playground monotony!

4. Try a non-peak season visit! Ventura Harbor, typical touristy over-priced restaurants, but during the non-peak season, lots of space to let Danjo run (careful not to let her run down the boat docks and straight into the harbor.) And a fun arcade and ice cream to boot:

5. MUST FIND WATER! Harbor Cove Beach, not the most picturesque of beaches, but sheltered by two rock jetties, so safe for toddlers to play all day. And a great place to watch various watercraft head out to sea as well as the amazing, dive-bombing Brown Pelicans which are EVERYWHERE in the harbor area:

6. Discover a nature or visitor center! They're small and support our national or state parks systems. Channel Islands National Park Visitor Center, has a small museum, perfect for a pre-nap, no-boat-needed, virtual visit to the islands:

7. Find some transportation to ride or visit. Fillmore and Western Railway, an historic railway about 30 minutes from Ventura. There happened to be a Thomas event during our vacation, but we might have gone anyway to see the small train museum and checkout the trains on the yard.

Whew! And, in between all that exploration, we didn't forget to take time for:

8. long play-baths

9. long walks to nowhere in particular

and

10. much-needed naps

Love,

The Memphis Post

Dearest Daughters,

Two weekends ago I went to Memphis.

WITHOUT YOU! And though I love you more than chocolate, I only missed you as much as five M&Ms. Bam! I just said that.

It was splendid. Auntie Katie's rehearsal dinner at The Fire Museum of Memphis, a quick tour around downtown Memphis with Auntie Katherine, wedding primping and partying and, most importantly, a good dose of Wellesley College Sister Silliness.

I can't believe it's been nearly ten years since these [proceed with caution: alliteration ahead] wonderful women walked into my wife, I mean, life. Also, ten years since I got my hands on my first laptop and cell phone. #techdinosaur

Oh the havoc I could have wreaked with a smart phone back then!

Also, ten years ago was the first time that the thought of Memphis ever entered my mind, when I was introduced to the New England collegiate culture of acapella, with this little diddy (I don't recall which all-male group came to perform it at Wellesley, but here's a version by *another* New England school):

Even though this site and my letters to you are ALL ABOUT ME, as Lola likes to point out, it isn't often that I post pictures of me on here, but here goes...

A place for everything, everything in it's place.

Dearest Daughters,

I was away this past weekend visiting Auntie Ninang Katherine in Los Angeles.

I'm not gonna lie. It. Was. So. Awesome.

It was nice not to pack sippy cups and snacks. To make everyone go potty. And negotiate shoe choices. To be able to turn to Auntine Ninang Katherine and say, "Let's go," (get a drink, implied) and be in the car in under five minutes.To not worry about grocery store entertainment. Or how to get the most out of nap time.

To visit cool places without fretting about my child's destruction of precious things at places like Sew Modern or The Gamble House.

It was nice to sleep in or not, the time of my waking being my choice and not yours. It was nice to finish my coffee while it was still warm. And finish reading a paragraph without interruption. To have a conversation with Auntie Merissa (who I also visited) and not lose my train of thought or have to rush you to the potty mid-sentence.

I sneaked into your room late last night after I got home, I kissed your sweet little heads and I knew--sippy cups and dirty diapers and crayon on the walls aside--I was happy to be home.

This morning you awoke, Daddy attended to you while I finished getting ready in my room. You were ignorant to my presence, but as soon as you heard the clunk clunk of my stubborn dresser drawer, two little pairs of feet came running down the hall.

It was a seemingly underwhelming greeting. Mundane, even. Nothing worthy, by Hallmark commercial standards.

No shouts of elation or tears of joy. Just tugs on my clothes, pulling me down to the floor for a closer look. Squeezing hugs from two directions, wherever a claim could be staked, a neck, an arm, around my middle. And head bonks and nuzzles, pushing and boring into any comfy nook of my body, my chest, my armpit, my hands, knocking me off balance, even, as I sat on the floor. Like you're trying to snuggle with me at a molecular level. Like you can't get close enough. Or you're trying to become a part of me.

Which, I'll tell you. You already were. And are. And evermore shall be. A part of me.

It wasn't the kind of ego-inflating greeting parents expect upon dramatic returns from Business Trips or Prison Sentences or "Stays" at the "Spa"; a loud declaration, "I missed you, Mommy! I can't live with out you!"

Instead it was a whisper. That, with you, I am home, the place I belong. And that, with me, in my lap, pulling on my arms, nuzzling my neck, you find a place.

Love,

Been There Done That, Wellesley Reunion 2011

Dearest Daughters,

I love to travel. And I refuse to resign myself to the fact that having small children equates to wanderlust castration.

I am also insane.

Because I have this habit of bringing you girls with me when I travel. I've mentioned before that my motives for traveling with you (at your current ages) are completely self-centered. First, clearly I am an obsessively attached parent and I CAN NOT live a single day without my children Velcro-ed to my bosom. Insert sarcastic tone. Secondly, I know you won't remember anything, but I want you to be a part of MY memories.

When my fifth year college reunion rolled around, I realized there was a WHOLE 'nother reason to bring my kids with me when I travel. To put it mildly: you are the Cutest, Most Intelligent and Well Behaved children on the Face of this Earth. How could I NOT bring you to my reunion and show off my highly skilled ability to create awesome children? Also, when someone asked what exactly it is that I've been doing with the last five years of my life, I could just introduce you. You have excellent conversational abilities, so I could just go grab another glass of wine while you discussed the state of the world and the market and what have you with my former classmates.

It all basically worked out the way I planned. Auntie Katherine flew with us, you were great on the flight and during the very short weekend. And you charmed anyone who made eye contact with you.

The best part was the Alumnae Parade at the end of the weekend. It was amazing to be in the presence of so many generations of women. Watching octogenarian Wellesley Women pass by in antique cars as I held your little hands filled me with indescribable emotions: pride, hope, nostalgia, premautre nostalgia for you two, connection, meaning, passion, happiness.

That was four months ago, but I'm just getting around to editing the photos and writing about it. Here's a glimpse into our too short weekend in Boston.

Emergency Preparedness Edition.

Dearest Daughters,

Today, after having a lazy morning since we didn't need to bring Daddy to "Work at The BART Train" (as you say), we ran some errands, the most important of which was to get supplies for our emergency kits.

Have I Told You Tuesday: Your Dad Doesn't LITERALLY Live Inside Your Heart

Dearest Daughters,

Every night before (okay, during) dinner and at bedtime we say our prayers. Even though your dad is from a more charismatic tradition than my "frozen chosen" Presbyterianism and I'm not big on praying aloud, I'm sort of the theological leader when it comes to prayers.

Here's my basic formula:

1. Thank God for People: family, friends, anthropomorphized toys, ALL the people who made X possible, where X = dinner, school or whatnot.

2. Pray for Others: someone who is sick or traveling or who we haven't seen in awhile or simply, "those who have no one else to pray for them"

3. And Jesus Loves You: doesn't really make sense when you think about it, since we're technically praying to God, so in effect we're telling God that Jesus, God's son, does in fact love God. As if God didn't know. But, what it really is, is a closing statement to Babybel and Danjo, affirming that Jesus loves THEM and is with them always. In your hearts. Despite nightmares or monsters. Or distance. Or naughty behavior. God loves you.

4. Amen. I say it ah-men. Beadle says it ay-men. I don't know why.

Last week, beadle was traveling. The first couple days he is gone, our routine is different since we don't have to drop him off and pick him up at the BART [subway, for non-Bay Area folk] station. Babybel notices. She usually asks when Daddy is coming home. Or where he is.

"He is traveling," I'll remind her. "He took a plane."

"To Paris?" she'll ask, since she thinks all planes lead to Paris.

"No, to New York City."

"Like Hawaii?" she'll ask, having taken a plane there recently, her concession that planes MIGHT fly elsewhere than Paris.

"Are picking him up at BART?" she'll inquire, speaking translated Spanish (apparently), using just the conjugated verb and leaving out the subject of her sentence. (She's a genius, basically.)

"Not today, honey. He is working in New York. He won't be home until Friday."

"He's in here," she says, pressing her palm to her chest.

I told beadle this story when we picked him up from the airport, but reminded him that just because he's in there with Jesus doesn't mean it should go to his head. Even Jesus washed stinky feet. And I have two stinky girls who need baths when we get home.

Have I Told You Tuesday: The Infamous Park Bench Edition

Dearest Daughters,

There's this story that I go back and forth about telling you. Should I? Shouldn't I?

How much do you REALLY need to know about your mother? Will telling this story embarrass me or shame my family in front of the WHOLE World Wide Web?

Then again, it's humorous and there is, indeed, a lesson to be learned. And it's really not THAT dramatic, it was just one night I made a bad choice. And you know how I am about the whole "make good choices" thing.

Also, this site, at it's core, is about vulnerability. About saying the things other people don't or won't say. About not hiding things from you. Most importantly, about being honest with myself.

If you're my parent-in-law or future employer, my apologies. Pretend you didn't read this. Or all those things I write about poop and vomit.

...

I spent the night on a park bench. In a foreign country. THERE! I said it.

It was February in Rio de Janeiro, which is in the Southern hemisphere, so it was a nice night. I wasn't cold at all! And it was in Urca, a really nice, secluded neighborhood of Rio. And it was right outside of the building that I was locked out of, so I was TOTALLY safe.

(original image source)

Nevertheless, not the smartest idea.