The two new posts on my blog reading list today were lists of good things, and I'm inspired to do the same on this June Monday.
Five things I'm loving right now
Working on the porch in an old rocker with ice coffee (OK, I'd love it more if I were reading and not working, but if I have to work, this isn't a bad way to do it)
Knowing that the garden is almost planted (finally)
Anticipating a run later today
Strawberry smoothies (with strawberries from the freezer from last year, eaten with abandon knowing that we will soon have fresh ones)
Listening to the drone of bees in the rhododendrons
What are you loving these days?
Showing posts with label happiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label happiness. Show all posts
Monday, June 6, 2011
Sunday, July 19, 2009
The Weekend in Reverse
Today, a friend came to visit. I had volunteered in Dr. Olu's ABE class several years ago until she retired and moved back to Nigeria. I showed off Kathleen and we chatted for a bit. As she was getting ready to go, Brian shared the story of Kathleen's name. I lost the thread of the conversation for a moment, but the other woman there, a woman I knew from the same organization but hadn't seen in years, said, "Did your husband say something about a son?" It made sense she did not know. I thought I had emailed Dr. Olu at some point. I thought she had actually met Henry, but I wonder I'm mixing up memories of visiting her at the school after I got married and visiting the school without her there after Henry was born . . . I don't know. So I gave the short version of Henry's story. It is getting easier to tell his story, or it was easier today anyway. No tears. No need to lie down or retreat from the rest of the world for the rest of the day.
I told his story. But I still wish it had a different ending. No matter how good I get at telling it, I'll always wish for a different ending.
***
Saturday afternoon, Brian and I went for a paddle. It was an absolutely gorgeous day. Hot (a dip in the river felt good) and sunny. We worked hard paddling upstream, pausing only briefly to pull out the binoculars to study the bald eagle still in a tree above us. How much easier the return trip was.
We stopped in to change and see the girl before heading out to dinner. Oh, how she smiled to see me. We earned a good dinner: a beer and shrimp on the deck of a local brewery and then dinner at the Sierra Grill, where we had had my birthday dinner. Ribs with blueberry barbecue sauce for him; duck with Thai coconut sauce for me. And we split a peach lambic as part of our dessert. Yum.
It was good to get out, to spend time together, to remember things we love to do and hope to do with kids some day.
***
Friday, friend had extra tickets to the Green River Festival. I envisioned going with a hot, sticky, fussy, overtired, up-past-her-bedtime baby and it seemed less than appealing. Oh, and it was supposed to rain. Brian wasn't inclined to go. I checked the line-up and saw a number of familiar names (though only one singer I knew well). The friend with the ticket had to come to our town to pick up her tickets and stopped by and I was convinced to go.
And I had a great time. There were three of us and a two-year-old. I didn't until I started writing this realize that it was the three of us who were pregnant together when I had Henry. I did have my bittersweet moments watching the two-year-old dance. These lyrics struck me: "I wanna be ready. I wanna be ready. I wanna be ready when joy comes back to me." The music was infectious and joyful and I let it lift me. I stood outside in the rain on a summer night watching a tethered hot air balloon light up against the darkening sky listening to live music and it felt good. Good to be out. Good to be in it, not, as I felt so long, as if the world were swirling around me. Joy has come back to me. Grief and longing for my boy have not left, but joy is back. Sometimes muddied by sadness, but other times instead sharpened by it.
I told his story. But I still wish it had a different ending. No matter how good I get at telling it, I'll always wish for a different ending.
***
Saturday afternoon, Brian and I went for a paddle. It was an absolutely gorgeous day. Hot (a dip in the river felt good) and sunny. We worked hard paddling upstream, pausing only briefly to pull out the binoculars to study the bald eagle still in a tree above us. How much easier the return trip was.
We stopped in to change and see the girl before heading out to dinner. Oh, how she smiled to see me. We earned a good dinner: a beer and shrimp on the deck of a local brewery and then dinner at the Sierra Grill, where we had had my birthday dinner. Ribs with blueberry barbecue sauce for him; duck with Thai coconut sauce for me. And we split a peach lambic as part of our dessert. Yum.
It was good to get out, to spend time together, to remember things we love to do and hope to do with kids some day.
***
Friday, friend had extra tickets to the Green River Festival. I envisioned going with a hot, sticky, fussy, overtired, up-past-her-bedtime baby and it seemed less than appealing. Oh, and it was supposed to rain. Brian wasn't inclined to go. I checked the line-up and saw a number of familiar names (though only one singer I knew well). The friend with the ticket had to come to our town to pick up her tickets and stopped by and I was convinced to go.
And I had a great time. There were three of us and a two-year-old. I didn't until I started writing this realize that it was the three of us who were pregnant together when I had Henry. I did have my bittersweet moments watching the two-year-old dance. These lyrics struck me: "I wanna be ready. I wanna be ready. I wanna be ready when joy comes back to me." The music was infectious and joyful and I let it lift me. I stood outside in the rain on a summer night watching a tethered hot air balloon light up against the darkening sky listening to live music and it felt good. Good to be out. Good to be in it, not, as I felt so long, as if the world were swirling around me. Joy has come back to me. Grief and longing for my boy have not left, but joy is back. Sometimes muddied by sadness, but other times instead sharpened by it.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Happy Baby
I did yoga all through both of my pregnancies. With Henry, I took tough intermediate level classes up through seven months and a prenatal class; with Kathleen I went more for meditation and easy beginner. One day the teacher had us do happy baby pose. Feet up in the air. Hands on feet. "Think of your favorite baby," she said. "Or," standing over me, "your favorite baby to be."
It was the one time I had to leave class. I wept my way through half the classes I took when I was pregnant, but that day, I walked out of the room. I stood in the bathroom and gasped and cried. I couldn't think of my favorite baby to be, only my favorite baby who had been, my favorite baby whose feet I'd never see sticking up in the air.
Henry was a pretty happy baby despite everything he went through. On more than one occasion he pulled me back from the brink of despair with his smile, his big, bright smile that seemed to light up his whole body.
When I was pregnant with Kathleen I worried about her happiness. I worried that to get a healthy baby I'd have to trade off happiness. I worried that the tears I shed nearly, if not every day, the pall of sorrow that hung over me would seep into her as she grew in me. So I prayed for her to be healthy and happy and whole and I told her how much I wanted her, despite my tears, despite my lack of delight and anticipation.
And she is happy. She has a smile as bright as her brother's and a ready laugh. She makes me smile too.
It was the one time I had to leave class. I wept my way through half the classes I took when I was pregnant, but that day, I walked out of the room. I stood in the bathroom and gasped and cried. I couldn't think of my favorite baby to be, only my favorite baby who had been, my favorite baby whose feet I'd never see sticking up in the air.
Henry was a pretty happy baby despite everything he went through. On more than one occasion he pulled me back from the brink of despair with his smile, his big, bright smile that seemed to light up his whole body.
When I was pregnant with Kathleen I worried about her happiness. I worried that to get a healthy baby I'd have to trade off happiness. I worried that the tears I shed nearly, if not every day, the pall of sorrow that hung over me would seep into her as she grew in me. So I prayed for her to be healthy and happy and whole and I told her how much I wanted her, despite my tears, despite my lack of delight and anticipation.
And she is happy. She has a smile as bright as her brother's and a ready laugh. She makes me smile too.
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