The Blech with the Blessings Year Round

"I'm so excited for Christmas! I'm so excited for Christmas! I'm so excited for Christmas!"

Exclaimed Beatrice, excitedly.

"Me too!"

Echoed Bryce, excitedly.

And so it goes with our little girls at the holiday helm. The Christmastime magic is upon us, like a warm blanket on a cold winter's morn. We've actually had our share of frigid mornings recently here in Santa Cruz, with a cold snap leaving our cheeks and bums a chapped cherry red.

Just like ol' Kris Kringle, who the girls got to see this weekend at the downtown Christmas parade.  Santa rode by in his white carriage, pulled by two gorgeous steeds.

"Look, here comes Santa!" exclaimed the Mama and Daddy, excitedly. The girls bounced in place.

"Is that Santa's deer?" asked Beatrice as Santa approached.

"Reindeer? No, those are horses."

"Oh, yes," Bea said, and then laughed.

And there was 50% off giant candy! (See if you catch that one.)

Although, there is the little issue of not sleeping for Bryce, or more accurately, waking up at 3:00 am seemingly every other night, which we're told has more to do with neurological development than holiday magic. Bryce tip toes into our room and sits at the foot of the bed, talking just loud enough to herself for one of us to wake up and hear, and then she takes forever to get back to sleep. This happened with Bea, too.

Blech. Sleep deprivation just so happens to be an serial rite of parental passage from child to child. Bea wasn't so bad, but Bryce from 6-18 months about drove us both bonkers, awake nearly every hour and every night for months and months.

However, you take the belch with the blessings year round with kids. And there are certainly plenty of B's in our blessings around here.

This is why I'm thankful: my angelic muses carry with them a special kind of perpetual Christmastime magic.

And so does Daddy. Amen.

"I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual. It is surprising how contented one can be with nothing definite -- only a sense of existence." 

--Henry David Thoreau 

Thankful for My Muses and Christmastime Magic

This is why I'm thankful: my angelic muses carry with them a special kind of perpetual Christmastime magic. The kind that casts imperfections into unique heartmeld spells of empowered adaption and inspiration. The kind that lights the world around me like triple suns rising one after the other, helping me make life-lesson connections I never would've seen before. The kind that guide me to be a better father, a better husband, a better man.

Muse Bryce has a fire in her belly that dwarfs even the Mama Muse's daily motivation. Her first year of preschool has gone well so far, even with her aggressive edge of reactive smacking, something we're working on. We're also still dealing with her exotropia -- a vision problem where one eye migrates outward and binocular vision can be difficult. This includes putting an eye patch on her right eye for one hour per day, since her left eye is the problem child. Hopefully early next year we'll find out it's helped, but this doesn't seem to slow her down; her belly fire only burns brighter, a dissonant dragon of do.

Muse Beatrice has a wonderful shy sensibility and sensitivity to those around her. Even with her processing delays, which she continues to work on and overcome, her intellect and grasp of concepts greater than her current age at normal development speeds is exciting -- especially since kindergarten is starting next year. In fact, her storytelling ability is more creative and rich than ever had at her age, and I was certainly an imaginative introvert as a child. She also has an eye for flexible patterns and design, something conveyed in her storytelling, as if she's working through problems unseen even by us. And of course, there's her Daddy love of Christmas, one that warms my heart and soul, us both longing for the holiday.

The Mama Muse has always been my primary sun burning bright who's prescient flares caress my surface daily, reminding me that no matter how harsh and cold things can get, it's the warming reaction of sunrise that makes all the difference. I've known that for 16 years since the day we met that one special day at the beach, the same date when we married six years later (this year being the diamond 10 celebration). Plus, falling in love again and again doesn't hurt.

And then there's the Nonna Muse, my mother-in-law, the Mama's mom, who lives with us and is a blessing to the girls. And then there are the other  muses I celebrate -- my sister, my sister-in-law, my niece, my Aunt Karen and Aunt Margene, and the much missed spirt of my own mother, whom I lost this time last year. And then there's the countless other female family and friends from then to now who I've learned much from. (Gentlemen, I'm still digging your influence, no worries.)

I'm blessed to have so much inspirational light from girl power and am thankful for muses and everyday Christmastime magic that feel like the warm sand from one day at the beach.

Us men need mucho more musing. Amen.

To Be Back Here Again

They laughed and decorated their pumpkins. A picture perfect Fall affair.

Beatrice said, “An-an-an-an-and I’m making this for Nonna.”

Her classmates and her sister Bryce sitting around her at the table kept laughing and decorating. An older boy sitting across from her, no more than eight or nine, smiled at her. 

Such a sweet moment, I thought. I took a few pictures. It was the Harvest Festival fundraiser for Bridges to Kinder, the preschool where both Bea and Bryce attend.

“Buh-buh-buh-buh-but I want the gold pen now for my pumpkin,” Beatrice said. 

Actually she stuttered a little. A vestige of her processing and speech delays and a work-in-progress with therapy, Beatrice stutters the beginning of sentences sometimes as a way to get her thoughts in order. It’s like saying, “Wait a second and I’ll tell you want I want to tell you.”

I handed her the gold pen and then the older boy did something I did not expect. He made fun of her stutter.

“Buh-buh-buh-buh I wanna a gold pen!”

The mocking face, the animated dance, the shrill inflection of his words — I remembered it well, being a giver and a taker as a child. Christ, sometimes as an adult. To date I hadn't ever considered this would happen; I had kept myself in the dark to this painful part of growing up.

Then her classmate and friend sitting next to her followed suit, although it was obvious he was unsure of why he did, and his taunt faded quickly with the uncomfortable confusion etched in is teasing echo.

I waited, not wanting to overreact. Bea seemed like she didn’t catch the sarcasm at all. Completely oblivious. Thank God, I thought. This time. Everyone at the table went on decorating and laughing as they had before, and yet I still wanted to say something. I fought it like trying to suppress a cough itching it’s way up an infected lung.

You little shit, I thought. You’re lucky she didn’t understand. A father’s overreaction to be sure, especially in the context I witnessed, but still.

But someday she will, and neither the Mama or me will be able to fend off the teasing, the bullying and other forms of verbal abuse, the unavoidable rites of passage. And we shouldn’t really, because Beatrice will have to learn how to deal with it, how to defend herself when necessary, and when to deflect, reject and accept. We’ll help her and Bryce both, encouraging the most healthy responses and defense mechanisms they can develop, and letting them figure out the rest, just as we did ourselves. Just as we all have done.

My flash of defensive anger woke me up to the fact that their journeys have only just begun. Kindergarten starts next year for Beatrice, and Byrce will start in a couple of years. To be back here with them again, to experience grade school to high school to college again — with them and through them — is quite the surreal sensation.

And while much of the teasing they’ll experience and even dish out will hopefully be harmless and roll of them and others, teasing unfortunately is a gateway drug to bullying and beyond. The beyond being things unthinkable, which is why coming back from my latest business trip and bought two bracelets by artist Julie Marie Chavez at the Life Is Good store. Julie's mission is to help some of today's most important charities: 25% of the gross bracelet proceeds going to support V-Day, a global activist movement to end violence against women and girls. This of course prompted me to get back to daddy writing and evangelizing for the better again.

Because I love you, girls. Simple as that.

The Symbiotic Back-to-School Flavor Swirl

Two B's in a pod indeed.

One tastes of vanilla ice cream, while the other, cayenne pepper.

Together they're quite the tasty kick, a symbiotic flavor swirl.

And so continues the divergence of Bea and Bryce, loving sisters just under two years apart.

Both will be in school starting this year; it doesn't go as fast as you think when you control the film speed, like watching two flowers bloom real-time.

Conversely, however, you blink, and boom -- they've bloomed -- their vanilla and cayenne pepper pollen filling every room (as well as they shrieks of joy turned rough-housing turned into yelps of crying jags that drive us all nutso; parents are allergic to this kind of behavior, you know).

We sneeze a lot here, even the stalwart Nonna, and celebrating back-to-back birthdays makes this a very special time of the year, replete with laughter and crying jags galore. It's also the heart of our summer here in Santa Cruz, and they days feel longer even when they're actually getting shorter.

And these days extend into preschool and pre-K time for the B-hive. I attended their school orientation as I've done for the past two years (giving the Mama a break since she's much more involved throughout the school year, working in the class and volunteering). This is where they'll go to grade school, so the "preschool" program has been quite invaluable.

The school cafeteria was a-buzz with teachers and aids explaining all the in and outs for the school year, and with parents participating excitedly (mostly moms, but there were three other dads). While the teachers expressed their joy to having both our girls this year (and thankfully Bryce's eyes seem to be correcting and Bea has come a long way), I did warn them that while Beatrice remains a sweetie:

"Bryce will break stuff."

We all laughed and I added:

"No, really. She will."

Plus, she flies a mean dragon. (The flavor swirls leave a long-tail of memory.)

Happy Labor Day and Back to School, Kids!

Being What Happens Next

"Mommy, Daddy -- let's watch the superheroes!"

Those words, paying homage to The Incredibles, echoing in my head as I run at a decent clip, one step after another, one breath after another...imagining my girls running around house, outside, down the street, jumping in the air, standing on their tippy-toes to pick sour apples...me running a little faster to keep up with them...

I am able-bodied. I can walk and run. So are the Mama and the girls. That shouldn't make us superheroes, and it doesn't really, but to those who can't, it's different. Much different.

Different for those who live an alternative afterlife post injury or illness or birth defect, paralyzed from the waist down, the sternum down, or even the neck down.

Like my best friend, Robby. We've been friends since we were 12 years old. A long, long time ago...

And then there was a fateful spring day at a swim meet our senior year in high school. Him wanting to go with a group of us to the coast instead of his swim meet, knowing perfectly well he wouldn't miss his meet for anything. Us returning early that evening to discover shockingly that he broke his neck and crushed his spinal cord on a third false start, then us rushing to the hospital to see him, his mother claiming we were family so we could see him in the ICU the next morning when he was conscious.

Three months later he's brought by ambulance from the hospital rehabilitation center to graduate with our senior class, the class of 1984, me having the honor of pushing him into the football stadium and standing by his side throughout the commencement.

Thirty-five years I've known him, and even after the accident, no matter how many times he's relived his life pre-paralysis, and wished to have it all back post, he keeps saying to me:

"I want to be around to see what happens next."

No matter how hard it's been or it gets, I want to be around...

The superhero mythos is about having extraordinary powers and using them to do good and help others (unless you're a villain, which I hope you're not). Unfortunately we take for granted the extraordinary powers that move us forward every single day, physically, mentally and spiritually, to see what happens next. But not just seeing what happens next -- being what happens next.

Prior to my run this morning, I was up looking around Robby's house, the house that we've been coming to see him in since he moved here five years after his accident. He's an artist now, and a comic book collector, an aficionado actually, and his collection is quite extensive. He's also has shelves and boxes full of comic book figures and figurines -- both heroes and villains -- in nearly every room. It's a fascination with amplified characteristics from hyper-reality fiction, an alternative afterlife of how imaginative minds tell our human story, the one we live everyday, to see and hopefully aspire to be everyday.

The irony isn't lost on either of us that he dressed like Superman for Halloween our senior year, six months prior to his accident. No matter how much we joke about the past, or long for it, the irony is never lost.

The Mama and I want our girls to "B" what happens next, regardless. To be an everyday superhero like my best friend, Robby, no matter the kryptonite we keep.

In Light and Shadow

I stood up from the couch and then a little voice said:

"Stay, Daddy. Sit here."

I looked down. There was youngest's bright, smiling face and clear blue eyes beaming back at me like a lighthouse on a foggy summer morning. And so I sat in safe harbor next to Bryce, the Mama on the couch next to her and Beatrice on the floor in front of us, just a few minutes from leaving on another work trip.

My flight, diverted from San Francisco to Oakland due to the Korean airline accident yesterday at SFO, nagged at me. I have no fear of flying and never have. I'm sure there were many passengers on the flight yesterday who felt the same way. But it's not the flying, what may or may not happen in transit or at the final destinations, or the business travel itself -- it's the being away from the girls. Fortunately they are powerful homing beacons; signals so strong that I will always find my way back, no matter what happens or where I'm at.

I love them both so much, and while neither is a favorite as parents of two-plus children joke about, there is a little stronger affinity with Bryce, probably because there's a "male" energy in her, much more than Bea has had to date. Bryce is a rough-and-tumble, no-fear, highly expressive little girl. Bea is not (although being around Bryce all the time has helped Bea with her own confidence). And while Bea has made huge strides with her processing delay and her communication skills, Bryce has no such similar issues that we've identified so far.

However, she's had her own physical problem that's become more prominent during the past year. She has exotropia -- a vision problem where one eye migrates outward and binocular vision can be difficult. It affects only about 5%-10% of children and show's itself between 2-3 years of age. There are exercises we've encouraged her to do via our visits to the eye doctor, with limited success (because it's hard telling a two-year-old to work her eye), but it may be something that will self-correct in the next few years, especially if she works to strengthen the weaker eye and her visions aligns. She does make a conscious effort with or without our prompting, although glaring light on foggy/overcast days really bothers her. We've even bought a viewfinder to look through to help her work on the weak eye. Otherwise, if it doesn't self-correct, there's surgery, something we don't want to have to do, since multiple surgeries tend to be the norm before the correction takes hold.

One thing I've come to know quite well in my lifetime is that we're all imperfect. It's the tiniest of flaws, a mere matter of degrees, failed cells and synapses, that force us to adapt, fusing survival with everyday struggle and success. It's in these imperfections where our love can grow stronger if we so choose, forever tethered in light and shadow.

Celebrate the Nonna

At first my heart hurt watching the little boy carry his little suitcase through the airport security line. In front of him stood who I assumed was his grandfather, behind him his grandmother. She said something loving to him and rubbed his back. I couldn't see the little boy's face, but I could feel his warm smile radiate around him.

My parents won't ever travel with my girls like that. Even when they were alive, they were too ill to do much other than us come to them, which we're thankful for. The time spent with them was more precious than precarious, especially the past few years, and Beatrice will remember them, even though Bryce may not.

But then my heart lifted, because of another grandmother in our lives: Nonna as she's known to the B-hive, my mother-in-law, the Mama's mom. Nonna has been a blessing to us all, living with us and helping with Bea and Bryce. The girls adore her and I cannot imagine the time when that changes, will not imagine. I've been gone so much of late that having Nonna with us lifts my heart even further 

No mother-in-law jokes here. Sure there are "wait, what?" head-scratcher moments, but there were many of those with my own parents, and them with me. We've all got 'em, kids. It's what we do with them that makes all the difference in the moment and beyond.

This Father's Day, when I'm on the road yet again, I will celebrate the Nonna. Thank you for all you do. We love you.

The warm smile radiates around me.