Fueled By Girl Power

I remember the disappointment, the questions of why not, the remarks about legacy lost and lack of family pride. All because we weren't going to have children.

But we weathered it all anyway, because we really didn't want to have children. Ever. Even after being together six years and finally getting married (which we're now on our way to 10 years of marriage and 16 years since the day we met), we still didn't want children.

Let it be known though that we didn't disparage any couple of any combination who did. Ever. Living fairly free and independent in a country like ours, these are choices we made, and those we knew with kids made. We still celebrated all our choices; we celebrated life, nurturing it together without judgement. We had many friends and family who wanted and had children happily, and those who struggled to have them, happily or not. But again, it made no never mind to us.

Of course, my family probably blamed the now Mama somewhat, my lovely wife, since she was the woman in this man/woman union equation, the one with a supposedly fertile uterus with eggs o'plenty just waiting to co-mingle and bind with Daddy's DNA. Although they were a little shocked that I was even more adamant about it all at times.

We still celebrated our own mother's, even with differing family struggles as children in each of our own camps. We celebrated family and embraced most of the times as adults we could spend together in both camps, however difficult it was at times -- and God knows how difficult it was at times.

It ain't all hugs and kisses, kids.

And yet, so it was. Without children. Without being a father or mother. Until it wasn't. Until we changed our minds, without judgement for those who never did, and never will, whether because of horrible childhoods or something simpler, less traumatic.

On this Mother's Day, I celebrate my young daughters, the Mama and her sister and her mom, my sister and our mother (who passed last December), our grandmothers and great-grandmothers and other family and friends alike. I celebrate all the women who have had mostly positive impacts on my life, mothers or not, because of teaching me love and patience and mindful presence and a balanced life and empathy and communication skills and team-building skills and community-building skills and --

But for those who don't celebrate it, who say they despise it's very commercialized lie (I'd argue that Valentine's Day, Easter and Christmas are worse), and/or because it perpetuates the myth that women must have babies because it's God's will and/or it's biological and unnatural if they don't, and/or because they had crappy moms and families they want nothing to do with, then I get it. No judgement. Just walk away from today and wait for tomorrow. It'll come soon enough for you to embrace your Zen.

I, however, am fueled by girl power. Happily.

In a fair and equitable way, of course.

Play that Funky Music, My Girls

"Hi Daddy, I went to the music store."

"Right on, Honey."

Because Bea's kind of digging the violin, something I just learned while away this week. And so it begins...which would be fantastic if she really wants to learn how to play. Thank you Little Einsteins, because the Mama and me play rock, pop, classic disco, soul and R&B, baby. Sometimes cool kid music too, but never classical. Do the Star Wars soundtracks count? What about that funky Meco version?

No? Well, that's all right. There's a musicality in our B-hive that's upbeat, elevating and moves our hearts and souls; both Bea and Bryce bang on the life drum all day and those sounds meter my longing for home.

And that's why it's especially poignant when I miss it all, going from 0 to 60 mph this last month with work travel again, relegated to phone calls and FaceTime. But the sweeping crescendos are no less powerful when I hear:

"Love you, Daddy! Are you flying on an airplane?"

Yes, my sweet B's, I'm flying home for a jam session with you both and the Mama (and Nonna, too).

Play that funky music, my girls.

Crossroads Lit In The Morning Light

In the paralyzing anguish of watching crossroads vanish like an oasis mirage, I doubled over suddenly from sucker-punch knowledge only moments old, curling fetal on a hotel room bed in the dark 3,000 miles away from home and family.

The boy who bobbed along manhood's sandy surface called out for his parents, but they had already passed months earlier. I called for them yet again, a futile cry for solace, and then I prayed, something I don't do very often.

I prayed for insight and guidance, protection and continuity, stability and resilience. The yellow light from the streets below seeped through the sheer curtains and caked like pollen in the corners of my swollen, wet eyes.

Moments later I wiped them clean and called my wife, my friend, my lover, my confidant, my muse, the sun to my moon, the mother of my beautiful daughters.

I recovered and said, "I love you so much."

"I know. It'll be all right," she said. "We always have what we need; it always works out."

"Yes, you're right. I just want to be home with you and the girls. I'll see you tomorrow," I said.

"I love you," she said.

"Give the girls a kiss."

"I will."

Prayer answered, I fell fast asleep and dreamt of crossroads lit in the morning light...

Dear B and B, here's to babbling profound

Dear B and B,

Your beauty astounds. Not just because I'm your daddy and think you're pretty and sweet, but because of your literal purity of ever-expanding thought and longing to explore and learn. That's tough to maintain as you get older, and yet still very possible to do. You probably won't understand most of what I'm talking about at this point, but soon enough you will, like waking one day and reflecting back on all that's come before, what lies ahead and what makes today.

You'll also learn soon enough that daddy likes to babble profound, and I'm sure you'll continually remind me of that someday.

In the meantime, know that you have an amazing mother and grandmother who take care of you and I'm so thankful for them. I'm also happy I've been able to work from home and help when I can. In fact, if I can instill anything in the both of you during these early years of life, it's for you to continually explore, learn, ask questions, empathize without compromise and always encourage your fellow "brothers and sisters" to be the best that they can be, because that in turn will inspire you to do the same, creating reciprocal motivation to truly make this world a better place.

There will be those who scoff at this kind of positive idealism, and you will yourself at times. You will learn that this is how your daddy ticks, how his hopeful outlook comes from knowing heroes abound -- we're the heroes who save one another every day in single moments -- incremental yet transformative interactions where we share relevant information that is absorbed, adopted and applied in new contexts that propels each other forward.

And so it goes. This is the beauty of learning and growing and how everyday heroes are born. Each of us offering ideas that continue to build on one another, creating bodies of work that are similar to the formation of rock over a geological span of time. We can see the layers of growth and progress in one another, because of one another, where a better world emerges from the layers below -- generating a new level of wonder and wisdom.

The beauty astounds and it's what makes it all worthwhile.

You are my heroes. Here's to babbling profound.

I Love You,
Daddy

It's Your Birthday, Baby, So Let's Dance

Sometimes spontaneity sputters and burns with the white hot flame of a mindfully present love.

And those can be the best of times.

It's not a indictment on what doesn't happen day after day in a long-term relationship, complete with kids. The Mama and I love each other no matter what and through it all -- whatever "no matter what" and "it all" bring. The girls are our world and we wouldn't have it any other way.

The "romance" may not be as regular as in olden days before children (which was years in the making), but there is romance, alive and well, usually semi-scheduled but always enjoyable. (You big kids with kids know what I mean.)

And then there's the spontaneity, so precious and memorable that even the seemingly simplest of actions light up the memory centers of head and heart.

We took the Mama's mom out for her birthday a few weeks ago just before Valentine's Day, and one of the first stops we made was at a local winery. In the middle of our tasting, a mixed gender barbershop quartet appeared and entertained all us tasters with some classic a capella. Then they fired up some sweet 1950's doo-wop and that's what sparked the white flame.

The Mama called me out from the bar and we danced a little swing and a little traditional hustle, at least the moves we remember from our dance lessons years ago.

But remember them we did. Dancing with her in that moment was delightful, just as it was the day I married her, when we actually made up our own dance, years before the lessons.

Who says that an old married couple with kids can't cut a rug? We don't, and neither do our girls. We've got a colorful disco ball in the living that we light up for B-hive dance parties, birthdays and other special family occasions.

It's your birthday, Baby, so let's dance.

"I wanna with rock you, yeah, all night..."

B a blasting cap

The youngest always tend to get the short end of the stick, but my youngest is actually the short stick of dynamite with a blasting cap on top -- with a capital B.

There is so much truth to how you coddle your first compared to the kids that come after. It's not that you don't love the second, third or fourth (that goodness we only have the second), you're just less apprehensive, more relaxed and tired (which aren't the same thing, mind you) with the second than the first; you're raising exponentially and metaphorically a gaggle of children, not only two. You spent so much energy trying to figure out what the hell to do with the first one without screwing them up too much, that with the second you think, "Oh, do I really need to put the frayed electrical wires away?"

Plus, there's the whole thing about the rest of life and work and providing for family and maybe taking care of other family (as we did the past few years with my parents)...

Yep, you usually lighten up with the second, coddle them a little less, not necessarily ignore them, but you definitely allow them more freedom than the first (and write less about them than the first -- sigh). And then while all of that is going on (or less of stuff going on), there's the doubled efforts of the second wanting to be more like the first.

Our youngest, Bryce, is just under two years younger than the elder B, Beatrice. Seemingly she's been scrambling to keep up with Bea every since she was born, upstairs. Bold, brazen, bossy and as sweet as apple pie laced with jalapeno and served with a wedge of lemon -- Bryce is my barrel of monkeys with dynamite and blasting caps. Bea is the politer Curious George of the two.

Another big difference, which says a lot about their personalities, is that while Bea still refuses to each much meat except for tuna and fish sticks, Bryce is a carnivore. Not a lot if any red meat yet, but pork, chicken and fish are all yum in the tum for Bryce.

Good to know that at the end of the world, Bryce could turn out to be our little hunter, while Bea will help with gathering.

Every time we take the girls outdoors to explore, romp and play, Bryce is the fearless investigator. Actually, she's fearless everywhere, but what's even more interesting is that there's a reciprocal big sister scrambling to be like Bryce, injecting a little of the bold, brazen and bossy Bryce into Bea's more reserved bloodstream. It's fascinating really how different they are and how much they complement one another.

Trust me, if you're ever feeling like the short end of the stick, B a blasting cap.

Ka-boom.

Being Back Here

I couldn't get the song out of my head once it started. It was 2:30 in the morning, last night, the night before my Mom's last memorial, which was earlier today. (That's what strung out feels like, kids. We were up for hours last night...)

The song was Still Fighting It, a bittersweet reflection on growing up and having children of your own, by Ben Folds.

"It was pain
Sunny days and rain
I knew you'd feel the same things...
Everybody knows
It hurts to grow up
And everybody does
It's so weird to be back here
Let me tell you what
The years go on and
We're still fighting it,
we're still fighting it..."

Because at that moment, while I watched the Mama (my wife) hold and try to console an inconsolable stuffy Bryce (my youngest daughter), and Beatrice (my oldest) and me laid awake unable to sleep, I thought of my Mom and all the times she consoled and took care of me and my sister growing up, much of it without help with we were young children.

It's so weird to be back here...

Whether it be a cold, or the flu, or chicken pox, or allergies, or asthma -- Mom always took care of us and did everything she could to make it all better. Always.

Even the time I nearly ate an entire bottle of orange flavored baby aspirin and our family doctor at the time told Mom to make me throw it all up. Now that was a joyous memory. If you've tried to convince a young child to throw up for their own good, you know what I'm talking about. So no, I never did throw up that time, but fortunately it all worked out and all that yummy aspirin didn't affect me adversely.

I watched the Mama hold Bryce and remembered Mom and those are/were the memories that live now and forever in the tidal pools of my heart, a universe within universe within universe without forgetting once the "sunny days and rain" shared amid torrent and still water like glass.

Two weeks ago we said goodbye in Oregon, leaving Mom and Dad forever in the bay where they loved and lived in the end, where their souls reach to heaven...and today we said goodbye with local family and friends in Visalia where we grew up and where it all started for us, another tide rushing in to scatter memories from pool to vibrant pool...

Thank you for always being there, Mom. We were there for you as much as we could be in the end.

We love you.