To Take Their Mother's Lead

One of the best things we've done for our kids, besides the positive discipline parenting, the Kidpower parenting, the empathic parenting, is to let them be and become.

Meaning, to let them become who they already were, are, and will be. 

Of course, we've had our own thoughts on what we've wanted them to become, but never at the expense of their own decision making. Their own mistakes. Their own regrets. They own successes. 

A teen's prefrontal cortex is still in its infancy, and it has until later in the 20's to fully develop. This means that teens often rely on the amygdala, which is the emotional center, and that leads to heightened emotions, risk-taking, and impulsive behavior.

But that doesn't mean they can't learn the coping mechanisms they'll need to deal with the adulting stressors of life that have only just begun. Because it begins in childhood today, no matter how loving and supportive you are as parents.

Kids can be more resilient than most parents think they can. We struggled and stressed about our own kids' struggles and stresses about their own social anxieties and mental health. At some point, both have had their own breakthroughs; they've adapted, overcome, and are thriving. These are great personal leadership skills to develop and practice whatever those "anxieties" are. That includes us the parents getting them whatever supports and resources they may need at the time they need. 

Kids can also know more about who they are and how they identify than most parents want to believe. That makes it hard for adults who have specific beliefs and ideologies about who their children are and who they should be. Sexual orientation and gender identity, for example. Our youngest was clear when they told us they were queer and identified as they/them. We've been nothing but supportive parents, and staunch allies, ever since. They were even nominated for a youth leadership award this year for the march they organized last year. 

Before we wanted to have children, it was my wife Amy who opened me up to endless possibilities with our lives. To always look at life through eyes of love without judgement or shame. To learn and adapt as best I could. That was hard at first, but I got there. 

When we changed our minds about children, then we were all in on being the best parents we could be. That they would learn to embrace and manifest endless possibilities that we believe in. That we would guide them and teach them as best we could. Again, they have to develop their own decision making. Make their own mistakes. Own their own successes. And hopefully learn to limit regrets. 

That's a constant work in progress, and no matter what, one of the best things we've done for our kids is to let them be and become. 

One of the best things I've done for myself and our kids is to take their mother's lead. For that, we are all grateful. 

Happy Mother's Day.

A Lighted Life to Live

"Chase the sun around the world
I want to look at life
In the available light..."

–Rush, Available Light

I wanted to get a family picture under the rainbow balloon arch before we headed into the awards ceremony, but that didn't happen. First we tabled with other local organizations supporting LGBTQIA+ student groups to promote Bryce's upcoming We Will Not Be Erased March coming up this week on May 13. Then I was recruited with a few of the other school board members who attended to help serve food, which we gladly did. Then we enjoyed the watching the Queer Youth Leadership Awards (QYLA), celebrating some amazing kids demonstrating empathic leadership sorely lacking in today's world.

Once the event was over, our kids and their friends were talking away while our youngest Bryce and their mom Amy worked on recruiting other students to speak at Bryce's march. I was tired but was still determined to get that dang family picture. 

I'm the family photographer. Always have been. That was one of the many positive attributes my mother instilled in me (pummeled me with sometimes, actually). I love Amy, but if it wasn't for me, there would only be a handful of family pictures. Every once in a while I take a journey through all our photos, most of which are now on my computer. It's always a wondrous journey, one where I can relive our family story over and over again. From the day I met Amy, to the birth of Beatrice, then Bryce, to all the things we've done in the nearly 17 years since. 

The pictures (and videos) I've taken over the years are the permanent representations of our love letters that last. They haven't all been love letters, mind you; there have been some bittersweet and painful moments that perusing our pictures remind me of. But those are few and far between. Looking at our family pictures just reminds me how much I love Amy and our children. 

Like I need reminding. I'm so grateful for them. This Mother's Day I awoke and again checked out our pictures before Amy or the kids were up. I was intent on picking some out for a last-minute collage, but I became overwhelmed and was happily lost in our memories. What struck me was something I was already aware of: my eye for light. I'm only a photo hobbyist, so no professional photographer careers in my future, but I do have an eye for light. 

Prior to meeting Amy I struggled with darkness and depression. I preferred emoting in the shadows because that's what I grew up with, what I knew. Too much stress and trauma that fueled anxiety that fueled fumbling through life -- until I started chasing the light. I wanted to finally be happy. To live in abundance and love, and not scarcity and sadness. Like my dear friend Robby who passed away earlier this year had said to me more than once over the years, "You know, sometimes I wish this would all end, but then I think, I still really want to see what happens next. You know what I mean?"

I do. And we did, my friend. After Amy came into my life, she reminded me every day -- and reminds me and our children every day -- with every word and action -- there is always a lighted life to live. There is abundance. There is love. There is grace. We don't always see it, but the light is always available, it's always there. 

And yes, I got my latest family picture -- a BhivePowered rainbow 🌈 by Mom.

Happy Mother's Day, Amy. We love you. 

Rocked Our Socks Off

Five minutes before all the rest of the rowdy concertgoers were let in, me and my friends got to rush the stage. That's because one of my good friends with us at the time had an uncle who ran security at the concert venue. It was only a 5-minute lead, but that was plenty of time to get right in center-front of the stage. Moments later the crush of everyone else hit us and shoved us up against the railing. We were fine, adrenaline pumping, and couldn't wait for the headliner to start. The opening band was After The Fire, a British new wave rock band known for covering the song "Der Kommissar," but that was about it. I remember people throwing things at the band, which wasn't cool, and the band yelling at the audience to stop.

After a short break that felt like forever, the headliner took the stage. It was the rock band Van Halen (with David Lee Roth) on their Diver Down tour. I was 16 years old. It rocked my socks off. 

That was my first concert and I'll never forget it. The irony for me was that my first concert could've been my long-time favorite band Rush on their Moving Pictures tour the year before, but that didn't happen. I just wasn't quite the fan yet back then that I became soon after. But Van Halen wasn't some meager consolation prize -- it was rock and roll heaven. Another fun fact was that a few years later when Sammy Hagar was singing with Van Halen, it was Amy's first concert. 

Decades later our youngest Bryce got to go to their first concert. Beatrice actually went to her first concert first last year with her mom to see the Jonas Brothers. Both her and Amy really enjoyed it, but because I didn't go, I couldn't really comment on it. 

But for Bryce, I can. We all went to the show and I had never heard of the artist before until Bryce started talking about her and her music. Her name is Melanie Martinez and the kids love her. I mean super love. Her music was moody broody alt pop rock funk -- hard to pin down and yet very listenable and an amazing stage show. She's a multi-platinum artist who doesn't get much radio play, primarily because she cusses a lot in her songs. But hey, the kids are teens now. Beatrice likes the artist too, just not as much as Bryce does.

Bryce bugged us for months to go to Melanie Martinez's concert and we final bought the tickets for the whole family to go. The concert itself was Mother's Day evening, and while it was a late night for a school/work night (and everybody had to get up and go the next morning, no matter how hard Bryce tried to get out of it), we all really enjoyed it. 

Like you do when you go to your favorite musical artist or band live concert, all the fans stood and sang and danced the entire time, and Bryce didn't let up once the during Melanie Martinez's artistic performance. Beatrice mostly stood and knew some of the songs, and Amy and I, being the parents in tow (and there were many parents in tow), sat down multiple times to rest. I even waited in line to get concert merch for Bryce. 

Just like when I saw Van Halen (with David Lee Roth), and a few years later Amy saw Van Halen (with Sammy Hagar), and last year Beatrice saw the Jonas Brothers -- this was Bryce's first concert, and all of our firsts rocked our socks off, something we will never forget. Amen. 

The Mama Bird

Every year we get a mother finch that builds a nest in the eaves above our front door. During the past few weeks, we've gone from nest completion, to eggs laid, to eggs hatched, to baby birds, to baby birds flying. Soon the nest will be abandoned and the birds will live their short lives, wherever they go. 

This year our youngest Bryce named the mama finch Linda. Why, I'm not sure, but it was cute. Finches' lives are fleeting compared to humans, but then again, our lives can be fleeting, too. Watching our kids grow up has definitely flown by, but thankfully we've been mindful enough to embrace all the moments from birth to now. 

My wife Amy and I went on a beach workout together this Mother's Day, one that I do regularly throughout the year. During the walk there were many families on the beach with little kids running around screaming with joy, even with the thick fog blocking out the early summer sun. 

We reminisced about all the times we had our kids on this beach, Natural Bridges State Beach. Of walking from our house, pushing them in a stroller, pulling a wagon full of our beach stuff, and spending the afternoon on the beach. And then carting the tired, whiny kids all the way home again. We wouldn't have changed those trips for anything. 

Things are different now that both Bryce and Beatrice are teens. We still do a lot together as a family, enjoying each other's company and their blooming adulthood. But they are different things than childhood, and instead, they do more things with their friends, like go to the beach, the movies, downtown to shop, and the list goes on. That's normal and we've grateful they have strong friendships in their lives. Friendships we hope they carry with them beyond middle school and school like I've had over the years, and Amy, too. 

Unlike the baby finches who have now grown quickly in the nest above our front door, spread their wings, and are about to fly away to live their short lives, our kids will still be with us for a few years to come. Our kids love us both, but through it all, from birth to babies, to childhood to teen-land, our collective constant has been the mama bird Amy, and for that we're the most grateful of all. 

Moms and Men (And Men Who Are Moms)

We were so excited to see our youngest Bryce at the opening night of Beauty and the Beast. Being her first time doing serious youth theater, she didn't have a major role, but that didn't matter to her (or us). She was thrilled to be in it, and she along with all her other cast members had worked so hard for over three months to get here.

It was the Friday before Mother's Day this year and I knew how proud my wife Amy was of both our children. Of course, I was too. However, prior to heading to the theater, I had a flash of what-if. What if a shooter came to the theater hell bent on taking lives?

I used to think these fears were irrational and unrealistic ones, but not any more. Thankfully I don't dwell very long on them; opening night was amazing and everyone was safe and sound. The next night, the night before Mother's Day, Amy volunteered to help in the dressing room. It was after 10 pm when the show was over and the cast went to a local ice cream parlor for a treat, accompanied by many of their parents. Again, my what-if fears appeared as I waited at home for them. Our oldest Beatrice was already asleep when Amy and Bryce got home around 11 pm. Again, everyone safe and sound and all was well. 

Sadly, we live in an ailing democracy with increasing gun violence. I'm not against responsible gun ownership; I grew up in law enforcement with guns in the house. However, today we're far beyond a sensible gun culture. And even with the majority of Americans supporting universal background checks, red flag laws that take guns away from people dangerous to themselves and others, mandatory 30-day waiting periods for guns, banning assault rifles and semi-automatic weapons, and increased mental health funding, as of May 1, at least 13,959 people have died from gun violence in the U.S. this year.

491 were teens and 85 were children.

That's just this year. One of the main causes of death today for teens and children is gun violence. One thing that's not talked about enough though is the toxic masculinity that produces this horrific gun violence. Toxic masculinity meaning a need to be dominant and aggressive, to control others (especially women, children, people of color, LGBTQ+, etc.), and the belief that the threat of violence or the act of violence is the answer to problems. Toxic masculinity that includes mostly young and old white males (i.e., white supremacists), although it can include males of any ethnicity. 

Since 1982, 136 mass shootings have been carried out in the United States by male shooters, and only four mass shootings (defined by the source as a single attack in a public place in which four or more victims were killed) have been carried out by women.

Gun violence is such an overwhelming problem in America. Again, sensible gun laws like universal background checks, red flag laws, mandatory 30-day waiting periods, and banning assault rifles that the majority of Americans support are a start, and that means the majority of us must press our federal and state legislators (and vote) for these changes. 

We're also going to have to deal with the toxic masculinity that fuels the senseless violence. This is where moms and men (and men who are moms) can help dismantle and diffuse the need to be in control and undermine others through violence, to push for increased mental health funding and advocate for a culture of empathy and inclusion. I don't want to be fearful every time our kids are in a theater production, or go to the mall, or go to school. 

That's why I wrote this today, on Mother's Day, for all the moms who have lost the 491 teens and 85 children this year to gun violence, and sadly we know there are more to come. Blessings to you all. The majority of us will work to make a much needed difference. 

Thanks to Mom (and me)

I listened to the future with my back to her and smiled. I didn't want to disrupt my oldest daughter Beatrice as I sat and worked. My wife Amy sat next to her for support while Bea sat in front of the computer answering the virtual interview questions about attending a leadership camp in the summer. Her answers were effortless and delivered with a confidence I hadn't quite expected, but wasn't surprised to hear. 

Thirty minutes earlier I had picked her up at school and she was stressed about the interview for leadership camp. She'd had a long Monday at school that day (Monday's were always a long day for her), and like her father, was full of anxiety about the interview. But unlike her father, she talked through things, looking at the event to come from all vantage points, asking me questions about what they might ask her and how she should respond. So we role played on the way home and practiced her answers. 

Beatrice role played again with her mom when we got home. As I listened, I noted the differences between mom and dad; the fact that mom's demeanor was softer with empathy-laced words that embraced Bea like a supportive hug. 

It's not that I can't be that supportive, but I've always had sharper edges to my approach -- it's either this way or that way; yes or no; black or white. And that's okay, because we both love and care for our children and are supportive in our own ways that our children are grateful for and respond to. 

I listened to the future with my back to her and smiled. Beatrice has always aspired to be a leader, something I was dreadfully afraid of when I was 13 and in 7th grade. I could tell the interviewer was impressed with Bea's maturity and her thoughtful answers. I didn't even have to see my wife's smile to know how she felt, miles wider than mine, the warmth of her pride filling the room with celebratory love. 

She's the mom who's always there for our daughters. Always helping them with their school work and extracurricular activities. Always empowering them with social, emotional, and physical safety skills. Always helping them with friendship issues interpersonal relationships. Always knowing where all the stuff is when all of us ask where is all the stuff. Always making sure they eating healthy at home and everywhere we go. Always helping them understand their changing minds and bodies. Always helping me understand their changing minds and bodies. 

Amy is also always encouraging them to challenge themselves to learn, grow, and be the leaders they're becoming. Yes, I respond in kind, but she's the mom who does it all -- she's the inclusive executive leadership to my old-school middle management, and I love her for that. In fact, our youngest Bryce concurred at the end of our weekly family meeting on Mother's Day by saying, "Mom's the leader -- oh, and Dad does stuff too and takes care of the finance stuff."

Later in the day I said to Amy, "You are the leader, you know. Happy Mother's Day."

She kissed me and said, "We're a team," and I love her for that, too.

The week before Beatrice rocked her virtual leadership camp interview while we listened to the future and smiled. The future thanks to Mom (and me).  

The Birth of Superhero Mom

Every superhero has an origin story. This one birthed in the high-desert hoodoos of Bryce Canyon National Park in May of 2007. They were just two people in love, nearly 10 years into their relationship, and they were never planning on having children. It just wasn't something either one wanted. Their families didn't quite understand why, but they were resolute in their decision. 

Instead, they wanted to travel the world together. They were on a southwestern road trip, one of many trips they had taken since they met. He'd always thought of her as his muse and guide to be a better man, a better human, his Beatrice, the one who guided Dante through hell, purgatory and into heaven -- in The Divine Comedy. 

On this particular southwest road trip, they visited ruggedly beautiful national parks, hiked everywhere and had a great time together. Maybe it was the Nevada desert where they started in Las Vegas. Or, maybe the harrowing hike they made only halfway to Angel's Landing in Zion National Park. 

Or, maybe it was just that time slowed to a crawl in each step they took exploring every place they stopped, causing some transcendental shift and rift in their space-time continuums. Maybe they were just both thinking more about their future together and what it may look like with children. Not really talking about, just thinking about it. 

Then something more shifted inside of her in Bryce Canyon one night while watching the sunset over the glorious orange-red rocks and hoodoo spires. These rock formations that took millions of years to form, and what have also been called fairy chimneys. Maybe she was inspired by ancient magical hoodoo fairies; maybe we both were. No matter what it was, that was when the superhero was born, although she didn't know it yet.

The week after they returned home from this road trip, they were sitting comfortably at the bar of their favorite watering hole pub, playing Scrabble, drinking beer and eating burgers.

She turned to him and said, "So, do you want to have a baby?"

He paused, then looked up and said, "Sure."

The "they" was "us," and even though the hoodoo magic turned a little anti-dramatic, a year and 4 months later, our oldest Beatrice was born. A year and 11 months after that, Bryce was born. The superhero Mom, my wife Amy, had come to be. A lot of life has passed since then, some of which continues to be documented in this blog, Get Off The Ground. 

Amy does so much for our family. Over the years, whether she was working a job outside of the house or not, she was always working. Is always working. Will always be working. Raising our children. Helping them with school. Cleaning the house. Shopping for groceries. Taking the time to figure out how to fix things around the house that I just want to hire someone to do. And so much more. 

Since March 2020, getting through the day to day pandemic life hasn't been easy for so many people, so many parents with children. And there have been so many women leaving the workforce to take care of their families, a lot more than men have.

We've been grateful as a couple because we fared much better overall. Amy and I were able to work from home this past year. And there's been zero work travel for me, which pre-covid was about two work trips per month. So, both of us being able to work from home was helpful since both our daughters were distance learning from March 2020 to April 2021, and are only now just back to school in person.

And yet, no matter how much I help as Husband and Dad, which I've done and continue to do, she still did and does a lot more, plus working her job at Kidpower. 

Even after all she's done for us, she's Superhero Mom because of how she's always led with eyes of love and empathy. How her powers accelerated after we had our daughters. And then again after she joined Kidpower. How she along with Kidpower instructors from all over the world, many of them mothers, help to empower so many kids, teens and adults with emotional and physical safety skills, boundary setting and more. 

We're both the safetyists for sure, as our girls call us. But without that sunset over those magical hoodoo spires all those years ago, without the birth of Superhero Mom, our family would not be here today. We're blessed to have her love and leadership. Thank you, Amy. We love you.

Our Fairy Daughter-Mother

"If we go down then we go down together
We'll get away with everything
Let's show them we are better..."

-The Chainsmokers, Paris

We couldn't wait to fly to Paris. No kids, no jobs, no other responsibilities other than our pets that would be taken care of by both our parents. We'd be gone for nearly two months, traveling through Europe, stopping along the way in Internet cafes to email our families about our trip.

At the time, we were never going to have children, and our families, especially mine, didn't understand why. We were seen as selfish for not wanting children, causing a low-level reciprocal resentment between us and my family.

And we were selfish about our lives -- because they were our lives -- and we lived them exactly how we wanted to live them. Unapologetically. Although, my familial guilt nagged at me a lot more than my wife, Amy.

It would be years and a lot of other interrelated family drama later before we changed our minds about having children. Our choice. Our terms. Our love evolving into our own blossoming family, with Beatrice first, followed by Bryce nearly two years later. Some of our past family frozen tundra thawed, and life moved on with various family gatherings here and there, holidays and other days throughout the year.

Even more interrelated family drama later we've made a concerted effort to see and speak with much of our families throughout the year whenever we can. And the "we" in this equation is really singular, the fact that families tend to have specific individuals, usually female, the moms in my experience, who stay connected with extended family, wherever they are in the world. My mom prided herself in doing that until she died, always ensuring loving communication with even the most distant members on birthdays, holidays, graduations, weddings, anniversaries -- the endless mesh of life events from childhood to the elder years.

My sister continues to carry some of this responsibility, as does my wife, much more so than me. In fact, I've never really been very good at keeping in touch with extended family over time. It's not that I don't care, I do. It's just that I default to the moms in my life, especially my wife who keeps our extended family fires burning. It's been easier that way. Sadly I am that lazy gender stereotype at times who, in his head, claims to be too busy to do the outreach work.

And yet, there's a new champion in our family for family, one that came on unexpectedly, especially since she doesn't see our families that much, but is always asking about them, always wanting to see them and/or talk with them via iPad, phone, text or in person when possible. That's our oldest, Beatrice. Bryce loves to see family too, but she's too much like her dad, the occasional grumpster who doesn't always want to see or talk with folks, who's too "busy", and who defaults to the Mama to manage all that stuff.

Beatrice -- a caring, compassionate child. An empathic old soul. Our fairy daughter-mother who wants us to be better as a family for our family.

Happy Mother's Day to you, my child.

When We Come to Fully Know God

"Write a world where we can belong
To each other and sing it like no other..."

–U2, Love Is Bigger Than Anything In Its Way

We weren’t going to have kids. Ever. Didn’t really want them. Didn’t disparage others who did have them either. Kids just weren’t in our life plan. Never ever.

That certainly didn’t sit well with our families, especially mine. I remember my parents and my sister staring at us in disbelief with the guilt-charged super-stink eye. Then asking me when we were alone if it was all my wife who didn’t want them, and when I told them no, it was me too, then more disbelief and super-stink eye.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t,” they’d say. Shake their heads. Roll their eyes.

But we were resolute in our decision. Without a doubt. No wavering. Year after year we lived our lives fully, with no apologies, traveling around the U.S. and around the world, eventually to again endure the never-ending child question nearly ever visit with family. Nearly 10 years together went by before we changed our minds. And we did change our minds. We’re happy we did. Thankful we did. Gratitude abounds. All the ups and downs that come with parenting, we were all in. Are all in.

The Mama (what I lovingly all my wife) and I have always believed (and know) that we’ve been on a spiritual journey together, having possibly known each other for lifetimes, and having chosen to be together again. We feel we’re closer to God now more than ever, not bound by ancient religious texts and the patriarchal words of men, but embraced the grace of a greater love, a forgiving and nurturing love.

Two important moments in our lives helped us define this greater love, one that celebrates the feminine and the motherhood that comes with having children, although we certainly don’t disparage those who don’t have then, or can’t. That is part of their journey, not ours, and their greater love is their own.

Our journey now includes Beatrice and Bryce, and no matter what important role I’ve played and will always play in their lives, the Mama carried them and birthed them and nursed them and everything’s them, and then together we’ve chosen to raise them…

September 22, 2008

Around 6:00 p.m. I go downstairs to get something to eat. Three minutes after I order a cheeseburger and fries our doula runs into the cafeteria telling me to come now. My first thought is the baby's about to be born, but as we're running back up the stairs, she says, "The baby crashed and they went to the O.R.!"

The baby crashed and they went to the O.R., I think.

The baby crashed.

The baby.

I feel like my body has fallen away and I'm flying towards the room. Our midwife and doula are shouting things I can't comprehend and they tell me to get the blue scrubs on. They lead me to the operating room and a nurse lets me in.

"You're the husband? Come this way."

Stark whiteness washes over me and I'm immediately sat next to Amy. She's shaking but strong and ready to go. I'm out of my mind but not showing it. She was supposed to be born at home, I think. The OB is there. There are nurses and the anesthesiologist and everyone's moving around doing things I don't understand. The leg clamps don't work on the table, so two of the nurses actually hold Amy's legs up. Amy’s spinal tap had numbed her lower half, but pushes and pushes anyway and the OB coaches her along. They wouldn’t let our midwife in because she yelled at the nursing staff, so it's just me holding Amy's hand and urging her on. And praying. I even joke at one point to offer my help in doing anything to get the baby out.

The OB says we're making progress and gets the vacuum ready. Based on what she's telling us, she's only going to try to vacuum three times and then we're doing a Caesarean. But the vacuum isn't holding any suction and they have to change it two times. The OB keeps encouraging Amy to push and push. The baby's heart rate stays in the safe range.

She pushes and pushes. Two sets of labor and two different experiences in 24 hours – at home and at the hospital. Finally the OB hooks the vacuum up and pulls and pop – she looks startled, falls back and smiles.

"There we go. It was the arm. The baby's arm was up over its head."

The baby's arm was up over its head. Wow.

A second later the baby is out, umbilical cord is cut and the baby is rushed over to a side table and cleaned. Amy's still shaking but smiling. She whispers, "I'd better pay my co-pay." The baby cries. The pediatrician who was in the operating room calls me over to see the baby and identify the sex.

I'm still flying when I see that our baby is a girl – our little Beatrice –7 lbs., 14 oz., 21 inches long…

August 21, 2010

It’s 2 a.m. and I'm standing over the crib stroking Bea's arms to soothe here and I know I have to go.

Beatrice had been up since 1:00 a.m., primarily because of her cold and snotty nose, but also because she knew something was up.

Because our midwives had everything under control with the Mama, it was up to me to tend to Bea if she needed it.

She did. Lots of it. She just couldn't go back to sleep and I had to stay in there so she wouldn't wail. She couldn't hear anything coming from our room; we keep a fan going in there for white noise and have been doing it since before she was born. (We dig it too.)

But she was obviously unsettled and aware of what's coming.

The Mama had been in active labor since around 12:30 and the motion of the womb ocean was climaxing to a category 5 hurricane.

Things were moving fast and I was missing it.

I stroke Bea's arm one more time and whisper: "I love you, baby, but I have to go help Mama."

As soon as I'm in our room, Bryce is entering the earth's atmosphere for the first time, the Mama finding her baby Zen center as contraction after contraction rolled through her.

Now I'm standing behind the Mama on the side of the bed. She grabs my hand with the power of a 10,000 volts, pulls me down towards her on the bed and shrieks:

"Get it out of me!"

That's the final reality of birth, my friends. Guys, we have no idea. Nada. Zip. Imagine passing a hot bowling ball through your urethra.

Mother Mary of God, I think. There's a Bryce coming out of my wife.

You see, the first time with Bea I didn't see. That plan was to be at home as well. If you're interested you can relive Bea's birth story here.

But this one I am seeing, the visual annealing that softens my Y chromosome for an ultimately stronger bond. And then it's done. We're in the moment of tearful Mama holding wet newborn to her breast, the universe expanding our hearts and souls exponentially

All 7 pounds, 8 1/2 ounces, and 20.5 inches of her…

This journey of parenthood is one fraught with challenges and setbacks, as is all of life throughout our lifetimes, and yet one with the potential to be full of love and gratitude. I believe for us, it is this very journey when we come to fully know God, the one who travels with us, always.

So, today I celebrate the Mamas everywhere. God bless you all.

Miss you, Mom. And thank you.

The Best of the Good

They both sprinted up the hill towards their classrooms.

“Let’s go to my class first!” shouted Bryce.

“No, we’re going to my class first!” shouted Beatrice.

“Bryce, we’re going to Bea’s class first to make sure her invention is set up and then we’ll go to yours,” the Mama said (what I lovingly call my wife).

Bryce grunted something indecipherable and then shouted, “No!”

“C’mon, Bryce,” I said.

“But I need to be your tour guide in my class!”

“We know, you practiced that, and we’ll go to your class next.”

It was open house at the girls’ school and they were busting at the seams to get us there. All week they talked excitedly of the things they’d show us once we were there – all the great projects they’d been working on, their schoolwork and their amazing artwork and more. Bryce and her classmates had also role-played with their teacher on how to be a tour guide for the classroom, complete with a checklist on a clipboard to ensure we saw every single station set up for open house.

And making sure we saw everything she did. As did Beatrice in her classroom, with her special flying concept car proudly on display. But it wasn’t just those things we were incredibly proud of. It was the in-between things we noticed; the peripheral behavior of our children growing up before our very eyes.

Of fearless Bryce jumping right in with other kids and adults alike to show us “the ropes” of her combined kindergarten and first grade class, and then wanting to visit the first-grade classes, one of which she longs to be in next year. To saying hit to everyone she knows, and anyone she doesn’t.

Of poised and bold Beatrice going out of her way to say hi to her speech and occupational therapists who have helped her tremendously over the years. To hand them and her current teachers thank you cards that the Mama helped to prep and package. And like her little sister, wanting to visit the third-grade classes to meet her possible teachers come this fall.

Of both never being afraid of asking for what they want and need, something I was much more afraid of at their age growing up in chaotic circumstances.

I glowed with such pride and love for my girls and my family as we walked around the school campus during open house. And for all that, I love and thank the Mama. Relentlessly focused on loving and consistent positive parenting and incorporating Kidpower into our lives, while tirelessly ensuring that every school day they are prepared for their days with their homework all done, the Mama is simply amazing.

Of course, I won’t sell myself short; I just follow her lead and do my best to keep up, underscoring the consistency when and where I can, even though I’m definitely rougher around the edges. For those of you with kids, you know parenting is a lot of hard work, and you don’t get it right all the time. There are times when we’re strung out and stressed out and the girls are driving us friggin’ bananas and we scream and whine louder than they do, but that’s the deal when you’re all in with your family. The good, the bad and the ugly – mostly good, sometimes bad and thankfully rarely ugly.

An old friend just texted me and commented that Mother’s Day would be rough for me since I lost my mom nearly five years ago now. He and my other close friends grew up with me and remember my mom well, some even “adopting” her as a second mother in high school. It was rough early on after she and my dad both passed. Both struggled with chronic illness and cancer. Plus, for my mother, she had the trauma of two previous crappy marriages that included mental and physical abuse, and did the best she could raising my sister and I for a while as a single mom.

I told that old friend that fortunately I didn’t feel that way anymore. That I celebrate the best of what she was, just as I celebrate the best of what my wife is, and the best of being a Mom (daddy) myself.

The mostly good, you know.

Two days after open house, while me and the girls were putting some cards and gifts together for the Mama and Mother’s Day, Bryce walked over to me and put her right hand and mouth close to my ear.

“Daddy,” she whispered, “I had an extra card I made at school, so I’m going to give it you.”

She handed me the card and the front read in big and colorful all caps MOM. And then right underneath she wrote in smaller all caps DADDY.

I gave her a big hug. “I love you, Bryce.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

This is the best of the good that I celebrate as a father on Mother’s Day. I’ll take the Happy Mom (daddy) Day any day of the week.

The Part Where I Went Wrong

“Make it easy on yourself
There's nothing more you can do
You're so full of what is right
You can't see what is true…”

—Rush, The Color of Right

We lost six years. All because I wanted to help and she didn’t want it and our entire family went to hell in an intimately woven handbasket.

Flame. Ash. Poof.

I wanted to be the one who was right. I obsessed over it. I went to therapy over it. I didn’t sleep because of it.

I just wanted to be right, which is where I went wrong. Not because I wanted to help my sister – that was as a noble gesture – but because I wanted to be right, to be acknowledged as the family champion saving the day. Instead, I was accused of destruction and then I chose to estrange myself from the family.

My sister and I, we lost six years, and it wasn’t until the Mama and I had children and our parents’ health deteriorated when we finally came together again and restored our relationship.

Then there we were – my wife, my sister and me – standing in silence around our mother's hospital bed. She lay swollen and silent, eyes closed, the only noise coming from the life support systems keeping her alive.

No more needing to be right. And so tired of being wrong. Just needing to be with one another, both our parents gone within four months of each other. Yes, heaven is being with those you love and to hell with everything else.

Nearly four years later and there she is. That can’t be her on the hospital bed. The swollen face and limbs. The endless tubes and pumps connected to her neck, arms and legs, feeding her antibiotics and fluids and oxygen. The pings, buzzes and alarms sounds from a myriad of machines displaying erratic vitals and undecipherable numbers.

It just can’t be her. No, my sister is at home working her butt off to keep the yard in shape. Running nearly every day to keep her body in shape. Working hard to earn a living on her own. Missing her two grown children, both far away from her, yet talking to them nearly every single day.

But there she is in the hospital bed. She’s laying there sedated, looking hauntingly like our mother, breathing on a respirator, her body in septic shock from a rapid infection. Right now it’s day by day, and we hope and pray that her strong will and her incremental improvements lead to a full recovery.

The part where I went wrong puts in all in perspective.

I love you, Sis. Happy Mother’s Day.

The Effectual Stretch of Imagination

“He's got a road map of Jupiter
A radar fix on the stars
All along the highway
She's got a liquid-crystal compass 
A picture book of the rivers
Under the Sahara — 
They travel in the time of the prophets
On a desert highway straight to the heart of the sun
Like lovers and heroes, and the restless part of everyone…”

—Neil Peart

It wasn’t exactly the romanticized version of backpacking through an exotic land, especially if you consider a cheap roller suitcase a backpack, which unfortunately I did. But that was me then in 1998, when my then girlfriend (now wife) had bitten me with the travel bug. Prior to that my travel was limited and relegated to a few States, and then once to Hawaii, which when I was 13 I actually thought was another country, and then years later once to Mexico and once to Canada.

My wife had traveled extensively prior to us meeting, including the romanticized version of backpacking through Europe after college, only to get most of her belongings stolen in Prague after only two days into her trip. She could’ve got home after that, wanted to go home after that, but regrouped, bought a few new things, and went on to travel for another few weeks.

And so our first big journey together was to Costa Rica, about a year after we had met. A lovely country, it was the first time I had been to such an exotic land, and to travel with someone else who lived boldly, to experience such visceral sensations I had never before experienced was amazing in and of itself. But the meeting of people I had never met before, some of whom had alien worldviews compared to mine, and exchanging those worldviews with one another, was the epitome of the “effectual stretch.”

The “effectual stretch” meaning pushing oneself to learn and expand beyond what’s known and comfortable in a way that’s produces desired yet diverse effective results, whatever those results may mean to each person. It could mean the literal extremes of success or failure, or that fatty layer in between that gives sustenance to our tenuous journey of sinew and bone.

We’ve attempted to impress the same approach and attitude on our daughters, teaching them to be bold yet aware, to protect themselves but not live in fear, to keep getting back on the bull like they own the beast, horns held tightly in hands. This includes exposing them to travel, new locales and people, experiences that we hope will shape their adult lives and those they interact with for the better.

Listening to a recent Freakonomics podcast about empowering a better workplace and the cities where those workplaces are, which will take another article I'm writing in a tangential direction, I had to smile when I heard American economist and Harvard University professor Edward Glaeser talk about how he was taking a sabbatical while “…attempting to civilize my children by taking them to a variety of different cities.”

Yes, that's the idea of "civilizing" through the effectual stretch and why we're now taking the girls to the island of Manhattan and beyond this summer for our next family vacation. We've flown together already to visit my parents in Oregon and the Mama's family in the Midwest, flown to Sea World and the Zoo in San Diego, ridden trains together to San Francisco, ridden city busses in Santa Cruz, driven to Disneyland and back a couple of times already (and a few other road trips to visit our sisters in Nevada and Central California). And there have been a couple of international trips for me when I've extended the stretch of imagination for the entire B-hive by getting to go to Australia and more recently Ireland.

In every place any of us goes individually or as a family, the idea is to learn something new about other people and ourselves, and to suspend our disbelief about the lore of the land we're upon, especially for our girls. There ain't nothing wrong in believing in magical things. (And yes, I kissed the Blarney Stone in Blarney Castle.)

You can't get any more excited about something as magical as fairy doors. Really. The girls have been immersed in the Tinker Bell and her fairy friends reboot for a few years (great girl power stories by the way) and when my new friend, Gina London, whom I met in Ireland (an Emmy award-winning veteran CNN anchor and correspondent turned international executive communications consultant, one of many amazing people I met while there), told me about how her daughter Lulu adores the fairy doors, I just had to have them for Beatrice and Bryce. Fairies originated from European folklore and Celtic, Germanic and Greco-Roman beliefs.

These particular doors are made by the Irish Fairy Door Company and come complete with door, key and wooden steps for the front of the door. You then give your fairy a name, and this is how it went with us:

"Beatrice, what name do you want for your fairy?"

"Tinkerbell, because I love her."

"Bryce, what about you?"

"My fairy's name is Barry."

In all fairness Bryce most likely meant "Berry," but Barry is funnier, so that's what I'm going with. You also get a fairy lease agreement, which is really cute and comes with stipulations such as:

“If pets live with the home, please that they do not tinkle against the fairy door. Having a wee-covered door can cause your fairy to get quite upset.”

You then find a place for the doors in your house and decorate around them, leave the keys out overnight, and if they're gone in the morning, the newly named fairies are the family's new friends and will visit regularly. Tinker Bell and Barry not only have new homes within ours, but they have the makings of a new fairy garden in the backyard courtesy of Bryce. And yes, the fairies have visited more than once already.

What the Mama and I love about the whole idea is how stretches their imaginations and gets them excited about new experiences both near and far. Ever since we met one day at the beach nearly 18 years ago, it’s been one new experience and growth opportunity after another. Not always travel related, and certainly not always successful, it’s been more about having an explorer’s mentality and approach to the mindful and agile living of the effectual stretch.

That is the gift the Mama gave to me and now our girls, and I couldn't be more thankful and grateful. Here's an excerpt of a poem I wrote her on my way home from Ireland that sums it all up:

The moment we met that day on the beach became a stunning ache
That has never left me — the soft light of your moving presence, 
A welcome sun that never fails to rise and lift my heart, hold it high 
In the sky and remind me this is how it feels to live life with love,
To be in love, to live boldly and burn brighter with the happy ache of 
Never wanting to be without, for that would mean we were never real, 
that our fated meeting had never happened, our heartmeld fusion that had
Never transformed two halves into two wholes, birthing two celestial
bodies locked in each other's gravity, a brilliant sun and moon, lovers 
And friends who can't look away from one another, who look out for
One another, who live life unabashed and empower their children in kind...

Happy Mother's Day, Mama. We love you.

Missed on Mama Day

Dear Mom,

Guess what? I take a lot of family pictures and video, just like you always did.

And now I truly understand why -- you and Dad are missed.

We love you. Happy Mama Day.

--Kevin

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.

God bless the Mama

It's the reactions to and reflections of the Mama that move me the most.

Although the B-hive's trust and love of the Mama are conditional -- meaning that  without the Mama's trust and love they most likely wouldn't grow and mature into unconditional adults -- the bonds of mother and child can and should be impervious to mistrust and hate.

This isn't always the case, but with us it is. Of course it also doesn't mean there aren't times when the Mama is tired and frustrated and needs a break. We must all pay respects to our cellular screams and shouts, there's no getting around that, Mama or Daddy alike. Responsible parenting is an 24/7 overtime job, but the intangible benefits of making the world a better place one moment at a time are exceeded only by experiencing the moments themselves.

When watching our girls interact with the Mama, and her with them, I feel like a Daddy anthropologist in the field taking notes on how to be a better parent. Hey, I do okay, and if I was with them all as much as she is with them, then I'm sure I'd do even better, which is why again I'm fascinated watching our family participate in life.

There's a level of patience inherent in the Mama (and mothers everywhere) that takes a lot more energy for me to measure and match. The adage of soothing the savage beast couldn't be truer when one of the girls is melting down before bed for example (or both at the same time; when one catches fire usually the other bursts into flame as well). Within minutes the raging fires are out, almost as if the Mama love is kind of an elephant tranquilizer extinguisher when necessary. (And it is, because I've experienced it myself.)

When people tell us, "Just wait until your girls are older" -- we think, "We are waiting because we're here with them today, not pretending it's tomorrow."

Our own mothers and sisters as well as mothers before them and since have had a resilience and adaptability to daily circumstance in nearly infinite settings, unrivaled domain expertise of which most others can only dream about.

God bless the Mama. Happy Mother's Day! I love you!

Happy Mother's Day, Mom

It's hard to listen to someone you love die a little more each time you talk. Especially when you know her as well as I do, who for almost three decades has lived with a rare genetic disease called Porphyria as well as having multiple back surgeries, chronic pain from various syndromes, and other bodily dysfunctions, breakdowns and depression that are interconnected like a rusted chain anchored to the bottom of a red tide sea.

It's hard because for the longest time the collective "we" felt that some of this could've been prevented with lifestyle changes and taking better care of herself. But although today I still made recommendations of taking it easier, today was the first time that I conceded to this fact: that I can't change a thing at this point, only listen and love and do what I can to help.

However, no matter where I'm at with it all, it's still hard to comfort someone in such a broken physical and emotional state, especially when that someone's your mother.

A beautiful mother who's strength and courage survived over 12 years of domestic violence with two little kids to care for, my sister and me.

A loving mother who finally found the man of her dreams, only to have their love's foundation rocked multiple times with his unfortunately stroke, heart and lung problems over the years.

A proud and stubborn woman who always wanted the greater family to appear as such, a family, at any and all costs.

A caring grandmother who loves my sister's kids as her own, who was devastated when we weren't going to have children, and then just as devastated when distance and illness relegated her to phone calls and Skype video chats with the B-hive.

A faithful servant of God, even in the moments of destructive doubt and belittled will to live, which seem to be coming more frequently now.

I don't have the same faith as her, and even though I tell her I pray for her, which I do, I'm just not convinced of God's intervention in our physical world. Don't call me faithless, though; love and hope and humane action are faith enough for me.

And speaking of faith, this morning I looked through my photos and I found an old one of my mother with my beloved childhood dog, an Australian shepherd named Poco.

These were two things I loved the most as a child (besides my little sister, of course). The two things that kept me grounded and safe in the otherwise violent dysfunction we grew up in.

When we left my birth father, we had to leave Poco as well. That was hard for a 9-year-old boy.

As I fly across the county tonight, I know I'm losing my mom a little each day, and that's hard for a 45-year-old man.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you and miss you.

And I'll keep praying for you.

The Mama spice makes everything nice.

She's the kicker. The zing. The zest. The spice of our lives that's the best.

The Mama.

Yes, I'm subjectively bound by my immense love for this woman, but hear me out.

I remember holding her up as the morning wore on in what would become Beatrice's room, Mama leveraging gravity to bring Bea into our world, summoning a spiritual strength no man has ever experienced nor understood.

Exhausted, helpless and I frustrated, I selfishly channeled anger at those who judged us for not wanting children.

Unproductive as it was, I couldn't help it; then there was the flip-side of the red hot coin bouncing from ear to ear, those who judged us for wanting children.

Her labor welled again and echoed around us, bringing me back to the moment of Mama, midwives and the arduous journey babies have to make.

Early that evening, there was Bea.

I don't want to disparage anyone, though; we love our family and friends and they love us and we wish our mothers the happiest of Mother's Days.

But when I watch my wife with Bea, full with Bryce child, I know she's all in, without compromise or complaint.

As I fly home from a work event, longing to be home, I roll the word's around in my mouth I wrote early this morning:

Empower yourself; empower others; be the lead.

Something she taught me that a long time ago. The Mama spice makes everything nice.

Happy Mother's Day Mama!

Mama brews the bonds of love
with B-soup spice, a taste above.
And in no other place we'd rather dine
than all as one, sipping Mama wine.

Happy Mother's Day!

And what a great weekend it’s been so far!

I was so incredibly happy that my lovely wife and beautiful Bea got to join me yesterday for the Human Race. I raised some awareness in helping to prevent domestic violence, and over $500 for the local non-profit Women's Crisis Support ~ Defensa de Mujeres, whose mission is to end domestic violence and sexual assault by providing intervention and prevention services in a culturally-sensitive way. I did this on behalf of my mother (love you Mom) and mothers around the world who have experienced spousal abuse.

As I tweeted and posted on Facebook Saturday morning – I awoke to the Human Race with a glass half-full of hope.

What a glorious morning for a 7K walk/run! Beatrice was not diggin’ the first half of the race in the jogging stroller, but she warmed up when we put her in the Bjorn.

To date I don’t think I’ve experienced a prouder moment (and I have so many more to come!).

A special thank you to all those who support my cause, either monetarily, voluntarily or in spirit.

Today was a grand Mother’s Day as well! I made Amy a Mother’s Day video that highlighted our journey into parenthood from pregnancy announcement to now. Lots of fun putting together and I’ll have many more of those to go. And there’s nothing finer than a pancake and bacon brunch extravaganza!

Other than Bea helping me make it for Mama for future Mother’s Days to come. Can’t wait for those messes.

Now we’re heading up into the redwoods for an afternoon stroll. (Earlier Mama wanted to go for another brief walk down the street, and I said we’re already going on one this afternoon. She paused, her voice dropping into a low growl, “I sit around the house and play with baby all day everyday, so I want to go for a walk. Now.” Needless to say we were out the door and down the street for some sun and cathartic emotional hopscotch!)

Happy Mother’s Day to all my family and friends!

Mom’s rock, especially the hot one I’m married to. Love you sweetie!