dealing with it

Friday evening we went on our very first hike here in New York (ok, Albany, to be specific). The weather worked out perfect: though rain/thunderstorms were expected, it rained in the late afternoon, clearing up the skies for the almost-solstice sunset-moonrise hike. We have never been to the Pine Bush Preserve but have heard about it so there was much to look forward to!

The Preserve is simply lovely, I can see us spending much time there! What "surprised" us were the mosquitoes. Not that we went unprepared. We have been warned of the enormous-sized mosquitoes here and we have brought along our anti-bug spray. But it really was something to see those huge mosquitoes swarming around us! It was dusk and their dinner time and I expect they must be licking their chops and thinking what a wonderful dinner we made! I have to admit even I felt a bit intimidated, though also relieved at the same time that we found a good DEET-free spray and it seemed to be working.

Still, it wasn't long before everyone started to do a "mosquito dance" of some sort, waving arms around our bodies to try to ward off the bug attacks, shaking our heads, stamping our legs and so on. I really admired how our guide reacted. She was very calm and informed us that we will encounter the mosquitoes and that we should also wonder why there are so many of them, what is out of balance? That was a very good question to ask- because we may well have a role in what was attacking us. Instead of doing the mosquito dance she kept on with what she was supposed to be doing that evening. I saw she got a couple of bites on her face but she was unfazed. She obviously was having a good time enjoying the surrounds and having the opportunity to show us the marvel of it all, and pointing out interesting things to us. I learned a lot from her calm reaction, her thoughtful words and her dedication.

Another thing that impressed me was when I called the preserve to make our reservation for the hike, I asked if they will cancel in case of inclement weather? I was told they do not normally cancel unless the weather was absolutely very bad, and then they will call. I was told we could choose not to show up, but they will continue with their program even if it rains. I recall too that the farmers market would be on, rain or shine. I guess with the weather here, people just do not let external factors stop them. Rain or shine, life goes on. If there is sun, enjoy it. If there is rain, enjoy it too, or carry an umbrella. If there is snow, go out and enjoy it too, just dress accordingly! This was another great thing I took away- we just have to make the best of it all.

We have so much adjustments to make. I think making the decision to go with the flow will be a wise one.

bullets

• when we find something we do not like, it is good, because it helps define what we like.
• Getting to know ourselves and our defined boundaries is not always an easy process.
• I find it really helps when I am unhappy about something to ask why it is so, and what need of mine is not being fulfilled. Then I can focus on how to fulfil my needs instead of focusing on that "thing" and fuming over it, which is most unproductive.
• Ultimately, things even out. You get some, you lose some. You just can't expect to have EVERYTHING.
• And ultimately, what is most precious to me, what do I need most? You three, close to me, safe and happy. That is all I need, everything else is really just secondary.

stop and be here now

It is so easy to tell others to be in the moment, to live now. It has to be a constant reminder.

I had to catch myself the other day because I realized I was making a lot of "if" and "when" sentences, like everything is in the future- the roses, the good life, the happiness. As I put away things I noticed small little details that I was not used to or that I really did not like, and so I will start a sentence with "When we have a house, it must not have.... it will not be.... it cannot have... it's gotta be...." Or I will go, "I am not going to live in a house that does not have...."

When I took two steps back, step out of my body and took a look of myself, I looked truly ridiculous. Oh my goodness. I don't think I could even bear to look at myself, or admit any connections with the woman pacing up and down the apartment, mumbling and whining and complaining. What a sight I was, only not very pretty.

I do realize that we will always be comparing. How things used to be this and that, in a better way. But it may not exactly always be "better", just what we were used to. I realize that making changes, even small habitual ones, can be a big step for the brain. Routines are good, safe, and requires little brain power. That is why I wanted to break out of my own rut. I felt like I was in a trench one thousand feet deep and I was getting very comfortable and I wasn't sure if there is anything still firing in my little head.

So we are here now and your father wonders why I can't just lean back and relax while driving. Well, it is because I am not used to the roads here and that keeps me on the edge of my seat. Which tires me out some days but I know given time I am going to one day be an old hand at this. You gotta believe me- didn't I just drive to the farmers market and home the other day without turning on the GPS system? I was so proud of myself. Still, everything is confusing to me and my brains are hurting trying to make connections and every time I am behind the wheel I am muttering a prayer that I do not kill someone that day while driving because I am trying to keep my eyes on the road, on signs, on the GPS, on people and jay-walkers, all at one go. My brains hurt, my eyes hurt, I think my ego ached a bit too.

Back to where I was about jumping ahead to the future where the perfect live resides. The perfect life is here, now. Yes, hopefully we one day have an activity room where we get to do fun, creative and crazy stuff, but even if we do not, we can still do fun, creative and crazy stuff. We can already start now, right in this apartment with the hardwood floors and expensive cabinetry. Yes, I admit it makes us nervous to see you kids walking around with anything in case you make a scratch or a mark or a dent, or ding, or dong, that will cost us our security deposit, but life cannot be shrink-wrapped. So I am just going to do my best to protect all surfaces while we create. It will make me go crazy but I am already halfway there, so why not.

I also want to take a moment to write down some things I am loving and appreciating, because all those petty whining have to stop.

• I love the large bathrooms in this apartment. They are larger than most baths we had seen when looking at houses!
• The ceilings are high and give a great sense of space.
• I also love the tall windows that let in a lot of light and allows me to admire the green tree tops outside.
• The overcast days remind me of the lazy afternoons I used to enjoy when growing up in the tropics.
• We have a good internet connection which allows me to communicate with friends and family with ease.
• The drawers in the kitchen are great- you can't slam them. They have this anti-slam mechanism that makes it close by itself slowly even if you push it hard. I love watching that.
• I love the green field across the apartment and that you can safely run around there.
• Though the farmers market is smaller, we can find food we want to get easily.
• People in general have been helpful and welcoming.
• Not having a lot of stuff here helps clear my head and brings a sense of focus.
• The Asian supermarket is small but has all that we need, plus they have a bakery attached to it, and they sell the boba tea as well. Everything in one place!
• They do not have a time-of-use plan here so I can run the dishwasher and the washer/dryer anytime I want!
• Talking about what we are used to, the locals find this overcast/rainy weather "blah", but we are enjoying it, what a nice change from the heat!
• Best of all, these crazy days make us appreciate each other more, and what each of us bring to the family in our unique way.

teetering

I am sitting in a small living room with high ceilings, looking at the splattering of raindrops on the tall windows, and thinking how they look so pretty and sparkling as the street lamp shines on them. The same street lamp lit up the master bedroom bright as day but we have some curtains up now, which is a feat due to the high ceilings. We are living for now, in an apartment that used to be a school, a historical building converted into a luxury apartment, with hard wood floors and nice cabinets. It is the only apartment that will let us stay here short-term, while we hope for our old house to sell fast, so we can buy a new one here and settle in.

I still see boxes to be unpacked, though we are almost done. And then all the luggage also need to be unpacked, and there is more laundry and I have to figure out how to make everything fit and work in this small apartment, and how we have to make use of the only standing lamp we have.

I need to figure out our food options. I sort of know what we have here now, but they are not familiar choices (I can still remember the route I always make at our favorite Trader Joe's where what is shelved and even the height at which I need to reach my arm out in order to grab those bags of chocolate chips), and then there is the matter of balancing out all options and still keeping the food budget, and streamlining everything so I am not spending a load of time driving here and there just to get food.

We don't know when our old house will sell so I have no idea when we will buy a new house, and goodness knows when we will move in and then there will probably be weeks of unpacking and organizing. I think I read it takes about six months minimum to settle into a new place.

But last week we got our library cards here and that had helped us feel stable and grounded in many sense.

Through the blessings of the internet I have connected with a few local moms, but we have not met yet and I know you are rather impatient to meet some local kids. I am working on that, trust me.

Tonight the apartment is starting to feel like home, we were able to eat our first home-cooked meal in weeks and we all felt rather relaxed with most things unpacked, we even watched a bit of TV. And then my thoughts turned to how everything needs to be upheaveled again in a few months. Moving to a new place, organizing the new space, and figuring out the surroundings again. It feels a bit tiring. It feels like there is so much movement and action, and I yearn some stability, even stillness. I just want to sit and be.

Which reminds me of my deliberation about "balance" several years back. I felt balance is not a static state, but a very dynamic one. The tight-rope walker is balanced because she keeps making small adjustments left and right, front and back, being still seems to make her tip. To find balance in life we need to experience such tippings and inbalances... we know we are out of balance because something is too much or too little. Then we make adjustments and then we come to a point where we feel safe, comfortable, peaceful and happy. But such states never stay for long. I can remember so many times in life I have said to myself, I think I've got this figured out now! only to find I need to make changes again, and adjust yet again, and while at that time all those adjustments can be scary, or annoying, they seem to always do something good to me. They crush my ego a bit more, and train my patience a bit more, expand my world a bit more, and make me realize better what I want or do not want in my life.

Of late I am a bit obsessed with our food options. I am faced with the challenge of somehow maintaining our budget and food choices without the familiar shopping choices. i am still garnering information and weighing choices. It makes me impatient, because the old familiar way was great. I had a routine down pat and I can drive with my eyes closed to all our regular shopping spots, but now I am relying on the GPS and everything is just different. I hope you bear with me while I figure it all out. And hopefully we will eventually settle not too far from this apartment so whatever I spend the next couple of months figuring out will not all be gone to waste. At least tomorrow when I hit the farmers market again I already know which stalls I will be making a beeline to, and I have a mental list in my head and soon we will just be friends and now new customers.

I have to confess every time I come into a situation where I need to make adjustments I am not always happy about it. It is true I wanted to get out of my own rut and challenge my senses and capabilities but I will also admit like tonight I just want to sit and stare at the pretty sparkling raindrops on our windows, or just snuggle into our old couch and read a book. I do grumble. I whine. I feel scared also sometimes, or impatient. But I also know I have to let all these feelings come to surface and let them all bubble up and over, and then through all these I will find my will, my strength and my humor and then everything will be ok. Amidst all these craziness (or nonsense, or crap, as I have often said of late) there is always a bigger perspective we hang on to. No matter what, at the end of the day, even when everything had gone wrong wrong wrong, when we are still all together, I really don't care that we had to sleep on beach towels because the movers put our bedding box into storage.

I do wonder when I will say NO MORE TEETERING AND NO MORE CHANGES AND NO MORE ADJUSTMENTS. Maybe when I get sick of moving, maybe I just grow old and want to surround myself with chocolates and books and live next to a mango plantation and I don't care a damn about new places anymore. Maybe one day the only new I want is a new word, a new novel maybe. I am not sure if that will be a sad day or a good day when it comes, it all depends on perspective I guess. Right now, I know I am teetering and it is challenging, but I am going to do it. You have been most great and patient and amazing the past weeks, you made the teetering easier and keep me going. I love you, even when I am the crankiest mom in the whole wide world. After gamely going along with me all day, every night you sleep like a log and I love to see your peaceful faces and half-opened mouths, curled up without a care in the world. I want to sleep like that, coz teetering can be so tiring, but I think this is what I will keep doing, coz it is all so worth it!

goodbye Arizona

Goodbye, Arizona.

Here, I gave birth to four children, and now I leave you, taking three with me, holding hands, and one I hold in my heart. So many lessons here, thank you.

I remember when I first arrived here. The space was so different from what I was used to: so flat, vast, gray and brown. So unfamiliar, and I was scared and unsure. I did not drive and I did not see how I could walk to places, and my feet always yearn to touch the ground. I remembering peering out of the car window most curiously on our drive from the airport, trying to see if I will spot the saguaro blossoms that I had read about. I tried to feel for the pulse of the desert, but I failed.

First I learned where to get food. Next, where the post office was, and then the library, then the parks. Slowly, I made friends, and got to know people.

I noticed the houses were so brown, the earth so gray and dry. The leaves so small, the blossoms sometimes very reluctant. I missed the rain, large foliage and huge exuberant and colorful flowers. I shuffled my feet, impatient and puzzled at the lack of life here.

It took me some time but I realized that the desert is very much alive. It is not a neglected place, but it demands you to open your heart and your eyes at the same time. It requires that you have a deep curiosity and determination if ever you wish to experience the wonder of this place. It is not an overnight process, this unfurling of the heart and opening of the eyes, but everything takes time in nature, and so it is.

We've seen and done wonderful things here. We've experienced that the desert has much to offer, only we need to be attentive, and listen and look, and stop and breathe. If people have managed to live here for such a long time, then it is because they have learned to live with the uniqueness of this place, they adapt. They listened intently to the songs of nature and they danced in step.

I was truly humbled and amazed. I realized that the problem was not the desert, nor the tiny foliage that drove me nuts; neither was it the shades of never-ending brown's. It was my arrogance, thinking my environment needs to bend backwards and give me what I desire.

I bring away many wonderful memories of our hikes, our delightful discoveries and our songs on the hiking trails. I hear still the splash of the water when we arrived at the water-holes and I can hear still the animal sounds at night in the desert. I leave with deep gratitude of all the friends I have made here for their beauty and generosity, and their humor and of course I will recall fondly the collective groans during the summer months. I am thankful for all the people who have crossed our paths, even those who did it only once. Sometimes once is enough for a long-lasting impression that never fades, like that rattle-snake we once happened upon.

I know that these last days saying goodbye had been difficult, and sometimes I wonder where had your excitement for a new home gone? But the truth is that this is hard for me as well, I am just not having enough mind-space to process it all, and I can tell you that I feel intimidated that I am going out there where no one really knows me, and I wish i could just stay here and be surrounded by people who already know who I am and where I know where to get what I need. See, it's htat comfort zone thing again.

Hopefully we will remember the lessons that the desert has taught us and that the richness she had offered us will continue to fertilize the soil of our minds and hearts. I have high hopes that the friends we said good bye to will not disappear even as we physically leave this place. And in our new home, we shall remember to keep our hearts and eyes open, and listen.

first times

A good cook knows that it's not what is on the table that matters,

it's what in the chairs.

Ultimately, perhaps what I wrote about the valuable constant of family is really true. So I don't know when the packers swiped the stuff on top of the cabinet and just packed them (and thankfully my driver's license is not on there, but goodness knows what we had left there!), and if we will be fortunate we will get to unpack all of our material possessions in our new home a few months down the road, but the most important thing: every evening we will sit down to dinner and we will look around the table and see each other. Yes, we may be irritated and annoyed at each other more often these days and patience is not exactly in over-supply, but deep within, I sigh with relief and gratitude that I have you all here with me, eating the soggy take-out.

And yes, having said quite some good-bye's the last days, we regret we cannot take our friends with us, and I know you wish we could send the packers over to your friends' houses and have them round up your wonderful play-mates. We cannot do that, but we can take away the friendship, and keep it going. 

Speaking of friends, a friend shared a most refreshing way of looking at a move. She told me every time she had to go to a new place she would think: "Wow, there is just this great person there that I would have a wonderful time with and we will get along really well, and though we've never met I am going to meet her now."

I thought that was a positive way to look at our move, and get excited about the people we are going to meet, the friendships we are going to make. I also wondered what connections could be made between all the people we know. Some of my best friends now were introduced to me by mutual friends, and perhaps some of our friends will eventually become best of friends too!

As I said goodbye to our friends the last days, I had spent quite some time indulging myself in memories. I thought of a lot of "first times" and how I met all these wonderful people here in Arizona. I recall my first questions to them, the first jokes we shared and the first things we did together. The first times we discovered our similarities, our differences, our pet peeves and our common delights. You are going to have a lot of these "first times" too, even if you do not realize it then.

We are going to experience a lot of "first times" together as we set about learning about our new home, meeting new people and making new experiences.

It is true, "first times" are exciting, but they can be a bit scary too. It is not always easy for me to approach someone and introduce myself and make friends; I do not have that kind of personality to say, "Hi! I think you are going to like me very much because I am simply, the most awesome person in the world." I have my concerns and reservations, and yes, I am afraid of rejections. I remember reading to you from a book about making new friends in a new place, that one should just extend one's hand and say, "Hi! My name is XYZ and I am 4 years old! What's your name?" And you looked at me and wondered if I was telling a joke. -- could it be that easy and straight-forward?

Well, I guess it could be, and then there will be times when things do not work out quite as well or as magically. But sometimes I also think some friendships are just meant to be. We shall find out, bearing in mind that to make good friends, you need to be one first.

Some years down the road, we will be looking back on all these "first times" and I am sure you will be very proud and glad with all those first attempts that you dared to make.

comfort and familiarity

I will tell you a secret. When I was a graduate student in Hong Kong, I often came in touch with foreign exchange students, mostly coming from the United States. I observed that often they were excited to be in the exotic Orient, but also that they often complained that they could not find the things they were familiar with. Once I went with a couple of them to Beijing and they were absolutely exhilarated to finally be able to eat a meal at McDonald's. I listened to their complaints about how things were different and how things were in the US, and secretly I snorted at them.

I thought, "Well, if you want all those things, why didn't you just stay home? If you came here to experience and learn something different, then you ought to expect very different things!"

Oh, talk about youth and arrogance!

Well, what was one of the first things I did when I learned about our move? I went and check if they have the following in Albany: Trader Joe's. Whole Foods. Costco.

And the answers: NO. NO. NO.

Did I panic? YES. Was I overcome with a sense of dread? Er, yes.

I mean, what about those chocolate-covered almonds with sea salt and turbinado sugar? And the sprouted wheat bagels? And the delish Thai dumplings? Organic roasted chicken that had rescued our dinner many a time? And I have never bought wet wipes from anywhere else but from Costco.

You asked if they will have a library as great as our beloved Sunset library? I wondered the same.

I have been thinking how long it will take for me to get used to all the roads, and figure out how to drive there, and how difficult will it be for me to source out staple foods that we will all be happy about.

Ah, familiarity and comfort. We all crave that. We all need that.

This is why foreign students cramp their luggage full of foods from home and loving mothers (and grandmothers) labor to fill containers and jars with home-made curry paste and chili paste that can never, ever be found in that other foreign country. Home is the best, home-made even better. Being able to take a piece of home with you (including tattered blankets and old stinky pillows) is even better. Security blankets come in all forms and shapes (and smells).

Do you remember that evening when I righteously expounded upon the need to move beyond our comfort zone? To explore the new, and expose ourselves to unfamiliar circumstances and test ourselves? Remember when I boasted that I will even survive harsh winters, and maybe even thrive in it?

Oh well, it is time for me to take the examination now. I am going to be put to the test. And I know you are watching, maybe even silently snickering. (And that is why I have quietly vowed that I am not going to whine about winter, even if it will stretch out six months long. Heck, I will get some Huskies and go sledding around the neighborhood, or fashion a similar sport.)

I know you will watch closely if I burst into tears not finding my familiar condiments and foods I enjoy.

Or maybe we will all delight in the farmers' market's offerings and make fast friends of the employees at that co-op that everyone seems to be talking about.

I know you will listen intently to my sighs, or even my curses when things do not go smoothly and I just wish there are a few familiar things around so I can just relax and lean back.

Hopefully I will not forget to hang on to my sense of adventure, and together each time I lose my way (yet again) we will discover something new and delightful, or maybe find that there is indeed something familiar.

You know, years ago when I traveled on my own I always went with the notion that there were more good people than bad, and that I will always somehow chance upon a helpful and kind soul. And indeed I had been lucky many times. I still want to believe in that notion, even though I am older now and not feeling as naive. Hopefully, that belief will still act like a good luck charm.

But honestly, you are my good luck charm. You are the comfort that I will hang on to as I learn to relax my grip on the steering wheel. You have no idea how much your are buoying me along. You are why I will rise to the occasion when all I want to do is cower, hide and whine.

To our adventures. Beyond the comfort zone.

last times

As the time for us to leave Arizona draws closer and closer, I began to notice more intently how I am doing things for the last time. Starting from when we collected eggs from our "egg-man" for the last time, I thought to myself maybe I ought to make a list of the dates of all the last times we do things here: last visit to the library, last trip to the post office, last park day, last purchase at Trader Joe's, last load of laundry. But goodness, I am not having the time (and mind) to keep track of all these! But I do look at the environment around us more closely and think to myself, "This is one of the last times you are going to see this, look! Look! I know you are going to miss them when you no longer get to see them."

I thought of how the small foliage of the flora here sometimes drove me crazy, when I thirst and longed for large green leaves (big enough to wrap you in) and enormous exotic blooms. But I know I am going to miss the beautiful bronze of the ironwood, and the amazing century plants, and the ocotillo plants. And the cactus flowers. And I know you will miss the saguaro cactus. And we will miss the amazing sunsets and so many other things.

So I looked, and bid silent farewell's, and ruminated.

The truth is, we never really know when the last time will be. The recurring lesson in life is that you never know, and therefore it is best to treasure what we have now. Laugh now, live now, love now. Say "thank you" now. Do it now. Life is not a series of postponements, or waiting for the "right moments." There is no perfect moment, except now.

saying goodbye

I see how difficult it is for you to say goodbye.

As you said, this is the first time in your life that you are leaving behind all the friends you have ever, ever made.

I understand, I really do, even though you think I do not.

I am finding it hard too. Especially going somewhere where we basically know nobody.

But we are always arriving, and we are always leaving, whether we are aware or not, whether we want it or not.

I kept thinking about how we never got to say goodbye to our little Ferdinand. No hello, no goodbye. That still hurts me to the core, even though every time I think of it, I try to let it go a little bit. This will also be the first year I will remember Ferdinand's birthday without friends around me. Not that I have sobbed on a friend's shoulder on that day ever, but it still makes a big difference, knowing someone will be there, if I would just say the word.

Being able to say goodbye is good. Being sad in saying goodbye, is good. This means we have made good friends; this means whom we are saying goodbye to is precious.This means we have made connections, and those can last a long time after goodbye's have been uttered, sobbed, whispered, or yelled.

I just hope we will get to say proper goodbye's when the time comes. My biggest fear as a mother is that I will not get to say goodbye to you. Every time I drop you off for a class, I drive away with a prayer, that please, no one will get me in an accident that kills me instantly. It just breaks me to think that you will be waiting for me to pick you up as promised, and then waiting, waiting, and waiting. First impatient, then annoyed, then scared. Then the kind stranger appears and takes your hands and tells you there is bad news.

I do not want it like that and I wish with every fiber of my being that will never ever happen. I will try my utmost best to prevent it. But as we know, sometimes we have no control.

That's why every meeting is so precious, and every moment so begging to be treasured. I know that is easy to forget. Especially in the past days, when I feel I only have this much time, and this much patience.

I have to keep reminding myself, treasure it now. Now, now, now. Not till after we settle in, not then. It is now.

As we say our goodbye's, let's remember all the wonderful good times, let's hold each moment with tenderness and gratitude, it will make our onward journey full of joy.

leaning into fear, relaxing in the face of it

Dear girls,

as you saw yesterday, I embarrassed myself on the trapeze yesterday morning. (Even though you were all so kind about it, telling me I looked great, even though I was like a fish out of water!) Your father and I bought the tickets to the class, thinking we would do it as a date, but as it turned out, we did not have much time to use it due to our move. Your father was not sure how his back will respond to the trapeze, and together we decided I will do the class with Sophia.

Boy, was I scared when I climbed up that long and narrow ladder the first time to get to the platform! It seemed like it took forever to get there and even while standing on the very firm platform I was not convinced or secure. I was nervous but was told "nervous is fine!" I gave myself the permission to chicken out if need be, but I did not. I wanted to try. After all, I had nothing to lose. I could just fall and the net is just beneath, even though it looked like it was a million feet away. Sure, the others sitting around watching or my "classmates" could snicker but we are moving away and really everyone was focused on who they came with so I didn't feel I need to perform ballet in air to the (imaginary) audience.

The first time was the hardest because I kept thinking of all the things that could go wrong. And then I was in the air and those "professors" were right: I just had to LISTEN and respond right away and everything would go as they said it would. When I hesitated just a spilt-second to release my hands from the bar I immediately felt how everything got "heavier" and required more effort. Thankfully, I could always wait for the next swing and when the command came again, I let go, and viola! I was hanging upside down by my knees, looking down at the net and my head was not even spinning. It felt pretty awesome, even though there were several things I could fine-tune on and improve (like not looking like a three-tiered wedding cake hurtling through air).

I thought this class was perfect during this time, when we are going through this move and I am feeling both excited and quite, quite nervous. This class taught me to lean into the fear. If I just let go of it, it truly can do nothing to me, and I could literally just fly. Even when standing on the platform, one arm on the rope, and the other on the bar, preparing for the take-off, one is asked to really lean into that vast empty (and scary) space before her. Trying to lean back on the platform makes take-off clumsy, if not dangerous. Chest out, hips forward, the "professors" kept repeating. Chest out to tell fear "I'm not afraid. I'm facing you squarely." It makes the fear dissolve, even if just a little bit. Hips out to bring the body even further into the space, and while it seems to make it easier to fall off the platform (god forbid!), it actually makes take-off easier, and more graceful. If I did both of that, and took a deep breathe before I hear the shout of "Hep!" (circus code for "go!") I knew it was going to be OK. Alright, so once I started off really well and then brought my legs over way too far and almost rotated 360 degrees and essentially was let down in an awkward position, so what? People told me I looked "cool." (According to your father, indeed so, until er, I had to come down in that same position instead of flipping down.)

In any case this is what I took away from my trapeze class:

• The first time is always the scariest. But that is only because you are not aware of how MUCH you are capable of. Usually you are capable of far more than you think you can.
• Even if timing is crucial, there is often (almost always) a second chance.
• But you need to grab at that chance.
• Falling is ok. (Yes, I got scratches, skin burns and bruises, but like you told me, "They are going to heal in no time, mom!")
• Focus on what needs to be done, and forget fear.
• Fear consumes a lot of energy.
• To fly, you need to lean into that empty space.
• Until you lean forward, nothing will happen. 
• No one can put the fear in you. Only you can allow the fear in you.

I did not get the certificate from the trapeze school because I rubbed off a large piece of skin from my palm and could not move on to the "catch" segment (and you need to do a "catch" to obtain that certificate). I was bummed about it, but really I took away more than what a certificate can give me. The certificate will say I did a "catch" there but I did more than that during those two hours. While battling the sun beating down on us, I observed all three of you for one of the last times under the Arizonan sun, grateful we are together. I discovered I have my fears and that I could overcome it, even if not completely (my heart still beat like crazy every time I climbed up to the platform, but I did not feel like dying anymore). I experienced the exhilarating feeling of leaning into fear and then abandoning it.

I am looking forward to us going on more adventures like this. Now that you are older we could go zip-lining, have a lot of fun and experience that unique feeling that is the exhilaration of joy after fear has been overcome. I know you have so much in you.

And I will love to be there to watch you fly, every time.

(And thank you for being so supportive of me when I tried to fly.)

Much love,
mama

the "just in case" mentality

Right now, there is stuff everywhere: on shelves, in boxes, on the floor, in my brain folds.

Some await their ride to Goodwill, some anticipate being sold at our yard sale, some boxed up waiting to get on a moving truck.

Whatever it is, it's a whole lot of stuff.

Some are very useful, others essential. Some we keep because we do not want to spend money buying new ones, or can't afford getting a better-quality one yet. And then there are a good number who fall under the "just in case" category.

That is of my doing. I have this "just in case" mentality that I am trying to get rid of.

You know: cart around cardigans in the car in the summer just in case we go someplace where the air-conditioner had been cranked up too high. Lugging along umbrellas when there is a 0.1% chance of showers. Bringing sweaters, thick leggings and oh yes, a jacket when we go on a trip, just in case inclement weather finds us (You just never know. You better bear this advice in mind. Your mother told you so: You. Just. Never. Know.). Too much food and snacks just in case you get very hungry. Your dressers all contain an extra few sets of clothes just in case some unforseen circumstances require you to have three extra set of clothes. And so on and so forth.

I am very determined to pare down and in general I am not an old sentimental rag so I can give away, donate and sell stuff pretty fast and easy. But oh, that just in case mentality. It will do me in.

Don't I need a few extra birthday gifts on hand in case someone invites us to a party that happens the very next morning at 7am, before the stores open? You need an extra set of oil pastels, because you may just run out tonight. An extra half dozen of underwear? Of course, you never know when they may come in useful. Oh, and this pen that we all like? They may not manufacture it anymore in three months but hey,we will have a dozen of it because I have already bought extras, just in case.

Why am I embarrassing myself here?

Well, I am not embarrassed at all. I just think ahead, am a bit neurotic, and like to be prepared.

And I am prepared to change. I want to adapt, go with the flow, and just be. Enjoy the moment without fear, and welcome surprises. Allow for tiny "disasters" so we can laugh about that later. Open up opportunities, make space for new things, new possibilities.

I am not going to throw all caution to the wind, but I will relax some more. I think it will be very good like this.

what is constant

In the book I am reading about moving with kids, some families soothe the ache of parting with friends by telling their children that "no matter what, we are always a family, and we are always together." Some even venture to go so far to say that no matter what, you will always have your family with you.

Hmph. I am not so sure.

Especially on days when you bicker, fight and spit bitterly at each other, I wonder if the fact that you are family and that you are always stuck together offers you comfort. To be fair, you also support and care for each other in the most beautiful way, but I' afraid this "family as a constant" proposal may not always sit well with you.

I am just waiting for the day when you hiss, "But I did not get to choose my family!" Ouch.

No, which makes this a mysterious and (sometimes) wonderful thing. By some weird force of nature, we came together as a family. By some coincidence your father and I met and we decided we would torture love each other to the end of our lives, and we decided to have a family, and we had the four of you. We wondered so much about each of you before you were born: how you will look like, how you will act, how you will be. You are each a mysterious gift, and this is what makes us being a family unique and special. Maybe we did not choose it, but that happened and now, well, we are stuck together, for good.

I also thought about how I can provide some sort of a "constant" for you during this chaotic and crazy time of preparing for the big move. I am trying to still bake once a week so we have home-made baked goods and snacks. I am trying to cook when I can, though I have declared that eating frozen meals or take-out is going to become a regular feature. Your father tries to keep up with the bedtime story and I am doing my best to keep up with my share of story-reading (but those times are dwindling, I know, and I apologize sincerely. I miss us reading together too!). I have succumbed to the snappy alligator in me sometimes and I am trying to keep my mood on an even keel. (yoga, breathing, chocolates.)

Not surprisingly it had not been easy trying to be constant, it is a complex equation involving sleep quality, amount of caffeine in my blood stream, how much control I exercise over myself and... discipline. But I am trying and I will keep trying, every time I fall off-track. I appreciate your reminders and your telling me that I had been nasty sometimes. Thank you. You are the constant in my life right now, I love it. Thank you.

go forth with heart

Indeed I was the one championing a move. I lectured about the need to get out of our rut and submit ourselves to something different to challenge ourselves. I even bragged that I would not complain if we move someplace cold (and I do not like the cold, period) or odd, or whatevers, coz how else will we open our eyes, heart and mind wider, and grow? I was the drum-beater, the ass-kicker, the trumpet blower.

Now, in the midst of the moving process, I realized I have overlooked one tiny little detail.

I'm sorry, but we can't pack our beloved friends along, we cannot take along our community with us and worst, we have to say goodbye.

Well, maybe not a small detail, but honestly it is something I have been pushing to the back of my thoughts, trying to squish it so it's kind of small. I was trying to postpone it, dreading it, and downright hating to have to shed tears when we say goodbye to our friends.

And I'll confess to you: I am nervous and scared. Heck, what if people do not like me over there? What if they do not appreciate my humor or my quirkiness? How am I going to find new friends, and build a new community?

I guess, like we did it here, one step at a time. And I am going to take the lead and embarrass myself, but eventually we will make friends.

And at some point, sooner or later, we will say goodbye again.How heartbreaking is that?

But such is life, a string of hello's and farewell's. And every time we leave, we take away bits of heart, and leave behind little chunks of ours as well. This is the exchange of life, love and friendship.

I read in a book about moving with kids about a woman who had to move often with her family and she encouraged her kids to not make attachments, so that leaving will not be miserable. She herself, while deemed as a wonderful person, was lonely and detached, because she did not want her heart to hurt when her family needs to uproot yet again.

But either way, the heart hurts. The heart yearns to make connections, to find laughter, and tears. So we should go forth with all our hearts, to make friendships, connections and memories. Leaving is never easy, but it is a bit easier when your heart has something to tether itself to.

When I tear up at the prospect of having to say goodbye to my friends, I seek the tiny comfort that my sadness and dread is testimony to the beautiful and amazing friends we have here. What a wonderful thing that is! And as someone wise once said, the best way to make friends is to be one. Hopefully we all have been good friends to our friends as well!

And so, we'll go forth with our hearts. Do not be afraid to feel your hearts beat and do not fear that it may ache one day. Because it will.

reminder to myself

My dear girls,

I am probably not going to like it when you do this, but I am writing this so one day you can print it out and stick it in my face when I become unreasonable, nutty and obnoxious. Or, simply insecure that you are growing into your very own person.

On our homeschooling journey, we have faced many questions and challenges. Some have been friendly and concerned, others not so. I have endured many questionings from my family, and though I have endeavor with utmost earnest to answer their questions, I failed to bring them to an understanding that we are trying to do what is the best for you in the moment. I have been characterized as unrealistic (if not irresponsible) by wanting to find a "good" school for you (and my idea of a good school basically is one that provides for a well-rounded education, that regards you as a whole being and not a test-scoring machine; that you are to be nurtured and not molded), and by trying to teach you at home. Apparently I am not qualified despite my Masters degree and your father with his PhD is just chopped liver, for we are repeatedly told that you should be sent to school so you can "finally learn properly!"

I do not wish to antagonize relations between you and your extended family, but I do see that our decisions as parents regarding your education have come under attack because it was radically different to what they have experienced and known. And I know that one day, history will re-play itself, for life is often ironic and comic in this way.

So, one day when you come and tell me you are planning to do something that will be different from the way I handle it, or that you are going to be making a decision a world's different as I would, god forbid I do not jump through the roof, throw the dishwasher out the window, scream my hair off, or threaten you with a butter knife. I may resort to eating a copious amount of chocolates (dark ones only, of course), going on a wild night out on the town with similarly wrinkled friends, or embarking on a global shoe shopping spree, but I will remember not to tell you that you are oh-so-wrong because you chose different as I did.

I acknowledge that it will be hard, and may not be executed with much grace (if any), but I will try my best (it will help if cocoa beans are still in production).

Yes, yes, yes, I will remember that you do not belong to me, and that you have your own journey, your own path, and that I live forever with my heart in my mouth because you are my dear precious ones, but I will learn to let go so you can fly and soar. Oh, you may fall, but we all do. But I will not tell you "I told you so." Never ever.

Despite knowing that I will tremble with irritation at this reminder when you shove it in my face, I need to write it. I want to support you unconditionally, I want you to know you have limitless potential and that your world is larger than the boundaries of my thoughts and reason. Perhaps it is not my job to guide you, but rather you to show me the new, unknown, scary-but-exciting possibilities.

I really do love you and I know my mortal limits, so I write this nasty reminder to the future me, who probably will grow old, senile and sarcastic. I may claim that you forged this letter, but it is always worth a try to reason with your not-always-receptive old mother. If all else fails, just treat me to wine and chocolates every night, it should work rather well, a little sincere bribery cannot hurt. Remember: I only eat dark chocolates. (A mistake here could be life-threatening.)

You will find your path, it is your adventure.

Love love love,
your mother

99, one hundred

Some time ago, we received news that Ur-Oma's (your great grandma in California) health may be on the decline. She is 99-years-strong and we all hope she will get to have one hundred candles on her cake this December- wouldn't that be amazing?

There was a bit of denial when we emailed back-and-forth: oh she is strong, she is going to make it! She will be 100!

Of course, I hope with all my heart that Oma M will get to blow out one hundred candles on her cake. It will be a most grand celebration, imagine being guests of a 100-year-old birthday girl!

But what is most important is the quality of life. I hope she is enjoying every minute of it. And I hope you all get to enjoy every minute of your life. Life is not easy to come by, we know that. The Buddhists even believe one needs to undergo countless reincarnations before one can attain the human form. So, now that we've got it, let's treasure it and have a full blast.

I also could not help but think of how we all have our sights on that one-hundred, like it is a prize. It surely is an amazing achievement, but we all have to start from zero and get somewhere.

Instead of craning forward, I looked back. Oma M has had quite an amazing life and many stories to tell. She even has written a memoir that is now kept as a record with the California archives. She gave birth and brought up four boys first in Indonesia and then in Japan. She was a senior Olympics swimming gold medal winner. Like all people, she has her triumphs and her defeats, her shiny facets and her flaws.

It is certainly great to always reach higher, for the stars even. To always strive for higher, better, faster, stronger is not a bad thing indeed, but never forget to seek within, get in touch with your heart, and not forget that to reach for the stars so high, you need something to step upon, and all your life, you are building that ladder, yourself (and with some help, maybe a lot of help from others).

Go for it. You can if you want. If you can't, you have tried. Savor it all.

For my girls (the introduction)

My dear, dear children,

as if mama needs to start yet another blog. I already have three. One that chronicles my grief journey with your sweet little brother Ferdinand, one that (very loosely) chronicles our adventures in homeschooling (or just life in general) and one that attempts to capture recipes that we have tried and loved. And now I am adding one more-- WHY?!

Well, we are at a point of transition. After having lived here in Arizona for ten years, we will be moving to upstate New York. It is an exciting time, so much to find out, do, and prepare! Times of transition gives rise to active thoughts, and gave me much to consider and ruminate. I know I will not always have the time to grab you and sit down and talk and tell you about all these things that come across my mind (especially if it is at 2:34 in the morning) so I decided I will write them down.

And, maybe, if others find this blog and its contents resonate with them, there may be discussions, something I love. Other may input their wisdom and share their adventures too. I love it when people interact like that.

So, here we go.