On The Unexpected Contentment of Parenthood. And Living the Good Life.

Roman and Alex: chocolate-chippity-apple-pancake-style

 
I have one week to rearrange my daily life's paradigm.  One week to accept that my life right now is probably the easiest it will ever be.  In one week, a new person enters the world and enters our family and we embark on yet another, unique adventure in parenthood.  10 months ago I could not have told you this would be happening, but I can't remember ever feeling more sure that something was meant to be.  With this baby, this miraculous little person who nobody thought could be, cosmic divinity and fate has intervened in my perfectly planned life in a way that could not be more unexpected or more welcome.  And such is the pleasant but precariously balanced reality of parenthood, a delicate dance between serendipity, hope and determination.  I have rarely in my life experienced such contentment in the moment and such excitement for the future.

Everyone's entrance into the world is different, every pregnancy or adoption its own bubble of a world.  Roman's birth was unique in that it was our first, and he larger than life in both character and size.  Alexander's birth and entrance into our lives through adoption was in many ways the opposite of Roman's - we had two weeks' notice, total, for example - but no less filled with excitement and love.  Peace is a word that defines both his character and the feeling I had when I met him for the first time.  And now this third baby - the one true surprise I've ever had in my entire life (not kidding) - has brought a depth of appreciation for how blessed (and you know I never use that somewhat cliched word) we are beyond anything I could have guessed.  At this point in my pregnancy with Roman I was swollen, miserable and impatient.  I think by the time I was told I'd be having an emergency c-section I was almost relieved.  When we were matched with Alexander's birth mother I pretty much refused to believe it would work out until he was in my arms.  But with this baby I feel content, warm, fulfilled - and kind of in awe of how smoothly everything is going despite the fact that we've had a very stressful past two months.

The one thing all three of these welcomings into the world have in common is the unexpected.  They were all different, in the end, than we thought they would be.  And, actually, all of them were all the better for it. 

It's probably obvious and inevitable that I have been reflecting on motherhood and parenthood in general a lot lately - especially to anyone whose had a chance to talk to me.  In this last week, there's such a large element of wondering just how having a third child will change our family dynamic: wondering whether the brothers will all get along, what new level of madness the third dimension will unleash in the house, and what new depth of love and awe he will surely inspire.  There's no more concern for me about "how can I love him as much as the others" because I know now that there's limitless space to love your children in your heart as a parent, whether you have one or twenty.  In fact, the incredible reality that your heart simply grows with your family, and that you just can't help that, is perhaps the first real "unexpected" of parenthood.

There are other unexpected realities.  One such is the way that you are happy and willing to throw life into utter upheaval for the sake of a creature who screams when he's hungry and shows little appreciation for the world revolving around him.  You gleefully rearrange all the routine, predictability and calmness you've worked so hard to establish with your current children in order to welcome this little angel of a tyrant and never look back.

But I think the most unexpected thing is the level of contentment I feel right now at the hectic, crazy, wonderful and all-engulfing role as a mother.  I yell, I get cranky, I curse the gods, but at the end of the day - I feel damn good about choosing to be a mom, and about doing it with Matt.  I've never experienced anything even close to as rewarding or challenging.  And sometimes that gets lost in the quotidian complaints or the funny articles about the mind-numbing daily chores involved in raising miniature human beings who don't always "get it."  But it's never lost completely.  And it resurfaces relentlessly in all the unforgettable small things - like Alexander learning to twirl with his arms out in the kitchen with his brother and dad, like Roman laying in bed with us asking questions about our colleges and what it's like to live away from home, like watching the two go down the slide together and then smile at each other conspiratorially (not unlike Matt and I probably do on a daily basis).

The greatest happiness is living the life of your dreams.  Maybe 10 years ago people could not have guessed this life would be it for me - as wrapped up as I was in my jobs, my education, my self.  But looking back right now I can see no other road more worth the trip.  And I am so thankful for that.

Life's Parentheses.

The continental divide.

Funny about life.  Certain things are clear question marks, periods, or even exclamations.  Even ellipses, with their mystery, loudly make it all more interesting. 

But then there are other things.  Things and experiences that are as important as the declaratives, but maybe you just don't want to - or can't - say them out loud.  They are worth mentioning, knowing, absolutely worth remembering, learning from, even treasuring, but they need to be kept apart -- apart from the life that's lived out loud.  Kept forever inside a pair of parentheses.  A worthwhile, notable, pause right in the middle of life's story.

They are forever inside of the private, whispered little treasures of your heart and mind, indelibly a part of who and what you are.  But they need to be given a little private space of their own, held between your arms softly, quietly, and simply kept close to remember, remember, remember.

*  *  *

Parentheses

By: The Blow

Some philosophies fuel a belief in the self
Constructed to keep one's goods on one's own shelf
Built well you're a strong letter I
With the feet on the ground and the head to the sky
Now and then you can bend
It's okay to lean over my way
You fear that you can't do it all
And you're right
Even diligent day takes relief every day
From its work making light from the night

And when you're holding me
We make a pair of parentheses
There's plenty of space to encase
Whatever weird way my mind goes
I know I’ll be safe in these arms

If something in the deli aisle makes you cry
You know I’ll put my arm around you
And I’ll walk you outside
Through the sliding doors
Why would I mind?

You're not a baby if you feel the world.
All of the babies can feel the world.
That's why they cry.

*  *  *

May Day! May Day! Roman is 3!

Two little frogs.

With another May Day comes another similar, and ever-so-tangentially-connected-with-the-ancient-Romans, celebration of life: Roman's birthday.  Three-years-old and ever-growing.

This year we had a week-long celebration, it seemed.  My mom and step-dad were in town so presents flowed freely - not to mention the packages that kept coming from friends and family all over - and then at the end of the week, on Sunday, we had Roman's birthday party at a local gymnasium where the kids jumped in a bouncy castle, flung themselves into a giant foam-pool, and dazzled us with their giant parachute skills.  

Roman & his Pablo

It was a wonderful way to start a new year and new phase in Roman's life - enjoying more special moments with his best school friends and making more memories of Portland, the first city he is fully conscious of living in (and which he told me he "want[s] to stay FOREVER" in), before we move in June.

Roman's first three years have been a mix and mingling of many cultures, many impressions and many experiences.  While I am kind of resigned to the fact that he will only ever think he remembers most of those (for example, he claims he can remember all his friends and his house in London - you know, back when he was six months old!), I am also so glad that we have been able to document those moments and have them for him so he can know what an exciting and interesting and open life he has had the chance to lead so far.  But as he grows and becomes more independent and thoughtful, I face having to leave all those experiences and choices more and more up to him.  Sometimes he doesn't want to go to or do the things we want for him, and I suppose as a parent that struggle will probably continue forever and anon. Guidance and hope in equal measures are the tools of a good parent.

To that effect, I was struck by a quote I saw the other day, which encapsulates not only a theme but an aspiration I've held dear in my life and which I hope my son will one day ponder and find meaning in for himself:

"I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I ask myself the same question." Harun Yahya

Two weeks ago I was talking to a fellow parent about how wild these past several years of our lives have been: from University to New York City to Londontown to Abu Dhabi to Portland, ME (!) and now heading to our next (and hopefully long-term) adventure in Denver.  I think a lot of people think we're crazy for moving around so much - they certainly show shock and semi-hidden disapproval when I tell them we're moving again! - especially with a young child.  But I was telling him that because we have every intention of staying in Denver  long-term, I feel no qualms about having moved once every year of Roman's life up until now.  Because while others might see instability and constant change, I see opportunity within the comfortable confines of a stable family unit. Aside from the stability we will provide in his life as a family unit, what I want most for my son is the ability to be flexible, open, and adventurous in his life.  To allow life to come at him and be fearless in trying the things others might find too difficult or inconvenient or out of the norm.  I want to model a life for him that screams out "Go get your dreams!  Even if you don't know what they are, go out, don't be afraid - go find your life!"

Blowing out his candle at his party the other day.

This child of mine who some might think has been pulled to-and-fro at the whim of his parents "obsessed with moving" (can't tell you how many times I've heard that one put into euphemisms), with seeing the world, has seen, done and been exposed to so much beauty, culture, adventure and so many different mind-sets and beliefs.  We have always tried to show him that different is normal, that uniqueness can be a privilege, not a burden, and that to truly be happy, you must, somewhere deep inside, plant and grow the seeds of true acceptance, true curiosity and true love of world and mankind.  

Eating ice cream at Smiling Hills Farm in Maine

Before he was born, Roman had already swum in the Aegean, ridden mopeds all over the Greek Islands and traipsed about on the Tube all over London. 

Before he was one he had ridden through the Chunnel, traveled cross-Atlantic a handful of times, and had more stamps in his passport than I had until I was nearly twenty.  He played in English gardens, eating British strawberries and having clotted cream. 

Before he was two, he had played with camels in the world's largest expanse of desert, had friends from New Zealand, England, Syria, the UAE and Australia, and had Dairy Queen ice cream in Muscat, Oman.  He loved to eat dates, Labne for breakfast, and watched cartoons in Arabic every morning. 

Cape Elizabeth

 And in his third year, his first ever lived within the confines of his own home-country, he has become a lover of beaches, an eater of Lobster, an explorer, a runner, a cape-wearer, a puddle-jumper and player.  He has caught frogs and tadpoles, he has ridden through the snowy, Maine wilderness in a personal sleigh (being pulled by his father no-less), frolicked on the beaches of Ogonquit and Kettle Cove, screeched on his own race-track (the sidewalks of our neighborhood), and he has had the opportunity to become close to his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousin.

Cavenders in Dallas, TX with Ava

And yet, most days, he will sit in the living room and thumb through our picture album books, reminiscing about his "Abu Dhabi friend" Olivia and her brother Munch, or about his "London house" which he is insistent we go back and visit, or about the time we went to the desert and saw camels or about his "old school."  Those memories which he may or may not even know he had, are now there in his mind and heart as reality.  And much to my amazement and joy, he feels proud!  Proud of the crazy-back-and-forth life we have shared for these past three wonderful years.
And inevitably he will continue to ask: "Mommy can you read me the Abu Dhabi book again?"

I am so proud of him and who he is becoming.  He still mostly refuses to speak Spanish, but he will eat lobster, parmiggiano and fiddlehead ferns so I guess I can give him a break on the language thing.  :)  What an interesting little person Roman has turned out to be - I feel so lucky to be his mother and I can't wait to see what this fourth year has in store for us.

*  *  * 

Happy Valentine's Day 2012!

I found this beautiful nostalgic Valentine's wrapping paper
at a cool Portland stationary store: Papier Gourmet

Every year on Valentine's day I try to find an e. e. cummings poem to put in Matt's card.  I find his poetry so stirring, so beautifully composed and so unique.   

I just hate trite, overused and boring love poetry.  It's almost like a slap in the face to the idea of poetic expression.  That said, I see nothing wrong with buying things like pez dispensers and Russel Stover chocolates as a Valentine's Day gift.  Love doesn't have to be pretentious and expensive - it just has to be genuine.  And I don't care what crazy materialistic conspiracy theories the hipsters of Portland may spout - and I definitely do not agree with the decision by Roman's school to not allow Valentines or treats - I simply cannot find anything wrong with devoting one day a year to telling the special people in your life - friends, family, lovers - that you love them.  That's all.

Roman's Kermit Pez dispenser and gifts awaiting his return from school.

To that tune, this year I happened on a poem of cummings' that I'd never read, which is odd because I thought I'd read them all.  I didn't use this one for Matt's card but I loved it so much that I thought I'd offer it up anyway as a small inspiration for a day which, fantastically and quite simply, celebrates love. :)

* * *

dive for dreams

dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind)
trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward)
honour the past
but welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at the wedding)
never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for good likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth)
in spite of everything
which breathes and moves, since Doom
(with white longest hands
neating each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
-before leaving my room
i turn, and (stooping
through the morning) kiss
this pillow, dear
where our heads lived and were.

silently if, out of not knowable

silently if, out of not knowable
night's utmost nothing,wanders a little guess
(only which is this world)more my life does
not leap than with the mystery your smile
sings or if(spiralling as luminous
they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams,
less into heaven certainly earth swims
than each my deeper death becomes your kiss
losing through you what seemed myself,i find
selves unimaginably mine;beyond
sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears
yours is the light by which my spirit's born:
yours is the darkness of my soul's return
-you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars

- e.e. cummings