This Mama’s Dharma

This is a post of gratitude! Pure gratitude. My life is so full — it is bursting. I am so aware that I could be feeling terribly sorry for myself tonight –alone on a Saturday night…separating from my partner. But I can’t seem to muster up a shred of self-pity. Life is a wonderful, wondrous gift. How I’m loving it.

I am grateful for my phone conversation with A this morning, when she shared that she might have be in relapse from breast cancer and will need a biopsy to find out if a new growth is malignant. But instead of wallowing in fear, she is going to New York City to audition for a print ad (she is a print model and actress). What a way to bet on life. I told her I thought that her attitude of positivity would go far in helping her to stay well. May she be free of cancer, and if it is cancer, may she continue to walk through it with grace.

I am just grateful. Today a mama friend babysat Sami so I could go on the pre-arranged Mother’s Day Spa Day with my friends from my moms’ group. My moms’ group is such a touchstone for me, such a home base. The support and camaraderie are amazing, and I just adore these women! I would be friends with them even if we didn’t have kids the same age. How lucky I am to have attracted them into my life…

I am grateful that today a $200 check came in to help me offset the considerable (!!!) cost of Spa Day. And the contract for my new consulting job also arrived in the mail today as well. My life is becoming more and more abundant all the time and I am on the road to financial independence. It’s truly amazing.

I am filled with gratitude for my new body — one that I am not ashamed to let people see and touch. I connected with all the women who did treatments for me today, and it was so much fun talking to them. When I was 207 plus pounds, I would have never gone for a facial or a sea salt scrub. Today the woman who did the sea salt scrub and I got in a conversation about my weight loss, and I told her that I was ashamed of my loose, hanging skin. She told me that she is a massage therapist and that she sees a lot of bodies, and that I have a beautiful body. Whoa. Maybe she was just flattering me, but it was nice to hear that.

I am grateful for my supremely silky skin. I keep touching my face. It feels good to treat myself well and pamper myself a little bit after a lifetime of deprivation.

I’m grateful for being able to wear dresses without a bra– the first time in my adult life!!

I am grateful for the awesome lesbian couple I met at the playground today, and their cute little curly haired guy, who is one month younger than Sami. He and Sami had such a good time playing peek-a-boo. It is the first time I saw Sami really laugh out loud and do the Happy Dance from an interaction with another kiddo. How delightful to see him delight so much in other children!!!

I’m grateful to be a mother to Sami Gabriel, and grateful for a second Mother’s Day.

I am grateful for the heavy rainstorm, for the pounding of water all around, cleansing the Earth, and the magnificent thunder and lightning that proceeded it. I’m even more grateful that I remembered to close the sunroof in the car.

I’m grateful for the cool air seeping in through the open window as I type.

I’m just grateful to be alive, for the simple breath moving through this body.

May my heart always remember this gratitude, and may I live from this place.

This morning I had a moment. One of those so-called “moments of clarity.” I had a morning meeting in Chevy Chase, just down the block from where Hani and I used to live before Sami. Of course afterwards, I had to go and get some coffee–my drug of choice these days. And then I saw them: the stay-at-home mommies, the babes, the strollers. Many of them were Sami’s age. The pang hit.

I want my Sami!

I felt like I had been hit in my solar plexus.

I’m trying to do too much.

It was so loud and clear, it nearly took my breath away. I numbly got into my car and nearly got into an accident in Rock Creek Park. I pulled into a vacant parking lot off of Beach Drive and I just cried, sobbed harder than I have in so long. When the tears subsided, I sat under the canopy of green and listened to the birds.

I realized what had been bothering me. What I hadn’t allowed myself to feel. A painful undercurrent of overwhelm and dispair. I have to simplify my life much more. I need to cut out the huge amounts of volunteer work that I have been doing. As much as I want to volunteer my time for good causes, it’s not the right time for me. Saying no to these requests may upset some people, but my friend Judy put it best: “Only you can be Sami’s mom.”

The truth of the matter is, now that I am working and torn between so many little demands and tasks, I don’t work smarter. It just takes me longer to do everything because I am so overwhelmed and disorganized. Then the day is gone, and it’s almost six o’clock, and I only get to spend a few hours with Sami before I need to put him to bed. It’s all speeding by so scarily. There are so many moments I don’t want to miss. I need to make different choices.

I have chosen a lifestyle that necessitates that I work…at least part-time. Unfortunately, we bought this house when the market was at its peak and now we are enslaved to it. The market is too unfavorable for us to sell at the present time. I wish now that we had rented, but it’s too late for regrets. Plus now that I am getting separated, I definitely don’t want to be totally financially dependent on Hani.

But I am going to do everything I can to reduce expenses and simplify my life so that I can get by working 20 hours a week maximum. I can do my creative writing at night when Sami is asleep. Getting a housemate will help with the mortgage. Hopefully I can will some consulting gigs where I can charge the federal rate, thus allowing me to make full-time money doing part-time work.

I am going to take all the steps I need to in order to make this happen.

Voluntary Simplicity… this is my new mantra.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

This is the quote on the front of the card that my father’s friend Dawn sent him almost one year ago…two months before his death. Dawn is a devout Christian and she designs Christian greeting cards for a living. I am not one to quote the Bible but I love this quote. Perhaps the first part appeals to me most…there is simply enough Grace for us all… and then…our weakness, God’s perfection. What a glorious and gentle concept. The paradox of strength in weakness.

After my father died, Dawn sent me a condolence card, and in it she asked for a picture of Sami. Hani accidentaly threw away the envelope with her address on it, and I flew into despair. I felt like my only connection to my father’s friend had been severed. Her mother had knitted a baby blanket for Sami and I never got to send a thank you note.

Then, while rummaging through my father’s things several months ago, I found this card with the Corinthians quote. On it, miraculously, were Dawn’s cell phone and home numbers. I wanted to call right then, but it has taken me months to call. I had to psych myself up and keep adding her name to my to-do lists. But today, there was this very insistent voice in my head that said loudly: Call Dawn. It was late and time to pick up Sami and I really didn’t have time to get into a deep conversation, but I called anyway.

I reached her on her cell phone, sitting in her favorite coffee shop. “I miss your dad,” she said. “I can hardly believe he’s gone.”

“I know.” I said. “Even picking out the design for his tombstone, it still doesn’t feel real.” And the truth of the matter is that I have been going through the motions of grief. I guess my grieving was halted, arrested in the other, most immediate grief over the breakup of my marriage. I couldn’t deal with both at once, so my father’s loss went on hold. I’m slowly opening up now to that grief and I cried for him today, for the first time in so long.

I’m so sorry, Daddy.

Dawn and I promised to reconnect soon, so I could ask her some questions about my dad and their friendship, and include what I find in my essay. This is the essay I started about my dad several years ago, that has gone through many drafts and has been workshopped twice. The essay is begging me to finish it. It’s entitled “My Father Sleeps,” and it scares me, because in it I basically prophesize his untimely death. But it needs to be completed, inasmuch as any written work can be considered “complete,” and then shared with the world. This is the way for me to honor my father. The only way I know how: in words.

…and I think about rest. Not necessarily sleep, though I long for that too, but just resting and doing nothing at all and seeing that this is a sacred and necessary part of being human. Before I became pregnant and had Sami, I didn’t allow myself much time to rest. I lived a very overscheduled, hectic, Washington, DC kind of life. You had to book with me at least three weeks out to get me. I remember looking at the empty pages in the faraway future of my calendar, and then all of a sudden I was booked every night. I used to wonder, how did that happen?

Now my life is much slower, calmer, and quieter but I still don’t allow sufficient time for rest and reflection. I am so perpetually sleep-deprived that I am afraid that if I stop to rest or close my eyes to meditate, I’ll fall asleep. And I can’t do that — there is just too much to do! But I crave that rest, that silent time of the Spirit, where I can trace the labyrinth back to my internal center, and slowly amble back out again into the outside world, my well refreshed and renewed.

I want so much to rest and to savor life instead of slamming my way through it. Because I know all too well how fleeting and precious it all is.

I went to see my doctor for a regular physical the day before yesterday, and he asked me about my family history. I revealed that both my mother and my grandmother had had breast cancer. He said there is some kind of study going on at Columbia University about Ashkenazi Jewish women and breast cancer, and suggested I go for genetic counseling to determine if I have the “breast cancer gene.”

“I don’t know that I’d want to know,” I said.

“Trust me,” he said. “You do.”

No, I don’t think so, Doctor…

“What do they do if they find out you have the gene?” I asked.

“Prophylactic mastectomy. They go in there, do the mastectomy, and the reconstructive surgery at the same time.”

He suggested that I go ahead and do this now. After all, I’m already in crisis around my separation and probable divorce (I confided in him about that when he asked me about stress in my life), right, so why not just do it now and get it over with? Divorce and a double mastectomy. That sounds so very appealing.

“You have a seventeen month-old,” he chided me. “You need to think of him.”

I wanted to punch him.

It’s not a vanity issue. I don’t think that I care about my breasts all that much. I am pretty sure I’d lose them if I definitely thought that it would save my life. But I have always been a woman of faith, not science. I know that few things are certain. I believe in leaving things up to Providence. That doesn’t mean that I won’t do everything I can in terms of getting checked out and (given my history) even moreso than usual and early detection and all of that. I did learn that it is now possible to get MRIs of your breasts, which pick up more than a mammogram. I had not known that before. Anyway I was always told by my gynecologists that you can’t do mammograms on women under 35 because the breast tissue is too dense.

I suppose this was brought to my attention for a reason. I need to inform myself more about this whole thing, and maybe I will even meet with the genetic counselor to discuss the options. But from what brief research I’ve done, testing positive for the gene doesn’t mean there is a 100% chance of developing breast cancer. It is apparently more like 80%, which is pretty high odds, but that is a cumulative risk which adds up with age.

Deep down, I am pretty sure that I would not take the test. I’m all for disease prevention, but I guess I am skeptical of the lengths that we go to in our scientific culture to stave off death. It almost feels like playing God.

Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t ever, ever want Sami to go through the kind of loss that I did, losing my mother at 20 and my father at 30. But I know that those losses have shaped who I am today, and that I have a much greater reverence for life as a result of them. I have loved so deeply and lost so deeply, and I am grateful for that. I can honestly say today that I am truly glad to be alive, for the bitter and for the sweet, and I couldn’t always say that.

I know that this positive attitude will probably help prevent breast cancer, as well as really taking enough time to rest and to take care of my spiritual life. These things to me are equally as important as eating right, genetic testing and self-exams. We are holistic beings and our wellness depends on our taking care of all aspects of ourselves. This is something that allopathic medicine is just beginning to understand.

While I wish I could protect Sami from everything, I know that I can only do the best I can to take care of us, and to keep us healthy and safe. The rest, I must leave up to the Universe.

Day 14

…there is what seems to be a Mt. Kilimanjaro-sized pile of laundry to fold, and at the top of the pile lies the crowning glory: a new khaki halter dress that I bought at Value Village for $3.50. Why pay retail?

I have a job offer to travel to Jordan 3 - 4 times over the next 2 years to help local groups establish disability rights programs through a USAID contract. It seems like my dream job: the chance to fuse my background in Arab Studies with my commitment to disability rights. But my heart says that I must decline the offer. Life is a series of choices, and I made the choice to be a mother. It doesn’t feel right to spend 7-10 days at a time away from my little one while he is still under the age of three.

It keeps coming back full circle: my contribution to the revolution is to raise a secure, happy son. Everything else, within reason, can wait until he is old enough to weather the storms of life without mommy for a week or so.

Sami’s vocabulary grows so quickly I cannot keep up. He is a master imitator and will pretty much attempt to mimic the last word of any sentence I say. I bought him a tiger book today and I love the way he says the word tiger — “ti-goh.” Today he said “tree” for the first time while pointing at a tree in the book — “tee!!”

He loves to point to my eyes and ears and nose and mouth, then to his, and to name them. Tonight as I rocked him to sleep, he kept turning my head so he could point to my ear. He loves to play funny games. I adore his sense of humor.

Many mothers, looking back after their kids are grown and out of the nest, write that they didn’t enjoy the moments enough, and I am making it my business to learn from their experiences and to enjoy as many moments as I possibly can. I revel in the minutiae of Sami’s discovery of language, and it brings me indescribable joy. He makes connections so quickly, and understands more and more every day. What quantum learning! What a life curriculum. If I could preserve in myself even half the wonder and awe that Sami experiences every day then I will be set.

roasting and I am reminded of baking pears when 9 months pregnant. It was the night of a local peace vigil to honor the 1,000 soldier killed in Iraq, as well as the countless Iraqis killed, and I was too tired and heavy with baby to go. I did indeed feel terribly guilty about it, but I stayed home and baked pears instead. I coated them with butter and cinnamon and ate them hot, right out of the oven, and they tasted so good. I imagined them nourishing little Sami in utero very well. The pears looked to me to be shaped like little pregnant women in profile and I wrote a poem about that.

Today I think about how I can contribute to uncovering the light in the world. I am full of anger and somehow I feel bad about that. This morning I yelled at Sami and I really hate that I did that. Then I remembered the quote by Momma Zen author Karen Miller: “It’s not how often you lose it, but how quickly you find it again.” And luckily I did find it relatively quickly. I found my way home with a few deep breaths, and I was able to attend to Sami’s needs without yelling and being angry. Today I felt the same anger bubbling up as I spent an hour trying to get Sami to sleep. My thoughts were full of resentment because of All The Things I Had To Do. And then I stopped and thought to myself: what is happening right now? Right now I am sitting in my comfortable house in a comfortable rocking chair, rocking my 17 month old son to sleep. This is not bad. Forget about All That You Have To Do. It can be done tomorrow. And that was that. I still caught the second half hour of “Desperate Housewives.”

This weekend I was able to be of service to two mama friends of mine, and that makes me feel like I contributed positively to the world in some small way. But there are no small ways, really. There is no hierarchy of big and small. Every kind act matters. I used to have grandiose visions about how I would make the world better, while totally neglecting myself and not really being very useful to those around me. I would have never seen my actions this weekend — babysitting for a mom friend of mine in recovery so she could get to a meeting, and helping a single mama friend (who is due any day now) to carry her laundry to and from the laundry room — as equally important as a political poetry performance or going to an organizing meeting. But now I do. My service today is quieter and more localized. I still very much want to change the world in positive ways, but I see it has to start with me and those in my immediate surroundings, and ripple out.

It feels so good to be discovering that balance of how to show up for others in an authentic way while caring for myself authentically as well. Sami is helping me to discover that. I have always been a tremendously selfish, very narcissistic, very childish person. That is not being mean to myself — it’s just true. But now that I am a mother, and now that the husband who always took care of me is leaving me, it is up to me finally to grow up.

Speaking of growing up — on the way home from Ocean City, I put air in my tires for the first time. That may seem small, but to me it is very big. I was afraid that I would do it wrong and blow up my tires, but I remembered what Hani said: “watch the gauge until it gets to 33.” And I did it, and it was so easy. The flattish tire became round and full and I could feel the difference as soon as I started driving. I wondered why the whole putting air in the tires thing had always seemed to foreign and hard to me. The sense of accomplishment was amazing. I am growing up.

Well, the sweet potatoes are done, fragrant with sage and ready to come out of the oven, It is time for snuggling next to my wonderful little sleep-resisting munchkin. It is time for dreams.

Not small amounts, mind you. It is an expensive habit. Packs of gum and liters of Diet Pepsi. I sometimes put upwards of three packets of Splenda in my coffee at a time. I am filled with artificial sweetener and I can feel its toxic effects on the cellular level. Doesn’t this shit cause cancer in lab rats?

Drinking in glossy corporate images in Lucky Magazine, I wonder: how in the world did I get like this, seeking escape in a world of $476 shoes and $893 dresses I would never, ever buy? I am becoming what I used to despise. Once, I was so radical and would have eschewed all such things. As I turn the perfumed pages, saccharine-sweet, devouring images, inhaling a $60 fragrance sold at Dillard’s, my mind flies to what I have lost: 80 pounds, a husband (maybe), all my savings? And I have to laugh at my ridiculous mind, and my earnest efforts to feel sorry for myself, because there is so much I have got.

First and Foremost, Praise Be to God for Sami Su-Su, Blower of Dandelion Seeds to the Four Directions. He Who Proclaims “Woof-Woof!” When Asked “What Does the Doggy Say?” Sami, Lover of Elmo, Nemo, All Things Percussive, Plastic Containers, Veggie Booty, Dehydrated Strawberries, Thomas’ Mini Bagels (Cinnamon Raisin Especially) and Tofu. He of the Razor-Sharp Fingernails. He Who Sprouts Incisors Before My Very Eyes. He Who Insists on Playing with the Toilet Brush, Despite My Vociferous Objections. He Who Flirts With All Cute People, Be They Man, Woman, or Child. He Who Tussles Fearlessly with the Four Year-Olds at the Tyson’s Galleria Play Area.

He who cries, “Daddy, Daddy!” and points at the window, looking for Daddy’s car. He Who Breaks My Heart. Daddy is across the world in Damascus and I am remembering our strange and confusing last night together before he left. “Daddy went up in an airplane,” I explain. “Daddy misses you, and Daddy loves you.” Sami points at the window and I refuse tears. It is time to take a bath and get ready for bed.

On the scale of life, my gains far outweigh my losses. Of course I am blessed. How easy it is to forget that we are surrounded by Grace. How easy it is to forget that we are always and deeply Loved. I wish I could get that I don’t need to consume vast quantities of artificial sweeteners or glossy magazines, because life is sweet, even when tinged with bitterness. I have got it so good, it is absurd: a new, secure job doing something positive in the world. I have got a safe, warm house with three black ants who are determined to crawl around in erratic patterns on the kitchen counter, no matter how much I clean. All is well. Life is getting better and better. I must remember to give thanks, and to know true sweetness from artificial.

I am beyond exhausted and overwhelmed and coming down with a cold or something. But when I pull back to a wide-angle view, I see that everything is good and all is well.

I got a cut and a ridiculously sleek and glam blowout from my stylist friend Sheri yesterday and I feel gorgeous. Good hair does wonders for the self-esteem. I never want to wash my hair again!

My inner perfectionist sincerely regrets that I was not up to the challenge yesterday, or maybe even the day before (time is a blur), but I am now trying once again thanks to my NSNC partner Laila. Note to self: I don’t have to do this perfectly, but I want to keep putting in the small baby steps that will lead me back on track to implementing dreams deferred. Just the act of putting fingers to keyboard is a staggering act of faith, isn’t it?

News in the life of Sami. His latest thing is trying to put keys in locks. He says “tofu” and “woof woof” with aplomb. His vocabulary is growing so fast and he is really becoming a master imitator. What a beautiful thing, to watch a new being acquire and use and have fun with language. He said a very appropriately-timed “bye-bye” to the cashier at the Whole Foods. It was SO cute.

And…he created a green, red, and purple finger painting in day care today that looks like the toddler version of a technicolor Rorshach test.

OK…must…sleep…now.

there is a pile of dishes in the sink the size of Mount Everest and my living room is in extreme disorder. but I will write my three lines before tacking the chaos. this is progress — for pre the Naomi Shihab Nye Challenge (henceforth known as NSNC) I would have cleaned up the mess then said to myself “I’ll write later.” and of course it would not have happened.

There is a poem percolating in my brain, and I plan to write it tomorrow night. It will take a little internet research to flesh it out. but the crux of the poem will be Bush’s ridiculous pronouncement here, in response to the VA Tech tragedy:

“President Bush says he has directed federal officials to conduct a national inquiry into how to prevent violence by dangerously unstable people.”

I thought at first he was talking about his own administration.

This is going to be a VERY fun poem to write. I am letting the ideas percolate over the next 24 hours and you all will hear more from me tomorrow.

(Oh, and contrary to what I thought yesterday, Sami is not bruised after all. Today his bump is totally gone and there is just a little brown scabby scrape on his sweet forehead. I must develop a thicker mama skin…I don’t want to be one of those mothers who nearly has a nervous breakdown with every little bump and boo-boo that her child gets!

And…the necklace has been safely delivered to T, who has not gone into labor yet — at least as far as I know.)

Naomi Shihab Nye Challenge — Day 1

my skin bruises easily these days. it doesn’t seem right. i think i need to go to a doctor. i would never miss one of sami’s well-baby check ups, but i have forgotten to care for myself. i am due for a dentist appointments, my annual gyn appointment, and a physical. long overdue.

my skin feels real thin, and i wonder if the bruises blooming technicolor on my body are a reflection of my inner state.

i went to a friend’s baby shower this afternoon and was reminded of the heavy waddling final days of my pregnancy. each day was charged with anticipation tinged with a nervous excitement. i remember that it hurt to walk, from the weight of sami’s head bearing down determinedly onto my pelvis.

on the last long walk i attempted in the days before giving birth, a man propositioned me on georgia avenue. he slowly drove his car beside me as i strode ahead, not looking at him. “hey there — would you like to go get a drink with me?” i couldn’t peel the look of slightly bemused horror off my face for at least twenty minutes.

i brought beads to make a labor necklace for my friend because i wanted her baby shower to be more than just opening presents for the baby. i wanted to give her what was so generously given to me by my friends during my blessingway. i wanted to give her something special, something you can’t find on a target registry. but i went kind of insane because she announced at the shower that her mucous plug had fallen out and she could go any minute. i still have to finish stringing it and putting the clasp on and it will be done tomorrow, but i am crazy with worry that i won’t get it to her in time. there is something more to this but it hasn’t come to my awareness yet.

i was frantically working to finish the necklace this afternoon after the shower so i could get it to her. out on our deck, i was stringing the necklace while sami played, and i turned my back on him for a second and he fell against the brick wall and got this terrible ugly scrape on his forehead that is also turning blue and purple.

it was a very Bad Mama moment.

please forgive me, sami. i love you. how i love the way you laugh at me as i rock you to sleep. now both of us are bruised. i’m so sorry.