On your 2nd birthday

Dear Malcolm,

You're two years old! 

Two whole years old and you are so clearly your own person. With likes (stickers, soccer, strawberries and pirates,) dislikes (bees, toothpaste, the tribal masks on Uncle Tommy's wall and doing anything you don't want to do when you don't want to do it,) and full sentences (I love you, everyone!)

You just began to speak in full sentences in the last couple of weeks and it is so amazing to us. You also recently just began to refer to yourself in the first person instead of the third.

Malcolm no like it recently became: I don't like it.


Every day is filled with moments of parental pride for your dad and me.

You so clearly communicate what you need from us and we love that. Sometimes you "over- communicate" but you get that from your dad so I can't blame you. (Haha.)

You live life so fully and without any fear. We learn from you, Malcolm.

You go right up to kids at the playground to play. Sometimes they don't want to play with you, but you don't let that interfere for even a second with your own enjoyment.

Recently at the playground, there were some older kids sitting in a circle under the slide. They were about five years old and seemed to be making big plans. You saw them and wanted to be a part of whatever they were planning. So you went up to them and sat down. They looked at you and you started talking. All we could make out was every third word... which happened to be "Mommy." You went on for a minute or two -- Mommy this and Mommy that. I imagine you were saying,

"Guys, my mom is so awesome. Have you met her? My mommy is the best. Do you love your mommies? Because I love my mommy so much. I love just saying her name. Mommy, Mommy, Mommy." 

After about a minute of that, the older kids got up and moved to another location to continue their secret plans. But that didn't impact you at all. You just went about playing. And I loved that.

You try again. And again. Because that's who you are. I always learn from you when I witness that fearlessness.

You play full out when you play. Sometimes that means you get hurt. Bumps on the head, bruises on the shins and scrapes on your knees. But that's part of growing up. You invite adventure into your life, but you always use caution. And as your mom, I so appreciate that. Thank you.

You love so many things. Here is a short and partial list of things you love these days:

Singing, playing soccer, playing baseball, running, pushing your baby stroller, playing in the sand, playing in the water, dancing, cuddling, playing stickers, coloring with markers, helping mommy cook and clean, playing with other kids, hide and seek, Pablo, trains, pirates, trucks, mac & cheese, reading, being read to and doing things "myself" or "Malcolm self."

You are generous. You share. Yes, sometimes you need a little encouragement in that department. But you always come around. "Here ya go" was one of the first complete sentences you spoke and spoke often.

My little fishy. You love the water. So much. Today we celebrated your birthday at the beach. When it was time for cake, you didn't want to leave the water. I had to carry you away from the water. After cake, it was time to go home for a nap. When you woke up from your nap, the first thing you said was, "Ocean. Ocean!"

Cuddle, Mommy. 

I think you say, "Cuddle, Mommy" more than anything. Times ten. And I am so lucky for that. This morning you didn't want to stop cuddling. I wanted to get up and get things done before your party. And then I thought, "It's Malcolm's birthday. And all he wants to do is cuddle with me. I think I can give him that gift." But it is truly more of a gift to me than you. Times ten.

I hope to always remember what it feels like to cuddle and be cuddled by my sweet little two year old boy. Because I know that this will truly be the most precious moment in my life. Everyone tells me to soak it up because it won't last forever. And I know that. And I try to freeze the moment as much as possible. But I know that like every other parent, I will get to a point where I will wonder where the time went and long for our morning cuddle sessions. That much is inevitable. Today I am grateful that you love to cuddle.

You stopped nursing this week. 

I hope that you won't be mad at me when you're a teenager for writing this. It's a big deal for us. Two years of nursing. I never thought we'd go that long. And this week we said "Bye bye" to Mommy's milk. I'm proud that we went as long as we did and I'm proud that we weaned without drama. Thank you so much for that. One day I'll tell you the whole story of how you weaned... but only if you want to hear it. (Other moms, contact me privately for the story. It's a good one.)

You're two. You're about to start pre-school. You're about to start potty training. You're rapidly gaining independence. Growing into your own. And making it impossible for me to fully express how I feel about it all. Two years ago your dad and I became parents, thanks to you. Two years ago we lived on a little island in the Pacific Northwest. We were just beginning to get to know you. Two years ago as I write this, we were still at Island Hospital with your Grammy Pammy and our tiny little newborn baby boy. We were in our bubble of joy.  

Drunk on the miracle of you.

Two years ago tomorrow, we brought you home on a ferry. (Your entire birth story is here and here if you ever want to read it.) We arrived with you at the farm house on the island and introduced you to our friends Juniper and Sean... and you met Pablo for the first time. You won't remember that moment, but Pablo will. What have they done?! I'm sure he was thinking. But he has grown to love you. When you cry, he cries. When you sleep in your room, he waits outside your door. Listening. Protecting. He forgives you when you pull his tail. Actually, pulled. Past tense. Thankfully, you are over that phase.

Two years ago we had no idea how we would travel from our little island to Chicago and then on to L.A. No idea. (It's still hard to believe.)

Some days you and your presence in our lives seems normal. Like, of course. And then I think... no. No! You are a miracle. You always will be. Because you weren't until you were. And are. And continue to be. Like all children. Here you are. How can we ever understand? How can I ever fully express what you mean to me? I can't. I try. Because I feel like I should be able to. But I always come up short. I procrastinated writing this birthday letter to you for this very reason. I kept thinking I'd find a way to say it. "It." The "it" that is surreal and escapes my abilities. The "it" is the miracle of you.

Right now you are snuggled with Daddy on the sofa watching your favorite movie at the moment - Muppet Treasure Island. You are filled up with beach time, grandparent time, friend time, sand play, water play, sticker play, strawberry and cream cake, presents, presents, presents and so much love.

Sometimes it feels impossible to love you more than I already do. And then I love you more. And guess what? I'm not the only one who feels that way. Your dad does and so do all of your grandparents and aunts and uncles. We love you and we are so proud of you, Malcolm.

Happy birthday, my sweet boy. As you grow, we grow.

I love you.

Love,

Mommy

P.S. Daddy made you this video for your birthday and it is one of your favorite things to watch again and again and again...

This time last year

I'm nursing Malcolm before his bedtime when Bob puts on Malcolm's lullabies and I start crying.

The music takes me back to our bedroom on the island.

To the first few days of Malcolm's life.

The memories squeeze my heart. I ache for that time. Such joy. Did it really happen?

The Putumayo music carries my thoughts further back.

To Malcolm in my womb.

Us on the island.

This time last year.

I looked like this:

And we lived here:

And it was an amazing time.

I loved being pregnant.

I loved living on the island.

And now I love this time with Malcolm actually here in our lives. Here. Now.

 So why am I crying?

Because I'll never have those first moments with Malcolm ever again.

Each day he grows more and more independent. 

He crawls now.

This time last year he was in my womb. Kicking me from the inside. And now he crawls away, squealing with glee. Playing chase.

I'll never be pregnant on an island with Malcolm ever again.

But I'll never have THIS time with him ever again, either.

So I cry.

Because I'm so grateful to have had such an amazing experience.

And I cry because it's gone.

I cry because I don't want to miss anything.

I cry because I know I will.

I cry because it's inevitable.

Malcolm will grow up.

I will look back on today, nursing him in our bedroom in this apartment in Chicago and I will miss today.

I will long for it.

I will try to put myself back in this moment- body and soul.

And I will fall short. And cry.

It's inevitable. It's life. This is how it is.

I cry because it's all too good.

My love for my son, for my family, for life is just too great to contain in a straight face.

Sometimes, like tonight,  it needs to escape. In big, sloppy tears.

This time last year was the best time of my life... thus far.

And this time this year. Now. Is the best time of my life... thus far.

Because of you.

Malcolm James Walker.

The dangerous pursuit of happiness

Bob once said this:

"Our country is dedicated to the 'Pursuit of Happiness.' The problem with that is that if we're constantly pursuing happiness... we're never actually happy. It's always in front of us. We should be dedicated instead to Happiness. Or just being happy."

Wise words, no? (I love that man) I believe that is a HUGE distinction. Pursuing happiness is plain dangerous to one's mental state. And perhaps the explanation to why life can feel like one big treadmill. The carrot in front of us is our happiness. Taunting us:

Ha ha. You'll never catch me! Feel free to pursue me until your legs fall off. But you'll never catch me!

 So what do we do about it?

Well, I have a lot of thoughts on the subject. Many of those I shared in a post titled "How to be happy. Now." I wrote that in the midst of fighting foreclosure. In the face of lots of stress I was committed to happiness. No matter what. In the moment. That's key. Not when we're out of this foreclosure mess, but now.

Get in action
I also believe that being in action helps. Ever notice how when you're super busy doing something that inspires you, you're not sitting around wondering whether or not you're happy? Yeah. I like how that works.

Bob turned me on to this reality show called Shark Tank. On the show, inventors and business people have the opportunity to pitch their ideas to a group of "Sharks" or investors who may or may not choose to become an angel investor. On the surface it doesn't sound very interesting.

It's the people and their stories that make it worth watching. One story in particular really inspired me.

The Mod Mom
Kiersten Hathcock of Mod Mom Furniture describes herself like this:

I'm an ex-marketing exec mom turned freelancer turned web designer turned nanny turned furniture designer and builder. I opted for the straight and narrow career path as you can see. :)

As she said on The Shark Tank, she left her job to stay at home with her kids and then her husband lost his job. So she taught herself carpentry and began a furniture company to support her family.

It all began with a toy box. Apparently they were looking to buy one but couldn't find any they liked, so she decided to learn how to make her own and the business grew from there. She now can't keep up with the demand as she can only physically make three toy boxes herself in one week.

The Noah Owl Box from Mod Mom Furniture

I love this story because it illustrates how resilient people can be. So often it's not until our backs are up against the wall that we really get creative. Opportunity exists even in the most dire times. But it's not going to just fall into your lap. You have to get in action.

Many times I've said to Bob, "I wish I could make furniture." Well, I'm not going to just wake up one morning suddenly able to wield a jigsaw with the grace of a seasoned carpenter. But there's no reason why I can't teach myself like Kiersten did. Sometimes I just really want that overnight thing to really happen. You know? But it won't. It never will.

By the way, I really love that toy box.

How to Steal like an Artist
Have you seen this? It's a blog post by an artist named Austin Kleon that's been making the rounds on Facebook. As Austin describes it, it's a simple list of ten things he wishes he'd heard when he was in college. And it's great. I wish I'd heard these things earlier as well.

But given the fact that I thought I had it all figured out back then I probably wouldn't have really listened anyway. Now that I know that I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm a much better student.

I found the list to be inspirational and a good reminder for the best route to happiness in life.

Here's an excerpt:

5. Side projects and hobbies are important.

Speaking of play — one thing I’ve learned in my brief tenure as an artist: it’s the side projects that blow up.
By side projects I mean the stuff that you thought was just messing around. Stuff that’s just play. That’s actually the good stuff. That’s when the magic happens.

Magic happens when you're not trying to force it to happen. When you're just playing. When you're being self-expressed, living in the moment and trying something with no particular agenda. Experimentation for the sake of experimentation. Losing yourself in the moment.  Not only is that where the magic happens. It's also where the happiness lives.

I highly recommend you read Austin's entire post.
Then come back here and tell me what you thought of it.

So, those are my thoughts on happiness for the day. My greatest reminder is Malcolm. He's happiness personified. Already a little more than 8 months old. Already crawling and pulling himself up to standing. That's all he wants to do all day long. Pull himself up to standing. That and put things in his mouth.

When I'm laughing with Malcolm for absolutely no reason, I am happy. I'm not pursuing happiness. I'm being happy. Automatically. And without thinking about it.


Worth noting: Malcolm has a huge smile on his face right now. Know why? He just pooped.