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...

The enviable state of No Choice

The night we arrived in Barrington, we were greeted with a wonderful dinner and almost my whole family- Mom and Tom (stepdad), Dad and Silvia (stepmom) and Alexa and Dylan (brother and sister - technically 'half' but spiritually whole.)

The fact that my mom, dad, stepmom and stepdad actually get along (and well) is usually a mind-trip for people. But it's a luxury for us. For sure. One big, extended happy family. It wasn't always like that, of course. We all worked hard to get here, to be sure. I guess you could say that my family background was my training for turning something generally considered to be undesirable or a legitimate reason for estrangement in many cases into a much better thing. The ultimate lemons into lemonade.

Anyway, the point is that we had a great dinner and wonderful conversation! One of the points my mom made really struck me.

She said that the beauty of our situation is we have no choice.

"Your situation is enviable because you have no money, no choice."

Interesting.

"We have too many choices," she said. "And when you have too many choices, you end up doing nothing."

Bob referenced the book The Paradox of Choice: Why More is Less by Barry Schwartz

Though I haven't read his book (Bob has) I have watched Barry Schwartz' TED talk and it's really fascinating. It's 19 minutes long but well worth the time. His premise is that our unhappiness is rooted in the abundance of choice.

"The more options there are, the easier it is to regret anything at all that is disappointing about the option that you chose." - Barry Schwartz (TED Talk)

It is true that we have fewer options available to us certainly from a financial perspective and we are feeling freer and happier than ever. Perhaps it is because we have fewer options and it's therefore easier to feel happy- the Paradox of Choice. Or perhaps it's because we have finally taken the reins in our lives and are paving a future of our own design vs. being hamsters on an endless wheel.

Either way, there is a beauty to our situation like Mom said. I completely get it. And am so grateful for this unlikely opportunity.

All those times I fantasized about selling everything and just seeing what happens... well, we finally did it. Not on a whim, but because we were forced. We really had no choice. Would we have done it without HAVING to do it? Probably, most likely, almost certainly not. As much as we fantasized about living as vagabonds, we never did it before... when the choice was there.

Have any of you read The Paradox of Choice? What are your thoughts on this?

What is the answer? Barry Schwartz suggests the answer is fewer choices. But is that even possible? In the face of 'too many choices' how do you powerfully choose any one thing? My thought is that you just do. What about you?

Barry Schwartz on the Paradox of Choice - Psychologist Barry Schwartz takes aim at a central tenet of western societies: freedom of choice. In Schwartz's estimation, choice has made us not freer but more paralyzed, not happier but more dissatisfied. TED Ideas Worth Spreading

TOMORROW'S post will be a guest post from none other than my MOM on this subject and how it relates to her life.

Our new view:

F is for Foreclosure

F is for a lot of things...

Like French Fries, for example. And Family, Fiscal responsibility, Fate, Flourish, Fear, Fritatta, Fold, Fumble, Flophouse, Friends, Feedback, Fun, Flashdance, Forecast, Forestall, Furniture, Fishbowl, Failure, Finance, Fire, Freedom and...

Foreclosure.

In today's mail, we received 7 more
NOTICES OF TRUSTEE'S SALE.

Seven. Enough to form an F.

As though the 12 total notices we've received via mail so far weren't enough, there was another posted on our garage door today for all the world to see.


We discovered it as we were leaving to see a movie-- an attempt to carve out a little bit of fun in this long weekend. We stepped out onto the driveway and there it was. In plain view. BAM! The thing that we've been trying desperately to avoid for months.

I tore it down immediately out of embarrassment. Hoping none of our neighbors would see. It wasn't until later in the day after having some time to cool down that I taped it back up for purposes of this photo.

How I felt? Like a big loser. Like a failure. And afraid.

Seeing that notice up there on our garage made it impossible to escape this reality. The last nine months have slowly been leading to this, I suppose. I just want to hide from it all. But... I can't. Because we're determined to see this through. To sell the house before the bank auctions it off. They may have set a date, but it doesn't mean this is over. The short sale is so close to being approved. Our Realtor keeps telling us not to worry. This week will determine everything. We should be in escrow by the end of the week and this auction date will go away. We just need to stay calm until then.

Regarding the Notice of Trustee's Sale on the garage door, my mom said, "It's just words on a piece of paper." And she's right. Words on a piece of paper. Letters that make up words. That spell foreclosure.




It's all a little too real right now.

(The top photo is my attempt at maintaining a sense of humor through all of this.)

The 'F' word we're yearning for: Freedom