Second Annual List of "Firsts" (2011 Edition)

It's that time of year again. So, without further fanfare:

I ran my second half-marathon at the Davis Stampede.

I visited my son while he was away at college in San Diego and watched him play in two lacrosse games. I marveled at his ability to clean the house which he shared with a group of boys so I wasn't mortified when I saw it. I mega-shopped at Costco for food with him and burst into tears when we said good-bye.

I ran my first marathon, 26.2 miles in Napa, CA. Together, with my ex-husband's wife and children's stepmom, we raised over $8,000 for breast cancer in her honor.

I began writing for the San Ramon Patch, posting my blog. I also attended meetings with my women's writing group whenever I could attend. One of my favorites was about a student named Marco. That boy touched my heart but never did graduate. I hope he comes back.

I bicycled around the island of Maui, six days after my first marathon and carrying all of my clothes, shelter and food. I cannot describe how amazing this trip was for me. I was reminded how it was about the journey, not the destination. I made new friends, was challenged physically and saw amazing sights.

I completed my first Bay-to-Breakers race, enjoying myself immensely. I counted lots of naked men and only one naked woman. I hear there were more, I must have missed them.

I watched my oldest daughter graduate from college. I was proud of her as we celebrated this monumental day with both sides of the family. I am, however, still waiting for her to finish her thank-you notes.

I practiced riding and running in heat to get ready for my first Half-Ironman. I got heatstroke while training on my bike with two friends who took very good care of me. This got me a little worried so I went out and bought new gear to wear with cooling technology for race day.

I completed my first Half-Ironman, Vineman 70.3. The weather was relatively pleasant. No heatstroke. I used my heart monitor and enjoyed myself following my three rules: finish, have fun, don't puke. My daughters surprised me and showed up to celebrate with me post-race. I did not need that new gear to wear but think somehow it was insurance against overheating.

I began to train for my second marathon, having been given an entry (well, I had to pay but I got into a lottery-based event).  

I went to Tahoe for what has begun to be my annual trip each summer. I swam in choppy waters at Fallen Leaf Lake with my friend. A day later I went back and wore my new bikini, something I have not done in approximately 31 years. No one fainted and I didn't burn my butt-white belly. I felt a bit more confident about myself that day. I felt I could handle a lot that life has thrown at me.

Later that same day I was challenged in my personal life and have to dig deep(er) than I ever had to before that day. This continued for quite some time.  I rediscovered some semblance of inner strength. My family supported me in the wings. And friends. And teammates. And co-workers. And more. I felt and feel loved. I loved and love.

I ran on a mild day and got my second bout of heatstroke. My running mates, a group I had just met take care of me, making sure I have enough water to finish the run.

I had to sometimes miss runs with my running mate. He was steadfast in his faith and optimism. I had to run alone. I ran to keep sane. I withdraw a little bit. I begin to come home at lunch rather than eat with co-workers. I stay home some weekends rather than go out with people. I retreat, regroup and regain strength.

My youngest daughter completed all 12 college applications, some in-state, some out of state, public and private.

We attempted family photos in October but it was not our day.

My oldest daughter moved to Cleveland to become a labor and delivery nurse. She has found her calling. I visited her and know this is her path. I'm amazed at the hospital, love her new friends and enjoy her new neighborhood. She and her dad have chosen well.

I completed my second marathon and have two very dear and special friends root for me. I'm touched. I somehow completed it even though I'm somewhat physically undertrained. Mentally I celebrated. And smiled. All 26.2 miles of the NIKE Women's Marathon I continued smiling. I'm reminded once again that it is not about the destination, it's about the journey. I see that a theme has developed this year.

I completed my second half-marathon of the year two weeks later, my third one ever. I'm dressed as Robin Hood for a team costume contest (which we lost). But we didn't care. I once again finished another event,  I had fun and I didn't puke. I continued to smile.

I dressed-up that night as Barbie for a Halloween party, looking for Ken. I wondered if this was somehow symbolic but decided to analyze another day. I came home early and check-in with my son who happened to be home.

I analyzed my Barbie costume and decided it was all in fun, I am not Barbie and Ken doesn't exist. If he did, I'm not the gal for him.

My daughter heard back from five of the twelve colleges. So far, all are a "yes."

I'm still challenged but I'm hopeful. I have not wavered in my love or belief that this too shall pass. 

We attempted family photos again in December. It went a bit better but we haven't ordered any yet (cards not sent as a result, my apologies).

I celebrated Christmas with all three of my children at midnight on Christmas Eve. I feel loved by them and my heart is touched. I sense and trust that they feel loved by me, too. I cry happy tears. The year is nearly over. 

I grew a wee bit wiser in the ways of love and relationships. Again. And again.  And again. With room for further growth.  I continued to see the glass half-full and am reminded again it's about the journey, not the destination. 

Rich In Love

Growing up I would explain to others that my family was rich. They knew this was not true in a monetary sense. My mom was a nurse and dad was a probation officer. Together they had four children in less than five years and though they managed to take two weekly vacations a year there was not a lot of money left over for extras growing up. We were, however, rich in love.

How do I explain it? Our family was far from perfect. We fought. We had family meetings. We cried happy, mad and sad tears. As the fourth child and third daughter, I wore and received hand-me-downs. The oldest memory of a hand-me-down that I loved was my faded red “biggie” bike. It was a three-wheeled tricycle that I’m guessing I got for my third, fourth or fifth birthday. I loved it. It was slightly bigger than a traditional toddler’s tricycle, the size you would find in a kindergarten playground. I did not feel like I had missed out when I received that old bike. I remember mom and dad’s happiness as I jumped on it and began pedaling around our driveway on Wilson Avenue.

Growing up the color red must have had some significance. I remember the summer my mom bought us each a pair of summer sandals. Mine were red leather Salt-Water Sandals. I proudly wore them one hot summer day and put them in the green check-in swim bag. The only glitch was that I did not check the bag in with the lifeguards. Instead, I hung it inside the locker room. Later that afternoon when I went to get dressed, the sandals were missing, having been stolen some time earlier. I cried. Mom and dad held a firm stance on the fact that they would not be replaced. And though it was a difficult lesson to learn, I understood. Even that experience added to my rich life.

I slept in a room with my two sisters until my oldest sister was in junior or senior high school. My parents later added on a new master bedroom. Somehow even this fact did not bother me. I had many hours of wonderful make-believe games that included playing “house,” “school” and more. I (mostly) didn’t mind sharing my room though it did make me a bit of a neat freak. I wanted to keep my stuff separate from my sisters. This neatness lasted years later, that is, until I was married and became the mother of my own three children. I distinctly recall a turning point in my life as a neat-nick. I was starting to get upset about my messy house. I decided my children could look back at me as being a picky housekeeper or they could have fond memories filled with childhood inspiring craft projects or forts in our family room kept up for a day or two to be admired and enjoyed. I knew from being raised by parents who unknowingly chose memories over maintenance which route to choose. Mine was a rich inheritance.

Another thing my parents’ prioritized money spent was for our sporting activities. Over the years we settled upon football for my brother and synchronized swimming for my sisters and myself. Though we often only saw airports and swimming pools while we competed, we did travel all over the United States. Dad was frequently a driver and chaperone, sharing coffee with our swim coach for long drives throughout the night. At the swim meets he was a timer. When mom chaperoned with others, they improvised a kitchen and mastered crockpot spaghetti that fed 8-16 hungry teenaged girls. We had many adventures and loads of stories to tell when our family would all eagerly await to pick us up at the airport. Being a reflective family we would regale one another with our stories upon our return. Our stories added to our families’ fortune.

My brother’s love of football allowed us to travel to watch his games while he played for both his junior college and college teams. I’ll never forget chanting, “We beat the slot machines!” after his victory against a Nevada team. Great memories, even when it involved the car stopping in the middle of the freeway while traveling filled our love bank. It was scary having cars zoom past us until we could get help, not easily summoned pre-cell phones.

Dad’s love for adventure was a monetary priority too. Somehow my mom and the other wives allowed their husbands the luxury of traveling over Valentines’ weekend several years in a row to go skiing. Dad would return from his trip with four small velvet heart-shaped boxes of chocolates for us accompanied by a much larger version of the Valentine’s Day box for mom. And there was always a card for her too. It was always mushy and always sentimental despite dad’s macho bravado. He was a softie in matters of the heart.

I remember bringing friends over the years to my house for the first time. There were many whom lived in much more expensive homes up in the hills or across the Valley. They were pristinely painted and landscaped and decorated with stylish new furniture. There were newer and nicer cars parked in their driveways. Even so, as I walked friends through the front door and into our living room I always felt proud to bring them inside. I felt rich. Yes, I knew it wasn’t monetary, even then. But in matters of the heart, my family lived abundantly.

The Traditional, Untraditional Christmas Tree

As a teacher I have received many ornaments to don my Christmas tree: apples, miniature desks, photos, “greatest teacher” and more. Some of them have been store-bought and some hand-made.

As a mom I’ve purchased many ornaments over the years for my own three children. I’ve written the year it was given to them with a black Sharpie pen along with each child’s initials. The idea being that when they moved out on their own they would have an assortment of ornaments for their own Christmas tree.

Our typical traditional tree usually had white lights, homemade popcorn garlands, multi-colored beaded garlands, silver tin icicles, and a vast array of colorful non-matching ornaments. The ones from my students, the ones I’ve purchased or have received from family members and all the ones that Santa stuffed very specifically into the stockings of Morgan, Troy and Shelby. They have been displayed oh-so-carefully on a very symmetrical, very large live pine tree. I’ve adorned the bottom of the tree with an antique quilt, a wagon, dolls, and a teddy bear. The tree was sometimes placed in an ancient enormous ceramic crock. They were always beautiful.

One year I kept the traditional tree in the family room and decided to decorate another smaller tree. On that tree I also had popcorn garland and white lights but I also added many pairs of tiny shoes from when my children were babies and toddlers. I tied them together with raffia and hung them throughout the branches. I added their tiny silver baby spoons. Next came a silver baby cup. I added their first baby photos in silver frames. It was a sweet eye-catching “baby” tree.

Another year my youngest daughter Shelby and I went to our school district’s Christmas tree lot. We looked at all of the traditional trees but kept circling back to one fat chubby tree that was about two feet tall. We looked at one another with smiling faces.

“How about this one Mom?” Shelby joked.

“Nobody will want it,” I said to Shelby. “I kinda feel sorry for it.”

We looked at one another, giggled, and later found ourselves unpacking the chubby tree into our home.

That year it was a more elegant themed tree: silver and mercury glass ornaments, both tin and glass beaded garlands with snowflake shapes and white paper star ornaments from my sister and her husband’s store. The tree was placed upon an old weathered side table with a smaller white quilt adorning the bottom of it. It was small but stunning.

The next year we looked for something different. This time it was a tree that looked like something from a Dr. Seuss book. It was a Hawaiian fern of some sort I believe. I have to admit, Shelby may have been the one to come up with the car freshener idea, I’m not really sure. I do know I loved the idea while walking through Target earlier that day. We bought TONS of red and green pine-tree-shaped automobile air fresheners to use.

When home we decided to add our outdoor white light bulbs, they were much bigger than our standard bulbs. Next came a giant red ice bucket for the tree to be placed inside. The finishing touches were red and green pine-tree-shaped automobile air fresheners. It looked rather retro. “Mom, that looks so cool!” Shelby exclaimed. And because our tree was not our typical pine tree we were happy to have the scent created by the car fresheners.  It was magical looking in a unique, creative science fiction kind of way. I captured it by taking a photo.

All was well in the world of Christmas trees in our household. That is, until about 3am that particular holiday season.

That is because at about 3am I awoke nauseous and feeling like I was about to get sick. I was queasy. I got up and realized obnoxious pine-y smell was permeating throughout my entire home. ICK!

I headed downstairs to where our retro tree was located. The smell downstairs was so strong I was gagging. I hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a gallon-sized Ziploc bag. I plucked each and every one of those scented car fresheners, choking back the urge to get sick. I ran down another flight of stairs and threw the now zipped Ziploc bag into the garage. I ran back up and proceeded to open up all of the windows to let in fresh air. I turned the ceiling fan on high. It was particularly cold that night but I did not care. Cold and clean air was superior to warm and toxic.

This year?

My home was “holiday ready” shortly after Thanksgiving this year. I had placed live topiaries, small pine trees and white poinsettias mixed with various Santas and antique watering cans and candles throughout my home and front porch. It definitely looks like a chick’s pad but somehow it all just works.

I look around and it makes me happy inside.

My tree? 

I haven’t bought it yet. 

I do know this fact; it is bound to be a traditional, untraditional Christmas tree.

And this: it most definitely won’t smell like pine-tree-shaped automobile air fresheners.