Amanda

Today is the beginning.

It is the beginning of the rest of your life.

It is the day that you begin to realize how big this world really is and how little your place in it is.

When you begin to understand that there are two people in this world that love you as much as this – and you still can’t wrap your mind around it.

When you begin to understand how a woman can endure pain time and again.

It is the day that you learn what it means when they say that your heart will forever walk outside of your body.

When you begin to find yourself marveled by the simplest things and you see everything like it was the first time.

It is the day that you begin to take more pride in what being a woman is.

It is the day that you begin your unpaid career as a teacher, a doctor, a counselor, a housekeeper, a soldier.

It is the beginning of a time when you can’t watch the nightly news anymore and your heart begins to break so easily for perfect strangers.

It is the day that you realize that your life is not yours completely anymore. And that doesn’t bother you one bit.

It is the beginning of many sleepless nights, and of waking up at the slightest whimper and later at the sound of the front door opening after a night on the town.

When you begin to understand what sacrifice is.

It is the first day that you look in the mirror and begin see your mother’s eyes looking back at you.

The beginning of the time when you are shocked to hear her words coming out of your mouth – just like she always said they would.

Today is the beginning of life – of yours and hers – the beginning of a friendship, a bond, a sisterhood, a connection.

Today is the day of your daughter’s birth.

Today is the beginning.

Family Visit

The Okies were in town for the past couple of weeks and just like the tornados their state is known for, they brought with them chaos, mayhem and a little bit of excitement. 

When Arisa and Jack come back to Michigan, they come home.  In fact, I spoke with Jack one evening and asked him what he thought about Michigan.  He told me that this is his home because this is where his family is.  Home isn’t necessarily where you live, where you sleep, where you eat.  He loves his life in Oklahoma, but here, with us, is home.

While they were in town, we had a barbeque at our house to celebrate Logan’s first trip to Michigan.   It was great to see everyone and to introduce our newest family member. 

And we learned that, when the time comes for Maggie to have a boyfriend, she’s going to fall hard.  She followed Jack around like a little puppy the whole time that he was here and was devastated when he had to leave.  Just yesterday, when I told her that we were going to the Shelby Township Art Fair, she asked if we could bring Jack.  I told her that he was back in Oklahoma and that he couldn’t come with us.  She replied, "But I want him.  Let’s go get him."    She asked me again today, when she would see him again.  When I told her Christmas time, she became distracted by the prospect of sharing with him the wonders of the season, which to her includes snowfalls, Christmas trees and presents. 

We also learned that Audrey gets her bluntness from Arisa and that she might just have the mommy bone after all.

And finally, we determined that we are definitely not equipped with the patience or stamina to handle two toddlers and a newborn.  We’ll save that project for another couple of years.  Maybe.

Logan Matthew

Thank you to everyone who sent your love and prayers to our family. We are still reeling but we now have something to hold onto. Emma’s twin brother, my nephew, Logan Matthew.

February 15, 2008
2:16 p.m.
6 lbs. 4 oz.
19 in.

Emma

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

ee cummings

Please consider donating to Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep. For Arisa, Matt, Jack and Logan. And for our dear little Emma.

In her kitchen.

When I was growing up, our dinners were a family affair. The five of us would sit around the dinner table, which was always set by my mother, and then us three as we got older, and in the middle of the table were plates of steaming food. On any given night, you would assume that we were having guests over. There was a salad, rolls, mashed potatoes and our main dish. We were always “healthy” eaters, as my mother would say…her affectionate term for “over” eaters, if you ask me.

It wouldn’t be odd for Mom to make a complete Thanksgiving dinner in the middle of summer. And, when she cooked Thai food, there would be no less than three different dishes and a large pot of fresh rice for the taking. And, inevitably, a relative or a friend would just happen to stop by and be made to stay and partake in our meal.

My mom can cook anything and it tastes delicious. She still makes me lunch everyday when I go home to pick the Beans up. When I walk through the doors, I know exactly what she’s been cooking and as soon as I identify the scent (today, it was Thai Chicken Fried Rice), my willpower is out the window.

I didn’t get that gene from my mother. I got the shortness, the compulsion to shop, but not the innate ability to make a piece of chicken a culinary art. She has tried to console me by telling me that when she first married my father, she made spaghetti and meat sauce with ketchup and a pound of un-crumbled ground beef. I’ve sat at the kitchen table and watched her chop and mix and stir, hoping that her knack for just the right taste will seep into me with the scent of the cooking food, but it never does. I can’t even get a recipe right – even when I follow every direction. My mom says that’s the problem – I don’t deviate. She doesn’t measure anything.

I have memories of my favorite dishes and I try to recreate them for J and the beans. So far, the only dish that I have been able to make that is in the ballpark of something my mom would make is Gram’s shepherd pie. It was really good, but it wasn’t right.

And it’s the reason that I have a love-hate relationship with cooking. When asked recently what I talent I would like to acquire, I mentioned that I would love to become a great cook. I love food. I enjoy it and I rarely deprive myself of it. I love to eat out at new restaurants, I love to shop in beautiful fruit markets and pick out new and fresh produce and spices. But, when I try to cook, it just doesn’t taste right because it doesn’t taste like hers. J loves my cooking. The beans don’t seem to mind it. But I can’t stand it. It’s why we eat out and carry out so much.

Often, my mom will send me and the girls home with dinner for J, or she’ll have my dad call me to let me know she’s made extra chicken and dumplings and that they’ll bring it over later. Or, when the sisters are in town, she’ll spend the whole day in the kitchen and we’ll have a feast just like old times…grazing on tidbits all day long, hovering around her in the kitchen and picking at each other, vying for the position of taste tester while we talk over and interrupt each other. Meanwhile, J and Dad sit in the living room and attempt to drown out our voices with the television.

Some days, when we’re in her kitchen, I look at the Beans and wonder which one will carry on her flavors and cook for me when she’s gone. But there’s a thought I can’t bear to continue and so I return again to studying her art.