The Night Your Spotlight Saved Me

Tonight I was sitting in a jam-packed, stuffy auditorium at Grant's school watching him perform in the school's spring musical, Disney's Jungle Book.  My baby was an elephant.  I could see him scanning the crowd looking for me.  He would look in my direction and I would give him an excited wave, but it seemed like he missed me every time.

I felt like one of those scuba divers who was inadvertently left behind after a deep sea diving excursion, and the helicopters were back hours later searching for me but their searchlights criss-crossed right over my head without ever spotting me among the black waves.

Maybe that's a little melodramatic.

Anyway finally Grant's spotlight zeroed in on my frantic waving.  For a moment he looked straight at me and sang just for me, his Mama Gao.  That is his nickname for me lately.  Mama Gao.  I had a huge grin on my face, so happy to be serenaded by my boy, my elephant, my Baby Gao.  So happy that God saw fit to let me give birth to this special kid and bring him this far, to this play, to this night, to this music-filled jungle.

After the show on our way to the car Grant told me how some kid had thrown Grant's costume into "a thing that was really big" and he couldn't reach it.  But he said, "Jameson, he's such a good friend, he crawled in there and saved my trunk for me."

Now that, friends, is an act of kindness you just don't see every day.

We got to the car and I opened the door for Grant and as he got in he said, "Oh yeah, and I was sooo happy to see you in the crowd!  When you looked at me, that made me so happy.  I wanted to go, 'Look, there's my Mama Gao!'  But I couldn't because I was on stage.  But I wanted to.  Thank you so much for coming.  When I saw you in the audience, it just made my day."

With that, he slammed his door shut and continued to chatter on to Audrey about the madness in the dressing room after the show.

I needed to get in the driver's seat but for a second I had to stand outside the car, softly biting my knuckle and crying.

Somehow through my tears I noticed the ceiling of the deck of the house that was right next to us.  It's painted in three colors - blue, yellow and green.  I thought how thoughtful it was of them to paint the ceiling of the deck.  Most people would just leave the deck ceiling as it was, or stain the wood perhaps, but this family painted their deck ceiling and it was so beautiful.

It made me think how thoughtful it was of God to let me have that moment tonight with my Baby Gao, where he was singing to me and I was grinning back at him from the audience.  Tonight could have been just any other Thursday evening.  We could have done homework and had spaghetti for dinner and then taken the dog for a walk.  He could have left tonight plain and drab, or maybe just stained it for me.  But tonight God gave Grant and me a moment we will never forget.

He painted tonight the most beautiful shade of love and joy for me.

And it was so beautiful.

Meanwhile, I've never been in a funk that couldn't be helped by a good self-portrait

This afternoon we went for a walk along a river that flows through the city.  It's flanked on both sides by cherry trees, which are in blissful bloom right now.  We slowed down every time we passed under a pale pink cloud of blossoms, just to stay in that moment of fairytale beauty a few seconds longer.

Grant spotted some koi fish in the river and he quickly fell under their spell.  One in particular caught his attention and he soon declared that he and this fish were friends.  "He's really friendly," he said.

It is so damn easy to make friends with a 9-year-old boy.

Sensing that Grant and his new friend wanted some time alone, Audrey and I sat down on the stone steps at the edge of the river and watched the pastel cherry petals drift by on the glassy surface of the water.

"What do you think a fish does to make itself appear friendly, or unfriendly for that matter?" I asked her.

She rolled her eyes and we both laughed.  Then she leaned in a little closer to me.  "You laugh more in Japan," she said gingerly.

"I don't know if that's because we're in Japan or because we're on vacation," I said.

Grant ran over to us and said, "Sometimes he swims this way, then he turns around and swims that way.  It's like he doesn't know where he's going."

"Maybe he's not going anywhere," I offered.

I began thinking out loud with Audrey what it means to be on vacation.  Especially a vacation where we're visiting with family.

Since we came here last week, I haven't planned a single meal.  I haven't gone grocery shopping.  I haven't cooked.  I haven't washed a single dish.  I haven't washed any clothes.  I haven't fed the dog, haven't walked him, haven't cleaned up after him.  I haven't done a minute of homework with the kids.  I haven't run a single errand.  I haven't dialed in to a single conference call, haven't taught a class, haven't pushed myself to meet a deadline.  So much of the pressure of everyday life has been lifted from my shoulders.  Maybe when the everyday pressures vanished, that created a vacuum in my soul and laughter rushed in to fill the void.

Grant was back.  "He's so big!  He's really huge.  How do koi fish get so big?"

"I don't know if this is true but I think I read once that koi fish will get as big as the space they're in.  If they have lots of space, they'll get really really big.  But if they're in a small tank they won't grow very big," I told him.

I think that's true.  At any rate it's something that I want to be true.  It sounds so good.

As the sun set the river water grew darker and darker, until finally the water and the slate-grey koi fish swimming in it blended into one slippery shadow.  The three of us quietly rose and gathered our things and walked back to the train station in the enchanted darkness.

Hours later, back in my hotel room, my mind keeps coming back to that koi fish that grew big because he was in a big space.  That means something to me but I can't quite put my finger on it.  Does it mean something to you?  If so would you leave me a comment and tell me about it?  I would love to read that.  Maybe you can help me figure it out.

I blame the police officer

The kids and I wanted to go to a 100 yen shop this afternoon so we asked a police officer for directions.  He was having a hard time explaining it, and frankly, his directions didn't make any sense at all.  But I thanked him politely and set off in the general direction that he had been pointing, mostly just to give him face.

We walked around for a fruitless 15 minutes and finally I told the kids that we were going to have to give up.  Maybe their grandma could take us to a 100 yen shop tomorrow.  She knows the area better than I do.

"Can you just give me one last chance to try and find it?  I feel like I can," said Audrey.

"Knock yourself out," I replied.  I let her take the lead and Grant and I followed behind.  Clearly I make things look too easy sometimes, this would be a good chance for her to learn.

Within three minutes we were standing in the 100 yen shop.  And that's when the relentless teasing began.

"I found it!  I found it!  I don't even speak Japanese and I understood that policeman's directions better than you did!!" Audrey hooted.

Grant joined in, "She's the master now!  She's the Number One Master and you're Number Three!"

"First of all, I am not Number Three, I am Number One," I countered.  "Second of all, how did I slip from Number One to Number Three?  What happened to Number Two?" I asked.

"That's always been me," Grant said.

"Mommy will you please write about this on your blog?" Audrey begged.  "Please write on your blog how awesome I am and what a loser you are!"

"Yeah, tell everyone you're a loser!  The Number Three Master!" Grant challenged.

"So I'm going to write a blog post about what a loser I am and how great you are?" I asked.  "Not happening.  Get your own blog and write whatever you want.  I'l tell you what's going on my blog tonight is that picture of you guys with the kimono girl in the train station.  That's what's going on my blog tonight."

Dammit.  

It was her pumpkin tempura that first caught my eye.

I was at the sushi bar next to two older women, Girl Scout leaders who were just coming back from a regional meeting. They had elected their district leaders and all the political hoopla had left them famished so they came right away for some sushi. The older one, who was next to me, had ordered too much food.

“I didn't realize how much food this was going to be,” she apologized to the sushi chef, who was busily clapping out sushi for the lunch crowd. I love the sound it makes when they dip their hands in the salt water and then clap their hands together, then grab another bit of rice and pat it into shape. “You went to all this trouble to make it for me,” she said. He shook his head, as if to say that she shouldn't worry about it.

I looked at that pumpkin tempura and thought what a win-win this could be. She was too full to eat it, but she didn't want to insult the sushi chef by leaving it on her plate. I wanted the tempura but had already ordered something else.

She looked at me, looked at the tempura and said, “Please, if you'd like it, go ahead.” 

Good grief, how had she known? I looked hesitantly at the tempura. “Really please, I don't want it to go to waste,” she said.

I did a quick risk analysis, a habit I have never shaken after my days as a program manager in high tech.

How likely was it that she had sneezed on her food before I got there? Not impossible, I guess.

How likely was it that I would pick up some other germ if I ate this pumpkin? Sort of likely but then again I also have a very strong immune system.

How likely is it that pumpkin tempura tastes awesome? VERY LIKELY!

I hesitated for a few polite seconds before finally scooping the tempura over to my plate. 

“Put some salt on it,” she instructed. “It makes the sweetness of the pumpkin come out.” I did as she said - there is enough of a Girl Scout left in me to follow instructions from a leader. “But not too much!” she said. I stopped apparently before a salt disaster occurred.

These lovely ladies went on to tell me about their adventures with the Girl Scouts. They had recently returned from a trip to Korea with four scouts. The trip was ten days, and then they came home and were so tired they slept for two weeks straight.

It was such a pleasant little chat. We laughed about Girl Scouts and cookies and Korean food. The sushi chef listened to our chatter as he continued to fill lunch plates for the crowd. The world was a friendly place where smiles were bountiful, where food was shared among strangers and where conversation flowed freely. 

And that pumpkin tempura was every bit as good as I thought it would be.  It really was a win-win.

Tokyo, Me and Two T-Shirts

What did you see first - the city or me?  Where does the city stop and where do I begin?

It's hard to say.

The kids and I are in Tokyo visiting their grandparents during Spring Break and we're having a ball.  At dinner tonight I was trying to take a picture of the city and then I realized I was taking a picture of myself.  The city is tiny and I am a giant, looming over it.

How did that happen?

In other news - you probably know that many items in Japan have things written in "Japanglish".  Today I saw two T-shirts that made me laugh out loud.

One said "Make sense".  Wouldn't you love to be able to shout that at people sometimes?  "Would you please just make some sense?!"

The other said "Losing Heart Without Losing Mind".  What a lofty goal.  Until you stop and think about it...

Okay, fine

Grant wrote his Valentine's Day cards for his class last week.  He signed each one:

"From, No one

Okay fine, from Grant"

I thought this was hilarious.  Then the next morning he wrote this note to himself:

It says:

"Please don't throw away sticky note.  

Change the Valentine cards to just from Grant this afternoon."

Awwwwwww!

Confessions from a Single Mom

I was not a great mom last Thursday night.

Both kids got out of their extracurricular activities at the same time – 5:00pm – but on opposite sides of town. Grant was late coming out of his choir rehearsal, which meant that Audrey had to sit in the lobby at her school for 25 minutes after Rock Band was over. I was fighting rush hour traffic, battling the rain and the darkness, and fielding frequent phone calls from Audrey asking why I still wasn't there.

It was one of those moments when I felt like a very, very single mom. Buddy is a willing and good father but unfortunately he is in another hemisphere and I can't call him when I need help with pick-ups. Or when there's a snow day. Or when Audrey needs supplies for her science project from Office Max. Or when I'm sick.

Finally I got to Audrey and we started the trek back across town to her ice skating lesson, which was starting in five minutes. That's when Grant told me that we needed to go get a drink because his class was having a Super Bowl party with snacks the next day and they could bring drinks and he needed a Powerade. Homemade lemonade in a water bottle was not going to do. It needed to be a sports drink. And he needed to know RIGHT NOW when we were going to go buy it.

And that is when I snapped. I yelled. I don't remember exactly what I yelled, but it was something about being grateful for what you have, and lemonade, and electrolytes being a bunch of marketing hype. And how it's only me around here, I am the only adult and I can't do every single thing.

And then the car went silent. Isn't it crazy how you can almost drown in one 20-ounce bottle of Powerade?

At a stop light at the intersection of West End and Murphy Road, I leaned my head back against the headrest and looked blankly at the night sky. And that's when I found myself face to face with the most beautiful moon I've seen in months. It was so bright and close, I felt like I could punch through the windshield and caress it. And it was full. A full moon. Finally, the moon was full again.

“It's time for a Full Moon Dinner,” I said softly under my breath. “A Full Moon Dinner. We need one of those.”

The Full Moon Dinner tradition started a few months ago when Grant came to me and said, “Remember in China how we used to celebrate the full moon every month?” I laughed and hugged him and said, “No, because we didn't....” The Chinese do celebrate the Moon Festival once a year in the fall but there is no monthly celebration.

But the three of us were trying to establish our new family traditions, defining what our new “family” looks like after the divorce. And I had just taken Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University (thank you Betsy!) and had developed a monthly budget that included one restaurant meal per month. So I said to Grant, “What if we start celebrating the full moon every month by going for dinner together?” And the tradition was born.

Here's the deal with Full Moon Dinners. The kids agree to be on their best behavior and use impeccable manners and I agree not to yell at them. We're generous with ourselves for this one monthly outing - we order appetizers and entrees and dessert and Sprite. And amazingly, for at least that one evening a month, we all keep it together. The kids are fun and well-behaved and all-around awesome and I am funny and happy and laid back. We laugh and linger over our meal and give each other our new spy names for the month. For security reasons I can't tell you what they are.

And for one night a month, things are easy and fun.

We keep a Full Moon Dinner journal, where we record where we ate and what we ordered and we rate our server on a scale of 1-5. We even have a Full Moon Dinner logo, which Audrey designed.

Gazing out my front windshield at the moon I marveled at how beautiful she was. So full and luminous and calming. It makes me feel better to know that even the moon isn't that way all the time though. There are nights when she can only bring half of her lustre to bear. There are nights when only a thin sliver of her brilliance makes it through the darkness. There are even nights when she doesn't appear to be there at all. When the sky is yards and yards of ebony velvet and she is absent. Perhaps she's soaking in a bubble bath. Maybe on her computer. Maybe out for a walk.

But when she shows up in all her brilliance, God is she beautiful.

And when I think of the moon, that's the way I remember her. I remember her as full and bright and close. I remember her moments of awesome beauty.

The way she is when she's at her very best.

And I pray that that's the way my kids will remember me one day - the way I was at a Full Moon Dinner. Full and bright and close. My moments of awesome beauty.

The way I was when I was at my very best.

P.S.: Some of you might read this and worry about me but I hope you can see that while there is pain in this post, there's beauty too. In this post and in my life. It is healing for me to share these thoughts with you in my blog. Thank you for loving me through this process.  

P.P.S.: In the comments section, will you tell me what you thought about when you last saw the moon?  I would love to hear that.

Strong and disparate flavors

Last Saturday as I was having my nails done a man entered the salon.  That's a rare occurrence in Tina's Nail Salon.  I overheard him telling the receptionist that he was there for a gift certificate.

"It's for my wife, Ivory," he said.

"Oh, Ivory!"  The receptionist knew his wife.  "How is she doing?"

"She's got a great attitude and she's keeping up the fight," he said.  His voice sounded cracked and dusty, like the pavement on an old Alabama rural route that never gets re-surfaced.

In my mind I could see Ivory sitting at home in a recliner in front of the fireplace, with a pink scarf covering her head, gazing at the flames and wondering if this might be her last Christmas with her family.  I wondered if the gift certificate her husband was buying for her would bring her any comfort.  I said a little prayer for her, this sister of mine that I had never met and never would.

I hate the fact that if you cry while getting your nails done there's no way to wipe your tears away discreetly.

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Then I went to Trader Joe's to pick up some ingredients for the curry I wanted to make that night.  I ran into my friend Kathy and we talked about how she had company coming into town and how high maintenance they were.  They had allergies to peanuts, soy and dairy.  They were gluten-free.  They hated fish and refused to eat anything that had been cooked in a microwave.  And they were bringing their Great Dane.

We joked that Kathy should serve fish with an especially high mercury content just in hopes of fending these guests off next year.  She even considering skipping the fish and going straight for mercury tablets.  She was joking, naturally, but as we stood under the awning at TJ's and laughed about the upcoming visit I saw her face relax and as we parted ways we were both smiling.

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In the produce section I ran into Selena from church.  She had just picked up some gifts that she had made at a pottery studio and she was so excited to show me the plate she had made for her grandmother.  It was a beautifully simple piece - with a sunshine in the middle and delicate blue forget-me-nots around the edges.  I could tell that she could hardly wait to see her grandmother open that present on Christmas morning.  The excitement and the joy of giving were radiating from her face like that sunshine in the middle of the plate, and although we don't know each other very well she reached out to hug me as we said good-bye.

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When I make curry I start with Japanese curry but after I've made it according to the package directions I add my own ingredients.  I learned when I lived in Japan that you can add ANYTHING to curry and it will taste good.  You can put peach jam, peanut butter, ketchup, barbeque sauce, strawberry yogurt, vinegar, Thousand Island dressing, sour cream, anything.

This step is my chance to make the curry reflect my mood at the time and on this particular occasion I put Nutella, grated onion, oyster sauce, grape jelly, rice wine, coconut milk and Japanese dashi sauce.  Let me tell you it was awesome!  Some of my best work ever.

That's what I love about curry - the way it can absorb all kinds of flavors and make them work together.  It can meld them together and make them complement each other.  Curry is made better by the addition of strong and disparate flavors.

And I thought about the way God had blended the most wonderful moments into my morning.  Ivory's brave fight and her husband's sweet devotion.  Kathy and her resolute humor.  Selena and her exuberance.  All of that made my morning wonderful, and it makes me wonderful.

I do hate the fact that if you cry while grating onions there's no way to wipe your tears away discreetly.

4 Things to Not Say to Me Right Now

Warning: My crappy mood continues.  Thank you for loving me as I am.

I have this one friend named Julia and when she heard I was getting divorced she told me, honestly and beautifully, that she didn't know what to say.  She asked what she should say.

And I was surprised to find that I was stumped.

I don't know what I want people to say.  I only know what I don't want.

1. "Sometimes people just grow apart."
This bugs me because my husband I didn't just grow apart.  It was way more complicated than that.  It wasn't a slow fade.  I don't want people to think that we stopped holding hands for longer and longer periods of time and then one day we realized we had wandered miles apart from each other in the woods.

That wasn't what happened.

But I don't want to talk about what did happen.

2. "My spouse and I are celebrating our 112th anniversary next month."
I'm so happy for you, really I am.

Except I'm not.

Know what I mean?

3. "Children are so resilient."
Resilience is over-rated.  I wanted my kids to grow up in an intact family, with a mother and father in the house.  In a house filled with harmony and love.  One that was a healthy environment for them.  That is what's best for children but it wasn't one of my options.  I had to choose between some pretty bad options and I chose the least bad of them.  But the thing about kids being resilient, it's like saying that after an amputation you're going to weigh a lot less.

Yes, you weigh less.  Big deal.  Everybody wants two legs.

4. "OMG, I can't believe it!  I thought you and Buddy were so happy together!  How can this be?!"
Umm, this is a moment where I need you to be there for ME.  Don't ask me to comfort you through my divorce.  Take it in stride, this stuff happens every day.  If you thought my marriage was perfect that makes two of us.  Sh*t happens.  

Now I'm back-pedaling a bit because I don't want to be mean:
If you have said any of these things to me please don't feel bad.  You were trying to make me feel better and that is what I will remember.

Here's what I guess you could say.  
Can you tell me about a time when you experienced a loss that was also a gain?  An end that was also a beginning or a beginning that was also the end?  Pain that was also joy?  Sorrow that was also beautiful?  Maybe you could tell me that story in the comments section or in an email.

Good Luck and other Bullsh*t

WARNING: I'm in a crappy mood lately and this post reflects it.  If you came for peach pie and a smile, I promise I will be serving that up again soon but today I just can't.  Thank you for loving me in spite of it all.  

In the last few months I've had lots of encounters with our nation's legal system.  And there's one thing strikes me about the people who work in it - they incessantly wish me good luck.

I sign a form for a bailiff and as I hand the pen back, he says, "Good luck to you."

The judge tells me he's granting my petition for divorce and I shake his hand and he says, "I wish you good luck."

I write a letter to my lawyer telling her I'm switching to a new lawyer for the rest of the process but I do it in the NICEST way you can imagine because you all know how important it is to part on good terms.  She responds with two words, "Good luck."

That's it.

Then she sends me a bill for $19 for something that is petty and ridiculous and mean, so I send her another letter that says, "If you find you need to do something billable on my account please contact me in advance to get my authorization both for the work and for the charge."

And then I sign that letter "Good luck."  

But amidst all of this good-luck-wishing, I wish I could snap my fingers and have a couple of cups of green tea appear and I wish I could invite the good-luck-wisher to sit down with me right there, wherever we are.

On the cold granite of the courthouse hallway. 

On the rose-beige carpet of the courtroom.

On the hand-woven Persian silk rug in the mediator's office, which is a silvery blue color and shimmers in the afternoon sunlight and makes me want to dive into it and stay under until my lungs are ready to burst. 

I wish I could tell them something that they already know, I know they already know.  But I would tell them anyway, to make myself feel better, that it was a series of CHOICES, most of them good but enough of them bad, that led me into their courtroom or their office.  Not luck.

Luck never had anything to do with it.

It never did.