Let's just go

{laotian baby on our boat trip down the mekong river, february 2008}

I did it. I said the words. And without having to say it, he knew that they would be followed by Bali or Bolivia or Guatemala, but he stopped me with just one look. The don't go there look. But that was a few days ago.

Today, I got the "I was thinking..." and when those words come out of my husband's mouth, I have learned to stop what I am doing and pay attention. This morning he stopped me in my tracks and I made myself comfortable on the steps leading downstairs. I have learned that the thoughts after those simple words often require me to sit down.

A bit of back story...

In 2008, I became pregnant just a few short weeks after we had returned from 10 months of traveling around the Pacific Ocean. In a decision that most called "adventurous" and only one or two called "foolish", we changed the course of our relationship, our careers and how we experience the world we live in. It is an experience that we reference at least once a day and it continues to be a source of inspiration, encouragement, joy and light when life feels a bit bleak. The decision to quit our jobs, rent out our apartment and travel together for 10 months changed our relationship, ourselves and our life outlook. Free to be where we wanted, when we wanted, we chose to travel when we did, because we knew children would be "next" and this type of travel would not happen with them.

Until we realized that it does. Or it can. Along the way, we met a family traveling with a 2yr old and a 5 yr old in the Galapagos, a family on a boat with a 7 yr old and many others along the way. They did not arrive in Lima for just one night without a hotel reservation or stay out until the morning hours in Singapore, but they traveled. And they experienced. And they were together.

While in Germany a few weeks ago I read the inspiring story of a family and their young boy, living temporarily in Africa - and the images of him in the wild have been etched into my mind. To read the story click here. And though the nugget and I only braved a short trip from San Francisco to Frankfurt, he proved quite adaptable and willing to play along with train rides and Spaetzle and all the new things we threw in his path. So Germany or Africa or Panama?

So today, as we gazed into the future a bit and saw a dog and a second child and maybe a house, we realized we have that need to experience again. To experience life outside our bubble and then find our way back home.

Today's conversation on the step was just that: about travel on the brain. Travel with the nugget on the brain. But that is as far as we got. For now.

If you are interested in our stories from afar, we kept an extensive weblog of our travels. You can see all of the Circle the Pacific Tour right here.

It may have been the last time...

{posted first at maus + nugget, june 2009}

Somehow it seemed appropriate to re:post this image as some of you may not have been reading my early chronicles of new motherhood. I love this image and I have no idea where I found it. But it was perfect for how I was feeling about 8 weeks into breastfeeding for the first time.

It may actually be that today was the last time - the last morning visit to mama's milk bar. And I post this for my own benefit - so that I can remember.

For like so many things one experiences as a new parent, it is bittersweet.

Already addicted

Yes, I see the absolute hypocrisy in what I am about to type. And yes, I realize that my post from yesterday was about simplifying by not getting distracted by things that are not important. And today that is still true.

But today I also joined the 21st century.

I now have an iphone.

I may be one of the last people in the Bay Area - I mean my mom even has one, but I surely never felt like I needed one and I absolutely do not want to be the mom at the playground who is updating her Facebook page (I apologize if this is you and offends you).

But now that I have it and its been in my hot little hands for about an hour, I love it.

Home again

{25 July}

Simplifying our lives does not mean sinking into idleness, but on the contrary, getting rid of the subtle aspect of laziness: the one which makes us take on thousands of less important activities.

Matthieu Ricard

We are home. It has been a week of getting re-acquainted with forgotten toys, sleeping at unusual times of the day and night, washing an immense amount of laundry and embracing the tasks of everyday living. The suitcases are unpacked, the photos are almost all downloaded and the refrigerator is full.

Yes, indeed we are home.

And today as my two men napped, instead of napping myself, I cultivated a little altar for this very precious book, that has been without a "home" since we moved. It is called Offerings: Buddhist wisdom for every day. Full of 365 days of reminders for mindfulness and stunningly alive photographs, it is our way of starting the day with right thought, right speech and right livelihood. And when throughout the day, we veer away from these, it lays there, like a reminder to pause, breathe and pay attention. And I have missed it.

Now it has a place of its own. And of course, as I opened it to today's date and read today's quote, I was again reminded that when we are ready to hear, the words arrive. For this is exactly what I needed to read, at exactly the right moment.

Well done New York!

photo from www.freeourmidwives.org photo gallery

I have been secretly holding my breath and cautiously paying attention to certain legislative matters happening in the state of New York. I live far on the other side of the country, but when it comes to birth and more specifically choices regarding birth, I am fiercely passionate. I had my baby at home but I don't presume to think that home birth is for everyone. But I do presume that access to midwife assisted home births is a fundamental right of every pregnant woman.

And today, I learned that the Midwifery Modernization Act was passed in New York and that women will again have access to midwifery supported home births, if they so choose.The efforts of women, families, strangers, midwives, legislators and supporters of home-birth proved that it is possible to fight for what you believe in and be triumphant, without abundant resources or time. Well done New York, well done!

{read the good news first at marvelouskiddo}

It's universal

The conversation went something like this:

"Hi, hello, nice to see you!"

"Yes, hi. How are you?"

"Fine. We're on our way to to visit a kindergarden."

"Oh yes, I am on way to pick up Max at the kindergarden here in Oberkassel."

"Really? We tried to get in there but it was full. And now we can't find one that is close to our house."

"Oh, but there are two families leaving. One is headed to Switzerland and the other to Munich...I will tell them you are interested and...."

And so it went. You can fill in the rest. And though I simplified it for translation purposes, you get the idea. Seems there is no room in kindergarden in Oberkassel and San Francisco. I felt right at home as overheard these two moms talking, while I waited for the S-bahn today. Frustration and a bit of worry lay below the surface of their words and I wondered if this is simply the newest topic amongst moms everywhere.

Universal motherhood indeed.

For my dad

My mom took this picture. I just found it. The nugget was only a few months old. Now he's walking and talking and way too big for that pram. Its the nugget with my dad. Its at the cemetery that looks out onto the Pacific Ocean, where when I was nineteen, we scattered his ashes.

Today is his birthday. Tomorrow is the anniversary of his death.

Back to back - joy and sadness, as if to be a yearly reminder to never forget that they belong together. And then in full circle. Today marking the beginning and tomorrow the end, in perfect metaphor.

But what happens between today and tomorrow is a lifetime of memories like sardines on saltines afterschool, his bellowing voice at my brothers' soccer games, perfectly creamed onions at Thanksgiving, the life size leprechaun he crafted for my 3rd grade classroom, the collapsible and mobile picnic table that I found unbelievably embarrassing and the way his left eyelid kind of dropped and slanted over his eye.

And between these two days I think of this poem that was written 2 years after he died. I remember it because none of the other books and cards that were given to us in condolence in 1994 made any difference - they focused on the end and the finality of his life. And for me, focusing on the end and the fact that it was too soon or too tragic, meant we didn't focus on the life. And well, that just wasn't good enough for me. And then somewhere I read or heard this...

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end.

He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

The Dash by Linda Ellis

This post is for my dad
Jonathan Rutledge Tower
June 28, 1939 - June 29, 1994
Because I am part of his dash

Summer reading

I was really envious of other moms when I heard about the great books or movies they were able to enjoy while breastfeeding. I had a very matter of fact little baby who didn't spend anymore time nursing than he needed to get nourishment, so I didn't have endless hours in a rocking chair. And somehow he managed to need my full attention so phone calls and texting were out too. I meditated instead. Well, attempted to meditate. Call it new mom meditation - breathing and simply trying to be it the present moment.

So for the first time in a year, I have read a book. Actually, I have read three books. And none of them were about infant sleep, developmental milestones or starting solids. Halle-freaking-uia! It may be however, that I am extremely late in my book reviews and these books are old news. If that is the case, scroll to the bottom and send me a comment about what book I should pick up next!


I have been nursing Traveling with Pomegranates: A mother-daughter story since December. It was a gift from my mom for Christmas. She usually gifts me some sort of reading material about spirituality, so I was excited to get something lighter and easier to digest. Or so I thought. The irony is that this book is indeed a book of faith and spirituality. But it is also a book of relationship and truth telling and coming into one's own, at 20 and at 50, and probably several times in between.

The story is co-authored by Sue Monk Kidd (of The Secret Life of Bees) and her daughter Anne Kidd Taylor and their journey of self-discovery. I nursed it because I have a 15 month old tornado who keep me busy and when I try to read at night, I usually only make it through the first paragraph. But I think I also nursed it because it is a journey of insights and awakenings and I needed time to process how their story affected mine. I saw myself as the daughter and the mother, as the young woman searching for her path and the older woman full of self knowledge about the needs of her creative self. I underlined wise insights and "aha" moments. I even googled Anne and with great interest watched the video of the commencement address she and her mother gave after the book project was complete.

I nursed this book because I too have a mom and we have a sometimes complicated relationship.

I nursed this book because it is a journey about travel in one of my favorite parts of the world, experiencing and finding the Divine feminine and for one young woman, becoming a writer. It was this synchronicity that I paid attention to and savored as I approached the 1st birthday of my baby boy and began to wonder what it is I want to become.



During my three days "off" a few weeks ago, I let myself buy a book in the Tassajara bookstore. I could have gone for something about everyday mindfulness or learning how to really live in the present moment, but I was struck by the cover of Little Bee by Chris Cleave, and I will be the first to admit that I always judge a book by its cover.

I read the whole book in three days - by the pool, at the hotsprings, to kerosene light before falling asleep. It is compelling and pulls you in - but I realized I pushed myself to finish because I knew once I headed back up into my world, it would take me months to finish.

The back cover tells very little. On purpose I suppose, so I will do the same. In short, it is a story about what can happen when you stop communicating in your marriage, the dark and festering side of humanity and the inner voice that sometimes pushes you do the right thing, no matter what the consequences. It is not light and fluffy, but it is honest and hauntingly real and even a bit hopeful.


And now here in Germany, I have gotten the chance to read book number three. My mother-in-law is an avid reader of books in English and she usually has a stack waiting for me when I come to visit. Not able to indulge in German television (which I really love to do when I am here) because the TV is in the room where the nugget is sleeping, I have ample opportunity to read.

So in this week, I started and finished The Help by Kathryn Stockett.

Again, its a story about being in relationship. And again, its a story about women being in relationship to other women - as strangers, as mother and daughter, as employee and employer, as friends. It is a story of two sides and unlikely connections. Its a story about standing up for what you believe in. Its a story about women: the good, the bad, the ugly, the unpleasant, the vicious, the generous, the benevolent and the triumphant.

But, it is just a story. I am fairly certain that many of the pop-culture references are not dated correctly and the use of stereotyped language and socio-economic circumstances is fairly extreme. I am a white woman who grew up in California with no domestic help so I don't have a reference point or any clue. I can only choose to see this book as a snapshot of an important and utterly appalling time in American history.

{Side note: I mentioned my proclivity for judging books by their cover and if you click on the link you will see a different cover for The Help. It threw me when I searched for the book on Amazon because to me this yellow cover doesn't work with the story at all. But I see how it could be more appealing on the shelf...I am really quite curious how and why the 2 covers were designed so differently. What do you think?}

Just because

A few questions worth thinking about....from one of my new favorite blogs Annekata. Grateful to Oma and Opa for taking the nugget to the park yesterday so I could indulge in answering these questions, just because.

1. If you could have a dinner with a famous person (alive or dead) who would you choose?
Can I choose not famous? Because I choose my dad. I was 19 when he died. I was not old enough or mature enough to have become friends with him and I there is so much I want to know.

2. Where would you have that dinner?
Balthazar in New York City

3. What book written (in the last 300 years) had a real influence on your life?
First, The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood because it was the book that changed my relationship to reading. And second, Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert because it saved me.

4. If you could live anywhere, in any time, what place and time would that be?
I often think I was born into the wrong era. I have a romanticized view of life in England during the time of one of Jane Austen's stories. On the other hand, I could easily imagine living amongst the rice fields of Bali, no specific era in time.

5. What season would reflect you best?
Summer because it is acceptable to be barefoot all the time. Winter because it is introverted and quiet and prone towards melancholy.

6. What do you wear when you don't want to think about what you wear?
My favorite pair of jeans, a white tank top, a gray sweater and ballerinas. Or if they happen to be appropriate, my cowboy boots.

7. What does craft/making mean to you?
It means a complete detachment from time. It means creativity. It means working with my hands. It means contentment. It means joy. It means making a mess. It means having a space of my own. It means pride. It means making something with my own hands.

8. If you project yourself into the future. Is there anything you would like to achieve in the next 2 to 5 years?
I would like to write something for a magazine, either printed or online.

Frozen in time.

Sometimes the camera just isn't available. Sometimes the lighting is just off. Sometimes you just have to write about a moment so that it never disappears.

Tonight, I had a nugget who woke up at 10pm and couldn't go back to sleep. We were still outside indulging in the heavenly summer weather. I let him join the party. Having already played in his sandbox in his pajamas and eaten his first piece of Apfelkuchen, I knew my attempts to get him back to sleep would be in vain.

And on his own, he waddled up the stairs in his misbuttoned onesie, to Opa's open door.

And then, when I was back downstairs, I looked up and through the spaces in the stairs, saw a calm and motionless nugget, sitting in Opa's lap. And both, were mesmerized by the World Cup game playing on the screen before them. Opa pointing and explaining off-sides, nugget pointing too and making some inaudible comment. And I just watched. And listened. And smiled.

I tried to take a picture but the angle and the light were against me. I tried to make a video, but I didn't want to disturb or the end the moment in order to capture it for later. I tried to end the novelty early to do a much needed diaper change, but once in my arms he squirmed his way back into Opa's direction and imploringly held out his arms. I think we had one really happy Opa and one really happy nugget.

And besides, what's the harm in a little Apfelkuchen, a little World Cup watching and a little going to bed late anyways? We're on vacation and life is too short to miss out on moments like these.

The official jet lag cure for toddlers

Exhaust them.

Take them to the zoo, put them on Opa's shoulders, let them eat their first ice-cream, let them hide with the big boys in the sand, let them skinny dip in Oma and Opa's back yard and let them stay up until 8:30pm.

And that's how you get an excitable and curious 15 month old to sleep through the night again.

Happy mama, happy baby. At least for today.

A visit from the Stork

There is a darling tradition here in Germany of hanging out a clothes line of baby clothes in the first days after a new baby is born. I first saw this tradition in Bavaria several years ago where the line was actually strung across the narrow cobblestone street - from one high window to the opposite side - marking a sort of threshold and welcoming. It was sweet then, as it is now.

Not sure it would have the same affect though if had tried this at home in California.