A Worthy Life

if mama ain't happy...

The last week I've been pretty much out of commission. Which led to a missed weekend getaway to see lots of dear friends. And while my mom, dad, niece, and little/biggest sister are in town for a visit. Bummer.

Today I'm still holding on, waiting for my meds to be ready for pick up and wishing, hoping, and praying that there is a light at the end of this tunnel and that I can see it in the near distance very soon. 

In the meantime, you know the saying "if mama ain't happy...?" Yeah, well, it clearly doesn't apply in our situation because even with a down and out mama, the kids are still enjoying time with their cousin, aunt, and grandma. 

Even with a list of to-do's and a wish list of want-to's a mile long, I'm happy. Infuriated about the weakness and pain in my body. Frustrated that there seem to be no solid answers for relief. Worried about future "episodes" and how they may/may not reek havoc in my life. Bummed to be missing out on so many special memories down at the river dock and out on the field trips with everyone else.

Yet, relieved that I have a few live-in babysitters willing to help out. Thankful for a husband who picks up the slack after working a full day at the office. Grateful for family who are willing to do anything and everything to help out.

Sure, mama might not be smiling and dancing to the replayed/overplayed "Who Wants to Move It, Move It" with the rest of the gang. But mama's happy and therefore the little world with a population of 10 residing within my universe continues to spin merrily along. Without missing a single beat or bum shake as they move it,  move it.

rockin' and rollin'

She thinks I don't see her there, perched on the edge of her lounger, poised to catch any memorable pose. But she's been my mother for thirty years now...I always know when she's around and what's she's up to.

From the moment I became a mother, my mother became our paparazzi.

Capturing newborn gaseous smiles or me tucked in bed with them (the newborn, not the gases. On second thought, the gaseous tendencies do seem to stem from someone I do share my bed with nightly. ;), she's managed to somehow encapsulate some of our family's sweetest memories into still frames hung proudly on our walls. Even before I was a mother, my sisters and I used to roll our eyes when forced to pose for yet another picture, dreading the photographic proof of adolescence marking a trail across our faces, wondering if the camera would add two pounds or ten.

Now? Now we just roll with her. 

Like when I was rocking out to music blaring from our ipod hooked up to our portable speakers, poolside. My feet started to twitch, my head began to sway, and in a snapshot, I sprang from the lounger where I too was poised to paparazzi my own kiddos.

Sometimes to the laughs and cheers of an audience, always to the humiliation of my husband who I'm sure spends plenty of time wondering where the sweet, little girl he married has gone to.

Babe, I love you. But this, me dancing? That's just how I roll.

debba liz

We practiced her speech together late on the eve of her graduation.

She and another girl had auditioned for the privilege to address their fellow classmates and they had come out on top. A few years earlier my brother had addressed his peers alongside this girl's brother, a winning combination regardless of the year.

I learned in public speaking years ago the secret to confidence behind the microphone: imagine your audience in their underwear. We opted to practice in ours, her in a t-shirt and skivvies, me in my robe. In front of our camera-wielding mother. We live life on the edge, yes we do!

While she committed repeated lines to memory, I gave voice to her partner's lines. Adding in my aged to perfection perspective one analogy at a time. When they spoke of second semesters, I could only think and speak in terms of trimesters. Iambic pentameter became amniotic fluid because I felt those graduates needed to know what the real world held in store for them. We laughed until we were silent, gasping for breath, me with nostrils flaring all the while.

This was my little girl, all grown up, half of those years being spent on the other side of the international border that separated us. She was born during my one year of homeschool, I was the one who held her while my mom got stuff done, I was the one who sang to her invented lullabies in the parking lot of a White Castle run. When financial hardship forced my mother back into the workplace, I walked her to and from school every day, pretending to be her hairdresser on mornings we woke early enough. From the earliest days, we were closer than sisters, we were bosom buddies, connected at the hip and the heart.

When she spoke on Sunday morning in front of a full congregation, I teared as I listened to her give testimony of how God had provided her full tuition and room and board at a private university. She had been willing to lay aside her plans for His providential direction and He hadn't disappointed. That afternoon and evening our house overflowed with her closest friends from every generation. Old and frail ladies that simply adored her, sometimes for the time she spent planting flowers for them, sometimes for nothing more than the smile and genuine love she sent their way every Sunday morning. There were little kids, forcing their parents into attendance so they could again look up to behold their hero and a role model everyone could agree on. Late into the night there were her classmates, kids of every color and culture, background and future, everyone warmed by her hospitality and friendship. I sat among them, pretending to be just like them, understanding clearly the respect they all had for her.

My little girl has become a woman. I can't put my finger on the precise moment she changed in my eyes, the exact gaze which found me looking up to her, for reasons besides her height. But change she did, from a little naive baby-girl to a woman with the audacity to believe she can make a positive impact on her world.

And believe I do too that my sister and best friend will not only impact but change the world, one smile, one impassioned speech at a time.

vows and vegetatrians

We were in Toronto this weekend, celebrating with old family friends of my husband's family. When my in-laws first came to Canada from India, there was a doctor and his wife who really went above and beyond to help them make a home in their new land. With no prior connections or relations, the generosity and compassion this family showed another couple of a different faith was just the beginning of a lifetime of shared blessings and shared burdens.

Invited as guests of the family for the wedding of one of the doctor's granddaughters, I imagined for a moment that this must be what it feels like to marry into royalty. The love that my amma (mother-in-law) has shown and the servant-spirit with which she has ministered to this family's needs over the years has won her the hearts and adoration of many within this close-knit family. My husband and I, even more distant from any relation to the bride, were but beneficiaries of the love of this family based on who we were connected to, the servant-queen, matriarch of our little family.

The wedding was a traditional Hindu ceremony, the date chosen no doubt because of it being one of the luckiest days on the Hindu calendar. Jasmine flowers are given to the women to wear in their hair and the entire place was full of it's sweet perfume all day. Breakfast was served before the ceremony, a vegetarian lunch served immediately after. After enjoying new flavors and consistencies of our meal, I declared myself a vegetarian. My son deemed himself a rice biryani lover, my littlest one a lover of "cheese blocks", and my eldest, a "bread-itarian" after consuming copious amounts of naan bread. After a rest at our accommodations, we returned for another meal, complete with appetizers and a buffet of desserts. Unfortunately my vow to become a vegetarian was broken soon after leaving the premises after realizing I had no one to serve me steaming chala masala or fresh fruit piled high on a silver platter.

A few things really struck me throughout the day. Although the bride and groom were raised in Canada and America, meeting at med school in Granada, and being as modern and independent as their peers, they chose a thoroughly traditional ceremony as a way to honor their families and their roots. Here I was, sitting in a room in Canada, surrounded by people honoring their traditions of a far away land. It was a true testament of the value they placed in who there were, they were willing to stay true to their ways, even in a land so diverse and different by it's own culture. Another thing that is generally true in most Indian families is the devotion of the parents for their children. Many at this wedding had come as first generation immigrants to allow their children more opportunities even though it came at a great cost to themselves. While still pursuing their own dreams and passions, they delayed their personal gratification for the sake of their children. Through their work ethic and pursuit of educational opportunities, they teach their children by example that this is the land where they can do what they dream, if each child is willing to invest the effort. The bride spoke about her family's motto: "whatever makes the girls happy" and illustrated ways her parents had put family above individual pursuits. Though there are negative extremes of this, I find it in stark contrast to the way so many people live these days, with our me-first mentalities and survival of the fittest. Even among the mothers, though many are highly educated and some work outside the home, they serve their families with such joy, counting their children as blessings to be enjoyed. 

Years ago when I first married into an Indian family, I could only see the differences between the way I was raised and theirs in a negative light. These days I am fully embracing the differences, learning that there is much to be gained from each other and so much to be enjoyed in the celebration of each.

we are family

My nose flares when I laugh. I laugh at inappropriate times. At inappropriate times I say inappropriate things.

I wear granny slippers all over the house. I wear athletic socks no matter the shoe. My shoes rarely coordinate well with my outfit.

I say yes when I mean no. I argue the other side even when I actually agree with you. I'm pretty passionate about what I think but I'm not always sure that what I think is right.

I'm pretty sure my idiosyncrasies outnumber my charms. My hypocrisies outweigh my virtues. And when I mention that you probably shouldn't eat that second cup of ice cream, you should know it's because I want to ensure that it'll be there when I come double dipping after you go to bed. Whether or not I should.

My breath stinks when I wake up. I leave folded laundry all over the couch leaving my guests perched on armrests and teetering on the edge. I'll make you a great dinner but I'll boss you like crazy on where you cannot and definitely cannot eat. You there, you're okay there at the table, with bib on, and plastic spread beneath your chair.

Yet for all of what makes me me, for better or for worse, I am still their first love, their only love; a good friend, their best friend; their daughter, their pride and joy; their sister, their good buddy; their mother, the best mother in the whole world.

When a house becomes full with gathered family, it radiates with all the blessings of home, no matter where it is. A card game becomes an opportunity to relinquish your competitive side and replace it with a spirit of love. Watching American Idol together becomes a chance to see if you can outmatch the judges' criticisms with compliments and kudos. Finding a little girl with golden locks already fast asleep in the bed you were assigned challenges you to construct one that can be just right for you out of couches, cushions, and a few spare afghans. Hearing that four more guests will be joining you for dinner in an hour forces you to open your heart and your freezer without grumbling and complaining about the lack of communication. In a house where 15 people combined have 7 computers, 7 cell phones, and 5 land lines at their fingertips and yet all you still seem to get is the busy signal. Doing what she wanted instead of what I had planned, rescheduling my party to accommodate his, and sticking a load of theirs in with some of mine is all in a day's work. Cleaning up his mess because she cleaned up mine, loaning her my jacket because I not-so-secretly envy hers, and relying on your ear plugs because you're the only one who didn't inherit the night owl gene, that is family.

It might not always be easy. It might not always be pretty. It probably won't work out just like you envisioned and it definitely won't make everyone happy all the time. But it will be fun. By golly, it will be fun! There will be laughter, lots of laughter. There will be memories made and inside jokes shared. Pictures taken that, even if you'd rather they not be publicly shared, will capture the moment perfectly and encapsulate the feelings and emotions of the time we spent together, untouched and unedited. And it will still be beautiful.

Because no matter what we do,
"All of the people around us say
Can we be that close
Just let me state for the record
We're giving love in a family dose, yeah..."

Giving love in a family dose, that's Family!

thanks, dad

Dad, Thanks for your attentive ear today when I called. The sobbing and hysterical sniffing would have sent most men reaching for the off switch. But not you! You believe in me and what is more precious, you believe that even in these things God is getting something deeper and more beautiful in my life. Your voice mail about me going into a greeting card business was so heartfelt and encouraging, despite your naivety about how truly simple it is and how creative the real artists really are! Knowing that I have your support and encouragement, and a listening ear should I ever need to slobber into one, means the world to me. I thank God for the example He has brought forth in your life. A life that bears testimony that He will bring gold from out of the fires. You and mom mean the world to me and I am so blessed to call you mine! lv, Dina

Aunt Debs

Yeah! Debs is here for a visit! Always a precious gift to spend time with your little sister, oh! and aunt, of course! Thanks for coming Debs!