witifulramblings

Archive for March, 2014|Monthly archive page

Day 108: My Golden State Warrior

In basketball, Children, Happiness, life, Mother, Parenting, Stories, Victory on March 17, 2014 at 4:14 pm
{photo via crystalgraphics.com}

{photo via crystalgraphics.com}

There was only a minute left on the clock, star player is down with an ankle injury, and my little e is sitting on the bench of his basketball playoff game. What unfolded next seemed like a scene from a disney channel movie. As I see the star player limp off the court, with a score of 22 to 22, I know it’s over. We’re down and now our main basket man is icing his ankle with almost no time left in the game, and just like that coach points to my e and the underdog jumps off the bench. It wasn’t until 40 seconds later that I realized fully what was happening–

Were under our net, we’ve got a weak dribbler and he’s passing my e the ball. My boy that has spent the entire game trying to block kids two feet taller and 30 pounds heavier. My e who hardly watches the ball because, what’s the point? The star player will never pass it to the hardly noticeable short kid in the corner, even though he’s shouting, “Im open.” My Golden State Warrior spent the entire basketball season begging a pass, and I spent every game warding off a sinking motherly heart.

BUT NOT TODAY. And that’s when I stood up. My boy had that ball and he was wide open for the perfect two-pointer, the two-pointer that could take his team to the championship game. It was the underdog and the net, and all he had to do was set it up just right, focus, and it was all his.

E’s not like the other boys who today, fueled with frustration, teared on the court. Balls slammed at refs fouls and travel calls–little e was just enjoying the game. Trying to soak in actually being on the court at all–having some play time.

And that’s why when he set up that shot, he was perfectly calm, a good shooter, finally given the chance. Looks , shoots, and swish, that ball went in without a touch of the rim. The stadium of hundreds stands up in cheers, I’m shaking and crying and screaming, “he did it!” Everyone turns to me to validate that, yes, my no-play-time son just made the perfect shot that put them up two points with 19 seconds left on the clock and their star player still icing his leg. Now they just have to keep them off, down the court, defense, 19-18 and then 5-4-3-2—-and 1. It’s done. Cheers, my boy carried across the court. hugs, you did it, MVP, more hugs.

Sometimes the most unlikely things happen, sometimes the short kid in the corner finally gets the ball. And sometimes, just sometimes, that kid takes his team to the championships.

a whit who’s going to be ridin’ on this victory for awhile. nothing but net.

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Day 107: Malaysia Flight 370: Two Parents

In Children, Family, Father, Happiness, Kids, Love, Marriage, Mother, Parenting, Travel on March 16, 2014 at 3:15 am

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{photo via google search}

Amidst all the news reports surrounding the tragic mystery of Malaysia flight 370, there is one story I find to be most tragic. I guess it strikes a chord with me because it echoes one of my deepest fears–leaving my child to get on a plane and never seeing him again. When Muktesh Mukherjee and his wife Xiaomo Bai got on flight 370, they were intending to vacation and left their two young boys with their grandma. Now those two beautiful boys have to wonder if they will ever see their parents again. I cannot imagine what they must be feeling, I cannot imagine what Muktesh and his wife must have felt the moment they new something was ‘wrong.’

On my last vacation to the UK, I had a panic attack the entire trip (airplane ride and vacation). My partner thought I was legitimately insane for shaking violently when turbulence bounced us around on our way to Italy. But what was really happening, I was thinking of my beautiful little e, I was thinking how much he needs me, and I was praying nothing would happen to me because we need each other.

My heart aches tonight for those two little boys. My heart aches for those parents because I had a glimpse of what they must have felt–times a million. As we pray for their safe return to their little ones, let us all remember how lucky we are to have our love ones present with us in our lives. Sometimes we can forget how special they are when they’re right in front of us.

little e you played a great baseball game today and I love you for it.

to my other love, I love you to the moon around the stars and back again…

to my Ini, thank you for lying against my back while I sleep, you make the best fluffy cuddler…

love, love, love…

and to the Mukherjee family, you’re in our thoughts. I hope they soon find answers because two parents need their two boys.

a whit.

Day 106: Sometimes We Have to Find Our Knees

In Beauty, Books, life, Sadness, Thoughts on March 15, 2014 at 6:15 am

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If you have ever read the book Little Bee then you probably remember this line:

“Sad words are just another beauty. A sad story means, this storyteller is alive. The next thing you know something fine will happen to her, something marvelous, and then she will turn around and smile.”

Or this one:

“We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, ‘I survived’.”

Some days I feel like I’m writing a very sad story, and some moments I feel like my scars are so deep they’re imprinted on my heart. The cover of the Little Bee story features a black silhouette of Little Bee’s profile and written all over her face is scrawled the title in twisted and tangled letters. I have to admit, I couldn’t even make out the title of the book in the store, and it wasn’t until I began to read that I realized it read–Little Bee. Looking at the book again tonight sitting her aside my computer, I realize the letters are Little Bee’s scars written all over her face, her face then plastered on her story.

Tonight I sit trying to make sense of my own scars, trying to sort out which ones are jagged, raised, white from years of settling, fresh with redness and newness. I’m a thinker. Sometimes I spend hours trying to figure out these scars, how to wipe them away and make myself flawless again. Tonight I am reminded that scars never disappear, they are marks of survival, they are part of our story that got the chance to keep being written.

I fell to my knees in prayer, not because I’m religious, but because I needed some thing else to hear my story even if it was just the air. I needed to show my scars, to itemize them, and then I needed to remember that a sad story means that I am alive and with the flick of a page I will turn around to smile again.

a whit.

Daily Cupcake: Let it Go

In Uncategorized on March 13, 2014 at 4:26 am

Daily Cupcake: Let it Go

Worrying is like trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum.

Baz Lurman

Day 105: Dreams

In Dreams on March 13, 2014 at 2:17 am

It has been a long time since I have written anything on this blog because, to be honest, I haven’t known what to write. Not because things haven’t been happening to me–they have. It’s been more a matter of fear, fear that my words written on here might somehow change my dreams.

Today I realized fear cannot govern this blog, and so here I sit ready to write again.

I’ve been thinking a lot about dreams lately and, coincidentally, so was this person. In fact, everyday when I need an uplifting moment I turn to this blog and just the right words appear on my screen. A small miracle for me.

Opposite to her, I never dreamed of being solely a mother. I knew I wanted to be a mom, but I knew I also wanted a career. Sometimes our long hoped for dreams get away from us and we realize the ones that replace them are “better” for us. When I think of all the things I do well in my life, I can’t think of one job I’ve done better than being a mom. This was never a painstakingly imagined dream that I scoured over everyday of my young adult life, being a mom, but it’s one I’ve come to know I needed just as much as it needed me. It’s a dream better than any of those that I had envisioned; ones of me working in a suit and bossing a bunch of professional men around. In fact, I’ve actually come to see that dream for an inkling, the business women one, and it wasn’t as great, as fulfilling as I’d imagined it.

Today, I realized, it’s that dream I had to be a high-powered woman–that’s the dream that has hurt me the most. It has punched me in the stomach as I’ve failed at it, it has told me I’m not good enough, it has even brought me to knees crying. Though, it’s the other dream, the one that hid in the back of my mind, that dream has brought me such delight, it has brought me to tears in happiness, it given me strength on my weakest days, it has whispered to me so many times “you are enough.” It has never brought me wealth or power, but it has taught me the greatness of sacrifice and selfless devotion.

I’m reading Meaty by Samantha Irby, in a book that seems so “dirty” and, to be honest, crude at times, there is so much honesty. This honesty is about dreams too. In one essay Irby gets really real, she talks about raising her daughter–her very own mother. Behind the sarcasm flows the dreams, the dream of owning a telephone so she wouldn’t have to walk down the street to the fire station when her ‘daughter’s’ legs quit working, the dream of being able to take real Oreos to a school party instead of the off-brand Hydrox ones, the dream of knowing sooner that if she looked clean and got her homework done then she could keep living the dream of raising her ‘daughter’ and no one would ask questions. She talks about realities too though, in fact that’s where her essay ends, seeing her ‘daughter’ without her dentures lying on her deathbed. Her entire life her ‘daughter’ had only taken those dentures out in some late night escapades where she’d gather her cane and  pretend to be a witch. But here, on her deathbed, Samantha saw the truth–she really looked more like a [sweet] baby.

It’s true that dreams can be as big as having a high-powered career and finishing a master’s degree and as small as buying name brand Oreos for a party. The truth is though, no matter how big or small dreams are sometimes they just aren’t reality. And sometimes, reality is better than the biggest dream.

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