tonglen- a moment of actual Buddhism

What do you do when it's 3 am and your baby is up again, inconsolable?

You think about all the other parents who are up at 3 am with you, holding their inconsolable babies. You breathe in and think about how they feel just like you, how you're connected to them because you're all up at this ungodly dark hour, trying to soothe a baby, trying not to think about how deliciously warm and soft your bed is. You breathe out and think of the peace we all want to feel, the comfort we all want for our babies.

I remember practicing this as suggested-- in the middle of a traffic jam. I was holding my breath, in a hurry, when I remembered that every other person on the road felt the exact same way. So I breathed in our frustration, breathed out some peace and unwound a bit, and lo and behold. Traffic didn't move faster but I felt a lot better.

Pema Chodron says it in another way here.

when your kid asks why the tree shines so brightly...

you tell her or him it's because of the eels.

"If we could gather all electric eels from all around the world, we would be able to light up an unimaginably giant Christmas tree." I think this is the greatest quote ever. Inventor Kazuhiko Minawa found a way to harness eel energy to light up a Christmas tree! It's so popular in Japan! Reuters says so.

Talk about being energy efficient. What a fun way to teach kids about that!

ok to go

Ever since Minkie said her first word ("duck," at 8 months ish), I've been secretly and happily holding on to the notion that she will not be small and pre-verbal forever. She will one day be able to tell me her wants, her needs, her dreams, her peeves. She will be able to get herself a glass of water and go the toilet on her own, maybe without even letting me know. She will have ideas.

At some points I felt some guilt for feeling relieved that infancy doesn't last. And then a little apprehension realizing that none of this lasts.

But I also realized that it's ok-- maybe even a good thing-- to not want to hold onto infancy and want her to remain an infant forever. Maybe it's a good thing to let go of each stage and to let her grow. I'm sure there will be a stage I want to hang onto, and I'll have to remember this then.

Someone once said that from pregnancy onward (or, from starting the adoption process onward), parenting is a continual process of letting go.

weaning

When I was pregnant, I think I read somewhere that pregnancy and parenting all comes down to the art of letting go. Continually, over and over again. At birth, at cutting the cord, at every stage as the child continually grows into her own space and personhood.

I am at the weaning stage. It is a gradual process for Minkie and me. The slowness is hard. It's one step forward, one step back (which sounds like we're not progressing toward weaning, and it sometimes it feels like we're not, but I think we are, so let me amend that to two steps forward, one step back).

I miss having regular cycles. I miss the progesterone high of pregnancy (that's some good stuff, progesterone). It's a rough landing. Minkie's having a growth spurt and wanted to nurse more lately, and I found myself melting into bliss this evening as she nursed because nursing is the one time I totally focus on beautiful things. I think about flowers, about D, about cheery things. I do not worry about the state of my parents' relationship, my mother's mental health, my husband's lack of sleep, my own harried schedule.

As weaning continues, I will have to answer the hard question: when during the day will I provide myself the opportunity to lavish in beautiful thoughts when Minkie no longer needs to nurse?

reverence

I came across the word "reverence" in a poem. Just reading it makes me want to slow down. The word itself inspires quiet, slow contemplation, and an expectation of the divine. It reminds me of "river." The ebb and flow, the grace of water flowing over rock, the edges blotted by mud and flowers. Watching Minkie as she plays-- banging something over and over, inspecting the floor really carefully, feeling the texture of the wall-- it's another way to slow down. Maybe it's a good way to practice feeling reverent.

balance

There's nothing quite as sweet as the feeling of your baby's soft hands stroking your chest during a nap, nursing or (the rare) quiet time.

There is nothing quite as painful as the feeling of your baby's curious little finger shooting up your nose and pinching with the grip of a sadistic lobster on steroids.

And there's nothing like parenthood to teach me new ways of appreciating balance.

a leaf in the hair is worth ten on the ground

Minkie had a day of quality yard time last week- front and back, both! She could not have been happier. She and Daddy played tag in the front yard. Her version is to run a little and then fall down, laughing like crazy. She then realized she loved rolling around in the grass. Her hair was a bit leafy.

I took her into the backyard and she quickly discovered a tiny, long-forgotten potted plant, some kind of succulent. It was dried and the roots did not hold it in the soil, so when she turned it over and shook it, the soil and plant fell out. I helped her stuff soil back into the little pot. Then she climbed into her play structure (about a foot off the ground, with a slide), sat down on the platform, and proceeded to dump out and re-stuff the soil into the pot. Her hands were covered with dirt; it was wedged under her nails.

I looked at my little nature girl. I had to stop myself from taking the dirt and pot away from her and brushing her off-- I had to remind myself to let her play.

I remembered when I worked one summer as a cashier at a Very Nice Department Store, in the Very Nice children's shoe section. A girl found a pair of sneakers she liked and ran around with them on, delighted. I liked watching her have such a good time-- until her mom or caretaker said sharply, "Come here and sit down like a lady!"

Minkie may have a leaf in her hair and dirt under her nails. There may be a time when I forget to relax and let her have fun; I may take away the dirt before she's ready, just because I've forgotten that fun is more important in that moment than perfect grooming. But that day, I'm so glad I remembered in time.

Grandma's hilarious addition to the Solemn Dialogue on Race

It's 8:00 PM. Minkie's gone to sleep and I just popped in a nice, relaxing, evening yoga DVD. I am hoping that no one watches me.

My mom makes herself a snack and settles in the glider behind me.

I am working myself into a shoulderstand when Mom says, "Is she Indian? She looks *just like you*!"

"No she doesn't," I grunt, watching as Hemalaya, the teacher, rolls out of the pose.

Mom isn't blinking. "Yes she does! That's you!" She is excited.

"Mom! I look like a lot of Indian people!" I tell her. I have been told all my life that I look like the quintessential Kerala female. I was born and brought up in the U.S., so I just take that on faith.

"Do you know her?" Mom asks.

If I didn't know it was my mother sitting there, snacking and chatting behind me, I would have *sworn* it was a white lady from NotDiverseLand. Nope- my own mother, born and raised in Kerala, India, immigrated in her early thirties, is asking me if I know the Indian woman in the tv doing yoga. Because we look so alike.

And that is your parenting moment of Zen for the day.

scrapes

Minkie is a brave girl. She was playing in a bookstore and fell and scraped her cheek on a cardboard box. My heart sank and I held her tight as she cried (and she does this extremely heartstring-tugging thing where if she's really hurt, she'll cry, then have her mouth open in a shocked silent "O" for a minute, then really scream. Oh the tears!). I cared for the scrape and then, while I still felt bad about it, she was off and playing.

Talk about being in the moment. I don't know if the pain was still there, but the sudden shock of the injury was in the past, and she was on to the next. She reminds me not to rehash too much, either physical or emotional booboos.

another take on mornings

D came home very late last night from work. This is not unusual for him- if only his students knew!

At 10:30 PM, I heard it on the monitor: Minkie awoke briefly, cried out, fell back asleep.

At 11:30 PM, I could not keep my eyes open; I could not wait up for him. I went to bed where Minkie was already asleep in her crib. I am in the process of nightweaning her. Also, due to our circumstances in suburbia, we are sharing a room. Thus nightweaning is a challenge.

At around midnight, D slipped in.

At 1:30, Minkie awoke, cried out, listened to me to talk to her soothingly from our bed, settled back down.

At 3:30, Minkie awoke, cried out, listened to me to talk to her soothingly from our bed, settled back down.

At 4:45, Minkie awoke and cried out. I decided her night was officially over and brought her into our bed to nurse and nap.

I fell asleep, and she shifted, and I awoke. Usually I'm so groggy at this point that I can't see straight. But today I noticed the intense, flame-orange streak in the sky- sunrise. It's not the first sunrise I've seen, especially as a relatively new parent, but it's the most vividly colored.

In about two minutes, it had faded to a nondescript pink, a washed out blue. It's the first morning in a really long time that I felt lucky that my baby awoke me at that hour.

the leaves have changed

Yesterday I took Paloma into the great outdoors that is our little suburban front yard.

She *loved* it. There is no end to the circles she can run, stopping to pick up crunchy leaves or squeeze a couple of rocks or just fall down laughing.

I noticed that the leaves have changed from the brilliant hues of early fall to the serious, crackly, dry brown indicating winter. She stood leaning against my legs for a minute, and we just stood there.

I thought about things-- an Amy Winehouse song, my dad's oral surgery-- and then I realized I could be thinking about nothing at all, just standing there and observing the moment. And I did that, and it was really a beautiful fall moment-- clean and austere, and a little bit lonely, except for the little girl standing with me.

What's this blog about?

I really appreciate experiencing a moment of peace in the day. You too?

I'm a mom of a one year old, working from home for a nonprofit, saying "yes" to more volunteer gigs than I should, squeezing every second of time with my spouse as possible, and basically keeping lots of plates spinning.

Sound familiar?

Join me (nearly) daily for a moment of Zen with Minkie (the nickname for my daughter), or without her, discovering the little (sometimes hidden!) moments that make parenting a beautiful endeavor.

I write from the context of my ever-evolving roles of mother, daughter, wife --and career woman, and jazz and opera lover... I'm bringing it all to the table in the hope that where I find and share a moment of peace, you will too.