He Knocked it Out of the Park

Handsome, isn't he?  That's my Papa. Those steely eyes lit up when he smiled.

MAN am I going to miss those eyes.  And his laugh...you can't beat that laugh, especially when he thinks what your saying is particularly funny.  Like when I asked him to take me for a $5 coffee at Starbucks. Hysterical. Or when you were going to turn on a movie when he wanted to watch a baseball game. Oh wait, that wasn't funny at all.  That was treason.  

He loved to make others laugh, which was easy with his quick wit and great sense of humor.  I feel sad that there will be a hole now where his jokes used to be.  He was tough as nails and a total clown at the same time.  Pretty extraordinary.

I loved his hands the most. Calloused and worn from a lifetime of hard work. He carried all of us in those strong, capable hands.

His eyes got wide and serious as I asked him to hold Aurora for a picture, "No. Not tiny babies." I handed her to him anyway as he exclaimed "God damnit Brianna!"  But look, he smiled and everything. :)

I couldn't be more proud of my Papa.  He was the kind of man that his grandkids wrote essays about in grade school.  He played in the first Olympic baseball game in 1956, and taught me and my sisters how to swing like champions.  Weight on your back foot, pivot your hips, throw your hands at the ball and swing right through the ball upon contact.  Practice enough that when you step up to the plate, you know you can do it.  When you strike out, try again.  No matter what, I'm proud of you.

                         


When we were kids he insisted that he was a hundred year old Indian.  The gig was up when his grandson Ben insisted as much to his elementary school teacher, which resulted in a parent-teacher conference.  No one saw that one coming.

I still have a quarter that he gave me when I was almost sixteen, joking that it was for my first tank of gas--whatever was left over was for college.  I always knew the value of Papa's attention, wisdom, and affection, and I am forever grateful that he was generous with all of them.  When I was very young he pointed out my birthmark: "You have a butterfly just like me right on your calf...now that is something special." I felt like a million bucks. I still do.

He was the foundation of our family, the solid base that encouraged each of us to become and grow and succeed.  My world is rocked without him.  He worked to instill in us our worth and to recognize the strength of our hearts and minds.  He gave me the greatest gift of all by seeing me, all that I am, and showing me that I am valued and loved.  I could be exactly who I am around Papa, and he might not agree with it, but he valued it nonetheless.  And he taught me to do that, too.

He was certainly not hesitant about voicing his opinions, and he would dual it out with me for hours, each of us defending our ideas and (sometimes) learning from one another.  Either way, there were no hard feelings or grudges.  Its a rare and beautiful thing to stand on opposite sides of an issue, and not have that create distance. One of his many admirable qualities.

For now I am left longing for more conversations around the dinner table late into the night, and a deep feeling of gratitude for the amazing man that was George Zucca, my Papa.  I hope everyone can rest in the knowledge that you don't have to be perfect or avoid mistakes in order to be truly great and to leave an incredible impact on this world.  Papa didn't get everything right, but he absolutely knocked it out of the park.

 

Being Unforgettable

"Don't forget me," said Mimi as I hugged her good bye.

 I had been able to stuff down my tears the entire day, but her words shattered my resilience.  She had requested that people didn't say things to make her cry, and that she didn't want to say good bye. She thought this whole ordeal of knowing that you were going to die was quite cruel, and made it clear that she didn't want to think about it.   But I had to get on a plane, and in that moment that we both knew would be our last together, we couldn't help ourselves.

"You've made me who I am today Mimi. I could never forget you."

She nodded, accepting the weight and truth of my tear soaked words. "I need you to know how much I love you, and that you have always made me feel beautiful and loved and cherished."

"I know. I know." She said gently, looking straight into my eyes. She diverted her gaze to her dresser across the room, "Now stop."

"I will. I love you Mimi." I let go of her hand that I knew so well, walked down the stairs, and cried for all the moments ahead that I wouldn't have her with me. I wept for all the life we had shared for the last 29 years. The good, the bad, the big and the small. I cried for the pain and fear she had now that I couldn't take away.

Mimi is certainly unique, but that is not what makes her unforgettable.  The connection she built with me, memory by memory, makes her a part of who I am. She has helped shape the way I think about myself and the world. She is a co-writer of my story.

Week-long visits over the summer, yearly vacations to Graeagle with the whole family, holidays, birthdays, whatever-days.  My memory is filled with nights snuggled together on the couch watching movies; waking up to the smell of eggs and pancakes before rushing down to find her in her purple robe and slippers. Long days at Great America with hot dogs for lunch...animal keys at the zoo...even a dance party in a limo bus. The list goes on and on.  The stories I could tell are endless.  One particularly funny time started with: "I have to put my feet in the sand in Rosarito." The tale includes a 3-hour senior citizen bus tour down to Mexico, being rescued by strangers on an ATV from a beach sandstorm, and Mimi happily having tequila poured down her throat like a feisty college student.  So many times and in so many ways, we got to share life together.

Mimi is not perfect.  Our chapters together were filled with both love and conflict.  She could insult you one second and hug you the next.  Profanity was deemed appropriate anytime, anywhere. There are certainly many "what the?!?" stories I could tell.  But I know that Mimi doesn't want me to forget those either.  We learn from each experience, and grow through our relationships.  Mimi's roots run deep, and I am grateful that I got to reassure her of just how unforgettable she is.

This week close your eyes and breathe in the details of life--the feeling of sun on your skin, the smell of cool fresh air, the taste of something delicious, the sound of beautiful music--its a tribute to this great woman who always remembered to enjoy the small things.

The Beauty of the Little Basil Plant

To fully understand this post, you must know that I am a recovering "big-achiever." I am driven by grand ideas, and I get a wonderful high when I have accomplished them.  Then onto the next.  A means-to-an-end kind of girl--push, rush, pull with everything you've got--and most of the time it gets me somewhere.

I consider myself to be "recovering" because I have had glimpses of the alternative, and I like it.  Such as my basil plant.  You see, we bought our house and by far the best feature about it was the backyard--big and spacious, with endless possibilities.  I look at it and my mind starts whirling with ideas, ways to completely transform that space into something magical that everyone can enjoy.  Whenever I look at it I want to just DIVE IN.  To get 'er done and bask in my lawn chair soaking up my success.  But then there is a part of me that knows that when I say "yes" to this huge project, I am saying "no" to the stress-free family days we made time for on Saturdays.  And that this isn't really the rest that I so desperately need in the midst of practicum, school, and raising a family.

So instead I planted a basil plant, in a stunning turquoise pot, right on the edge of the patio. That little plant brought wonderful smells and its own vibrant green magic into our yard. Skyler, Aurora and I took turns watering it every few days, and trimming the leaves every so often to make delicious pesto.  The beauty of the little basil plant was that I got a yummy taste of my grandiose dreams of gardening and a life-giving backyard, without the consequences of over-commitment and unrealistic expectations.

Someday I will have an amazing backyard that will be the home of many parties, celebrations, and lazy weekend mornings.  But for now, during this time of replacing all our plumbing and transitioning to two working parents, we will happily tend to our little basil plant. 

On this New Year's Eve, I encourage you to look at your 2014 resolutions and pare them down a bit.  Not to give up on your dreams, but to make them more accessible.  What small, fits-well-into-your-life change can bring a sense of accomplishment to you this year?  

My Two-Year-Old's Best Birthday Ever

Aurora just turned two yesterday.  For everyone who has been traveling this journey with us--CRAZY, right?  It is so true that the days go by slow and the years fly right past you.

As if society doesn't put enough pressure on people to throw their child the biggest and best birthday party (I think its supposed to be three-months salary or something like that), Aurora was going on for weeks that this was going to be "her best birthday ever."  Yes, it was only her second, and it shouldn't be hard to top her one previous birthday that she can't even remember--and yet, I felt the weight of making it epic.  So after lots of brainstorming and Skyler's concerned warnings that I try to be flexible, we threw a little party for her while we were camping with our community group, and then spent her special day at Disneyland, just her and Mommy.

I count the party as a success by the standards that: 1) Most kids participated in most of the activities 2) The cupcakes survived traveling and made it to consumption 3) I got cute pictures out of the whole ordeal which will hopefully make Aurora feel like she had a good childhood.

Disneyland was magical, hot, activity-filled, and crowded.  Aurora's favs were Autotopia, the carousel, and meeting the characters. It was really sweet that she got to get behind the wheel in Autotopia, and her "driving" consisted of hysterical laughter as the car slammed into the guiding rail and she got to catch the steering wheel as it spun out of control.  My job was to hold her in her seat, push the gas and enjoy that wonderful laugh that marks pure joy.  She was willing to wait as long as it took to meet Mickey, Minnie, and Tinkerbell, and after hours in line Mom insisted that a high-five from Pluto and a wave from Goofy as they passed by was good enough.  She was overwhelmed when she actually got her chance to interact with them, and while she melted into hugs, smiling just didn't seem to be appropriate in the moment.  She wanted to give it the proper weight and reverence, I think.

Below are some pictures. I will look back on them fondly, and hope that her motto for next year is along the lines of "special-no-matter-what birthday," to make planning a little easier.

Hat making for the party.

Pin the candle on the cupcake.

Sticky s'mores!  

Hiding out in Tarzan's Playhouse.

Expressing her not-so-secret dislike for taking pictures.

Tea at Minnie's.

Cruisin' in Autotopia.

Chasing bubbles with her light-up sword while we wait for the parade.

So Much Is Gone

     I felt so safe on our new street.  People would come over and the first thing they would say is "great street!"  The house was a short sale mess, but the street--the street had it goin' on.  From elderly women taking evening walks, to the super nice neighbors who all came over to offer "If you ever need anything..."  I felt safe alright.  Too safe.  Safe enough to not lock the back door during the day.
     I left the house at 9:34 am to make it to the gym before Aurora's 10:50 am appointment at the Cardiologist.  The police would later ask me if I saw anyone suspicious outside of the house.  Watching me. Waiting for me to leave.  "No, I was so focused on getting Aurora into the car, I don't even remember looking at the street" I would answer, a sick feeling settling in.
     When I walked up our driveway just 3 hours later, I saw that the side gate had been left open. Weird, I thought, Sky must have left it open after putting the garbage bin out on the street this morning...but why didn't I notice it when I was leaving? Huh, the front screen door is open too.  Strange. The key turned too easily in the lock and my eyes immediately went to the TV to check for signs of a break-in.  I froze, my brain slowly computing what the hanging, empty wires meant. This is really happening. I'm pretty sure the words "Oh shit" escaped my mouth as I jetted back out the door.  My heart was pounding as I dialed 911. I was surprising put together on the phone.  I appreciated how serious the woman was, and that she acted like it was a big deal.  I was subconsciously expecting to be blown off.  I'm not sure where my intensely negative view of the police system came from, but I'm very glad its not true.
      Then the doubt came. Did you even get a good look at it?  Your mind is playing tricks on you.  It's all in your head.  The cops are going to show up and everything is going to be just how you left it.  Your going to look like an idiot.  As soon as Sky answered his phone the tears came, hard, and I was shocked and relieved when he said he was coming right home.  Later he would ask me incredulously "What did you expect me to do??"  I don't know.  I had no expectations for being robbed.  I had felt safe.
     Zac and Frank came in their police cars and my tears intensified as they wielded their guns to enter my home. They weren't checking to see if it was safe.  It wouldn't be that again for a long, long time.  They were just seeing if the *&^%*@^&'s had left.  Our real-life heroes were compassionate and meticulous, and it was the first time I cam remember that I was really grateful for the police.  They were here to protect me and to catch the bad guys, not to bust me for speeding.  I honestly couldn't be more appreciative for them and their humorous, genuine support.
     It was hard when they left a couple hours later.  Their presence seemed to balance out the overwhelming feelings of violation and fear.  Now it was just Sky, me and Aurora, left to pick up the stolen pieces.  Sky and I handle things differently.  Opposite extremes, you might say.  He took on a glazed expression, sat on the floor underneath the bar and proclaimed "I would like to zone out."  I started putting light fixtures back on the wall that had been sitting undone for weeks and suggesting we go get security cameras at Costco and put them up that night.  Well, last night if I could really get what I wanted.  Alas, post break-in would have to do.
     Aubrey came over and made us dinner and entertained Aurora, who was still laughing and playing as usual.  She listened as we talked too much about the burglary and sparked much needed conversation about anything but.  She helped clean up the powder they used to collect fingerprints and tidied up the robber's mess. She made it easier on us. Thanks Aubs.
     Now what?  Probably some terrifying nightmares.  I get those sometimes, and this seems like a shoe-in trigger.  Should we get a dog?  An ADT system?  Will security cameras actually deter them, or just maybe catch them?  Its not about the stuff.  Its the sense of safety that was so valuable that they took.  How paranoid must I be to actually be safe?  For strangers not to watch my family while we are playing in the front yard and leaving for work? Is it even possible?
     A neighbor came by afterwards and said she saw a white man, in a white volkswagon take a picture of our house a little while ago.  He looked really suspicious and so she wrote down the license plate. Please God, say its only a robbery.  I beg you that the picture marked the place of a TV and a computer, not of a beautiful, vulnerable little girl. 
     Aurora is now sleeping in a pack n' play at the foot of our bed.  I'm not sure when I'll feel okay letting her sleep alone in her own room again. Not soon, I think, but I'm still too close to it all to think very clearly.  These walls don't seem like they protect us anymore.  Trust and security are gone.  What that looks like in the long run for our family, I'm not sure, but for now it means that my baby stays in sight at all times, sleeping in our house or otherwise.
     Please pray that our family is no longer a target, and that we can secure our home without loosing ourselves to fear and paranoia.  Especially pray for Skyler, who might just come home to Fort Knox soon and potentially get killed trying to get back in.
     Thank you for hearing my story.
   
   

Unsettled

We did it.  We bought a blue house with white trim on a tree-lined street in sunny San Diego.  Our family and friends all rallied around us as we packed up our belongings and transferred them into this new exciting place that we would call home.  We have poured ourselves into fixing up the place--patching holes in walls, working on the plumbing, cleaning the floors, spackling and painting.  But no matter what I do I can't shake this feeling, this undercurrent of being unsettled.

Luckily our new house is pretty close to our old apartment, because I still take our old exit off the freeway, even though I shouldn't.  It feels comforting doing something familiar.  That is at the core of this unsettled state I am in--familiarity.  Nothing feels quite the same.  Even my relationships.  They all seem just a little tweaked since we've moved.  Not in a bad way.  Just in a different way. In many ways they are better than they were.  But still, they feel new, along with everything else.

"Familiar" is solid and comforting, and without it I am stumbling around trying to catch my balance. Balance. That can be quite elusive, can't it? At least it is for me right now, and I'm willing to bet I can get an "Amen!" from all the mother's out there. As a stay-at-home Mama by day and graduate student by night, I was already pushing my luck with not becoming overwhelmed.  Then I bought a house, and WHOOSH! there went any sense I had of having it together.

A month into this journey, I have learned two things...

There was a day last week that Aurora decided that she wanted to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for most crying in 24 hours, one that fell into the category of "Skyler got the better end of the deal."  Since we've had our little angel I have had so many days where we are blissfully playing together and I think "I am so lucky to be here with you--I can't believe that I get to stay home like this."  Everything has its opposite.  Anyhoo, this was a particularly difficult day, and I kept thinking to myself "This should not be this hard! Aaaaaargh!!!!"  Whether it was brushing our teeth or going to the grocery store, I was pretty sure that God himself did not intend for it to be so @*%$(#*%ing hard to do it.  Then hits the redeeming and day-saving thought--I can do hard things.  It's okay if its this hard, because gosh darnit, I can do hard things. It sounds a little silly, because it seems so simple and obvious, but on that day (and if I'm honest, a lot in the past year), I've been pretty scared that I won't be up to the task.  And at those times, it is quite profound.  Life changing even.

Since Aurora was born I have spent day and night (sometimes all night) trying to be a good mother, keenly aware that it is my job to take care of her.  Others will help, but she is my responsibility and I want to do my absolute best.  I found out that there was a gym with childcare, but I felt really guilty about spending the money each month on membership...we could be saving up for college or spending it on something much more important!  Then hits another life-changing thought--I have to take care of me too.  Others will help, but I am my responsibility, and taking care of me is just as important as taking care of everything else.  It doesn't need to take a backseat to the house, and my kids, and my marriage. That doesn't mean its in the driver's seat either--the passenger seat is a great place for my health and well-being.  Self-care isn't selfish, its responsible.  Now would some one please get those  voices inside my head to SHUT UP that keep telling me that it is too selfish?!?!  I don't believe them. I don't.  And you shouldn't either.

There is a huge gap for me between inspirational moments and truly believing something different about myself and the world.  As things settle down over the next several months, I hope that these concepts sink into the foundation of my new normal.

Time for bed in my new room.  Sweet dreams all.


Love,
Bri

Transitioning

Sometimes my life can feel a bit like catching a plane--hurry up and wait.  Busy busy busy, bored.  And I can get so caught up in this process that I forget that I am in fact, at the end of the hurrying up and waiting, going to be somewhere else.  But the thing with planes is that you typically get back on another plane and head back home.  Life transitions are a one-way ticket to something new, and often you don't get to pick where you are headed, life just kinda takes you there.  There is always choice involved, which mostly (for me, at least) looks like the "you get to choose how you handle it" kind...not nearly as fun as the "pick whatever you want" kind.  I am currently waiting on a few things in life, such as the end of graduate school so I can begin my career and watching my little girl become a toddler, soon a lady.  Yesterday I became keenly aware of being hurried in a direction that I don't particularly like, aka that I am dreading with all of who I am.  Mawi is leaving.

She will too-soon be driving all the way out to North Carolina, her home for the next two years.  Bright side: She's staying in the country.  Down side: ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE COUNTRY.  Ugh.  She was kind enough to laugh with me yesterday when I confessed that I secretly wished it would all fall through for her so I can selfishly have her here with me.  Luckily, its not about what I want.  She is going to go off and learn how to be an amazing social worker and I need to figure out how to handle it well.  It's a funny thing when you care about some one a whole whole bunch--even when you are trying your darndest to support them, they are still supporting you right back.  I've been trying not to melt into a fit of tears every time I see her, or to say stupid things like "I think I am going to join several different groups once your gone so I don't loose myself completely" but you know, you can't win them all, and sometimes I slip.  Like a blog post.  Ooops.

Some transitions we don't even notice.  Birthdays come and go and people ask "do you feel any different?" Of course I don't, its just the day after yesterday and the one before tomorrow.  Same same.  But all of a sudden you look up and you are somewhere different.  I wasn't expecting it to smack me upside the head in such a manner, this transition out of young adulthood, but it certainly has quite the kick to it.  Lots more gains and losses than I expected.  My life is not by any means complete now, but its not an unwritten story either--I have several chapters that I can go back and read.  Looking at my relationships with my family, who all live far away, I recognize that our relationships are growing and wonderful despite the distance.  I love them more than anything, and missing them hasn't killed me, its truly made me appreciate them more (I'm sure not being in high school has something to do with it too, but we'll sidebar that for now ;).  So as my dear friend Mawi, who is like family to me, embarks on this new adventure, I know that we will grow even closer as she becomes more of who she was created to be...even though that takes her far away.  And I am rest assured that we are good enough friends that she won't be freaked out when I stalk her on facebook and insist on awkward skype dates with her new friends so that I feel included.

Mawi, I'm going to miss you, and I am so excited to see where this plane will take you.  Please read this on the days that I don't call, because I hate the phone, and know that I love you and am thinking of you... maybe even stalking you at that exact moment.