"A turtle is not a mystery."

James said this, very clearly yesterday while watching his current favorite cartoon, Jake and the Neverland Pirates.  He was watching an episode where the little pirates are exploring the ocean, and they run across a mysterious island, that has never been charted on any map.  James, who has seen all the episodes a time or two, told me, "That's not an island, it's a turtle.  A turtle is not a mystery."

James being so very wise.

And he is right, of course.  Although one could wonder a bit about why the turtle that is mistaken for an island, is so enormous, and why it's taken so long to figure out that it's a turtle, and why it has trees on it's back.  But it's a turtle.  It's not a scary, spooky, mysterious island.  And that makes all the little pirates pretty happy.

Marie Curie said something almost as wise as James when she said, "Nothing in life is to be feared.  It is only to be understood."  I read that quote for the first time when I was lying in bed, sick with Rheumatic Heart Disease as a twelve-year-old girl.  It was one of many inspiring quotes found in a large book with pretty photos, lent to me by Onda Thorstensen.  Onda was my mom's visiting teacher, and she lived down the street.  She seemed quite old to me at the time, but was probably only in her 70's back then.  She would pick us up from dance or gymnastics if my sweet mom was working late, and she would bring us food if we were sick.  

Lots of people brought us food that summer, while I was in bed reading inspiring quotes, and being very afraid of life.  It all felt so uncertain.  Why would my own body attack my heart? How could this happen to me, when I'd tried to be good my whole life?  Would I ever go back to ballet and school and life?

I remember one evening, when I was just so sick of being in bed, and tired of all the books and movies we had or had borrowed, and the side effects from the prednisone (acne, weight-gain, depression) felt like almost as much trouble as the damaged heart valves, and I just wanted to be outside with my family-- that evening my dad came in to talk to me.  He and my mom had divorced a year before my illness, but I still saw him all the time.  He came to visit us as often as he could.

My dad and his kids, on someone's birthday, a long time ago!

That night he saw that I was more than a little discouraged. And he picked me up-- even though I was not a little girl-- and he carried me around the yard so I could see the flowers, and the trees, and my siblings playing on the lawn.  He walked for me that evening.  And he showed me that even when things were uncertain and awful, he loved me, and that would not change.  It was enough.  It would be okay.

That love from my dad and my mom, and my siblings and my neighbors, and my God, has helped me see that no matter how scary the island looks, the love is still there, and I can and should even love myself.  I figured that out that summer, that loving myself, my God and my others was enough to make life okay, no matter how scary the situation.  So, it's love that makes the island a turtle.  It's love that we're supposed to figure out on this earth, and that understanding takes away the fear.  

I've remembered that Curie quote, and said it to myself many times since that summer.  Thought of it when my other siblings' illnesses seemed ready to wipe them out entirely.  Thought of it when my boys have been sick with deadly allergies, or high fevers, or just struggling, as James did to be born.

So grateful Professor James was born, and that he teaches me so very much. 

I think of it still when I hear the news. Life can seem very scary, but it's not so frightening when I try to understand it, and when I remember to love instead of fear. And even the most mysterious islands are really just big turtles.  

"We're friends, right?"

Greetings, my dear readers--(aka close family)! I'm going to be honest here at the beginning of this new venture, and just let you know, that this is my very first attempt at blogging, and I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it. I think it fair to say that I'm not an expert, per se, on anything. I don't have proven advice to offer, or poems to share, or ... coupons. And I'm certainly not blogging to impress or depress anyone. 

But, that said, I do have three truly fabulous and adorable boys, who are growing up way too fast, and who are quite photogenic (See photos below).

James (3), William (5), and Peter (7) on Easter Sunday with new matching shirts that they still like to wear.  Yes!

 I also have the best husband in the entire tri-state area, nay the universe, and we do have some pretty great experiences together in our little bungalow.

Ticking Jamesie. A favorite pastime for both father and son.

Maybe it's just that I don't want to forget right now. Yes, maybe I just feel that recording and sharing slices of my life right now is a way to preserve it and even appreciate it a little more.  Or maybe I know that my hand-written journals are completely illegible and my posterity will go mad if they decide to try to read them to figure out who I was and what I was doing in 2014. If you are reading this in the future, and you've tried to read my stack of old journals first, I'm sorry.  I usually wrote late at night, and I was tired. Sometimes the light was already turned off.

This blog will be legible.  It will be full of photos and experiences of my days. It may not be brilliant or helpful.  But we're friends, right?

Boys and Pumpkins on our Bungalow Porch (just had to capitalize those words!)

And that is what William asked James at least two dozen times today.  Maybe more.  "We're friends, right, James?"  

And James would answer in an abnormally high voice, "I'm a baby tiger.  Baby tigers don't have friends."

 William (in front smiling) and James (putting sand on his brother's head) at the Oregon coast this summer.

And William would explain to him that baby tigers could have lots of friends, and they are really cute, and people like them, and we like the tigers at the zoo, and so couldn't they be friends, please?  And James would answer the very same way, more emphatically, and in an even higher voice, "Baby tigers don't have friends!" And William would get very angry and a little teary, and it's at this point that I would step in and tell James, that if he can't be a friendly baby tiger, then he simply can't be one. We only allow friendly baby tigers in our home-- obviously.

This happened again and again today, (we spend a lot of time at home together-- the three of us) and James would usually end up finally allowing William to be his friend, only because he wanted to continue being a baby tiger.  And William would be happy and reach over to take James' paw and say, "Friends forever!" in the sweetest voice you've ever heard.  And James would squeak and say, "Goo goo, ga ga, rawr!"

William and Pikachu at Lagoon-- with eyes.

I think this baby tiger friend conflict today shows the personalities of my two youngest boys so very well. William wants everybody to be friends. He is the most empathetic, kind-hearted child I've ever met.  He's only 5, but he uses diplomacy and compromise better than most adults do--to help all his brothers or friends (or parents, on occasion) get along. In stories with bad guys, William can't wait for the bad guy to see the light and turn into a good guy.  He asks questions about why the bad guys are bad, and thinks they probably were never taught by their parents how to be good.  He chooses things he knows his brothers will like, when he gets to pick the treat or the show or the activity.  And he simply has to be friends with James-- tiger claws and all.

James eating his breakfast.  He won.

James is three, and he acts like it.  He is full of life and energy and is more than a little stubborn at times.  He knows what he wants and he will try and get it--even if it is up high on a shelf.  He climbs-- much more than his brothers did.  He wrestles, and bounces, and does scary things, and hits his head a lot.  He is not afraid to ask loudly at church, "Why he have no hair!?" while pointing to the bald man two rows ahead of us. He is loving and kind and sweet when he wants to be, and is a tiger or a puppy or a fox when he wants to be.  But when he loves, he loves fiercely, and makes me laugh every single day.  He wakes up saying, "I need a chocolate bar." And because I am getting older he usually gets one, after breakfast (sometimes).  That's the kind of focus James has.



So the tiger baby forever friendship, though sweet, usually only lasts an hour, before William, needing reassurance, will ask James again, "We're friends, right?"

Nope.  Not anymore.  Not until Mama Tiger steps in....

So the moral of the story is,  if you must be a baby tiger, be a friendly one, and if you want to motivate your mother to help you and be on your side, use tears and not a shrill tiger "goo goo".  And if you need friendship keep asking.  And we're friends, right? Please?