Goodbye 09

I'm sad to see it go.

Best of 2009:

• We bought a house and moved in on Valentine's Day
• Lots of babies born - Jackson, Cami, and Zoey (in order of birth of course)
• Went on a family vacation to Santa Cruz and Big Sur - BEAUTIFUL
  
• Continued our annual trip to Palm Springs with my BFFs
  
• Jacci came to visit for summer vacation and we watched Bachelor and Twilight all night long (and Mall Cop)
  
• Celebrated our one year wedding anniversary at Humphrey's and saw Jewel perform on the lawn
  
• Trip to Columbus to see Steve and Sarah get married and had a BLAST (Tonight's gonna be a good night..)
• Started our BUNCO group which added ten new wonderful girl friends to my life each month
• Found out we are having a baby which makes my heart so full of love whenever I say it that I can't really find the words to write about it yet.
  

My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.

This was a quotation I had picked out for my dad. I had big plans to speak about him at my wedding - to thank him - for the wedding, for the support, for being what I needed him to be for so many years.

The moment my dad stepped on the dance floor I knew I couldn't speak publicly about him. The second Cat Stevens started singing, I could feel my chest fill with pressure, my eyes fill with tears, and it was all over for me. I knew, however, at that moment, that he and all the world knew the tremendous amount of love I felt for him. I feel for him. Sometimes, there aren't words; Only a dance.

Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you more than I have the vocabulary with which to write. Someday, I'll find the words. Until then, a dance.

"...and I'll always remember you like a child girl."

Junior

One of my most favorite gangbangers, Junior.

His ride is a Cadillac on hydrolics.

Pure sweetness on the inside.



On the weekends he helps his mom clean a restaurant from midnight to five am.

On the weekdays, he stops by my classroom to say good morning.

Big heart. Big love.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Test

Can I really do everything from my iPhone?

Unbelievable. There really is an app for that.

I love you, Apple.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Time to read, time to write

I can't believe it's been a month since I've written. Time flies when you have 175 students and no time for yourself. Boy, does it ever.

Although I haven't written, I have had time to read (Why do I read? Why do I breathe?). I finally joined a book club with girls from the history department and our first meeting is October 5th. I can hardly contain my excitement.

One of the first lessons my dad taught me, and I think it's a good one, was "Don't judge a book my it's cover". Okay, I get that. It's a metaphor for larger, more important judgements such as appearance, race, attractiveness, and intelligence. BUT, when a book has a super cheesy cover, sparkly, metallic text, and the title "Firefly Lane" it's pretty hard to imagine it's going to be wonderful. Alas, it was not. Let's hope I don't get kicked out of the book club.

On a happier note, this book below was recommended to me and although I haven't started it (I'm sort of saving it, like I do with my favorite perfumes or a special lotion) I am extremely excited to begin reading. It's next to my bed and as I finish the book I'm already reading (Blindness by Jose Saramago) I sometimes look over and smile at the vibrant red cover. I pick it up, hold it, and read the back over and over again. I love the font. I love the author's name - Zadie - oooo, if my name only started with a Z! - and the title, "On Beauty." Yes. Yes. Yes.

I know I shouldn't judge a book by it's cover but when it's as delicious as this one, how can I not?

(Vicki, don't start yet. Let's do this one together).

Off to finish my book....

10 years later

Happens tonight.

Pictures to follow.

Coyote

Note to self: When teaching a class of forty Latino students about Native American literature, make sure they understand the definition of "coyote" as an animal and not one who transports immigrants illegally across the border.

How many days until summer?

The Moon at my Window

I started school on Wednesday and have cried every day thereafter. That stress and trepidation that I mentioned may be approaching soon - well, it has arrived.

I have forty kids in each class (including Sheltered English which is made up of kids who can barely read and need one-on-one help just to write a paragraph), no printer, and an air conditioner that believes 78 is a comfortable temperature while bending over an overhead projector and surrounded by forty teenagers after P.E. in Escon-freaking-dido.

Deep breath. Things that make me happy.

Japanese poetry. Shopping. Photographs. Raymond Carver's short stories. Fat babies. Licorice. Riding the shopping cart through the parking lot. Peanut Butter. New pens. Chai tea. Football season. Bunco. Recycling. Sunbathing. Cat Stevens. Afternoons at Barnes and Noble. Mechanical pencils with twist erasers. The Daily Show. Activism. Teaching. Libraries. Ice cream cake. Dan helping me set up my classroom. Dan and I making dinner together. Dan sleeping next to me as I write.

Always Dan.

A Change in Title

I don't think anyone really got the "Portrait of a Lady" reference.

Henry James...T.S. Eliot.... Exactly.

So, since I am indeed an idealist (in both definitions) and it cleverly includes my name (thanks mom and dad) I'm going for a new, clever title. (I even had to figure out html to make the title in both lower and uppercase which impressed Dan greatly and made him ever so proud).

Idealism:

1. the philosophical theory that maintains that the ultimate nature of reality is based on mind or ideas. It holds that the so-called external or "real world" is inseparable from mind, consciousness, or perception.

2. Idealism also refers to a tradition in Western thought that represents things in an ideal form, or as they ought to be rather than as they really are, in the fields of ethics, morality, aesthetics, and value.

It seems that the title "idealist" has become a sort of a bad word to the conservative right suggesting "out of touch" or "unrealistic."

It's perfect.

Couldn't have said it better myself

More often than not, I love literature because someone was able to say what I could not find the words to express.

From the Time Traveler's Wife, quoting Rainer Maria Rilke (who must have said it better than Audrey Niffengegger could have ever imagined) :

Oh not because happiness exists,

that too-hasty profit snatched from approaching loss.

But because truly being here is so much; because everything here

apparently needs us, this fleeting world, which in some strange way

keeps calling to us. Us, the most fleeting of all.

...Ah, but what we take along

into that other realm? Not the art of looking,

which is learned so slowly, and nothing that happened here. Nothing.

The sufferings, then. And, above all, the heaviness,

and the long experience of love, - just what is wholly

unsayable.

Please, read it again. And then again. Again and again.

It starts in my toes, and it crinkles my nose...

The best thing about summer vacation is not sleeping in. It isn't the beach or being pool-side with a florid little beverage. It isn't the extra time to read (even now, that's hard for me to write) or the stress- free afternoons of deciding what to do. The best thing about summer, for me, is the time it gives me to appreciate the allure of being alive.

Yesterday, I sat on the couch of our living room. I was reading a book which happen to be about love and put me in an overly whimsical mood. It was warm, but the breeze that blew through the windows was the perfect reprieve from the sticky, languid afternoon. I closed my eyes and could hear the chirping of birds (ah, how I wished I could identify them by their songs, like my dad), the barking of dogs, and the sounds of children shrieking as they jumped in the pool, over and over again. Dan was hammering away in our home and I couldn't help but feel happy. I wanted to write. To jump. To dance. To savor the moment as best as I could. I walked up to Dan and kissed him and told him I loved him more than ever.

I love that he didn't ask me where that came from - that we have this exchange enough that he is accustomed to it. That a kiss and an admission of love was ordinary. It made me feel that much more alive.

Summer is about to end. My disposition will surely return to one of stress and trepidation. But tonight I have a glass of wine, a heart brimming with happiness, an amazing letter of gratitude from my brother, a husband I love dearly, the warm summer air, and a happy, happy soul. Who could ask for more?

I am the Luckiest

Yesterday was our first anniversary. I had mentioned that it would be great if we could make a trip back to Humphrey's on July 19th so we could recall all the amazing memories of our wedding day. Dan did even better. He made reservations at the hotel's restaurant so we could eat at the same time we were married. He also planned for us to stay the night which was really special because I wanted to have some wine and not worry about driving home. Right before we left for dinner Dan explained that he bought be a "traditional" wedding gift and a "modern" one. I wasn't really sure what that meant but I do now. Paper and clock, respectively. I opened the modern one first and it was the crystal heart clock engraved in the picture above. It has our names on it and our wedding date. It was so sweet of him to think of something AHEAD of time because he is usually pretty last minute (I love you!) The second one was tickets to the Jewel concert which was later the same night. As soon as I saw those, I cried. First of all, he doesn't particularly like Jewel so it was most definitely all for me. Secondly, it hit me like a ton of bricks that I really do have the kindest, most considerate husband in the whole world. I know we have years of marriage ahead, but I couldn't ask for one-single-tiny-little-change in who he is and how he treats me.
Beautiful Humphrey's

Enjoying the warm (very warm) evening.

Dan got black tar on his shirt so he had to wear a t-shirt to dinner. He made a point to find another guy in the restaurant who had a similar outfit as him. There was one. He was eating dinner alone.

One year later in the same place we exchanged our vows. I am not so naive to believe we will never have struggles BUT since I am recently in the business of appreciating what I have NOW, I will say that I am indeed, just as our wedding song proclaimed, the luckiest. I love you, Dan, so very much. I am grateful for you every single day of my life and for once am at a loss for words to describe just how deeply I need you and how much I respect you. To be married to a man as generous, kind, thoughtful, and beautiful as you is a blessing I cannot begin to make sense of.

I am the luckiest.

I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.

I'm not one of those people that believe everything happens for a reason. I just can't. I mean, my uncle was killed by a drunk driver while his wife was pregnant. A day-care caught on fire in Mexico. Children are beaten. People are starving. There is no reason for pain like that - regardless of the lesson learned. No reason.

But I do believe in happy accidents. Random coincidences that happen just when you need them most. Mine was Big Sur.

Reading can only do so much for loss. Sometimes what you need - what I needed - was a big dose of nature.

In Big Sur, I found myself with a renewed understanding of why things happen. There is something about hiking through the redwoods among deer, buzzards, lizards and raccoons to the edge of cliff watching sea otters chase schools of fish that made me realize that the world is so much larger than my own little life. (And don't it make you sad to know that life, is more than who we are). That sometimes things happen because of mistakes, because of careless behavior, because of hard work, because of love, and sometimes, because of no reason at all.

I don't know why this comforts me, but it does. I take refuge in knowing that the sound of the ocean calms my racing mind. That the fresh air clears my thoughts. That the gargantuan trees have been there for years before me and will remain years after me. That the white sand that was once a rock might someday be stuck between the toes of a baby born years after I am gone.

I don't need to make sense of everything that happens. I find it somewhat arrogant to believe that God would bless me with all these comforts while so many (so, so many) have nothing at all. Instead, I want to always be able to appreciate my life for what it is. To stop looking to the future in what may one day be and start loving what is now. To seek sanctuary in the uncontrollable beauty of the world.

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date.


A little Shakespeare, a little sun. A LOT of fun.

Sisterhood of the Night disguised as Bunco

I remember the first time my mom told me she was joining a bunco group. Yikes, I thought. She's old. It reminded me of bridge. Or cribbage. Or dentures.

Well, this bunco group, as it turns out, is still together (13 years later) and they have added vacations, spa days, morning walks, phone calls, 4th of July parties and bridal showers to their agendas. Hmmmm, I thought, kinda cool.

So, loving tradition and our beautiful mothers, the daughters of the "Bunco Babes" (as they like to call themselves) decided we should all get together for a night of our own. We have been embraced by this "Motherhood of the Bunco Babes" and figured it would be nice to have a night to really get to know one another. Sure, we don't all know each other, but neither did they.

Our first official Bunco Night was June 30, 2009. I am recording the date because it's going to be the first of many. We have already planned the next two months and can't wait for our private little daughter party. We still have a lot to learn - What are we going to call ourselves? What is our signature shot going to be? Where will be OUR place to vacation? I would give details about our first fabulous night together but the first lesson our mothers taught us is one we vow to follow: "Whatever happens at bunco, stays at bunco."

Until next time sisters - YaYa.

The Awakening

I find it interesting the different ways in which people deal with loss. Some eat, some starve. Some cry, others are numb. Some people need to talk, others find it impossible. Me - I read.

I escape to a world in which all my thoughts and feelings are neatly written down. I can read the same words over and over again. I can write them down and bring them to bed with me and cry into them. I can focus my jumbled, chaotic thoughts into a few lines that make sense. I can float away with them.

I haven't written since April. Words are hard to find when my heart feels broken. But tonight, after a day with my best friends, I came home and took a shower. (Yes Dad, rebirth). I put on a nightgown, sat on the balcony off my bedroom and began to read. I don't know - a few beautiful lines, the sun setting, music from my neighbors yard - and I felt like writing.

I think I'm back. A little tougher, a little more cautious, and a lot more appreciative.

Thank you dear Louis De Berniere, for your beautiful words - "We have deep memories. Whether they make us sad or glad is up to us."

Yes, yes. You've said it perfectly. I choose the latter.

Reunited and it feels so good

I have been trying to reconnect with my best friend from elementary school for a few months now. She recently had a baby and we thought it would be a good time to see each other again. Life gets crazy during the school year but since I am on spring break we finally found the time to get together. I had been excited about it all week but when I got up this morning, I started feeling nervous. Would we have anything in common anymore? What if there are long moments of uncomfortable silence? What if, what if, what if?

I felt especially nervous because yesterday, as Dan and I were painting the office and listening to "This American Life," an episode titled, "Ties That Bind" came on. Ira Glass talked about the uncomfortable moment when you realize that a friendship is no longer what you thought it was. How you get together and all of a sudden you don't have very much in common. How you struggle through conversation, glancing at the clock, until it finally ends and then promise each other to "get together again soon" out of kindness and a necessity to be polite. How you know deep inside that you really aren't friends any longer and that no matter how much you want things to be the same - they just are not.

Was this a sign? I couldn't help but think that maybe I was setting myself up for the exact same kind of situation. I mean, we haven't seen each other since middle school. What made us think we would still get along? My stomach was in knots.

I don't know how it happened - if it was the first hello or after I walked into her house - but I never felt uncomfortable. We talked literally nonstop and told each other things that I only reveal to my best friends. I held her beautiful son. She breastfed. We laughed.

I wonder if there is something about growing up together that binds you forever. That somehow - by sharing secrets at eight years old it makes it easier to share them at twenty-eight. I had a flashback of us in her parent's motorhome - doors locked so that no one could hear us- talking about what it would be like to kiss a boy. We had a backpack full of pads and an electric shaver that we would one day use to shave our legs. We took all these items out and spread them across the floor and dreamed of life as adults. It seems like a whole other life...

But there we were - twenty years later - and she was holding the most perfect baby of her own. We didn't have a backpack full of "sacred" items but it somehow felt the same. There is something quite lovely about a moment where you are eight and twenty-eight - where so much changes yet so much does not.

I don't really believe that things happen for a reason. I like to think I have full control over my life. But there are moments when certain people make their way back into your life at certain times and it feels as if it were all meant to happen that way.

How Sweet It Is

I am brimming with happiness.

It is Friday, early spring, the sun is shining, and the whole weekend still awaits.

The Story of Us

It's all about timing. Everything is.

I know that sounds kind of general but I honestly believe so much of what happens that impacts us depends on where we are in our lives when we experience it. The songs that mean the most to me are important because they bring back memories of certain times in my life. My favorite books have themes that I connected with because that is what I happened to be experiencing at that time. That is one of the reasons I can read the same book a hundred times. It means something different to me depending on how I am feeling when I read it...I guess this is sort of a disclaimer because I am about to admit that one of my all time favorite movies is, 'The Story of Us' with Bruce Willis and Michelle Pfeiffer.

When I first saw this movie, Dan and I were - how should I put this - "rocky." I knew we would end up together but it seemed like we were fighting more than we were laughing. I didn't know if I should walk away or hold on. I didn't know anything. Long story short: This movie helped.

One of my favorite parts of the movie is a little tradition that Dan and I have semi-worked in to our lives. It's called "High-Low." Every night, at the dinner table, they would ask each other what the best part of their day was (the high) and what the worst part was (low). It helped get conversation started and kept the family from hiding within themselves. I love this idea and sometimes, before bed, Dan and I will play. I am going to start incorporating this little game into my blog.

High: Liana (a girl in my class) writing an essay about me and how I have positively influenced her community.

Low: Drinking two cups of coffee instead of one and feeling like I was going to poop my pants during class.

We Shall Overcome

We have our first club-sponsored event coming up. Although GSA has been a club for only a few months, we have been working really hard to host "The Day of Silence" on April 17th. On Saturday, we met at school to assemble buttons, create posters, and share the morning together. Because we want our kids to understand the importance of peaceful protest, we created a short lesson on Martin Luther King Jr. and what he was able to help accomplish through anti-violent tactics. We had it all planned out.

If there is one thing I have learned about planning, it's that no plan goes exactly as anticipated. We started the morning with an "ice-breaker." As a group, we stood in a circle and said something that was true about ourself. If others in the group found it was also true about themselves, they stepped inside the circle. Another person would shout out something else and the game would continue. At 7:30 am on Saturday, everyone was tired and looking rather sheepish. I started the game by saying, "I am realllllly sleepy." Everyone laughed and jumped in the circle. See, we all have SOMETHING in common. Sure, it's the fact that we are tired, but it still reflects a common ground. Colene went next. "I love Asian food." Most kids took a step inside the circle. Some made faces and laughed. This was good. The game went on and on: I want to go to college. I have a brother. My favorite show is LOST. I hate reading. I am gay. I am competitive. And just like that it was out there. No sneers at those brave enough to step inside the circle (3 girls) to admit to the group they were gay. It casually flowed along between favorite colors and best movies. Interesting. Refreshing.

There was a lesson on the first amendment and some background on peaceful protest. I played a short podcast on the history of the civil rights movement and how non-violence played a pivotal role in bringing segregation to an end (legally, anyway). The kids were into it. We were into it. Before we started the fun stuff (poster paints and button making machines) we thought it would be a good idea to end our lesson with a children's book about Martin Luther King, Jr. It was simple and to the point - yet very powerful.

Trish, a fellow teacher, began reading the book and the silence was deafening. The kids eagerly stretched their necks to see the pictures and sat quietly to hear the story. She read about MLK as a young child. How he grew up in a family committed to activism and how his father helped him get involved in the struggle for true freedom. There is a part in the book, where the community sings together to urge each other on. "We shall overcome..." Trish was singing. And she sang and sang and her voice was not only clear and strong, but also moving. I looked around at the kids - and bit my lip to fight the tears. A room full of the bravest teenagers I have known listening to their teacher sing about a struggle - their struggle. It was hard but Trish held it together and continued reading. She read about his dreams (and parts from his speech) and how people gathered from all over to march together. Then, she read about his assassination and that is when she stopped. At first, she tried to choke back the tears and continue on but her voice continued to crack and she just could not read any further. She apologized to the class and set the book down. The kids looked to me for help, but I, too, was crying.

We hadn't planned for this. Two teachers in tears and a roomful of teenagers waiting. And waiting.

And then a clap. And another clap. And the whole class began to clap and yell out, "We love you, guys!"

Eventually, Trish and I pulled it together and were able to have a successful Saturday. We finished making all the buttons and made over 50 posters. When we told the kids it was time to clean up, one kid asked if we could play a revised game of the initial ice-breaker. Sure, why not?

He stood up and said, "Raise your hand if you are proud of what we did today." All hands up.

This morning, when I got to work I had this e-mail waiting for me. It is from the club president, Colene:

I am so happy that we had a good turn out today. I am also really happy that we dicussed Martin Luther King Jr. for his dream is now our dream. Thank you soo much advisors for doing all this stuff for us officers you guys are like the greatest!

Much love!

-Colene

Mission: Accomplished.

A Wrinkle in Time

One of the reasons I like writing is because it captures an otherwise fleeting feeling and preserves it forever. I can look back and reread something I wrote and live that moment once again. Writing, however, can also be disingenuous. It is invigorating to relive those instances that we want to hold on to. We pour our hearts into finding exactly the right words. We set a mood and reel our readers in with careful metaphors and clever alliteration. Our cadence is intentionally melodic and we write as if we are dancing. We are artists.

But, in the blogging world, is it coincidental that we are always inspired? That every simple, mundane moment, to us, is a celebration of what it feels like to be alive. Writing is like any other sort of escape: We focus on what makes us happy and kindly and politely sweep the rest under the rug.

On Saturday, for the first time, I purchased cream to help erase eye wrinkles. I have racked by brain to try and find the positive side: I am older, yet wiser. I have earned these wrinkles and they prove to the world that I know who I am. I am an adult.

Poetic and figurative language aside: wrinkles suck. They suck even more when they are brought to your attention by a student who finds the need to TELL you that it's weird you have wrinkles when you aren't even thirty yet. It took everything in me not to remind him that his face wasn't exactly "clear." Yes, I have wrinkles. No, there is nothing wonderfully inspiring about this. Cross your fingers and hope that this freaking cream works. If not, $30 - down the drain.

Imagine That

"The cool, crisp sky is an unnaturally stark contrast to the fuzzy, moss covered rock. The warmth of the sun makes being alone feel less lonely. This church, a massive tribute of stone and architectural genius, a feat of time and past civilizations, seems to have grown here along with the pine and oak. It seems to belong here. The wooden bench, the stone church, the tiny white flowers, the intrusive grotesque weeds, remind me that I am very small. They remind me that I do not know who I really am. In this country so far from my own, I am reminded of home. Of a meadow in a park on a trip with a man I thought I loved."

I miss writing. I have been so busy with school and moving, with grading and organizing that I have not set aside time to gather my thoughts and put them down on paper. I miss it. On Saturday morning I attended a conference at UCSD that focused on fun, creative activities to get kids excited about writing. They passed out a stack of photographs and you had to choose one that "meant something to you." Once you chose a photograph you had to turn to a partner and explain why you chose that particular picture and what it meant to you. I had picked a photograph of Balboa Park and explained that it reminded me of summer afternoons with Dan. Of picnics and theatre and cheese and wine and children playing and summer. It made me feel peaceful and calm. My partner had chosen a picture of a church in the middle of a foreign country and she liked the gothic architecture and the tiny wooden bench. It made her feel reflective and inquistivie.

Next, we had to switch pictures and write a paragraph from our partner's point of view. So, she wrote about an afternoon in Balboa park with Dan and I wrote about a stone church in a foreigh country. We had to begin with what our partner said and then follow where our imaginations took us. I only wrote a few lines (as seen above) but it stirred something deep inside of me that I have been aching for: the time to write.

Writing helps me understand myself. Sometimes, I don't even know how I feel until I try to verbalize it. So by writing down my goal of writing, I hope I can do it more often. Between staff meetings and grading essays, painting the living room and pulling weeds, I vow to reflect upon my day and - as Jason the bachelor so eloquently put it - "follow my heart." (That was for you, Dad) ;)

Turning one and other life lessons

Yesterday was Aiden's first birthday; His first party. I could go on and on about the details - the gourmet sandwiches, the three birthday cakes, the Winnie-the-pooh wall decorations, the matching pinata and the pounds of candy - but what impressed me more than anything happened much later in the night when almost all the guests were already gone.

Let me preface this by giving a little insight into Liz (Aiden's mom) when we arrived at the party. She was wearing a Winnie-the-Pooh shirt with a new, short haircut that looks great on her. Her nails were done and her house looked immaculate. She ran from one event to another (opening presents, cake, games, and swings) all with a huge smile on her face. Several times, she tried to sit down with us, but quickly jumped up to make sure she didn't miss any moments with her son.

The day flew quickly by and guests started leaving. Friends had to get home to their own families, make dinner, put the kids down for naps. It is becoming a tradition of ours (a lovely one at that) to hang out until everyone is gone and then curl up on the couch and talk about everything we weren't able to discuss during the day. Meg, Liz, and I find this time a wonderfully calming end to a busy, chaotic day.

So last night, just as Meg and I finally make our way to the couch, Liz says she is going to put Aiden to bed and she will be right back.

"Do you mind if I come?" Meg asks.

"Can I come too?" I ask shyly. I don't want to impose but I would love to kiss Aiden goodnight. We walk upstairs and Meg and I are giggly and excited. A baby!

Liz leads us upstairs with the tired birthday boy in her arms and she calmly changes his diaper. She picks out pajamas for him and it becomes obvious that Aiden is exhausted. He is quietly whining and trying to wiggle his way out of Liz's arms. She continues to gently put on his pajamas and when he grabs her face and pulls hard (I mean really hard) she explains to him that he is just tired from such an exciting day. She proceeds to put on his socks and explains to him that he needs them because his jammies don't have footsies. Call me crazy but he seems to understand. He gives up his little, baby-sized struggle and grabs for his bottle.

Then, Liz walks to the lights and dims them so that the firetrucks on the walls are barely visible. I notice the ceiling fan is actually a globe and when the lights are low it feels like you are camping on a clear, warm evening. She then walks over to his dresser and turns on a soothing lullaby that also projects images on the ceiling. I look at Meghan. We silently acknowledge her perfection. She sits back in the pale yellow rocking chair and gives Aiden his bottle. She rocks with one foot - the other cradles his tiny body, and stares at his face as he drifts off to sleep. A smiling, friendly monkey is dancing on his ceiling, a gentle song is playing, and as his sweet, one year-old eyes start to close, he rubs Liz's ear.

I think at this moment that I have never seen Liz look more beautiful. Homecomings and Proms pale in comparison. Part of me wants to run and grab Chad - to make sure he has seen who she is - and part of me wants to curl up in her arms too. I realize how much Chad must love her, how everyone who has seen her as a mother cannot help but fall in love with her. How Aiden must be SO in love with her.

We all sneak out, head downstairs and I don't really know what to say. How can I tell her that I understand it all. Meghan, thankfully, finds words and tells her she makes being a mother look like the most amazing thing possible. Liz simply answers, "Well, it is."

Then, Liz grabs a bud light, puts her feet up on the couch and proceeds to demolish every one of us at "Big Brain" while downing a beer.

Chad and Aiden are two very lucky guys.

Photomontage of Vegas