The Iron Man

In the spirit of Father's Day (I know I am a day late!), I wanted to share a wonderful memory of my daddy who passed away in 1993. It isn't the usual warm and fuzzy remembrance, but a simple and funny one that brings a smile to my face.

My daddy used to iron everything that came out of the dryer. And I mean, everything - our t-shirts, underwear and the biggest no-no of them all, my jeans. I was a child of the 80s, and jeans were sacred. I was lucky to own a pair of tight Gloria Vanderbilts with gold stitching and the signature swan on the pockets. They were hot! But they didn't look so hot after my dad took an iron to them and gave them a big fat crease down the middle of each leg.

I'd yell, "Daddy, please don't iron my jeans! I don't want this ugly crease down the middle. All the kids will make fun of me. Understand?"

He'd say, "Hmpff...they look better this way. You want to look wrinkled?!"

"I don't care! Just don't iron them!" I'd retort, grabbing my jeans, furiously trying to rub the creases out.

He would just look at me once, shake his head and mumble something in Ilocano that I couldn't understand (when I think about it now, I believe he called me "crazy").

And wouldn't you know it, my jeans got ironed every single time. And we would have this same conversation, over and over. No matter how many times I argued with him, he would still do it. I don't think he ever wanted to see his daughter out in public with wrinkled jeans. In his younger days, he was such a sharp dresser, and in his old age, he just wanted to enact the same routines to his daughters.

I can still see him sitting there in the family room ironing our clothes. There with our old ironing board, our old Sunbeam iron and his trust-worthy can of starch (that always made my jeans feel extra itchy). All the clothes were freshly pressed, neatly folded and carefully sorted by family member. I miss those creases in my jeans. I miss those silly little arguments. I missed being called crazy. I miss my dad.

I love you, daddy.

In Memory of Lori

My friend Lori died yesterday. Rhonda called me right when we were heading to her house for a much needed visit and told me the sad news. It happened so quickly - we were just talking about her the day before and now she is gone. I wanted to give her a great big hug, telling her that she would be fine. I wanted to hear her tell us that when she was feeling better she would bake some of her famous cookies. I wanted her to know that we loved her and would always be there for her.

I'm sad, and moreover, a little angry. I'm angry because I don't understand why God would take her now. She was going to start teaching. She wanted to get married and have children. She had so much faith in God to get her through this awful pain. She was a beautiful human being with a heart of gold that deserved so much more.

I told my friend Lorraine last night that maybe the place where she would be happiest wasn't here on earth, but in heaven. There with her dad who she adored and missed. There with Cynthia who loved her like her own daughter. A place where she could be whole again.

Lori, I will miss your smiles and infectious laughter. I want to thank you for being there at my worst when Ryan died and giving me much needed hugs and phone calls just to tell me you cared. I will miss those lunches at Gin Sushi where would eat until we were stuffed and laughed so hard that people thought we were crazy. I will miss your cookies. I will miss hearing you talk about your nieces and nephews.

I will miss your friendship. You will never be forgotten.

Living Room Woes

I want my living room back. I want it to look like adults live there too, not just a bunch of Fisher Price fanatics.

We bought a toy chest - a beautiful Mission-style one that blends with the rest of the decor - with the hope that it would corral and conceal the toys at the end of the day. But there are only so many toys that a toy chest can hold for one spoiled little girl. There are toys all around the toy box now - beside it, in front of it and on top of it. A pile of toys has also collected 10 feet away from the toy box - a little annex of the toy box if you will. I don't mind the toys. Joy needs her toys and we are happy to give them to her. It's just at the end of the day, I wish there was a giant black hole that I could shovel them in. And in the morning, they would reappear with the flick of my magic wand, all neat and tidy.

Since my magic wand is on backorder, I decided it was time to "make it work" (as Tim Gunn from Project Runway would say). Here is my "to do" list:

• Get rid of some toys. This is so hard for me because I am so nostalgic ("I remember when Joy played with this when she was 6 months old.." Now she is almost 3.). But I have to remember that some other little kid will enjoy it and his/her mom will have some beautiful memories too.
• Buy end tables with storage. Clever, huh? The toys will still be there - but they will be hidden, saved from my sporatic desires to throw it all in the trash.
• Remove coffee table and replace with a tufted ottoman with storage. Another clever and stylish solution!
  
• Make the upstairs loft a playroom. I have been wanting to do this for so long. I just have to move the crap up there to somewhere else that I'll have to clean eventually.

So that's my plan. Wish me luck. Wish that I won't accidentally throw out one of Joy's favorite toys in my quest to purge. Wish that my husband will support my efforts even while looking at the cost of the proposed end tables and ottoman. Wish that I will be able to be an adult again in my living room.

Friendships to brighten your being

On the airplane back to Burbank, gazing down at the ocean and the shrinking buildings and trees from my window seat, I started to cry. Joy and I had just spent a wonderful weekend with our BFFs - Teri and Caityln. It was Caitlyn's 2nd birthday, and Teri's mom generously paid for our trip to celebrate her special day. Despite minor toy snatching episodes (started by my daughter, of course), the girls got along famously. We spent the weekend watching the silly girls play, while Teri and I talked and talked and talked - about our boys, our husbands, our naughty shopping habits, our girls, our goals, ourselves.

So why was I crying?

Because I would have never met Teri without Ryan. Teri also lost a son - a beautiful little boy with pink, chubby cheeks you couldn't resist pinching and strawberry-blonde hair. We met through MISS (Mothers and Fathers in Support and Sympathy), a website dedicated to bereaved mothers. Her son, Vincent, died a few days before Ryan. First we e-mailed each other, then we started talking on the phone regularly. We became fast friends - two crazy Geminis who love to shop, talk and socialize instead of working.

I'm so happy to have her in my life. But if Ryan didn't die, then we would have never connected. I wouldn't have such a beautiful friend. I wouldn't have had such a fun weekend. And I think about this a lot. I wish I had my beautiful little boy here on earth. I wish I had the life that I dreamed for him, the chance to raise him. I wish that Teri and I both had our sons and our friendship.

We often tell each other that our boys brought us together. Deep down in my heart, I do believe this. Since Ryan couldn't stay, he would ask God to at least give me a friend to understand my pain, to patiently listen to my cries. Someone to get me through the dark days. Someone to make life without him just a little more bearable. Someone who would truly listen when I talked about Ryan. Someone who would make me laugh one day.

And this is why I cried.

Ryan brought me other friends too, who I must mention because I love these people with all my heart:

• Kristin - One of my other BFFs who is the moderator of the local MISS group. I tell her she is my "savior." Savior means "a person who saves people from something." Honestly, she saved me from going crazy, from being a lifeless, shell of a being. I hung on to her words of hope and found comfort in her smiles and giant hugs. Every day I would ask her if I would be happy again, and she promised I would be. She promised me that the sun would shine again. And it did.

• Sylvia - I met Sylvia and her husband at the annual MISS Conference in Arizona the year that Ryan died. They had a little daughter, Dahlia, who died in July 2003. She was their first child too. I remember seeing her posts on the MISS website discussion boards and I approached her, asking if she was Dahlia's mom. We became instant friends. Sylvia shares my love for laughter. She is such a sweet, beautiful person. My husband and I always say that she and her husband are such good people. And good, good people are so hard to find.

Thank you, Ryan, for bringing these friendships to brighten my being.

Another Chance

As I'm picking up toys, torn coloring pages and fossilized Chicken McNuggets from the couch, I think to myself, "Would I have it any other way?" The answer: Absolutely not.

I have to constantly remind myself of this every day because I got the chance to be a mom again. My first child, a beautiful baby boy with dark hair, a button nose, long fingers and little grape toes, died after three days on January 11, 2004. In those dark, dark days after he died, I would scream and cry, asking God why I couldn't be a mom on earth. Why did he bless other people who never wanted children or didn't even deserve them?

I wanted to be a mom so badly. I longed to wake up in the middle of the night to hear my baby cry and soothe him. I wanted to push Ryan in a stroller like all the other moms. I wanted to hear him call me "mommy" one day. I wanted to console him when he cried. I wanted to hold Ryan and do a wobbly baby dance to "Hey Yeah" by Outkast. I wanted to watch him play in the park. I wanted to dress him in little blue overalls with a long-sleeved shirt printed with animals. I wanted to see him hop like tiny birds. I wanted to hold his hand while we walked to school. I wanted to get sloppy kisses and hugs from him. I wanted to smell the sweetness of his breath while he slept.

Our home was empty, quiet. No baby crying. No fits of laughter. No giggles. No pitter patter of little feet. No temper tantrums. No musical baby toys. Nothing but silence.

I prayed every day for God to give me one more child - just one. I promised to raise that child to be a good person. I promised to be a good mother.

I got another chance. In October of 2004, I discovered I was pregnant. On June 20, 2005, my Joy was born, screaming and healthy.

So on those days when: the living room still looks messy even after I've cleaned it; Joy throws her plate of food on the floor; my patience runs thin after hearing Alvin & the Chipmunks Christmas in January; the house looks like Fisher Price exploded all over the place; Joy clings to me like a Koala when I just want some "me" time; a deliciously and thoughtfully prepared meal goes uneaten or is spit out; pee lands on the floor and not in the potty; I am asked for more candy after I've just said "no"; my gym time is cut short for a diaper change; an entire box of crayons is playfully dumped all over the floor with no intention of picking them up; I am demanded to instantly hand over dropped toys or sippy cups while driving on the freeway; Joy cries and screams like a wild animal during a temper tantrum;

I remind myself that I would have it no other way.

I need to go on a diet

I desperately needed a shower today, but as I silently inched out of bed, Joy wakes up. "Huggies, mommy, huggies," she coos. Ugh. My hair smells greasy, my armpits look like Madonna's from the 80's and the back of my neck is itchy (always a tell-tale sign that I need a bath). I swooped her up, whispered that mommy needed a shower, and plopped her next to her dad. Oh, no, she would have none of that. Amid ear-deafening screams, my husband waves at me to hurry up and take a shower. I run.

Ah, it was nice - for five minutes. I could still hear her screaming, and now she was pounding on the door. So I quickly toweled off and opened the door naked. As soon as I opened the door, she literally jumped back, startled by what she saw. She did stop crying though, but I almost started. The sight of me naked left her awe-struck, but not in a good way. Even a 2 1/2 year old thinks I need to go on a diet.