School: A New Chapter

The morning was cool and quiet, not a soul on the street except the wild birds and chickens. I had my new Nikon 1 J1 in hand; Almonds donned her oversized purple Jansport. We began the cross-town walk to her first day of kindergarten.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

"Yeah," she shrugged.

I believed her. And why shouldn't I? She's been ready to go to school for a long time.

As we walked, I told her of all the things I expect of her as a student in school.

"Listen to your teacher..."

"Be kind to the other kids..."

"Don't worry if kids are mean to you..."

I started to wonder if those were the right things to tell her, and if our first walk was the right time. Should I have told her to study hard and get really good grades? Should we have made a plan on how we would do her homework when she got home everyday? Should she have practiced saying her full name, or memorizing my phone number, or gone over spelling and counting? And what especially do you say when you know, at this big moment in her life, she wishes her daddy were here with her?

Braxton-Hicks were bugging me, and Almonds was getting tired of our walk. But once we arrived at the elementary school, both our weariness became anxiety. A group of kids were playing with a bouncy ball against the wall of a classroom. Others were running around us kicking a soccer ball. Parents and teachers and staff were scrambling to get individuals here and there. The fields and playgrounds were packed, more so than Almonds and I have seen before. Her first exposure to public school. She slowed her pace.

"Are you getting nervous?" I asked her.

"Yeah," she muttered.

I held her hand with as much calmness and confidence I could. "It's okay," I started, "this is what school looks like. A lot of kids go here at the same time. After a while, you'll get used to being around so many people. And I'll always come to pick you up when school is done."

All I could do was hope that those were the right words. If my Jobi were here, he probably would've just said, "eh, never mind," and that'd be the end of it.

Man, I wish my husband were here.

I guided her to the correct classroom. She said hi to the teacher and walked in, as if forgetting I was still there. Good girl, I thought. You'll do just fine. I turned around and waddled home, breathing deeply, trying not to cry.

My dad used to say that kindergarten is not a big deal. It's a part of life and kids should go, so parents shouldn't fuss over it so much. The same with graduation from elementary school, and even graduation from high school. Parents need to reserve their celebratory urges for life events that deserve it: graduation from college, marriage, honorable full-time mission. Those kinds of milestones. Kindergarten is not one of those.

At least that's what I thought. So I didn't plan anything. I made Almonds her favorite breakfast and took maybe five pictures of her, and I think my dad would find that sufficient.

But as I walked her to school that day, just me and her, I realized it wasn't just that she was starting kindergarten. She was leaving her baby and toddler self behind for good. She was about to leave home -- to really leave home -- for the first time and see the world. She was, literally, growing up. And we as her parents have to let her. Have to allow Time to pass as it's supposed to. Have to accept the fact that we are now parents of people other than babies.

This was the time of parenting I was most looking forward to. Being mom to kids that went to school. I've always loved the idea of sending kids off into the world, spending my mornings doing whatever I wanted all those things I needed to in peace, helping kids with homework in the afternoon and eating dinners without high chairs. I pictured my husband coming home from work before dinner, teaching the kids how to throw a frisbee, or kick a soccer ball, or shoot a basket. Or even wrestle, if he wanted to. (Because I know he'd want to.) I imagined family evenings would be easier because all our children would be eloquent and expressive and we could clearly understand them; we can have great discussions and, as a family, come up with ideas that would satisfy and enrich everyone. I especially loved the idea of our kids sleeping in their own rooms. Of them being too big to stay on our bed, so they would rather be in their own space, on their own beds, ultimately giving us a little privacy back. Being parents of little school-aged children will be the best, I thought. I'm over this stage of having a house full of babies, I thought.

So why am I trying not to cry? Why am I secretly wishing my Almonds didn't have to go to school this year? Why did I walk home from that elementary school reminiscing about her potty training days, and her crawling days, and the day she was born? Why am I looking at Blondie and Chip as kids that will soon grow up and leave me, and feeling sad about it?

Is this what parenting truly is? Having so much love for (an)other human being(s) that, even when the responsibility may seem too much, you wouldn't have it any other way?

My Almonds started kindergarten. And my family, as a whole, just grew up before my eyes.
I wasn't ready for that.

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Getting Back on Facebook

So, like I said in a previous post... I'm back on Facebook.

I know, I know, you're thinking, "of course you are. No one can stay away from Facebook. No one!

"Muahahaha!"

Ok, maybe you're not saying that.

But I digress.

Being back on Facebook is ... well, it's just as I expected. I see friends posting their opinions on gay marriage, or gun control, or Republicans. I see friends putting up photos of their latest weekend getaway to an exotic destination, or extreme aerial shots from their last skydive, or their latest supercuteandtotallytodiefor beauty and fashion haul, or their totally fit bodies and zen lifestyle. I see friends post the most scrumptious dish that they daintily whipped up for friends and family to ooh and aahh over. I see friends having fantastic careers and talking about their exciting business ventures and remodeling their home that they own.

And of course, I see lots of ads. If I sign up for the Color Run 5k, will they stop putting that up on my page?

Facebook is addicting, time-wasting, and depressing. And that's why I had no problem closing my account to begin with.

But there was something I didn't expect Facebook would be, and that is ... nostalgic.

I've been looking through the photos on my own page, and I couldn't believe how much of my life I forgot. I've only had FB for a decade, but man -- a lot had happened to me in that single decade.
(There I go, talking like I'm old. A decade is only 1/3 of my life.)

BYU-Hawaii Concert Choir tour to China and Mongolia, 2007.
My FB page is crammed with photos of this tour, thanks to all the choir members who took their cameras.
This was when the phrase "Facebook it!" was popular.
(Yes, that is the Great Wall. It's spectacular.)

Not only is the gospel true, but finding good company in others who share your beliefs is priceless.
FB helps with that, I've noticed.

People come into your life randomly it seems. But even after years of not seeing them again,
you still feel the effects they made on you when you were together as friends.

Who these people I call family are and what they've done make my own life seem insignificant.
But in actuality, I have done great work too; and it's because of what my family has blessed me with
that I've been able to. (Sapi, Tama, Grandpa -- I miss you.)

It's funny how pictures pop up on Facebook that are Pre-FB dated.
What are they called? Throwback? Either way, I'm glad to have reminders
of "the good ol' days."

I was just telling my mister that my childhood dream was to be on stage. Doing anything I could.
I realized that I fulfilled that dream already -- a lot.
Singing, dancing, acting, sharing my culture... I did them all. It was beautiful.

And I can't forget how this decade, with Facebook as our witness, was the decade said mister changed my life.
Forever.

It took forever to choose all these photos, and even longer to organize them for this post. And even now I'm looking back and wishing I had picked this one or changed that one that was on my FB page. But in the end, it doesn't matter -- because, in the end, what matters is that I have these pictures because of Facebook. Thank goodness for technology that keeps ties bound, that keeps memories alive, and that keeps us smiling about the great lives that we really do have.

So if you are ever in a rut (as technology also makes us feel sometimes), please please PLEASE don't forget who you are. Don't forget how you came to be, and don't forget where you always knew you were meant to go. And if you do forget... remember. Find those things that will remind you. Pull those triggers that will get you back to who you are. And find the small miracles in the everyday. I look at these photos and remember exactly what happened to me during each time, and each experience, good or bad, is an influence to me even today. And even though other people's lives may seem better than mine (heck, they probably are better than mine right now!), it doesn't mean I have to lose hope.

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Dear Mama,

Before I came into the world, you were already a seasoned professional at birthing, nurturing, and raising daughters. In fact, you were already a pro at life...

You were a graceful dancer, a lovely singer, a consistent athlete, a magnificent cook and baker, a proficient linguist in at least 7 different languages (including pidgin), a shrewd businesswoman, an incredible leader in the world as well as the Church, a team player, an analyst, a mathematician, an editor, a writer, a teacher, an artist, a politician, a computer expert, a distribution center, a grievance counselor, a caretaker..... The list can go on and on, and on, and on...

The point I'm trying to make is that I have a true Superwoman for a mother, and I am so proud to be your daughter.

Today is just short of the 6-month mark for me being a mother, and I have so far become the following: an awkward cook, a messy organizer, a court jester, a how-to bookworm, a wannabe interior designer, and a horrible 3-point shot. I realized that you, Mama, made motherhood look like a piece of cake, and I need a lot of practice.

But aside from the new roles I play, I have also learned some new skills: cooking (I'm still awkward, but at least I cook!), organizing, making a bottle with one hand, motivational tips, event planning ideas, relaxation techniques, crying on demand, storybook reading, and the art of distraction. I also have realized some new things. For example, it is totally possible to love somebody so much it makes you cry. (Shout out to Brandi!) You think you've given all your love to your significant other and you don't have any more to give -- just wait until you become a mother. (Fathers get it too, don't worry.) Suddenly, it's as if your body has a reservoir of love that magically bursts open from out of nowhere. It flows out of you without your permission, and you then become a fountain, which showers all your love on one single individual.

I've also realized that the joy of motherhood comes in the little moments, not necessarily the big accomplishments. For example, Baby still can't crawl yet; she can barely sit up and only roll over when rolling off pillows and the couch. I think she's behind, and sometimes it worries and even irritates me. But when she smiles at me, when she puts her tiny arms around my neck, when she holds out her arms for me to hold her, when she makes silly faces or sounds like, "up" and "ohm," and when she sleeps peacefully in her daddy's arms... those little moments make the big feats insignificant. I can't explain them, but I love them.

I know that being a superhero is a learned thing. Everyone is born with the potential to be a superhero, but only those who fuel that potential with the right desire will actually live to become one. I know that you, Mama, are a superhero, but I didn't know that I can be one, too. I, too, can be a multitasker, an analyst, an entertainer, a diplomat, an event planner, a businesswoman, a financial advisor, a real estate agent, and so on and so forth. I can multitask caring for a baby, tutoring my husband, and going to work. I can analyze what meals I can make with the ingredients we have at home, or analyze what needs to change in my schedule if Baby gets sick. I can still sing and make music, even if it's just singing Baby to sleep or playing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat." I can plan birthday parties and prom nights, and resolve conflict between 2+ children. I can maintain order and discipline in our home, establish good work ethic, give allowance (or not, hahahaha), look for places for our family to stay, etc. If that isn't a superhero, I don't know what is.

So, Mama, I want to say thank you. Thank you for all the times you made me play the piano, for now I can fill my own home with music. Thank you for all the times you made me make rice, because I know you never gave up on me developing cooking skills. Thank you for all the times you made me fill out my own emergency cards and permission slips, because I am never afraid of paperwork. Thank you for all the times you told me to "look it up in the dictionary," because I know how to find answers to questions I have. Thank you for telling me to "water the plants," because I know the little things are just as important as the big things. Thank you for telling me to change my attitude, because I now know its value and importance. Thank you for telling me, "don't ever say you can't do it;" I've done more things than I ever imagined I would do because I took your advice. And most importantly, thank you for telling me you love me, because for a superwoman to love me that much...

I am the luckiest girl in the world. I only hope that my own daughters feel the same.

Happy Mothers' Day,
~Dassa

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Our Little Miracle

Ok, so here are the first pictures we have of her, courtesy of the Tafunas and Bresees. These were taken on the 16th, when she was 4 days old.

The biggest blessing has been that she was born when my parents were here. They had a stopover in Hawaii waiting for their visas so they could go to Samoa to serve a mission. They were only supposed to be here until the 6th, and Almonds wasn't due until the 25th. After lots of prayers, Almonds came on the 12th and their visas came in for the 13th. Si, my sister, was also here out of complete coincidence; she made a last-minute trip to Hawaii for the funeral of our neighbor and her old boss, and she was able to help with Almonds's delivery. This was a personal blessing for me, because if I'd want any sister to be with me when my firstborn came, it would be Si. This child's birth was a miracle if I've ever seen one.

She is the greatest joy in our lives. She is such a sweet baby: she sleeps a lot, and she only cries when she's hungry or just wants some comfort. She loves to be completely sprawled out in her bassinet; she doesn't like being snug, unless she's really cold. Nursing gets easier everyday, and now she even takes a pacifier every once in a while, at those much-needed times for us. And we still can't get over the fact that we are full-fledged parents now, to the most beautiful thing in the world.

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