That's My Joy

Have you ever noticed that life throws you curve balls whenever you announce (either to yourself or out loud) that you think you've got it all figured out? For me, it happens every time. The end of September brought some unanticipated excitement to the Colasante household, followed by a touch of unforeseen disappointment. And though in a few years, when I look back on this time, it will amount to the smallest little blip on the radar of my life, it shook my world just a bit.

I'm in a good place. Have everything I want: a wonderful husband, a precious child, a beautiful home. My health. You know, all the right stuff. And I thought that once and for all, those questions that seemed to eat at me over the years (everyone has theirs: the "what if's?", the "why not's?", the little regrets that take some time to reconcile) had been answered and laid to rest. And that's where I was wrong. A brief turn of events and I was right back at the same point and on the same shaky ground I've found myself time and time again. And when I'm on shaky ground, I stumble. Big time.

It made me wonder what it was that I wasn't learning? Why was it that THIS lesson was revisiting me over and over? Why did my life seem marked by such things (note the twinge of self-pity there...my life isn't marked by such things but when I'm down I can be very dramatic)? And then, for the first time in years, clarity came. I realized that there was no lesson to be learned from the event itself. What happened is just a part of life. The lesson is in how I react to it. When something sad or tragic happens, it has the power to consume. Heck, when any disappointment shows up on your doorstep, even if it's a molehill it can seem like a mountain if you let it. When it's truly the mountain, it can be devastating. My epiphany was that it doesn't need to take over my life and it doesn't need to define me.

What should define and consume me are the joys that happen every day; you know, the ones we usually pay little or no attention to. It's the smell of my morning coffee. It's the joke my 4-year-old tells that makes me smile (even though it's more crazy than funny). It's David Bowie's "Blue Jeans" coming on the radio and catching it from the very beginning. It's the modern-day McGarrett on this season's "Hawaii Five-O." It's a weed prevention system actually working. It's bright orange and red leaves set against a seriously blue sky. It's my husband sitting with me night after night enduring what he considers my less-than-admirable taste in prime time programming just to be with me. It's my friends making sure my son is where he needs to be (because at the time, I couldn't) and fixing me dinner to remind me that even in my darker hours, I'm not alone. It's being surrounded by good people. It's having faith that no matter where I am in life, I am where I need to be, no matter how bumpy the road behind me has been.

So I'm going to stop swimming against the tide. I'm going to stop trying to dissect the low points, the heartaches, or the tragedies of my past to uncover some sort of mystical truth of life. From here on in, I'm going to focus more on the beauty I see on a regular basis. The stuff that fills my heart, even if it's just the smell of my clean laundry or the sight of my favorite mag in today's mail. That's my joy, and I'm going to stop taking it for granted. 

"Guys, I'm Here!"

Every mom has a dream for how she'd like her child's life to unfold. I certainly do with Matthew. From the moment he entered the world--all 4 lbs. 10 oz. of baby--I imagined who he'd be and what he'd accomplish. He'd already met his first challenge: he remained in the womb for an entire 32 weeks. In our book, that was full-term, though technically he came on the scene two months early. He was a toughie. Needed only one night on oxygen and (thankfully) spent a mere 10 days in the NICU. This time, we were blessed.

From the day we brought him home, he's had us at full attention. As paranoid new parents of a preemie, we made sure that we rigged the nursery with one of those monitors that not only allows you to hear baby's sweet murmurings, but also sends off a warning signal if it doesn't feel movement for 30 straight seconds. We figured if he had any bouts of sleep apnea (preemies often do), we'd be alerted and would have time to go over and poke him. Well, he never did have any breathing issues, though he set off that alarm on a regular basis. Seemed to think it was a real kick to shimmy to the nether-regions of the crib--beyond where the monitor was placed--to see just how fast mom and dad could run.

Yes, Matt's quite the character. Not afraid to make himself known. Kind of thinks the whole world is his bud, and he likes to greet everyone he meets during the day with a big "Hi!," "Hello!," or "My name's Matt, and this is my mom!" He's perplexed when someone doesn't acknowledge him, and throws me a look as if to say "What'd I ever do to that guy?" One day at the park, when Matt was closing in on his third birthday, he busted through the gates to the playground and announced to all those present (none of whom he'd ever met), "Hi guys, I'm here!" I fell in love with him all over again for that generosity of spirit.

I was never one to worry about what percentile he was in. I found plenty to obsess over, make no mistake, but when another mom would ask me about those stats, I could never seem to remember what had been reported at his last well-visit. I simply didn't care. He was here. He was alive. He was healthy and thriving, and that's all I needed to know. So for Matt, my dream isn't necessarily that he rise to the corner office of some Fortune 500 (though that might be nice) or that he head off to distant shores to save a rainforest. For him, I only ask that he hold on to that warm and loving spirit, the one that allows him to think that everyone-knows-his-name and that the world is essentially a wonderful and joyous place (because it is). I hope he always walks into a room with a smile on his face, confidence in his character, and a true love for people, bellowing "Guys, I'm here!"