I've been hearing and reading all the talk about El Nino coming this winter. Some people have been saying they are really excited for it and I get that. We need rain. I can't wait for rain myself. I have a cute pair of boots from our one short storm last winter and I can't wait to go splashing in puddles with Adeline as a two year old.

Then someone mentioned it casually a few days ago and it took me to a different place. I remembered being 7 years old watching the flood waters rise in my back yard and up between our house and our neighbors. Hearing the sirens and hiding behind my mom as the fireman banged on our door and told us now was the time to leave unless we wanted to be evacuated on a surfboard later. I remember being scared.

Pauline and I had been watching Winnie the Pooh, specifically the episode where Christopher Robin rescues Piglet from a flood in an umbrella. I think my mom had probably turned this particular show on because it was raining so hard outside. It was so surreal to look out the window and see a flood in real life. We lived at Quail Lodge at the time, backed up to the Carmel River but far enough away that we didn't think the water stood a chance of reaching us.

I remembered scurrying around with my mom and packing bags, her making phone calls, figuring out who we were going to stay with. The fire engine was parked directly outside our house. We were one of the few families with children on our circle and the firemen were paying special attention to our house and our neighbors as it was in immediate danger.

We left the house in the pouring rain. My mom had newborn Abigail at the time who was less than a month old. My dad was out on business so she rounded us up alone. I have so much compassion for her now.

We were so panicked and yet we truly didn't believe our home would flood, even though we were watching a new river rush between our houses and watching that new river break its bank into our yard. I remember Pauline and I holding on to each other. She was still shorter than me then. In the hurry, we accidentally left our pet rabbit Butterscotch at home.

When we arrived at our friends house in Pacific Grove to stay the night and realized our mistake, the waters had already reached her cage. I remember being so angry with my mom. Begging and crying to go back to get her. I think I found out later that my parents had tried and been turned away by the fire engines barring the street.

We weren't able to return home for several weeks and couldn't move back in for more than a month. We stayed in a hotel for most of that time. The flood had seeped up through the vents and into the house. Luckily the house was designed on several levels and only two rooms, the living room and the garage had flooded entirely. Because we used our huge two-car garage as storage, we still ended up losing quite a bit.

When we did come home, mud was caked up and down the driveway. It was so strange to walk in and see our things covered in mud with the whole place stinking. A friend of my parents went in first and saw to Butterscotch. She had been in her cage in the garage (which was carpeted) and the flood had taken her. We had a funeral for her.

Things slowly returned to normal. In school, some friends had it worse. They told stories about the flood destroying almost everything they owned. There were Red Cross shelters set up at Carmel Middle School and some stayed there for awhile. Our next door neighbors ignored the fire fighters warning when they came knocking door to door and stayed with their house until the last minute. They were evacuated out on surfboards in 6-8 feet of water.

I think experiencing El Nino as a child taught me a lot of things, the main one being that nature is hugely powerful. Since then I have prepared as other natural disasters (tornado, landslide, flood, fire) happened around me. I think maybe it's because whenever I have heard of what's to come, I've tried to prepare. That first fear was a powerful teacher.

Even though we are nowhere near a river this winter, we will still have renters insurance in case flooding happens through intense rain. We will have batteries and flashlights, a radio and plenty of Costco food and water. We won't go crazy, but we also won't be naive. This has happened here before and done some real damage.

The water supply was affected during the last El Nino with some homes losing water altogether for quite awhile. We will help our friends sand bag their home and move their belongings high up or out if it comes to it.

We will talk to Adeline about what is happening in a way that makes sense for a two year old. We can start now with books about rains and storms. We'll repeat it if we lose power or during particularly heavy storms, because even that can be scary for a little one.  We will let her know she is always safe with us, even if what is around us becomes unsafe. That we will always make decisions that we think will keep her safest.

The conversation that got me remembering all this was a casual one at a gas station a few days ago. The man said, "I can't wait for El Nino!" with big smile. I laughed and nodded. Then I walked away, those old memories rolling around my mind. El Nino. Those two words brought me back to the living room, the rain on the roof, the fireman at the door, the water pounding, rushing all around. The feeling of being a small person in a storm.

 This photo is from the second Carmel River Flood in 1998. Photo from the Carmel Pine Cone.

All of the milestones we've celebrated these past 18 months added up. I used to find them terrifying because with each new skill we were pulled farther and farther from that tiny six pound baby in a blanket. Now, Adeline says "baby" herself & tucks in dolls and kisses them "ni-night" sweetly on their foreheads. Our baby is a toddler now. Sometimes I wonder if God is intentionally growing her sweet fuzz hair so slowly so that I can still see my tiny baby in her face. But even now those fuzzy little strands are peeking past her neck and I can see a tiny little fountain ponytail in our future.

I've been happier than I've ever been since she was born. I spent so much time in the first six months of her life desperately trying to get the hang of it all... breastfeeding, babywearing, doctor's appointments, the sleeping and waking and tummy time and swaddling. The next six months were all about gaining confidence--- saying things like "my daughter" without thinking twice and forming opinions on topics from baby led weaning to attachment parenting. Finding a tribe. Finding a circle. Finding a community of moms and trying to sort out a sense of belonging in my new world.

Those second six months, I was constantly trying to find the best way to parent. To be the parent that I wanted to be. What would that look like? I spent the second six months of her first year somewhere between laughing, crying and a panic attack. And then one afternoon in the middle of the bedroom, she was crawling. Climbing. Splashing in the bath. Quicker than anything, Adeline turned one.

We had a party with all of our friends. I remember hugging each person as they came into the yard. I'm not sure I could have made it that year without our friends. They called, visited, and then maybe the most important thing--- kept calling, kept checking in, kept making plans even as things like colds and exhaustion and busy schedules crept in and broke some of them.

I don't think I'll ever forget the day of her party. It was shady and warm in the yard. The blackberries looked the same way they did the night we left for the hospital to have her. Everyone who wanted to picked some. I remember looking over at Talmon as all three of us blew the candles out on her cake. It was so surreal. We had a beautiful little daughter, our own little home. We made it. We'd come out the other side of a year and we were ok.

The last six months have been all about thankfulness and discovery. While Adeline is discovering the world around her and becoming an active part of it, we are learning more and more about her. She's quick and chatty with a streak of spunk a mile wide. She's quiet and curious about new things. Sometimes, she's exhausting. Exhilarating. She's huge smiles and pink cheeks and one tiny blonde curl.

She opens me up to a way of being that I've never known before. We were driving home from the garden at dusk yesterday and something about the way she was wiggling in her carseat told me that her exploring wasn't done for the day. I was so tired from a night of waking and a busy day, but I turned the car towards Asilomar Beach anyways and we got out just after the sunset. Dark black clouds over Spanish Bay hung low and all the oranges and pinks whisked across the ocean.

We took off our shoes and walked along the path toward the water. Stuck sticks into a pile of sand. If you're quiet for a minute and be mindful, I swear toddlers will show you the meaning of life. It's about touching a shell and noticing it's smoothness, hearing the music of a violin from a bonfire across the way, stopping to watch something sing and swoop along the horizon.

She is so innocent,  I remember thinking. She is seeing these things I've seen all my life for the first time. I wondered all through the walk what she thought of this place. Suddenly, she pointed her index finger towards the sky and said "Mama? Mama? Bird!!!!!" "Yes, Adeline, that's a bird." I said, absentmindedly. She turned towards me and asked "Mama? Hug?" She reached her tiny arms around my shoulders and buried her face in my neck.

In eighteen months of motherhood, I think I've finally learned the most important thing. When your child hugs you, never be the first to let go.

Dear Adeline,

Tomorrow you will be a year old. I have loved being your Mama every single day. Your sweet smiles and your belly laughs, your head full of soft duckling fuzz and your crooked little wiggly toes! Your first Mowgli crawl, first time splashing in the bath and the day you swung your little body around in a field of daisies to sit up for the first time. Even on the hard days and the sick days, the nights with no sleep, the little frustrations... through all of it, I have loved being your Mama.

Photo by Aimee Pool Photography

 When they placed you on my chest, I was in awe. Shocked by you.You were so tiny and perfect. I kissed your forehead. I rubbed your little red back. I could barely speak. You lay on my chest, listening to my heart beat. I felt your small breaths, in and out, in and out with each wail. So new to the world. You blinked your little eyes up at me, taking it all in. Sweet girl, you've been alert from the very first moment.


You are spunky and FUNNY! So curious and quick. You clap your hands and laugh, you reach your little hand out to share your bites of food and are so thoughtful. You light up around others. You love to be around other babies and are so gentle and kind. You are loving and good. I want you to know that. You are a worthwhile person.

Photo by Aimee Pool Photography

Photo by Jaymie Moore Photography

I don't know what you will do with your life. I don't care if you are a doctor or a teacher, a carpenter, an artist or a cook. I don't care if you help the entire world or just a lady down the road so long as the world is just a little bit better because you are in it. And it already is, Adeline! You have brought our whole family closer than ever before.

Photo by Aimee Pool Photography

There is only one thing that I really hope for you. Today while we were at the library, you picked out two crayons from the basket. You held one in each hand, looked at them both and then wildly scribbled all over the paper, blue and red. Outside the lines, girlfriend. You were so friggin' happy; this huge smile lit across your face, those little eyes dancing. I want you to find joy, Adeline. In the big things. In the small things. Within yourself, in others, wherever you can, find joy.

Photo by Jaymie Moore Photography

Catch it with your arms open wide. And maybe someday, on a day filled with joy, you will be in a room somewhere and a tiny breath of heaven will land on your chest. In that second, maybe you will know. That unconditional love.


The kind I have for you.

Your Mama

~~~

"Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth." Khalil Gibran

~~~

Dear Adeline, 
It is New Years Day and we just came back from a gorgeous hike to Andrew Molera beach and to the Point Sur Lighthouse with friends. You loved playing the the grass with your sweet baby friend, licking the wind and lying in Mama's arms to look up at the crystal prisms in the lighthouse where the Fresnel lens used to be. You love light & shadows. You expressive brows show your entire thought process on that little face of yours. Like this:

"Stairs!?! Papa!!!!"

We had a great Christmas this year. Some traditions happened by accident, and some we thought would be interesting to try. We didn't grow up with a whole lot of traditions, but we knew we wanted to start a few for our little family. It was really important to both of us for the holidays to feel full of light and cheer. With you around, it's easy. What we found at the end of it all is that after being with our family, all the rest is just sweet sweet icing on the cake. Here are a few traditions we will be continuing next year along with a few that we "tried on" that just didn't fit.

Traditions to Try Again:

Attending a Tree Lighting Ceremony: This year we went to the one in Pacific Grove at the park across from the Natural History Museum. It was held the first week of December and it really set off the holiday season. We dressed you up in your warm Patagonia synchilla full body suit and tiny knit reindeer hat with the red Rudolph nose because it was so cold out. We watched the PG Middle School Choir sing Christmas carols and then sat on a bench holding you in our arms while the town counted down. 5---4---3---2---1--- you were so mesmerized by the lights. Afterward, Papa and I warmed up with some apple cider and cookies at Chautauqua Hall while watching kids wait to meet Santa, do circle dances and a few play holiday piano songs for the rest of the attendees. I don't think it really matters which tree lighting we attend in the area so long as we go in early in the season. Whichever day you are up for it will be the one we will go to!



Making Christmas Ornaments: Papa and I bought a few ornaments for the tree this year, but really wanted to try to make our own so that we could fill up the holes on the cheap. (A Charlie Brown Christmas tree looks way better dressed to the nines.) So one night we went out to the craft store seeking some inspiration and came back with the idea and supplies for glitter ornaments. Awww yeah. We spent a really fun evening listening to Christmas music and making our ornaments together. They ended up looking rad!

Final Product: Way f*in cooler than I pictured... We used "Glitter It" (google it) which was simple, quick to clean up and fun.

I also made a few "Winter Wonderland" ornaments with tiny model trees and fake snow using a glue gun and tweezers. A couple of them looked great but then I got cocky and decided to try to get a plastic reindeer in there too. But the whole reindeer wouldn't fit, so I thought it would be a good idea to cut the reindeer's head off and hot glue it inside the ornament. I thought it would look like the reindeer was emerging from a peaceful snow drift.  It looked absolutely horrific. Kind of like a severed reindeer carcass massacred on an icy tundra. Thankfully my neighbor fell in love with it so I pawned it off on her as a Christmas gift! Hah! I'm so excited to make ornaments with you next year Liney! But no reindeer massacres next year. I think we might try stamped salt dough ornaments. Good for little hands.

The ornament I made for you with your hospital hat inside. I knew I would find a way to use that tiny "preview" birth announcement they sent me!!!

Christmas Morning Tree. We had lights that switched back and forth from colored to white. The awesomeness of this was not lost on you.

Candy Cane Lane!!!!!: Candy Cane Lane is a neighborhood that gets decked out for Christmas every year. This year, we went walking around with Grandma Janet, Papa & the Aunties. We also accidentally cut in front of an entire line of patiently waiting people to take a family picture in a sleigh. There is nothing like awkward hostility during the holidays!!! This video speaks for itself I think. Even if we just do a drive-through next year, a visit to Candy Cane Lane will be worth it.

Christmas Eve Crab Dinner: Papa and I made a delicious crab dinner this year, after wondering for days what we were going to eat for the holidays. At first I was thinking we would try a raclette & potato dinner (a la francais) because that is what a girlfriend and her husband do for the holidays and I thought it sounded lovely. But then I realized I'd never done raclette and we don't have a cast-iron yet because I've been choosy about the one that I want. Also, I didn't want to end up with something I'd never cooked and a bunch of stress on Christmas Eve. So, we took a chance on 3 juicy crab legs, Papa worked his magic on garlic mashed potatoes and we set out some drawn butter. I don't think we've had a better dinner since. It was so magical with the tree lit up, Christmas music blasting and you sound asleep in your snuggly Christmas jammies.
 

Reading Twas The Night Before Christmas, Opening a Present on Christmas Eve, Christmas Jammies & String to the Grand Finale
Some of the best things we did on Christmas were kind of random. Papa had Christmas Eve off, so we decided to open one present each that night. It made the whole Christmas experience seem a little longer and more exciting. We'll definitely do that next year. I happened to buy new pajamas for Papa & I that were red, so we wore those and put you in your sweet little Santa jammies. You wore them a bunch during the season. It felt really festive & I think that's a fun way to start off December. We opened present Christmas morning (one for baby, then one for Mama, then one for Papa) and a string was tied to the tree, which we all followed to the biggest *grand finale* present. This year, it was Papa's PS4. Papa almost had a freak out when he saw it outside on the front deck!!!

So intent...

Wrapping paper thief!!!

This face. Also known as: the reason for the season.

Me decorating you amongst "the wreckage" as Papa called it.

We followed the string outside to find this little gem. I'm pretty sure he would have believed me if I said unicorns were real at this point, he was so damn giddy

 Elf-on-the-Shelf: I saw this a couple years ago and thought it would be fun to try "one day" when I had kids. Apparently that day is now. Elf was fun (mostly with me trying to "out weird" Papa in the places we hid the elf. I have serious reservations about how we'll make it work for the long haul though. I don't think we'll be able to follow the box instructions to a T. Maybe we'll keep the spirit of the elf, but ditch the book so you're not super confused when we can't remember where the elf has or hasn't been yet. It was pretty poorly written book in my opinion anyway. It seems like a pretty weird way to try to keep kids compliant... "BE GOOD OR SNARKLE THE ELF WILL SNITCH TO SANTA, OK?" Nope. Not my style of parenting. But don't quote me on that, haha. There was a good four or five day stretch where he just sat up in the same spot. Poor dude's crotch was probably burning from sitting on our track lights for that long!!!! I'm not sure how  he'll make an appearance in our home next year, but he'll definitely be around.

Francisco the Elf.

 Which leads me to the:

Never Again Traditions

6) Making Christmas Cookies on Christmas Eve & Hot Cocoa from Scratch on Christmas Day---
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. I'm not really sure why I decided I needed to bake on Christmas Eve AFTER I put together a crab dinner, but I felt like I *needed* to have a letter to Santa and cookies out from a 6-month old who was already asleep, doesn't know the meaning of Christmas and doesn't know a cookie from a coaster. Yup. Super sane. But I guess every holiday needs a little insanity. So there I was, fingers covered in cookie dough, burning one batch while I checked on the babe. Thankfully another batch turned out well, so it wasn't completely in vain. I think next year I'll bake cookies with Adeline a few days before Christmas, and then just help her set out our pre-baked cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve.  SIMPLIFY SIMPLIFY SIMPLIFY Much saner.  Pathetically, I reprised the chicken-with-my-head-cut-off routine on Christmas morning in order to make Tal  & I from scratch hot-cocoa before we opened presents. We were all ready to start opening, but I had the crazy idea that we needed cocoa first so I made him wait while I "whipped it up". (It took a good 15 mins.) I'll definitely mix some up beforehand and just have it on hand to warm up for the day. It was fun to sip on cocoa while opening presents, but definitely not at the expense of my sanity or patiently waiting husband.

This photo even looks crazy! On the plus side, they were crazy delicious.

 So, my sweet one, that was your first holiday in a nutshell. Some beauty, a dash of crazy, but a whole, whole lot of love. It felt so good to wake up Christmas morning with you and Papa, a tree with some presents underneath and just our little family. So, so good and right. You had so much fun ripping up and trying to eat the wrapping paper. Your favorite "present" was the redwood branch attached to one of my presents from Papa. Hahaha! You also got a stuffed animal rat from our wonderful next door neighbors and friends that you have loved on ever since. We are so blessed.

I love you my rizzy Rat. Thanks for being a part of my best Christmas ever!

Love,
Mama

Dear Claire,
It is hard for me to begin this letter because I had such hopes of meeting you soon. I have also had reservations about writing a blog post about you, because in some ways I have felt it is not my loss to write about. But then I remember that you knew me through this space and so in many ways it seems fitting that I acknowledge the loss we feel in your passing. Peg printed my past two blog posts and your caregivers read them to you. I can't say how happy that makes me. I am so grateful to Peg and your caregivers that I was able to tell you all about Adeline in this way.

I was so excited to meet you. To share things and learn from you. But mostly just to know who you are. One of the most important women in my husband's life. It takes a very special person to be loved so much by so many. I wanted to thank you for all the ways you've loved and supported Talmon and helped to shape him into the man that he is. He is wonderful, you know.

There have been so many emotions in the Owens house this past week. The night I got the news that you passed, Talmon called me. He was completely broken up and trying to make sense of it all. How could this happen three weeks before our trip to see you? It didn't seem fair. But the loss was deeper than that for him. He watched the sun set in Big Sur and I know that brought a little peace to his heart. When he called me at home and gave me the news, I was putting Adeline to sleep.

She was quietly laying in the bedroom after I finished the phone call. I stood above her with tears in my eyes and she looked at me, her brows so expressive. She has these very wide, serious looks. "You know, Adeline Claire. Your great-grandmother loved you very much," I told her. I didn't know what else to say. I nursed her to sleep that night and thought of you, Claire. You had four children, just like my own mother. How you must have loved each of them, the way I love Adeline.


Motherly love is so scary in some ways. It feels so deeply one sided sometimes. You love this small creature so much, so so much more than anything you have ever loved or will love again. And you grow them inside you and you raise them, and you love them only to send them into the world... away from you.  To give them to the world. You send them to love others.


Claire, I did not know you. But I know how my husband loved you. It is why we named Adeline Claire in honor of you. I have said your name a thousand times or more in French, before I even knew of you. In French, "claire" means bright, clear, luminous.

We went to Pfeiffer Beach yesterday after going to the Post Office. We received a package you sent to us before you passed. Inside the box was a card welcoming Adeline to your family with two bells from your collection enclosed. One was silver, for Talmon and I. The other was porcelain and covered in intricate pink and blue flowers, for Adeline. We let her listen to it and touch it once, very carefully. We will keep it for her, so that she can treasure it in her own home someday. The last gift was a stuffed bear for Adeline holding a pot of flowers and the message "You are Special."



It was an incredibly foggy day along the coast the day we picked up your package and we weren't sure we would be able to stand the cold at the beach. We drove down anyways. It was perfect. A warm ray of sun cut through the rock formations onto our blanket. The ocean was shades of slate grey, dark blue. The sky was turquoise and deep orange. We watched the sunset together and toasted you. Talmon said he was sure you sent us that afternoon. That special time together.


We set Adeline along the shore. She kissed and hugged the bear you sent her. Talmon told us stories about you. He answered all the questions I had about your life. We had a wonderful picnic. It was one of the best afternoons we have spent together as a family. Thank you for making that day for us. We know it was you, because the rest of Big Sur was covered in fog. But there we were. It was bright and clear.


I cannot change what is done. But Claire, I can make you this promise. I promise I will raise my daughter with the message you sent her. "You are special." I will tell her how you loved her. I promise her Papa will tell her stories about you. He already has. I will learn them myself and share them too. Because I know that stories that come from the lips of mothers are sacred. Your story will hold equal weight with the women of my family, I promise. I will always speak kindly and well of you. She will know she was named for  you. That you were luminous.

I know that you are reading this, somewhere. Thank you for loving my husband. Thank you for loving my girl.

Lillian

You are almost six months old. It is almost Christmas. There is so much that I want you to know. That I want to remember. That I wish I could just hold in the palm of my hand and keep, forever. But the days keep passing and your milestones add up and suddenly the outfit that I wanted to take pictures of you in barely fits and you only wore it once or twice. My God.

I'll be 26 in a few days but I feel as though I've lived lifetimes. Maybe that's the way that new motherhood is supposed to feel. Like you've traveled a million miles in a thousand steps. When you were first born and so new in my arms I came across a quote about motherhood. "The days are long but the years are short." I didn't know how true it would be.

You are so busy now. You want to sit up all the time, you roll, you rock. Your hands have to be moving, reaching, pulling, exploring. You broke your first plate a few days ago at a Mexican restaurant with Grandpa O and Papa. I took my eyes off of you for one second. How beautiful and frightening at the same time. I am beginning see the first tiny signs of you growing up. It is beautiful and good, but I part of me is always saying, "Not too soon, love. Take your time."

These moments, I want to turn them over, look at them from every angle. Like every morning when you wake up, full of pure joy. You smile. They don't tell you that when you become a parent. That every day, your baby is going to wake up smiling. But you do.

The most important thing I've learned so far? To listen to you. To find ways to understand you. To watch your cues and pick up on what you need. This month, you've needed plenty of time to explore. Your curiosity is so exciting to watch because everything is a new experience. It's all a first. Your first time meeting Santa, your first time playing with blocks, your first time snatching off a corner of wrapping paper and eating it. (Whoops!) You are no longer a newborn. You're changing. And it is good. But you will have so much time to grow up. To be away from your Papa and I. This time as an infant is so fleeting. So I hold you, I nurse you, I wear you in a sling close to my heart every day. Every morning when you wake up, I give you a back rub. I kiss your smiling face.

You stretchy-stretch yourself out and look out the windows at the trees. You love trees! It's funny that I can say that about you. We are beginning to know so much about you now. "She's a real person!" your Papa and I say to each other all the time. And you are. You look good in green.  You love hairbrushes. Your favorite toy is the "Bebe Feliz" board book that I got for free from the hospital.Who knew? You love baths and kitties. You babble to the kitty and love to stroke her fur. We are teaching you to be gentle with her and amazingly you are! You're not so sure about the shower yet, but girl, you're interested.

Today was your first time sitting in a high chair. We went out Christmas shopping and stopped in to a casual spot in Pacific Grove for a quick bite. You were standing on my lap, reaching for the salt shakers and my plate. The owner asked if we wanted a high chair. My first thought was that I didn't have a cover for it, but we said yes anyways. I told Tal to take a picture of you sitting up there like a big girl. We were proud of you and you smiled. You reached for the tablecloth, babbled and flirted with the other diners. But after five minutes or so, you leaned back in your seat. You were done sitting up by yourself. And that is ok. If you want to know the truth my lap felt empty without you in it. Take your time, love.

I love you always,

Mama