This particular piece of art, drawn by my daughter, makes me smile. A bold, colorful flower, a really big heart, and her name in whimsical letters.

Joy, indeed.

Today is Mother’s Day. In addition to having three, maybe four moms when you include a step-mom, a mother-in-law and an almost-mom along with my own mother; I too, am a mom.

Not to be taken lightly, motherhood is serious business. It taxes your body, your mind and your wallet; and it throws in several gray hairs to really sweeten the deal. Having said that, being a mom is the most joyous experience I have ever had.

I know that sounds way too much like a sappy Hallmark card, but it’s the absolute truth. The joys my children bring me are unable to be counted. Every single time I am the lucky recipient of a hug or a kiss I melt like chocolate in the palm of their hands. Even a flash of a smile lifts my spirits at least by a quotient of three. These are only the most obvious joys.

Off the top of my head, others include: watching them sleep, seeing their barely awake faces come down the stairs in the morning, listening to them read, hearing them laugh, watching them grow, seeing how much they love each other, watching them learn, seeing their excitement as they discover a robin’s nest complete with little blue eggs, hearing them say, “mom”, watching them reason, seeing their little chests breathe in and out, being the tooth fairy, seeing them be kind to others, and the list goes on and on.

Being a mom has made me older and younger simultaneously. It has expanded my capacity for love, and fear, exponentially. It has made me an infinitely better person in the areas of patience, non-judgment, tolerance and compromise. And it has given me a greater sense of purpose than any job or desire I have to help improve the world around me.

Today is Mother’s Day. Just one of the many days I am proud and overjoyed to call myself a mom.

I came back to work after what seemed like a short weekend (kid’s birthday party and all) to hear a wonderful story from my co-worker, Deborah Shimkus.

Deborah is one of those real-life tree-hugging dirt-lovers. In addition to putting bumper stickers on her car, she expresses this by volunteering to further the green cause. Hence, her involvement in Lake Oswego’s Sustainability Action Month.

At the kickoff for the month’s festivities, an event was publicized promising, among other things, a giant earth cake. Just a few days before the event when the media hit, they realized that one of the things that got changed along the way was the giant earth cake. Deborah thought this just wouldn’t do. She pulled together $60 from the volunteers and went on a quest.

In just two stops, she found Judy in the bakery at the Lake Grove Albertsons. Deborah told her story, explained the urgent need and held out a wad of cash that should only be able to buy a couple of sheet cakes. Rather than getting laughed out the door, a team was assembled—store manager and all—and plans were drawn. The community-minded crew even went out and measured her car to see just how big the Giant Earth Cake could be.

Within two days and a mere trifle later, Deborah picked up a few hundred cupcakes pushed together and covered quite artistically with frosting to make a 4 foot Giant Earth Cake (and moon!) with continents, mountain ranges and even clouds hovering over the deep blue sea.

The cake was delivered to an amazed audience, which includes the Lake Grove Elementary School singers (pictured here), who wrote and performed their song “Earth Deserves Better” at the kickoff to the City of Lake Oswego’s Sustainability Action Month.

If this kind of community spirit isn’t what’s at the heart of sustainability, then I guess I don’t know what the word means.

Judy and the Lake Grove Albertsons crew – you’re alright in my book.

(photo by Deborah Shimkus)

My son recently turned eight. We had his birthday party yesterday at our house. There was a badminton set, horse shoes, t-ball, air hockey and a heck of a lot of hot dogs. Most importantly, there were friends.

To be completely honest, I can only remember what games they played based on the remains strewn across the backyard. What I remember most was how much fun they had just being together.

They played, they giggled. They wrestled, they ate, they ran. They laughed. They climbed, jumped and rolled. They beat their chests like the tribe of brothers they are. They were sweaty and dirty and just about the happiest they could possibly be, simply because they were together.

At the age of eight, these kids have a few things figured out.

I was talking to my mom today about the rules we make up for our lives. Rules like: people who sacrifice and suffer for others get more points, no pain no gain, it’s more spiritual to live frugally than to live in opulence, I’m only worth as much as my job title, and, most alarming, you cannot eat chocolate every day.

What if, as Mike Dooley (author of Notes from the Universe) says, “the universe doesn’t give a flying yahoo” about our rules? What if the most important thing we had to do was to be happy?

It’s proven that happy people are more understanding, friendlier and much less likely to flip you the bird if you accidentally cut them off in traffic.

Maybe we should all just relax a little. And, as Denise Sharp said, “Give your soul some elbow room.”

I work for March of Dimes in Portland, Oregon. The non-profit health organization that works to improve the health of babies by preventing birth defects, premature birth and infant mortality. Yesterday was our biggest fundraiser of the year, March for Babies.

After walking the route with 5,000 others whose lives have somehow been touched by our mission, many people will stay, have a hot dog and an ice cream bar, and enjoy the upbeat music by 5 Guys Named Moe.

It was during this time that I saw special t-shirts celebrating premature babies born as small as one pound who overcame the challenges of being born too soon and were out there in strollers or walking beside their proud parents. I also saw shirts created with great love in memory of a baby who didn’t make it, worn by people who still celebrate those little lost souls.

As the music lightened the steps and hearts of the crowd, there was dancing. I became mesmerized by one particular pair — a father and his young daughter. Held in his arms, this beautiful little girl was twirled and waltzed and gazed at with a love and tenderness one doesn’t see just everyday. I fell in love. I fell in love with this little smiling girl, comfortable and happy in her daddy’s arms. And I fell in love with her doting father, so obviously blissful to be dancing with his daughter in a parking lot on a Saturday morning as though there were no place he’d rather be. I fell in love with the whole of it, and I wasn’t the only one.

After the last note he dipped his small partner and clapping came from the people around him. Turns out Rob Moneyhan (daddy) and his lovely wife were there because they have a second child, Chase, who is still in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) and has been for months since he was born way too soon.

The Moneyhans know how precious every single moment is. Which makes enjoying a dance in a parking lot all the more splendid.

I walked through warm, spring sunshine from my office at March of Dimes into Whole Foods in downtown Portland, already somewhat euphoric from soaking up the beams of light. And though I’ve been to this Whole Foods several times before, for some reason today it struck me differently. I entered the store and, met by these fresh cut flowers, I stopped in my tracks and dropped my jaw at the beauty of it.
Maybe it was the gerber daisies that grabbed hold of me so strongly. I love the bold brightness of gerber daisies. But it doesn’t really matter what it was. I slowed my pace, took a nice long look at the rainbow in petals before me and even closed my eyes to fully enjoy the sweet smell of stargazer lillies. The whole experience was heavenly.

Although spying joy is still easy to do if you look for it, these days it seems more challenging to really relax into the moment and let the joy we see soak down into our bones. At least, it seems a bit tougher to me.

Take today, for example. After sleeping in until 7am and savoring a morning mocha I check my email for the first time in a few days and find a heartfelt note from a friend saying she is closing the doors of her yoga center. As if that, among the daily barrage of bad news and double-digit unemployment, wasn’t enough; I opened mail and found the neighborhood hardware store is also closing its doors. Driving through town I see so many more signs shouting “for lease” or “going out of business sale”. It’s moments like these that challenge me to remember the truth.

The truth is that I am not my job. Neither are you. I am the love and kindness I show to everyone I encounter. I am the joy I feel watching my kids play soccer or swing from bars or read a book they find interesting. I am the time I make to be with my family and friends. I am the care and attention I show when I’m helping others. I am thankful for this day and the happiness inherent in it.

And I am thankful for the joy I spied at Red Park, and how it reminds me of all the important truths.

I spent a day with my family in the Tillamook State Forest. While the boys were enjoying a BBQ, Taryn and I set out for a walk on a fire road, trailing behind mountain bike rider and friend, Sue.

We picked up walking sticks; stopped and stared at elk droppings while bent at the waist (only we used the technical term “poop”); and picked up such treasures as a piece of dried out bone and a half-dead snail (because the shell was so pretty). We were adventurers!

As we’re trying to figure the best way to carry all our riches, an old memory flashed in my mind that I hadn’t thought of in years. When I was Taryn’s age, my dad would take me out exploring the deserts of New Mexico. I, just like my daughter, would find all manner of trinkets that had to be, without question, collected and taken home. But my dad, I suddenly remembered while holding a half-dead snail, would bring plastic ziplock bags to neatly hold whatever messy objects I deemed desirable.

Life really is a circle. A series of circles, actually. Next time Taryn and I go wandering the wilds of Oregon or Washington, I’ll bring some baggies. And maybe, in 30 or 40 years when she’s out exploring with her daughter, picking up messy and divine treasures, she’ll suddenly get a flash or our journeys together and begin to share a story about when she was a little girl. Her mother, she’ll say, would bring plastic ziplock baggies to hold such riches. And she’ll smile and think how wonderful are the circles of life.