The Numbers Game

Today is significant to me. Thirty-six years ago there was a lunch that was interrupted by labor pains; the country doctor largely discounted it on account it was the girl's first birth but by the time she got to his office her baby was almost born. That woman, of course, was my mother, and the baby was round-headed, big-eyed, me. That day was important because it started my story. 

Every August 22 since has been important because it is a chapter marker: another year is gone, a new one comes. 

In my line of work, there are few project completions, assignments, promotions or incentives. One perseveres rather than completes; believes, finds joy, grows bitty things into bigger things. These are good but very hard to 'achieve' or to quantify. I don't want to forget the little things that made the year good -- the things that made me grin, or made my heart hammer against my ribs, or made me laugh until I cried. 

In true list fashion, I have tallied some of those little things -- the gifts that the year gave to me. It is no way conclusive (I limited myself to twelve, after all), and some of the things are a bit silly.

Twelve things I have loved about my life in 2012:

1. Luke climbing into my bed at 4:30 every morning, wakened by Jon's alarm, and falling back asleep in a ball beside me.
2. The absence of pain. I had surgery two days after Christmas in 2010 that culminated two years of doctor's appointments, emergency room visits, CT scans, ultrasounds and many tears. There were days I thought the pain would be my constant companion – the gnawing reminder of the bitterness of this broken world. Thankfully, the reason was finally found (a complication from my c-section with Peter, the second twin) and surgically fixed. I am grateful for this every day.
3. Peter's laugh. Do you know someone who laughs with their whole body – tummy clenched, eyes pinched shut, head thrown back, crazy laugh? I love to laugh, and I love how much he does too.
4. The fantastic quiet of my house at 6 am. I liked to sleep in until I realized the gift of those purple-gray minutes of dawn when my mind is sharp, the quiet is deep, and the coffee is as strong as a sultan's. Mmm.
5. My sisters. I wish everyone had someone(s) who were different enough to offer perspective, mature enough to offer grace, and close enough to understand the unsaid words.
6. NO MORE DIAPERS! What did you say? NO MORE DIAPERS!
7. The smell of baby's hair. Carl Sandberg once said that a baby is God's opinion that the world should go on. Mine are no longer babies, so I smell the golden heads of other babies: Julia, Thaddeus, Alissa, Jake, Jackson, Adilyn. I am waiting for you, Avea, to sniff that little black feather of hair on top of your head.
8. Tarte concealor in light (I warned you I was including silly things). After 20-odd years of buying makeup with the accuracy and discernment of a drunken sailor looking for a date, I have decided to buy better and less. I don't know what took me so long.
9. Rebecca. Every year about this time, I read this line: “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again,” and I plummet headlong into the world of the unnamed narrator and her Maxim. It never grows old.
10. The leather bag of all good things: sanitizer lip gloss kleenex checkbook library books clean size4 underwear lollypops wallet notebook and pen ipad bandaids rescue salve keys happy meal toys. The ephemera of a blessed life of five crazy children and their mother. The roadtrips. The memories. I am treasuring the moments and carting them around in my big old bag. 
11. Autumn. This coming season is my favorite time of year. Oh, the cider, sweaters, leaves, school books, crisp apples crunching!
12. Twelve years with a man who both understands me and loves me. Those two are not always compatible – familiarity breeds contempt and all that. But this one knows the way and loves it all the more. It is a gift, that like good wine, gets better with age, deeper, less bite; full and lasting.