My Mountaintop.

I overheard this in my office the other day: 

“Thank God for Martin Luther King. I mean, yeah the Civil Rights thing, and all ::chuckle:, but for the holiday.”

First of all, we just started the term. How lazy can one be?

Second, if it weren't for Martin Luther King Jr., I might not be in this office to overhear your ignorance and then have the opportunity to blog about it.

MLK day. The day where we tack an extra day onto our weekend and post the perfunctory MLK quotes on our Facebook status updates, Twitter feeds and GChat away messages. No really, I’m impressed that you took the time to google and Wikipedia “MLK Jr quotes.” But the truth of it is, I literally would not be (in every sense of the word) where I am today without having the civil rights warriors like Dr. King at the time.

I would not be in my current geographical location. I would not be apart of the friendships that I’m in.

I would not have the education that I have. I would not be in my profession. I would not have the family that I have. I would not have my freedom.

It’s safe to say that most of the people reading this will not have had such a direct impact from our Civil Right’s Activists. That doesn’t mean they don’t affect how you feel and the anger you may experience of such injustice. Similarly, I am not a direct victim of current laws preventing homosexuals to marry their partners as I have the rights of heterosexuals (not that I'm exercising such rights at the moment). Just because it doesn't affect me doesn't mean it doesn't aggravate me that we are choosing which citizens are worthy of receiving certain rights. If it were still 1966 when anti-miscegenation laws were still enforced, my niece would not be possible because her parents would be denied the right to wed. That destroys my heart because she is the most beautiful thing to ever happen in my life. Ever.

There was of course a time when I didn't absorb what this holiday meant and that over this three-day weekend I merely planned road trips to San Francisco, Canada and did other college nonsense like going to the salon for impulse piercings and participated in major sofa sessions of TV marathons. It wasn’t until recently, January 19, 2009 where I felt something besides leisure on this holiday.

My friend Carey and I were filled with adrenaline and fearing sleep in the living room of the McBride's on the eve of Inauguration. We were slightly nervous we’d sleep through our alarms and miss the morning bus that would take us into DC to the brick mall in just a few short hours. Our excitement could not be tamed. This is when the magnitude of that moment poured down onto me and I just started crying. Uncontrollable, ugly tears that you never want anyone else to ever witness. My apologies, Carey.

Here we were. Two women brought together through educational hopes and athletic passion at an Oregon university six years prior. A Korean and African-American about to attend the inaugural event to swear in America’s first Black president. All of this taking place the day after King’s 80^th birthday (The observed day, his real birthday was a few days before). In another world, we would never be friends. I’d probably still be in the south where my family resided in the 60’s. I can’t and luckily won’t have to ever fathom that lifestyle. I’ve heard enough stories of mistreatment and inequality from my warrior grandmothers who fought the fight to know how far I'd love to stay away from that.

On the eve of his death, Martin Luther King Jr. delivered a speech that I recently re-read and had a very physical response to. I'm pretty certain he knew that his time had come. Which for me, takes all of the fear of dying away; to know that your end is near and to be peaceful in that fate. He had reached his mountaintop and did more than what most men and women do in their lifetime.

Dr. King, the view from my mountaintop is quite lovely. Thank you for doing most of the heavy lifting and climbing so I could enjoy this. And even in my moments of sadness, inappreciation of my past and ignorance of the struggle, I recognize how lucky I am to be at this peak. It’s insanely gorgeous.

Thankful for these givings.

In no particular order...(but sort of..mostly the Top 5).

15. Lists.

"To-Dos," "Bucket" or "Favorites." It really helps prioritize my life.

14. 'Really?'

It makes discussing the nonsensical so much more fun. For instance...

13. GOP Presidential Debates.

For allowing me to use #14 frequently.

-"Libya...Libya...?"

-"I can't remember the third...Ooops."

Not knowing geography in general. Like that Africa is indeed a continent, not a country. Come on! (said in the stylings of Gob Bluth)

12. Scarves.

I have hangers that have lost their lives to my little obsession, but can't stop, won't stop.

11. Phone calls.

I know, I know, what is this, 1990? Remember when it was such a big deal to make a 3-way call? Now we just "cc:" each other on email. Booooring.

I love a good phone call. From the sound of the personalized ringtone I've chosen for the selected people that actually call me, to actually hearing someone's voice and laughter as we share the insanity of the daily.

10. Hazelnut Hot Chocolate.

Subconsciously, I think it's because the Hazelnut is Oregon's state nut. Consciously, it's liquid love.

9. My job.

Although it might not be the final career for me (mostly because I hyperventilate at the word 'career' as that's something adults have which I can't possibly be), I have to admit, it's pretty cool to teach college kids. Which brings me to...

8. My Students.

I had the stark realization last week that I have the pleasure of conversing and working with people from roughly 10 different countries on a daily basis. Not just their countries of origin, but immigrants of this generation. Russian, Ukranian, Taiwanese, Japanese, Chinese, African (Kenya, Sierra Leone, Nigeria), Iraqi, etc. I have two students who actually fled Iraq at the beginning of the war, watched family members being murdered before them, and were forced out of their country because of their religious beliefs. And they're still standing and getting an education...from me. I feel like they could teach me (and are) even more.

7. Meeting good people.

I try...I mean really try to be optimistic and see the goodness in strangers and people in general. Then "they" or someone does something douchey to taint my hope. Then you meet a new somebody that really restores your belief that there are people still left worth meeting.

6. Flannel sheets.

Even though sleep and I have nightly disagreements, there is not a more comfortable place to struggle in.

5. Semi-Independence.

This past weekend I had an autonomous Saturday. I went to a book signing for my beloved Mindy Kaling and by nightfall, went to a comedic benefit for the Mona Foundation featuring Rainn Wilson, Mindy Kaling, Anna Faris and Chris Pratt. I hang out by myself all the time (See #2, I do indeed have friends)...movies, coffee shops, lunch dates, exploring a new part of town, etc. but this was semi new territory.

For some reason we tend to be ultra self-conscious when we venture out alone (sadly some people avoid the public all together if they can't find a boyfriend in time for the wedding or friend to drag to a concert).

However when you're out with other people, you don't find yourself consumed by noticing and identifying other people for being alone. You stare and notice them if they're good looking or not. Or have on a super cute scarf or shoes.

4. Sense of Direction.

As I was driving toward Portland for the holiday, I began to contemplate various routes that would take me to my dad's house, depending on traffic. I've just begun to have this same type of comfort in my new home, Seattle, where I now know various routes through trial and error, that will take me home. It feels good to silence the navigation system.

3. Literacy.

I got frustrated the other day when I missed my exit due to inattention and some pretty serious car singing, and then thought, what would it be like to miss my exit because I couldn't understand the signs? Which led me to wondering this same concept while walking down the aisles of the grocery store 10 minutes later. Which led me to continue wondering this as I sat down that evening to indulge in my favorite pastime; reading for pleasure. How lucky I am to be born where I was, with the people I was born unto, and have the public education I did.

2. Friends.

My expectations of a friend are high and I expect the same of myself to my friends. This might be the reason I constantly struggle with having 450+ Facebook "friends" because I carry great weight with that word and it's impossible for me to be that person to 450 people. So for the ones whom I share real phone calls, dinner dates, travel adventures, or can do close to nothing and wake up sore in the abs from laughter, I'm so thankful for you. You really can't imagine how much. You're the family I choose.

1. Family.

I've always felt bad for people who loathe hanging out with their family, because I love hanging out with mine. And right when I think I realize how much I am loved by them, they show me a new way. I'm nothing without their love.

So as you sit down at the kids' table, in front of the TV or in a restaurant on this holiday, let us not celebrate Thanksgiving in the way of the first:

"I celebrated Thanksgiving the old fashioned way. I invited everyone in my neighborhood to my house, we had an enormous feast, and then I killed them and took their land."

-Jon Stewart

Instead, bathe in wherever it is you find your love.

Unrelentless Love.

One.

It was almost 365 days ago that I recounted the most joyous occasion that has come to pass in my 27.45 years.

Life is anything but ordinary with this little girl in it:

I had a total of 28 hours to spend in Portland this past weekend to help her more-or-less blow out ONE very special birthday candle. I was more grateful than ever for Daylight Savings Time to afford me one more hour to soak up her sweetness.

She hollered at me for a good five minutes upon becoming reacquainted with me, as this cruel evil auntie had selfishly spent 2 months away from Her Adorableness. Not by choice, but at the unfortunate hand of teaching a night class on Friday evenings, leaves me very short weekends in which to travel to and from the hometown.

She got over it and we became the best of friends once again.

The last time I'd seen Muffin Bear she had just started to eat real people food and sit at the table with us in her high chair. She had also become more vocal but mostly just rambled on in a language unique to her.

This time I was waddling behind her holding her tiny clenched fists to ensure she didn't take a nasty spill on the hardwood, as she navigated around by her new gift of mobility on foot. After a couple laps this way around the kitchen island, she stopped for a moment, looked back at me, and kindly straightened her hands from my grip and pushed them away.

She would do it herself. PS. This was on Saturday and she had just started walking on Wednesday.

It's amazing how one small action can make you feel so proud and joyful, but simultaneously makes you want to curl up in a ball and cry uncontrollably. She is growing up too fast and is already gaining her independence! How much we already have in common (good luck parents :D ). If this is just the first year, how quickly will the first eighteen going to go? Which would then make me...oh, phew, Aunties don't age, just parents.

Thank goodness the holiday season is rapidly approaching so I can absorb myself in her presence for uninterrupted days on end.

Towards the end of her party, my brother said some very touching words in prayer about the change Olivia has made in his life and how she is continuing to teach him how to be a father. I too am amazed that this little 20 pound ham has transformed my heart which is so full of love for her. She makes me want to do better just to open up her world and show her the possibilities.

Oh, my love. You are the absolute BEST thing in life.

When it rains...it comes through my ceiling.

Apparently when my life evens out into an unexciting lull, someone raps on the door of disaster and tells them I’m unamused and it’s time to mix things up. So I guess it’s my fault for being a tad bored. Plus, I pretty much am in the 15^th percentile when it comes to luck (Exceptions: Winning the Academy Awards Bleacher Seat drawing in '03; Being chosen to volunteer at The Sundance Film Festival 2x). Note: I'm talking strictly about "luck." Of course good things happen to me, but that's usually the result of hard work.

This last week I was spending time in Portland for a good friend of mine's wedding festivities when I got an unwelcome call from my landlord.

"There's been a little leak."

Because I lack the optimist's outlook, I immediately told my mom: "With my luck, it will be anything but little."

I was right. The "little" leak had made its kind way onto my bed and through my mattress, through my box spring, onto my bed frame, and everything underneath my bed. I guess I should be lucky that my shoes and purses were left unharmed. No one would want to see that itemized list. If that wasn't enough, when I came "home," my stuff had been left in the grass in front of my apartment to dry along with my mattress leaning against the building with no one in sight.

"I hope the newspapers you had weren't important underneath your bed."

Being that I'm not someone who hoards random newspapers/magazines underneath their bed, of course they were important. 9-11. The day my niece was born. The day & days leading to my dad's appointment as Chief of Police. My graduation programs. Obama's Inauguration. Funny enough, two of the Time Magazines that did survive had Palin and McCain on the cover. I guess it could be worse; my last name could be Santorum. Go ahead, google it. No, President Santorum definitely isn't going to work based on name alone.

That's why I know life has a sense of humor. Also because the day after this catastrophe, I got all new tires on my car, drove 2 miles home and one went flat

It’s hard to get truly angry (although I may have an ulcer from stress) when you have such wonderful people surrounding you. Like the people you call when you’re 180 miles away from home and they run to your rescue to advocate on your behalf, then take apart your bed, strip your sheets & wash them, and give you the full honest report. Or the people who drive up for the day on short notice to take care of business and start replacing those items that are replaceable and comfort you in the loss of things that aren’t. And hug you when you cry because all of your personal affects have been spread out on the grass/sidewalk for all to see. Or the people who amid a very busy day take 10 minutes to give you their professional law advice pro bono. Or the people who sit across from you at the kitchen table researching and staying 150% calm when you are anything but and tell you why and how this will all work out. And the people that call to see if there’s anything they can do because they know that just asking helps.

Bothered? Yes. Angry? I can’t get there.

Mostly because I have the image of my niece doing her first “big girl wave” this past Monday while she sat in my lap and watching her persistence in crawling over everything and everyone to the toy she wanted. She reminds me that even though my barriers may seem of a larger scale than people’s legs or coffee tables, she is conquering hers which are just as big to her in her new adventures of mobility. My heart is too full and encouraged by that little girl’s determination and I’m so thankful for her beating heart. I know mine won’t beat forever, so in the minimal time it does, I’d prefer to smile. Mattresses, bed frames, apartments? Replaceable. My people however, are not.

And certainly not this little one who just remembering that she exists, makes me smile.

HappyThankYouMorePlease

I moved to Seattle just a few short weeks ago, but today Portland required my attendance.

My one and only big brother turned 30. My family wasn't expecting me as I excused my presence with the obligation of my first day of work the next day. Everyone understood, of course. But for me, work doesn't come first. My family does. And if that means driving 350 miles in a day, I'm at the wheel. Especially when I have my good friend to accompany me one way of the trip.

Let's take a look at this weekend.

It started off with an AM phone chat with my mom over coffee about her upcoming move to Barbados. I wanted to solidify my visit before her departure. So my ticket to visit her for TWO WHOLE WEEKS has been booked for June. I could not be more excited.

After the chat and a run, I headed to the train station to pick up one of my oldest (in tenure, not in age) girlfriends who had hopped on the Amtrak on Saturday morning for a 24 hour trip to come see my new home and give me some decorating tips. She has outstanding taste and happens to make her living off her talents and interests as an interior designer. We didn't get much done on that front, but we did manage to watch about 1.5 of our favorite movies. Except she didn't make it through the first one:

"I didn't even see Pippi make it to land."

[One of my favorite quotes of the weekend]

Her, my other oldest friend that lives up here, and I, have more laughs in a 2 hour span than the funny bone ever intended or thought the body could allow.

Sunday was my brother's 30th birthday. His lovely wife had planned a little surprise family get-together for that evening. I threw both my mom and dad off course on Sunday morning phone calls that consisted of a faux plan of the day that included spring cleaning and prepping for my first day of classes tomorrow at my new job. In reality, I was headed to "Tubs," my brother's very favorite sammy place that happens to now be down the street from me and then hitting I-5 South to make it in time for birthday festivities.

When I pulled up to my brother's, I was giddy just as the sight of seeing the cars of my family members. I'm a sucker for family get-togethers and really love having us all in the same space, even if just for a little while. My brother was oh-so surprised for his Tub's sandwich... and to see his little sister of course. I was equally excited to see my 30 year old brother and the face of my very favorite person in the world that belongs to a certain 5-month old.

Simply can't get ENOUGH of my niece. I marvel at her every action. She grabs. She drools. She talks (in her very own language). She fixates. She smiles. She cries. This last part has been dubbed "pulling a Teela" as I apparently did this a lot as a child when my mom was out of my peripheral.

She is incredible and makes my heart fill with an uncontrollable amount of love.

As we continually make this vertical climb on the age ladder (the next rung seemingly quicker than the previous years), if we're lucky, we come to take nothing for granted. Not the five-minute phone call to say hello, not the thought of knowing you have a handful of spectacular people in your world that would literally drop anything they were doing for you. Like buying a last minute $50 train ticket to see your friend for 24 hours.

I've realized that I have people in my life that it excites me to be in the company of and am indebted to be apart of their story. People that you want to take little pieces of and place them in your heart for safekeeping. Their wonder is awe-inspiring and you wish that you could elongate these moments and move horizontally instead. One of these people is my big bro. He's my one and only sibling, the one who completely understands my history as he lived by my side underneath our blanket forts we systematically constructed over the Nintendo/Sega and created the silly games that only children can imagine up. Like slithering across the living room floor in a given path while trying to elude ones self from the alarm system. Alarm censor light blinks=You're not winning. Or agreeing to help me make Kool Aid without the supervision of the parents on Sunday mornings and not ratting me out when more of it ends up on the floor giving it a nice sticky pink glow, rather than the destination of the pitcher.

We've celebrated many birthdays together and today his daughter got to help him blow out his birthday candles. Drooling, blowing air, they both extinguish flames and our signature birthday cake from Helen Bernhard's is just as sweet if not sweeter.

Driving back to Seattle at day's end with the joy of the last couple hours I got to spend with my family was evident. It wasn't until I noticed my face getting sore that I realized I had been smiling for the past hour.

Oh, and now I have this to play with.

[iPad!]

I guess in the true nature of a younger child, I get presents on my brother's birthday too.

[Blog Title Credit: Josh Radnor, star of CBS' "How I Met Your Mother" & writer/director of "HappyThankYouMorePlease." Premiered at Sundance 2010, hopefully coming to DVD/BluRay soon.]

Turn, Turn, Turn

"A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

I time to kill, a time to heal,

A time to laugh, a time to weep."

I am aware that the Earth is in constant motion. That’s what keeps us on our punctual schedule of making it around the great sun in 365 days; 366 days respectively in a leap year. But even though we are forever moving, there are some times when you can really feel it more than others. It’s kind of the equivalent to a smooth airplane ride where you are traveling around 500 mph, yet you don’t feel the movement until you hit turbulence.

Yes, this is the ideal way to describe life as is right now. Metaphorical turbulence.

Yesterday’s date was February 14^th. But yesterDAY was Valentine’s day. In the socially constructed way of how we view Valentine’s day, I didn’t have an “official” Valentine. In fact, the only rose I received was from atop of my Grandpa’s casket after the military paid a beautiful tribute to his service.

To some, I’ve probably depressed you with the thought of not having a Valentine. To others, I might have depressed you with bringing up death which as the living, we have such a hard time placing. But let me explain the beauty in both.

I am not anti-Valentine or pro-Valentine. Do I think it’s a bit ludicrous to pick one day of the year where you shall spend hard earned income on a loved one over all other days to show them how much you love them? Sure. Do I think it’s nicer to sprinkle these acts of kindness throughout the other 364 days (365 LY)? Of course. But is there anything wrong with having an official day of love? Not really.

If Valentine’s day is considered to be the day we show the ones we love how we adore them through the mediums of chocolate and other disgusting assorted candies (Note: I hate most holiday candy, not Valentine’s specific), why is it romanticized? Shouldn’t we take the teachings of the third grade and take this “opportunity” to show love to those who get us through days on the regular? That is what I deem love to be; helping each other during the normal and abnormal, mundane and extraordinary, 24 hours of passing through the week.

Through the month.

Through the year.

Thank you to those who get me through the Earth’s rotation. On the regular.

And due to unfortunate circumstances of my grandpa’s death, I had the joy of spending the week/weekend preceding the day of love with my family. Granny, my dad’s mom, lost her husband of 34 years (to us, he was "Papa"). That is longer than my lifetime, which to me, sometimes seems longer than it actually is. I cannot possibly imagine all the memories created with a person over that time when I feel overwhelmed just looking at the pictures that represent my short time here.

Let me tell you a little about my granny. She is where I get my sass, stubbornness and strong will. Although, she is one hundred times stronger than I. She had to be. She grew up in the cruel South where the world hadn’t made a place for her and she had to make a life with her brothers and sisters. Literally, create life so they could survive. She is 1 of 14 and spent her young days on the farm, soiling seeds that would allow her family to eat. She claims she is the worst cook of her sisters since she was out in the field; I beg to differ. She is the best cook.

Granny got out of the South. She went to college. She became an RN. She raised 3 biological sons and blended two families when she met Papa, who had 5 children of his own. I tease her for her love of Y & R, which I happily watched with her as a child, her love of denim skirts, and how even after lecturing someone she’ll kindly say, “bless ya” as if to say, "no harm, no foul, and even if you have transgressed, there's still a chance you're going to heaven." She teases me because of my will in making words up in Boggle that I persistently persuade her really exist, but mostly she supports me, talks to anyone that will listen about her eldest granddaughter, encourages me (she’s the main reason I went for my Master’s) and loves me.

She’s good at that.

She has loved and taken care of Papa for as long as I can remember and is the example of the word wife. The fact that I had to watch her on February 14^th bury her Valentine tears my heart apart.

I’m awaiting that love that will tear me apart to lose and bring me incredible fulfillment in its presence, that I’ll never want to have to leave it. I didn’t know it was possible to feel all those things from one person. I have now been a witness.

I come from pretty remarkable roots. Distinct personalities, the biggest hearts I have ever seen and so much love that it's a wonder that the Earth can contain it all. Maybe that’s why Papa had to leave. We really feel when one of us is needed.

On Thursday, our family gathered at Granny’s to be together. My Uncle, my dad’s twin brother, fresh from the plane, walked through the crowd that had accumulated in Granny’s hallways and walked straight through it all to find her sitting next to me on the couch. They embraced and for the first time, I heard Granny cry over her loss. I stood up, maintaining my disposition I was certain, and walked to the spare bedroom where Granny and I watched Y & R and Papa and I watched Westerns and WWF. I sat down, covered my face and let myself feel everything. A moment later, my dad and my brother who was carrying baby Olivia, came into the room.

How did they know?

My brother said, "We love you Auntie Teela" and held up sweet little Olivia’s mouth that was busy in its new favorite pasttime of blowing bubbles, to my cheek for the sloppiest kiss I’d ever received, which coincidentally, was the best kiss I'd ever received.

The one with all the Thanksgivings....

I used to loathe Thanksgiving. Instead of a happy grumble of excitement in my belly looking forward to the day, I stressed at the thought of it. Because of this I found myself in Reno in 2007 and NYC in 2008. The latter being one of the best days (trip for that matter) of my entire life.

My animosity for the aforementioned holiday did not come from a distaste of any particular Thanksgiving course much like Chandler, the star of the show from which this blog title is stolen from, or the "stomach-is-overcapacity" message that my brain received a turkey-bite too late. I was plagued by the symptoms of any child of divorced parents.

[This is in no way a poor-me, post. In fact, it's quite the opposite.]

With each turn of the pages in my planner closer to our Thursday celebration, a nauseating feeling would rise in my stomach.

I felt slaughtered. Much like the turkeys that many would be feasting upon (except for the lucky SOB that ended up at The White House and was pardoned). Or the way the Natives did after the Pilgrims, well, slaughtered them. Now I'm being dramatic.

Where was I to go? Who was I to spend it with? Running around town sounded like too much work and the thought of leaving one parent for another brought indescribable guilt of picking favorites. After you ate dinner you were supposed to sit. Let the fat absorb and well, get fat. Unbuckle that top button; loosen that belt. Not go to dinner #2.

So I didn't do it. Goodbye Portland. Hello anywhere else.

I had to float away for a little bit to find my way home...and float I did. Just like the giant Shrek I watched fly down that New York street in November 2008. But after this glorious flight, Shrek was deflated into nothing but a glob of green wrinkled plastic without the assistance of helium and his team of people that held his strings down to keep him aloft.

Like the helium in a balloon, these ideas of stress surrounding what should be a happy holiday had blown up to capacity in my head. And I wasn't allowing my special "team" to help me through it.

Enter Thanksgiving Twenty-Ten.

I woke up at my dad's and took my brother his favorite pie that I make annually, no none of that Pumpkin business, Sweet Potato Pie. And then I held her. Miss Olivia.

Her first Thanksgiving. She wouldn't be feasting on Turkey, pie, or gumbo (another family tradition), she'd just be spending time with those who loved her. Eating. Sleeping. And that's all it took was a look in those big dark eyes staring up to me. The importance of my team.

After sufficient cuddling time, I went to dinner #1 at mom's with my grandma and uncle. We watched Charlie Brown [granny and I share a love for Charlie Brown], I slept and then awoke in time to head to my next destination.

To dinner #2 I went with dad, other grandma, my 2 other uncles and cousins. I sang 'The Beatles' while my cousins played back up guitar and drums on Rock band followed by the annual never-ending Domino game. We lost. But we had fun.

I was afforded the luxury of seeing all of my family in a day's time. How lucky I am to not only have the ability to see them all, but to have people that actually care that much about me in my life. It's easy to lose sight when you have these things within your grasp and you forget about those who don't have that love in arm's reach.

We're born within this small group of people out of 6 billion other ones walking upon this Earth, in such a specific moment in time. There's no choice to where you end up. But there is the choice to love.

I'm thankful for my team. This indescribable bond we share that requests nothing in return and I only feel for a very few select people on this Earth. I now realize what a unique experience this is.

What a gift.

The world made a little space today.

It may seem odd to question the significance of being present at a birth as this is the most thrilling of moments, but I contemplate everything and I've never experienced such a moment.

I was the youngest in my family. Obviously, my parents had been on the planet long before I and since I was the youngest, I never experienced the birth of a younger sibling. My cousins were born either before me, when I was too young to really know what was going on, and when I was old enough, they were out of state. But today, I was old enough and sitting in that waiting room right down the hall, holding my breath to ensure I’d hear the beautiful screams of our little girl, my niece, when she was ready to join us.

We arrived at 6pm Friday evening. She arrived at 2:16pm Saturday afternoon and trust, not a minute sooner (That is the very short version to a long laborious process). Her mother, by the way, is a rock star. What she endured and the duration of which, was simply incredible. She brought it.

The world made a little space today (yesterday now). Enough for 7 pound-7 ounces of joy to squeeze into and make her own. And in the process, forever changing the lives of those who awaited and welcomed her.

It is an indescribable excitement that I, or anyone for that matter, feels about the birth of a baby that is apart of their family or part of someone’s family whom they are close to. These last 9 months have been an extreme test of patience (which I have little of anyway but the teaching thing is slowly but surely helping), awaiting the arrival of my niece. Of course I filled this time buying her cute outfits and accessories which I would one day get to dress her in and books that I still can’t wait to read to her and help her sound out those tough words in. We’ll succeed together.

Seeing that full head of dark hair and that perfect blend of skin to make an olive complexion, I could not and did not try to hold back any tears. Here she was minutes ago a bump in a belly whose heart beat was our joyous music, and now here she was making the cutest sneezes, a noise much sweeter than anything I’ve ever heard before and sucking her oh-so-tiny thumb.

Staring at this little creation in my brother’s arms as he looks at her with adoration, steals my complete breath, takes all the moisture out of my mouth and I shed relentless tears that I won’t fight back. Here is the person who’s foot of the bed I snuck into on nights where the shadows scared me on my walls or a nightmare startled me awake, holding his very own daughter. He’s the one I always resented for being overprotective or too “nosey” about where I was and who I was with, now holding his own little girl. How lucky she will be to have someone who cares for her more than anything else on this Earth. And on those days when she is frustrated and doesn’t understand the loving place it comes from, I can’t wait to talk her through it. I know he’ll make space when she too thinks that there are monsters in her closet.

I’m so excited to get to know her. I wonder what kind of ice-cream she’ll pick when I take her to Baskin Robbins or what her favorite movie will be. I wonder what colors she’ll want to decorate her first big girl room in and which Disney character she will run to hug on her first trip to Disneyland. Oh, the places she’ll go.

In closing, I happen to be reading ‘To Kill a Mockingbird” right now. For some reason, every book I seem to pick up, conveniently fits right into my life at that moment. And for this moment particularly, “To Kill a Mockingbird” has touched me.

“Jem” I asked, “what’s a mixed child?”

“Half white, half colored. They’re real sad.”

“Sad, how come?”

“They don’t belong anywhere. Colored folks won’t have ‘em cause they're half white; white folks won’t have ‘em cause they’re colored so they’re in betweens. They don’t belong anywhere.”

There is nothing more beautiful than the blend of these two colors in her skin. She’s blessed with the absolute best of both worlds and I will always tell her that. I’m sure the world will too.

The world has made a space for you and that is with us and in our hearts forever. There is nowhere else you're supposed to be.

You belong right here, Olivia.