Adventures In Motherhood

The anniversary of my late father’s death hit me differently this year. I credit Ali and a sound bath in India two years ago for rewriting the grief narrative in my head that played on repeat year after year. ****** I spotted the shop’s wooden sign: Alibaba Arts , tucked just around the corner from our hotel, and found myself barefoot, stepping into a large metal bowl as if this were the most natural thing a 51-year-old mother of four could do halfway around the world with a total stranger. I had to trust the moment, and the odd, magnetic force that pulled me into Ali’s shop. I stood still, eyes closed, as Ali banged the brass-looking bowl with a cloth-covered mallet—ten, twenty times, without pause. I could sense him moving around me as the vibrations rose from my feet, up through my legs, my chest, my teeth. In his other hand, he held a smaller bowl, which he tapped as he circled it around my head. Tapping alternated between the bowl beneath me and the one above, the sound shifting f...

It happened, and I couldn’t stop it. That sinking feeling that drops your heart into your stomach. I knew it was coming, and I thought I was better prepared this time. C’mon, he’s kid number four, and I should be rejoicing. This time he didn’t screw up. He passed with better scores than any of the other five of us. Or at least that’s what he claimed, and I believed him. For once. He drives safer than any of my other three kids, one of whom landed a $200 speeding ticket in March. Natural consequences for the win. Our first backed into a Prius at 5 mph on Father’s Day and totaled it. But I digress...#adventuresinmotherhood. This newly minted driver has now tasted freedom. “You just earned some control and freedom,” I reminded him on the way home after passing his driving test. As the last of four children, he’s been begging for control since he was 6 or 7. (Inserted in case any of them read this. 6-7 😂) He was only docked three points on the driving exam. To think they allow up to twent...