Shareable moments
Happy February 2nd, 2025! ( A newsletter)
There is no doubt the world has gone insane. Though January always passes by quickly, it always feels the longest. Was this the longest of the longest? It felt like we were in a dystopian, post-apocalyptic script, with words like the Resistance, the Capitol, the Blackout. But I refuse to live in fear. And so I share some collected, pausable, moments with you.
Hope is not passive. We risk ourselves. – Jeanette Winterson, Mind Over Matter newsletter
Swish, swish, swish, I whispered. Do you feel the waves rocking our boat?
Yeah, she whispered back, snuggling a bit closer as we lay on our backs.
Do you see the stars?
Yeah, she said.
And the wind blowing around us, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. The boat creaking beneath us.
Her breathing slowed. Yeah.
Gurgle! A water bubble broke the silence. The fish is peeking out of the water at us.
She turned her head, then, to look at the humidifier. The canister was getting low and the bubbling broke our trance. The inflatable mattress we laid on still buoyed on the carpet surface. The sound machine waves ebbed and flowed, while the ceiling fan currents swept around us. The glow-in-the dark stars glimmered in the darkness. We laid back again on our boat, in the stillness of the middle of the ocean.
Is this fun?
Yeah, mommy, she said.
She played on the blocks for about forty-five minutes before, barefoot, she bonked her head on the underside of the slide and then discovered the dress-up boxes. We put on a construction worker’s vest and a dragon cape with shimmering scales and a tail that trailed behind her. She twirled in front of the backdrops on her own. She wasn’t interested in chasing the other kids. She wasn’t interested in airplanes. We had already made smores over a cardboard fire and played tea party with plastic cups.
Tickets! A tiny voice cried, a slight lisp, still, on the ‘s’.
She turned. A boy with close-set eyes stood behind the wooden booth. He had a stack of plastic tickets in front of him and handed them out to whoever passed by. His mom called out to him from her seat a few feet away. Don’t bother other people!
Frankie took a ticket from him. Then she took one more. Before long, she had taken a stack of tickets, collected them beside the booth, and started passing them back to him through the open window. They played like this for several minutes, passing the tickets back and forth, saying, Here you go! And, Thank you! Their transactions of mutual acceptance, friendship, and understanding. Sometimes you just want to play Tickets.
Before long, the boy had to go, and Frankie twirled away, tickets in hand to give to her Mama and her sister.
Was that fun? I asked her as we walked back to the car.
Yes, mommy, she said, giggling.
After dinner, I sprawled out on the floor as the kids crawled over me and Lindsay put away the dishes. We’d had a filling meal of taco soup, chips, and avocado. Then the girls wanted me to pull them around in the well-worn cardboard boxes to which I’d attached straps, a steering wheel, and, at one point, a honking horn. Sometimes it was a Beep Beep, sometimes it was Trains, sometimes it was a Boat. Tonight it was a safari tour bus and we went back and forth in the hallway, stopping to view the wild tigers, lions, zebras, flamingos, and giraffes nearby. The petting zoo, on our right, held a cow, a lamb, and Momo Moses, who fled the grasp of the girls’ sticky, tiny hands as we pulled up beside him. As we made our turn around the kitchen island, Frankie caught sight of the strawberries that I had washed and hulled. They were sitting in their little blue strainer, waiting to be eaten. Daw daw, she said, pointing. Daw daw (strawberry). I handed her one, and before long, she was perched on her helper tower, Addie was sitting on the counter in my arms, and both L and I were leaning against the island, devouring strawberries, their sweet, delicate fragrance wafting in the winter air amidst our glee. How lucky was I to be eating strawberries in the kitchen with my little family.
Were those good? I asked Frankie.
Yes, mommy, she said.
There are other moments. Addie tucking her head against my chest to nuzzle in for a nap. Frankie walking up the stairs and saying, Love you, mommy. Having our friends over for a grill-out on Groundhog Day, Candlemas, our fifth wedding anniversary, not-Super-Bowl-Sunday, in the middle of winter. Our neighbors stopping by to play in our backyard. Getting sushi and then going for a walk the evening after we get home from Toronto. Visiting an old friend-like-a-cousin and her three year old at their home. Having our entire extended family over for my Chinese birthday, which is always during Chinese New Year, and watching my kids– my kids– being so loved. I didn’t appreciate my family enough when I was younger.
If January is the worst month, February is my favorite month.
Anyway. The new and improved www.carmenfong.com launches tomorrow, February 3rd, 2025.
Please go check it out! There, you can subscribe to all my newsletters, including this one, Flying Penguins, and the Digest(ive), serial insights into our gastrointestinal tract. There are also interview links, videos, paintings, recipes, and recommendations for products because they are the same thing that I recommend to all my patients.
Until next time, always go black tie.
