Perspective

One of the things that I struggle with as a mother and as a person in general is keeping things in perspective. I really need to make a conscious effort to take a step back and be grateful for what I have. Somehow, like many of us, this concept does not always come naturally to me. You would think that with all that has happened this past year with the economy, I would have more perspective on our personal finance situation. Yes, our mortgage is outrageous and we struggle to make ends meet. But we live in a great house with some of the best schools in the state. And my husband still has a job. I am SO grateful for that. You would think that with the horrible car crash that happened in our town this past year, I would be more conscious every time I got in the car. You'd think I would slow down; chill out; be a few minutes late. What's really THAT important that five minutes late is worth getting into a car accident? You would think that with the horrible fires that ripped through our mountains and STILL are not fully contained that I would be more grateful for our house still being here. Never mind the stained carpeting and the peeling wallpaper. Never mind that weird bump that has popped up on our kitchen floor (what IS that?). Never mind the often-failing water heater. You would think that the fact that I have three healthy and thriving kids would be enough. Yes, they sometimes yell or sass or refuse to follow directions. They sometimes fight with one another and drive me up a wall. But they also give great hugs and kisses, tell incredible stories and make us constantly laugh.

Yesterday I was having one of those days. You know the days I'm talking about. Nobody slept that well. I've overextended myself with the volunteer stuff and it seemed like everything had to be done by yesterday. I was annoyed with the people who don't volunteer at all and then ask for accommodations for their schedules and their lives, forgetting that we are not their employees and don't need to volunteer to help out their children. We do it anyway. My kids were grouchy; my husband was grouchy; I was grouchy. Yesterday morning, late as usual, I turned onto the main street off our little lane behind a driver with a "Drive 25" bumper sticker. "Please do," I thought. "You're only going 19!" Annoyed, I followed him all the way onto the freeway, where he proceeded to drive a speedy 45. Getting off at the next offramp, coming down the crest, out of the mountains, were five fire trucks. All five were from towns I had never heard of, far away from our little town. All five were packed full of weary firefighters, dusty and dirty. All five were full of men who had helped to save our town.

I took a deep breath, waved a wave of gratitude and slowly turned into the intersection. Perspective, Christa, perspective.

First Day of First Grade

Because of the fires, the first day of school was postponed two days this year. Annalise had fun playing on the beach and in the pool, but cried both times she heard that school would not start yet. So Tuesday afternoon, when we heard the news that school would start the next day, she was elated! (My mom and I groaned.) We got home late, and had time only to throw on pajamas and brush teeth. Of course Annalise had already picked out her first day outfit, so that was easy to set out.

The next day, though she must have been tired, she bounded out of bed and was ready early to head out the door. She hardly looked back as she kissed me goodbye and sat on the floor with her new classmates. I couldn't help but linger, not believing that she was going to be gone all day. In the end she had a great day, even though only one kid from her class last year was in her new class. She and Malia stuck together and were more than fine. But for me it was one of the longest days I've had since becoming a parent. Of course it was all compounded by the fact that we stayed inside all day. Zachary's asthma was still a problem and the air quality was still awful. He watched movies and I watched the clock. Even Juliette wasn't much of a distraction, taking a three plus hour nap. As my mom said, I felt like my right leg was missing. Finally twenty minutes before she was to get out of class, I couldn't take it anymore. We drove the one minute drive to school and waited outside her classroom. I wasn't the only one either. There were already moms there waiting impatiently for their right legs to come through that door.

I was so proud of my tired big girl. She had had her first full day of school and had weathered it just fine. (At dinner time, though, she asked if we were going to have a nap!) I know that I will adjust to having her gone. Officially, I know I'm supposed to like having all that time. I'm sure someday I will. I'm sure some days I'll be thrilled to let someone else deal with her. But in the meantime, I'm going to miss her when she's gone and that's just going to have to be okay.

Fires, Part Two

The last time I sat down to write, there was a little forest fire brewing up in the mountains above our home. It was only 5% contained, but it remained at less than 25 acres for over a day. It was scary, but not a full scale emergency. Since then, the fire has grown to be the largest in the history of Los Angeles County. Thousands and thousands of homes have been threatened and thousands and thousands of acres have been burned. Over 60 homes have been lost and two firefighters have lost their lives. It is tragic and sad and at the same time miraculous.

Our family had planned a camping trip north of Santa Barbara for last weekend long before the fires started. After much debate about going, our stuff, me being sick, etc. etc., we decided to go. We took one box of valuables (that really was everything that was important) over to my parent's and hit the road. As we drove away from town on the 2 freeway, I turned around to watch the flames and smoke rise up out of our little town, nervous that it wouldn't look the same when we returned. It turned out that being away was the best thing for us. We had a a great time at the beach, hung out with friends and, though we checked updates often on Jason's Blackberry, we didn't have to witness the terror that was going on at home. Back at home, my dad watched in horror, from his house, a fire that he thought would surely take out our neighborhood. Watching that scene now on time lapse photography, it is truly amazing that our house is still standing (as is every other house in our neighborhood!).

After the weekend, the threat to our homes had largely past, but the threat to our lungs had not. With a new baby and a four year old with asthma, we decided to stay at a hotel in Oxnard for a couple days. My mom came up and met us so Jason could go back to work. We relaxed (some), checked Facebook constantly for updates, and waited to hear about school cancellations. The kids played in the pool, jumped in the ocean waves and directed us as we pedalled a surry with the fringe on top (a funny picture with Juliette bobbing up and down in the Bjorn). It was a great extra two days of summer.

We arrived home to heat and oppressive smoke, though apparently much improved from the weekend. Annalise started school the next day and it was back to reality. But our town has been changed. Once again, a tragedy (This is the second tragedy in five months for us here -- the first being a semi truck crashing into the town bookstore, killing two people in the process.) has brought this town together. Everywhere you go, you see car windows reading "Thank you firefighters!" or "LCF Loves Firefighters." Posters and signs hang on stores and in front of people's houses. Restaurants and hair salons are offering free services to the firefighters. Business owners and regular people have been bringing food and drinks to the men and women fighting to save our town. One elementary school girl held a fund raiser (already) for the families of the two men who died. Annalise's school principal (who was herself evacuated), opted to stay in the unairconditioned high school gym evacuation center instead of a hotel or someone's guest house, so that she could bring comfort to the students who were also evacuated. We are now trying to plan a town party to honor our firefighters.

One of the firefighters from Northern California said that this was the nicest they've ever been treated, and what a great place to live this must be. It is, but it is today only because of the people who risked their lives to save our town. After touring some of the damage the other day, I was amazed. The fire lines run right up against the backyards at the end of every street in town. Literally inches from people's properties, the fires were stopped. Amazing. Not a single home in La Canada was burned. (Even my friend's in the mountains whose house was surrounded by flames somehow was saved.) These incredible people have done unbelievable things. We are truly blessed.

Fires

For the past 24 hours, airplanes and helicopters have been buzzing over our house. Ash is covering our cars, rooves and plants. Smoke fills the air, fills our lungs. My friend and her family have had to evacuate their mountain home. We live in the foothills of a national forest. In Southern California, with our heat and low humidity often coupled with Santa Ana winds, this means that we are often on fire alert. Sure enough, yesterday, with temperatures reaching the triple digits, a fire broke out in our beloved mountains. As of right now, no homes are threatened (even my friend's) and the fire is relatively small. But a gust of wind can change everything in a second. In 1990, our next-door neighbors' lives changed in a second when an ember from a fire blocks away landed on their wood roof, catching their house on fire. Fortunately my mom and another neighbor saw what was happening in time to call the fire department (who saved much of the home) and to save the family's pet schnauzer. I came home to fire trucks and news vans. It changed my view of tragedy forever.

Growing up in this town, fires were very much a part of our reality. (It turns out that all of the above fire hazards were made far worse as the fire chief of a nearby town was also an arsonist.) Fires happened often. When the Santa Ana winds picked up, the town breathed in deep, holding our collective breath until the winds and heat died down. And yet, for some reason, I still love the wind. I love the feel of it against my face, how my hair whips around and the sound of the trees rustling. This seems so irrational to me, given where and when I grew up, until my friend Cindy explained it to me not so long ago.

When I was about eight, we had a particularly bad fire. It burned for days. Schools were cancelled. The power was off. Ashes covered the outsides and insides of our houses. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and hearing the soft voices of my parents talking. I got up, and can still feel and see the gray air in the house, the ashes falling even inside. I walked into the hallway and all our family pictures were down. My parents were pulling out important documents from their filing cabinet. Our car was packed, ready to evacuate. I had never been so scared in all my life. I remember asking my mom if we had to evacuate, would we go to the Denson's house? (They lived across the street.) I really didn't understand the scope of the problem. In fact, at that point, every street north of ours had already been evacuated, and the plan was to make a firestop at Foothill Boulevard, several blocks south of ours. Half the town would be lost. And then, for some unknown reason, the winds changed. Not only did we not have to be evacuated, but most of the town was spared. Less than thirty homes were lost to that fire. As devastating as it was to those families, it was far less horrible than we all thought it would be.

I don't remember if it was that night or the next or even the one prior. But one of those nights, with the power off, my dad somehow plugged our portable television into our car. We adjusted the rabbit ears and the whole neighborhood gathered around to watch our little town, engulfed in flames, on the national news. Somehow there was safety in this gathering. There was community. There was the knowledge that we would all get through this together. Amidst our fear, we were able to talk and laugh and tell stories. It was comforting. My friend Cindy suspects that I love the wind because I so much love the sense of community. It's true that communities really do come together in times of need. Our little street certainly did again and again as fires affected us all. But I'm glad that I live in a community where we come together in times of joy as well. Our street hasn't had a block party since we moved in. Perhaps it's time we do. These fires remind us how precious it all is. Let's celebrate.

In the meantime, I will keep my bags packed, ready to load my little family into the car and head out to safety just in case. I will watch the news, listen to the airplanes and pray for the firefighters. And I'll hold my breath that the wind will stay away.