Questions

We have a few friends who definitely have executive decision-making ability. Most of them are actually executives. Two that we know of, in particular, are so good at being decisive that I cannot imagine them questioning anything. And if they ever do wallow in a place of cognitive unrest for a tiny second, I'm sure one of them is schooled enough in the art of retrieval to quickly rescue them both from further descent. Not B and I. We are most comfortable in that hellish place called total indecision, that little place on the side of any country road called a muddy ditch. There we thrash about from side to side, lost in the muck and weedy tumult, and neither of us have the capability to do anything except drown. If one of us finally does figure out a way to throw in the towel and extract us from imminent and total implosion, we have to finish the whole thing with "That's what we're going to do. ....Don't you think?"

Yesterday (Sunday) was Cora's 1st birthday. We had been looking forward to that day for a year. It's just so symbolic to look at this person that you built with labor and sleepless nights and milk, from a tiny warbling infant into a rounded toddler with ideas and attitude. So we spent Saturday see-sawing between too many commitments (indecisive people have a tendency to spread themselves too thin, never being able to say No in a timely enough manner), and found ourselves up at 11 washing our floors and cleaning our bathroom in preparation for her party, while snow started to fall outside.

We awoke to three inches and an icy road, which under normal circumstances would have been thrilling but on Cora's birthday was actually rather heartbreaking because we knew it meant we'd probably need to cancel the party. I didn't take it very well and was grumpy all morning. When we finally decided to cancel the event, we then spent the next three hours wondering if we'd done the right thing. We'd peer outside at the road, thinking maybe we should call all our friends back and say, "Whatever you're comfortable with, we'd love to see you," and we'd decide that's what we were going to do until one of us would counterpoint. Meanwhile, our beloved birthday girl was trotting down the hallway with books, toys, and little gifties, or screeching at us every time we came near in the hopes that we'd get started with a rousing game of indoor tag.

We were ignoring our daughter while trying to decide how best to celebrate her. Let this never happen again.

I think our executive friends would have looked outside and said something like, "Oh, isn't that nice, a snowy day for our little one's birthday, how memorable. We'll throw a party and see who shows up. " End of story.

The point is, we didn't have a birthday party and we were very sad. Instead, for a variety of reasons entirely beyond our control, we ended up with a small family gathering that included a TOTAL stranger, a man I had never met nor heard about before in my life, someone who gave off weird vibes and looked far too directly into everyone's eyes despite a tendency to seem cloaked in obscurity.

Understand, of course, that I don't know this man and he is, after all, a human being and possibly a very nice one. I just didn't like him. Possibly just because he was there.

There is a whole litany of reasons behind why this felt so unacceptable to me.

I am trying to determine what balance I will follow for public posts such as this. I think for the time being I will remember that said stranger and family member might at one point discover this blog and so I will proceed with some decorum. It just wasn't fair, is all. I don't think Emily Post would ever allow such a decision to be made. No, she would advocate that logical thinking be used, hearty peppering of self-inquisition before carefully deciding to NOT bring one's own guest. In fact, I am sure if I pull out her guide it will say something precisely thus: Do not bring total strangers to small children's birthday parties, especially weird ones, and in particular to parties that are bungled and snowed-in.

What we would have preferred is to have taken Cora out for a snowy adventure and let the various people who offered to visit just stop by without being afraid of whether or not the stranger would scare them away.

I realize how uncharitable and ungenerous in spirit this sounds.

We did have a few visits from great people, including our very good friends down the street who brought their 18-month-old daughter and a lot of laughter and levity to the afternoon. People dropped off flowers on the porch for our baby. And the neighbors trooped over with their 5 and 7 year old boys, bringing with them a giant stuffed lion with an impressive mane, and additional cupcake eating ammunition.

What remained at the end of the day was a combination of love, joy, and simmering anger. And a very tired Cora. She seemed to have a perfectly fine time despite being tired and run down from a long week. She ate her chocolate cupcake daintily, and opened her gifts by tearing off strip after strip of wrapping paper from each package. She danced to her birthday CD brought by her loving auntie, and she was absolutely surrounded by lots of love all day, even if her mom and dad were stressed.

We didn't sleep well last night and I thought today was going to be a wash. But for a number of Polyanna reasons, I am finishing today feeling quite grateful. They are as follows:

I have a husband who understands me. This requires no additional explanation for anyone who has ever dated, lived with, or been friends or family members with someone who does not understand them in the way they need to be understood.

Today, Cora allowed me to spend nearly an hour talking to a dear friend this morning while I enjoyed the only kind of therapy session you can have with a woman you've been friends with for 13 years.

I realized with such clarity yesterday that our friends down the street are so cool and grounded, they are exactly the kind of people you can just be yourself with, dirty laundry and all.

I was able to remove the ghostly feeling of life having gone amuck, and Cora and I went for a walk in the snow and saw the world all lit up. She got to lie down in the snow and taste snowflakes, and seemed so pleased about the whole thing that she ate a huge lunch and slept for almost two hours.

At the store, she helped me shop by referring to my grocery list and pointing to items on shelves.

My neighbor scraped all the snow off of my car windows because, he said, "It's hard to do it while holding a baby."

I roasted my first chicken and B and I had the most relaxing dinner together while talking for over an hour.

About two years ago, a longtime friend of mine visited during a time when I was really depressed, when my job was awful and my life felt completely off kilter, and she told me to start a gratitude journal. She said, 'Even though it might feel difficult at first, or corny, just start writing about what you're grateful for, even if all you can be grateful for is a pair of socks.'

It's amazing how that list has grown and grown, and how life has changed. I think my gratitude, my husband and my daughter and my friends, have created a strong enough gravitational pull, like my own planetary body or giant star, to remedy disappointments and crazy-making moments, even ones that feel too big to conquer for a long history of reasons.

And I am so, deeply, endlessly, to-the-moon-and-back grateful for that.