Sometimes I look around at the world we live in and want to grab my children and run away. We could build ourselves a fortress in the middle of nowhere. Safe. Protected. Sheltered.

But then something happens and I’m reminded of the overwhelming beauty and love of people. And I want to be out in the world even more.

This weekend I walked in the Fair Oaks Relay for Life on the beautiful Sacramento Waldorf campus. Someone was walking from 9 a.m. Saturday to 9 a.m. Sunday. I can’t tell you how many laps I did on that track. I could barely walk the next day. But it was more than just walking.

Much more.

A woman who survived breast cancer wore a satin purple prom dress, purple dish gloves and leopard pants. Life radiated from her.

A mother, a survivor with a purple shirt, told me that her teenage son helped her through everything. He shyly smiled and grabbed her hand.

White bags decorated with the names of people who had lost the battle with cancer lined the track and gleamed love.

My children, filled with the excitement of life, darted in and out of the bags around and around the track.

Understanding and compassion filled my sons face as a woman read the story of a fairytale princess battling the dragon cancer.

After sunset the luminaries were lit and I carried my sleepy girl in my arms around the track. I could feel her warmth and life on my body as she kept kissing my neck softly.

A dear friend walked all night, limping and cold, but found inspiration from the messages on those simple bags and just kept putting one foot in front of the other.

My mom and I walked together around the track as the sun rose above the treetops, grateful to have each other.

As I walked around the track my feet ached and screamed at me, and I felt angry that I’ve let my body get this out of shape. But I kept moving, because I’m here and I can walk.

Teenagers joined together to walk in honor of their principal that died of brain cancer.

A woman shared her story of surgeries, fighting through pain, tubes coming out of her, her husband shaving his head to match hers, the hope and love she found.

All these people came together to celebrate life, remember lost love ones and raise money to fight back. I’m still filled with so much emotion and awe.

I often live in a place full of self-doubt, guilt, worry and fear. I’ve allowed these things to rule me.

Strength. Power. Endurance. Love. Hope. That’s where I want to live. Will you join me?

So today is my birthday and I’m feeling sentimental, sappy and very thankful. After an emotional/amazing weekend (I’ll post about that later), I focused on me today. It felt good.

So if you are turned off by cuteness. If lovey-dovey makes you run for the hills, then you might want to, um, click away. Perhaps to the hills.

Otherwise. Welcome.

Inspired by Jill’s two recent posts It’s Time To Get All Pollyanna Up In Here and Things That Make Me Happy…Cont’d, I’m sharing a bit of my day and the things that make me happy.

My sweet boy came in this morning with a big smile. He was so excited to give me my gift (a little hedgehog he knitted and wrapped himself):

Then after our Monday bacon, yum, we drove Cooper to school and headed to our friends house. My dear friend Christine made me this awesome water bottle (turtle, yes please!):

Lola and her buddy Drew took to the hammock:

Sweet Ollie made me laugh a hundred times, held my hand and created this in the sandbox:

Then I dropped my darling girl off at school and headed to the nail salon. Got some new shoes too:

Headed to school to pick up the kids and received all kinds of love from the beautiful mammas of Golden Valley. Even a card signed by all the kids in Coops class. Felt like a rock star.

Then pizza and sangria at Skipolini’s (if you haven’t been there, I’d HIGHLY recommend it). The food is pretty good:

And they have an outdoor playground, so I could just look at and talk to my man:

And sometimes she would visit:

Came home to flowers from my dad. And from my dear friends, this guy:

Husband is putting the kids to bed and then we are going to snuggle and watch a movie. So yeah. 36 is looking good my friends. Very good, indeed.

The first time I was touched by cancer was in 1997. My husband’s boss, mentor and best friend was diagnosed with lung cancer. He was a wonderful man and like a father to my husband. We were young and he was so patient and loving with us. He was the best man at our wedding in 1999. He was bald from the chemo and it was a difficult evening for him. It was so hard to watch him struggle. He died less than a year later.

I hate the ‘C’ word and, like many, live in fear of it touching me or one of my dearest. That is why I’m doing something about it this weekend. I, along with 4 million people around the planet, will come together to Celebrate, Remember and Fight back at the American Cancer Society Relay for Life.

The event is about celebrating birthdays of those that are fighting and winning the fight.

My next-door neighbor of ten years, a very sweet man that my kids call grandpa, was diagnosed with bladder cancer last year. Even as he went through chemo and a few surgeries, he remained optimistic and always had his bowl of lollipops ready anytime the kids saw him outside. He decided against a very drastic surgery, ordered some special herbs from Canada and has been cancer free for about six months.

This loving man lost his own son to a brain tumor. It was sudden. No warning. His son had two young girls at the time. There is a beautiful picture of his son that hangs in the den of their home. It was taken the week he died. He is holding his baby girl and pushing the other in the swings. He looks so alive and young. This loving grandpa, through tears, told me that he could not die because his granddaughters were not grown yet. One granddaughter’s goal is to be a doctor and fight cancer.

So, I will bring my kids this weekend and we will walk. From 9 a.m. Saturday to 9 a.m. Sunday. There will be bands playing, silly contests like hula-hoops and three legged races and a chili cook-off. And we will celebrate life and I will remember those that I have lost. I will think about those that are fighting right now to live while I comfortably type this. I will be thankful for all I have. I will love all those around me.

My birthday is Monday and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate. So if you don’t have plans Saturday, come to Sacramento Waldorf School to see me, celebrate my birthday and walk with me a bit. I’ll have a hug and a smile waiting for you.

For more details or to donate: http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?fr_id=48890&pg=entry

I ran inside to get a drink of water. My friends mom was chatting with her neighbor at the kitchen table. They didn’t see me as I entered the house.

“Who is the homely girl over,” she says.

“That’s my daughter’s friend,” she answers. “She’s sweet, but, yeah…”

What? I was the only one visiting. My heart starting beating fast. They are talking about me. Is it that noticeable? My mother told me I was beautiful. She lied. Here is the truth. Here it is. I knew it. 8 years old and as homely as they come.

Yep. That was the start. Before that I really thought/knew I was beautiful. I could do anything. I was gonna take over the world!

Of course, it wasn’t the last time. That’s just one of the words that form the brigade of self-hate that I’ve secretly battled for years. The rest are equally strong:

Mousey.

Plain.

Fat.

Naïve.

I hate these words. Hate them so much, yet hide behind them. They are what keeps me from doing things that are scary. They whisper at me when I look in the mirror. They yell at me when I think of doing something brave.

Despite their power, other words have crept in.

Kind.

Loving.

Beautiful.

They have been whispering at me for awhile. They often sound like my mother. I see her eyes. The pain that the other words inflict on her. She has tried so hard to protect me from those HATEFUL words. As I dream of protecting and sheltering my daughter. She would gladly KILL those words for me, as I would for my girl. But, only I can kill them. Only I can fully replace them.

And it’s happening. Those other words are losing power. They are whispering so quietly that I can barely hear them.

So when this beautiful picture of me arrived by the very talented Lisa Smiley, I opened it and closed my eyes. I counted to ten. Then I looked.

I tried to look as my mother sees me (the daughter she loves more than life itself). As my children see me (their everything). As my husband sees me (his one and only love). As my friends see me (someone they love and trust). I can finally see it. It’s been there all along. Time I start believing.

I almost didn’t post this blog. But then I read a much more elegant and complete explanation of how I feel.

This has been a heavy week for me. I didn’t know that being part of Listen To Your Mother would provoke all this growth. Geesh.

Thanks for reading and going on this journey with me. And thanks for the love. I promise to write about rainbows, fairies or my beautiful children again soon!

It wasn’t as I rehearsed it in my head.

Well, the first part was. Nerves. I changed my clothes ten times. Still unsure as I dropped the kids off at my moms. Maybe I should have worn the blue skirt. Checking my makeup. Not sure if it looks OK. Knowing a camera will be pointed at me. People will look at me. People will hear me. Nowhere to hide.

As I drove up I sat in my car for about 10 minutes. I shouldn’t have had coffee. The jitters were huge. The whatifs were in the car with me. I forced the door open and started to walk toward the building. I saw a familiar face. A smile. OK. I’m here.

We headed across the street for the photo shoot. Still unsure. These women all so beautiful. Feelings like I don’t belong. I’m a fraud. I should run for it. They will find me out. I’m not good enough. I’m not good enough. I’m. Not. Good. Enough.

Then it’s time to face the camera. Sit here. Beautiful, she says. Turn your head this way. Broken doll arms. Push out your neck like a turtle. Stand like this. Arms here. Beautiful, she says again. And then it’s over.

I walk into the building. I see my name card. I’m by a window. These women are amazing. That much is clear in about 10 seconds. They are so alive and present and they suck me in. I’m with them. I’m one of them.

Then the stories begin. Each one is like a little gift that slowly unwraps for us all. I’m moved beyond words. Transported. Changed.

When I read mine, I’m so nervous that I barely look up. Uncertain. Naked. Blessed.

The stories continue. They feed my soul and drain it at the same time.

The day ends. We eat pizza. Laugh. Talk. Share.

I don’t want to hide anymore. Take me in. Love me. I’m open. I am good enough. That’s right. I. Am. Good. Enough.