It was Independence Day in Burma; the day that Burma earned their freedom from British colonial rule. Expecting celebrations and festivities, I hurried back to Rangoon from Mandalay.

As usual, I sat downstairs at breakfast, ordering the local breakfast of mohinga, a fish noodle soup. Maung Si-Tu, who worked at Beautyland II Hotel engaged me in more conversation than he had in the last few weeks.

“There’s nothing here in Rangoon. No celebrations.” he told me. “You should go to Kyaiktiyo.”

One of Burma’s most spiritual places for one of Burma’s most spiritual men. He couldn’t sing enough praises about this little town where a Golden Rock is said to house one strand of Buddha’s hair. He spoke of his own experiences there, and made my decision for me. “Its 9:00 and the bus leaves at 11:00. You need to hurry.” I was to go.

I was down to my last kyat, and the contents of my pack were strewn everywhere around my room. I hadn’t planned to go anywhere.

I don’t know if I’ll have enough time…I need to go to the bank.”

“Ok. Don’t worry. Just go pack,” he said. “Hurry”

I was in my room for about 10 minutes when he rang. “You won’t have time to the bank. I have the money. Just get it from me.” I didn’t want to delve in black market exchanges with a friend. “No, its ok. I’m packing now. I’ll go the bank.”

Si-Tu rang again a few minutes later. “I’ll get you the money. You don’t have time to go to the bank. And you have to catch the bus.” I finally relented.

He came to my room with 20,000 kyat….a laborer in Burma makes approximately 500-1000 kyat per month. Here, he said. Take this. It should be more than enough for a few days over there. I reached into my pocket for the equivalent in US dollars. He wouldn’t take it.  I left one of my cameras as collateral. He grudgingly accepted it.

He just wanted me to have a great time….”I want to loan it to you. I trust you and I don’t need your money.” He said that I was like a fifth sister to him. 20,000 kyat is two years worth of hard laborous work in Burma. And he was handing it to me. A stranger who would leave Burma to come home in 3 days.  What if I didn’t show up? I left with the 20,000 kyat in my pocket, bewildered and humbled.

I arrived at the bus station and the show began with the foreigner. “Ma Khinkhinwin? Are you the actress?” the boys joked. They ripped me off by about 200 kyat. I didn’t care though, and neither did they. “You guys charged me more than anyone else for a plastic stool in the middle of the aisle?! I couldn’t do anything about it though. They knew I knew…

“I’m only going to the end of the road. You should take my seat.” a woman offered. We went back and forth for a while, and finally, I agreed. I had a 5 hour ride and she would just be minutes. I took her seat. A proper seat. 3 hours later, she was still sitting there. In the middle of the aisle….on a plastic stool. She had given up her seat for a stranger.

In Kyaiktiyo, I made good friends whom I visit whenever I return. They took me to dinner, a young couple with very little. They told me, “In just a few days, you’ve become such a close friend to us…you’re one of us.” They paid for dinner, this couple who had nothing. It would have cost me just 2 US dollars, but they wouldn’t hear of it. It cost them 2000 kyat.

Maung Si-Tu was no where to be seen when I arrived back at the guest house in Rangoon. I thought nothing of it, though I had stories that I was anxious to share with him. Several hours later, I received a call in my room. I was glad to hear his voice. He told me that he had been busy all afternoon, but was calling to let me know that he’s around; that he didn’t want me to think that he’d run off with my camera. He loaned me his life savings, yet he was concerned about my peace of mind.

I had found what I’d come for on this trip. Examples of humanity. Moral lessons to be heard. A reminder of what unconditional, genuine kindness is.

And there are so many more stories….

Of the man who was with on the bus with me from Bangkok to Kuala Lumpur. I needed to transfer to the local subway, but had no idea how to do this. KL was a last minute detour, and it was late at night and the streets and station were empty. He walked me through the station, helped me with the telephone booth, and paid my fare into the subway. No, the amount wasn’t significant, but the compassion and kindness for this stranger left permanent impressions of all things good.

Or the young Thai lady, on the bus ride back from KL to Bangkok, who insisted on sharing a taxi with me, so that I wouldn’t be taken advantage of, even though I’d told her that I’d been there many times and traveled all around.  We had been seatmates on the bus.  When I’d reached my destination in the taxi, she pushed away my money, telling me, “No. Welcome to Bangkok. You are in my country and it is my pleasure.”  

All of these people….they knew that I was better off economically than they were. Anyone who visits Burma is. Nevertheless, their capacity to give and love so generously is unequivocal to almost any that I’ve ever experienced.  Their faith in humanity resuscitated my own.

“No, honey. Not much at all.”

“Why not?”

“You had nothing to cry about. I was always holding you. Always. And you always had me to yourself.”

“Why did I always have you to myself?”

“Because I didn’t work very much. and we were always together.”

“Why didn’t you work very much?”

“So that we could be together and have fun. And so that I can take care of you and play with you guys without being too tired.

“I like it that we’re always together.”

And he let’s out a little sigh and hugs my leg. Then let’s go, only to return, with his doudou in hand, reattaching himself to my leg as I finish cooking.

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Our bedtime routine is intentionally long. Several books (one which we’ve read so many times, they know the words by heart), followed by lights out, then some singing and chatting about our day in the dark; Leo, Max and I in Max’s bottom bunk.  ”I wanna sleep on your belly,” Leo orders, already climbing on top of me.  He proceeds to swing his nose back and forth in the airspace right above mine, asking for a ‘mosquito’ kiss, his own version of an ‘eskimo kiss’.   And then he snuggles in, arms around my neck, legs wrapped around me, and head planted right in the crook of my neck. That little guy is the best snuggler, ever.

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Crying, screaming, shouting, piercing my ears, as well as the neighbors’ downstairs.  Hysteria, hurt, betrayal, the injustice!  ”Two,” I think! “We should’ve bought TWO of that! Shit, shit, shit!”

Someone’s stolen someone else’s toy and has taken off. I’m in the kitchen, probably with a very, very sharp Japanese knife in hand, or handling something hot.  Put down the knife! Wait! Make sure I push it in because these guys are tall and love to reach.   Wait.  Push everything further in, because if they pull the towel, it’ll all come crashing down. I read the child safety guides.

Suddenly, the running stops, and I hear, “Calin.” Hug.  And look over. The madness is over, and they’re just standing there, holding each other.  This happens all the time.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“I love you cute stuff.”

“I love you cute stuff.”

“No, I love YOU stuff.”

“No. I love YOU, Mama Cute Stuff.”

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“Mama, today, I was playing with Erine, and Pierre was bothering her.”

“And did you do something?”

“Yeah. I told him to stop bothering her.”

“And did he stop?”

“No.”

“And did you do something?”

I expected him to say that he pushed him, which happens.  He’s proven himself to be a defender of himself and others (very much including Leo), and we don’t discourage this, if a warning has been given.

“Yeah. I lasered him with my laser.”

He holds out one stiff, impressively strong, Third Reich’ish arm and proceeds to hit the laser button that would be on his shoulder. If he was Buzz Lightyear.

I hold back a big laugh and ask, “And what happened?”

“It worked. He ran away.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Max and I are at Leo’s daycare when a little boy rides a little bike into Max’s legs. Caught off balance, Max falls, but doesn’t do anything; he’s been taught not to hit people smaller than him.  The boy rides into him again, and at this point, I tell Max that he can grab the kid.  But Leo takes over from there, running after the little boy. The kid corners himself, and Leo bonks him on top of the head comically with his fist, twice.  He didn’t hurt the kid, but I’m proud of him for coming to his big brother’s defense.

It used to be that I’d look up in the sky for airplanes, wondering where people were going, wishing that I was going there, too.  Didn’t matter where. I’d figure things out when I got there.  

My most profound experiences and realizations took place away from home; many as I drifted to and around a small island in Borneo where following my heart, instincts, and hiking trails in circles (the island was really small), lead to food and shelter, even though I had no money. On the morning of my last day there, I met my now-husband.  I am still friends with nearly everyone I met in my month vagabonding around that little-known corner of the earth.  

Fast forward 8 years later (!)….. Tonight, I am neither in Borneo, traveling, or at home in the Bay Area. I’m living in France, looking up to the very same sky that I’ve admired from other parts of the world.  On my way to the corner store, I followed the lights of a plane as it crossed Paris. I wondered to myself, “I wonder where they’re going.  Where can I take my boys to taste the world?”

Each end of summer is a a true milestone; a threshold into their next rite of passage, if you will. And it’s bittersweet. They’re so wonderful in their Yesterday selves, but the promise of their equally wonderful Future selves is exciting, too. They’re witty; both great talkers. They have a wonderful sense of humor that keeps us laughing and amazes people with whom they open up. They’re athletic, protect and love each other, and best of all, they’re bold.  At the risk of sounding trite, I’m happy if they’re happy. And very unhappy if they’re not.  I’m not too proud to admit that my boys are the center of my universe. And that everywhere I go, everything I do evolves around them. Our family vibe is good and it’s made me recognize that the elements in the game of hide-and-seek with Balance vary from person person.

We’ve embraced the fact that they’ll will be young for only a short period of time.  This short lived clip of our lives is the small window in which we establish a foundation for trust building and sharing. It’s what gives The Husband and me the happy excuse to make them our world – a seemingly un-French attitude – and together, in that commitment, we work as partners.  And we’re making a happy family that plays together.

It was wonderful to have my boys all summer….and exhausting.  To fully enjoy two active toddlers, I loosely planned nearly every second of each day to stay active.  Wake up – breakfast – free time/small cartoon while I got us ready – make lunch – off to the park – play in the fountains – play ball – climb rocks – run in trees – picnic lunch – home – nap – wake – pack snack or dinner – park – home – free time – shower – sleep…. Through all of these activities, we work hard to instill in them that if they fall trying, we will always pick them up. Nothing demonstrates this better than this past summer when both boys were mobile and full of energy.

We played in the ocean. In the sand. Climbed big rocks. Hung from trees. Swashbuckled with bamboo sticks in our little secret forest. Jumped from and climbed high structures.  Played all kinds of popular American sports that I grew up with, with hopes that they’ll be interested and good enough to participate on the playground with our American friends. And more importantly, to expose them to American culture. Through all of this, they’ve uttered countless times, “I’m scared” or “I can’t”.Scared of the big waves. Scared of unidentified sea creatures, washed up at the shore.  Scared of falling from the boulders. Or the trees.  Scared of the heights in climbing structures meant for 6-10 year olds at the playground, yet, they insist that they want to get on. Afraid of looking over a roof from the edge. Tired of 5 strikes, and CAN’T hit the ball.  Max, afraid of accumulating the speed when riding down a short, but steep hill on his bike, a two wheeled pedal bike that he basically taught himself to ride, insisting before he turned three years old that he was ready to add the pedals.  Leo, on his three wheeler, yee-hawing all the way down.  They faced these challenges, and overcame their fears. “We’re right here if you fall,” we tell them.  Or, “I’m right behind you,” only to have them turn to see that I’m not, and they realize that they’ve accomplished something on their own.  And we always win, this lesson punctuated by relieved laughs and big smiles of pride.For the first time in 5 years since I’ve been here, I’m getting some of the old me back. The gal that loves to play ball, roll in the grass, climb, throw a ball, swing a bat, laugh, and tackle.  While I’m not playing the way that I used to with my friends back home, I’m enjoying and, equally importantly, passing it down to my sons, I realized.  The delight, the skills, the joy, the excitement of a variety of sports and physical activity in the way that I freely enjoyed them and participated throughout my life back home; not as an activity/skill to hone the way it’s commonly done in France. With all of the fun in our summer came a sense of tranquility; that we’re doing things right by the boys. I’m confident that we are good parents. They’re thriving. Happy. Learning. Eager to take on new challenges.  And most importantly, Curious.

I’m standing in line at my local supermarket, and the young man in front of me leaves his spot, presumably because the cashier is counting change in the equivalent of pennies. They maintain a sit down policy for cashiers in France, which enables them to joyfully play with their toes as they watch you bag your own groceries in a frenzy.

I step forward to close the gap between an older woman and myself, while at the same time, another older woman slides into the small space. There’s breathing room only between people in line, so it’s a real squeeze.

“Excuse me. The end of the line is back there.”

“No. I was behind this woman.”

“No. There was a young man in front of me who just walked away.”

“No. I was behind this woman,” she insists.

As we’re arguing this, the man comes back to re-take his place, stating, “This was my place in line.” He’d just walked away to get something, taking advantage of the slow cashier’s snail pace.

I look at the Cutter knowingly, and she kindly tells the young man to go right ahead.

She continues to mutter about how intolerable I am, as she takes the spot in line behind me, thus, cutting in front of 5 or 6 people behind me. Caught in a bold faced lie, but still talking….I stare her down (she’s short), and turn my back to her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In line at another local store, a woman stands next to me with a glance at me, then a step forward, into my spot, without looking at me. I tell her, “Excuse me. You’re standing in my space.”

She looks at me, moves to a new line…..where she exits faster, anyway. C’est la vie.

Meanwhile, back in San Francisco……

There’s about a shopping cart’s distance of empty space between us and the person ahead of us in line, because you know….we Americans like our space and don’t really believe that anyone beyond the 4th grade level will try to sneak in.

A woman asks, “Are you in line?”

I reply,”Yes we are.” And I give my husband smug look, “This is how WE roll…”

And I imagined those big, big teardrops, and perfect little lips turned down into the biggest crying frown.

“…and the woman took him, and I walked out.”

“When I turned to look, he had stopped already.”

That’s my big baby. Leo is independent but cuddly, a little stuntsman since he could pull himself up, but loves equally to be held tight. Cries hard, laughs harder – a real a guy’s laugh from the belly. Tenderly loves his animal and loves to be buried under all of them, and will go to the mat with you – fierce – to protect them if you try to take them away (ask Max). He’s a raging fire in the woods, but also the warm, stone fireplace that gives the cabin that glow.

He and Max are different as night and day, and I worried that I couldn’t love my second baby as much Max. But what they say about Mother’s love, and the uniqueness of children is true.

Max is a blooming field of curiousity in the wind, with a thousand questions on how things work, why people feel the way they do, what am I doing? what are you doing? and why, why, why? A handful of times, I’ve had to shut down a barrage of ‘whys’ with an authorative, “Because I’m your mother.” That absolutely did not feel like a ‘win’ for me, even though it stopped the interrogation.

As he grows, gets wittier, sassier and more rebellious, I find that I need to improve my game also, as a mother. I read something that resonated with me; a reminder to think of the “end result” with each of my actions. For example, if you hold them too much, what is the possible end result? Against the advice of my family, I held Max constantly, as he was my only ‘job’ for a very long time, and he’s growing into a wonderfully adaptable, confident, easy going little boy. The end result, if these are correlated, is fantastic. With this example, I learned that unless safety is concerned, there’s advice to be considered, but novody is really ‘right’ but me, in raising my boys.

I do strive to be close to them. To be a source of their comfort. Their ‘safe’ zone. I want all of this to be the end result. Whereas I normally lose my temper when Max..ohhhh…pushes Leo down or takes Leo’s doudou and runs off cackling like a mad man, leaving Leo crying and toddling after it – I’m trying to remember that he wants time with me, too, wants the attention, and that my angry approach is divisive; both for them, and for Max and me. In Max’s mind, it was always Mama and Max. When we’re alone – while Leo takes his naps, or during our coffee dates in the mornings – he is absolutely calm, perfectly happy to sit on my lap with a book, a puzzle or our blocks, or just to be held, “like a baby,” as he sometimes requests. I wrap him up tight as he snuggles down in my arms as we were when he truly was a tiny baby, and we enjoy the moment. And then he asks, “Am I a little baby now?” If that isn’t pure honesty…. None of the running in circles and screaming or looking for something (body) to knock down.

My husband gently reminded me yesterday, that Max needs me, too. It makes me think, sometimes, that as mature as he’s always been for such a young thing, that he was forced to be a big brother far before he was ready to give up his role as ‘baby.’ It makes me think of a time at a friend’s house, when Max was about 18 months old or so, when she asked us naively, “If you tell him not to touch the food on the coffee table, he won’t touch it, right?” She’s since had her own child, and I’m certain, knows better, but these are the reactions to his personality that he illicits.

I learning, though, that I can’t be a complacent mom. While I’m probably not horrible, I’m learning that I need to grow with my boys to meet their needs. He was up to his usual antics of harassing Leo, yesterday evening, when I asked him to go sit on his bed in the bedroom until I came. If we can’t play nicely together, then we need some space, I told him. I came to him 5 minutes later, and crawled into the cave (the lower bunk) and snuggled in next to him. Here, I decided to try my hand at some ‘emotion coaching’ though I wasn’t certain that he was ready to be on the receiving end; to ‘respond.’ Again, as I am every time I underestimate Max’s sense of awareness, I was mistaken.

“Do you know why you’re in here?” (First mistake. I should’ve just told him why he was there.) The in between was a blur and it didn’t follow the emotion coaching concept to the T, but the end result, 2 minutes later, was excellent.

“…… Is it that you don’t like it when I hold Leo?”

He answers, “Yes.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I want you to hold me, too.” And he crawls on top of me, and rests his face in my neck.

“Of course I’ll hold you. I’ll remember that you need me too. I forget sometimes because you’re such a big boy. But you need to use yours words to tell ME that you want to be held, and not hurt others.”

Later, in the living room where I’m again holding Leo on the sofa, sitting next to the husband, Max grabs his blankets and asks, “Can you hold me, too?” And there, we all snuggled in close.

Because Max has always been pretty mellow, an early speaker thus he didn’t have to cry or whine much for what he needed, etc. and with his old soul eyes, he’s always seemed to be more of a little boy to me, than a baby. More often than not, I forget that he’s still small and needs his Mama. How humbling it was, and what a lesson for me, that he just came out and told me what he needed from me, when I gave him the opportunity.

Hopefully, we’re on our way to understanding the other’s needs. That Max still needs me. That he understands that Leo needs me. That I need to divide my time and affections more equally, as my big boy really sometimes wants his turn to be small, too.