Moments...

I've always wished for this time in my life.  Prayed even.  Pondered, wondered, and often gotten so lost in my imagination that the line between it and reality was criss-crossed.  Dotted.  Maybe even peeling away.  And, finally, without struggle and with good fortune, I am carrying my first child.

YAY!

I cannot believe how time has passed by me.  We found out on Mother's Day, unplanned and as a result of my adamant desire to answer the burning question I had formulated in my head: Am I pregnant?  It was something I least expected, seeing as how I was in training for a marathon.  I had noticed changes, which I had attributed to being way out of shape.  Like a racing heart of 90 bpm, a far cry from my normal 45-50 bpm.  It was a question I only let myself ask after days of wondering if I was facing my first health issue.  You know, going to the bathroom more often and falling asleep at 7PM. These are abnormal for an energetic girl like me with the uncanny ability to make it across Texas without a restroom break.  But, alas, the day I dreamed about was the best surprise I have ever received. Eighteen weeks into the undulating experience, I don't know if I would have wanted the moment to present itself any other way.

I put aside all scenarios I had conjured earlier of surprising Srin with the potential news and demanded a trip to Target after his parents left. I think his immediate reaction was "Do you really think you could be pregnant?"  And after we found out, "You said this would take 6 months or a year even." And I swear it was followed by "drama queen", which I wouldn't even deny in that moment.  But in reality, he followed it up with a big ol' kiss and a huge smile.

That's the advantage of waiting until you're in your thirties to have a family.  There's hardly any trepidation, save for the lack of sleep everyone complains about.  And there's a palpable excitement.  A time in our lives we are very much ready for.  Maybe not on paper.  But most definitely ready for.

Best Email Chains...

You know something is funny when you laugh out loud or, in my case, spew mango pieces all over your new Mac.  Either way, both are great signs that something is funny.  But, you know something is hilarious if the moment unexpectedly creeps into your mind hours later, and you start laughing uncontrollably.  Sort of like how babies or toddlers do.  Like my niece, K, here:

Let me indulge.

My brother sent an email to us that had an eBay item he was "watching" and he asked if we could pick it up for him if he put a bid on it.  After all, "mom and dad were looking for a freezer".

So I send an email that says "You must be kidding.  It's huge!" to which my older (more sarcastic) sister replies "M-It's a freezer for BODIES.  We are not buying it!".

Naturally, I was so confused.  Upon reviewing the eBay listing, I realized I read "Morgue Refrigerator" to be the brand name!

So that led the email chain to what "idiot businessman would name his business 'Morgue'".

Ahhh, but we all know there are more stupid business names out there.  Like my example: Amigone Funeral Home.

But Mr. Funny closes the loop with the best example of a business with the most silly name.  Get ready, San Angelo.  I am sure you have eaten at this staple eatery in our dear hometown.

I'm giggling even as I write this.

My first bike ride...

It was loads of fun, riding from Manhattan's Battery Park all the way up through Central Park and Harlem on our way to the Bronx.  And of course, that reminds of me of my dear best friend from San Angelo, Tamara, who was born there.  That sent me on a flurry of childhood memories, of getting to know each other at the ripe age of 12, of arguing over religion, and of a piece of me that I miss more today than I ever have.  From our quick dip into the Bronx, we crossed into Queens on our way to Brooklyn and finally to the killer Verrazano Bridge into Staten Island.  Those who read my blog know that I only learned to ride a bike when I turned 30 so this was my latest challenge. You know-making up for lost time.  It's funny how many things you regret as you get older and how quickly you learn that it's just never too late.

Now, I'm ready to graduate from this 40 mile trek to a century ride.  Where will my bike take me next?

I guess courage comes with perspective...

I've finally mustered up the courage to write this post.  One of disappointment. And deflation.  That of failing.  And dreams not coming true.

But then I learned a life lesson on Monday.  And now the post is about perspective.  You know - hearing of an eight year old boy losing his life because he was merely watching a race can really remind you that your own woes are probably pitiful in comparison.

I heard back from NASA, and unfortunately my bid to soar into space has abruptly come to an end.  No more willing the phone to ring.  Or shamelessly googling home buying in Houston.  It was devastating then.  But now...well, it's a bump in the road.

You see, I have my limbs. The freedom to run.  I won't panic at the sound of a souped up muffler. Or shudder at the vibrations when a train goes by.  I don't have to explain senseless tragedies to young kids. Nor do I know what it is like to lose a child.  So not getting picked to be an astronaut?  If this is how I am punished, I will gladly take it.

And delve into the part of my personality that can always find a silver lining.  As you probably know, I am in my own marathon training mode.  I'm up to 12 miles this weekend, and come the summer solstice, I will be cruising the Alaskan scenery on foot.  Each day I run post Marathon Monday, I've got Boston on my mind.  And in my heart.

I'm strapping on my shoes... well, because I can. And because they can try as they will to bruise the All-American.  But the good will prevail.  And I refuse to live in fear.

To a speedy recovery.  And in their memory.

Vicarious Lessons

It seems these days I post more to Facebook than my blog, violating an unsaid promise I made myself when my brother-in-law signed me up for the seemingly social Mecca of the Internets.  Amid the immediate stress I felt to be more true to myself, I read a post from my close friend Catherine and decided vicarious lessons are the best. So instead of worrying about unwritten (and likely not that interesting) moments, I'm looking ahead.  And most definitely not shamelessly running for the ringing phone hoping it's NASA.  Meanwhile, I figure the new blogging attitude encompasses posting unsuccessful attempts at baking a fairly easy raspberry chocolate cake. It's certainly not as sightly as Giada's version, but it tasted pretty yummy with my substitution of a mildly sweetened mixed berry glaze for frosting.

Ahhh, continued examples of maturity.

The answer...

to the question I get fairly frequently, though the answer always seems so obvious to me.  Here's what I told the Committee last week on why I want to be an astronaut.

It's about dreams.  About the unknown.  And a yearning to know the unknown.

It's about taking time for the things that matter.  To pay homage to the sacrifices made by my parents.  To exalt their diligence and dedication for a better life.  It's knowing the reasons for which I will sit before you today.  For the mentors, supporters, and teachers.  It's realizing most individual efforts are actually team efforts.   That we rarely achieve such notable successes on our own. 

It's truly about the science.  The feat of engineering.  To stand on the edge of what is possible.  To explore an asteroid. Visit the moon.  Traverse Mars.  See the Earth.  Feel the warmth of the Sun.  To find the limits.  And defy them.

It's about inspiring.  Invigorating the next generation.  Instilling in them what I was so fortunate to have instilled in me.  To have a sister who encouraged experimenting.  Studying.  Understanding the why.    It's about taking a moment of your day to share the wonders and the joys.  To encourage inquisitive natures.  And imbue curiosity.

It's about courage.  Faith and trust.  Knowing that the thousands who work for the program aim to keep you safe.  To help you accomplish the mission.

It's these things.  And more.  It's mostly intangible.  Yet, in ways, palpable.  It's the only dream I've ever dreamt.  And the only thing I ever imagined doing. 

The entire process has been an incredible journey, and I truly am at peace with whichever direction life takes me.  Four years has shown me that maturity matters.  I have never been so at ease with life.  To feel sincere happiness without even a shred of jealousy for my friends who are in this whirlwind of a moment with me.  Gosh, this must be what growing up feels like!

I return to you after three days of socials, tests, and an interview to become an astronaut.  I can't disclose much of the process, but I can tell you that it was a fun few days.  The next step is the second and final round of interviews within the next couple of months.  But, the best part of my experience was being around the 9 other interviewees who shared the moments with me.  Our backgrounds were so diverse, and that meant dinner conversations were vibrant.  And educational!  Thank you, NASA.  It's been real!

Half of the group touring the old historical Apollo Flight Control Room

One of us could be an astronaut!  And this would be our future ride up! 

And totally get to hang with this guy!  Go Robonaut!

The Things That Matter...

It's about taking time out for the things that matter.  About not stressing over days off.  Or unfinished Things-To-Do-Lists.  It's about remembering what they did for you, when you had no idea.  About not buying themselves anything while you bought XXL T-shirts that cost three times the price because of a simple logo.  But making it seem otherwise. It's taking advantage of the moments.  The soon-to-become memories.  And the smiles and laughter.  It's turning the tables from them taking care of you to you taking care of them.  This is, my friends, what they must call growing up.

I am fortunate.  It's well known.  Things work out for me, and trust me, I get it. But, I also know that I make things work in my favor. I am not afraid to do what matters most to me, with minimal regard to those who may rain on my parade.  And for that personality trait, I am ever thankful.

So taking my parents back to India for their first trip in some twenty years was of no question.  Being able to see India through their eyes was a moment that I was not willing to let pass me by.  And it didn't disappoint.  They are the most easy going people whose wonderful traits are littered among the five of us kids.  Don't get me wrong.  We argued many times but we instinctively trust each other.  And their ability to roll things off their back makes me so thankful to be their daughter.

We started in Delhi and then hired a driver to go to Jaipur, Rajasthan.  On to Agra for the Taj Mahal. And Mathura (where Lord Krishna was born) on the way back to Delhi.  After about a week or so, we finally made our way to their home.  The area where they grew up.  What shaped and framed them.  We met up with P and Sujay in Surat and toured the streets that brought us our parents.  We heard stories of walking kilometer after kilometer just to get cilantro.  Of tirelessly hauling through Saturday and taking Sundays for themselves. Of hitting the street vendors in Chopati and sitting along the banks of the river (Tapi Nadi), enjoying the life.  Even if it was a hard life. Of saving rupees when they came along and continually scheming for a better future.  Of making the arduous decision to leave your daughters with your parents just to finish the work that fed the many mouths in one home.  Of leaving the girls behind to venture across the seas in search of that opportunity.  That pot of gold.  The land of opportunity people so often referenced.  To live another life nearly as difficult but with a promise unavailable in their homeland.  Of fighting the fight.  And eventually winning.  Five educated children.  Four grandchildren.  And, for once, spending a few dollars ... or rupees... on yourself.

We often wonder if we tell them enough how thankful we are for what they do.  What they did. And deep down we know we don't say it often enough.  Or maybe we do, in actions louder than words.  But, for the family I have, I am ever so thankful for parents who made us all friends.