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About Me Pumpkin and Bud

Start From “Yes”

Sure, kids need limits and structure. They need to read books and wear bike helmets and eat their vegetables. I think we can all agree there. And, as a mom, it often falls to you to enforce those things. So you find yourself telling your children “no” a heck of a lot. But I’ll tell you a secret: Sometimes you say no because it’s just easier to veto a request that’s going to add more work to your day, especially because life is dang busy, even downright overwhelming.

And I feel like lately I have been coming from a place of “no.”  I don’t like it. “No” has become my default, unless I can be convinced otherwise.  “No, you don’t need to push the grocery cart.”  “No, we don’t have time to make homemade pizza on a Tuesday night after karate practice.”  “No, you can’t have one more….whatever.” 

I have heard of folks letting kids have a “yes” day, where the kids can ask for, and get, whatever they want (within reason).  I’ve also heard of Shonda Rhimes’ book, “The Year of Yes,” but I haven’t read it.  (See: Life is busy, above.) But, I thought to myself recently, what if we go a step beyond?  What if we reach for a life of “yes”?

Now, starting from “yes” doesn’t mean I’ll let them stay up until all hours or subsist on ice cream.  I’m not saying you should act like a grandparent all the time! But why can’t they have dessert first once in a while?  Why can’t I evaluate each request from a position of positivity?  Why don’t I just assume I will say “yes” and make “no” present its case?

“Yes, you can put rouge and blue eye shadow on me.” Because who am I trying to impress?  I mean, my husband has seen me in far worse states.

 “Yes, you can sit in my lap, even though my leg is asleep.”  Because they won’t always want to.

“Yes, you can have four friends sleep over.” Because I am nuts. 

And, most recently: “Yes, we can get chickens.”  Just because.   I’m not talking chicken, as in teriyaki or pot pie.  No, we are adding 8 egg-laying chickens to our family.  And they will be named Zac Efron, Zendaya, and Aaron Rodgers, among other fabulous monikers.  Because we are partial to the Packers and The Greatest Showman in our house, and also because I said “yes” when the kids asked to name the new chicks. (Although, I personally think Teriyaki is a great name for a chicken. Teri for short. I’m going to throw that one out there for their consideration.)

Sometimes you have to say no, though, either for safety or budgetary reasons, or because their request is really just impossible.  But sometimes their little heart’s desire is just slightly inconvenient and not what you would choose.  In that case, say “yes” anyway.  You’ll be amazed at what happens.  

There is magic in “yes.”  The place of “yes” is where the kids get along.  They might even hug each other as they put pepperoni on their Tuesday night make-your-own pizzas. “Yes” is where the memories are made.   “Yes” is where you get chickens, folks. 

Even though I didn’t read Shonda’s book, I’m relatively sure her “yes” quest is more about business and personal growth than parenting.  And it’s absolutely true that saying “yes” to opportunities that present themselves to us, even if they are uncomfortable, especially if they are uncomfortable, is its own powerful magic for adults and children alike. Agreeing to a speech you don’t really want to give, or attending the party where you won’t know many people.  Just writing that sentence makes me shudder, but I understand the crazy power that lies in saying “yes” to those opportunities, too.  

So, basically, the “yes” mindset is not only more fun for all of us (okay, maybe especially for the children), but more empowering, too. That’s right, teaching the kids to start from “yes” will serve them well down the road. (How’s that for a justification for agreeing to an extra serving of birthday cake?

After all, life isn’t about the things we don’t do.  

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About Me Uncategorized

4 Ways to Get By When You Just Can’t

I am woefully behind at, well, life right now. I think 2019 may be out to get us.  Not in a tragic, earth-shattering way, but just with normal, everyday STUFF.  Sinus infections that keep kids out of school for weeks on end.  Snow. That. Won’t. Freaking. Stop.  It all adds up to one big excuse – for the pile of laundry, the stack of unopened mail, the exercise plan gone awry, the Christmas decorations I still haven’t packed away.   And can you say “dishes”? Or don’t.  It’s better not to talk about them.

So how do we make it through?  I’ve boiled it down to four things that help me get by when I just can’t.  

1.  Ask For Help  

I am very good at accepting help, but I’m not so great at asking for it. I think a lot of us fall into this category.  So if your mom shows up on your porch with a homemade dinner, you usher her right in, but you would never call her up and ask her to please make you some chicken enchilada casserole.  

Or maybe you don’t have built-in help.  Maybe your family lives across the country. Maybe your parents are wimps, err, I mean snowbirds, like mine.  Maybe you don’t have any handy-dandy “mom friends” with whom you can trade childcare. There are other options.  

Just recently, my little village offered a candlelight snowshoe hike, coupled with FREE CHILDCARE for hikers’ kiddos.  Say what?!?!  I couldn’t participate (see: sick kids, above), but I appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. 

If your community is not as awesome as mine, maybe your grocery store is.  I am a longtime Festival Foods fan. Festival makes me not mind grocery shopping – except during the week before Thanksgiving, when people go crazy and it’s best to avoid humanity entirely. And now Festival is even better, because they are offering this nifty service called Click N Go. 

Festival even has a sense of humor.

I had been thinking about trying online grocery shopping for awhile, but I hadn’t pulled the trigger (or, more aptly, clicked the mouse), mostly because I really do like grocery shopping.  I know it’s a time-suck, but I find it sort of…relaxing. Call me crazy. Still, I had a host of other reasons not to give it a try. I was afraid my personal shopper wouldn’t pick out the highest quality produce. I didn’t want to be the one left with the bruised Honeycrisps.  Or what if he selected fully ripe bananas when I wanted green ones?  Heaven forbid. Beyond that, I figured it would be kind of a pain to register and find my grocery items online.  

Turns out, I was wrong. Click N Go was easy to set up.  There is currently no app associated with the service, so you just visit www.festfoods.com/clickngo. When my order was ready for pick-up (way ahead of schedule), I received an email notification. I rolled up into the parking lot, and a friendly gentleman pushed a cartload of groceries out to my car.  As he helped me load the bags, he smiled and asked if there was anything else Festival could do to make my experience better.  Umm, really, no. Unless you want to make me a chicken casserole.

2.  Use Shortcuts

There are lots of life hacks out there. For instance, you might buy 12 pairs of the same sock, because I think we can all agree that pairing socks sucks.  Who wants to spend your evening finding the sock with the gold toe vs. the one with the red stripe? Or maybe you like to brush your teeth in the shower to save time. Maybe you’re an avid meal prepper. You do you.

Personally, my favorite shortcut is simply donning my winter hat.  Hats are even better than dry shampoo when it comes to cutting down on hairstyling time.  I love anything that allows me to sleep in for an extra half hour. And I especially love my Love Your Melon hats.  Yes, they are a little ubiquitous these days.  Kinda like that one song that’s on the radio every time you turn it on. But 50% of their profits still go to the fight against pediatric cancer.  These guys make you feel good about not washing your hair!  Bonus: Love Your Melon even sells baseball hats, which is super useful for the 6 days each year in Wisconsin when it’s too warm for a stocking hat.  

3.  Write It Down 

I love notes and lists.  To-do lists, grocery lists, goal lists (both short- and long-term) – give me all the lists.  Post-Its and planners are my BFFs.  The stationary aisle is my mecca. Come to think of it, this blog post is even a list.  If you aren’t a list maker, well, I could give you a list of reasons why you should become one.  

When your head is spinning because you are out of ketchup and your husband needs vitamins and you have to pick up your son’s inhaler and drop off a check because the kids’ lunch account is empty.  Again. (Where does that money even go? I swear, I must have bore 10 children I haven’t met who are eating off that lunch account.)  When you sit up in bed at 3 am because you just remembered you are responsible for snack day tomorrow. These are the times you need to make lists. 

If I can get my middle-of-the-night checklists out of my head and down onto paper, I know they won’t evaporate into the ever-present fog in my mom brain. Then I can usually, sometimes (okay, every once in a great while), get back to sleep.  So keep a notebook by your bed, or just write yourself notes in your phone. But write it all down and prioritize it.  Give it a 1, 2, or 3.  “1” would mean this really needs to get done tomorrow, “2” represents those things that you should do.  The “3s” are just laughing at you. 

4. Let It Go

You know that list you just made?  Get your head around the fact that half of it won’t get done, at least not this week. Maybe not this year.  Or even next. 

Learn to embrace the madness.  If you can’t do that, learn to contain it and then ignore it. Shut the door.  Not the front door – the laundry room door.  I promise you, that laundry will not grow legs and walk away.  

Then take a breath and watch this video of Winky the Bichon Frise, strolling through the Westminster agility course.  This dog has life figured out.  Instead of racing to the finish line, Winky sets his own pace and pauses to enjoy the view…or maybe to soak up the applause.  Either way, good for him. As he saunters up that ramp with joyful nonchalance, he seems to be reminding all of us that life is about the journey, and not the destination. This is fortunate for Winky, because his final time was a whopping 192 seconds, including 92 faults. First place went to another dog, who scored somewhere around 30 seconds. Guess what, though – I couldn’t tell you that other dog’s name.

Bottom line – You don’t have to be in first place to win at life. Maybe it’s not even about winning.  Maybe it’s about putting a hat on your head and asking a stranger to fetch your groceries. And, most importantly, enjoying the view. 

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About Me My Favorite Things Oh the Places I'll Go (Or Already Went) Uncategorized

Where is Your Happy Place?

Okay, I admit, I read books mostly via electronic devices these days. And, by electronic devices, I mean my phone.  It’s just so convenient to have a book with you, even when you don’t have a book with you.  (You know what I mean.)

But I still prefer “real” books.  In fact, I just ventured to the bookstore and bought four hardcovers to lug on spring break.  And I was reminded all over again how much I LOVE bookstores.

Bookstores are great places to visit old friends.

And new friends. 


Book friends are the best kind of friends, because you don’t even have to talk to them. 

Magic resides in bookstores. Look at all those adventures crammed onto shelves, all those stories just waiting for us readers to bring them to life.

And that smell.  Oh, how I wish they made a perfume called “bookstore.” 

We all have a happy place.  When I was a kid, you could give me a room full of books, and maybe a box a JELL-O Pudding Pops, and I was set. In fact, come to think of it, not much has changed. Except I have to make my own pudding pops now.

Where is your happy place, friends?

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About Me Oh the Places I'll Go (Or Already Went)

Nowhere to Go But Everywhere

A couple/eighteen years ago, I graduated from a Big Ten University with Distinction (whatever that means) and a degree in journalism.  And I had no idea what to do with myself.  Thanks to several unpaid internships, I had garnered experience in magazines, newspapers and television news, but I didn’t feel especially called to pursue a career in any of them at the time.  I loved books and possessed a vague sort of idea about working for a book publisher.  I did not know, and no one told me (or maybe I just didn’t ask), that I didn’t have a chance in heck of landing a job in publishing unless I moved to New York.  Unsurprisingly, the sad little unsolicited cover letters I sent to the major publishing houses went unanswered.  And graduation had the nerve to come anyway.

So I did what any sensible person would do and embarked on a three-month cross-country road trip with my Shih Tzu.  I had a plan of sorts.  If by “plan” you mean I intended to roughly outline the borders of our great country and try to hit some national parks along the way.

I was directionless, in every sense of the word.

But that didn’t stop me. I packed my Saturn with a 2-man tent, a sleeping bag, some dog food, a bag of clothes, a journal and a Rand McNally road atlas, and off I went.  Yes, you read that right.  A road atlas.  This was before GPS came standard, before phones were smart. When I wanted to figure out where to go, I looked at a map. In a book.  For real. (Side Note: I feel like sending folks off on a road trip without electronic devices would make for a great reality game show  in 2019. You don’t have to compete in any challenges, but you do have to read a map! Hilarity would surely ensue.)

I took off from Wisconsin and headed west.  I drove 8 hours that first day, eager to put enough distance between myself and my starting point that I would feel as though my trip had officially started.  Eight hours happened to land me in Fargo, North Dakota.  Now, folks, I don’t have anything against Fargo.  But, at the same time, I couldn’t help wondering…what in the hell was I doing there?  Why hadn’t I tried a little harder to secure a post-graduation job and just get started with my life?  Why was I about to wander around the country aimlessly?  What was I thinking?!?!

I spent most of my trip camping, but I occasionally stayed in a cheap motel, when the weather or circumstances warranted.  That first night, due to the long drive and my impending breakdown, I chose the cheap motel. So I spent the first evening of my road trip crying into my gas-station nachos at a $29 dump in Fargo.  Not the most auspicious start.

It was all uphill from there, though.  I moved on to Mount Rushmore and then Big Sky Country.  I found my groove. I explored Washington State.  I enjoyed a leisurely trip down the West Coast, stopping to take pictures of my 8-pound dog next to the Giant Redwoods.

Little dog, big tree.

Sometimes I stayed with family.  Sometimes I met interesting characters at campgrounds.  Sometimes it was just me and Cricket (the dog).  I oohed and awed at the Grand Canyon.  I looked up an old friend who spontaneously decided to join me for part of my trip.  Together, we checked out the Big Easy and traveled the Florida Panhandle. We rode scooters in the Keys and made a stop in Daytona to get tattoos.  Mine was supposedly a tribal symbol for humility and learning.  Somehow I doubt that is the case.  Oh well.  Live and learn – and learn to live with the black ink blob on your ankle.

We continued our adventure on the East Coast, finally making it to Maine and the easternmost point of the contiguous United States.

Then the leaves started to change and the money ran out, signaling the end of the road for the road trip.

These days, if I tell people about my epic journey, they look at me in disbelief.  It’s actually a tad insulting – have I really become that dull and predictable? But, in all fairness, I can hardly even picture myself traipsing around the country in a plastic car with a tiny dog – and I was there. It was somewhat nuts. Yet, despite my initial doubts, the trip turned out to be one of the most pivotal and significant times of my life, and I’m eternally grateful that I didn’t turn around and hightail it home after that first night in Fargo.  After all, when would I ever be so unencumbered again? When would I ever get another chance to travel so freely? I ended up with some great memories, and the road trip affected the trajectory of my life.  If I hadn’t gone on the trip, I might never have ended up living in San Diego afterwards (another story, for another time). If I hadn’t hated San Diego so much, I never would have aimed to get as far away as possible from it when I applied to law school. If I hadn’t chosen NYU for law school, the hiring partner at my first law firm, who was also an NYU alum, might not have brought me on.  And if I hadn’t gotten that first job in Milwaukee, I might never have been re-introduced to Dan.  And that, my friends, is the end game.  No Dan, no Baylor and no Ryan.  No current life as I know it at all.

(Plus, thanks to separate vacations to Alaska and Hawaii, I can now say I have visited all 50 states.  That little tidbit comes in quite useful when I am forced to offer an interesting fact about myself at corporate retreats. Bonus.)

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About Me Oh the Places I'll Go (Or Already Went)

There’s No Place Like Home

This week I am thankful for the ground.  Or, more specifically, I am thankful to be on the ground.  And for home.  I am so, so thankful to be home.

I am a homebody, that much is true.  And, as I learned from the personality assessment I completed at the work retreat from which I just returned, I am a solid introvert.  Actually, that’s not true.  Well, I am an introvert. But I didn’t just discover that. I was already well aware of that tidbit about myself.  The fact that I find an excuse to turn down 99% of the invitations I receive was a pretty good clue.

I mean, people are exhausting.  I love them, I do, but I can only handle so much of them.  I can deal with them one-on-one. Or I can deal with them in short bursts.  Or I can barely/almost/hardly/sort of/maybe handle 188 of my colleagues for two days, after which I must rush home and immediately bury my head.

When you couple all of the people-ness with air travel, you basically have my worst nightmare.  I am not a good flyer.  In fact, I am always slightly shocked to be alive when the plane lands. I have thought about asking for a Valium prescription for use when flying.  But I hesitate.  We all travel for a purpose, right? For me, I am usually taking my kids on vacation or heading to a professional conference.  Either way, I can’t exactly show up in a drug-induced haze, and I just don’t know how the sedative would affect me.  So I guess irrational fear is preferable.  Of course, I try to camouflage this fear from my colleagues, and certainly from my kids. I don’t want to pass on my peccadilloes. Even though I doubt my fellow lawyers would be susceptible to my phobia, I know my kids would be.

I haven’t always been this way.  I remember flying as an unaccompanied minor back when I was 9, on my merry way to visit a friend.  Flying didn’t bother me at all back then. Heck, skydiving wouldn’t have bothered me back then. But I think, as we get older, we understand that the stakes are higher.  And so we harbor more fears.  It’s only because we recognize what we have to lose.  Or, more accurately, we recognize those who would be lost without us.

I think my fear stems from something else, though.  I noticed that I became a far more tense flier after 9/11/01.

 We all have a personal September 11 story. I had just moved to NYC to attend law school three weeks previously.  I was a newbie.  And for me, that date is forever tied to black ash accumulating on the wall of my dorm room until I came to my senses enough to close the window.  Wearing a disposable face mask on my walk to the bodega to stock up on water. Standing on the roof of my building and watching the towers fall to the ground. I never knew what normal was for Manhattan.  Really, it never had a chance for me. My new home was an ashy ghost town until they reopened Manhattan below 14th Street and classes resumed.  I think it was over a week later, maybe two.

Like I said, anyone could tell you where they were on the morning of September 11. Just as anyone from my generation could pinpoint their location when the Challenger exploded.  For others, it’s the assassination of JFK. Pick your tragedy. I don’t mean to sound callous at all, but I wonder: Why don’t we remember where we were when the good things happen? Our minds always fixate on the horrific.

But this.  This was the worst terror attack in American history. And it doesn’t belong to me.  It belongs to those nearly 3,000 people who lost their lives.  The workers. The first responders. I remember when the city was wallpapered with photographs of the people missing in the wake of September 11.  And I remember the dawning of absolute horror as we came to understand that we had stood in line to give blood for no reason.  Because none of those people were missing. They weren’t going to show up in need of blood. They were gone. Just…gone.

I have friends who can’t look at the footage from that day.  And I have friends who couldn’t look away.  Either way, we were all affected.

I, apparently, came away with a brand new fear of flying.  And it sucks.  It sucks to want to go on spring break with your kids but to dread the vacation as it approaches.  It sucks to grip the armrests in terror at the first sign of turbulence. Especially when your sweet hubby can’t be there to distract you with a calming squeeze of his hand.

But (of course there is a “but,” because this is where I come to be grateful, after all), I came home to said husband.  And to my two sweet babies.  And our two darling pups. Plus two borderline-neglected goldfish who have still managed to hang on, against all odds. I love them all, perhaps even more so after I have been gone, if that is possible.

And, for a super-extra-special bonus, no one beyond that is around.  Ahhh. Be still, my little introverted heart.

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About Me Uncategorized

It’s Not How You Start, It’s How You Finish

I never considered myself a runner.  Yet I run.

That probably doesn’t make much sense to you.  I suppose if I run, I am, in fact, a runner. Of sorts.

The sort that gets stopped by an older couple the third time I lap them in the park. “Honey, look at you!” the older lady exclaims. “You just keep passing us.  That’s so impressive.”

“Well, to be fair, you are using a cane, but thank you nonetheless,” I think to myself. But I smile and nod politely and continue on my way.  Clearly, I don’t resemble your typical runner.  The nice lady’s surprised enthusiasm reinforces it.  So be it.

I don’t have designated running shorts or special running headphones.  I may need to invest some money in that space as I invest more time in running.  But for now, I just run.

I run to challenge myself and to get out of my comfort zone.

I run because I can, and I might not always be able to.

I run because my kids are watching.

I run because maybe I will inspire someone else who doesn’t consider themselves a runner to do the same.

I run because if I can run, maybe I can also do other hard things.

I am going to run a half marathon in January.  I never thought I would say that.  Well, I never thought I would say it and really mean it.  As in, actually-register-and-book-a-hotel-room mean it. (Yes, there are local half marathons that would not necessitate an overnight stay.  And that route would probably make more sense for a first timer. But why not get a mini-vacation out of the deal, amiright? Especially in January.)

I had begun training for a marathon a little over 13 years ago, when I met my future husband.  I had even bought a book – “Marathon” by Jeff Galloway.  Because this was in a world before folks just went on to the interwebs to plan their lives. This was back when people actually drove to book stores and walked around, on their feet, looking for books that might contain useful information.

Long story short, I still have the book, but the training derailed pretty quickly.  I became far more interested in making gooey eyes at Dan than in running all the miles.  After that, it seemed there was always an excuse.  Some were legitimate, and others were less so. Planning a wedding (not especially legit).  Mandated bed rest during two pregnancies (you gotta give me that one).

Now, running is my time to regroup and refuel.  Which sounds slightly crazy.  Shouldn’t running deplete me?  Yet it fills me up, and its benefits seep into all the corners of my life. It is freeing and empowering.  I find myself going to bed earlier when I plan to run the next morning.  Skipping the wine when I know I have a run.

I value community generally, and I think the tight-knit running community in particular seems pretty amazing.  But, for me, running is about quiet self-care. Reflection.  Time to catch up on those podcasts I love. Or listen to “Ali in the Jungle” so I can spend a little time hanging out with my good buddy Pat who was taken from us too soon.

My distances began climbing as I started to train for the half.  I conquered six miles, then seven.  I allowed myself some pride, because, a few short months ago, even a mile was a stretch.

Still, I didn’t consider myself a runner.  I had run the miles. I had swallowed a bug while running, which is probably a true runner’s rite of passage.  I had suffered through a nasty case of shin splints when I tackled a too-ambitious run early in my new running chapter. But it wasn’t until a girl named Mollie died that I actually considered myself a runner.

Various arguments raged around Mollie’s death, and I won’t touch those here.  This isn’t where I dive into the politically charged conversation on immigration, nor where I explore the right of all women to feel safe in society. I will just say that it was a heart-breaking tragedy, and it never should have happened. To her or to anyone else.

And it caused me to make my first running-related purchase.

A slick pepper-spray and reinforced-knuckle combo designed for runners.  Five stars on Amazon.  I had previously carried a bell during some remote runs, because bears have been spotted nearby.  But I realized a bell wasn’t going to cut it.

How sad that my first running purchase stated on its packaging that it had to be shipped via ground only, due to its hazardous nature? How sad that I am constantly aware of my surroundings and vary my routes often? How sad that when I see a youngish man lingering in the park alone and staring at his phone, my first inclination is that he is a predator, rather than a Pokémon Go player?

That’s nothing, though.  I’m still here to write this blog.  And that alone is reason enough to be grateful. So I run. I run for myself, but also for Mollie, for Pat, for my family, maybe for you.  (Jeez, that’s a lot of people to carry with me on my runs. At least that explains my pace. 🙂 )

 

 

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About Me My Favorite Things The Happy Jar

One is Silver and the Other is Gold

There are many different kinds of friends out there.  There are friends who stick around for the long haul, and those who are only with you for a certain season.  Those you talk to all the time, and those you only catch up with once in a blue moon.  But they are all important, and I am grateful for them all.

I am grateful for the friends who are in the same phase of life that I am.  The ones whose babies are starting to turn into big kids.  The ones who understand and don’t judge.  For a mom who sometimes struggles to keep it all together, you are the best kinds of friends.

I am also grateful for the friends who have already been there and done that.  The ones who can show me how this is all going to play out. Seeing that they have survived and thrived lets me know that I will, too.

I am grateful for the friends who come over and bring wine.  Because wine.

I am grateful for the friends who understand when I disappear for a few weeks (or months), because life can get crazy.  I am especially grateful that these friends will still be there when I poke my head back up again.

I am grateful for the friends who were brought to me via my husband or my kids.  If my family loves you, surely I do, too.

I am grateful for the friends whose impending visit doesn’t cause a flurry of vacuuming and stuff-stashing.  You have seen me at my worst and did not run away.  So now you get what you get.  Which is dog hair and dirty dishes.  You are the absolute best kind of friend.

I am also grateful for the friends whose visit does cause a cleaning frenzy.  Because now my house is clean.  So thank you very much.  And take your shoes off please.

I am grateful for the friends who understand when I sneak out of their party early without saying goodnight.  Because sometimes I am just done.  Sometimes I have no more words left to say.

I am grateful for the friends who hang strong in our kitchen until the bitter end of our own impromptu party, and for those who run out to get more wine to keep the party going.  Because sometimes I don’t want to sneak out early.

I am grateful for the friends who love my kids. There are no better friends.

I am grateful for the friends who were with me in the trenches of my tumultuous 20s.  Who cried with me over things that made no sense at all.  Who witnessed escapades and breakups.  The ones who climbed over the fence with me (both figuratively and sometimes literally – don’t ask) and made it through the madness of young adulthood.

I am also grateful for the friends who knew me as a kid. Those folks who remember an earlier version of myself.  Somehow the fact that there are still people out there that remember these prior versions of me helps preserve all those old selves.  Many of these friends had faded from my life, only to be brought back by social media.  I love keeping up with their big events and dinner plates via my Facebook feed.  Honestly, I don’t talk to many of them in real life, but sometimes, for an introvert, those are the best kinds of friends.

So, whether you fit into one or six of these categories, thank you for being a friend.  (And if you are now singing the theme song from The Golden Girls, you are definitely my kind of friend.)  Cheers.

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About Me

This is 39.97

So this is 39.97.  Listening proudly as your 6-year-old daughter breezes through a book meant for her older brother, while also making a mental note to schedule your mammogram.  And feed those darn goldfish. And sign your son’s summer school permission form. And tackle the nine gazillion other family details that are constantly bouncing around your brain. I will ultimately remember to handle roughly five gazillion of them, and I’ll call it a win.  

I don’t know what 40 is, really.  I can’t claim it quite yet. Is it the new 30?  I couldn’t tell you.  I know I felt 20 (at least mentally) until recently.  I know I can still vividly remember my dad’s 40th birthday party.  I know that this life flies by.  The years are short, right? I mean, look at the words in your internet browser. Still, the quickness with which it passes manages to surprise me. 

Your 20s are so damn hard.  You have to figure out all of the things and experience major growing pains.   Major omg-no-one-is-handing-me-gold-stars-every-semester-any-longer-so-what-am-I-supposed-to-do-and-how-will-my-existence-be-validated kind of pains.  There are bills and insurance and plumbing issues. Oh my!  It’s no wonder 20-somethings drink so much. 

I got married basically right as I hit 30, so that decade flew by, filled with difficult pregnancies and tiny babies and figuring out how to live with a boy. They were magical years, but I honestly spent the majority of them trying to keep my head above water. 

Now, as I look at 40, I know I still have time, but I also have the sense that time is not unlimited.  This gives me the gift of sudden courage to dive in and do the things I want to do.  I have long wanted to run a half marathon.  So I started running.  I have always wanted to write a book.  So I started writing.  It’s simple, really, but that’s not to say it’s easy. 

I’m not alone as I approach this new decade.  My Facebook feed is filled with photos of my high school and college friends as they commemorate this milestone via parties and vacations.  I’m so happy to see they are all seizing this opportunity to celebrate life.

As for my impending birthday, I am going to revive a childhood tradition.  The birthday week.  In that week, I would like to spend a day on the water with my family.  And have a spa day.  There will definitely be champagne.  I heard the Good Village is even putting on a fireworks show that week. 

This will be the best decade yet.  I am lucky I get to see it. I am lucky I get to watch my kids grow up, I get to continue to enjoy my husband, and I get to see our family’s dreams materialize.  I know there will still be stressors and hurdles. There will still be difficult seasons, because this is life after all.  But I feel somehow better equipped to handle them. Maybe that’s foolish. But maybe it’s just brave. 

So I enter this new decade with a gleam in my eye, gratitude in my heart, and the hope that I come out the other side a little wiser…and maybe with a half marathon and a publishing contract under my belt.  That’s not too much to ask, right? 

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About Me

Welcome!

Hi, there!  I’m Jessica.  I’m an incredibly lucky wife and a mom to two beautiful kiddos.  And I want to make sure I grab my days by the scruff and wring every last bit of joy from them (Okay, that sounded way more violent than I intended, but you get the idea!).  I know it’s trite, but it’s also true, to say each year goes by more quickly than the last.  My goal here is to stop time from spinning past unnoticed.  I want to appreciate it as best I can amid the madness that is my everyday. And I hope I can help you stop and appreciate your life a little more, too.

Our phase of life now is marked by karate class and Star Wars marathons instead of diapers and sleepless nights.  Well, we still have some sleepless nights, but at least that part has improved a bit since the kids were babies.

Aside: A woman got in the checkout line behind me at Target with a couple of super-cute kids in tow.  One was about 3 years old, and the other just 6 months.  The baby wore an adorable flowered hat.  So I said to the mom: “That’s an adorable hat!” She looked at me with a straight face and replied: “I haven’t slept since October.”  This happened last April.

So, we’re not in that place anymore, and for that I am both grateful and sad.  The days can be long, but the years are indeed short.  I intend to enjoy them, and I’d like to share it with you.