Slowing Down the Moments

I Like the Idea of...

2024-07-10T11:09:00.000-07:00

I like the idea of a lot of things.

I like the idea of hiking, heading out into the wilderness, soaking in nature. But, I don’t like to sweat that much. And going up hills is hard. And breathing heavily in front of people is just embarrassing. Also, I’m not really sure what poison ivy looks like.

I like the idea of camping, circling around a campfire, roasting marshmallows, sleeping beneath the stars with only a sleeping bag between me and the earth. But, the ground is hard to sleep on, and racoons give me the creeps, and what if a serial killer is hiding in the woods over there.

I like the idea of having dinner parties, friends gathered by candlelight, laughing, toasting, leaning back at the end of the meal, bellies full. But then I have to clean my floors, and my tables and my clutter and vacuum and dust and wipe down the toilets. And also, my specialty of air-frying take-out isn’t really dinner party-worthy.

I like the idea of being a morning person, taking coffee to the front porch, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood waking up, maybe spreading the newspaper out on the table in front of me. But, I don’t drink coffee or subscribe to the newspaper, plus my bed is so cozy and instagram reels are so funny and I like to stay up so late.

I like the idea of breweries, crowding around a table with friends with a flight, comparing the ales to the stouts to the IPAs. But, I hate the taste of all those and ultimately I say to the bartender “What’s the closest you have to a pilsner or a light beer” when really what I mean is “Do you have Miller Lite.”

I like the idea of a garden, of being a gardener, hands in the soil, growing enough zucchini to burden the neighbors and enough tomatoes to make salsa to give as gifts. But the deer stalk our neighborhood, trotting through yards like stray dogs, and the soil is too something, making even tomato plants wilt and wither, and the sun is hot on my neck, and I don’t even like tomatoes that much.

Sometimes I like the idea of being someone else, someone I might have imagined being in my teens when watching The Big Chill or St. Elmo’s Fire or any movie that made life look different from what I saw around me. But, one of the gifts of time is getting comfortable with who I am, leaning into the parts of myself that are real and true. It’s drinking the Miller Lite at the brewery and sitting on my porch in the evening and planting flowers in pots on my porch and taking the easy trail at the Nature Center and having friends over for pizza and making s’mores out back but sleeping in my own bed. It’s being comfortable in my skin.

I like the idea of me as I am.

2022-03-21T18:40:00.001-07:00

I stood in the self-checkout line at Target. There was an adorable, squishy baby sitting in the cart in front of me, an 18-month old it turns out. She was babbling and smiling and looking sparkly in that particular way that bald-headed babies have. She kept staring at me and I kept smiling at her. As her mom absent-mindedly handed her a veggie straw, I looked past this sweet baby, right at my own sweet baby.

2009 (18 months) and now (14 years)

My 14-year-old stood in the background, shopping for bathing suit tops with her best friend. She picked up tops, showing them to Grace, who I've known since she was five. She giggled over the skimpy bathing suit bottoms, thankfully passing them over for the high-waisted briefs. I love her independence and the way she wants to go off on her own.

But damn I miss the days when I could plop her in the front of a cart and pick out her cute little swim suits and hold her close.

Parenting teenagers is hard. Harder than I expected. I'm a high school teacher; I get teenagers. But when they're your own, it's just different. I called my mom today to talk to her about a couple things I'm worried about and before I knew it, I was crying. I haven't cried to my mom about parenting since they were busy toddlers.

Somehow, everything feels so Important right now. I've got four years left to impart the lessons and the values and the confidence and the relationships and the study habits and the self-reliance and the...

You see what I mean? I know that realistically Greg and I have been working on these things all along. Of course we have. But somehow it felt easier when they were underfoot all the time (if you are a parent of toddlers, I know that sentence makes you want to punch me in the face. I get it). Now, they spend hours (days) in their bedrooms. I have to bribe them to go get ice cream with me. They do their own laundry, make their own meals, and have whole lives apart from us. As they should.

I'm left cherishing the moments. Reminding myself to listen on the rare occasions they feel like blabbing (even if it's in the middle of the show I'm watching). I want to press pause because in six months they'll have their temps, and then their license and I know it's just going to be on warp speed from there.

Luckily, I still have Justin. And the dog.

Remembrance for my Grandma

2022-03-16T18:17:00.004-07:00

I really love Linda Rief's book Quickwrites. I realized yesterday that I have no living grandparents. My grandmother died two years ago. Not sure why it took two years for me to realize that I have no grandparents around. So when I saw this quickwrite, I knew I'd need to use it for my inspiration today.

Remembrance for My Grandmother

Ann Norine Hildreth 1927-2020

I remember...we collected prayers

and made up stories and built

embarrassing memories and arranged

the extra chairs when company came

and set out special pickle dishes and read

out of the old Childcraft volumes

and played Trivia Pursuit and watched Jeopardy

and talked about the Reader's Digest and

ate drumsticks on the front porch and

the last time I saw her, I told her I loved her

and even though she couldn't talk,

I know she heard me.

Reflection: I loved writing like this! I write about my grandma often, but this made me think of even more memories and new ways to write about her! I encourage anyone to try it!

What's that they say about pride?

2022-03-14T18:33:00.002-07:00

I am so sore tonight. All day my bones have ached. My joints ache. My back aches.

No, I didn't work out hard yesterday. Want to know what I did to cause these aches?

I fell.

I didn't just fall, I bit it.

We were downtown last night, a night on the town. I was walking but not watching where I was walking, my head turned to face my husband. Next thing I knew I was soaring through the air.

I completely, totally, utterly missed a stair. And as I tumbled through the air, I kept thinking "What the fu...." I landed hard on the pavement, my hands luckily catching me, my knees scraping on the edge of the missed step.

I landed with a literal ooof. I could hear the people around me gasp. As I rolled myself over to my butt, I did a mental inventory. I could feel my cheeks flushing.

My husband bent over me, horrified and worried. I took a deep breath. I felt myself welling up, willing myself not to cry.

Our friends rushed over. "Are you okay?" they hovered.

"I'm fine. Go away." That's what I said. Me, a grown woman. I just wanted to be invisible.

And so today I hurt. My palms are bruised, my knee hurts, and I'm still pissed at the way that sidewalk disappeared right underneath me.

And I'm reminded of how humbling it is to fall in front of people. I'm also thankful for being strong enough to catch myself. There's a metaphor in there, I'm sure. I'm too busy tending to my band-aids, though, to suss it out.

I'm such a baby. But a bruised palm hurts!

I haven't had a skinned knee in, oh, 20 years. At least!

Things I Couldn't Live Without

2022-03-07T18:06:00.003-08:00

I love being inspired by other slicers and I read this one about 13 Things I Couldn't Live Without - Classroom Edition. It got me thinking -- it's a fun exercise. I hope you try it!

My Napping Blanket

Yes. Yes I am a 40-something-year-old woman who has a napping blanket. A blanky, I guess. It's one of my kids old comforters and there's something about it that is just perfection. It's not too heavy, instead creating the perfect cloud cover when I lie down for a mid-day snooze. I'm a habitual napper, too, so the napping blanket gets a good bit of use. In fact, I don't even bother to fold it and put it back in the closet. I just bunch it up and leave it on my chair.

I only take naps in our bed, but very rarely under the covers. Enter the napping blanket. Keeps me cozy without getting the sheets dirty.

The Damn Dog

My oldest son Jacob begged for a dog. We thought we were depriving him of a critical life experience by not having a dog. Finally, in a moment of weakness, my husband, a dedicated non-dog person, agreed to a dog.

The kids and I did our research, picked out a dog. We got him home and the first night was so sweet. Sleeping on the couch next to the crate, I heard Jacob whisper "Welcome to your new home, Ollie."

Now? Two years later? The dog is currently curled under my feet, never more than a foot away from me. Walks? Me. Training? Me. Food? Me. Baths? Me. We are the cliche come to life. The kids love the dog and play with him in fits and starts. The worst part? I love the damn dog so he's not going anywhere.

Bird Feeders

It's a rite of passage, I think, to fall in fascination with bird feeders. I love watching the birds flock to them. I love how the finches devour the food. I love how they nest in the bird house. I even love the cacophony in the trees this time of year.

Spiral Notebooks

I didn't mean to collect notebooks. It just happened. I blame it on Ohio Writing Project. Each summer I'd fill a spiral with notes from the most amazing graduate classes anyone could ever take. And when the summer was over, the spirals were a reference book -- one full of lesson ideas, writing models, and inspired ideas.

In my work as an instructional coach now, I have notebooks full of notes, to-do lists, things I need to follow up on. My most treasured gift came from my colleague Brandi who is an expert gift-giver. She culled through my social media posts about coaching and created this beautiful notebook. It's the perfect size. It has all my favorite moments on the cover, and I treasure every page. I'll be so sad when it's full and takes it's place on the shelf of spirals.

Firepit

We live in a pretty modest house by middle class standards. Built in the 70s, it has regular old 8 feet ceilings, laundry in the basement, and cracks in the foundation. It's got plenty of space and beautiful upgrades, but it ain't fancy. About 7 years ago, though, during a patio installation, the contractor talked us into a fire pit. It's the cadillac of fire pits. They had to literally dig a perimeter and then bring in heavy machinery to install the fire pit.

And we love it. We've spent so many nights gathered around that circle, looking at stars, watching satellites, making s'mores. I think a fire is hypnotizing and I can't wait for our yard to dry out enough to use it again.

Bumper stickers

2022-03-06T19:57:00.003-08:00

Have you noticed bumper stickers lately? The kids and I were driving back from my parent's house a few months ago and I was appalled at the vitriol on the truck ahead of me. The f-word was all over the back window. This word is certainly no stranger to my vocabulary, but on this stranger's car it felt personal.

"F*( Joe Biden"

"Let's Go Brandon"

"F- your mask"

As we pulled into a gas station, I noticed the truck was there too. From the cab emerged a man who I couldn't imagine would ever say those things to my face. I was so angry that had I been by myself, I likely would have said something. And what would that have accomplished? But here I was, after following the guy on the highway for 25 minutes, personally affronted.

Fast forward a week later. I was grabbing my morning Dt. Coke at McD's, and I noticed the car in front of me had a sticker. But this time, the message read "I hope something good happens to you today." I felt such a visceral dopamine hit. I realized I was smiling. It was a kindness from a stranger and it altered my mood. I carried that with me all day.

I ordered my own stickers the next day. I have it on the back of my minivan and sometimes it's a reminder to myself, to breathe. To treat people in the way this message reminds me. To look for the good in people, even when it's a little (or a lot) hard.

It's also giving me something to live up to. How can I be rude or angry when I have such a sticker? What kind of hypocrite would I be?

I hope something good happens to you today too. And here's a link if you want one too.

(sorry for the dark picture...I had to run out at night to take it!)

Rambling Autobiography #sol22 Day 4

2022-03-04T19:10:00.003-08:00

Linda Rief's Quickwrites are my favorite! Here's her "Rambling Autobiography" followed by mine.

Angela's Rambling Autobiography:

I was born right before a blizzard, my young parents taking their new little family to a friend's house, one with a fireplace and lots of warmth. I adore Dietsch's chocolate covered pretzels. I bought my favorite pair or corduroy pants from Salvation Army and sewed a butterfly patch over the hole I burnt with a cigarette, back when I smoked (a lifetime ago). I snuck a copy of Forever by Judy Blume from desk to desk, a bunch of 8th grade kids at Catholic school trying to glean more than what the religion class tells us. That was the same year I prayed "God, please don't call me to be a nun. I really want to make out" after visiting a convent and hearing all about answering God's call. When I was 9, I lost my baby sister when she crawled through a tear in the screened in porch. My favorite place to hide was the tree house across the street, the one the older boys built. I can still smell the baby powder my mom would sprinkle on our newly cleaned sheets, something my husband still does for me today (only on my side of the bed). I am a daughter who grew up, a mom trying to create memories just as indelible.

My life in numbers #sol22 - Day 3

2022-03-03T18:28:00.002-08:00

(with thanks to Alison Gettler for inspiration)

I am1020 Hurd, a life spent spilling off a porch, grabbing sticks of gum from Grandma's junk drawer. I am 419 through and through, with a little bit of 33967. I am from alleys and bike rides and sidewalks. All my favorite houses have porches.

I am 1995, and then no pomp again until 2000. I liked being a Bobcat. A lot. I am brick sidewalks and arches. Big hills (the only school where you lose 15 pounds freshman year). I am South Green all the way with ass trees (Seriously. Who planted those?) haunting in the spring.

I am 2001, defining moments of my first year of teaching: living through national tragedy, joining a bowling league, falling in love with my craft and my life.

I am from 2004, dancing my way through the year. Saying yes to Greg has been the absolute best decision I've ever made. Then we were the Faulhaber Five, 2007 a double whammy, then 2010 our little exclamation point. It feels like we've been running ever since.

I am a word nerd trying to live in the moment, balancing nostalgia and excogitating (I had to use the google for that one; it's ok if you do too).

This is 45 Day 2 #sol22

2022-03-02T18:32:00.005-08:00

"Man, it's so hot in here, huh?" I asked my colleague. From his noncomittal response, I could tell that no, it wasn't hot in here. Not to him anyway.

Later, I mentioned it to the school secretary, asking if the heat could be turned down.

Ten minutes later, the head custodian walked into our meeting room, holding a probe in his hand, looking like he was hunting ghosts.

"It's 67 degrees in here," he said to the room, the probe showing the temperature. "Who said it was hot in here?"

I wanted to melt into a puddle (much like the one that was pooling in my pits). Others looked around confused. "I think it's really comfortable," said a young man who has never had a hormone flare.

I smiled and walked over to this dear man, trying to ward him off from declaring the temperature again. "Scully," I playfully hissed. "Are you trying to pre-menopause shame me?" He laughed, used to working with women.

Kayaking - a 17 year anniversary adventure

2021-07-31T20:03:00.006-07:00

We had just passed the yellow sign tacked to a tree alerting us that we were on mile four of the river. I’d been doing great, surprising myself. I was in the lead, Greg trailing behind me. I had managed to navigate the river like this wasn’t the third time I’d ever kayaked (first time in a river), dragging my paddle when I needed to slow down, digging deep when I needed to speed up. It’s safe to say, I was impressed with myself.

So impressed, in fact, that I started to think I might have missed a calling. Are there adult rowing teams, I wondered as I navigated around a small rapid. My shoulders had never felt stronger, my posture never better. Just minutes ago, I had paddled UPSTREAM in order to wait for Greg when he was stuck on a log. I was basically a pro.

And then. Ahead, hanging over the river was a fallen tree, reaching out over the water. And from that tree hung some branches. I’d come up against branches before, ducking under them, making it to the other side. Sure this branch was thicker than the others, more dense.

I felt the instant it happened, that tree trunk in the sky hooking my life vest, snagging me, yanking me back. My kayak tipped, spilling me into the river. I curled my toes, trying to keep my new Teva flip-flops on my feet. I scooped up my favorite Reds cap, grabbed for my paddle, all while hanging on to the kayak. My feet sank into silt.

I looked back at Greg, trying to drag his paddle to stop to help.

“Do you still have your phone?” he hollered. I felt my pocket. I nodded, pulling it out, noticing I was getting text messages as the river rushed around me. I handed it to him as he floated past. Priorities.

Thankfully there were some experienced kayakers just ahead of us. They noticed me standing there, chest deep, Greg trying to stay even with me. They paddled up the river, talking me through how to get myself back on track. They crowded me into a calm spot. The bearded guy, the one who looked like one of my former students, held my paddle, sidled his kayak up to mine and held it steady.

“Go ahead,” he said encouragingly.

“This isn’t going to be pretty,” I said to him, laughing but embarrassed. Putting my pride aside, I plopped my body back into the kayak.

Thoughts of joining an adult rowing team were dashed as he gave me the most rudimentary lessons in kayaking — things I already knew, but he felt like he needed to tell me: how to hold the paddle, how far to dip them in, how to turn. That’s how ridiculous I looked to him.

The group of men let us go ahead of them; they with their life-jackets stowed near their feet, playing a game of catch, their ease on the river a mockery of my mishap. We said our thanks and continued on our way.

A mile later, not yet dry, I tipped again. Same situation. Trees dipping reaching towards the river snagged me. It was as if I were a magnet for these dense, cataclysmic branches. This time, I knew what to do. I flipped the kayak back over and shoved it to the small beach I’d been trying to avoid. Once again, of course, I had an audience.

Thank goodness for the kindness of strangers. I hurried to get back into the kayak, glancing up river. I did not want to be wading in the water when my rescuers from earlier came around the bend.

We made it the final two miles without much fanfare. I managed to avoid any more trees, only getting caught and stuck once. I had given up my dream of an adult rowing team by mile seven, right around the time I got beached up against a snarl of tree branches and had to push myself off twice. At mile eight, I paddled my kayak into the small bank and barely dragged it up to the grassy area.

It was a good day. Inspiring & invigorating. Humbling.

I'm not a Karen; I'm an Angela

2021-03-27T20:40:00.002-07:00

We're sitting by the pool tonight and suddenly a group of five 20-somethings shows up. They're in full Spring Break mode, even if we are at a pool that is mostly populated by families with kids 15 and under. The first boy (man? man-child?) loudly proclaims, "Watch this," and does a front flip into the pool. In the shallow end. Three feet. His friends cheer and the next two boys do the same.

Greg and I sit in our chairs watching, shaking our heads. I glance at our own boys in the pool. They're grinning ear to ear, loving every minute of it.

Justin, our youngest and most-likely-to-dress-as-Jim-Belushi shouts, "Do a black flip!" And the boy-man does. a. back. flip in 3-feet of water. He jumps up and as his friends admonish him, he says, "The kid wanted a back flip."

You can imagine Justin's reaction. I shook my head and told Justin to stay out of it.

For the next half hour, the Spring Breakers flip into the pool, tossing the two girls in the group on their shoulders and playing chicken. I sat in my chair and cringed at how close they were to the edge, my shoulders raising in anticipation, looking around for Someone In Charge.

Finally at 9, when the pool was supposed to close but showed no sign of closing, my family gathered our trash and pizza boxes and goggles. It was time to head back to our condo. As I passed by a few of the Spring Breakers, I couldn't stop myself. I leaned down and said, "I'm your mom's voice reminding you to be careful tonight. Have fun, but be careful."

The kids looked up, mid-flirt, disoriented by alcohol and hormones. They smiled, not hearing me, not really.

My own kids were mortified. With a capital-M.

"Moooooooom," they whispered. "You are such a Karen."

"I am not," I told them. "I'm an Angela. I can't stop myself. When you are a 20-something and doing dumb stuff I hope someone tells you the same. That your mom is always there."

They rolled their eyes. Because that's what they do to me now. I remember doing the same to my own mother, but it doesn't make it any less annoying on this end of things. What's the kid-version of a Karen? That's what I want to call my kids, doing the time-worn dance of the young, acting like they're the first to ever feel mortified.

In the meantime, though, I'll keep watching out for the young adults who aren't quite done being kids. Everyone needs an Angela.

Kids Cooking

2021-03-19T18:53:00.003-07:00

About six weeks ago, I realized that Jacob needed a goal. He's doing remote schooling and it got really hard after winter break. He needed to feel good at something. And based on the way he was doctoring the pierogies he was making for lunch, he had some innate talent around cooking. Those pierogies were banging.

First, I did what I always do: I texted my mom and sisters. Then I started looking for kids cooking classes. Due to the pandemic, though, everything is shut down for the time-being. Uncle Matt to the rescue! My brother-in-law is the best cook any of us have met. He makes burgers that rival anything you'd pay for in a restaurant. Our mom requests his ribs. Even his grilled cheese is elevated (he uses garlic powder).

I encouraged Jacob to reach out to his uncle for dinner ideas. And they delivered. They sent Jacob a recipe for hamburger egg rolls and he did such an amazing job making them. They were perfection. And the best part was that he did not ask for my help once. It was so cool to see how excited he was to plate the food and watch our reactions. He did a thing that I notice people who love to cook do: with each bite he took, he would mention an improvement he'll make next time, but also would say something about what he liked.

His confidence soared.

And because the other two saw how delicious and cool it was, they wanted to cook too. So the following Tuesday, Emma made tiktok pasta. It was wonderful! And then Justin, courtesy of Uncle Matt, made fish tacos (with fish sticks...right up our alley). They were so happy to be contributing and proud of their efforts.

I'm noticing too that the kids are so much more willing to try new things when their sibling makes it. Who knew??? Uncle Matt, apparently.

I also ordered a new cookbook, in the hopes of us all being inspired and getting new ideas. Lo and behold, the cheeseburger egg roll recipe is in there, so that bodes well for our family's taste!

Moving forward, I think we'll do Tuesday nights as a Kids-Make-Dinner night. I can see it building their confidence, making them feel like they're really contributing to the family in a meaningful way. And giving me one night when I don't have to hear "Chicken? Again?"

Big Kid Mom

2021-03-13T18:07:00.003-08:00

Things are starting to feel normal-ish. Tonight felt super normal.

Justin, who is 11, had his neighborhood buddy show up around 2:30 today. I was grateful as I was hoping for a relatively screen-free weekend. The boys were jumping on the trampoline and playing with the dog.

I looked out the window an hour later and there were two more neighbor boys jumping, laughing, horsing around. I couldn't stop smiling

I left for a bit to pick the twins up from a youth group event. When I got home nearly an hour later, there was yet ANOTHER friend out back. Now there were five kids jumping and laughing. My heart was singing!

Every Wednesday Justin has been attending "Adventure Crew" after-school. Part of this experience has been learning how to start a fire, a skill which Justin has perfected. So tonight Justin and another friend started a fire in our fire pit. They tended to it, figuring out where to place the fire wood. Justin taught a third friend how to strike a match.

I loved every minute.

Having big kids is amazing. Watching them grow into these little people, with thoughts and talents and feelings that have nothing to do with me is both humbling and inspiring. I just love it.

The kids kept the fire going long enough to make s'mores. They begged to jump on the trampoline in the dark. They got trampoline lights for Christmas and they've been waiting and waiting to use them.

I listened to them gossip about school friends, talk about baseball, and strategize what foods to eat next. I listened to them laugh and tease and call each other by nicknames I didn't even know they had.

I'm so grateful to be in this moment, to be a mom of big kids.

Goodnight kisses

2021-03-11T18:58:00.003-08:00

I feel like I've been waiting for this moment, the moment when my kids put themselves to bed. But then, it happened. And I was not prepared.

Last night my 13-year-old Jacob texted me "Gnight."

He's been pulling away little by little. And I know it's normal. But damn, it hurts, doesn't it?

The twins' bedtime, at nearly 14, has been creeping later and later. For years, I tucked them in. I gave them kisses, rubbed their backs, said their prayers. In the last year or so, they now come downstairs and give me a kiss on the cheek when they're ready for bed.

In the last few weeks, I send a text reminding them that it's bedtime. And last night. Oh, last night. I received this text from Jacob in response to my usual "bedtime" text.

I'm going to be very honest. I've been dreaming of this moment.

And once it arrived, I wanted to take it all back. Wasn't he just in kindergarten?

Here's what makes my heart happy, though. A few minutes later, I got this text:

And, so, as my sweet babies pull away from me in the most natural way, I'm going to hold on to the emoji kisses. Because who knows, that might be the last time I get one of those!

Sunshine Moments

2021-03-10T18:55:00.002-08:00

Today we had a fire drill. I happened to be visiting a kindergarten classroom at the time, and as the kids lined up, I noticed one little girl plugging her ears, her face starting to crumple.

"Would you like to hold my hand?" I asked her. She nodded and slid her palm into mine. As we filed out to the sidewalk in front of the building, she held my hand the whole time. I didn't know this kiddo, but I was so grateful to offer her a little bit of comfort.

Before I knew it, my other hand was full too. Not wanting to be left out, another kindergartner had sidled up to me. For the next ten minutes, one girl talked my ear off while the other one stood quietly, never letting go.

And then the fire drill was over and once back in the classroom, my two new friends headed back to their seats.

This sweet moment today reminded me that it's been a long time since I've held a kindergartner's hand, probably five years since Justin was that age. And somehow, that kind of casual contact felt more bittersweet in light of the year we've had.

I'm grateful for that moment of sunshine.

Karma While Shopping

2021-03-08T17:16:00.002-08:00

It's part of my family lore that when I was a kid, I was insufferable to shop with. My mom hates shopping any way, and she really hated shopping with me. She even asked my aunt to take me shopping for my First Communion dress. I had lots of opinions about what I liked and what was unacceptable.

I did not have good fashion sense either. I prided myself on pairing the most incongruous items together. My gray polka-dot pants only looked good when paired with my hot pink newsprint shirt.

I was not only particular about styles and colors, but I also wanted the most expensive clothing items. This was the era of Espirit and Guess jeans and Coca-Cola shirts, all which were far outside my parent's budget.

So yesterday when I took Emma shopping, I could feel karma laughing in my ear. We had three missions:

1. soccer shorts

2. bathing suit for our upcoming Spring Break trip

3. shorts for the same trip

Well, we found soccer shorts. I spent $30 on soccer shorts. Don't tell my mother; she'd shake her head in disbelief. Now that Emma is almost 14, she doesn't want to come out and say it, but those cheap shorts I grabbed at Walmart for years aren't quite cutting it. And because I'm a sucker, and I remember what it felt like to crave the just-right-name-brand, I caved and bought the $30 Nike shorts. I still can't believe it.

Then we headed to Target for bathing suits. Hold me, Lord.

I held up a cute, modest green bikini top with a little stitched pattern. She wrinkled her nose, saying, "Mmmm, I don't love that pattern." There was no pattern, but mkay.

"What about this one?" I asked, holding up a black and white striped top. She scrunched her face. "That's too stripey." Oooookay.

"Sorry, Mom."

And here she got me. I don't want her to be sorry for expressing her opinion. In fact, we've both learned our lesson after I've bought items of clothing she didn't really want, only for them to sit in her dresser. I've told her no more. She gets to have a say in what she wears but has to be honest. And I want to raise her to stand strong in her opinion, to know what she believes, especially about her own body.

And so we kept searching. The white top with lots of geometric patterns was "too bright." The solid black top was "too plain." The pink top was "too low" (thank God).

So the search continues for a bathing suit. Don't even ask me about the shorts.

Once we got home I sent my mom an apology text.

And just for fun, here she is yesterday doing an impression of a "Facebook Mom," whatever that means.

Listening Fatigue: So Many Words

2021-03-06T19:35:00.007-08:00

I drove the kids up to visit my sister today. Two hours. On the way up, we all had our ear buds or headphones in. I felt bad that we weren't more connected. I remember when I was a kid and we all had to listen to the same radio station on long car trips. Should I be engaging my kids in conversation? A rousing round of the initial game?

I continued listening to the latest Lovett or Leave It episode and ignored my kids. And on the way back home this afternoon I was reminded to soak up those chances.

Because you know what? My kids have so many words. On the way home, they talked to me. A lot.

"How much longer do we have," my 13-year-old daughter asked. We were about 45 minutes into the 2 hour drive.

"We'll be home by 7." Translation: do the math.

Ten minutes later: "Hey mom, how much longer?" the 11-year-old.

Ten minutes later? You already know. The 13-year-old boy, the one in the way back, chimed in.

That's the thing about having three kids. They might each ask a question once every 30 minutes or so...but that means you're fielding a lot of freaking questions.

Once we arrived home, I walked in the door, the kids continuing to pelt me with questions. Can we have a free dinner? What time do I have to go to bed? Are we going to church?

I looked at Greg. 😳 That emoji was created for the exact face I was making as we walked in. And for the next hour, each child rotated through the kitchen while Greg and I tried to have a conversation. Interrupting, asking questions, telling a story.

I am exhausted, my friends. These little people have so many words. They have so many thoughts and wonderings and proclamations and complaints and they want to make sure I know most of them.

Even now, at 10:29 pm, my daughter is currently talking to me while I type this blog. She's telling me about a chat room and a virtual game and some wigs they were all wearing. I just don't even know anymore.

Listen, I'm trying to remind myself to listen. I know that how I listen now sets the tone for later. I know that what seems unimportant to me now feels very important to them. And so I want them to keep talking about important things.

But I have listening fatigue. And so I will continue to refine my interested nod, my perfectly timed "ah! really?" and remind myself to actually listen every so often.

Meanwhile, when you see me in the world, if my ears are bleeding, you'll know why.

Another Justin story

2021-03-04T17:03:00.005-08:00

So you already know that Justin, my 11-year-old, is funny and a deep thinker. He's also very into video games. And since he's the youngest he just might get a little more ... freedom than the older two did when they were his age. I'm tired. Don't judge me.

When I saw this tweet the other day, it really resonated. It's hard to know how to parent our children through this digital landscape, one we are so unfamiliar with.

It reminded me of something that happened earlier this week. Justin was in the basement playing video games. He came upstairs crying (it is not unusual for Justin to cry in a day). Sighing heavily, I asked him what was wrong. "Well, I'm probably kicked off the x-box now. We'll have to delete my account."

He went on to tell me that while playing X-box live, he beat a competitor in a game. Allegedly, that person started trash talking Justin, calling him "the p-word, the s-word, the b-word." According to Justin's version, that was all of it. He logged off and came upstairs.

But that mom intuition told me there was something more going on.

About an hour later, Greg got an email from Xbox. Justin had indeed been suspended for 48 hours. As we dug deeper, we were able to see that Justin had a little more interaction with the person than he initially reported. According to Greg's research, Justin had written "What do you want, you little bich."

We were properly horrified. We cooked up consequences and let's just say, the kid was lucky he was fast asleep.

Still, though, we couldn't help but chuckle in his misspelling of a curse word. Somehow, we were comforted by this. He was still had enough little boy in him that he spelled a simple bad word incorrectly.

The next day I was ready to have a stern talking to with Justin. I picked him up from his after school activity. "Justin, we need to talk about this X-box thing." His cheeks flushed. "So Dad was able to see that you were a little guiltier than you told me last night."

I could feel his heat start to rise. "What do you mean," he asked.

"Bud. You wrote, 'what do you want, you little bitch," I explained.

I was ready for denials, apologies, tears, anything. Except for his actual response.

"I didn't include the 't'!" he cried indignantly.

Turns out, this not-so-innocent-after-all kid had intentionally left the letter T out in order to try to evade the censors. After I recovered from the surprised laughter that was threatening to bubble up, we had a conversation about how intent is more important than spelling. It's a lesson I truly couldn't have anticipated. We also talked about bad choices and how even though he was provoked, he shouldn't have used that bad language. We talked about our family expectations and that in our house, we don't talk like that (at least not to strangers). I reminded him too that he should never write anything that he'd be embarrassed to explain to his Grammie.

Which brings me back to the tweet. These conversations around social media are so important. In the last month I've seen several instances of "great" kids doing not so great things on social media. Rather than banning it, though, I think we have to talk to our kids.

We have to teach them how to be safe, just as our own parents taught us how to be safe when we first started riding our bikes across town. And then, when they break those boundaries, we punish accordingly. If I rode too far, my mom didn't throw my bike away. She grounded me for a short period of time and made me earn her trust back, and she lectured me like crazy.

So that's where we are now. Earning trust back in small steps. But listen, bich, you best believe I'll be doing a lot more monitoring of his chats from here on out.

I Miss Hugs

2021-03-03T17:50:00.007-08:00

I'm a touchy person. I wouldn't have defined myself that way a year ago, but in the absence of casual touch, I realize that physical touch might actually be one of my love languages.

I have a friend Colleen who is the best hugger I know. It's not just me that thinks so; you can ask anyone who knows her. She is a tiny person, but when she wraps her arms around you, you feel enveloped and safe. I think it's intuition for Colleen, but there's research that supports these kind of full-body hugs (The Power of Hugs).

It's not just hugs either. I realize that I give my friend's pats on the backs kind of a lot. I reach out and put my hand on someone's arm to show them I'm listening. It has been in the absence of these gestures that I realized how often I do them.

Yesterday I saw one of my very best friends at Kroger. Katie and I have had a few socially distanced get togethers at the parking lot of the middle school throughout quarantine, backing our vans up trunk to trunk. In January, Katie and another close friend came over and we drank hot chocolate on my front porch while spaced out, soaking up the sun and huddled under blankets. Their company was a balm, almost as good as a hug.

I remember running into Katie at the same Kroger a year ago. She was already wearing a mask, and I was in that in between phase of being cautious but not wearing one yet. It was the first time I remember hesitating and then not hugging someone.

Yesterday though, felt different. Maybe it's because I'm half-way vaccinated. Maybe it's because we were both masked. Maybe it's because Katie's parents are vaccinated, and everything just feels a little more hopeful. So when Katie said, "Can I hug you?" I didn't hesitate.

I've started hugging people again. Not everyone, but a few people, the Katies and Colleens in my life (as long as they're comfortable too, of course. Consent is consent, even between two middle-ish aged women). It feels good to connect with people in small ways.

I'm not sure we'll feel normal for a long time, but it's nice to have moments that remind us of what normal was like, of what we're all striving back towards. I hope you're all (safely) finding small moments of normal too.

I Could Not Care Less About My Side Part

2021-03-02T05:00:00.002-08:00

You know what's weird?

That anyone our age gives a shit about what younger people think of us.

The thought that my grandmother would have ever cared what my mom thought about her sensible shoes and her weekly trips to the beauty shop is laughable. She was busy raising her kids, making ham loaf, and being a boss.

And my mom? When I was 20, she was 40, and she couldn't have given two figs what I thought about her. The idea that I could have somehow teased her about her clothes, or her hair cut, or the way she reacted to things, and that she'd actually care is, honestly, not something I'm capable of imagining.

We teased her plenty. She. Just. Didn't. Care.

She didn't even contemplate caring. She was too busy working hard, ignoring us so she could read her book, and cultivating her own interests through church and volunteering.

So, ladies, a bunch of 20 (or 30?) year-olds are making fun of us for our side parts? Who cares. I rock my side part proudly. My 13-year-old daughter told me I should part my hair in the middle. To prove her wrong, I did it. She quickly agreed that my side part is where it's at.

And the use of 😂? I own it. It's my number one most used emoji. It captures so many feelings. I can't be bothered with emoji nuance. I've got gifs to overuse and memes to screenshot.

Also? I just got used to skinny jeans. I will be wearing them for a while. Mainly because I gave away all my boot cut jeans (and, if I'm being honest with myself, I long ago "outgrew" them). I like to imagine that some high school kids are searching through the stacks at the Goodwill and discovering my boot cut jeans, rocking them the same way my sister used to rock the bell bottoms she discovered at Salvation Army.

Part of being a young person is approaching the world with scorn. Then being ignored. That means that we, now the older generation, have a DUTY to ignore the scorn. It is not for us. We are too old to feel sensitive or judged or defensive. Let them make fun. They have the arrogance of those with perky boobs. They'll get theirs.

If you're like me, you might feel a little weird realizing that we're slipping into this next category of society. I turned 44 this year and, just as with every stage of life so far, I don't feel as old as I thought I would. I notice, though, that the world is starting to see me differently. When someone addresses me as m'am, I look around first. I routinely mortify my kids because I'm too friendly, or I laugh too loud, or I'm just so...me.

I remind myself that I felt the same way when I was their age. Part of what helped me get through that phase was that I felt like nobody older actually cared what I thought. It was humbling. I thought I knew everything. Living in that gray space was a pivotal part of my maturation.

And so here we are, my friends. We actually do know a lot of things. Instead of worry about what younger folks think, let's focus on cracking each other up, comparing notes about fashion with each other. Let's ignore the "advice" from the young ones. It's not for us to listen to them.

Let's instead focus our energy on leaning into our wisdom, in growing our circles of support, and paving the way for the strong women coming up behind us by modeling for them what it looks like to be self-assured so that when the tables inevitably turn on them, they'll know how to act.

Deep Thinker

2021-02-01T06:32:00.000-08:00

My youngest child Justin is a goofball. At 11, he lives to make others laugh and loves to laugh himself. He has tons of buddies, plays lots of sports, and he loves school.

Bedtime can bring out a different side of Justin. Every few months, Justin will trot down the stairs and come to me in the living room. Tonight was one of those nights.

He usually wears a sheepish but tearful grin, along with his sleep shirt and shorts, a reminder that he's still a little boy.

"Mom, I'm having those scary thoughts again," he says. Before you start to imagine monsters under the bed, or ghosts in the closet, let me capture a bit of the conversation.

"I was thinking about being immortal and how that wouldn't be great, but then I was thinking that if we go to heaven when we die, then we're there for forever, and doesn't that get boring?"

Cue the tears. This joyful, silly jokester has BIG thoughts. Thoughts that take my own breath away, and frankly, are thoughts that keep adults up at night too.

We talk about faith, and how heaven is probably great because you're so happy.

"Yeah, but you don't know that, do you? Because nobody really knows. Like, we've never talked to someone who died."

True.

"Also Mom, if the universe is a loop, what's outside the loop?" He looks at me with big eyes, hoping for assurance.

As I consider how to answer, he jumps in with, "Okay, but also, Mom, you know how people say the universe goes on forever? How does anyone know that if it hasn't all been explored?"

"Umm, bud, these are big thoughts. These are things philosophers talk about. Why don't you think about baseball instead?" A philosopher, I am not.

Listen, don't even get Justin going about black holes. I'm not sure there's anything more terrifying to him than the concept of a black hole. He knows just enough to be scared (which is more than I know).

So I let him talk a bit, then reassure him that he's safe and loved. I distract him with thinking about baseball or vacation or the dog. I rub his back a bit and kiss his forehead (the only part of his face I'm allowed to kiss anymore).

And then as I go to bed, I try not to think about black holes and heaven and the universe. Because Justin is right. That shit is scary!

SOL20 D27 Five Friday Reflections On the Week

2020-03-27T20:35:00.001-07:00

My dear friend Bri has started writing again and the text she sent me this morning inspired me. I love the way Bri is structuring her writing during this time, and so I'm standing on her shoulders for today's post. Thanks, Bri!

Things That Made Me Smile
Greg reffing driveway basketball games. The sun on our faces. Walks in the neighborhood, seeing people on porches. Sitting on my porch, watching kids walk by with their parents. The little girl who wouldn't say hi, but blew me a kiss. Hostas I planted last year poking up through the mulch - I'd forgotten all about them. Video chatting with my sisters, my neighbor, my colleagues. Picking up a hobby: I decided to try cross-stitch and ordered myself a kid last week. Turns out I ordered an embroidery kit, and I'm really loving it. The game Psych, an app that allows you to play with people all over. We played several times this week, and I got such a kick out of the haikus my family wrote about me -- I feel so seen (and yes, that is a picture of my 8th grade self).

Things That Made Me Lose My Shit
Greg hardly ever gets on my nerves, but on Sunday when he decided to test out the video chatting with his students WHILE I was video chatting with my sisters, I thought I might make him move to the back porch. Let's just say, this upcoming week is going to be a challenge on both the wi-fi capabilities and our teamwork. And just all the talking. There's so much talking all the time. The last time I spent this much time with the kids at home, they still took a 3-hour nap in the afternoon. They don't want to do that anymore.

Things I'm Grieving This Week
Missing spring break and the traditions we've built going to Florida the last several years. Missing my niece's first birthday (thank God for Zoom). Knowing that Emma and Jacob will be celebrating their 13th birthday without any real fanfare. Normalcy and routine. Confidence in the "system." When I talk to people in healthcare, I get scared. Haircuts - all the boys in this house are in desperate need.

Thing I'm Celebrating This Week
A week where I think we created some great memories. Finding a new normal and routine. Embracing a slower pace. Getting back on my bike and doing a few peloton workouts this week (I want to do more!). Eating meals together - lunch AND dinner!

Gratitude
I have so much gratitude for people who protect us - anyone who works in healthcare, all the people at the grocery store, the people who are keeping things familiar. And they do it knowing that they might become exposed to the virus. I'm in awe of these people. I'm thankful for hugs from Justin; every time he sees me, he leans over to give me a hug. I'm so grateful for technology that allows us to feel a little less isolated, a little more productive, and to continue working. And books! I'm always grateful for books. I'm reading three books right now - Untamed by Glennon Doyle (another thanks to Bri!), Stamped by Ibram Kendi and Jason Reynolds, and Nothing to See Here by Kevin Wilson. Oh, and Dewey's Edgar Allan Poe pizza.

#SOL20 D24 Having Three Kids While Sheltering-in-Place

2020-03-24T19:49:00.002-07:00

It's funny that time has slipped so quickly since the last time I wrote. Five days.

I've been proud of the kids in these last few days. They're finding things to do. They're spending too much time on screens, but they're also building marble runs and finishing room re-dos (Emma's ready for her reveal tomorrow!). They're shooting hoops and laughing and bonding. They'll remember this time together for the rest of their lives.

The boys have slept in the same room every night since this has started. No matter how hard they fight during the day, they want to bunk together. First, Jacob made a nest bed (our family name for a floor bed) up until yesterday. Now, because Greg's working on painting Justin's room, the boys have moved to Jacob's room.

Justin's room is long overdue for a remake; he had a peeling wallpaper mural that had been there when we moved in (10 years ago!). Justin really wants to paint his room orange...I've talked him into a light gray with one small wall (his closet) painted blue.

Emma and I went for a drive today. We cruised around, looking at closed businesses, watching people out for walks. We talked and laughed. We listened to music, she told me stories about her friends.

Today Emma and Jacob started wrestling. They're nearly 13, and as Emma dropped on top of Jacob, trapping him underneath her, I was thrown back 10 years when they used to wrestle in exactly the same way.

The three of them are having a hard time figuring out how to wrestle together. Justin ends up watching them wrestle. Or Emma ends up watching the boys go at it. It can be hard to have three. But mostly, I'm so grateful for them.

#SOL20 D20 The second time we called the fire station

2020-03-20T19:34:00.003-07:00

It was about three months after the first time (see Thursday's post if you're not sure). Now the twins were three and so, so busy. It was lunch time and Justin was eating all the time. I could barely keep up.

This day it was chicken nuggets. I don't even remember now how exactly it happened, but before I knew it, there was a chicken nugget on fire in the oven. On fire. In the oven.

Well, I panicked. I had three under three in my house. I wasn't sure what to do. Did I open the oven and risk spreading the flames (that was a thing, right?), or did I pull out the extinguisher and hope it didn't spread?

So I grabbed the cordless phone (I loved that phone! I miss it!) and we ran out onto the porch. I called 911 this time.

"So, I just have a really small fire in my oven," I tried to keep my voice calm. After reciting my address and name, I went on to say, "Can you not send a bunch of fire trucks? I really don't think it's that big of a deal."

Well, that is not how it works.

So, three fire engines raced to our door in record time (Jacob and Emma were delighted). They marched into the house, and by the time they got there the chicken nugget that had been burning had turned into...

a black, charred rock. No longer on fire. But it had filled the kitchen with smoke. They still had to spray the oven, just to be sure, I guess.

They were so kind. I was so mortified.

SOL20 D18 That time we called the firestation

2020-03-18T19:10:00.002-07:00

We've been telling lots of stories lately. Yesterday, we sat on the front porch and the kids and I reminisced about their early days, the days when I didn't work and we spent a lot of time together. The days that feel a lot like now (except I'm still working, just remotely now).

They remember so much, but in a funny way, through the lens of childhood. They started talking about, "Mom, remember when you had to call the fire station?"

We had just moved to the new house. Justin was a brand new baby. It was early spring and I came downstairs to get ready for the day. Greg left the house early and as I walked into the kitchen, I could feel a breeze. I stepped into the back room and saw that the sliding glass door in the back room was open.

I freaked out.

I gathered the kids (2 year old twins and a brand new baby) and headed to my new neighbor's house. I called the non-emergency line: "I think someone's been in our house." The officers were so kind. They met me at my front door. The kids stayed with the neighbors.

The officers went through our home. They checked the basement. The attic. The looked at the door jamb. "M'am, nothing appears to be missing. Your laptop is here. I think you're okay. Are you sure there's no way someone from the inside left the door open?" I shook my head. "Maybe one of the kids?" I assured them that my kids were only two and they didn't even know how to open that door.

They left. It was a mystery. I felt a little better.

Later that day, 2-year-old Jacob toddled into the back room. He walked right over to the sliding door, reached his little hand up, unlocked the door, and walked out to the back porch.

Mystery solved.