Desperately Seeking Erin

Macros, Y'all

2018-09-07T19:11:00.002-04:00

I've been on the weight loss train for a while now. It started a few years ago when I took stock and realized that left unchecked I'd be a complete weeble-wobble by the time I turned 40. I found some cute shoes at a Nike outlet and decided I'd use the summer to focus on taking walks. After all, the kids were older and my husband was home more since finishing his master's degree, so why not. Between the walks and the garden we kept, I made a tiny dent in my weight; but then major changes at work derailed that quickly, and I was soon back on the struggle bus.

A few months later a friend invited me to join her at a Crossfit class. I am more of a mani/pedi girl myself, so I have no idea what possessed me to not only say yes but actually show up. We started going as regularly as our crazy lives allowed, and while I was definitely enjoying the body changes and sense of superiority that come with working out, overall health changes were incremental. After a few solid months of morning workouts a few times a week, a change in work schedule necessitated a change in gym (or box, as we Crossfit nerds call it). This was a good excuse for me to renew my commitment. Other than the few weeks here and there where exams or life just wouldn't allow it, I've gone two or three (mostly three) times a week for the better part of a year. I've set lifting records for myself, seen muscles develop I didn't know I had, and I can run a 400m without slowing down (I couldn't even do a 200m without walking when I first started!). I told myself that I would have to be satisfied with that progress since the scale just seemed determined not to budge.

I take my measurements every week, as that's a good way to see progress even when the scale lies. After taking my measurements last week, I went back and compared those numbers to the same week in January. 9 months of work, progress, and accountability. Turns out, legs didn't change at all (not really surprised), and arms in fact got bigger (hey hey gun show!) but I had some big losses in my neck (-1.5 inches), waist (-4 inches), and hips (-3 inches, and that's with going from flat booty to bitty booty). So while the pounds were hanging on for dear life, there were definitely changes happening. I couldn't wait to get to the box and tell my coach.

When I shared my results, he asked me the first thing most people do: what have you been eating? Um, well....here's the thing. I've definitely made some important changes: James and I try to avoid eating out now, whereas it was probably at least once a day before; we try to limit sodas to 1 or 2 a day, but aren't always successful; we drink a lot more water; we use salads as sides at dinner instead of rice or mashed potatoes and bread with every meal. But that being said, I also know that abs are made in the kitchen, not the gym. Meaning that, while exercise is absolutely important because of the physical and mental health benefits it provides, one does not get thin on exercise alone. What's that saying? "You can't exercise yourself out of a bad diet?" Every time I flexed my big old biceps and knew there was muscle just waiting to show underneath that fat, I knew that if I really wanted it I'd need to level up and get the diet in gear. Coach and I talked about my goals, and he immediately started doing the math to work up a macros plan for me.

Now we know all the names of all the diets there are to choose from. I did WW about 10 (?!) years ago and had some success. And while we all know that losing weight means eating less calories, all these diets seem to have different rules and purposes. For instance, when I did WW I was given a budget of points to use which presumably amounts to good old fashioned calorie counting, right? But it was up to me to use that budget however I wanted. I could eat my weight's worth in oranges or I could blow all my points on pizza or I could shave points off of everyday so that I had extra I could go nuts with on the weekend. When that low carb thing first started going, people were eating bacon and cheeseburgers to their heart's content--but leave off that wretched bun! Now there's paleo and keto and whole 30 and you name it. So why would I follow a macros plan?

Well first, I want to focus on eating good food. I can restrict calories, but that's not going to necessarily get me to eat the right things. We all have our weaknesses--mine happens to be carbs. I love all things bread and flour and white and sticky. And in the real world, Mama ain't getting abs on a high-carb diet. I've got to think differently and start considering my diet from a holistic approach--not just what tastes good and keeps me under calories, but what makes my body run and what gives me results. So if carbs are my weakness, why not cut out carbs? Well again, I want to be holistic and learn more about the fuel my body needs to run. Counting macros isn't necessarily low carb, depending on what your goals are. In my instance, it could be considered low carb, but depending on my progress or activity levels that could always change. Macros makes sense to me, because it's sort of a version of the food pyramid we never learned in school. It's learning about how your body works and what you need to feed it, and then dialing in to how you feel so you can tweak as needed.

There is math involved. But the good news is I was able to do the math, so you know it's not that hard.

Now, tracking macros (that's short for macronutrients) can be as easy or hard as you like. You're looking at grams and calories, so some folks like to weigh their food to make sure they're using the right number of grams. As for me, I'm lazy. I just updated my fitness app to show my updated macros targets and let the app do the rest. I figure there's just as much room for error between the app getting stuff wrong and me not weighing something correctly, so....

Alright, still with me? Want to see how Coach got my plan together?

As I said, macros is short for macronutrients. Macronutrients refers to:

Protein
Fat
Carbohydrates

Thinking back to that food pyramid you learned about in school, it's essentially the same idea--these are the things you need to eat to make your body go. For every gram of, say, protein you eat, there's a correlation to how many calories that is. Macros plans look at how many grams you should be eating from each of the three groups (and thus how many calories you are getting from them). This is why I think it's preferable to just counting calories--if left to my own devices, 100% of my calories are coming from white bread and Ritz crackers. This way, I'm using my calorie budget wisely by getting enough of all three macronutrient groups.

So that math I was telling you about? Let's do some!

Let's say you weigh 200 lbs. For every pound, you need 12 calories a day to maintain current weight.

200lbs x 12 calories = 2400. So if you ate 2400 calories a day you would maintain current weight.

(Obviously if you are a professional marathon runner, manual laborer, or something where you're doing a lot of physical activity every day, that number may be different for you).

But we don't want to stay at 200 lbs. And we know the old rule about taking in less calories than you use. So based on our math, we need to take in less than 2400 calories a day if we want to lose weight. That means operating at a deficit. Based on my lifestyle and weight loss goals, Coach gave me a deficit of 400 calories.

2400 calories to maintain - 400 calorie deficit = 2000

So my 200lb friend who wants to lose weight now knows to aim for 2000 calories a day. Now we take those 2000 calories and divide them up among our three groups to get good calories from all around.

First, Protein. Coach says whatever bodyweight is in pounds, that's how many grams of protein we should aim for. So my 200 lb friend should be eating 200 grams of protein a day. But how many calories is that? For every one gram of protein there are four calories. 200 x 4 = 800. So if your'e my 200 lb friend in this example, you should be eating 800 calories per day (or 200 grams per day) in protein.

Next, Fat. Coach says 40% of calories should come from fat. In this example, my 200 lb friend's overall calories were 2000. 40% of 2000 is 800. So they should be eating 800 calories from fat everyday. But how many grams is that? For every 1 gram of fat, there are 9 calories. So 800 calories divided by 9 = 89 (rounded). So our friend should be eating 800 calories per day, or 89 grams per day, in fat.

Last, my good friend Carbohydrates. Since our friend has already used up part of his 2000 calories a day on protein and fat, carbohydrates gets whatever is left. If I take 2000 calories and subtract the 800 we calculated for protein and the 800 we calculated for fat, that leaves our friend with 400 calories to use for carbs (that's less than 4 sodas, y'all). But how many grams is that? For every gram of carb, we get 4 calories. So take our 400 calories and divide by 4, and that tells us our friend needs 100 grams of carbs.

So based on simple math, we've got the following macros plan for our 200 lb friend:

Protein: 200 g / 800 calories
Fat: 89 g / 800 calories
Carbs: 100 g / 400 calories

You can take those numbers and plop them into an app, you can buy a food scale and weigh out grams, you can read labels, or a little bit of everything. And the beauty is that once you get your base numbers figured out, you can tweak them to find out what works best for you. And of course, like with any diet, you are going to have to revisit calorie intake as you lose weight so that you're not eating more than you're using.

I got my macros numbers a few days ago, and I've been trying to stay on track the best I can with the food I have on hand. I'm not noticing any huge changes in energy or anything, but I also haven't murdered anyone so I'm counting that as a win. I'm going to spend tonight and tomorrow brainstorming some ideas of foods to add to my grocery shopping list--especially snacks and protein sources. Looking forward to seeing what a solid week of eating this way does!

Henry's New Puppy

2017-12-20T17:02:00.001-05:00

Henry has wanted a dog since probably the day he came home from the hospital. He has the biggest heart and loves animals, and the idea of a best friend to run around and play with was like magic. Every stray we saw on the street, every house we visited with a puppy there, his little heart would fill up all the way to the top and then spill over.

We didn't do a lot to encourage him. After all, we are busy and we already have a cat and yes Henry you may think you want a dog but what about when they poop in your floor or you would rather play video games or they eat all your shoes? We waited for him to lose interest and just thanked God he wasn't asking for a baby brother.

But he didn't lose interest. When it came time to write out Christmas wish lists, it basically consisted of one thing: bring me a dog. Just a dog. Any dog, really. I want a dog.

So for the past several months, James and I have discussed. I have a new work schedule that allows me to be at home much more. The house is being remodeled which not only means we will soon have almost twice the space, but it also means right now is as good a time as any for my floors to be subjected to house-training. And as Brooks moves all too quickly into his teenage years, Henry is finding that he's spending more and more time without a buddy to play with.

And so, we decided it was time to get a dog.

We scoured ads online and pound puppy listings and filled out rescue applications. We even met with a dog or two, but none were the fit I was looking for. And then, I saw this sweet little face.

It was Wednesday, I didn't have to work that night, and the boys had their last rehearsal at the church for the Christmas play. James and I dropped them off and then headed as fast as we could to meet the lady who posted the ad.

Right away we could tell how sweet she was, but I was still nervous that things wouldn't be a good fit. Would Henry like her? Would she like Henry? But it was pretty obvious once they met.

It's been a week now since we've had Charley. She is smart and playful and follows Henry around like a shadow. We may not have been able to wait until Christmas morning, but I have a feeling it was worth it.

Diversity is Not a Dirty Word

2017-11-21T01:23:00.000-05:00

Today I went to volunteer at my child's school, watching the kids during lunch while the teachers enjoyed a Thanksgiving luncheon in the planning room down the hall. I figured it would be a good idea, not only because I just so happened to be off but also because middle school can be a crazy time and I'm not at all familiar with the school. What better way to get acquainted, right?

Now the school district we live in is old, with kids now sitting in the same classrooms that their dads and grandpas sat before them. And while it's definitely not anything special to look at, people specifically seek out this school district because it is supposedly a great system to be in. They did recently build a big, fancy new school not too far away. But roots run deep around here, and so far there hasn't been much run-off.

As I and the other volunteer parents waited outside the cafeteria, we made small talk. The others are more seasoned volunteers, and one of the dads was talking about finding liquor bottles in the bathroom at high school football games pretty much every time he's on duty. The mom he was talking to responded by sharing a story about a high school football game in another town where the entire student section had to be cleared out because all the students were drunk.

"And this was in a good school," she qualified it.

(I feel like now is a good time to point out what you probably already knew: all of us parents were white.)

Perhaps in an attempt to soften the landing of that "good school" comment still hanging in the air, the dad goes on to tell an anecdote about how his mother used the address of a relative to get him into a school less.....

"Diverse?" another mom offers. She says it with a wink, and we all know what she means.

I don't remember how the rest of the conversation went because I was too busy at that point wondering to myself what should happen next. Should I say something? If I did, what would they think? Was I the only one bothered by what she'd implied?

To be honest, school diversity wasn't something that I'd ever thought much about until a few years ago. I watched from afar as a friend of mine that I'd grown up with passionately advocated for busing to and funding for public schools in her community that were considered so "diverse" that they were in danger. While most of the white parents in the room were running away from diversity, she was running towards it, valuing it as a necessary part of her child's educational experience. I agreed with her on a surface level, and dutifully clicked "like" on her social media post. But it wasn't until a mentor experience at a middle school in the town where I worked at the time that I understood what my friend was talking about.

The school where I was mentoring was a city school in a town that was suffering. Major industries had left town, home ownership was low, and most of the children were black or hispanic and on free or reduced lunch. Middle class white families had once proudly lived in town and sent their children to city school; now they bought houses just outside of city limits and enrolled their kids in county schools. I'll admit that I myself had a preconceived idea of what the school would be like before I walked inside. No one I knew was sending their children there, so it must not be a good school, right? When I walked inside, however, I saw another story. Yes, most of the children were brown and black and came from low-income families. Yes, they wore uniforms. But the school was clean, the halls were empty during class time, the principal was engaged, and the teachers were passionate. That school didn't look very different from the one I had attended growing up.

One day, as I talked to the teacher who was in charge of the mentor program at the school, he mentioned the need to excite the students and motivate them to perform. Benchmark testing, end of grade testing, and other exams didn't matter to the children. He told me about carnivals or parties that had been used as incentives in years past, but there was no money and no organization to put together something like that now. When I told him about how the PTO at my child's school had raised money doing fundraiser nights at local restaurants to supply iPads to each classroom, he stared at me blankly. Parent involvement was minimal at best, and putting something together like that was just not feasible. I began to understand that budget supplied by the state and local governments was only part of the equation.

Of course it was a shame that the parents of the children at this school were not more involved. I loathed a fundraiser as much as the next mom, but everyone can chip in to bring cookies to a class party here and there, right? Well, not if you can't get off work. Or you can't read the flyer sent home because it's in English. Or you aren't in the picture because the kids live with Grandma. And I'm sure we had some kids like that at the elementary school where my kid went. But for every kid whose parents couldn't be involved, there were ten more who were. I know this, because they're so involved that many parents take it for granted and don't feel the need to volunteer. We know that we can sit at home and do nothing, and the ball games will still happen and the iPads will still get purchased and the school supplies will still come in. But what if all the parents were like that? You see, running away from "diversity" ensures that some schools will have all the great, involved parents doing the heavy-lifting while other schools will struggle to keep children engaged and to make ends meet.

Of course, running away from diversity has consequences on the other side as well. A few years back, my son came home from school one day and proclaimed that black people must be liars because the one black kid in his class had lied to him that day. We live on a street with no black people, go to a church with no black people, and live in a town with very few black people, so of course this was an easy (albeit ridiculous) generalization for him to make. Or how about the story of my bi-racial high school friend who had an awful experience in college with a roommate who had never met a black person before and harassed her daily with racial slurs and gross behavior. Looking back on my experience in school, the diversity of the student population was one of the greatest gifts and things I'm most proud of. I learned empathy, I learned friendship, I learned commonality, and I learned respect for differences. A few years after I graduated, they redrew district lines and the 60/40 population I'd known quickly changed. White middle class families were sent elsewhere, low-income minority students were brought in, and before you knew it the reputation of the school in the community--including the once renowned marching band and athletic programs--were in a tailspin. My school is not a "good" school now. Is that the "diversity" that mom was joking about?

The good news is that as I stood in that cafeteria this afternoon, I saw all kinds of faces looking back at me. While children have assigned tables, they do not have assigned seats; white, black, and brown all mingled together without any clear separation (black kids on that side of the table, white kids on this side of the table, etc.). Many years ago, when it was a previous generation sitting in that room, I'm not sure that those faces would have been so varied. There is that fancy new school just down the road that may soon replace us as the "good" school and relegate us to the "diverse" choice. That's fine by me. After all, diversity ensures we take good care of each other.

My Period

2017-10-11T18:54:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was my 34th birthday.

I find birthdays odd. I don’t want to be some sort of birthday princess, but I also don’t want no one to notice. I am grateful for the love and gifts and attention, but mostly it just reminds me of what a socially awkward dork I am. But even more than that, birthdays are weird because it means you’re getting older. It’s borderline ridiculous that I’m 34 years old—but those candles don’t lie.

Now I’m not one of those ladies who is vain about youth and getting older, who is perpetually 29. But I certainly don’t feel like a 34 year old. And I don’t mean that in the same way as your wacky Uncle Bill who says that “growing up is a trap” as he winks and wipes Cheetos dust off his superhero t-shirt. Thanks but I’ll pass, Bill.

What I mean is, am I 34? Me? How is that possible?

When Oprah was 35, she walked across the stage of her world famous tak show wheeling behind her a wagon full of 67 lbs of fat to show off her weight loss from that crazy liquid diet she went on. When Hillary Clinton was 36, she became First Lady of Arkansas. When Marie Curie was 36, she won the Nobel Prize. MLK Jr. was killed when he was 39. Jesus when He was 33. And we all know what Beyoncé is doing.

When my mother was 34, she was the mother of a 14 year old high school freshman who was much more worried about having a boyfriend and being popular than anything else. My mother was steering me towards College with ten white knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel. She’d been through a rough marriage, a divorce, a GED, and building a house, career, and family with her second husband while she worked on her degrees.

And she was Thirty. Four.

Phew!

When I think about the people listed, they are adults. They are grown ups. Sure they may do crazy things time to time, but they aren’t children or even Kardashians. They have their crap together. They are productive members of society. They are Grown Ups.

But me? I feel like I’m not there yet. And as I reflected yesterday a theme started to emerge.

What am I?

A mother?

A wife?

A hard worker?

Someone with something important to say?

Someone who is successful?

A cross fitter?

An achiever?

Do you like me?

Are you impressed?

There is a difference, especially with those humans of the female gender, between children and adults, between being a girl and being a woman. Children ask permission. Women own. I don’t need to ask and have others make it so. I don’t need question marks. I need periods.

I am a woman.

I am a mother.

I am a wife.

I am a student.

I am an athlete.

I am a writer.

I am successful.

I am important.

I am happy.

Yesterday, I finally got my period.

Brooks and the Gin Blossoms

2017-04-09T11:35:00.001-04:00

Brooks gets a new song at his guitar lesson each week. A few weeks ago, he got "Hey Jealousy" by the Gin Blossoms. A classic.

He tells me that he and his guitar teacher were looking up the Gin Blossoms online and saw that they are recording a new album in a nearby town. Brooks has big dreams about recording his own songs. The fact that there was an actual recording studio nearby where a band as big as the Gin Blossoms would be working was super exciting.

Turns out, they were also in concert soon. We decided we should definitely go.

Brooks and I had gone to a concert last Summer. He seemed to enjoy it enough, but that had only been a few hours and he hadn't really talked about it since. This Gin Blossoms concert was actually part of an all-day outdoor concert where (*inner teenage me gasps*) Edwin McCain would also be playing. I was excited about it but not sure if Brooks would make it. He kept bringing it up and I kept hesitating. But Friday night he was insistent that we buy tickets, and roped his brother into going as reinforcement. And so we were off.

It was a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky, with food trucks, inflatable slides, and wine (for me only, of course).

We spent most of our time at the kid's area across the street from the amphitheater. I parked it in the grass and enjoyed the music while the kids ran from bouncy house to bouncy house. I was glad they were having fun, but secretly worried that all that expended energy would hamper my chances of making it to Edwin and the Gin Blossoms, which were the two last acts of the night.

Henry tried his hand at the rock wall, while Brooks found his doppelgänger.

I was proud of them for making friends and being able to entertain themselves. Not once did I hear how bored they were or how they wanted to go home. I even meandered over to the wine cart a few times, and they didn't even miss me.

I was sitting there with my pizza and my wine, watching the kids play, when a golf cart zipped by me rushing Edwin McCain to the stage. It was almost showtime.

I pried the kids away from the playground and had them join me on the grass. The excitement level for me was at an all-time high. The kids however....

We made it through Edwin McCain with some pizza, cotton candy, and other snacks. The sun went down and things got pretty chilly. I hadn't brought jackets for the kids or blankets. I wondered how long we would make it.

The Gin Blossoms came out and began their show. They played some not-so-popular songs (honestly, I'm not enough of a Gin Blossoms expert to know if they were older songs that just weren't big hits, or if they are new songs for that record they're currently working on) with a hit here or there sprinkled in. People started to leave, and one guy shouted "ALLISON ROAD!" The lead singer laughed and reassured him it was on the list. It was pretty much just us, a few folks scattered across the lawn, and some die-hards (i.e. very drunk people) standing up at the front. Henry had long since fallen asleep on my lap. I told Brooks we could go whenever he wanted. He shook his head no.

I made a joke about sneaking through the fence to get a view of backstage. Brooks half-believed me I think, but was too unsure of what would happen if we were caught to actually try. Instead, he decided to go up to the front, as by now the crowd had dissipated enough that we wouldn't get trampled or beer spilled on us. The encore started and he caught the guitarist's eye, presumably because he was by far the youngest fan there. As the last song ended, the lead singer hopped off the stage and walked towards the fence. Brooks held out his arm over the railing, but we were too far down on the end and he didn't see us.

We were all shivering, and Henry was begging to go home. But still Brooks lingered by the gate as the band was whisked away in golf carts. His hopes of meeting the band were dashed, but after seven solid hours, he was still excited to be there. He wrapped his arm around me and laid his head on my shoulder as we started to walk out.

It was a pretty great day.

The First Snow of 2017

2017-01-08T10:31:00.002-05:00

After lots of anticipation all week, the snow finally began to fall Friday evening. By Saturday morning, we had a nice thick blanket--somewhere between 8 and 10 inches I think. And it was still coming down.

They were anxious to get outside in the snow, but suiting up proved quite the ordeal. No proper snow clothes, lots of layers, and 4 1/2 meltdowns later, they were out the door.

Cousin Layla came down to show us how to make snow angels.

Henry just preferred to lay in the snow and contemplate life quietly.

Everyone agreed that throwing snowballs at the others was quite fun...

But didn't think being the one having snowballs thrown at them was nearly as hilarious.

All in all, the kids lasted about an hour and had lots of fun before we all decided to head back inside.

They're calling for temperatures to stay below freezing until mid-week, so looks like this snow will be around for a few more days. I'm just grateful that we've kept our power (knock on wood!). I learned in the ice storm a few years ago that I am not as good as roughing it as I'd like to be.

Did everyone else have fun in the snow?

1st Annual Bennett Gingerbread House Extravaganza

2016-12-11T14:56:00.000-05:00

We have yet to put up a tree. I gave our elf away. And I haven't even thought about Christmas shopping yet. But I suppose James was feeling particularly festive, what with having finally taken down our Halloween zombie that's been in the front yard for about two months. And so, on a whim, he decided we needed gingerbread houses.

And that's how the 1st Annual Bennett Gingerbread House Extravaganza came to be.

Each participant had their own gingerbread house. Henry was very excited to share his gingerbread house with me.

Or perhaps he was just excited about the candy.

James was feeling particularly festive.

We even managed to lure the pre-teen from his cave.

He was actually being very careful to read the directions and do his best to win the competition.

James pulled into the lead, getting his sides to stand up and icing the roof. Everyone else was still struggling to get their structure built.

Build your house in minutes. What a joke!

Henry thinks this is bull. I agree completely. Let's just eat candy already!

Eventually, the individual teams abandoned their projects to watch the master at work.

Who knew he'd be such a savant?

My, my! The attention to detail!

A humble winner.

The finished product. I felt that the artist's work was slightly derivative.

Derivative of Grumpy Cat.

How's everyone else's holiday prep coming?

School Started and Other Things

2016-09-13T00:05:00.002-04:00

Welcome to my obligatory "back to school" post. Am I late?

Duh.

Behold, of Brooks as he exits my car on the first day of school. I had to be super mom ninja with the camera since he tries really hard to not ever have his existence documented these days. Probably because I say things like behold and super mom ninja. Yay for 5th grade attitudes!!!

While brother went to fifth grade, this shorty hung out a little bit longer. Apparently staggered entry is all the rage right now for Kindergartners. I don't remember doing staggered entry myself, which is probably why I have so many problems in life.

He let me pick out his outfit, which I was grateful for. Once in the throes of work-school-chaos, it's every man dresses himself so it was important to me that the teacher know how adorable he's capable of being when I have time.

He kept asking if we were going to brother's school, and I kept trying to explain that it was his school now too. I'm not going to lie, I got a bit mushy thinking about the time five years ago when I was holding him in my arms while walking his brother up the sidewalk to school for the first time. He seemed so little then. He's so little now, and yet so big.

He also enjoys graffiti and wasted no time making his mark.

And he checked out the reading corner. He's still working on that, but seems to be taking it much more seriously now that he's a professional kindergartener.

He also enjoyed exploring the Science center.

And art, of course. Pretty much anything that has the potential of making a huge mess.

After Henry had explored the classroom, we got Brooks and headed home. They both seemed to be relieved it was over.

That Thursday, it was officially Henry's first day. I took this picture of my boys before they left, and then cried all day because when did they get so gigantic or is my door just getting smaller???

On the way, Brooks gave Henry a pep talk and I made him promise be about fifty million times that he would not leave his brother.

Henry told me he did not want me to walk him inside because of course not. And so just like that, my baby hopped out of the car and started school.

And apparently was immediately left to his own devices and Brooks went straight to his class and started doing fifth grader stuff despite all his promises to the contrary. Sigh.

But seriously, my door is smaller, right??

After school, Henry showed off some art work and seemed pleased with everything. That was, of course, before work started happening.

Also, SPORTS. Everywhere, all the time. Brooks is a way-too-awesome-to-not-wear-shades-to-dinner baseball player now, and Henry is trying football.

Baseball starts before I get home from work usually, so I typically go to football while James stays with Brooks at baseball.

I tell you, I'm exhausted. You know logically in your head that when you have two kids that means two of everything. But you really don't understand the crappiness of that until you have two registration fees, two uniforms to buy, two practices to be at (at the same time). I don't know how people with more kids do it.

But then you see their sweet little face, and it's all worth it.

Underpants and Teeth Extractions

2016-08-07T14:19:00.001-04:00

So let me tell you about the time Henry wore his underwear all day.

Henry is like his mama, up all night and sleep all day. Which would be great in the Summer usually, except for that whole Mom-has-to-work-so-you-still-have-to-get-up-early thing. Our normal routine goes something like this:

1) Mom wakes up, showers, does hair and makeup

2) Mom wakes boys

3) While boys get dressed, Mom prepares breakfast

4) Boys eat breakfast while Mom gets dressed

5) Clean up breakfast, last minute bathroom trips, etc. while Mom decides which pair of shoes she wants to wear today

6) Leave! Everyone leave! This is the point of no return!!!

One day a week or so ago, Henry I suppose had partied a bit too hard the night before and just could not get out of bed. This threw #2 and #3 on our list completely out the window, so in order to salvage the morning I called an audible and told Henry that he needed to just take his clothes with him that morning and change later. After all, I was taking them down the driveway to their great-grandma's house so it wasn't a big deal. Once I'd convinced him that yes, it was fine, I promise he won't get arrested, he reluctantly got into the car, shorts and shirt in hand.

Later in the afternoon while I was still at work, I got a text from my husband asking me something along the lines of "What the hell?" When I asked him to elaborate, he explained that when he'd gone to pick Henry up, his grandma had remarked on those "really short shorts" I'd sent him in.

When I got home, I heard all about the cool stuff they'd done that day. Going out to lunch, walking around downtown, visiting a cool new model train store. They had spent pretty much the entire day outside. In public. With Henry looking like this:

Friends, those are not short shorts. That little bugger had spent all day walking around town in his underwear.

I tried to explain to my husband that actually yes I had made sure that Henry did have clothes, although I could not be accountable for what happened once he was dropped off. Then, in a moment of mom genius, I threw my five-year-old under the bus and interrogated him on the whereabouts of the clothing I'd seen him take that morning. He thought the whole thing was hilarious, and did not give two craps about helping his poor mom save face.

In other news, Brooks was scheduled to have two teeth pulled recently to make way for all those permanent teeth we are going to be slapping braces on in the not-too-distant future. Ahead of the appointment, I decided to take the boys to a local diner that I used to go to all the time. A last supper of sorts.

Henry was excited about the ketchup bottles, proclaiming that this place was just like Bob's Burgers! I hope everyone in the diner was as excited about him yelling that as he was.

He also thought that paying to go to a restaurant to order the very same cereal you have at home was pretty awesome. I mean, he did get to pour it himself, so...

Brooks was unimpressed. Hard to say if it was tween attitude, or the dread of upcoming dental procedures, or what. I thought he'd be stoked to tear into some authentic diner brunch cuisine, but his hash browns went largely untouched.

On the way to the dentist, Brooks talked a little about how he'd resigned himself to his fate. This was a bit of a relief, as I was expecting full-blown psychological meltdown. Once we got in, the dentist was very calm and cool, making a lot of small talk and being sure to explain everything. This, of course, only presented more opportunities for expressing excessive amounts of anxiety. I refrained from yelling "Just jab the needle in already!" as I didn't want people to think I was being that mom (you know, the one who shouldn't have custody of her kids).

But in the end, Brooks did no freaking out and only showed appropriate amounts of anxiety considering he's never even had so much as a cavity filled before. He told me on the way out that he realized the more he fought it, the worse it felt; and so he just decided to relax so that things went more smoothly. I told him that was an excellent thing to have realized, and that he should keep that in his back pocket for future use.

Teachable moments, y'all.

After the dentist, I decided it was a smart idea to treat him to a trip to the game store where he promptly picked out a Minecraft video game and then spent another twenty minutes pacing the store to see what else he could con me into buying. Mostly I pretended to be unable to understand him through his gauze. Shhhh, no talking now, sweet baby. Let's get you home.

And yes, this time Henry had pants on.

Fifth Stop: Biltmore

2016-08-03T00:03:00.002-04:00

Our main reason for choosing Asheville as one of the stops on our epic caravan across the state was so that my history buff husband could visit Biltmore. Neither of the boys had been before, and James and I hadn't visited since we were kids.

It was just as beautiful as I remembered. It was also very busy! I wanted the classic shot of the family out in front of the building, but it was hard to get one without a shuttlebus or a random tourist in the background.

The handsome crew, ready to get their tour on.

Since NC afternoons can sometimes be a little dicey weather-wise, we decided to take advantage of the clear skies and cover the gardens first before going inside to tour the house.

This statue makes me think of bedtime. Except she needs pajamas.

Attempting to get cell service?

A view of the backyard

The path to the gardens had a beautiful covered walkway, with fish fountains and benches along the wall.

Henry leads the way to still more gardens

A bee friend!

A view of the house through the trees

Down to the greenhouse, which is only slightly larger than the greenhouse James and I have been talking about putting in our backyard

Don't you just want to sit out here and sip on something?

The boys were given scavenger hunt maps as part of their tickets. Brooks and James both thought they were sort of lame, but Henry got really into it. It was a way for them to look for certain things along the tour, but Henry was convinced that it was a hunt for treasure.

James was a big fan of the hibiscus

Grapes!

Apparently, Henry found the treasure he was looking for

Once we were adequately winded and sweaty, we decided to head inside where we assumed things would be cooler.

We were wrong. Inside was insanely crowded, with people everyone and roped off paths that forced everyone through the halls in a line.

We made our way up to the second level where things were considerably less crowded. This was the living area where the family slept and bathed and spent time together. For a house that big, it seemed almost cozy in some places.

From there we found our way outside onto the beautiful balcony

The breeze felt so good after being packed in the house like sardines. The view wasn't bad either.

Although Brooks wasn't impressed. He was in full tween angst mode by this time.

I still managed to get him to pose for a picture with me. Henry was the photographer, and I managed to find one shot where both of our heads were in the frame.

After we finished at the house, we wound our way up to the farms where Henry made some new friends.

Once we had our fill of goat petting (and convinced Henry that no, we are not taking one home with us) we called it a day. It was a beautiful home but James and I agreed that it's probably much more fun in the off-season (whenever that is). James got to check it off his list of things to see, and the boys had fun--so all in all, not a bad way to spend a day with the family.

Stop Four: Asheville

2016-07-29T22:12:00.001-04:00

Despite it being just up (down?) the road, I have only been to Asheville a few times in my life. Two trips that stick out in my mind:

1) My mother and I headed to Asheville to visit the UNC-Asheville campus in preparation for choosing a college to attend the following year. I remember the town seemed cute enough, with houses dotting the hills as the road we were on wound its way into town. We arrived on campus where I was introduced to a student named "Sunshine" and was told that the Chick Fil A that had just opened on campus had sparked some protests. There were entirely too many stairs and way too much hackey sack, and it took me all of about 20 minutes to decide that Asheville was just not for me.

2) A few years ago I attended a conference for work held at one of the hotels in downtown Asheville. The winding road I remembered had given way to a congested highway with confusing exits and merge ramps, and instead of glimmering skyscrapers the downtown seemed to be filled with older buildings in dull shades. Our team decided to walk to a nearby restaurant to eat, and as we passed by historical buildings and cute little shops I wished James were with me. When I got home I told him how adorable it was and that we should go soon. Being a history buff with a hankering for a Biltmore trip, he readily agreed.

So I should've figured that when I delegated vacation planning to my husband this year, he was going to squeeze in a trip to Asheville. I remembered my first impression of the town from that visit with my mom all those years ago, but you know, hey, we have chickens and stuff! I can be crunchy! It'll be fun, and besides, I bet Sunshine is some corporate schlub by now paying her bills just like the rest of us.

Our first mission once we rolled into town was food. I've heard Asheville has a great local food scene. But I also have kids, and a husband who generally prefers chain restaurants. Once on a trip to Boone, I'd selected a local pizza place that had rave reviews online for dinner; but then we got there and the place was unanimously awful. I didn't want to get burned again. But we were hungry and James put me in charge, so I rolled the dice and picked the closest food I could find: White Duck Taco Company.

It was a risky move: sure, the kids love tacos, but these aren't just any tacos. They've got flavors like Buffalo Chicken and Thai Peanut. I figured my strategy would be to just order for everyone and let them dig in assuming it was normal tacos, and just hope for the best. Unfortunately the restaurant was very small, and so rather than sitting at the table while I ordered, everyone was right beside me. I asked B what he wanted, and without hesitation he pointed to the Thai Peanut with Tropical Salsa. What? Trying new foods willingly? So heck yeah, give that kid some Thai!

He took a few bites but wasn't a fan. Luckily Mama had ordered a steak and cheese taco as back up. I finished off his Thai happily because, hello mango!

I also had the BBQ taco which was out. of. this. world. I typically hate cole slaw, but this taco wouldn't have been complete without it. I topped it off with a glass of peach sangria.

James had the Buffalo Chicken and H had the kids chicken quesadilla. We also split a basket of chips and salsa. I'm telling you, I would've been impressed with that level of eating at a typical chain restaurant; but the fact that my crew went so bananas over this local goodness made me a happy mom. They demolished that table!

I also was a bit obsessed with the decor. I love a crepe myrtle view with my lunch, don't you?

Loved this "Good Vibes" on the silo and was hoping to get a cool picture of it up close, but also didn't want to be that girl who marches her crew around and poses them for staged/candid photos.

The boys went nuts for the railroad tracks nearby and B kept his ear out for trains the entire time we were down there. I couldn't get over how everything looked like an alley or a side road we weren't supposed to be on but in actuality was a very busy street with many local businesses. James remarked on how things didn't seem to be spruced up so much as covered in graffiti to make it "hip." Look at that place, he gestured to an old abandoned building with broken windows and bars over the door. That's probably a popular bar that's crowded with people at night.

Asheville don't care what you think, though. She knows she cute.

After my resounding victory of the taco place, I decided to cap my win with some swimming with my boys.

Henry is still learning to trust his life jacket, while Brooks continues to live his life in the shallow end where toes are firmly planted on pool floors.

But vacations are for trying new things and testing yourself! And so, I convinced both my boys to swim in the deep end (5 feet) by the end of the trip. I love seeing the progress they're each making.

I also love how my kids are able to entertain themselves. This is something I especially started to notice once we got rid of all those damn tablets. They can make a game out of anything, and I love hearing them laugh and explain rules to each other and seeing how their imaginations work. Here they are mid-game that involves never EVER stepping on the lines in the carpet.

Once we were done with swimming, we decided to check out the restaurant downstairs. The hotel is kid-friendly, so James and I were assuming it would be some sort of casual dining set up. However, it was much more the typical, more upscale hotel restaurant. Henry saw the coffee cups upturned on their saucers and declared, IT'S LIKE A TEA PARTY! Then he had great fun shushing everyone and pretending to have manners (which we all know is not true).

After dinner we went back up to the room and got ready for the next big day: our visit to Biltmore!

Third Stop: Moore's Creek

2016-07-28T10:59:00.002-04:00

We have been going to Wilmington back and forth a lot since we first got married, and prefer to take the backroads since it's more scenic and generally better for our blood pressure. Almost every time we go, we see a sign pointing us towards Moore's Creek National Battlefield; and every time we see the sign, James talks about going. But there's always an itinerary already in place or a family thing we have to hurry to get to, and so we never make it.

On our way to Wilmington the other day, we saw the sign again. We were keeping our plans loose; at first it was just coincidence, but then we decided we liked the change of pace from our typical we-must-see-all-the-things vacation operating procedure. And so, after thirteen years of seeing the sign and driving on, this time we stopped.

Moore's Creek National Battlefield sits in a little stretch of nothing along Highway 210 just outside of Wilmington. We went on a Monday, and there was maybe one other car in the driveway. This may have been due to the fact that most museums, as James dutifully reminded me, are closed on Mondays. However, I tend to think it's because we found one of the best kept secrets in NC.

While the tiny visitor's center was indeed closed, the grounds were open and we were free to follow the walking trail around the entire park (however, we actually only made it halfway because HEAT). When we stepped onto the trail and the parking lot gave way to grass, I was blown away.

There's just something about a tall pine tree stretching up into the blue sky.

And rolling, grassy hills that you sort of want to run around in, until you remember that it's 100 degrees out and heat exhaustion is a thing.

The boys were very good about reading the monuments and taking it all in. I think part of that was due to the fact that it was outside, so they were free to move and run and wiggle as they pleased; whereas typical museums feel more like libraries where that sort of thing is frowned upon.

It probably also helped that their daddy is a huge history buff, and before we got out of our car and began our walking tour, he gave them a quick story of why Moore's Creek was so important.

I'm sure I won't do it justice, but it's actually a pretty interesting tale. The Battle of Moore's Creek was a Patriot victory during the Revolutionary War, making this site significant not just in the scope of NC history, but for US history as well.

(Also, gorgeous trees. Do they do weddings here??)

The story goes something along the lines of this: the NC governor had fled his capital due to Patriot gains, and hoped that a crew of British soldiers heading to the area would be just the ticket for getting things under control. He told some dudes to round up some Scots and other folks in the area, then meet the British so that they could handle that business.

But meanwhile, the Patriots were gathering up troops of their own and were more than ready to take care of those Loyalists. Of course there was lots of marching and rendezvousing throughout the story, but ultimately it led to the two sides facing off at this spot.

The Loyalists came from across this very bridge, swords drawn and ready to fight. They didn't have as many men as they'd originally planned, and hello, the governor had been run out of town by Patriots not too long before. But somehow, they remained confident that they'd win.

As they came off the bridge and rounded the corner up into the grass, they were met by the Patriot forces, who had armed themselves behind a small ridge they'd created. There was nowhere for the Loyalists to go. It was a resounding victory for the fight for independence.

As the boys and I listened to James explain the story, I couldn't help but think about how so many men had died where we stood. Pretty incredible to think about. It's not some recreated scene housed in an exhibit in the museum; these are the same footsteps they walked that day.

As we got in the car ready to head back home, James asked Henry which he'd had a better time at: the Battleship, or Moore's Creek. Henry yelled, this! Despite it being a million degrees outside, he'd had so much fun. I think we definitely plan on going back soon, and not letting another thirteen years go by.

Second Stop: The Battleship

2016-07-27T00:03:00.000-04:00

On our last day in Wilmington, we decided (and by we, I mean James, because I was sticking to my making-no-plans theme) to take the boys to see the USS North Carolina. If you're from NC, you've probably visited the Battleship at least once on some sort of summer vacation. Neither James nor I

had been since we were little, and we knew the boys would love it.

We always have fun driving over the bridge on our way into town and pointing out to the boys where the ship sits in the river. They ooh and ahhh appropriately, but never really asked much about it. I guess it never occurred to them that it was a thing. So when we announced the trip, they were pretty excited. Especially Henry. As we pulled in and he saw the sign, he was practically out of his seat.

The boys did have fun exploring the different exhibits in the museum, like hamming it up in front of this flag.

When we went out onto the ship, they had fun exploring the inside of the ship. Here's Henry trying out one of the bunks.

And here's Brooks having some fun in the mess hall, pretending he's a lunch lady.

It was pretty interesting down in the ship, but it was also pretty muggy and cramped. As we found our way to the end of the tour, we went back up to explore the sights on deck, grateful for the airflow.

I think the boys were also a little grateful for all the cannons and guns and such, too.

Like, lots of cannons.

The boys had fun leading James and I all over the deck to look at the guns, the planes, the boats, whatever. Everything was amazing!

I, however, was excited about the deck for an altogether different reason: the view of downtown.

When James and I got married, we made our first home in Wilmington. We felt like real grown-ups, exploring downtown and finding our spots and making our friends in a new town all on our own. We thought the old buildings were so amazing! We thought the river was so romantic! We thought this town was the best and we were never, ever going to leave!

But, you know, life happened. Jobs changed and babies were born and now there are bees and chickens and grandparents right down the street. I couldn't imagine any place better than our simple little homestead for our family, but the Port City will always hold a special place in our hearts.

Eventually, that Summer sun got too hot for me, and I'd given up on spotting alligators in the river. B and I decided to head back inside to the air conditioning and get a head start on an important tradition on our family vacations: gift shop purchases!

This sign did not make the cut, although I was proud of B for lamenting on how true it was. You're welcome, future girlfriends!

Once we met up with the other half of our gang in the gift shop and made our purchases, it was time to head out. The Battleship was our last adventure in Wilmington on this trip, but there was more fun to be had. Until next time, Port City!

First Stop: Wilmington

2016-07-26T01:43:00.000-04:00

James and I love a trip. Seeing cool new stuff, long chats in the car, holding hands while sharing gas station snacks and making fun of our GPS.

Just kidding, we get kicked in the back by our children while we yell at them to stop hitting each other and tell them not to read so much/look out the window so much/drink chocolate milk so much/other activity that might cause car barf.

Putting that new roof on our house meant that there would be no ocean-front rental this year on our beach trip. At least, that's what James told me. Things have been busy at work lately and once I heard "no condo" I was decidedly less interested in planning. Thank goodness the hubs came through and put together a hodge-podge of trips that amount to criss-crossing the entire state in the span of a week.

First stop: Wilmington.

I love a beach day. James loves a museum. And air conditioning. So we decided to split the difference and take the kids to the aquarium.

In typical tween fashion, B did his best to remain thoroughly unimpressed by everything.

H, however, is a full-on animal nut. Like, Mommy-can-we-please-watch-that-animal-documentary-on-Netflix-where-something-small-and-fuzzy-will-more-than-likely-get-eaten-by-something-big-and-ferocious animal nut. So he was totally into it.

The classics were still there--horseshoe crabs and sting rays that no one is putting their fingers anywhere near, the scuba diver in the tank giving a talk about why the sharks aren't tearing him apart right before our very eyes (they're not hungry, which really never stopped me from eating, but whatever), and the giant megalodon set of chompers that reminded me about B's dentist appointment later this week.

B eventually started to come around.

I mean, jellyfish do rock pretty hard. As long as they're separated from me by a thick layer of acrylic, anyway. I've been stung by a jellyfish before, and I'm not really in a hurry to repeat the experience.

Once we wound our way back outside, we discovered something pretty amazing...

DINOSAURS!!!

There was even a sweet little table where the kiddos could grab brushes and pretend to dig out dinosaur fossils. The boys were in heaven.

And the best part? The aquarium is right beside the ocean, so once our little archaeologists were done with their dig we just headed over to the public beach access so I could get my beach time. Sure, we were hungry. And the access walkway took us by a large family having a massive cookout on the grills. And it was 100 degrees out. And the sand was scalding hot. But we were on vacation and it is the beach!

And it was absolutely perfect.

An Exercise In Letting Go

2016-07-17T09:47:00.001-04:00

So by now you probably know that we threw Brooks's tablet in the trash a few months ago. He also lost Xbox privileges as well. No screen time at all. It was glorious.

Over the course of the school year, we had seen his math grades decline considerably. Math is his least favorite subject, which I can guess is because of a few things (working memory issues and Common Core strategies being chief among them). So we made a deal: get your math grades up by the end of the school year, and we will grant Xbox privileges for the Summer.

And he did. He finished the year with a B for 4th quarter, which was a HUGE improvement. Sort of a why-haven't-you-been-doing-this-all-along improvement. And so the Xbox has been on like gangbusters ever since.

It started mostly as a way for B to get his Minecraft fix (MINECRAFT!!! ) without the danger of online play (since we are most definitely NOT springing for Xbox Live, I don't care how many of your friends are on there, MISTER!) but quickly evolved into....Madden? With James? Brooks asking football questions??

I am SOOOOO confused right now.

I marvel at how consistently wrong I continue to be about this child. "He will most certainly be head of his Kindergarten class" turned into "I have yet another parent-teacher conference." "Does he need medication or therapy or something" turned into "yeah, maybe just not have a tablet in front of his face all the time." And now those times I wondered if he and James would develop common interests or the same closeness that B and I shared when he was little have turned into me playing photographer/water girl while James runs him through football drills in the backyard. At this point, why do I even keep trying to guess about this child? I just can't.

Raising B has been an exercise in letting go of assumptions and letting life surprise you once you step back and have a little faith. I'm sure this is something all first-time mamas can relate to. You hold your breath, hold your breath, thinking you're getting it all wrong; and then, a glimpse of the awesome young man they're turning into, and a huge sigh of relief. If you're not there yet, don't worry. It's coming.

Take heart, though; he is very much still filling every table surface, every drawer, every nook and cranny of my house with story after story after story. "I just have too many ideas!" he will lament, as I stare at the blank page of my word processor waiting for something, anything. He is just next level. Here he is, pictured in full tween angst glory, holding the sole copy of his first completed book. Now that he has it typed and printed, he is talking about publishing it. No word yet on a book tour.

In other news of children growing up way too damn fast, Henry has discovered the wide, wonderful world of showering.

Due to my big old pregnant belly not being able to reach over the tub, Brooks was already taking showers when he was Henry's age. But Henry has been reluctant to make the switch, because the thought of standing under giant water lasers shooting down at his head sort of freaked him out a bit.

A week or two ago, I somehow convinced him to give the shower a shot. He washed his own hair, did his own soap, and felt like an all-around big boy. "I'm so glad I trusted you, Mommy! That was fun!"

And then he got shampoo in his eye once, and now he cries again. One step forward, two steps back.

The 4th of July 2016

2016-07-12T23:47:00.000-04:00

The 4th of July has always been pretty special around here.

Memorial Day is the start of Summer. Labor Day is the end of Summer. But the 4th of July just feels like the Summierest of Summer, the essence, the height of everything Summer.

Summer is getting outside in your bathing suit and having some fun with the garden hose (pools, sprinklers, and slip-n-slides also welcome).

Summer is hot dogs and watermelons and corn on the cob, and sitting outside in the grass with your family and friends while you wait on the grill master to finish cooking dinner.

Summer is staying up late because there's no school the next day, and the sun doesn't go down until after bedtime anyway.

Summer is vacations and family time and making memories.

Summer can be downright magical.

Summer is light against the dark night sky--fireflies, heat lightning, and fireworks.

The 4th of July is also special because 13 years ago, a boy and a girl were having their rehearsal dinner on a Friday night, the 4th of July. We had a good old-fashioned cookout, with all our family and friends around, and then fireworks to cap off the night.

James and I have had lots of 4th of July holidays since then--ones we've spent at the beach, ones we've spent asleep, ones we've spent fighting crowds or bickering as we drove all over town trying to find the best place for fireworks watching. But after all these years, I think we've figured out that the best way to spend the 4th of July is the same way we spent our first--at home, surrounded by friends and family, and lots of fireworks.

A Story About Chickens

2016-07-11T00:01:00.000-04:00

If you had told me a year ago that I'd have chickens in my backyard, I'd have told you you were crazy.

And yet, there we were in March welcoming a box of freshly hatched chicks into our home. James found a place where you can order online and they ship them to you, and placed an order for five. He took a day off work to go down to the post office and pick up our new friends. When we opened the box, we realized they'd sent an extra.

They stayed in the house for what seemed like forever but in reality was probably only a few weeks. We named them: James chose Yertle and Penelope; I chose Eleanor Roostervelt and Ruth Bader Hensburg; Brooks chose Dorothy Schroder; and Henry picked Girl.

They looked so small in the coop that James built for them at first, but they grew fast! They developed personalities too, and spending time out by the coop watching their antics became a favorite pastime. Eleanor emerged as the group leader, nagging her sisters when it was time to go in for the night or if they were getting out of hand. But everyone agreed that Dorothy was the biggest personality, and the prettiest.

Eventually, I convinced James to let the girls spend time outside of their coop. After all, wasn't the whole point of the chickens to let them graze on bugs to keep pests out of the garden, and maybe even provide a little fertilizer? They certainly couldn't do that in a coop their whole lives. I made a makeshift coop extension out of some extra wire fencing we had around. When that went well for some weeks, we eventually felt comfortable just letting them free-range in the yard. One of us would go let them out, putter around in the garden a little bit, and then keep an eye on them throughout the day while we went about our chores. Come sundown, they'd put themselves to bed, and we'd make sure their coop door was shut so they'd stay safe.

Last Saturday, I woke up and got dressed to join James out in the garden. When he saw me, he told me he'd had trouble finding all of the chickens. It seems they'd gotten a little too far down into the wooded area between our house and my father-in-law's house and he'd only been able to corral three of them back into the coop. No big deal, we thought, as we started to walk around the yard together hoping to find the other three.

As I got to the woods, I heard some not-so-great chicken noises that sounded like there was some trouble. I walked a little faster, trying to find where exactly the noise was coming from. When I got close, I saw something. "It's a dog!" I shouted to James, thinking it was one of the random dogs that sometimes shows up out here. I wanted to shoo him away, so that he wouldn't hear the chicken noises and get to them first. But instead I saw a fuzzy brown butt, and immediately recognized the trespasser.

Sammy. A few years ago, when we lived in our first house, James brought Sammy home one day. He's a gorgeous Boykin Spaniel with a big heart, and the IQ of a small rock. He lived in the house with us, but when we moved out here he immediately took up with the dog down at my father-in-law's. We figured maybe he'd enjoy running around during the day and coming back in at night for food, but nope. Sammy took one look at that new pack and never looked back. He's full-on street now, with the smelly, unkempt coat to prove it.

Ironically, the reason we got Sammy was because his previous owner had no interest, claiming he couldn't hunt. Now here I was looking at his fuzzy brown butt terrorizing my chickens. "SAMMY!!!" I called out, and he raised his head up out of the bushes and turned around, feathers hanging out of his mouth. Well, that was the end of that mystery. I turned around to walk back, with Sammy running after me. Poor thing couldn't understand why I wanted him as far away as possible.

I told James what I saw, and we sat on our swing down by the coop to assess the damage. Eleanor, Penelope, and Ruth had made it. I guess that was something; but Penelope and Ruth were small, not as close to laying as the others, and certainly didn't have the personalities of the others--especially Dorothy. We chatted for a bit about how it was inevitable, how poor Sammy thought he was being a good boy, and what we were going to do next. Then, we heard strange noises.

"It's Yertle!" James said. And sure enough, walking up out of the woods as if she'd just survived a nuclear blast, poor little Yertle clucked her story all the way to the coop. And then a few moments later, she was joined by her sister Girl, who looked like she had seen some major stuff. I held my breath, but it was no use. Only five girls had come home, and they all had all their feathers.

Poor little Dorothy. The day before, she'd ventured to the top of the swing. We agreed that she'd probably been too sassy to run away when she saw Sammy coming. We got a little sad, then remembered it was just a chicken, and moved on. I made a little video and we laughed about what a funny bird she was, and how ridiculous this whole chicken-keeping thing can be.

The rest of the girls seem happy, although James and I haven't let them free range since the day of the incident. We try to visit and bring them little treats, and today we let them out of the coop for a little bit while we were in the yard with them, but it will probably be a while before we are ready to let them out unsupervised again (Sammy has a fence, but for a dumb dog, he sure is good at finding escape routes). We have noticed the girls' faces getting a lot more color, so I'm hopeful that we will start to have some eggs soon. In the meantime, we'll keep enjoying the chicken antics.

Green Beans and Summer Camps

2016-07-02T18:23:00.000-04:00

Last weekend, we put the boys to work on the green bean plants. James pulled up most of the plants, and then the boys went through them all to pull off any beans, so that we could can them later.

Pulling up the bean pants gave us room for the pumpkin seeds that James and Brooks bought earlier that morning. We've never grown pumpkins before, but hey, what's a garden for if not experimentation?

For me, working out in the garden with the bean plants quickly devolved into weeding all the sprigs of grass and other imposters that had crept up in the past week. For the boys, what started as watering our new baby pumpkin plants turned into a water fight.

Not sure who won, but Henry was certainly soaked to the bone.

I got impatient, and a bit excited about our pumpkins, and decided it was as good a time as any to go ahead and pull up the carrots we'd planted too. This is our second try at carrots, and some of them looked pretty darn yummy.

As I was washing what we'd brought in that day, a handsome guy volunteered to help. Here he is meticulously scrubbing the last tiny carrot. He didn't even ask for money!

No, his motivation was helping me get chores done so that I would be free to take him to the video game store. He'd been saving up money so that he could purchase the Minecraft game for Xbox.

You see, B was a hard-core Minecraft player back in his tablet-owning days. While those days are gone, he worked very hard the last half of school to get his math grades up, with the promise that if he did well he would earn Xbox privileges back (One caveat: NO XBOX LIVE). He was a man of his word, and so we are currently in the throes of Xbox-summertime binge-playing and apparently the old Disney Infinity sets just weren't scratching the itch anymore.

He scrounged up his money, and even went through his old games to see if he could trade any in. He wound up getting his coveted Minecraft game, plus some Disney Infinity whatchamajig and a Five Night's at Freddy's thermos, which he just knew was going to be a hit at summer camp the next week.

While we were out, we picked up dinner. B never passes up a chance for drinking sweet tea.

Once we were back at home, the kids settled down while James determined he was going to teach me to can green beans. This involved him telling me how to do it, me questioning things in an effort to learn and/or improve the process, him getting super-irritated at my questioning his every move, some time snapping, some time seething, and then me taking pictures while he finished up.

When all was said and done, we ended up with 4 pints, and will continue to pull off of the remaining climbing bean plants that are still out there growing (if the beetles don't destroy them first !!!)

Come Monday, it was time for the boys' first week of summer camp. Brooks has been going to the camp for a few years now (and loves it!) but this was the first year Henry was able to join him. I tell ya, this dropping-the-kids-off-at-the-same-place-every-morning thing is the ticket!

Henry went bowling, to the movies, and to a few of those kids activity places with ball pits and inflatables bouncy houses and such. In the afternoons, they would go to the pool. He's been to the pool before, and was really looking forward to afternoons swimming with his big brother. Except I failed to realize that the theater production camp I'd signed Brooks up for was an all-day thing, and thus he would not be joining Henry for pool-time. On top of that, the pool they take the kids to is apparently much bigger than any pool Henry has ever seen. Add all that up, and apparently that equals a massive Henry temper-tantrum where he screams and cries and outright refuses to set FOOT in the pool. So, great first impression.

Brooks, meanwhile, was busy starring in a production of "101 Dalmatians" where he played dual roles of "Chihuahua/Narrator" and "Chihuahua/Human Police Officer." It was an inspired performance, even if he's still just a little too cool to use his full singing voice.

With this week in the bag, James and I are looking forward to a long weekend spent gardening, cleaning the house, cooking out, seeing some fireworks, and--oh yeah!--celebrating our anniversary!

Things I Know

2016-06-17T22:50:00.000-04:00

People say you should write what you know. It has always seemed to me that the people who write know themselves so well. An author struggling to overcome a drug addiction. An essayist coming out of post-partum depression. A style blogger who never goes to the grocery store, but just stands outside of buildings checking for gum on the bottom of her stiletto.

I named my blog Desperately Seeking Erin because at the time I really had no clue who I was. Of course we all know our experiences and interests, but I think it's a special few of us who actually know how to use that to make their little spot in the world. But here's a few things I've discovered about myself as I've been writing more:

I genuinely love where I live. I used to dream of moving to New York City, but now I live in the county about ten minutes from where I grew up. I can't imagine raising my kids anywhere else.

This is one of my favorite spots. I'm not sure if this is the remains of a house or a little workshop or what, but in the Spring the field it sits on blooms with purple wildflowers and I just want to move in. Unfortunately, come Summer the owners plow it all up to plant corn.

I love raising a garden, our bees, the chickens. It's something for James and I to do together that doesn't involve building Ikea furniture or driving him to rec league softball games or having to wear jerseys while rooting for his favorite team as he screams maniacally at the television. Gardens and Game of Thrones, the keys to a rock-solid marriage.

That homegrown life is also great for the kids. It teaches them about work, about nature, about respect for other living things. It's a reason to be outside, and something for them to do together as brothers, and with us as a family. My favorite time of the day is after dinner when we stay out in the front yard until dark.

Something else I know: parenting. Not that I'm a gold-star mom. It's just that I am definitely a veteran. Most folks my age are just now thinking about preschool and potty-training. I've already earned my stripes on that. A friend asked me recently, how had I trained my children to use the toilet? I answered that I couldn't remember a time when they didn't. In Mom Years, I'm sooooooooooooooooo olllllllllllllllllld.

I know about being the youngest mom on the block. I had Brooks when I was 22, when all of my friends were graduating college and getting first jobs and having fun and relationships and traveling and all the other things that 22-year-olds do. I was told I'd missed so much, that I'd spent my carefree years being tied down instead. But the jokes on them because now I'm the one putting in the overtime at work or going out for dinner with my husband while my kids are staying the night with friends.

I know that the older I get, the less tolerance I have for small things that don't matter. Chit-chat is exhausting. Friendships built on gossip and girl's night outs are boring. I don't want friends. I want mentors. A network of women from all backgrounds and with all talents and interests who build me up and show me new ways of thinking and make me feel confident and excited about being a grown up lady. This is why I'm crap at Instagram. #antisocial

Despite me being totally socially awkward, I have all these ideas about ways to connect with people. Maybe I'll open a boutique! Maybe I'll start a women's network! Maybe I'll become an event planner! But then I remember that involves talking to people, and suddenly I'm tired. Maybe instead I'll just hire someone to do that stuff for me.

I do, however, continue to value the idea of building something for yourself. It's not necessarily about leaving something behind to pass down as far as material things go. But it is about being in charge of your own destiny, being able to stand back and say "I did that," and showing your kids what's possible. I don't know whether that, for me, means our little homestead or if there's something else I'll find down the road. But I know that is something important.

I also have come to realize that contributions can be on a small scale. Back when I wanted to move to New York, I saw myself as being a nationally, if not internationally, known writer of some sort. Journalist, novelist, I wasn't really sure. I just knew that being famous would ensure I lived an important life. My thinking was, if the book isn't going to be a best seller, why write it? If that song won't win you an award, why sing it? But now I know that it doesn't matter how many people know who you are or what you do. You can be important without being Kanye.

Thank goodness.

And above all I know that you should never hold too tightly to anything. You may love your job, you may love your house, your husband, your friends. But you should never be so firmly planted that you can't afford to let anything go. Life has a way of shaking things loose whether you want it or not. As someone told me earlier this week, "sometimes you can't see where you're going because you're too busy looking at where you've been."

Team No Internet: Pool Time!

2016-06-11T23:44:00.001-04:00

School's out, temps are up, and that means it's officially pool time!

I look forward to the first family pool trip of the season because it's a great reminder of how fast the boys are growing. This was us just five short summers ago:

Brooks refused to do anything but sit on the ladder of the pool and shoot everyone with water guns. And Henry--well, he was less than impressed, to say the least.

But now, not only does B venture off the ladder, he can touch the bottom of the pool!

And Hank is coming around, although he still needed a bit of coaxing today to get him all the way in.

Now that both brothers are into this whole swimming thing, I get to see them playing together just like on dry land.

All that brotherly advice sure helped Hank to be brave as he ventured off the wall.

They raced each other, swimming out and then back to see who was fastest.

And then of course there were jumping contests.

And eventually it was time to relax and float on a pool noodle with Dad.

No wires, no chargers, no screens, no games. Just good old-fashioned family time, beating the heat at the pool. Hopefully this will be the first of many days spent by the water watching my boys grow up outside.

Awards Day

2016-06-09T22:31:00.001-04:00

So today was awards day at Brooks's school. The culmination of his 4th grade efforts, a celebration of all his hard work, etc etc.

Today was also the day of my graduation from a leadership program in the county I work in, an all-day thing that I wouldn't have a chance to repeat.

I could've sworn Brooks had made As and Bs on his last report card, but alas no note ever came. You see, the teacher sends a note home to you if your child will receive an award. This way you avoid using your lunch hour to go clap for other people's children not missing any days of school, because yippee. Heck, half the time I don't want to go clap for my own kid to win perfect attendance award. Like, that note from the teacher should say "Your kid is winning an award, p.s. It's definitely not perfect attendance so you should totally come."

Can you tell I've sat through my fair share of perfect attendance awards? Just once, I'd think to myself as I scooched past some grandma saving seats for seven people who will never show up so that I can take a picture of my kid--just once I'd like to see my kid win an award for all that hard work he does! But mostly, it was perfect attendance. Dang common core math!

So, I thought, no note must mean no awards for Brooks. Maybe I got that whole ten point scale grading wrong and a C snuck in? I dunno. And so I decided to go on to my graduation, and not mention anything to James (who works a half hour away and would most definitely not want to sit through a program where no awards were won) or to James's grandma (who is usually an ardent supporter of awards day festivities but was watching Henry and thus had plenty on her grandma plate for the day). I would not burden them on the off-chance that this was the one time no note was given. I went on about my day trying to push thoughts out of my head of my poor precious award-winning baby standing there all alone with no one to post pictures on Instagram of him.

I got home and commenced with the usual evening routine. We hung out in the garden, we got dinner, we bathed, the whole bit. I'd almost forgotten about my whole conflict. And then:

"Mom, I have to show you something."

Here comes Brooks with his hands behind his back. As he sits down on the bed where I'm reading Henry a story, he hands me some paper. I start flipping through, assuming it's another story he has written.

"The best one is at the back," he says, the corner of his mouth turning up.

Perfect Attendance. A/B Honor Roll. PAW (Proud And Working hard) award. The triple crown. I look at him in disbelief.

"BROOKS! WHAT?! THERE WAS NO NOTE!!"

"Yes there was. I just threw it away before I gave it to you." He laughs. He is evil.

I am so proud.

Goodbye, Preschool!

2016-06-04T00:39:00.001-04:00

Henry graduated from Pre-K this week.

It's such a strange feeling to have your heart breaking and exploding all at the same time. Especially when like a month ago, you didn't even know that Pre-K graduation was a thing.

James and I have been eagerly anticipating the end of preschool and the move to Kindergarten, but for other reasons: no more checks to write; no more endless morning commutes full of multiple drop-offs; no more hustling and fighting traffic to beat the pick-up deadline and avoid late fees.

But in all the anticipation of things that we were eager to let go of, I sort of forgot about the biggest thing of all. My baby wasn't a baby anymore.

Watching him singing and playing with his friends, hearing all of the sweet things his teachers had to say, hugging goodbye the folks we may never see again but who have played such a big part in Henry's life up to this point--it wasn't long before I was swept up in all the sentimental silliness.

And why shouldn't I be? Sure, a preschool graduation ceremony isn't necessary. But taking time to celebrate each milestone, each ending and new beginning, doesn't take away from anything. That's the thing about love, after all. There is always room for more.

After all the kids received their "diplomas," they were each handed a flower to take to their mother. Henry brought me a pink carnation, which he asked me to smell. For the rest of the evening, he made sure I had that flower with me. He told me that his teachers had told them all to be very careful with the flower, so that they didn't break the flower and in turn break our hearts. He told me that his teachers had said we would be so happy we would cry.

"But you didn't cry, Mommy. Do you still love me?"

My baby, I couldn't love you more.

Pretending

2016-05-30T20:23:00.002-04:00

One of my favorite things to do on a day off is to pretend: pretend I don't work; pretend I am a gourmet chef; pretend I am very crafty; pretend I am a famous photographer and also one of those moms who runs.

I had originally taken the day off in anticipation of an epic Memorial Day vacation. We typically visit either the beach or the mountains as a sort of summer season kick-off. Sadly, James's "Operation: Replace the Roof" put our vacation plans on hold.

In the name of not letting a vacation day go to waste, I figured it was the day to pretend I was the photographer/running mom. I put on my sports bra, threw my hair up in a bun, dropped the kids off to their respective schools, and headed to one of my favorite trails.

Now, remember, I'm pretending to be a running mom. I don't actually run. I don't even walk that much, if I'm honest. And this trail is hilly and uneven, and it smells in some places.

I passed a few other running moms. A pair in yoga pants, one with makeup on and the other with hair that had definitely been flat-ironed. They were walking and gossiping, but moving their arms in that way that indicates they are taking the walk very seriously. Like they are competing in the Olympic speed-walking race, but only from the waist up. I had earplugs in, so I whispered an awkward hello as I passed, which they returned in equally awkward fashion.

The other running mom was a serious professional, all tan and toned muscles in her expensive running tank top and shorts. These are the ones that make me nervous, because we are so obviously worlds apart on the running mom spectrum. She will know I'm pretending, and she will look at me and smile while thinking bless her heart.

But she didn't. She waved and smiled and called out "Hi!" even though I had my earplugs in.

"Hi!", I echoed back, trying to mirror her excitement.

"Great day for a run, isn't it?" she said.

"Um, yeah" I said, not doing a very good job of pretending.

"Happy Friday!" she called out, her ponytail bouncing after her.

I felt a little more legitimate, so I picked up the pace a bit. But I still made sure no one else was around before stopping to take pictures. No need to hurt my street cred.

I came across this overlook, and imagined myself in Charleston or Bald Head or some other wonderful marshy place. But I knew it wasn't, so I didn't go out. Just up the path, I came across a snake sunbathing, and shrieked. It did not respond. I turned around and walked away quickly, checking over my shoulder to make sure it wasn't following me. It was very unconcerned. I smiled when I thought of those running moms in their yoga pants coming across the same thing.

The path runs along a creek, and through the middle of town. There's a spot where the creek gets wide and you can hear the water rushing over the rocks. Up above, cars pass overhead, oblivious to what lies below. A tunnel allows the path to continue underneath the highway.

The tunnel is lit, and so it's not too terribly murdery; but it does tend to be very muddy, and so I typically head back to the car at this point. A nice place to stretch, take a few last shots, and enjoy the endorphin rush.

On my way back, I ran across this little fellow, who was a much more welcome sight than his snake friend that I'd met earlier. When I got back to the car, I checked my phone and saw that I'd walked 2.75 miles. I see other running moms post about their 5 and 10 mile runs, but I felt like 2.75 wasn't bad for pretending.

On the way back home, I contemplated signing up for a 5k, and told myself that once I could get my time under an hour, then maybe I'd give it a go. I imagined what it would be like to wear my expensive running gear, to go out early, to have a routine, and to have my boys cheer me on as they watched me finish the race. I wanted it, and decided I would make that an official goal.

It may take me a while, but it's okay. After all, I'm just pretending.

Team No Internet: Trampoline Fun

2016-05-29T13:06:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago, back when the rain seemed like some late carry-over from April that would pass soon (still waiting!), the boys and I decided to wait out the rain at a local trampoline park.

Trampolines on trampolines on trampolines

Foam block pit

Basketball dunk

And Dodgeball

And snacks!

I'd say the boys had a lot of fun...

...even rocked out a little

And they've been asking to go back ever since. Which is good, because I'm beginning to wonder if it will ever stop raining around here!

Team No Internet: Life Without Tablets

2016-05-24T23:01:00.001-04:00

We have been living the tablet free life for a few months now, and things are going great!

Incidentally, B's tablet free life also includes more haircuts :)

I get asked a lot about how we arrived at our tablet free decision, and I wish I could say it was a very clean, deliberate choice, the result of an epiphany I had while doing yoga out by my kale garden. But the reality is that it was a choice made in a white-hot rage moment, the culmination of months and years of hemming and hawing over what we should do. And I imagine if you have kiddos and you also have internet service, then you are probably all too familiar with that exhausting back-and-forth.

If you think tablet free may be the way for you but just can't stomach making the leap, or if you think "what's the big deal this lady is talking about anyway," then I urge you to perform the following exercise: log in to Instagram, search hashtag Minecraft/Freddy's/other random tween obsession, and take a gander (It should be noted that this exercise is VERY NSFW). I'll wait while you pick your jaw back up off the floor.

Not to say that we had a problem with inappropriate Instas, but if that one little app is just a tiny fraction of what kids have access to online, then HOLY MOLY we should've thrown that thing out years ago!!

Setting questionable content aside, one of the more lovely things to come out of tablet free life is B's love of reading, which has exploded and blossomed in ways I wasn't sure would ever happen. He is constantly reading, carrying at least two books with him at all times. He's exchanging books with friends in some sort of brotherhood of the traveling books situation. He writes constantly, and in fact requested this evening that he be allowed to write until he falls asleep (uh, yes!). And of course, there are the nights where he lays in bed with his little brother and makes up silly stories based on the books they've chosen to read. The sound of giggling and "More stories, Bubba!" make my heart so happy, even if it is slightly past bedtime.

To support his effort to kick the thumb addiction, his teacher offered to get him a reward for going all week without relapsing. She emailed me today asking for help, because Brooks hadn't really given her ideas of what he would want. Before bed, I read her email to him and asked him what he would want if he could ask her for anything. "Um," he thought for a minute. "A book? I might like that, because I'm running out of stuff to read."

These, these are nice problems to have.