Hello Thirteen

My oldest daughter turns 13 tomorrow. 

How that happened I cannot say, one day she was a toddler and then I was dropping her off at middle school last August. In the blink of an eye is an understatement.

I've been thinking about this day thirteen years ago when I was forty pounds heavier with swollen ankles and an endless supply of rocky road ice cream. Thirteen years ago it was a Monday night, and I was ten days past my due date. It was torturous as I had already had one induction cancelled, and my sweet doctor looked at me with sympathetic eyes that Monday morning and said, "Everything looks great. Baby is just comfortable and not ready to leave the nest". Sure it was good news to know we weren't in distress, but also could I please have my baby because she was supposed to be born almost ten days ago? I went home from that appointment with strict orders from my doctor to wake up at six the next morning, head to the ER and tell them my "water broke", because they would have to check, and then when they called my doctor, he said he would come over and break my water. Typing it makes it sound like something out of a slapstick comedy, but the local hospital had been hit with a baby boom and I wasn't emergent. 

John and I went home. I made my nest on the couch, complaining of lower abdominal pain, that the doctor had earlier assured me was "pressure from the baby". I lounged on the couch eating ice cream and watching tv and the clock. Six a.m. couldn't get here fast enough. 

Then it was six the next morning and I was silently crying because holy shit I was about to become a mother. At some point on this day, this baby was going to be outside of my body, and I would be in charge of another life. I felt like there should have been a test for that. 

Long story short, that pressure in my abdominal area, those were labor pains and even though my water had yet to break, my contractions were eight minutes apart. I honestly had no idea. Approximately ten hours later, Caitlin made her debut. 

I'd like to say it was mushy and Instagram worthy, but to be honest it was an out of body experience. I felt like I was watching someone else be simultaneously over joyed and scared out of their damn mind. I was a mother, but also I wanted my mother, because who was going to raise this baby? Oh yeah, me.

If you have been a guest here for any amount of time in the past, you know that motherhood was no easy task for me. I worked and fought really hard to become a solid mother. Not the best and not the worst, but some balance in the middle that prays my daughters future heath care plans include coverage for therapy. Motherhood for me didn't feel natural, and it took me a long time to figure out what motherhood looked like for me. Thank God Facebook was in its infancy and Instagram had yet to be birthed, because I was already comparing myself to other mothers in real life. Who knows if I could have survived the mommy wars over social media.

Thirteen years later, I am an adolescent mother. 

I'm also going through an awkward and gawky phase. I finally figured out how to mother small children, and now I'm trying to figure out how to navigate teenagers. Adolescence is a transitional phase where a person grows and develops from a child to an adult. I didn't know that parents will do this too. I'm now trying to find my space in between TikTok videos and Instagram filters. I'm now told which photos I can posts and which I cannot. I'm required to be the expert on acne and body odor, but I'm not allowed to make recommendations on such things. Shorts are getting shorter, bathing suits have extra lining, and holy crap we have a stash of "woman supplies". I'm also transitioning and learning how to discipline mini adults who think they know more than me. I've turned into both my mother and my father as I've caught myself saying, "I've been alive 42 years, don't you think I know more about this than you". Not my finest moments, but seriously. I've been alive 42 years, I had the worst acne that required prescription drugs, I know what to put on your face and it's not that stuff you saw on TikTok!

I've always known the dynamics of motherhood. In the beginning it seemed like an endless loop. Early motherhood was like a scene from Groundhog's Day, where you just do the same feeding, diapering, and sleeping for days on end. Then one day you wake up and they don't like that binky or bottle. One day they wake up and they can crawl or walk or feed themselves. They grow and so do you, but nothing ever really prepares you for the day they don't need to cling to your body like a wet t-shirt. Nothing prepares you for the day they don't want to hold your hand in Target. The day they don't want to change in front of you. The day they absolutely do not want you to dance to that song on Spotify because how embarrassing. 

Recently the transition from having a child to having a teenager looks like stolen moments. For Caitlin and I its laughing at memes before bed. Memes that maybe she shouldn't laugh at, but the kid has got a wicked sense of humor. It looks like secret trips to Starbucks where sometimes she treats me to a drink because I'm driving. Mom I'll buy your Starbucks if you drive. Our transition into adolescence looks like the two of us realizing that neither one of us is perfect and maybe neither one of us has all the answers. It looks like the two of us realizing that none of that means we don't love each other so fiercely that it hurts sometimes. Now that we are thirteen we can say those things to each other, planting better roots as we grow. 

Thirteen is awfully close to fifteen which is awfully close to other teens that I cannot discuss because I'm not emotionally prepared in any way at this time. What I wouldn't give to be up at 4 am with that tiny, sliver, of a human. That little slice of heaven who kept me up until sunrise, who never wanted to sleep, who confused me and made me second guess every single move I made. I'd do it all over again and not change a thing. I sometimes wish I wouldn't have rolled my eyes when people said that it happens so fast. I didn't understand in those wee morning hours that once the days were gone, they were gone. I used to think that it would be so much easier when she was just a little bigger. Big enough for solids. Big enough to walk and talk. Big enough to feed herself. Big enough to... grow up before my eyes. Just one more thing that I could not control as a mother. Once I gave up trying to control every aspect of motherhood I was finally able to enjoy it. Thank God for that. 

Let me tell you how much control I don't have. We ate dinner at 8:45 tonight after a late swim at my moms. The girls are now watching make up tutorials on YouTube and I'm writing this. We will most likely stay up late and I'll set my alarm to go to Starbucks in my pajamas to get the birthday girl her favorite. Her gifts are not wrapped, the house isn't decorated let alone clean, and I still have to make her cake. This is my evolution you guys, this is how I learned to enjoy motherhood. 

Twelve years ago on the eve of Caitlin's first birthday I was prepping food and making sure I had enough balloons. I had her clothes all laid out, the cutest dress, which she took off twenty minutes into the party to run around in the sprinkler in her diaper. Best laid plans let me tell you. Tomorrow will be filled with as much birthday as you can expect in a pandemic. Curbside order at Chik-Fil-A; homemade cake, a parade of cars in our front yard. 

It will be as exactly as motherhood intended. 

Unorganized. Messy. Imperfectly full of love. 

I just wish I could tell that laboring mom on the couch thirteen years ago.

She kind of needed to know. 

Busy {a four letter word}

Every time I'm asked, "How are you today?", my default answer is, "Busy".

I'm busy. My kids are busy. My husband is busy. Everyone in this household is busy.

And it's summer. Summer of all the times of the year! I have vague memories of me planning to have a no bullshit, laid back summer. We just had to make it to the end of dance season which was quite literally June 30th. Make it to June 30th and we'd have the rest of the summer to relax.The plan was to take a few dance classes, lounge by the pool, casually drop in at Starbucks, browse the aisles of Target. Summer was going to save us all and allow us to relax and be lazy...

But June 30th came and went and here we are almost July 30th and we are still busy. 

Busy has become a four letter word.

Back when I first started blogging and Pinning (what did I actually do before Pinterest? Oh yeah, laundry), I remember seeing this quote, "Stop the Glorification of Busy". I googled it a few weeks ago, and the origin of it is a little spotty, but this article seems to have quoted it first. Why are people everywhere glorifying the fact that they are busy. It feels like the biggest one-ups-manship contest on Earth. Tell someone what you are doing, they will tell you they are doing the same, but like three more things. As if that makes us super human. Are we any happier cramming every second of the day with an activity? Does it make a difference if we keep ourselves and our families so busy? Do we look better as mothers or parents if our kids are in sixteen activities over the summer? I hope not, because we have skipped so much dance this year to swim or go to the movies, I'm worried about being voted off the "island". It's like we are trained to show off just how busy we are. Look at my Instagram feed and I will tell you everything I did on any given day all before nine in the morning, in addition to a fantastic selfie. Does that make me a champion? Only when other people who follow my account tell me what a good job I'm doing. And sometimes that feels kind of gross. Look at me, I'm so awesome because I've already made three dozen cookies, folded two loads of laundry, and got my kids to school on time... Eww. I hate that person. I hate a humble brag, especially when that humble brag is me. Gross, and yet, I'll probably do it tomorrow. I'm so busy damn it, look at me!

One Wednesday near the of the school year I went and sat for my usual three hours at dance. Our longest dance day of the week. With just a few weeks to go before the end of the year, I had my PTC notebook, my Girl Scout notebook, and my planner. I was making list. Calling and emailing. Organizing the end of the year dance and practice schedule. Another mom sitting near me said, "I don't know how you do it", and I said, "I don't know either, and I don't even work".

Now looking back I have an idea of how I "do it".

The answer is simple, I "don't" do a lot of other things.

For example, in order to make sure all this years school spirit wear is ordered, my dining room table is covered in things. Crap, if you will, that needs to find homes. That may not find homes for another week. While I'm doing Girl Scout planning at my co-leader's house, the dishes in my sink continue to marinate making what can only be described as the worlds most disgusting and deadly brew of Kombucha ever. If you see me volunteering anywhere, you can bet my laundry is clean and piled like Mt. Everest on my bed, and when I go to climb into said bed, the mountain will be moved to the chair by the window that I promised would not serve as a place to pile laundry. You can bet that my bathrooms look like someone stepped on a tube of toothpaste (courtesy of the children), there are always dishes, and laundry in the dryer that gets ironed by turning it on.

So how do I do "it"?

Chaotically. Messily. By the seat of my Old Navy "mom" shorts. 

I'm not proud of the busy, but I'll admit that I would have been a few years ago. When my girls were little, busy seemed like a badge of honor. Good moms, the gold star moms, were busy. They were always on the go, kids dressed and ready, every activity under the sun, and "Busy Moms" always dressed the part. Yoga pant sweat suits, jeans and tunics, and sometimes dresses. (Dresses!) I envied those moms back then, with their perfectly packed diaper bags, yogurt melts and Cheerios at the ready. I was always the hot mess mom, only able to make it to one activity (baby gym), hair rarely combed, make up never a thought. I saw those buys moms and wondered if I'd ever be there, ever able to carry it off with such ease. Little did I know there was no ease about it. Being a busy mom is fucking hard. It takes time and effort, and a lot of messes left in the wake. 

I'm a smart enough now to understand that motherhood never stops. I'm just surprised that I'm busier now than I have ever been.  I used to think that once my kids were older, motherhood would be so much easier. Sure they can get their own breakfast and let me sleep in on weekends, but they need a taxi driver to cheer and dance, and those four birthday parties that all fall on the same Saturday of the month. It's a never ending ride, or as all the cliche quotes will tell you... It's a marathon, not a race. Insert eye roll here. Not because I don't believe it, but because I know it all too well.

Two thousand seventeen has proven to be the busiest year on record. Maybe because I'm older and care about such things. Maybe because I'm old and tired and want to cut out any and all bullshit. At this breakneck speed, my house is always in disaster mode, not sorry. There are currently dishes in my sink and clothes my the dryer. Also, not sorry. The flip side, the school spirit wear shirts are ready to go to print, my Girls Scout troop calendar and budget are done for the next year, and we pretty much have our dance schedule locked in. I'm also working more hours this summer to bank away some funds. It appears that yes, this house hold is doing "it". Just don't ask to use my bathroom when you come over. Kind of sorry.

Today was my day off. I did my best to stretch out our lazy time. We lounged around and slept and read books and of course my oldest daughter made slime, because if your kids aren't making slime at any given time are you even a mother? I've tried really hard to make sure we have those kind of days at least once a week this summer. The Netflix binge kind of days. The, let's melt our brains on bad TV and horrible food kind of days. I want my kids to relax and have some lazy fun. Summer is only like twelve weeks, the rest of the time they are over scheduled and over stimulated. I want them to find joy in staying up late and sleeping in the next day. The joy of ice cream for dinner. The joy of doing absolutely nothing. 

Because most days we are busy.

Which has become the dirtiest four letter word I know.

XOXO - Meg

Cravings {a story about new motherhood}

The Honest Co. asked me to write about my experience with baby formula. I was happy to oblige, but it felt like ancient history. Funny, when it came to writing it, I didn't have to dig to deep. Some experiences never leave you. This is my personal account, and I was not compensated in any way. My opinions do not reflect those of The Honest Co. That said, while this is my story, and my opinion, what you feed your baby is your choice. Breastfeeding didn't work out for me, and I'm okay with that now. If it works for you, bless. Now, on to the good stuff. 


All those years ago, as I was sleepwalking through my new life as a mother, I would have never imagined that I would long for middle of the night feedings. Those quiet pockets of time, where it was just me and my baby, and I was meeting her most pressing need so simply. When I was in the thick of it, the very trenches of newly anointed motherhood I didn't understand just how precious and fleeting those moments were. It didn't occur to me how quickly they would end. At the time, it felt that I would be stuck in that chaotic place forever.

Motherhood didn't begin that way, there was nothing simple about it. Feeding my first born didn't come with ease. Even in her first few hours, trying to find her latch was proving impossible. Steeled by kind words from friends, books and articles, I pressed on as we went from hospital to home. Still the latch was elusive. I tried every trick, every hack, nipple shield, and breast pump. When my milk finally came in, pumping felt like a tortuous consolation prize to motherhood, and those measly four ounces did nothing for myself esteem. We, my daughter and I, went two weeks in a constant loop of nipple shield, screaming, crying, pumping, and finally a bottle of whatever came out in the pump. I was exhausted. I was devastated. More than that, I just knew I was failing as a mother.

Today, I can look back on that period and see that this was just my first hurdle in my journey as a new mom. As devastated as I was, this was the first big decision I had to make. Not the choice or crib or car seat, not the decision to swaddle or not swaddle, it was this very simple in theory, but very difficult in reality choice that I had to make.

What to feed this child? My child.

Back then I was too worried about that the "books" said. About what my friends said. Why was the most natural thing in the world, not the most natural thing for me? Listening to remarks about formula made it feel like a dirty word. This was supposed to be a joyous time, a simple time, when feeding my child was as easy as a bottle or breast. But this decision felt loaded, one wrong move and lives would be ruined... Or would they?

I was wrong about formula, and I was wrong about breastfeeding. In a time before "mom shaming" on social media platforms, I was internally shaming myself. It took me a minute to realize that this choice was all my own. A choice I had to make for my daughter, but also a rather importance choice for me.

I didn't realize we were starving. Her sharp cries at all hours were obvious evidence. My vacant stare as I tried to get her to eat, were silent screams of my own. New motherhood is both seductive and abusive. It entices with it's simple joys, breaks you with it's monotony. What had started as a small battle in my hospital bed hours after my first born's birth, forged into an all out war at home. Why couldn't I feed this tiny person? I was so unsure and self conscious for the first time since junior high. In the back of my mind I knew the answer, but the defeat I'd have to deal with paralyzed me. How was I going to fold on this first test of motherhood? I was scared I was doing everything wrong. My daughter was starving. And we both craved something bigger than both of us. We craved peace. We craved contentment. We craved ease.

Choosing to feed my daughter formula was the first big decision I made as a mother. It wasn't an easy one to make, and I still had miles to go to find my footing as a mother. Still, it was the first step in finding confidence and the first real step in finding that peace, my daughter and I both craved. I had wasted so much time worrying about what to feed my baby, and not enough time enjoying the miracle that was my baby. It was time to enjoy and embrace this new life as a mother. It was time to discover what kind of mother I was going to be, what kind of mother I wanted to be. So breastfeeding didn't work for me. The only person who noticed was me, my daughter was too busy eating to pay any mind to where we got her food. Scoop by precious scoop, we found the peace and ease we were craving. And to my surprise it didn't feel a bit like losing or giving up, it felt exactly right in my corner of motherhood.

I catch myself these days, longing for those middle of the night feedings. Usually when I wake up to go to the gym way before the sun comes up, I feel a little tug on my heart. In those quiet moments, where the entire house is asleep, I think back to those days when it was just the two of us in a rocker. The glare of the television, the sharp burp of contentment from a perfect tiny human. Those days when a bottle and the sunrise were our only company. I miss that simple pleasure of being able to meet that one and only craving, that most important need. Meeting her needs these day is rarely simple, as she is almost ten, and everything is of dire importance.

Some mornings, when I go into her room to wake her, I find myself crawling into bed with her. Reminiscent of those days long gone, it's just the two of us, and the tiny bit of morning seeping through her mini blinds. It's quiet, just her and I, no Dad, no little sister, no distractions. I indulge that craving of a simpler time for me, and her constant craving of having mom all to herself for her. We find that peace and ease that we are still always craving from each other.

One ounce at a time.

We don't have time to pee... {December 2016}

I've done nothing but sleep and read since the day after Christmas. That's not the whole truth, but it's 95% of it. December was a blur, and not in the cliche way, like it was so magical and jammed packed with fun it just flew by. No, it was a blur because it was jam packed with obligation and work and school and homework and unnecessary class party bullshit.

Oh. Wow, that took a turn. Sorry. Rant over.

Seriously, though. Can I be honest for a minute here? December was kind of a shit show. Between dance and Girl Scouts and dance recitals and school and homework and oh yeah, actual work, we were scheduled to the very minute. Every single minute of every single day contained a task, a plan, a to do list, some kind of obligation. I know what you're thinking. You do this to yourself, Meg. You say yes, you want to be the room mom and the scout leader and the mom who does all the fun holidays stuff like make sugar cookies and gingerbread from scratch. Yes. You're right. I'm guilty of wanting and not wanting to be that kind of mom, simultaneously. But if over scheduling a life was an Olympic event, I'd be a gold medalist to a Michael Phelps degree.

I didn't plan for an over scheduled holiday season. You would think since I'm a retail warrior I'd plan better since Christmas ornaments hit the sales floor on October (not even kidding). You would think that since I spent the week before Thanksgiving in Disneyland that was decorated within an inch of its life for Christmas I would have been better prepared.

I wasn't.

Fully aware of the calendar I still didn't even have a chance to make cookies with the girls until the week of the 17th. The 17th I made the dough, the 18th we cut them out and baked them, and on the 19th after school and before dance we decorated them. I'm not even joking a little that these were 110% scheduled. Within an inch of our lives.

Christmas shopping was done via Amazon and my weekly day off. It's almost impossible to shop on the weekend with kids who are old enough to know what kind of Santa shit you are trying to pull. I took an extra day off to wrap gifts. And then actually followed through and wrapped gifts because if not nine days before Christmas then when? Never, it would have never happened.

One afternoon during a Target run, in between dance (Mackenzie) and dance (Caitlin), I actually told Mackenzie, "We don't have time to pee". Bathroom breaks had not been scheduled for this Target run, and if we stopped we would be late to the next pressing appointment (dance). Don't worry, I'm not a monster, I took her to the restroom. Still I said the words, because I felt them with my entire body and soul. They were cold hard facts, I had not scheduled time to pee.

We made some good memories. I promise we did. The kind of memories that come with having a harried over scheduled slash over achieving mother. My daughters will always remember the "great boot hunt of 2016" the night before the Christmas program, staying out at the mall until 9 at night when we should have all been in bed, or at least homework for that matter. They will always remember the winter dance recital where their mom didn't realize how long it would take to do hair and make up on her two daughters plus herself. Which meant a breakfast of French fries and Dr Pepper courtesy of Jack in the Box, which they bragged about all day. My girls will never forget the last minute dash to do all the things: ugly sweater selfies, teacher gifts and making reindeer food in the 11th hour on Christmas Eve. Not even kidding when I say that we made reindeer food, put that shit out and went to bed. 

These are the moments that allow great children to become great adults. I promise you. Carefully curated Christmases are for psychopaths. Or so I continue to tell myself.

We had a fantastic Christmas. Was it sparkly and Instagram ready? Of course not. But after almost ten years of motherhood, it my brand of perfect. I wasn't ready, but I'm beginning to think I never will be. Not all the decorations made it out. The craft supplies that were supposed to be our 2016 ornaments are still sitting in the bag. The wreath I wanted to re-do has be carefully repacked into its bin. That beautiful chocolate gingerbread cake that I planned on baking in October, is still waiting to be baked. I never did see Love Actually all the way through. I never did read Jolly Postman Holiday to the kids. But none of those things matter now. Not really. We could do all of those things now, in January. In preparation for next year. Maybe the key to fitting in all the things in December is to start doing them in January. Eureka! I'm a genius. 

Now, in the most cliche way I have blinked and it's January. Actually it's January ninth, and my kids go back to school tomorrow. We are back to our regularly scheduled programming, and December is but a blur. Except for the fact that I still want to sleep all day and read all night. But I've held that belief since college. I'd like to say that December 2016 was the hardest and worst of the Decembers yet, but that would be a lie. The truth is, living on the edge, over scheduled and overwhelmed is exactly how I roll ninety nine percent of the time. That's where the naps come in. 

That my friends is how you win at December-ing. 

Goodbye December/ Goodbye 2016

It occurred to me an hour ago that I had not posted a single thing in the month of December.

I should have realized this sooner, but the truth is, I was too busy. Too overwhelmed. Too distracted by a season that should have been more focused.

My last post to this blog was November 8th, and after that it seems as though I have blinked and today is December 31st.

To say that December was hard is a complete understatement. Busy became a four letter word. I struggled the entire month to hold on tight to traditions, my knuckles turning white, and seemed to fail regularly. Christmas cookies were a three night project. I took a day off from work to wrap gifts. Class gifts were forgotten, gift cards were chosen last minute, even my regular binge of Christmas movies didn't happen before the 25th.

I spent the last 10 days before Christmas in a panic. How would it all get done? The class parties and the dance lessons, and the parties at the dance lessons. The Girl Scout party, the "Adults only" Christmas party, the family celebrations. As usual, they all fell into place, some last minute, some by the skin of our teeth. Some things we just had to let go of, because there were never enough minutes, barely enough moments.

That is why I woke up on Christmas Eve and decided to be happy. I made the conscious effort to be content. That is why I watched all five of my favorite Christmas movies between the 24th and the 26th. All in bits and pieces, I only saw my favorite scene in Love Actually (Hugh as the PM dancing, because duh); half of The Holiday while Santa worked furiously putting together a doll house. I switched back and forth between A Christmas Story and Scrooged. Home Alone on Christmas Eve afternoon while I baked cakes. It wasn't pretty or perfect, but I saw enough of them to soothe my soul. To make it feel like I was ready for Christmas.

Because I needed to be ready, for my family, for my kids, and I wasn't quite in the Christmas spirit. But the bits and pieces came together and made it feel whole enough to tear open gifts and eat candy first thing in the morning. To enjoy gifts of coloring books and colored pencils. To laugh with and at cousins I don't see regularly. To make reindeer food last minute with my girls who couldn't go to bed until the milk and cookies were out, and the reindeer food sprinkled.

We spent a rushed Christmas happily. All the traditions we didn't get to were forgotten Christmas morning. We didn't look back, we were too busy celebrating.

Truth is we are still celebrating. Our tree is still up, the lights are still on the house.

We haven't finished quite yet.

Because we made it to today, with a few bumps, but we still made it.

I'm grateful for that. I'm grateful for today and all the yesterdays of 2016. Even if some of them were complete and total bullshit. Even if some of the days included loved ones getting life altering diagnosis. Even if some of those days included fights about politics with family members. Even if some of those days included mom fails and wife fails and all around adulting fails.

I'm grateful I'm here. With my health and my family. With the people I love and those that love me. Tonight I'm heavy with reflection as I say goodbye to 2016. I'm heavy with hope for 2017. Mostly I'm happy and thankful as I greet a new year. It's like opening a fresh notebook. Blank pages just waiting to be filled.

Cheers to filling them well.

Chapter One...

Taking Stock {October 2016}

I haven't blogged in so long that I was looking for a way to come back and not write an extremely long post about life. In the past I've always loved the Taking Stock posts because they give readers a look into what you are doing right now. What you are loving, living, and eating which is super important right? Here is my Taking Stock for October.

Making:  

Anything and everything that is pumpkin and also gluten free. The Trader Joe’s pancake mix is amazing and smells like all your pumpkin spice dreams are coming true. It’s a must in this house, because you can very easily turn it into Pumpkin Spice Gluten Free Donuts! I know. Life changing.

Cooking:

Dinner. At least once a week. Hot dogs and tater tots count right? I mean I do have to turn on my oven and all.

Drinking:

Starbucks Iced Tea. I’m not supposed to have it because I’m supposed to stay away from caffeine, but once a week I treat myself. It’s so bad, but also so good.  

Munching: On this fantastic gluten free popcorn mix made with SkinnyPop popcorn. I used gluten free ingredients to make it gf friendly. It’s so easy to make: Buy one bag SkinnyPop popcorn in the original flavor, one bag candy corn, one bag white chocolate chips and one bag mini chocolate chips. Mix popcorn, 2 handfuls of mini chips and half a bag of candy corn together in a bowl. Melt the white chocolate chips and pour over mixture in the bowl. Stir to combine and pour out onto parchment or wax paper. When cool eat, or eat immediately! Add sprinkles if you want! Super yummy and easy to make!

Reading:

I read Winter Storms, by Elin Hilderbrand, who is one of my favorite authors. It’s a story that is set during the holidays which I love and its also the last book in a trilogy which totally breaks my heart. I also finished In Twenty Years, by Allison Winn over the weekend. It was fantastic, especially if you are on the verge of forty. I loved it.

Wanting:

All the boots. All the scarves. All the skinny jeans. And the all the cold weather so I can wear all these things.

Looking:

For skinny jeans that will fit a petite person who carries their weight in their mid section and also has a flat ass… For a friend. I’m asking for a friend.

Listening:

To 90s alternative on Pandora. Always 90s alternative on Pandora. Also the Chili Peppers new one that was released over the summer.

Wasting:

Precious hours watching New Girl. Before October I had only watched a few episodes, but now, I’ve seen everything except the current season. I always knew I’d love the show, but I just didn’t realize how much. I haven’t laughed this hard in years, and I laugh so loud that I scare the kids. I’m pretty sure Nick Miller is my spirit animal!

Wishing:

That the Giants would have made it to the World Series. Totally bummed that this wasn’t our “even” year.

Enjoying:

Cooler nights and mornings. That way I can fake some fall fashion before the temperature is back up to 80 degrees!

Waiting:

And counting down the days until our Disneyland Trip! I have been to the park almost twenty times, but never when it’s decked out for Christmas. I’m beyond excited.

Liking:

That I changed my schedule to have Wednesdays off. It’s the day we have the most dance classes, so it just made sense.  

Wondering: How next Tuesday is NOVEMBER FIRST!

Loving: Running. I know, but don’t hate me. A few years ago I became one of those people who loves to run after a lifetime of hating it. I have a 5:30 am call time with some girlfriends and it’s so fun to go and gab with them, but even better I get to run the “bitch” out. That’s what my neighbor says, and I believe her. It totally helps!

Hoping: That I can finish my Christmas shopping by Thanksgiving weekend. Praying on this also.

Marveling: That another year has past, faster than the last.

Needing: Boots. My others are trashed.

Wearing: The amazing boyfriend cut shirts from Old Navy and Rockstar jeans, which I will admit, I hated Rockstars in the beginning. But they fit really well (except in the butt, they sag, a lot!) and the mid rise waist guarantees that my crack will not show at work. No one wants to see “old lady crack”.

Following: Dan Rather on Facebook. I’m a liberal, so I may be super biased, but I love what he posts. He brings a historical element to this election that I find fascinating.

Noticing: That I have missed blogging and writing so much, but also noticing that I don’t feel as guilty as I used to when I skip it.

Thinking: About the Christmas story that I’ve been writing for two years may need to see the light of day.

Pinning: Gorgeous things for Thanksgiving and Christmas! Also delicious things for both holidays.

Giggling: With my husband at night after the kids go to bed. A few nights ago it was at Revenge of the Nerds. Before that A League of Their Own. Most nights its memes on Instagram.

Feeling: Like I want time to slow down. My favorite time of year is the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I have a feeling that they are going to fly by this year.

What are you taking stock of these days?

Inspired by this post

Embracing My Mess {Life Lately} September Sixteen

via

For weeks I have been trying to embrace my mess. To love and thrive in the chaos that is my life.

In my mind, there are so many things to say, to write, to share. I'm overwhelmed at where to start.

I'll start with summer and go from there. 

I spent the summer in organized chaos. A sweet symphony of being over scheduled and overjoyed. It was a balancing act, trying to stay on top of obligations while still maintaining some spontaneity. We spent the summer dancing, literally, with both girls at the studio. School ended and recitals and competitions began. Then a full schedule of summer classes. I worked in between being at the studio with the girls and being home, but only part time which makes me incredibly happy. Part time has finally allowed me to moonlight as a sometimes working mom, bringing home "light" bacon, just enough to fund our Target addiction. We swam at my mama's pool. Sometimes all day, sometimes all night. Fresno boiled and baked us in the hot sun. Our bodies tan and sun kissed. Our ears plugged with chlorinated water and our hair tangled and crunchy. It was beautiful and glorious and exactly the kind of summer I have always wanted to give my kids.

I spent late nights with my neighbors and friends. Taking and laughing and sharing meals. Watching the Olympics and cheering for team USA and committing ourselves to insuring that one of our kids will be an Olympian one day and then we can all go and cheer USA together. Ping Pong or Women's trampoline has top billing in this house. Who needs gymnastics?

The Hubbs and I spent the summer trying to keep up with the girls and each other. Sundays spent lazily. Sometimes, most times in bed, watching movies with bad words and napping, among other things. There were no designated date nights. Just easy, lazy, summer nights, enjoying our company, our surroundings, and our shared sense of humor. There were heated political debates. We almost got a dog. We sent each other private messages on Instagram that were always inappropriate, but perfect if you know us in real life. Summer is our best season, it always has been. 

Then school started and the organized chaos just became chaos. From school to dance to home to bed. On loop like some kind of video surveillance, titled, "Insight into an over scheduled life". This year I have a fourth grader and a first grader, which is hard for me to believe. Our homework schedules include 20 minutes of reading and at least 20 spelling words a night. The first week of school was rocky at best with a new dance schedule and back to school kicking us around. Exhaustion set in, and by the first Friday, we were fried.

When I think about this school year, I can see the road ahead of me. All I can see are bumps. A rocky road filled with a schedules and obligations. Not only have I committed my daughters to a hectic dance schedule but I've also committed myself. I don't always just drop them off, on Mondays and Wednesdays I sit for 3-4 hours at a time. I'm at dance as I write this. I'm going to email it to myself and copy and paste into my blog template later. If I didn't email myself my writing, I may never write, I'd never get it down. This year I'm also on the schools PTC executive board, serving as the secretary. Which means I'm at all events early; movie night, back to school night, open house, you name it, I'll be there. I'm still a Girl Scout leader and our scout year begins this Thursday. School has been in session for a month and I'm already thinking about June.

Not really. Just a little. With every bump in the road, there will be a blessing. I know that, I have faith in that. Blessings will come when I least expect them, when I think I can't take another step. I've learned that blessings always rise from mess and chaos. Little moments that make all the bullshit matter. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I overbook my life? It's nature. I've always been an "over booker". If over scheduling my life was an Olympic sport I'd be a gold medalist. I said yes to all of those things. I have committed myself to a busy year. Don't feel sorry for me, I want to do all of those things, I wanted to do them when I signed up. But I also want to be lazy. I want to watch everything in my DVR and sleep in on Sundays. And I will. Don't worry about me. I'm lazy most days. Laundry is rarely folded, dishes pile up. Please never stop by my house unannounced because my bathroom looks like a fairy tale wasteland with Lalaloopsy dolls in the bathtub and the remains of a murdered tube of toothpaste in the sink. Towels litter the floor because that's my life. Please always give me 10 minutes to pretend I'm the kind of mom who cares when mostly I don't. Little by little, toothpaste glob by toothpaste glob, I'm embracing my mess. Even when I'm embarrassed by the towels and the Lalaloopsy dolls.

With school back in session and something that resembles a schedule falling into place,I've been trying to get back into blogging. All summer I tried. But the pull. The pull to be with my family. My friends. The pull to watch new TV shows. The pull to spend all day at the pool. The pull was greater than the pen. I missed it, I did. When I found a spare moment, mostly late at night, I did write, a little fiction, a little fact. Mostly, I left it, the keyboard, the screen, and for the first time since I started this blog it felt right. It felt okay, like a relief to be able to leave it. To surrender and say, "I'd rather go to yogurt than type on that keyboard". I used to feel so guilty when I'd skip a post. I'd be mad at the world if I couldn't make it to the screen. It would feel like I failed. But in the last year something clicked. My blog, while fun and self serving, wasn't my only identity. My page views or lack thereof no longer dictated how I felt. The comments became non existent, no matter how heartfelt or how much I bled into the post. I got more interaction on Instagram and Facebook and so I started to post little bits there, but soon that fell off too. Soon I didn't know what every single person I followed are for breakfast or lunch. I didn't watch all the Fallon or Kimmel videos that were trending. Last night I got into bed and realized I hadn't been on Instagram or Facebook all day. Something that hasn't happened since I got my first iPhone and added the appropriate apps. Really, it was the first time in years. I was surprised that I didn't miss it. I was surprised that it didn't bother me. 

This is me, currently, embracing my mess. Embracing my chaos. This is me as my patience is pushed to the absolute limit, because I am scheduled within an inch of my life. So overbooked that when I forget to buy new tights for ballet or realize that I forgot the spiral bound notebooks or HOLY SHIT WE ARE OUT OF TOILET PAPER, I lament and rant and eat chocolate. Messy happens, it's happening right now.

I never wanted to be "That Mom". The messy one. The late one. The crazy/bonkers/batshit mom. I resisted so hard that it almost killed me. Then I let go. I let all previous expectations go, and embraced the chaos.

This is me, I'm proudly, "That Mom", embracing my mess.

PS: After I emailed this to myself. Ran home to prep dinner so the Hubbs could finish it. Went back to the dance studio to get Daughter #1. We walk into the house and Daughter #1 exclaims that she forgot her lunch box at dance. I went back and got it after dinner. Because it wouldn't be a Monday without more mess.

PPS: Check out another Messy Mom on FX's Better Things. Click here for details!

Profanity over Perfection: Why FX's Better Things is Everything!

Image via Better Things Facebook Page

Better Things on FX is the perfect portrait of motherhood if your brand of motherhood includes; sarcasm, profanity, and very awkward situations. Rated MASL (mature audiences/sexual situations/language), it’s not going to be every mom’s shot of whiskey, but it is without a doubt, my cup of tea.

Better Things is a new comedy on FX about single mom Sam, and her three daughters; Max, Frankie, and Duke. Sam is a struggling, but working actress, busting her ass to get to casting calls, going over lines last minute. Sam also provides her voice to a kids cartoon, and we see her testing out her characters voice in the sound booth, only to be interrupted by a telephone call from one of her kid's teachers. Sam is a hard working mom both outside and inside the home. Her daughters all test the best of her abilities in their own ways, and Sam does her best to stay afloat. Even when she says that she is “dating her daughters”, she still finds quiet time to text a “buddy”, and enjoy some fun flashbacks, until the sexting runs cold.

Think that Better Things doesn’t sound relatable? There are three super relatable scenes from the Pilot!

The show opens with Sam and her youngest daughter Duke in the mall. Sam is sitting on a bench opposite another mom, while Duke stands beside her sobbing uncontrollably. You can see other kiddos jumping in a play area in the background, Sam is on her phone. The mom opposite Sam is just staring at her as Sam stares at her phone. Casually Sam looks up and explains to the woman that her daughter wants a pair of six dollar earrings in the store ( as she points to an unseen location). As Duke continues to cry, Sam explains that Duke doesn’t even have pierced ears, but she wants six dollar earrings, and she (Sam) is not buying them. Sam then tells the woman to go and buy them, no really go and buy my daughter these earrings… After the woman stares at her for a beat, Sam says, Well if you aren’t going to buy them then stop staring!!!

I’ve never laughed harder or related better to a scene on a television show!

In another scene with Sam and Duke, Duke begs her mommy to lay with her at bedtime. Sam is torn because she really wants to lay with her daughter but knows that if she does she will most certainly fall asleep. Sam tells Duke that she has so much work to do that she can’t fall asleep, but Duke presses harder, and finally Sam lays down next to her in her tiny bed. Sam tells Duke not to touch her with her “magic baby hands” because they will make her fall asleep, and if she falls asleep nothing will get done. The camera pans away and in the next shot we see a sleeping Duke and Sam. Sam opens her eyes, you see the realization that it’s the middle of the night, and you see the “Oh F&ck” look on Sam’s face.

Image via Facebook

I could feel Sam’s panic, and totally understood the impending doom. I too have fallen asleep with my kiddos, only to wake up at two in the morning and realize that the lunches never got made, and the spirit wear shirts are still in the wash. Also the "magic baby hands" are a real thing, I swear.

The third relatable scene was on of Sam in the car with her teenaged daughter Max. Max wants her mom to buy pot for her so that her mom can make sure it’s organic. Sam is driving and trying not to drive off the road while looking at her delusional daughter. Her daughter continues to talk with her mom about drugs and sex and it brings Sam to the edge. She finally yells, “Hide things from me! Please!”. That look on Sam’s face is so familiar because sometimes there are just things that my kid talks about that I just don’t want to know, and someday she will be a teenager and I will need her to hide things from me. Or maybe, at the very least, ease me into it very slowly.

Image via Facebook

I have no doubt that Better Things on FX will be one of my favorite TV shows this fall. To me it feels like a reality show, but for many moms Sam maybe over the top. I’m 99% sure that Sam doesn’t have a Pinterest account and her Instagram, if she has one, is filled with snaps of her kids in poor lighting, or over filtered selfies. If she has Facebook it’s most likely filled with profanity and memes that cater to the mom of a certain age and stress level. Better Things is a show that my best friend and I should have written, because while it seems over the top, it’s incredibly accurate. Even if you don’t relate to the situation in the scene, you will relate to the emotion of that scene. I laughed a lot, but I also cried. Better Things just gets me.

I think my favorite scene in the pilot was the end. We see Sam on a movie set, pulling up her Spanx and readying herself to get shit done.

Like every mom, everywhere.

Better Things is Everything.

Check out Better Things on FX, Thursdays at 10 pm!

This Summer {2016}

It's August 1st. There are exactly 21 days left until our first day of school. Twenty-one days. How is that possible? This summer it has all gone way too fast. We are not ready summer! Do not leave us yet!!

A few weeks ago I read this interesting article about what we "should" be doing this summer. I'm pretty sure it was written from a dreamers stand point, like what we should all want to do this summer. Still it left me feeling a little sad. We may not make it to the beach this summer, or to a theme park. There is no way we will walk in a meadow and catch fire flies or climb a mountain top... It just left me thinking. Have I made the most of this summer? The more I think about it, the more I'm sure I have.

This summer I served ice cream for dinner more than once. It's super easy clean up if you use cones. Easier clean up if you go out for ice cream. Plus around Fresno, it's just too damn hot to cook.

This summer I have slept in more than once. Chucking all obligations. I have laid in bed for over an hour, scrolling social media, listening to my kids play, ignoring requests for breakfast. This summer I have skipped my alarm altogether on Sundays, and it felt so right!

This summer I have spent multiple days in pajamas. Letting my girls follow suit. We have eaten snacks from the pantry for meals, and watched Cartoon Network all day. These are the same days that were spent reading in bed. Enjoying a summer best seller with a happy and hopeful ending.

This summer I made lame excuses so I could go to Target alone, after dark. That way I could blast the Red Hot Chili Peppers, that always feel like summer. Throwing on a hat and flip flops just for a few moments alone. To enjoy the school supplies where the Halloween candy soon will live. Taking my time, wandering but never lost.

This summer, the Husband and I were able to watch half a movie, together, uninterrupted. A real movie with bad words and adult content. Which means the kids can't watch it. Which means we get to be adults again.

This summer I took my kids to Starbucks on multiple Sundays. Those Trenta cups make the best water cups, so I made it my mission to get a new on each week. Most Sundays this was the only adventure we went on, spending the rest of the day at home. Maybe there was a baseball game on, or an 80s movie. Maybe we saved our energy and went swimming later in the day. Maybe we did nothing at all, but those Starbucks Sundays will always be my favorite.

This summer I stayed up late, way too late. But the house was so quiet, and no one ever asked for water or goldfish. No one needed me to scratch their back or comb out tangles. It was so quiet that I was able to watch what I wanted to watch on any electronic devise of my choosing. There were no fights or whining about anything in those late hours of the night. It was perfect and just what I needed.

This summer I didn't write as much as I thought I would. I thought about it from time to time, but I was so busy with other things. Maybe that makes it less of a priority, and I'm okay with that for now. I also went days without posting on social media. Not because I made a conscious effort, but because I was in it. In the moments. Forgetting the phone all together. I can't say that it was a bad thing. It was kind of refreshing.

This summer I decided that my kids could be bored. I let them find themselves bored. If not now then when? I want them to experience down time, and what it feels like to be schedule free. So much of there time during the school year is filled with obligation and activity that I really wanted them to know what summer break feels like. So, we were bored. Sometimes we found a new show to binge. Sometimes we colored those cool adult coloring books that takes hours to finish a page. Sometimes we packed it up and went to swim at grandmas. Boredom didn't hurt them one bit, it inspired them to be kids. Kids with some freedom to be bored.

This summer I decided that six in the evening is the perfect time for a good swim. Or a good time to go to Target or the grocery store. It was kind of nice to decide to do something after spending all day doing nothing. It was easy to decide to throw on a hat and find some motivation to do anything. Especially if anything included ice cream or slushies.

This summer I declared that swimming could very much take the pace of a bath. Maybe baths are overrated when all you do is swim. Why wast soap? Chlorine is close enough right?

This summer I woke up in a bed of legs and tangled sheets. Legs that aren't mine. Tangled because we all fell asleep laughing or reading. Tangled because they all crawled into my bed anyway. It's the best and worst way to wake up. Best because those little people love you so much they can't stand to be away from you for even a night. Worst because your legs are asleep, you are sweating from all the body heat, and you really have to pee. This summer I woke up in a tangled bed so many times, it almost seemed comical. Still, there is something so sound and content about waking up in heap, listening to the tiny snores of your children.

This summer I wanted to live the laziest life. I wanted that for my entire family. The school year gets so bogged down with obligation. In just 21 short days we will be back at school, lunches will have to be made, homework to be done, dance classes to rush to. I wanted to enjoy the downtime, take advantage of the days that were free of classes or appointments. We didn't do a single bucket list item. We didn't complete a single suggested summer homework worksheet. I don't feel bad about it. My kids are healthy and happy, tanned and perfumed with chlorine. This summer we said yes to pajama days, yes to nights at the pool, yes to chips and Popsicles for dinner. Because summer never lasts as long as it should.

In twenty one days it's back to reality.

Until then, I'll be enjoying the last few days of this summer.