Not to be a downer, but, lately I’ve been reminding myself that none of this lasts forever. This minute, this day, this phase. It doesn’t last forever. It can’t.
If you can’t tell, that idea…that truth, has me spiraling a bit. On one hand, “this doesn’t last forever” is a GREAT mantra to repeat over and over, especially on those challenging days. But on the good days? It’s a punch to the gut. An arrow through the heart. A RUDE reminder that can suck the air right out of a room.
The other day, as I was cleaning up my bathroom for the 20th time, I ripped a toy Godzilla out of my bathtub with a little more attitude than was probably necessary. As I went to put it away, I just stared at it in all its ugly, plastic glory. This little monster is one of my kids’ favorite characters to help create chaos in the great North Sea, otherwise known as my tub. And then, it hit me. This ugly bastard won’t always be hanging around these parts. And instead of relief, I felt…homesick. Because one of these days, sooner than I’d like to imagine, he’ll be put away for the last time.
I know I’ll miss the messes. I’ll even miss the sounds, the fights, the clutter. I’ll miss Godzilla in the bathtub. So, I left that ugly little fella right there…armed and ready for another battle that only little minds can think up.
Deep down, I know that, God willing, the days ahead are just as bright as the memories that have been made. If this all lasted forever, how could we experience the gift of watching our children grow and love and learn? How could we experience the gift of watching ourselves grow and love and learn? It doesn’t work like that.
So, while I wish this could all last forever…I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m glad this doesn’t last forever. — (…and now for a poorly structured poem)
Godzilla in the Bathtub
What do you mean there won’t always be a Godzilla in the bathtub?
And what do you mean there won’t always be a little doll in my bed?
And how is it possible that one day soon, those books right here will be the last books that will need to be read?
What do you mean this doesn’t last forever?
That they’ll grow up and leave the nest?
How can it be that they’ll move through this world without my hand in theirs, and make big decisions and I’ll just be left to hope for the best?
What do you mean that this is the whole point?
That they’ll take lessons we’ve taught, the arguments we’ve had, the hurdles we’ve cleared and….go?
What do you mean it’s selfish to make this all about me…surely there’s some room, a tiny bit…for some woe?
What do you mean it gets better than this?
That being under one roof for now is just a glimpse of how good it will be?
And the days ahead are filled with the type of stuff that’ll have me saying “pinch me?”
And how is it so, that seeing their faces change, as much as it hurts, will be proof – on a platter – that this is how love works?
What do you mean there won’t always be Godzilla in the bathtub?
That he’ll take a break, but someday he’ll be back. Aged, but happy, just like me to hear the laughter and feel the splash.
What do you mean this is only for a bit?
Actually, there’s no time for questions, just time, fleeting time, to make the most of it.
Saying goodbye to a year of your life comes with a lot of feelings, doesn’t it? Maybe that’s why I was never the biggest fan of this holiday. Bidding farewell to good memories, great experiences and my dwindling youth has always felt bittersweet.
This year taught some particularly hard lessons that left me softer than I’ve ever been. It tested my family’s strength, and I think, by the grace of God, we passed. And while normally, I’d want to hurry out a year that didn’t obey the “good vibes only” rule like a bad guest, I’m having mixed feelings with sending this year packin’.
Part of me wants to keep it around a little longer to thank it for what it did to my heart, my faith and my family. And I guess when I put it that way, it sounds a lot like Stockholm Syndrome, but, we’ll work through that later.
Another part of me wants to send it far enough down the road that I can still keep an eye on it to make sure it can’t pull any more shit. But more importantly, I don’t want to lose sight of all the good that came from this year. The new doors that were opened up to rooms I’ve always wanted to be in. The new confidence that lives in my voice that maybe only I can notice, but, is there nonetheless. A family that is truly closer than we’ve ever been. Old relationships that have come alive again and new ones that are just beginning. And most importantly, a renewed faith in God because of things I witnessed with my own eyes.
The clock says I can’t hold onto this year any longer even if I wanted to, so I’ll just give it one last nod of gratitude, because holy shit am I grateful. And I’ll look ahead to the new year with an open heart, a little less skepticism than usual, and hope that more important lessons can be learned…maybe through a book or a podcast this time instead of traumatic life events, if possible!
Cheers to the new year. I hope it brings you everything you’re working toward and more.
Time moves faster in February, doesn’t it? I’m no physicist, but I’m pretty sure it has to do with the Leap Year. None of that Leap Year stuff has ever sat right with me. We’re just going to have a couple less days in this month and we’re all supposed to be okay with it? Seems like poor planning on someone’s part.
Anyway, with this month basically being halfway over already, it has me thinking back to a conversation I had with my son on the last day of January as we were all getting ready for the day.
Now, I don’t know about you, but to me, January lasted approximately 63 days. We had snow storms, very few school days, melting, mud and I don’t want to brag or anything, but I was sober for IT ALL. Yes, I completed Dry January – which means, for at least 31 days, I was slightly better than everyone.
Anyway, after I gave the kids the calendar, weather report and read the menu for school lunch, our (almost) 6 year old sweetly said, “wow, that went fast! January felt short!”
Hold the phone, my little man. Short? The month that somehow bent reality and magically doubled in length felt short?
I laughed and I asked him what he meant and with his perfect voice, which somehow seemed more mature than it was just the day before, but still so small and innocent, explained that it went fast because he got to spend so many days at home with us and his siblings. “Since we had snowstorms and so many stay at home days, I got to be home a lot. It was fun and it made it all go so fast, mommy!”
Oh, buddy.
Was he saying that for the same exact reasons January felt slow and sometimes painful (again, Dry January) for me were the same reasons it flew by in a core-memory packed blur for this perfect boy? While I was ushering it out of our house like a rat with my broom, he was spending time reflecting on the togetherness, the family puzzle night and lopsided snowman we made at 9 o’clock one snowy morning?
Reality Check. Gut Punch. Cartoon frying pan to the head while little cartoon birds fly around. What? How did I misread the room so badly?
For a long time I prided myself on the fact that nobody could make me change my mind. Which, honestly, looking back was probably pretty annoying and possibly somewhat toxic – so, many apologies far and wide for that character flaw.
I’ve also always been a “call things as I see them” type of gal. Well, kind of. I’m sort of a recovering people pleaser who, in my mid-thirties, am just now comfortable with saying almost exactly how I feel about things. So, before I was really a “THINK things as I see them” type of gal, but, you understand what I’m trying to say, right?
And, hoo boy, had I made up my mind about January. I called it EXACTLY how I saw it. That shit was rough.
So, when my own flesh and blood gave me an account that was so vastly different than my own, my initial reaction was the same one I had in 2015 when a picture of a dress divided our country in half. While some of you insane people saw a gold and yellow dress, I was clearly, without a doubt, staring at a garment made of BLUE and BLACK material. It didn’t make sense.
Except then I gave it a beat. And I really thought about it. And it broke my heart a little.
What am I doing rushing these days? These nights? These moments? Do I think by rushing them out the door, I get to bank them up into vacation time later? No, that can’t be it. Then, what?
I won’t pretend the work doesn’t exist. The grownup responsibilities and tasks don’t disappear no matter how much snow is on the ground, I know that. And yes, it was easy for a 6 year old to have fun with his siblings when he was home from school, because the biggest decision he had to make those days was whether to have peanut butter and jelly or dino nuggets for lunch. But, he was right.
This little boy’s viewpoint is important to me. Not just because it’s his and he’s mine, but because he’s on to something. Something I wish I had more of and something I need to go on a quest to find. It’s a little bit magic and it’s a little bit unrealistic and it’s a little bit basic common sense, and it’s probably just waiting to change my mind on a lot of things.
Which begs the question: What else have I made my mind up about that needs another perspective? How far back do I need to go? Did this short conversation with a 6 year old FINALLY teach me a lesson that has just never sunk in before? I think it did. Maybe it will teach you one, too. Sometimes you just need to strip things down and see them for what they are – be those snow days at home, a situation with your career or even making a list for the grocery store. The option is always there and I guess, just like my treadmill downstairs that’s collecting some serious dust, I need to start using it more.
So, tonight, even though it hurts me a little to be wrong – I’m thanking God for a long, sober January – and the perspective of a little boy who teaches me something new about myself (and about dinosaurs) every single day.
I haven’t written in a minute. It could be because I’m lazy. It could be because life is…life, or it could be because I haven’t felt The Push™.
It was always about The Push for me. It’s how I was wired – or so I thought. Whether it was The Push of a manic-like state of motivation, The Push of an approaching deadline, or even The Push of guilt or necessity – The Push fueled me and sometimes I felt myself relying a little too heavily on it to take any action at all. The trouble is, I think The Push has caught on to me lately. I don’t feel its force as often. I don’t feel its weight or urgency, which means I’ve been left with my own devices to make decisions – big or small. And that’s pretty scary for a person like me – a person who made a lot of QUESTIONABLE (bad) decisions in college and has in turn destroyed most of the photos of myself from that time.
Now that The Push has taken a step back, I can’t say I’m alone. Because where The Push once stood, loud and boisterous, taking up a large corner of my brain, now stands a smaller entity. It’s gentle and soft spoken and even a little elusive. This…is The Whisper.
Where The Push is the sound of a train coming at you at 200 mph, making every nerve in your body vibrate, The Whisper is your mom quietly opening your bedroom curtains, so you can slowly wake up in the morning. The Whisper has the ability to plant seeds and quietly tends to those seeds when I’m not paying any attention, allowing thoughtful and intentional ideas to grow from them. The Whisper isn’t assertive or panicked, but it’s calm and steady – allowing me to think I’m building thoughts and connecting dots all on my own until I’m ready to use them in my life.
The Whisper has helped me a lot this last year, and a lot of big changes occurred because of it. Not only did the changes happen, they happened in the right way. The Whisper allowed me to slow down and not feel the urgency or panic that The Push had conditioned me to for so long.
The Whisper helped me make a big decision regarding my career and gave me the confidence to take a leap of faith. More importantly, The Whisper reminded me that the decision wasn’t really about just my career – it was about my life. It was about my children, my time and my relationships – with others and with myself. The things The Push wouldn’t have considered, The Whisper made a priority.
I’m not sure where The Whisper comes from. Is it myself? My intuition? My wisdom? Have I really matured to a point where I can say I even have “wisdom”? Maybe…Or maybe it’s a Higher Power – THE Higher Power, who knows we all need the guidance of a little voice to give us that slow and steady pep talk. To remind us what our strengths are, and more importantly to remind us to work on our weaknesses.
Whatever it came from, I’m glad it’s here now, making things so much clearer with its quiet, steady demeanor. Making me consider the outcomes and making me understand consequences and a deeper meaning of my decisions.
Deep down, I think it always may have been there. A balanced and consistent force, not pausing its mission even though it was time and time again muffled by the confidence (and sometimes ignorance) of The Push. I’m grateful it didn’t stop trying. I’m grateful its consistency created a vibration that became louder than any idea The Push could throw at me.
Life somehow seems better listening to The Whisper rather than getting taken off guard by The Push.
If you haven’t heard it yet, just listen a little harder. It’s there. Slow and steady, quiet and gentle, waiting for The Push to take a breath so it can give you an unmistakable sign. You just have to be ready to hear it.
If this title has you thinking to yourself, “that’s it, AI has gone too far”, I’m not going to tell you that you’re wrong. But, it’s not what you think it is. At least, I hope it’s not?
Well, now that I’ve made it weird, to help get the image of a Google robot sneaking into my bedroom and speaking sweet code into my ear while my husband was away on business, let me go ahead and try to explain myself.
I have this theory. Stick with me here, okay, because it’s about to be a really confusing ride and it somehow involves the movie 101 Dalmatians. Not the animated one, the 1996 remake. Again, please stick with me.
Let me set the scene: the year was 1996 and Disney decided it was going to put a live action spin its classic animated film, 101 Dalmatians. The Disney casting room landed on Glenn Close, who I, at ripe age of 9, only associated with the made for tv movie “Sarah, Plain and Tall” to handle the role of Cruella de Vil and Jeff Daniels, who the entire world only associated with the CLASSIC movie, Dumb and Dumber, as…Roger? I guess that was his name, but, to me, he was always just a more polished version of Harry Dunne who finally got his shit together, sold his pet grooming van, but still kept a love of animals deep in his heart. Anyway. In this movie, they also (obviously) included SEVERAL (101, maybe?) LIVE Dalmatian puppies.
None of that information was really necessary, but I felt compelled to recap in case anyone was living under a rock (or God forbid, wasn’t born yet) in 1996. Back to the point – after the movie came out, there was a nationwide plea from animal rights activists asking Disney to add a disclaimer to the movie that said something along the lines of, “We at Disney KNOW these puppies seem cute, and you’re definitely going to want to buy one, but they’re actually very high maintenance dogs who love to bite ankles and rip apart your shit, so please, for the love of GOD, if you aren’t prepared for the responsibility, maybe pick up a goldfish instead”. I’m paraphrasing, of course, but I believe it was something along those lines.
Now, if you’ve ever seen a Dalmatian puppy, you know they are cute as hell. And not only are these things cute, but their classic black and white spotted *lewk* triggers some sort of nostalgic feeling deep inside that makes you just kind of…want one, so those animal rights activists weren’t wrong.
AND HERE, dear reader, is where I draw my parallel.
What 101 Dalmatians did to so many people in 1996, Google Photos did to me…once around February 2018 and again around October of 2022. Yes, those are the dates that Google Photos (indirectly) got me pregnant. *slowly lifts phone and points to the cutest, most perfect, most squooshy face of our first baby at 5 months old with a caption at the top written in a tiny font that reads, “5 years ago today“*
Yes, Google Photos (and all of social media), much like 101 Dalmatians, has a way of showing us “consumers” exactly what we need to see, when we need to see it, and I’ll be God damned if it doesn’t work on me every single time. Seriously. One minute, I’ll see a skincare ad on Instagram and the products are immediately in my cart and the next, I’ll see a cute memory of my kids as babies, smiling, cooing and doing all of the “perfect baby things” pop up on my photo sharing app and I’m instantly laughing at my husband’s jokes and asking him if we should go “on vacation” sometime soon. I’m impressionable to say the least, but the nostalgia I feel every time I see these photos of my sweet babies in earlier stages sends a signal to my brain that says “…you should like, totally have another baby” and, well, a few times I’ve gone for it.
Before I go any further, let me JUST say, there is nothing I love more in my life than my OWN little ankle biters, better known as my three children, and I prayed for each of them. In fact, I could picture them before they were here. BUT, I’m not too proud to also say that the timing of their entrance into this world is partially thanks to the technology we all carry around in our pockets every day. Would I change that? Not a chance. But, could I have used a disclaimer kind of like those animal rights activists were requesting before downloading the Google Photos app that said something along the lines of “the images we will be serving up from your past may cause baby fever and the only prescription is more cowbell to spread those legs, girl?” I mean, sure? Because baby fever hits me quick and it hits me hard, and history has proven I haven’t put up much of a fight when it enters the ring.
The truth is, nothing can prepare a person for how fast these kids grow up. Not the baby books. Not Aunt Susan saying, “it all goes so fast”. Not even experiencing it yourself from child to child. So, when those sweet memories pop up and the nostalgia hits you right square in the face, it’s hard not to want to relive it all again. That being said, the memories we see ARE always sweet, right? Of course they are! Just like those damn puppies in the movie. They only showed the sweet moments – not the ripped up sandals on the floor. And we do the same thing to ourselves. We don’t think to whip out our phones and take a picture when our kid is throwing a tantrum on the way to daycare because he is missing the sock ingredient to his favorite “socks with Crocs” ensemble. And we definitely think, “OH, I should be recording this” when you’re covered in their vomit at 2 am on Christmas Eve. But, that’s okay. I’m glad those sweet memories exist and I’m glad I picked up my phone when I got the “Your Memories Spotlight” notification in February of 2018 and October 2022. I’m glad I was lucky enough to have the sweetest little boy to have those *perfect* images of.
So, while I highly doubt Google knew it was getting women all over the world pregnant indirectly (or, hell, maybe it did, you can’t trust Big Tech), I’m sure glad it caught me in my “vulnerable” moments, because look what I have now. It may not always be picture perfect, but it’s perfect for me.
I want to start out by saying, “I know”. I KNOW you’re not supposed to get attached to material things. But as much as I know that, and even sometimes preach about it to my kids like one of those moms, at this moment, I don’t care.
Tonight is one of the last nights our family will be spending our very first home. The same home my husband and I bought right after we got married and definitely didn’t spend enough time touring before we signed the papers. The home I declared was, “probably too small to be a ‘family home’” about two weeks after we moved in. The same home we recruited our families to and convinced to spend an entire weekend building a fence for just so we could provide a safe home for the dog I convinced my husband into letting us adopt. The very same home that lent the perfect amount of comfort and distance when we experienced a quiet and difficult loss together. And, the same home that proved me wrong when it welcomed us back with love and acceptance as we walked through the door scared and nervous after evolving from “couple” to “parents”, first as a family of three and again a couple years later as a family of four.
And now we have to say goodbye.
If you can’t tell by now, I’m not emotionally (or physically, for that matter) ready to move out of this place. Okay, that’s dramatic. I am ready. It was mostly my idea to leave, and yes, the date has been on my calendar for months, but now that the time has come, I’m feeling every single emotion that exists. This house has seen me at my best. It’s seen me at my worst. And it has allowed us to fill every inch of this place with our things, our chaos and our love.
So, before we leave for good and are off to our next adventure, I want to say thank you to the home that has watched us all grow up.
Thank you to our house, for providing the perfect view, allowing me to watch my husband transform from a trusted partner into the most wonderful father and my children from infants who needed me at every second grow into two perfectly independent little boys.
Thank you for the judgment-free kitchen that witnessed me make and own up to mistakes in recipes, dance moves and decisions in life.
Thank you to our home for providing a floor that was somehow sturdy and soft enough to give my baby boys the confidence to take their first steps.
Thank you to our home, for the roof that kept us all safe, sheltered and at times, kept us grounded.
Thank you for the strong walls of support for times of weakness when each of us just needed someone to lean on.
Thank you to our home for not ratting us out when we decided to cancel plans and just stay in and enjoy the quiet. I appreciate that you know how hard being social can be.
Thank you to our home for never quite being perfectly tidy. Proudly showing off a tiny handprint here or a toy truck shoved into a plant there, to remind me that I have so much to be grateful for outside of an unrealistically clean house.
Thank you to our home for magically expanding to fit all of us when our family grew, and grew….and grew.
Thank you to our home for being the perfect landing pad for each of us when we came back down to earth from our crazy worlds. Welcoming us each back with our own special routines and spots of comfort to laugh in, cry in and be together in.
And finally, thank you to our home for selflessly showing us subtle signs and letting us know it was okay to take the next step into our future together, even if it meant leaving you, our special first home, behind.
Thank you to our first home. I’ll never stop being grateful for the lessons you taught me and the growth you allowed us all to experience – never stepping in to correct us, even when you could have (and maybe should have) more than once. We’ll miss you so much.
As I was plowing through my first box of Thin Mints of the long-awaited Girl Scout Cookie season, I couldn’t help but wonder: is it just me, or did Thin Mints taste better about 20 years ago? Then, as I thought even harder (scary, I know), I had to ask myself, “OR, has becoming a real ‘grown up’ just made me so jaded that I can’t even enjoy the taste of a crispy chocolate wafer dipped in a mint fudge coating like I used to??”
Even though it’s awfully deep for a Wednesday, I’m going with the latter, because it’s going to help me prove a point.
As I look back to when I was a kid, I remember the sun shining brighter, the summers lasting longer, the hugs feeling tighter and the lemonade tasting sweeter than it could ever taste now. Now, part of that was probably all of the real sugar I allowed myself to have back then, but still.
But, something I’ve noticed, especially lately, is that memories have a sneaky way of toying with our thoughts and our emotions. When we take an inventory of all of the experiences we’ve ever had in all of our years on earth, USUALLY the most beautiful ones float to the top. It’s how humans are wired. It’s biology. It’s what keeps us coming back for more every day and not locked inside our houses afraid to make another awkward encounter with your next door neighbor like you did last week. Memories, and the way our brains preserve the “special” ones, can be a very beautiful thing. But, (I know, the dreadedbut,) they can also have a way of gaslighting us into thinking less of our current selves, which, dear reader, is bullshit.
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of mental auditing about where I am versus where I “should be”. To be perfectly honest, I’m a bit of a mess. I’m overwhelmed with recent decisions I’ve made and I’m constantly questioning whether those decisions were the right ones. Newsflash to me and everyone reading this: they definitely were, I’m just a classic over-thinker. ANYWAY, as I’ve been going through my mental audit, I find myself looking back and retracing my steps to see if I’m even on the right path, or if I got lost in the woods somewhere along the way. I’ve been comparing my current self to a past version of me who was “more fun”, a “better writer”, was more “motivated” and had “bigger goals”. My apologies for all of the quotations, but I don’t usually use them unless I’m doing a Chris Farley as Bennet Brauer impression, which I happen to be doing right now.
Bennett Brauer SNL
My memories of past self, especially as I compare them to my current self, which I am pretty critical of (in a mostly healthy way), look wildly different from each other. Taking a quick glance into the rearview mirror, past me does look more fun, more fit, more alive and more driven. But, deep down I know if I actually turn this car around and pay a visit to that girl, there is much, much more than meets the eye. I WAS that girl. She was a mess (no offense past me), and I KNOW how she was feeling. I also know that I am so extremely proud of her for all of the growing up she’s done. And I KNOW she’d be proud of me for everything I’ve accomplished since I’ve left her. There are stories the picture in the rearview mirror simply can’t begin to tell.
Even in motherhood, I find my own memories gaslighting me into thinking I could be doing things better. Any time I am struck with a serious case of baby fever, or the memory of one of my sweet babies as a newborn pops into my head, all my brain will let me remember are their milk drunk smiles, their chunky thighs and the way they fit perfectly onto my chest during lazy afternoons sitting at home on maternity leave. And of course, for all of the sweet memories it allows me to remember, there are double, maybe even triple, the amount of memories it is trying to block from me. The sleepless nights, the painful boobs I did NOT see coming, and the severe anxiety that kept me from feeling like myself for months. It’s all right there, hiding in plain sight amongst those sweet memories that are displayed in beautiful gold frames sitting neatly on a freshly dusted shelf.
While I know our brains are built to protect us from those experiences, to revisit them can be such a great reminder of the hard things we are capable of overcoming and the tremendous growth we’ve experienced. Remembering it all: the good, the bad AND the ugly, prove to us that we can get through anything, and we can get through it again, especially if it’s a baby who’s on his or her way in July. Surprise!
Most importantly, though, the person we are today is a product of every experience we’ve had, even the bad ones, which is pretty damn beautiful if you ask me.
So, even though earlier me said the Thin Mints may have tasted better 20 years ago, I think I really just allowed myself to fully enjoy them back then, and I’m going to do the same right now. I deserve it.
Yep. Just as I thought. These Thin Mints are just as sweet…Come to think of it, they might even be a little bit sweeter.
I have to tell you that lately I’ve been feeling conflicted. Torn in half. Pulled in two completely different directions.
I don’t know how else to describe it other than using a food related metaphor, so if you’re hungry, you might want to grab a snack, because this could trigger a craving.
Ready? Let’s go.
You know when you’re at a really fancy restaurant and you have your eye on two completely different entrees that you really, really want, so you sit there in a half panic hoping the server won’t come back because you’re not sure what to go with, but she eventually does because she’s great at her job and then you’re put on the spot to order, so you think to yourself, “to hell with it, I’m an adult, this is a special occasion, I’ll just order both!”, and then you do, and at first you’re really happy because this food is GOOD and then you start to get full and feel a little…uncomfortable, confused and sweaty?
I’ve been feeling kind of like that.
Some might call this a mid-life crisis, and to that I say, “go to hell, I’m only 34”. Others might say it has something to do with astrology, or the new moon, or the zodiac or whatever, and if that’s the case, well, let’s just say reading my horoscope in Cosmo never prepared me for this feeling and I feel a bit cheated.
To any parent reading this, you won’t be surprised when I say that the area I’m feeling the internal tug-of-war the most is around my “title”. Who am I, really? Well, let’s break it down. First and foremost, I’m a wife and mom. That’s pretty simple. Then, let’s go one layer deeper. I’m a wife of a working husband and I’m a working mom of two. Sometimes I wear that title, “working mom”, with pride. Sometimes, for only reasons that I can blame on society, I even wear it with a touch of cockiness. But other times, and lately, a lot of the times, I wear it with a feeling of extreme and overwhelming guilt. And THAT, my friends, is where the tug-of-war begins.
Growing up, in movies and on tv, and even in our own personal experiences, we (as in ALL of us) were introduced to two separate female characters. The first is Mom™. Mom is happy, positive, cheerful and always busy. She’s taking care of the kids, her husband, the home and dang it, she even spoils the dog! She’s always put together, even while wiping down countertops with a baby on her hip. And boy, when mom makes a joke, us in the audience give her a soft chuckle. We love mom. Some of us even want to be Mom someday.
Then there’s THE BUSINESS WOMAN™. The business woman is a badass who is respected by everyone she works with. She doesn’t take shit from anyone and makes things happen by delegating to her team and is the most organized person you’ve ever seen. She is perfectly manicured and smart, decisive and direct. THE BUSINESS WOMAN is someone many aspire to be, but few achieve. When THE BUSINESS WOMAN talks, everyone listens. All of us secretly want to be The Business Woman someday. She’s a real one.
Two very different characters whose narratives never, ever cross. That’s what we’re used to seeing, right?
Then one day, Millennial Mom comes on scene. Millennial Mom is a bit of a hybrid model. Half Mom, half THE BUSINESS WOMAN and most days, she’s not sure which way is up. Her programming tells her she has to be the best mom ever, while also excelling at her job and impressing every single person around her, whether she’s at home or in the boardroom. Millennial Mom can be compared to one of those hypoallergenic dogs, let’s say, a Golden Doodle. Some days she feels the urge to nurture and play like a loyal Golden Retriever and other days she just wants to look pretty and impress everyone with her intelligence, like a prize winning Poodle. And some days, having to choose which one to be makes her feel like just a downright bitch.
If I haven’t introduced myself yet, hi, I’m Millennial Mom. I’m conflicted about pretty much everything. Like a lot of women my age, I chose both entrees at the restaurant, and like I mentioned above, I’m a “working mom”. First of all, what a bullshit title. I cringe at myself any time I’ve used that with any sort of arrogance in my voice. And believe me, I have. To make myself feel better in times of extreme doubt and internal conflict, I’ve leaned into that title and worn it as some sort of armor in an attempt to temporarily elevate myself. If I ever said it to you, I’m truly sorry.
I am fully aware all moms are working moms and any title that entertains the idea of comparing parents who work inside the home vs outside the home can kindly see their way out. That being said, as a parent who works outside the home, I like to play a fun game with myself daily about whether I’m doing the right thing. Deep down, I know I am. By working, I’m helping to provide for my family, I’m letting my children experience daycare/preschool where they’re learning, growing and building social skills, and I’m in a job that allows me to truly do what I love with people I adore. But that doesn’t stop the doubt. Maybe my kids want to see me for more than an hour in the morning and a couple of hours at night. Maybe I should be teaching them the important skills they’ll take with them later in life, so they remember their mom as more than just the lady who gives good hugs, but sits on her computer a lot at night to catch up on work. Maybe?
But maybe it’s time I drop the idea of having to pick one or the other, or even the idea of trying to be the best at both at the same time. As someone who wants to be the best at things and has a lot of my value wrapped up in my production, this is hard – but maybe it’s time to give myself some grace. Maybe I should slow down. Maybe we all should? Maybe it’s time I just lean into the version of myself I know the people around me need. The version who does my best in all areas of my life when I’m able to, and the version who won’t end up in any history books for being the best at either (even though I have the perfect picture in mind, just in case) but will be remembered as someone who worked hard and did her best to take care of her family, her friends and her team. Maybe we can make a deal with ourselves and each other that we’ll work on this. Maybe the characters we were introduced to as kids and whose narratives we were continued to be fed as we grew up will morph into someone a little more relatable and realistic. Maybe the doubt will still creep in, and maybe eventually it’ll slow down. Maybe it will, and maybe it won’t. All I know is, my arms are tired from playing tug-of-war, and ever since I mentioned that fancy restaurant earlier, I’m feeling pretty hungry, so I need to go take care of that.
Fall is the best time of year, because it has everything I could ever want in a season. For instance, over there you have crockpot meals! Just right there you have leaves doing their yearly “glow up”. Over here you have a nice display of cardigans, so soft you could bury your face in them. And right here, you have college football. Breathe it in, folks. It’ll leave us just as quickly as it arrived.
Notice how I didn’t say anything about pumpkin patches. It is my personal belief that pumpkin patches are a waste of perfectly good sanity. Sanity you’ll need later in life for when your kids are trying to drive you to the point of no return by playing the Blippi theme song over and over and over again. In fact, the only thing I remember about our trip to the pumpkin patch last year was the argument my husband and I had on the way to the pumpkin patch about going to the damn pumpkin patch. Not only that, none of the photos I posted at the pumpkin patch landed me a spot on the Pinterest homepage or shot me to Instagram fame like I intended. The pumpkin patch is dead to me. The cider donuts slap, though.
But, back to college football, shall we?! The Eddie home happens to be a house divided, with yours truly rooting on the University of Iowa Hawkeyes and my husband, Geoff, a dedicated fan of the Iowa State Cyclones. It may be interesting for you to learn that we both attended Iowa’s third University, the University of Northern Iowa. So, yes, we need to get our priorities in check. Thank goodness our kids look great in both team’s apparel, because that was going to be the deciding factor on whose team really reigns supreme.
Last weekend, to celebrate my 34th birthday (wow, I haven’t typed that number out, yet), Geoff and I went to Iowa City to cheer on the Hawkeyes. Most importantly, though, went to Iowa City to tailgate. Now, I haven’t really tailgated in years, but back in my prime, and I don’t want to brag, I knew how to ruin a good tailgate. I got started too early and I went too late, and that’s all we need to say about that. BUT, now that I’m a mostly mature parent, I knew I needed to come in prepared for a long day, so prepared we came.
When you really boil it all down, to have a good time tailgating, you need a couple things (besides beer and brats):
A “Can Do” Attitude, because there’s about to be a lot of eating, drinking and walking, and in order to have a really good time, you’ll be required to do all three
A Portable Cooler, because of point #1
Now, I know you’re used to my ramblings and not me making listacles of shit you should buy, BUT, I’m trying something a little new here so, bear with me. Or don’t! That’s up to you, pal!
Some of these things make great gifts and others are just stuff you should have on hand to make your life easier in your day to day. So, enjoy? Or, don’t!
Tailgating Essentials
EltaMD UV Clear Facial Sunscreen
Before you head out for a fun day of tailgating in the sun, you first need to take care of that skin, baby! This sunscreen has seriously changed my life over the past two years. I understand that sounds dramatic, but, as I’ve gotten older I’ve developed a sensitivity to Mr. Golden Sun’s rays and the results are less than ideal. This is the ONLY product I’ve found that works to block out everything, ensuring my skin doesn’t break out after sun exposure. Even if you don’t have a sun sensitivity, you need to give this a chance. It goes on clear and doesn’t have that usual sunscreen smell. It can go on under makeup and lasts hours!
Ice Mule Backpack Cooler
I don’t want to say this cooler saved our marriage, but this cooler saved our marriage. Just kidding. Kind of. I bought this cooler for my husband for his birthday this summer and it’s been a staple to our weekends ever since. It fits everything you need, from snacks to bottles of water to, yes, multiple cans of beer, and is convenient as HECK. You carry it like a backpack, and by you, I definitely mean your partner, which leaves two open hands for giving you back massages or playing you a love song on a piano.
This big guy would make a great gift for Christmas or birthdays, because who doesn’t want to carry around their family’s snacks on their backs?!
Silicone BPA Free Reusable Storage Bags
These little things have come in clutch more times than I can count, and work perfectly to throw into the backpack cooler I linked above! I love these things for storing snacks and packing lunches. Seal ‘em up real tight and they’re fine to hang out in a cooler or freezer! I love that they cut down on waste and are completely safe to be used again and again. Their only downfall is that they aren’t dishwasher safe, but, the best things in life aren’t, ya know?
Carhartt Crossbody/Fanny Pack
If you’re tailgating, you need to travel light. Especially if you intend on heading inside the stadium, you need to keep your personal belongings to a minimum. On a normal day, I’m very Pro-Carhartt. Maybe it’s because I want to to move to a nice acreage and raise goats from here on out, or it could just because their women’s line is >>insert fire emoji here <<. So sure, I was already a fan, but when Carhartt starting introducing bags and purses, I became a full blown groupie. This crossbody bag/fanny pack can fit your necessities, and is super cute. It should be small enough to be allowed in most stadiums, but ALWAYS check the stadium rules ahead of time so you don’t have to throw it in the purse pile outside of the gates. Been there, cried over that. Carhartt has tons of sizes and colors to choose from, but this one is the best for tailgating, IMHO! This would also make a great gift, and I’ve already bought a couple to gift at Christmas!
(Item pictured below is actually the Sling Backpack, but I think the fanny pack would work better for tailgating)
Bombas Socks
We’ve covered the eating, we’ve covered the drinking, but we haven’t quite covered the walking. Regardless of the footwear you land on (I’ve learned it’s comfort over fashion in times like these), these socks will take care of you. Yes, they’re pricey for socks, and yes I was skeptical, too, but one lap around the tailgate in these puppies and my feet were singing like angels. They are really like little hugs for your feet! These socks are the real deal, and I’m not sure on the science, but I think they somehow figured out how to weave tiny pieces of clouds into the fabric. Wild. You won’t regret it.
So that’s it! That’s the list! I actually quite enjoyed that, and I hope you did, too!
My next blog will probably be BAU (business as usual) and cover all kinds of things from true crime to nipple talk, so get ready!
Isn’t it funny the subjects we become experts on once we become parents? For instance, I’m currently an expert in the heavy equipment industry. Show me a piece of equipment, I can rattle off the name, the year it was made, what attachments it has and the EPA category it’s in. Little boys have a way of making sure you know this kind of important information, and if you get it twisted, be prepared for an earful, because that’s rookie behavior and we don’t win championships with a team full of rookies who mix up excavators with tractors. Damn, girl!
Aside from excavators and front loaders, I also fancy myself a fruit snack connoisseur. In my opinion, there are three big things you should consider when picking out the perfect fruit snack:
Quantity in the Package
Density of the Fruit Snack
Shape of the Fruit Snack
The fruit snack I’ve found that checks all of these boxes (plus some), has to be Mott’s. Those little shits are good. If you’ve never been taken to Flavor Town by a Mott’s fruit snack, you’re missing out. It’s basically a Gusher™ without the questionable goop on the inside. And if you’ve never had a Gusher, well, sweetie, I simply can’t help you. You’re a lost cause.
Now, you may be asking yourself, “is she really writing a blog about fruit snacks?” and the answer is yes, I am. But, you’re one the reading it, so who’s the real dork here? Kidding. We’re both great. We’re thriving. Look at us!
The point is, I’ve found myself shocked with the amount of learning that’s happened during this phase of my life. The phase, generally, being “Early Parenthood”. Early parenthood? Is that a thing? Whatever, it makes sense in my head. What I mean is, when I was pregnant, I learned new things every single day. For example, I learned the my nipples could grow to the size of frisbees and that getting your cervix checked felt like a medieval torture technique. When my kids were newborns, I learned the difference between their hungry cry and their “I’ve just ruined the third outfit you put on me with a massive blowout” cry. I also learned that pajamas with zippers are the only way to go and that the longest my youngest could ride in a carseat without summoning demons with his screams was approximately 24 minutes and 13.5 seconds. Now with two boys 3 and under, I learn something new every day. A lot about them and maybe even more about myself (like how my patience on the 3rd week of my cycle is dangerously low, but chocolate helps me cope).
But, the whole point of learning is to share your new knowledge, right? I’m pretty sure that’s the point. Hence the recommendations on the fruit snacks. I don’t do that for my health. No, really, I don’t. What I forgot to mention is those delicious little cuties are 80 calories per shot (I dump them into my mouth all at once like a shot) and unfortunately the scale reflects that.
As you may have noticed, I’m a big sharer of information. A lot of times, I’m a big sharer of too much information. Just ask my mom. Also, just ask my Twitter followers, and my husband, and my coworkers and that guy at Trader Joes last Wednesday. I’m sorry to all of you. But, I can’t help it. I hear something I think is interesting or “helpful”, and I share it. It’s called “advice”, look it up. Just kidding. But really, I think I do it because it’s how I prefer to learn. Hearing firsthand accounts from other people is pretty much how I know all of the things I know. From facts about UFOs to the best baby bottles, it’s wild, but true. I think it’s a millennial thing.
I remember when I was pregnant and my husband was reading a parenting book. I was so annoyed with him. Why would he read a book? Why couldn’t he just ask his cousin or mom or aunts about what it feels like when your mucus plug falls out or which nipple balm to use for breastfeeding? It seemed pretty easy to me. I get it now. That is how he prefers to learn. He’s fact based. He’s data driven. He’s….he’s smarter than me. Don’t tell him I said that.
I’m really thankful for all the learning I’ve been able to do over the past few years. Which really has nothing to do with me and everything to do with someone like you. I’m really thankful for all of the teaching people have done for me over the past few years. All of the people who have shared their experiences and their knowledge, especially about parenthood. All of it, and I mean all of it, has helped me so much on this ~*journey*~. From my best friend and I comparing pregnancies and the emotions that came with them, to my mom telling me how she felt the first time she looked at her first baby (no brag, but that was me!), to the stranger on the internet telling me which sleep sack helped her fussy baby sleep longer hours through the night. I took all of that information and advice and stored it away until I needed it. And sure enough, I have needed ALL of it at some point in time. I’m sure there’s some still shoved into the deepest parts of my brain (right next to my locker combo from 8th grade) that I haven’t needed yet, but will soon, and I’m so glad it’s there.
So, thank you, fellow oversharers. I’m so glad you told me about what kinds of pads to use after giving birth or how often to take the stool softeners. You might not know it, but you really saved my ass.
What was the best parenthood advice you’ve ever gotten? Share it below!
It's Mackenzie Eddie 