We’ve all heard the saying that women marry someone like their dad, and as we get further into our marriage I see more of my dad in Chase. He loves a good chat, a good beer and above all, his family. He puts us first all the time and even when our kids are crazy, he treasures his time with them. There is no place he’d rather be.
This morning the kids were so excited to jump on him in bed to wish him happy birthday. He is their idol. He’s a good role model. If Clay grows up to be half the man – and husband – his father is, we’ll have done our job.
I’ve written before that marriage hasn’t been particularly hard for us, not because ours is perfect (no one’s is), but because I found the perfect person for me. He is my biggest supporter and has never once told me I couldn’t or shouldn’t do something. Even when he probably should have.
I’m sure that’s because he’s a true partner in every sense of the word. He has the thankless job of getting the kids to school in the mornings. He cooks dinner and does bath time while I’m working out. Then he goes outside to throw the ball for the dog. Even today, on his birthday, he’s dropping off chairs to some lady from craigslist because I’ve decided to re-decorate the living room, and she lives close to his office and has a small car.
He’s good friend, and the best husband and father a girl could ask for. Happy birthday, pookie!
I remember early on in my parenting journey, a friend told me that life gets easier when your youngest child turns four. Just over six months ago when Avery turned four and Clay turned six, I joked with Chase that we could no longer use “having little kids” as an excuse for anything (piles of laundry, eating grilled cheese for dinner, etc.).
From April to the end of the year, we continued flying through life, not realizing that things were, in fact, getting easier. It took two weeks at home with the kids for Christmas break for it to hit me. Having kids that are four and six is easy(ish)!
My reluctance for us to go back to school and work today brought me to this realization. For more than two weeks, we had nice leisurely days. The kids let the dog out and fed him. I didn’t get out of bed until after 7:00 a.m. (this is a big deal in a house full of early risers). We came and went as we pleased, not rushing home for naps or worrying that someone wouldn’t behave appropriately in a particular restaurant. I took photos of our daily activities and posted them on Facebook, wanting to document our time together, but not really understanding the significance until today.
No, they can’t make gourmet meals or drive me around. I still have to remind Avery to brush her hair and Clay to put his socks in his laundry basket. But, I’ll be damned, they can do these things themselves!
I had lunch with coworkers today who have “little kids,” and they were both joking that they were glad to get back to work. I’ve felt that before – the need for adult conversation and the exhaustion from constantly doing something for someone else. This was the first year I didn’t feel it at all…because my kids are growing up. They are cool little people and while strong-willed children, of which I have two, will never be “easy,” they sure are a lot of fun.
For those of you surrounded by diapers and sippy cups, watching Disney Junior while your kids throw Cheerios on the floor, take heart. It will get easier before you know it. For a while, at least…eventually we’ll all have teenagers!
Since school started in August I’ve felt like this, and it’s seemed more crazy the past two weeks. Work and family and social commitments running into one another, making Chase and I feel like we were just ships passing in the night. The kids asking why I was working on Saturday night and why Chase had missed their soccer games.
Today I realized I needed a break. Not a long one, but more than one minute in the bathroom, which is all I’ve had lately. I took 10. Instead of inhaling lunch at my desk, I kicked off my boots and slipped on my flip flops. As I walked down to the beach, I passed the office of the local newspaper, reminding me that I need to contact one of their reporters about an event next week. I almost turned back, but kept going.
I walked quickly, thinking my destination was just what I needed. I sat on a bench on the beach, alone with my thoughts.
Taking just 10 minutes of uninterrupted time, I quickly remembered that this very place (La Jolla) was where the best part of my adult life began. It reminded me that I do housework because I have a roof over my head. I hustle to get work done because I have a busy day job and a growing side business. I run the kids to soccer practice because they’re healthy and like being active. I pack lunches because these little people need to eat. I rush to happy hour when I’m tired because relationships matter to me. I stay up too late and sacrifice sleep because I want to lay in bed and talk to my partner in life.
10 minutes of silence in what seems like months’ worth of chaos made me realize that all the commitments in my life exist because I’ve worked hard in my career, have an amazing family and wonderful friends. I’m so thankful for this place, these people and this life.
Who knew that 10 minutes would give me such clarity? When you have time, take 10. You won’t regret it.
I’m a Dailey Method devotee, and our barre instructors end class with stretching and inspirational words. Occasionally they focus on being grateful for the “abundance” in your life.
Abundance is an interesting concept, really. One definition is, “the state or condition of having a copious quantity of something; plentifulness,” but I tended to think of of abundance as having more of something than you really need. Turns out my perception may have been skewed, as another definition is “plentifulness of the good things of life; prosperity.”
Clearly I didn’t start this blog because I felt like I had an abundance of time or money. I hate wasting either and was looking for more of both. But, in reality, I had plenty of the good things in life. I just didn’t recognize it.
I came to this realization lying on the floor in Lululemon attire, in a private workout studio. The clothes and workouts are not inexpensive. I spend an hour of my time going to work out, not needing to be at a third job to pay the bills, like some parents do. I leave class and get gas, spending $90 to fill my tank. I’m annoyed it costs that much (ugh taxes), but I don’t wonder how I’ll pay for it. I rush to Costco because I always feel rushed, but that’s who I am. I’m type A and want things to be done quickly. I fill my cart with things I need and a few impulse purchases. Again, without worrying about the cost.
I go home and fill my fridge with (mostly) healthy and nourishing food. In our home in a beautiful and safe neighborhood, with good schools for our kids. Abundance.
I have the best family and friends anyone could hope for – and time to spend with them. Abundance.
I work with wonderful people, doing work I enjoy, in an office near the beach. I have a steady paycheck and great benefits. Abundance.
My side business allows me to do more for my family and to help others make money. Abundance.
The two small people and the one big one who live in my house bring me joy every day. (Even on the days when Clay doesn’t listen or Avery takes 30 minutes to get in bed or Chase leaves his shoes downstairs). Abundance.
Let’s be honest, I’m not going to stop looking for ways to save time or money. But, I’m going to revel in the fact that I have all that I need. A prosperous, beautiful life, for which I’m grateful every day.
This weekend, we were invited to a 40th birthday party for one of Chase’s childhood friends. Another weekend with friends, which is great, but also another weekend traveling, eating (and drinking) too much and not getting enough sleep. After the past few weeks, Chase understood when I suggested that the kids and I stay home.
We ordered pizza last night and watched TV. We went to bed early and slept in late (7:30 is late, right?). Today the kids took a gymnastics class while I worked out. We spent the afternoon swimming, then played and watched horse racing before picking up up Chick-Fil-A for mom and kid movie night.
Somehow the kids convinced me to let Avery sleep in Clay’s bed tonight. I laid in between them to tell a story and afterward started to rub their heads, something they both like when going to sleep. Clay looked over with a smile and said, “There is nothing better than this. Nothing better in the whole world.”
He wasn’t complimenting my head rubbing skills. He went on to tell me that nothing makes him happier than to be here together. Of course we miss Chase, but this weekend was just what we needed. With work and social commitments, life can get crazy. Sometimes I just need to take a step back and spend time with my family. Because there really is nothing better than this.
It’s been a crazy week here in San Diego. A wild fire broke out down the street from our home on Tuesday, and since then eight more have started. As an East Coast girl, fires are still unfamiliar and unnerving to me, though we were evacuated in 2007 when I was pregnant with Clay, so this isn’t my first go-round.
As much as I hate emergency situations, I am always amazed how they bring out the best in people. I first noticed this in D.C. after 9/11. The city seemed different: united, patriotic. It is a strange coincidence that the day the National September 11 Memorial Museum opened in New York, we were experiencing an emergency in my new(ish) hometown.
It started on Tuesday, when my son’s school was evacuated. My phone went crazy with people offering to pick him up for me. The next day when there was a flare up nearby, the same thing happened and one friend grabbed him from school, and he spent the afternoon with another friend and her daughter.
I remember when Chase and I visited our current neighborhood for the first time and said we didn’t want to live in a “cookie-cutter” subdivision. That opinion changed quickly when Clay was born, and I’m so glad it did. In addition to old friends who live nearby, we have new friendships with people we’ve met through my workout studio, soccer, baseball and school. It’s a sense of community I’ve never felt before, and I’m so thankful for it.
San Diego is very spread out and though each community has a slightly different vibe, this week we were united. People came from other parts of town to take animals home when shelters were evacuated. Businesses and organizations in fire-safe areas opened their doors to those who needed a safe place to shower or eat. Families brought treats to firefighters. College students (who don’t have a lot of money) donated to Red Cross fundraising efforts. The YMCA provided free child care for families when parents had to work while their kids’ schools were closed. Restaurants offered discounts to first responders and evacuated families.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss the East Coast (minus the bugs and humidity) sometimes. But this week, I’ve realized that San Diego is my home. I’m proud to be part of a community, that, in time of need, really comes together. In a city of three million people, many of whom are from somewhere else, it’s nice to see.
After days of smoky skies like the photos above, we decided to head to my in-laws’ home at the beach last night, just for peace of mind. You can’t see the smoke over the sunset, and it was a beautiful reminder of the place where my life with Chase started and how grateful I am to be part of this wonderful community.
Stay safe, everyone!
Six years ago, we had burritos from our local taco shop to celebrate Cinco de Mayo, so when my 34-week pregnant body felt off on May 6, I blamed it on my overindulgence the night before. That is, until I realized my stomach felt weird every eight minutes. Never having been in labor before (and the fact I wasn’t due for another five weeks), I was shocked when my doctor’s office told me to head to the hospital. Clay was tiny, but healthy, and we were heading home a short 48 hours later. I loved him more than I thought possible, and can’t believe my little munchkin turns six today!
I joke about Clay’s inability to be quiet for more than three minutes, but I secretly love it. I love how his mind works, the questions he asks and the stories he tells. There is little question in my mind that he’ll be a lawyer, and more recently I’ve realized that politics could also be a good career choice for him. It’s not just his ability to remember everyone’s first and last name. I’ve been in a room with Bill Clinton and though I don’t agree with his politics, he’s bright, witty and charming. Clay has all of those skills in spades, and I have faith that he’ll use them for good and not evil. Because behind all the talking and negotiating, he’s a really good kid.
While Avery makes me laugh, Clay makes me breathe a sigh of relief. He’s my dependable child. The voice of reason, who often talks his wild sister down from a (sometimes literal) ledge while looking over at me with a quick eye roll and a smile. My first born, follow-the-rules child is determined to save that silly little girl from herself.
Following in his dad’s footsteps, Clay always puts other people’s feelings first, and he is such a good big brother. When he got to pick a prize out of the box at school last week, he automatically grabbed two. Not to be selfish, but so his sister could have one, too. Every milestone in her life from her first words to finally realizing this weekend that she can swim without a floatie, he’s always been her biggest cheerleader, proudly jumping up and down at her latest accomplishment.
Every night before bed, I ask Clay, “What was the best part of your day?” His response 98 percent of the time? “Seeing you, Mommy.” His response is so telling. Though I know he’s telling me what I want to hear (see above about his charm), it’s genuine. He loves school and his friends, but at the end of the day, family means everything to him. He loves watching (and playing) sports with his dad, baking with me and playing with his sister, cousins, grandparents, aunt and uncles.
I’m so proud of the big boy Clay is becoming. Seeing him is the best part of my day, too. Happy birthday, munchkin!
As I wrote last year, April 25 is my least favorite date on the calendar. The day my dad died. This week has been better than past years, partially because I’ve been really busy at work (i.e. distracted), and I’ve worked out three days, which always helps clear my head.
I was chatting online with my brother late last night – it was actually already April 25 for him. I’m not sure if the date dawned on him, but we spent a full hour chatting. I had other things to do, but it’s not often between his business and my work/kids schedule we get to catch up for more than a few minutes. We didn’t talk about my dad, but maybe we both sensed it.
I was thinking about my brother on my way into work. He looks like my dad and has become very handy like him. I started to think about all the things about my dad that I loved. Funny memories and things he enjoyed. I thought about how much he would have adored Avery, the grandchild he never met.
Then all of a sudden, it hit me. There is something about Avery that in the four years of her life, I haven’t been able to put my finger on. Then today, on the date that I dread, I realized it. Avery is, in many ways, a little girl version of my dad.
My dad would walk around the house singing and whistling because he loved music and was happy all the time. It’s rare for Avery to go an hour without singing (the kid sings when she poops!) or dancing.
My dad was always up for anything, at any time. When you ask Avery if she wants to do something, her answer is always, “sure!”
Avery loves routine shopping trips, just like my dad who would spend hours at Home Depot and Target.
And though it’s unusual for a kid who loves to perform, her brain also works very literally, and she’s a whiz at putting things together, from puzzles to broken toys. I remember my dad doing 2,000 piece puzzles on our dining table or fixing things in our home. I would just walk by and wish I had those skills.
Avery has this contagious laugh and zest for life that my dad had, too. Just hearing her makes me laugh. The last time I saw my dad I was visiting my family in North Carolina. I was watching my brother and his wife and my parents play beer pong, which was amusing itself. My dad told a story from his childhood where a kid in India (where he grew up) shot him in the foot. This shouldn’t be a funny story. With him telling it, it was. I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants (and not just because I was pregnant with Avery).
I think when my dad left this Earth he left his good character traits to the two-week-old granddaughter he couldn’t wait to meet. Sadly, he never got the chance. On this April 25, instead of feeling sad, I’m feeling grateful for the little girl who reminds me of the wonderful man my dad was. Now if only he’d left Avery some of his patience…
At this time four years ago, I was in labor. Tonight, instead of timing contractions, we were putting together a princess bike and wrapping ballet slippers. In some ways it feels like just yesterday that Avery was born, but in others it seems like forever since it’s hard to remember what our lives were like without her. And who would want to?
I started to write that Avery has really come out of her shell in the past year, but who am I kidding? She was never in a shell. She was always a character, now she just takes on new characters as she is introduced to them. On any given night she could be Queen Elsa from “Frozen,” Miranda Lambert on the Country Music Awards or Miley Cyrus singing “Wrecking Ball.” The latter is the most frightening, but fortunately she has never seen MTV. She loves to perform and has no issues being the center of attention.
Avery’s smile is infectious. She makes us laugh all the time and when I told her a few months ago that she is funny, she was adamant in her repeated response saying, “I’m not funny,” with a deadpan look on her face, which only made me laugh harder.
I used to tell Avery that if I knew they all would be just like her I’d have 100 babies. But no one is just like her. She’s one of a kind.
On this, the fourth year of the tall, skinny blonde dynamo we often call Avery Gracie, I’m so proud of my outgoing, beautiful, fun, stubborn, confident, independent, smart and compassionate little girl. We all know I’m not having 100 babies. Even if I did, none could hold a candle to her. She holds a special place in my heart and plays an even more unique role in the lives of her dad and brother.
We all love you so much and are excited to watch you ride your new bike in ballet slippers. Because tennis shoes are just too ordinary for a girl like you. Happy 4th birthday, baby girl, we can’t wait to celebrate with you tomorrow night!
I know all moms feel “mommy guilt” at some point. Monday was my day.
It’s spring break for Clay, but since this is one of the busiest weeks of the year at work I couldn’t take time off. Chase is busier than ever at work right now too, so he’s only able to take Friday off. Clay’s school offered a spring break camp, so we signed him up. He was fine with going. Camp means he gets to play sports all day long, and there is nothing he’d rather do.
The summer camp is always full, but apparently I underestimated how many parents either take time off work this week or find other child care arrangements. Chase called me after he dropped Clay off Monday and told me he was the only kid there. Now, clearly, other kids showed up just minutes after he did, and it meant he got one-on-one time with his favorite teacher. But for some reason I pictured him sitting there all alone. I felt terrible and immediately looked up the date of my work event next year, to confirm it’s not the same week as spring break (it’s not, phew!).
Still feeling guilty, I picked him up early. I walked in, feeling nervous that he’d complain about being the first kid there. Instead, he rushed over to show me the mohawk in his hair that Ms. Tracia helped him style with water. He told me he couldn’t wait to bring his football helmets the next day to finish a project with Mr. Brendon.
Crisis averted, the guilt in this case was unwarranted. As it usually is. We put so much pressure on ourselves as moms (and dads) to be there for every moment and feel guilty when we can’t.
Maybe you’re there now. Feeling guilty that you shouldn’t be at that yoga class or pedicure or girls night because you should be home with your kids. Or maybe you rush home from work, not even going to the bathroom before you leave the office because you want to see your kids that instant. I’ve been there. But at the end of the day when you walk in the door from work or the gym or the grocery store, your kids are happy to see you and that’s all that matters. The kids are all right. Now we need to let go of the guilt.