About Keri

Keri has been a member since May 17th 2013, and has created 232 posts from scratch.

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Word of the Year: Push

I love the fresh start that a new year brings. I’ve never been one for “resolutions,” but I typically set a few goals. They’ve been a mix of personal and career intentions. The past couple of years, after listening to business training calls, I’ve decided to choose a single “word” to define my intentions for the year – with the hopes of making this year better than the last.

But the truth is, I don’t remember what I chose as last year’s word. So clearly it was not significant enough to make it through 365 days and change my life forever. But this year is different. The first thing I thought when I woke up on Jan. 1 was that 2018 is an important year – the year I turn 40. So if I’m going to make one of these years my best yet, it might as well be this one, right?

So last week, I listened to a training exercise designed to help me pick my word. I was driving at sunset thinking the breathtaking winter sky would reveal my word. No such luck. I went home and made dinner, still uninspired.

Chase took the kids to a birthday party yesterday, and I stayed home to get our lives organized before the kids go back to school tomorrow. After making a lot of progress – and needing fresh air – I decided to go for a run.

For the past few years I’ve only run about once a week. I rarely go fast or far these days, but yesterday, something was different. When I headed toward my familiar route, something told me to take a different turn, down a path I haven’t run since my early 30s. As I took that turn, the dog looked up at me, excited to try something new. We continued down the trail and while there were many spots to turn off to make our route shorter, we kept going. At the point where we began running straight uphill, instead of slowing down (like I usually do), I pushed myself and sped up. We made it all the way up the hill, where we could have turned to head back home on flat ground. But I turned around and started back down the hill. I paused for a minute (when I took the picture above) to enjoy the view (and catch my breath) and suddenly…my word came to me.

My word for 2018 is push. For almost 20 years, I’ve given 150 percent at my day job. But I haven’t pushed myself the way I should anywhere else. Not with exercise. Not with my side business. Not at home. Not spiritually. For my entire career, I’ve given more to my job than to anything else in my life. So, in 2018, the year I turn 40, I’m in a good place with my career. I worked very hard to get the promotion I got this year. I’m glad I pushed. I will continue to work hard. But this year, I’m going to push harder in other areas of my life.

When I’m tired and want to watch TV or go to bed instead of working on my business, I will push.

When I leave work late and it’s easier to pick up food than go home and make something healthy, I will push.

When I’m sick of burpees or planks, and I want to quit and get in the shower, I will push.

When I was up too late the night before and don’t want to get out of bed for church on Sunday mornings, I will push.

When I feel strongly about something, I will push.

Why do I want to push for these things ? Because they will get me where I want to be – financially, physically, spiritually and emotionally. And what better year to do that, but in my 40th year? I just need to push. Every damn day of 2018.


Being a (good type of) quitter

I saw this on a friend’s Facebook wall at the beginning of the year and without telling many people, adopted it as my mantra for 2017, with one addition, “making my family happy.” Over the past nine months, I’ve been busy doing exactly the opposite of what my parents taught me. I became a quitter.

People like me are everywhere, particularly in my suburban neighborhood. By “like me” I mean moms who say yes to too many things, feel stressed and rushed ALL THE TIME. So much pressure (internal and external) to look perfect, be perfect and have the perfect children. I worry that at some point all these “perfect” moms will reach their breaking point. I flirted with that line for some time before recognizing it. Or at least before I hit it too hard, fell flat on my face and couldn’t get back up.

One by one, I quit things. Things that took me away from this mantra. Things that didn’t make my family happy. Things that didn’t make me better. Things that didn’t make me happy. Especially the things that made me downright miserable.

So maybe you’re wondering, what did I quit?

I quit my barre studio, which was probably the hardest. I met so many wonderful women there. I love the owner and supporting a local, mom-owned business. I loved the way my body looked and felt. But in the past year, my mind wasn’t clear when I took the nearly 90 minutes out of my day to go to a class. While these classes used to be an escape for me (I even wrote a post about this), as kids’ sports and homework piled up, I was always thinking I needed to be home after work not at the studio. Don’t confuse this with mom guilt. That’s not it. It’s pure necessity. Homework needs to be done. Kids need to get to practice. I need to feed my family. Truth is, I miss the people and the workout. I could very well go back. But for now I’m working out at home, before the kids wake up (which in case you are wondering, is really early).

I quit packing the kids a “healthy” lunch every day. Sometimes they can buy lunch. School lunch a few days a week won’t kill them. And believe me, we’re happy to have one less thing to worry about on already frantic mornings.

I quit the board for the kids’ school foundation. While I want to help support the school we love, it started to feel too much like my day job. I’m happy to help when I can, but I can’t take on more work right now.

I quit trying to come up with new things to cook for dinner. My family is not very picky, they like healthy foods. I went through a phase (probably because of seeing recipes on social media) when I tried a lot of new things. I spent a lot of time and money getting ingredients, and the response was not overwhelmingly positive. Not that they didn’t like it, but they didn’t like it any better than the less expensive, easier options. So I quit. I make the things I know we like. Makes shopping easier and takes less time. When we go out to eat we can try new things. Otherwise I’m good with turkey tacos and cauliflower rice stir fry.

Even more recently, I pretty much quit cooking all together. I found a food delivery service that brings ALREADY PREPARED FOOD to my house every Sunday. I just warm it up on the night we want to eat it. Is it cheap? No. But is it worth it to be more present with my family, whether for homework or fun? Yes, it is.

I quit grocery shopping. I occasionally run into the store for an item or two, but long gone are the days I’d walk in with a long list. Partially because I buy prepared food and the kids buy lunch more. But also because I’m okay with Chase shopping too. He can run to Costco at lunch or the store on his way home. Sure, it may cost me more because he’s more likely to make impulse buys, but it’s a tradeoff I’m willing to make.

I quit cleaning my house. Oh gosh, who are we kidding? I quit doing that the day Clay was born. I will pick up and wipe things down, but that’s it. I don’t do bathrooms. I don’t dust. I quit.

I will never quit working on myself, but in recent years I’ve quit caring so much about what other people think. A friend joked on my birthday last week (when I turned 39), that once I was in my 40s I wouldn’t give a crap what others think. I was a little early to that party. It’s the beauty of getting older.

Did I quit wanting the best for my friends and family and doing whatever I can to maximize my time with them? Absolutely not. And I never will. I’m the good kind of quitter.

With this ring…

Though I’m a writer, I had no interest in writing my own wedding vows. It was partially my preference to utter the same words that our parents and grandparents did, following tradition. Another part of me was scared I would be too emotional, and I would be sniffling through the whole thing. Or that, in true writer form, I would want to edit what I wrote, after my deadline had passed. So, we went with traditional wedding vows.

Since that day, 11 years ago tomorrow, parts of those vows pop in my head at random times. Lately, it’s been “with this ring, I thee wed.”

I’m not a big jewelry person, but was thrilled the day we went out on a boat ride, and Chase asked me to marry him, with a diamond ring in hand. It was fun to pick a wedding band to match. One of my favorite wedding photos is of me looking up at him as he slipped the ring onto my left ring finger. At the time, I saw the rings as a physical symbol of marriage, but I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the meaning of the rings – or those words. I liked my new jewelry and went about married life.

Last year for our 10-year anniversary, I mentioned to Chase that I’d like a second band to go with my engagement ring and wedding band. He tricked me while I was having some work done on my rings and had our jeweler make me one. He surprised me on Christmas morning. It was beautiful, I was excited about the extra sparkle but still wasn’t that focused on the symbolism of it. If only I knew.

Before Chase bought me the new ring, I took my rings off each night for bed. I didn’t bother putting them on to exercise. Didn’t wear them at the pool or beach. Turns out having them fused together made my rings tighter, and I’ve since changed my routine and wear them all the time. It changed my habits, as well as my attitude toward the rings. They’re more important to me now than they’ve ever been.

The rings are now tighter. Unmovable. Part of me. A constant reminder of the of the vows we made 11 years ago – for better or worse, in sickness and health. We’ve had our share of all of that the past few years. As we travel though life’s ups and downs, the rings represent the promises we made. To be here, together. Wearing these rings. Riding the waves. We’ve had many days of work stress, sick parents, strained relationships around us and so many kids’ activities that we have no time for ourselves. But we’ve also had days of pure joy. Family, friends, vacation, work success, watching the kids grow into good people. Life is a f-ing roller coaster, but as these rings tightened around my finger, I strengthened the grip on my marriage.

11 years is something to be proud of, but it’s just a start. We have a long way to go, but I have no doubt we’ll get there. With this ring…



I’ve had people tell me they couldn’t live in San Diego because we don’t have seasons. It’s true that our seasons are all fairly mild, but throughout the year we do see a change from my perfect temperature (77 degrees), to a little too hot or a little too cold. Occasionally (especially this past winter) it rains. It’s often cloudy at the beach. So despite what you see on TV, it’s not always perfect.

Kind of like the seasons of life. I’ve found myself comparing the two a lot this week, with the blooming of my favorite (So Cal) tree, the jacaranda. I remember May 2004 when I was finishing grad school in D.C. and coming to California, with the hopes of moving here. I landed in L.A. for work meetings, where I first discovered the jacaranda. I was staying in Pasadena, where they lined the streets. They weren’t quite cherry blossoms, but I found myself drawn to them. They were blooming at a time in my life that, like it was for the tree, seemed like a time of renewal. A time of opportunity and change and a fresh start.

Each May, these trees bloom in a season that for me, personally, has historically brought so much change. In 2006, I was planning my wedding. In 2008, Clay was born at their full peak. In 2010, as their flowers popped up, I was trying to keep my act together after giving birth to my second child and losing my dad in a two-week timespan. The next few years were a blur. But I always noticed the jacarandas as we spent time at parks and ball fields, in a different season of life. In 2013, on Clay’s birthday, I lost my job. More change. A few years passed, relatively uneventful. Now as I’m driving or walking past my favorite tree, it’s another season of change. Transitions at my day job. Huge growth in my business. Family health concerns. Unexpected challenges. Big kids.

Seasons are unpredictable. So is life. Sometimes it can be so good you’re pinching yourself thinking how lucky you are. And then quickly followed by one change that can literally send you to your knees, wondering what’s next.

So what does this season hold? I don’t know. It could be 60 and drizzly, like it is today. Or 80 and sunny like it’s supposed to be next week. It could be a day where everything in life seems perfect or a day that absolutely nothing goes right.

I do know one thing. Those jacarandas bloom every May, regardless of what’s going on in life. We can’t control the seasons. Or life. So enjoy those pretty purple flowers. It’s their season. And yours.

Halfway there

Today my munchkin is nine. At close to five feet tall, I guess he’s not really a munchkin anymore. The name fit better when he was a scrawny preemie, or even as a 1-year-old whose pants fell down because he was so skinny. Now he’s the biggest kid on his baseball team, even though he’s one of the youngest. When I look at him now, I don’t see a little boy. He’s a big kid.

I’m often reminded how quickly the time with our children goes by. People say it all the time, but I know now how true it is. The time you have with your kids is fast and fleeting. We’re halfway done. Nine years from now, Clay will have just made his final decision on where to attend college, and he’ll be planning that next step. Getting ready to leave me and Chase and Avery, to go onto his next adventure.

Until then, I’m soaking it all up. Every moment. When he grabs my hand walking through the Target parking lot. When I hear him say to his sister, completely out of the blue, “I love you, Avery.” When he tries to fit his huge body onto Chase’s lap at a party. When he comes home from school and immediately goes to hug the dog. When a friend makes a great play in a game, and he’s as excited for them as he would be if he made the play himself.

This kid. He’s so even-keeled, much like his dad. I know he gets disappointed and angry like all boys his age, but he (usually) handles it well. Also like his dad, he’s a good communicator. I hope this never changes. When that sweet boy is mad or sad, I hope he will always talk to us, the way he does now.

I hope he’ll always defend his sister. And continue to be nice to everyone. Not just his close group of friends, but all of the kids. I hope he’ll always be a good teammate. A strong leader, driven to do the right thing. I hope his favorite things will always be family vacations and a good meal together.

The funny thing about working with teenagers is that I watch some of them and think, “I want my kid to be like that kid.” And the beauty of this halfway point? I think Clay is well on his way.

Happy 9th birthday to my munchkin!