Hello September

hanged green white and gray umbrellas
Photo by Matthew T Rader on Pexels.com

This month snuck right on in, didn’t it? I awoke to pitch-black skies and a whole lotta rain. Everything seemed different. Somewhere, nature is quietly whispering, “Autumn is coming, you moron.”

Today, Gus begins her very last year of preschool!

Fitz and I will be celebrating our wedding anniversary this month. We’ll be heading back out to wine country (where we were hitched in 2009). Fun fact: the morning of our wedding, we wine tasted at Silver Oak Winery. There were so delighted to hear that we were getting married that day that they handed us a bottle and said, “Congrats and cheers!”

I am really missing having a dog. Is it time for us to adopt one? Maybe. We went through MWBTR when we rescued Theo in 2010.

That’s all for now. Stay dry!

A Note About Dads

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve called my dad in a panic: either the basement flooded, my car was smoking, the pregnancy test said POSITIVE (this was years ago; not pregnant now), I forgot the name of our favorite mechanic, or I was just needing to feel a sense of calm in the world. My dad has always had an answer to my most impossible moments.

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Watching Fitz become a Dad has been extraordinary. He has sewn up a beloved stuffed animal, read books in silly voices, changed thousands of middle-of-the-night diapers, walked fussy infants around restaurants, and despite having a sensitive stomach for anything medical, he watched both of our babies come into the world. He coached soccer. He took Gus to her first gymnastics class. Throughout all of this, he was patient, genuine, and interested.

And my two dads…Tom and Jerry. Who would’ve thought that in marrying Fitz, our fathers would become best pals?! They work together, have breakfast together, go to The Masters together…they even have the exact same birthday: Nov. 8th, 1947. In watching these dads become grandparents, I saw them show up to the bus stop, drop in on baseball games, host putting/chipping contests, babysit in a pinch (even overnight), dole out lollipops, and talk in earnest to these little beings, pointing out all the ways in which this world is magnificent. Throughout all of this, they were patient, genuine, and interested.

I cry readily thinking about these great men. I call on them at the very best and very worst times. I love them fiercely, even more so knowing that I’m not an easy person to love. 🙂 And they still show up. They still answer every phone call. They still ask, “What can I do to help?”

By just being who they are, they have allowed me to grow and get through the toughest, darkest parts of life. To Fitz, and to Tom and Jerry, you are everything good. You are patient, genuine, and interested. I love you for it all.

City Girl Confessions: A Slice of Americana in the Driveway

IMG_4735City Girl Confessions is my recurring column in The Glencoe Anchor.

I have distinct memories of childhood centered around a basketball hoop. We had one in our driveway for nearly 20 years and it was the nucleus of entertainment. It was where I learned to dribble a ball, outshoot my brother in a game of ‘HORSE,’ and it was where I went to de-stress and cure boredom.

Basketball was blissful competition for me and my siblings and we wasted away the summer hours playing the sport. We were sweaty, happy, and giddy. We didn’t want the fun to end, didn’t want to think about dinner, bath time, or anything logical that would take away the fun of the moment.

When I moved to Glencoe, there was a wish list for what features my home would have, but near the top of that list was a driveway that could accommodate a basketball hoop. I bought one a few months ago for my son’s birthday but cold weather and relentless rain did not permit installation until now. The waiting not only enhanced the excitement for this new childhood chapter, but it made the reveal all that more meaningful. 

While my son was at school, a team rallied together to plot the correct hoop installation, the proper height, and to pore over every detail with careful attention. Despite rain showers earlier that morning, the weather eased into a very comfortable seventy-five degree day. The sun literally shone on our efforts. 

My husband snuck home early from work and the whole family waited eagerly at the bus stop for my son. When he arrived, he didn’t seem too surprised that we were all there, more so just pleased with the very nice day in front of him. 

My husband and I exchanged nervous, giddy glances at one another as we walked down the street. Suddenly, I was reliving every moment of the past seven years: our move to this town with a newborn baby, our urban-to-suburban adjustments, our bewilderment at just how quiet everything was. Here we were, on the cusp of what we had hoped for, a dream that was just about to come true.

Our feet reached the end of the driveway. I turned toward my son. “Do you notice anything different about the house?”

Long seconds passed. Then he whooped with joy, tossing his backpack and paper airplane to us as he raced toward the hoop, eager to grab a basketball and get to work.  It was a gold medal parenting moment, one that I won’t soon forget. 

The late afternoon was spent dribbling, shooting, and chasing basketballs all over the driveway. We were sweaty, happy, and giddy. We didn’t want the fun to end, didn’t want to think about dinner, bath time, or anything logical that would take away the fun of the moment. It was a perfect slice of Americana; a recognition that everything old was new again.

A Most Enduring Mother’s Day Gift

In honor of Mother’s Day, I’m sharing a favorite column of mine written in 2016 for The Glencoe Anchor. Its words are some of my favorite as it pertains to this holiday and the mothers and mother-like figures we celebrate.

I feel as though I’m drowning in gift guides. Each day brings about an email, a tweet, or a conversation that starts with something like, “What are you getting your mom for Mother’s Day?” and ends with “Hmm…well, at least I have some time.” I’ve seen lists, flash sales, quizzes, and even a heart shaped pizza touted as the ideal Mother’s Day commemoration. 

This is a tricky holiday and a very good one. Fortunately we have an occasion in which we can recognize incredible women in our lives that have mothered and mentored us in a capacity that has had profound influence. But let me be candid: we are all conflicted about our mothers in the best possible way. You see, those little personality traits that they have that drive us a bit nuts? Let the world come full circle when you find yourself yelling at gridlock traffic, folding socks a peculiar way, or preparing a recipe in the same dedicated fashion. We ARE our mothers sometimes and that can be a wild roller coaster reality to accept. 

It’s okay to idolize your mom, too. No matter your age, acknowledging the deft multi-tasker, expert advice giver, master chef, gentle soul, and kind disposition of this person resonates deep in the heart. I still get a little emotional when my mom bakes me a banana bread or presents me with that perfect, most thoughtful gift. Mothers just have that way of getting to us like no one else can. 

I would be remiss if I didn’t touch on something delicate: we aren’t all lucky enough to have a mother. Maybe she doesn’t live nearby or perhaps she is simply not here. For this extra special group, I implore you to exercise gentle consideration. No matter what happens in life, a mother is a constant. She is a wave in the ocean or the rising of the sun. To be without a mother on Mother’s Day can feel like you’ve lost your own hands. It’s a good time to check-in with these friends and be the constant for someone who needs it. At the very least, it’s an excuse to gather together and share one of those heart-shaped pizzas. 

Back to those endless gift guides. Society might have you considering spa appointments or sparkling jewelry, but I’m here to share a secret that will change your gift-giving forever. It is meaningful, exquisite, and you won’t find it on any ‘must have’ gift guide: This Mother’s Day, share with your mother a time or memory when you were proud of her. Pick up the phone and tell her about it. Don’t text or clog her cell phone with emojis. Don’t pen a longwinded email. Let her hear your voice when you speak. Let her recognize your connection to that memory. Let the moment be authentic even if it feels weird or emotional. 

As for me, I will share this: Mom, I remember seeing your smiling face in the audience at every dance performance of my life…every recital, half-time show, competition, and awards ceremony. I was so proud of your unwavering support. I was proud of all the times you enjoyed my performance and the times when you were candid about me doing better. Now that I’m a mother myself I deeply appreciate how you constantly carved out time in your life to cheer me on. I know that it wasn’t easy but you sure made it look effortless.