Pain, gratitude, and 6 weeks post-op

Fri Nov 17 2017

Pain, gratitude, and 6 weeks post-op

At my first post-op appointment, I was handed a survey, and the questions surprised me. The survey, of course, had the usual, expected questions: On a scale of 1-10, how would you rate your pain? How much has your pain affected social activities, house work, etc., etc. But the majority of the questions dealt with mental health. Have you felt like a failure? Depressed? You're handed the survey at every post-op appointment—to track progress, I guess. The first time I answered the questions, I was okay, really. (I've learned to be 100% honest with those types of questions, despite the discomfort). The first week after surgery, I was too focused on the physical challenges and pain to think about how I was being mentally. But the next time I filled out the survey, at 3 weeks post-op, I noticed my answers starting to inch toward what could eventually turn into a depression diagnosis. Or, more accurately, flare-up.

I've never had an injury that's kept me off my feet for 6-8 weeks, so I had no way of preparing myself for how it could impact my mental health. What was coming? I had no idea. But now having gone through it, I know taking care of mental health during recovery is as important as going to physical therapy for the injury. I missed one of my best friend's weddings, one I was supposed to stand up in as a bridesmaid, 'cause of the surgery. Another friend from my old job was getting married that weekend. And following the blood clot diagnosis, the possibility of having to cancel our trip to Alaska over Thanksgiving became clear. Does it ever end? Tim and I asked. Can't we just have one smooth-sailing year? And, when by myself, I've felt sad, angry, disappointed, and guilty.

Since the last week of September, I've spent a decent amount of time around people in pain - I've heard people vomit in emergency rooms. I've rolled past nervous family members in waiting rooms. I've witnessed a whole slew of people in pre-op, waiting for their doctors to work their magic so they don't need to see the likes of another operating room. I've crutched past people who were vocally struggling to get one leg behind the other in physical therapy. I've moved my crutches out of the way for people as they limped to get their labs done. And I've waited to see the hematologist oncologist as women with headscarves and somber faces waited for the elevator.  And every time I've found myself among their company, I couldn't help but wonder about their prognosis.

I've begun to ditch my crutches. My right leg is slowly learning how to walk again. I made dinner this week. I baked muffins this morning. My kids, for the first time in 2 months, will be home with me on Monday. With time, I'll be able to carry loads of laundry up and down stairs without a second thought. Life is getting back to "normal" (whatever that means anymore). So there is a beaming light at the end of the tunnel for me, a light that I'm not sure is shining for all the people I've come across over the last 7 weeks.

After trying to gain a few solid coping mechanisms throughout these past couple months, I'm here to report I've found...none. I know that thinking someone else's suffering is worse than yours isn't the healthiest way to deal with your own battle. Just because someone has it worse, doesn't mean you're not hurting my husband always tells me. It's important to acknowledge whatever you're dealing with and to properly work through it, and saying it's not as bad as x, y, or z is not the proper way. But I haven't known any other way to get through these last weeks except to be grateful that my injury is only temporary. And to think (and to often be visually reminded) that so many others have it..worse. How could I not just be grateful that there is at least an end in sight?

The other night in physical therapy, there was a woman being treated after three consecutive injuries. She was there for another. I sat there with the heat pack on my knee, and just thought if you're not one of these people in and out of hospitals, waiting, questioning, hurting, you're one of the lucky ones. It's really amazed me, over the past couple months, how many people are in pain, how that life of in and out of doctors and hospitals is their "normal". I eventually couldn't help but feel guilty after becoming frustrated I wasn't able to walk.

It's an unfortunate part of life—that we take for granted so much that is in front of us. Our health, our family, our spouse, our friends. Because as the saying goes, it can all be gone in an instant. This is not to end the week before Thanksgiving on a Negative Nancy low note, quite the opposite, actually. I'm so grateful for my health and family in this moment, that I felt compelled to put it out there to the Universe that you should be grateful for yours, too.

Wed Oct 25 2017

Accountability on social media

I recently posted a video explaining my current frustration with Facebook, how 9.5 times out of 10, I leave Facebook wanting to, once again, delete my account. The feedback I received was very useful (thank you!), and, after reading the comments, I took some time to clean up my profile. I "unliked", "unfollowed", and "unfriended" taking nothing into consideration except my mental health. I made my profile private in an effort to eliminate any potential chaos from arising on my personal page.

It was looking better already.

John Mayer? I don't even listen to his music. Game of Thrones? I don't even watch the show. Verizon? We have AT&T. Huffpost Politics? Yeah, no thanks. I "unliked" almost every news organization except World News Tonight With David Muir, 'cause he's my man. I made a list of outlets I like to follow, but that I didn't want to overpower my newsfeed (as news outlets are notorious for doing), bookmarked them, and made sure I was following them on Twitter -- Business Outsider, The Atlantic, The New Yorker, Poynter, Columbia Journalism Review. I like following these guys, but I don't want to see a plethora of in-depth articles on Trump's Twitter Politics while I'm trying to look at a friend's engagement pictures.

At the end of the day, unless they up and rid Facebook of the "friends" list, Facebook will always, always be connection and "friend" based more than interest-based. And because it is connection based is why I had "liked" so many pages. A friend of a friend, or an acquaintance, or a co-worker would invite me to "like" their brother, sister, daughter's pages that I end up shallowly "supporting" 300 causes I'm not the least bit interested in. I know it makes sense; I've done it, too. We're all tapping into our built-in network.

I've grown my liking for Instagram and Twitter, because I enjoy connecting with people through those platforms. It's not weird if another mom messages me or a coffee shop re-posts my picture because...that's kind of what happens on those platforms - respecting the context and all that. It doesn't feel invasive or weird or annoying. Though Facebook has made strides in becoming more business-friendly for marketers (which was super nice as a former social-media marketer) I don't think it's come without annoyance to Facebook's users. Because now? Now we get to hear all about Auntie Judith's unwavering support for the Far Right right underneath seeing an ad for...receiving clothes in a box. (I like my clothes just fine, thanks.)

The most important lesson I took away from people's feedback is my world on social requires management. In my mind, I wanted my presence online to be convenient and easy. As someone who was around during the pre-Facebook era, I didn't see the whole Facebook thing worthy of management, 'cause it's just...Facebook. Like I said, convenience. But times are changing.

One thing is for sure. I'm not going to let Facebook affect my mental health in a negative way. And I'm happy to report that since I took time to give my profile a little TLC, I haven't left FB once wanting to delete my account. Lesson learned, folks. I will be adopting this as a regular practice. Thanks for your feedback, friends!

Tue Jun 06 2017

Hometown stuck

A few weeks ago, a couple of my co-workers and I were talking about our favorite coffee shops. Both born and raised outside of Michigan, one of them was describing his favorite shop he recently had found in the revitalized part of downtown Detroit.

I looked at the Starbucks cup on my desk and said, "Tim and I haven't found that place since moving East.  We definitely had our places out West." (Shout out to Nutmeg and Thatchers!)

And from there, I started thinking. Tim and I always, always explored when we lived in Southern California and Washington. We kind of had to. We didn't have connections (or if we did, they were minimal) leading us to this new place or that perfect lookout. We Googled, we searched, we drove and boy, did we find some gems.

Since moving to Michigan, we haven't explored, because we haven't needed to. I know where the grocery store is and where to get good gluten-free muffins and which neighborhoods have killer Christmas lights. There are 300 Starbucks around, so we aren't desperate for coffee and our weekends are occupied by errands and chores and being with friends and family. The itch to explore and get out has lessened, because we are comfortable, content.

Being content is good and a blessing in its own right, but exploring your surroundings can be magical. It sure was when we got out in Oregon and Washington. We found some of our favorite spots, beaches, ice cream shops because we 'Googled' "best beach", "best ice cream", "what to do in Seaside, Oregon." We once drove 40 minutes on a Tuesday night for gluten-free Italian take-out. (Their GF tiramisu was worth the drive.) We'd often drive into Portland and spend a Sunday morning there or drive to our local downtown and try a new restaurant. We once piled in the car and drive two hours to Mt. St. Helens. We found parks and trails and lookouts. Since the place we called home was foreign to us, every outing was a mini-adventure.

This isn't meant to be a somber farewell to a life we once lived. Life in Michigan is, dare I say it, pretty perfect. But as we approach the one-year mark of us moving here, I will be tapping into my exploration side a little more. I will be more eager to pop our bubble and drive beyond what we know. Summer is upon us, so the time for exploration and discovery is now. There is a whole part of Detroit that has had new life breathed into it, and I haven't eaten there, gotten coffee there, walked around there. Driving 2-3 hours North will take us into an untapped world of greenery, beaches, and clear water. I vacationed "Up North" as a kid, but in one condo in one location. Have you seen those Pure Michigan ads? We're not short "perfect destinations."

Yeah, my family now lives in the state (and practically the city) where I grew up, but that doesn't mean we have to fall into a restrictive and blinding routine.

To Summer, exploring, and being a tourist in your hometown.

(Stay tuned for a Summer bucket list!)

Thu Feb 09 2017

Balancing realism and optimism

Angsty at 20 :P (on the streets of L.A.)

Happy at 26.

When I was younger, I'd run around, and, loudly and proudly claim, I'm a realist!  Not a pessimist as negativity silently dripped from the words leaving my mouth.

I often took issue with those overly-cheerful, chipper, happy types.  You know the onnnees...Everyone did (or does).  We all knew someone in school, at work, on our soccer team, who always, always had a knack for finding the silver lining or the rainbow on a deary day, that you sometimes just wanted to punch them right in the face and say, aren't you ever pissed off? Everything is not always unicorns and daffodils, lady (or dude).

I was the one pissed off.  And I don't know what about—100 different things, I guess—some of which had happened years ago (it's amazing what the brain is capable of) and were now completely irrelevant.  I was in my late teens and early 20s, what the hell did I know?

I just didn't buy it, that someone could be that joyful all.the.time.  It wasn't real, so I labeled those people as fake or slap-happy or naive.  Little did I know, conducting yourself in such a way was a learned discipline and was far from anything naive.  It was a higher way of living, a way of courage, humility, and bravery.

I still am a realist.  I will never sugar-coat a situation unworthy of sugar-coating.  There are some situations that are simply bad and need to be recognized as such.  Neither will I lie to you about a past situation telling you how wonderful it was when in reality it was truly awful.  Here's what I will say, though.  Instead of holding a scowl and letting out a, it was total bullshit, I'll take pause, and tell you I learned from it.  I would have rather not gone through it, but I grew.  I now know what to do (or not to do).  I'm a realist whose words now beam with optimism and hope.  And that doesn't make me slap-happy, or fake, or naive.  It makes me Tough with a capital "T".

I can go through something or look at something and say, that isn't right or that wasn't right, speak my mind (or when unnecessary not speak my mind) and let it be.  In growing this discipline of not taking my mood out on other people, and not bringing people down and not always stewing in the negative, I've learned if you're overly and externally "tough", you're internally weak.  You may appear to be courageous, or humble or brave, but you're not.  You're overcompensating for the severe lack of all three.

(Have I had too much therapy?)

I of course reflect on topics like this now that I have kids.  (It always comes back to them.)  I want them to see a Tough Mom, not a mom who screams at all those who she disagrees with or is annoyed with.  I want them to see a mom who listens and then speaks.  I want them to see a mom who is willing to tread in uncomfortable waters and smiles while doing so.  I want them to see a mom who carries herself with a demeanor of gratitude (as every human should, really).  I want to show them what being tough, what being strong, what being "right" means.  And, more often than not, as much as we don't like it, that means shutting up, not saying a word, and extending a joyful smile (see above).

Wed Jul 13 2016

A letter to my stay-at-home mom self

You've had a good run.  It's a hard gig.  It's controversial as to whether if it is the hardest gig, but since this time in your life is the only time that's sent you to therapy more than once, we'll leave it with saying it's certainly one of the hardest gigs out there.  No doubt.

You'll question a lot.  You'll freak out a lot.  You'll wake up in a panic and rush into her room to make sure she's still breathing.  You'll feel worse than you ever felt over the fact that breastfeeding didn't work out.

You'll think surely I can't do this.  But then you will.

You'll melt over her smiles and coos and dancing to Bruno Mars.  You'll face your highest highs and lowest lows of your 24-years on the planet.  You'll question if your work matters, if the perpetual routine of feeding, changing, reading, washing bottles that will almost immediately be dirtied and folding onesies that little hands will unfold will make a difference, get noticed, be appreciated.

You'll learn you're a soon-to-be stay-at-home mom of 2.  Elated your flying solo daughter will have a companion and parter-in-crime, you'll do the second round of nesting, preparing, budgeting with joy. The days of double feeding, double washing, double reading, playing, folding will come and they'll be hard.  You'll question a lot.  You'll freak out a lot.  But a little less so this time.  You'll see your oldest with your youngest and feel a brief moment of simultaneous fear and awe.

You'll think surely I can't do this.  But then you will.

Then the day will come when you'll be faced with the question of going back to work.  You'll accept a job offer but remain unsure.  You'll ask is it the right job, how will my kids react to the change, should I try harder to stay at home full-time?  Know there isn't a one-size-fits all sort of motherhood. Know every woman comes from different backgrounds, faced different upbringings, and has different temperaments that contribute to each woman's unique needs and personalities.  The fact that you're more prone to panic and anxiety when in an emotionally draining environment for 8+ hours at a time doesn't make you any less of a good mom or a woman, it's just another quirk thrown into the mix that makes you who you are, and who you are is pretty great; so be at rest.

And, then.  On that day you wake up yet again asking yourself if you're making the right decision, will your dedication to raising your babies full-time and at home over the past 2 and a half years be irrelevant, you'll notice your daughter say "thank you" after nearly every time something is done for or given to her.  You'll notice her running to get her little brother a stuffed animal when he's sad, ask her daddy if he's okay when he stubbed his toe, and gives you a hug when she notices you're sad. She'll blow Jesus kisses, fold her hands for Grace, genuflect at the pew, and say "Amen" after night prayer.  Her laughs, dancing, and smiles will remind you, even though the work of parenting never ends, that this 2 years of total dedication of being at-home was noticed, appreciated, and made a difference.  You'll be sad when acknowledging you may be at work when your littlest takes his first steps or says his first word, but know if that happens, you made the decision of going back to work while thinking of your family and its well-being (and then say a quick prayer of gratitude for FaceTime).

And if those comments - you know the ones, the ones that question a mom working, the ones that insinuate someone else is raising your kids - start comin', smile and say "have a good day."  Don't let someone else's judgement rob you of your confidence in knowing how to raise your family.  You know yourself, you know your husband, you know your kids.  They don't.  Remember it's not about the number of hours you "clock in" with your kids.  It's the listening, the being attentive, the putting down your phone and including them in cooking dinner that matters.

And then, the day will come.  They first day when you'll leave shortly after breakfast and before first naps.  The kids will look extra cute that morning with their blond wispy bed head and warm cheeks. You'll grab your coffee, dust off your heels, and your sweet, sweet girl will come running to give you a hug.

You'll think surely I can't do this.  But then you will.

Wed Apr 13 2016

Goodbye, Student Loans: Where we've been

The past 3.5 years in planner form.  These hold where we've been, and I love that I have them.

I'm going to start this post by throwing it back to marriage prep and say that, in my opinion, some of these marriage prep exercises could use a serious face lift.  Here's why:

When Tim and I were going through our marriage prep, our instructors told us we "passed with flying colors" that we had "clearly talked about things" and because of their assessment, they weren't thorough.  When it came to the finances part, I felt less like a wife-to-be learning about my partner's outlook on money and more like a kindergartner learning how to purchase some plastic lemons from little Jimmy's produce stand.  If you had 10 extra dollars, what would you do with it? was the nature of most of the questions.  And maybe that's because the people who formed the prep are older and are unaware of the potential amount of debt a young person can bring into a marriage these days. Regardless, with the level of vagueness these questions held, it was hard to walk away with a solid foundation upon which we would build our newlywed budget.

(I should note the only reason why I brought marriage prep into this post and why I write with such conviction on the topic is because finances have been consistently labeled as one of the top leading reasons for divorce.  And because of that, any sort of pre-marriage counsel should involve more thought-provoking, grittier questions and exercises.)

So we said "I do" with little knowledge of our financial future, and we got away with it because we both had jobs.  We clearly weren't going to get married without some sort of financial certainty.  And with combined salaries, we'd surely have no problem paying our bills, right?

Oh, student loans.

Before getting married, Tim and I sat down and made a mock budget.  A ballpark for rent, our car payment, and credit cards gave us what we thought would be the numbers we'd be working with in the near future.  But student loan payments hadn't kicked in yet as we were just out of school, so for whatever reason, we simply forgot about them (yes, insert a thousand shocked emojis).

Luckily, with both of our jobs, the student loan payments were manageable but only barely as we were trying to keep up with Southern California cost of living.  A month into our marriage, we found out we were expecting.  And this is where I became a bit of a finance and budgeting junkie.  Already having so much debt, adding hospital bills to the mix was not an option, so we budgeted like crazy.  I researched down to how many onesies (literally) a newborn needs, looked which baby soap would get us the most for our money (Dr. Bronner's), and found out which off brand diaper was the best (Up & Up) and with each paycheck, bought a little bit of what we needed (I quickly learned babies don't need half of what the baby industry tells us they need).  This took work.  We meal planned down to the amount of lettuce we needed for meals and bought from the bulk section only what we needed. We adopted Dave Ramsey's cash system, we didn't have anything in our apartment beyond what we needed, I bought the absolute minimum of maternity clothes I could get away with, and we had to turn down offers to go out with friends.  But the hard work paid off.  Ella was born, and we were able to pay our hospital bills in full (thank God for insurance).

But the work didn't stop there.

Prior to having Ella, both Tim and I worked, but after learning the cost of childcare for an infant in Southern California and not living around loved ones who'd be willing to watch her for a lower rate, we were faced with another what are we going to do?  We realized my salary would basically be going to childcare and the lifestyle accommodating two working parents (i.e. extra gas, more lenient grocery budget to incorporate easier meals, etc., etc.)  So I opted to stay at home and take on the role of stay-at-home mom and learn how to maintain a family on a budget.  When I made that call, Tim's current salary wasn't enough to meet cost of living, student loans, and family living (shout out to California taxes!), so it was quite literally a little miracle that his company review was right around when Ella was born.  He asked for a raise that he needed to provide for a family under our circumstances and he got it.

Since then, we've made paying off our student loans (and our car) before we're 30 our goal.  And it's a lofty one.  We started at $106,000 and nearly three years later we're around $76,000.  Just this week we reached the goal of paying off our car, two years ahead of schedule.  We've gone from nine debts compromised of credit cards and the car to three debts which leaves only our student loans.  Any bonuses we chuck at debt, any money from raises goes to bigger payments toward debt and we still maintain a lifestyle of buying what we need (though we've learned we need to find a balance -- more on that later). We try to put ourselves in a situation where we can crush debt the fastest which is why we left SoCal and which is why we're trying to move to Michigan.

This is the first part of our story.  You may think it's part irresponsibility with a dose of naivete.  And, yeah - to a certain extent, it is.  What did we know?  I was barely over the legal drinking age when we got engaged.  We were young and a little unaware.  But to be a little fair to us, I don't think anyone goes into a marriage with a 100% hold on finances.  There's an adjustment period that consists of learning each other's spending habits, mindset towards money, and how to best financially approach a situation together.  The beauty in our situation was when we were faced with our oh shit moment, we did not divide.  Though it was (and is) hard, any other course of action except getting through it together no matter what was out of the question.  And because of that, my God have we grown.  I'm now excellent with money. We do not take the opportunities we do have to go out for granted and we've learned what sacrifice - nitty, gritty, newlywed sacrifice - means. We've skipped on celebrating holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries.  And I can't count how many times I cried in Tim's arms because we had no idea when we'd be able to afford a plane ticket home. But that's okay.  Because I'm proud of our path.  I'm proud of where we've been and where we are.  I look back on the last three years and just want to straight up cry thinking about how hard we've worked. But the tears lessen knowing that our hard work is paying off and will ultimately get us to our goals. And we'll re-book the honeymoon, that in an effort to save money, we had to cancel.

Wed Apr 06 2016

Goodbye, student loans : A new series

When I shared this last post, I had an "aha" moment of sorts.  I noted that Tim and I are in our "newlywed, student loan paying phase of our life", that this is our story "a story I'm proud of and thankful you read."

After reflecting on it, I thought "what story am I sharing?"  "What story do I want to share?"  In terms of "our story", I document holidays and birthdays and days out at the park, but I haven't documented an ounce of our real story, story line A, the narrative that has shaped where we live, what we buy, that has totally and completely dictated our lifestyle and has been the biggest factor in making life choices.

And that is paying off a mountain of student debt as a young family of four.

In this last post, I also mentioned I write about what I know.  I have (and I do).  I've chosen to be candid with my online presence in sharing and talking about personal growth and challenges. Everything from postpartum depression to the topic of therapy has been thrown in the mix.  But I've decided to take an even further leap -- a leap that will give you a glimpse into the reality of student debt, the toll it can take, and the budgeting it demands.  This might indeed be a reality for you.  To you I'd say, you're not alone.

For some readers, you may find this too personal.  And to you I'd say, maybe.  But the very fact that this is the reality for so many people under (and over) 30, I've realized that Tim and I aren't all that special. More than half of college grads have student loans.  Collectively, we have a trillion dollars of student debt and in 2015 the average amount owed was $35,000.  The burden is delaying home buying and family starting and forcing all energy and resources into paying off education.  And everyone is wandering around trying to find the answers.  This problem is unique to generations following our parents', so they're not really sure what to say.  Politicians are giving high hope and claiming promises.  I look around and I'm frustrated.  Everyone's running around yelling go to college but no one seems to have the answers about how to live once you've graduated. We're there, we're living the post-grad reality.  And this lifestyle that Tim and I are leading is quickly becoming the new normal.  So maybe by sharing, someone else might be inspired to make paying off debt a priority or someone can inspire me to push myself even harder.  By sharing, I hope to keep myself accountable and to be able to look back (while cruising around on my jet ski, of course) and say holy shit we paid off more than $106,000* worth of debt.

So here we go.  (Coming next week: Where We've Been)

When I sat down and took on the finances, six months after getting married, I sat down and added up our debts and formed a plan.  Close to 87,300 was student debt, 14,500 our car, and 2,500 of small debts.  In following posts I will specifically refer to the student loan numbers.  I wanted to include the number reflective of our all our debts in my introductory post.

Wed Mar 30 2016

My fitness routine

Sometimes I wish I were one of those women who, while waving around an Egg McMuffin, claimed I don't need no exercise!  People who enjoy sweating are nuts.  Though not the healthiest mindset, there is an air of confidence to this mentality.  I'm so confident with my body and how I look that I don't need to do anything to change it.  I guess I was once there (minus the confidence).  The first thing my 26-year-old self would tell my 17-year-old self would be put down the crumb cake donut.

What I've realized over the course of the last 5 months though is I need to sweat, I need to exercise. It's simply a non-negotiable in the whole fighting anxiety thing.  So here I am, another white girl documenting her #fitnessjourney on Instagram looking for the best smoothie to consume post workout and getting excited over clearance workout apparel.  I've turned into one of those people who is amazed by the power of exercise, who views it as an investment for your body, and who is encouraged and fueled by results.

So what do I do?  Well as a mom with 2 littles, a husband with a fairly busy schedule, and a regulated budget, there isn't room for gyms or personal trainers.  But there's room for YouTube!  Seriously, God bless YouTube.  Working around my kids' sleeping schedules, 5+ times a week (I shoot for every day) I dedicate 20-30 minutes to a high intensity workout that incorporates strength building, cardio, and an ab workout.  For me, I've found I love high intensity because it's a short burst that feels impossible (meaning it's working) and has a high payoff (meaning results and the sense of accomplishment).  My two current workouts of choice are the 30 Day Shred and a butt, thigh, and leg shaper workout.  Together, it's a hard 30 minutes and by the end I feel worked.

Don't let this new-found love of fitness lure you into thinking that I joyfully skip to my Nikes and workout mat.  I'm pretty sure I've dropped more F bombs over the course of these last months while working out than I have in my life.  I've also wanted to chuck my weights right at Jillian Michaels's face.  I've neared tears while doing jumping jacks.  And I'm not exaggerating.  Getting in shape is no joke, it's hard.  It takes persistence, dedication, and sheer will power.  But the payoff is well worth it.

When I first started, I had just had a baby.  And I had never religiously exercised in my life.  The first time I did level 1 of the 30 Day Shred (I've started it more than once), I thought I was going to die.  But now I'm able to not only finish it, but finish it well and add another 10 minute workout to the routine.  I'm still a post-baby size 10, the two purple stretch marks that look more like scars are on my side, but I'm getting stronger.  And that's all that matters.

Wed Mar 23 2016

A life of the little things

When my writing tank drops to E, I search for another direction to go, another topic to write about, another family outing or recipe or outfit to highlight.  But often times I find myself unsure of where to go next.  Our budget, catered to paying off student loans, doesn't allow for frequently updated wardrobes and the latest on trend Spring piece.  We've barely been married for three years, we have 2 kids, and we are faced with all the realities that come with being a post-grad in the year 2016.

Sometimes I ponder writing about that very thing -- what life for a young family looks like when burdened by college debt.  But that's pretty grim and finances are pretty personal, so alas I've stuck to writing what I know, about current life, motherhood, little ones and family.  And all of that culminates into consistently writing about the little things -- the day spent outside after the sun decided to shine, the afternoon spent at the dog park with family, the dinners I've experimented with, the workouts I'm doing, the moments that make me proud to be a mom and the moments that have been challenging.

I'd say life sums up to it being all about the little things.  Despite our bank accounts and current situations, everyone can agree a laugh shared with a best friend or the sun beating on our faces make us feel alive in a way no dollar can.  But little things aren't sexy, they're not shiny and glamorous, they're small and bashful, under-appreciated, and often unnoticed.  Maintaining a blog about little, old every day life can start to feel a little repetitive and a little directionless.  

But that's where we are.  Life is a little repetitive at the moment.  The working, the parenting, the cooking and cleaning, the writing, and in between it all trying to manage outings as a family.  And while we certainly have goals and a vision, there is undoubtedly an element of uncertainty as to what our direction is.

I write all of this to say thanks.  Thanks for stopping by and enjoying little, old everyday life with me. It sure might be little and repetitive but it's beautiful and I need to learn to better cherish every moment.  I have high hopes and dreams for this blog - outfits I'd love to style, outings, vacations, and date nights, I'd love to highlight, but for now it's all about the early years, the years full of getting by as newlyweds.  And that's okay.  It's a part of our story.  A story I'm proud to share and thankful you read.

So thank you.

Wed Mar 16 2016

The hardest thing about anxiety

You would think after actively battling this for over a year now I would have learned this sooner.  On some level I probably knew, that fighting anxiety takes a literal, constant, unwavering effort.  It's hard work, the hardest work I've done so far.  There isn't room for a slip up or a break.  Once that crack appears in day-to-day efforts, the anxiety starts to quickly seep in and it's not before long, it takes over.

I learned the impact of letting up on an anxiety-proof routine recently when it reared its (ugly) head once again.  Prior to visiting Michigan, I didn't go a week without working out.  I had a (fairly) consistent writing routine, I ate well, and I did what I needed to do in order to feel my best.  But then I went on vacation.  Don't get me wrong, those 9 nine days or so were some of the best.  I ate a burger with a fried egg on it (to die), I had pizza and I had cupcakes and I drank.  It was the freaking best.  But I didn't work out, I lacked a routine, and I found myself facing situations where my anxiety inevitably popped up i.e. traveling on airplanes with children.  And after we got back, due to jet lag and getting lost in finding some semblance of a routine, as much as a new family of 4 can find, I fell off the rails.  I continued to not work out and well, my sweet tooth was getting the best of me.  And I kinda just didn't think about it.  All efforts I had implemented 4 months ago vanished just like that. And it was far too easy.  I justified it.  Because as a tired mom of 2 under 2, it's easier to sink into my couch and binge watch House of Cards and eat a brownie than it is to have a 20 minute sweat it out session after my kids go to bed.  Right?  Yeah, damn right.

But that leads me to turning around from a simple errand to the grocery store, and staying in bed while my family goes to hang out with other family, and finding yet another therapist.

So I'm back.  For three days in a row, I've gotten a solid workout in and that's great and I hope to keep it up.  But working out is only one piece to a complex puzzle.  And so the journey begins once again.  More vitamins, cleaner foods, less caffeine, and yeah, more therapy.

I've gotten off the couch, turned off Netflix  (best season of House of Cards, yet btw) and I'm fighting once again.

Thu Mar 03 2016

My social sharing guidelines

I love social media (yes, even Snapchat).  Do I think it can be abused?  Yes.  Is there a wrong time to take a selfie? Absolutely.  But as someone who grew up with very few documented memories and knew very little about family history, I love the idea of being able to capture a moment and share it knowing it will live forever.

Those are the key words, however.  It will live forever.  I'm a big believer in personal responsibility when it comes to social outlets.  Some blame the outlet and that's absurd.  We have control over what we share, what we say, what we take pictures of.  We can't post something inappropriate and claim I didn't think it would get around.  It always does.  It's on us to be smart and think about what we share with the world.

So how does this affect my writing?  I've been asked a time or two how I decide what I'm going to share.  And I assume that's because I've written about some pretty personal stuff.  So I thought I'd share my checklist and the questions I ask myself before I hit "publish."

Follow the gut.  When thinking of topics to write about, I do a gut-check.  If I feel confident, I move forward.  If not, I don't.

Would I mind if my kids read this?  Once it's out there, it's out there.  I didn't grow up in a world where I could 'Google' my parents and find a million public pictures and posts, but my kids are growing up in that world.  So I make sure to ask myself if one day they stumbled upon what I'm about to publish would they be mortified?  Even if I'm writing a grittier, more raw post, I make sure to write it from a lesson-learned lens.

• Kids on social: On that same kids note, I love to share cute moments of my little ones through picture and video (especially with having loved ones far away), but you'll never see a naked baby picture of my little ones or their name used as a hashtag.  I just can't get over the fact that if in 20 years my kid is up for a job, and the boss Googles them and finds a bunch of pictures of my kid in their underwear or in the bath or on the toilet.  I mean, it's weird, right?  And using their names as hashtags?  Yeah, that's weird, too.

Is it a part of someone else's story as well?  We all have harder times in our lives that have served us a lesson or two.  If it was a harder time in our life, chances are that story or lesson or chunk of life lived includes other people.  And if it served as a particularly hard lesson learned, the story could potentially paint someone else in a negative light.  I don't feel comfortable painting a negative picture of someone on a platform where it will always live.  There have been a few topics I'm passionate about that I've seriously considered turning into posts because these life moments are a part of my story, but - even if truthful - it's not my place to publicly tarnish a reputation.

Is this something I've worked through?  My writing is personal but not diary personal.  When I was in middle school, I would take to journals or LiveJournal (*cringe*) and rant about the current woe-is-me situation.  It lacked substance, tact, and a point.  Now when I decide to write about something personal (anxiety, postpartum depression, candid motherhood moments) I ask myself if this is an area where I have perspective, grounding, and if I've found an overall lesson learned.  If not, I may still write about the topic but not yet publish the post.

Could this help someone?  When I chose to start writing about anxiety, I wasn't writing in the past-tense.  I was still very much in the throws of getting my footing and figuring it all out.  I ultimately decided to share the journey because I thought it had the potential to help someone.  I remember being pregnant with Ella and feeling so alone that I'd often search for other new moms' experiences. That was my tipping point in my decision making process - maybe someone else is feeling alone in battling anxiety.  When I wrote my first post on the topic, I simply expressed I was in the midst of the journey.

If still unsure, I talk it out.  I've had a few post ideas that I have been really torn on.  A topic has passed most of the checks off the list but one, and I've had a hard time deciding whether or not to write and publish.  In these scenarios, I talk to my husband about it.  His feedback usually grounds me and I almost always walk away with my answer.

As I continue to write, I may tweak these guidelines adding bullet points to a question or two.  But this is my current compass for sharing on social.  Blogging or sharing a status on Facebook or even crafting a tweet can appear to be mindless, but I carefully look over everything I put out there because everything you see with my name on it forms my online reputation.  (But please excuse me for that once in a while emotionally driven political comment -- I know it's never a good idea, but sometimes Ted Cruz just really gets me going.)

Fri Jan 22 2016

Start anyway

About 5 weeks ago, I decided I was going to become dedicated to fitness.  I've got the whole clean eating thing down pretty (keyword: pretty) well, and I don't consume a whole lot of sugar, so I decided to focus on and dive into challenging my body.  I do this 3+ times a week with either yoga or cardio.  And I've been loving it.  Around January 3rd, I started to see all these ads for new and shiny and cute workout gear. New gear new you! sort of slogans accompanied the insta pictures or ads and it quickly got me thinking.

We often take all these little steps to start working toward whatever we want to work toward.  For fitness that might be buying cute sports bras or buying that new pair of Nikes we've been eyeing or joining a gym or getting a trainer.  Or for blogging that might mean making sure our layout is pristine and perfectly programmed and laid out.  If we don't have the means to take these little steps, we can become discouraged from ever working toward our goal because it's not as fun to workout in the old tennys as it is to in the shiny new pair or it's not as satisfying to see a post on a simpler layout as opposed to on the prettiest one.  We become consumed by the "when I get..." or "when I do..." mentality.  As great as these steps can be, it's the dedication and perseverance that will ultimately see us through to our finish line.

One of my favorite stories is one I read recently in Michael Strahan's Wake Up Happy.  If you're not familiar with Strahan, he's an ex-athlete who had a notable and long pro-football career with the NY Giants and was recently inducted into the NFL Hall of Fame.  He writes about when he was younger his brothers and brothers' friends would call him "Bob" which he later learned stood for booty on back.  He was a bit of a chubby 13-year-old and had a hard time keeping up with the boys.  So he decided to dedicate himself to transforming his body and got a Jane Fonda workout tape and did the routine every day after school.  And, clearly he went on to turning his body into that of steel.

This is what has served as my inspiration.  The raw, just-get-to-it sort of mindset.  Yeah, as I go on I'll probably treat myself to some new workout gear and I'd love to one day get a trainer, but that current void shouldn't prevent us from taking the first step.  Grab your computer, go to YouTube and get to it.

Mon Jan 04 2016

Welcome, 2016

This Christmas break was a seriously good one.  Tim had the week after Christmas off which was a huge blessing - one we made the most of and did not take for granted.  Our holiday festivities have had a fairly strict budget, so we didn't go crazy with staycation activities like day trips and shopping and many meals eaten out.  We had a few cozy evenings in over some hot chocolate and episodes of The Office.  We were productive in that our entire place was cleaned head to toe, we talked over resolutions and financial goals.  We celebrated a snowfall by making homemade crepes.  I broke out my shiny, new, white planner which is basically all that's needed to make this woman happy. Summed up, this may sound like 8 days of sheer boring-ness, but it wasn't in the least.  I'm was sad to see this break come to an end.

The best part was we took in life with our growing family.  Holidays have a different feel with 2 little ones and not just in the experiencing-Christmas-through-their-eyes sort of way.  It's a bit more chaotic and a little louder.  Our nights often look something like one of us running around the kitchen with Ella while the other is getting dinner ready, Archer making himself heard in the background. And while on some nights that loudness drove me crazy, on others I stepped back and took it in.

Happy first week of 2016 to you!

Thu Dec 31 2015

2015

This year was a year of hard work and new beginnings.  I suppose now that we especially have children, every year will be a year of hard work, but if I take a look back on the last few years this one stands out in particular.

I didn't waver in pushing and challenging myself which resulted in a chunk of debt being paid off, writing goals reached, and (slowly) getting back on the road.  I cooked a whole chicken and didn't kill anyone (a huge accomplishment, I thought).  I took the exhausting and demanding journey of going to therapy in an attempt to conquer anxiety. I worked with a brand for this blog.  I had my writing picked up and featured.  I birthed another human.  There are more than a few notable things that stand out about this year.

Ella celebrated her first birthday, took her first steps, said her first words, had her first plane ride.  She became a big sister, discovered her love for coloring, and developed more of that Miss Independent personality.  She grew (and continues to grow) rapidly.  She's no longer that baby we welcomed into the world almost 2 years ago.  She's a full-fledged toddler who's running and screaming and always wanting cookies (her mother's daughter, clearly).

Tim's always growing in ways that amaze me.  I'm constantly learning and taking after his quiet example.  He added professor to his résumé, made strides at work, and continues to share his love of his craft.

We said goodbye to Southern California and hello to the Pacific Northwest.  We found out we were soon to be a family of four.  We became a family of 4.  We were blessed with visits from family and friends.  Having gone through the past year, we've become stronger as a unit.

I closed out last year feeling exhausted and a little discouraged, but hopeful.  This year I'm happy, relieved, and proud to say I'm ringing in 2016 breathing a little easier and with a lighter spirit.  Last year was about setting the ground work for hard work and accomplishment and this year was about working hard and achievement.  I'm excited for 2016.  I'm excited to simply to be with my growing family, to watch my kiddos grow.  But I'm also excited for the things that will come with 2016 -- our (highly anticipated and long awaited) trip to Michigan,  Archer will be baptized where we'll see two close friends as they are the Godparents.  A friend from college is getting married in June which will (hopefully) take us back to Southern California.  My best friends may take a trip out West in the Summer.  And then there's the lofty goal of traveling for the holidays.

Ever since Tim and I got married, it seems that our life has been full of constant change, a little uncertainty, and a couple curve balls.  I can't believe we've moved three times and have had 2 kids in a little over 2 years. These past couple years have yielded much growth, but I'm happy that our life seems to be leveling out a bit.  Some may read this and laugh.  The phrase just tell God your plans and He'll show you His may come to mind.  And to you I'd say, yes, more curve balls could be thrown our way, unforeseen events could take place, things we aren't ready for could happen.  All that could happen and we'd get through it.  I don't doubt my and Tim's teamwork and bond.  But for now, I'll simply be thankful for feeling settled, a full heart, and a peaceful mind.

Wed Nov 04 2015

What I've Learned: On confidence and true beauty

When I feel most beautiful and most free -- during a gut-breaking laugh with people I love.

I've always been categorized into the stereotypical attractive box.  I say this after years of being inappropriately hit on or approached, receiving comments made by female peers, and engaging in shallow relationships.  I had a certain hair color, a certain build, a chest, and a bum which left me as the girl who guys wanted to get with, but never wanted to be with and girls labeling me as "that girl", the one who didn't have problems, or feelings because I had, excuse my french, a rack.

I was sub par in school.  I performed average on standardized tests, I often fell in the middle of the class ranking, and always fiercely fighting anxiety, my participation grades consistently suffered.

I was sub par in sports.  I liked sports.  I enjoyed playing them, but I was cut from the basketball team, struggled to complete a 100 free-style and always finished near the bottom when having to run that damn mile in gym class.

I was not outgoing.  Usually when you encounter someone with long blonde hair, they're outgoing, right?  Those girls are always portrayed as the Regina Georges and it's the girls with the untamed bouncing curls that are portrayed as the shy ones.  If you happen to have long blonde hair and boobs but are not fond of striking up conversation with anyone and everyone, you're labeled as rude, bitchy, and standoffish.

I was always a little "weird".  I liked country music, I liked ABC news specials, I was friends with those who were friends with the "popular" group, but never really floated in it myself.  I had my chair pulled out from underneath me and was laughed at on more than one occasion.  I had a wardrobe from Meijers, Mervyn's and JC Penny, not Hollister and Abercrombie and Fitch.

But as I got older, I quickly came to learn I did excel in one area though and that was my appearance. People would stare and construction workers would whistle and I received comments about my features.  And after a while, a long while trying to discover passions and strengths but consistently falling under the average bracket, I thought bring it.  I bought the American Eagle cut off's, I'd go for the skimpy bikini and then take those awful selfies and make them my MySpace profile picture (insert countless cringing faces).  I relied on my appearance for confidence, acceptance, and validation.  I guess it worked for a little while, as a long as something like that can "work".  But eventually, inevitably, my confidence was pulled out from underneath me and I found myself flat on my ass looking for my worth, self-esteem and what the hell it was I actually stood for.  And when that happened I began to hate my appearance. When I'd receive a perfectly friendly compliment on my outfit or hair, I'd resent it.  I'd find myself jealous of the very girls who claimed to be jealous of me.  At least they're valued for their smarts, interests, and intelligence, something substantial I thought.

It wasn't until in college, in a PR class, when I started to gain perspective and understand what beauty, confidence and self-worth truly meant.  During one particular class, we had to give presentations for a mock company.  As everyone, I gave mine and waited for the feedback.  I got my well-rounded, full feedback, but all I clung to was one line:  you're fun to look at.  There it was.  I was so hurt by the remark, I nearly needed to leave the class to mask my welling eyes.  It was that same professor who ultimately brought me back down to earth and explained what should have been explained to me years prior - what true beauty is, what self-worth is, and what a comment such as that one encompasses.

Slowly but surely, my outlook shifted.  I began to understand that the outward really doesn't matter as much as the inward, that we shape our confidence, and choose how we want to be seen. This has led me to not caring if people know that I enjoy watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians, that I don't fully understand the game of football but enjoy watching it, that I like Nick Jonas and Justin Bieber, and near religiously watch Live with Kelly and Michael and sometimes shop in the men's section.  I do what I love and I do it unapologetic-ally.

It's also led me to second guess ever saying, he's driving a BMW so he can't have problems,  or she's a celebrity, so she asked to be bashed on the front of tabloids.  It's taught me no matter who you are, where you live, what your bank statements say that none of us are immune to being human and dealing with hurtful comments or insecurities or anything of the sort.  I've learned anything less than embracing who we are and drawing confidence from the inside out is a recipe for unhappiness and continual dissatisfaction.

At 25, my confidence can still be shaken.  Having such an emphasis on my appearance for a long time, gaining weight during pregnancy has been one the recent confidence-shakers I've dealt with. But I know what it means to love and be myself.  It's a whole type of free that I never knew.

Fri Oct 23 2015

From around the house

I feel my best when I feel good in my space -- when my home is clean, when pictures are on walls, when candles are nicely placed and lit, when my place is filled out with furniture and accent rugs.  But getting married just out of college, starting out from scratch and needing to be crafty with our budgeting and with having bigger priorities like saving for a baby or a move or paying down debt, we haven't always been able to afford the accent chair or floating shelves or coffee table that'd we'd like. No, in the grand scheme of life, these little things don't matter.  But they help to make a space feel complete, cozy, and homey which in turn makes me feel good.  Slowly, we're building our new space into the home we as a family feel comfy and content in.  It's a relief to finally be out of the perpetual apartment hunting mindset. During this process of getting settled, I've at times grown impatient, but I've also been reminded of what really makes a house a home.  So in a recent effort to take in this process with a little more gratitude, I went around our cozy, little space and captured a few of my favorite things.

Peaceful lighting shining bright.

A fall centerpiece that makes our home smell like the season.

New candles, a sweet housewarming present.

A random bookend we picked up at Homegoods next to a picture of a few of the ladies I miss most.

A stack of warm chocolate chip cookies piled high.

Fri Oct 16 2015

Milestones and good friends

This week was full of pregnancy cravings, reaching milestones, and visiting with good friends.  I'll let the pictures do the talking.

It's time for November 20th to arrive.  Though it's only 5 weeks away, I'm pretty confident I could eat my weight in ice cream.  No regrets on this purchase though, it hit the spot!

And then there was this moment.  Just the two of us going out.  That was a milestone.

Cute new kicks for my cute girl.

An evening spent with friends!  There's something about being reunited with good friends that rejuvenates the soul.  These two newlyweds' honeymoon happened to take them through Portland, so we were able to get dinner, catch up, and get some good dessert. 

Reached 35 weeks!

Wed Sep 23 2015

What going gluten-free taught me

During my freshman and sophomore years of college, I dealt with the whole "am I really allergic to gluten?" thing.  I had been experiencing some symptoms that we'll just sum up as it felt impossible to function.  I got a few simple tests done, got a call, and was told "I'd lay off the gluten".  Now I wasn't diagnosed with Celiacs and I didn't immediately vomit if I had a brownie, so this (in my mind) left leeway to cheat. And if your pastry tooth resembles mine in the slightest, you know that meant cheating was inevitable. But based on what I had just gone through, I knew if I kept eating processed and gluten-ful foods, it'd build back up in my system and result in another cycle of sickness and tests.

So I began that long and daunting process that is now familiar to so many others, that process of finding out just what the hell gluten was, what I could eat, where I could eat, and how I could do it all on a college budget.  The timing was convenient.  The whole gluten-free thing was on top of the trends list in the world of food which was great because that meant options (and was not so great because people rarely took it seriously.)

Controlling and limiting the food you eat is damn hard.  There was a Starbucks across from my apartment in college, and as a college kid I often frequented the place for dates, outings with friends, and long study sessions.  And that chocolate chip coffee cake was my jam.  While going through the process of changing my diet, I remember looking at the case and thinking, I could get that and it could kill me later or I could not.  Sometimes I opted for the first, but slowly, over time I always opted for the latter.  And the discipline paid off in more ways than one.

The physical results kind of go without saying.  I lost 25 pounds, went down three ring sizes, and a half a shoe size.  My body quite literally shook off all that...crap.  I felt better.  My stomach wasn't in a perpetual state of agony and my energy levels increased.  But the physical benefits were only a part of it.  I learned self-control and moderation.  When you have to look nearly every food you love in the eye and say, "no thanks" you learn a great deal of self-control.  The desserts that were incorporated into my diet thereafter were usually smaller and a little healthier.  I was able to have only one cookie (except with Oreos) or a few pieces of a chocolate bar.  I grew an appreciation for good, healthy food and a passion for being aware of what I'm consuming that's fueling my body.

And I became more appreciative.  If you have food allergies or sensitivities, you know going to any function where food is provided that you'll probably have to carry a granola bar or something in your purse.  There may not be food you're able to eat, and as that does suck, it's just a crappy card you've been handed that you gotta deal with.  But on those occasions, when someone thought to include a GF option or went out of their way to accommodate your situation, it should be seen as a big deal because they didn't need to do so.  Anytime that's happened to me, I've felt grateful, appreciative, and have taken note to pay their kindness forward.

Am I saying you need to go GF to learn self-control?  Of course not.  Actually, I hope you never encounter these pesky food things, 'cause paying 7 bucks for bread that only tastes good when toasted truly gets old after a while.  But I will say learning how to eat well and healthy is bigger than your meal plan.  Those habits bleed over into many parts of life and soon you'll find yourself saying, "I don't really need that pair of shoes" or you'll opt to get outside for some exercise instead of binging on *Netflix.

Yes.  There is a time and place for binging.  

Fri Sep 18 2015

First steps

This week was a week of first steps.  (Funny enough, these steps had nothing to do with the little toddler in the house.)

The more adult I become, the more I realize just how easy it is for life to happen to me instead of me making life happen.  As youngn's, we consistently have the future on our minds - how to get into college, how to get a good job, etc., etc., etc.  But when we finally reach adulthood, we may realize we want to make a career change, we may realize we want to stay at home with our kids, we may get fired or quit and not know where to step next, or we may get into a relationship that we realize isn't the best for us but we stay 'cause we're comfortable.  Adulthood brings a thousand and three scenarios that could lead us into a giant rut that we have a hard time navigating.  It becomes easy to put off starting a passion project (due to a lack of time or let's be honest, energy), it becomes easy to set aside goals and it becomes even easier to rely on our comfort zones.

I still haven't tested to get my driver's license here in Washington.  Since I have to take all the testing again, I initially waited due to a budgeting issue, then 'cause of an anxiety issue, and then I just sort of forgot about it.  I also haven't taken any steps to get further established in our new city by joining a group or class in attempts to meet some new people and make some friends.  Neither of these scenarios are dire, but I'd become a better version of my self if I took the steps in achieving these two, little goals.  I've been taking a back seat in letting days pass by without taking control of what I need to do in order to inch toward my best self.

So this week I acknowledged that.  I whipped out that Washington Driver's Manual out of the (very back of the) mail holder and started reading.  I found practice tests and took them.  I found a driver's school to test at, and planned to take my written test.

I also defied all of my what-if-nerves and anxieties and contacted a mom's group, because why not?

I have yet to hit the road nor do I have an abundance of friend circles, but I'm one step closer than I was last week thanks to my recent one-foot-in-front-of-the-other mindset.  The big steps of achieving goals are a big deal, but it's those tiny, often times fumbling first ones that get us there.

Wed Sep 16 2015

Finding joy in the quiet

When I was 17, I had a mentor who I still hold near and dear.  We were having a conversation that ultimately brought to light my need to be constantly "running around".  I worked, I did school, and used all my time in between to be out with friends.  Though it was a particularly difficult time, some of my best memories are from those infamous teenage years.  I remember him telling me that one day, I will get to a point where I will enjoy my own company; I won't need to go out to feel particularly fulfilled or at peace, that I will find joy in the quiet by myself.

I've thought about that a time or two over the years, but it's come to mind especially lately.  I tend to be fueled by being out with people and among friends, but I have come to a point where my alone time is greatly cherished.

Every now and then, when dinner is put away, the kitchen is cleaned, and my little girl is tucked in bed, my house is dimly lit, the twinkle lights go on, I find comfort by my couch and favorite throw. Sometimes, I'm accompanied by my husband and good conversation, other times, it's just me - me and my thoughts and maybe a good beverage (if I weren't pregnant, it'd be wine).  Nothing brings me peace and a certain joy that this setting brings.  And I've been surprised by it.  I remember when he told me that, I couldn't fathom getting to a place where I would be perfectly content alone on my couch.  But I am.

I love a good jammed-packed weekend full of outings and friends and a whole lot of chatter, but the joy that comes from being in solitude and soaking in the quiet hits me on a whole other level - one of great peace and gratitude.

Fri Sep 04 2015

Soaking in gratitude

I decided to document my pregnancy journey for two reasons.  One - in hopes to help fellow pregnant ladies who stop by and read and two - to have it for years to come.  But if I'm being completely honest, I don't do well while pregnant.  With my mood often against me, I find myself struggling and working to feel like myself and give my best self to my husband and daughter.  So as these final months have approached, I've been more and more hesitant to document my journey because I haven't wanted to give off all those hormonal, negative vibes.  But that's been my reality as of late - mood swings and pain I'm trying to grin through.

Something that's kept my spirits high and my attitude positive though is the weather.  Now I feel like my dad talking about the weather, but I forgot how much of an impact weather can have on your mood and well-being.  Living in California for the past six years, I forgot what that Fall crisp really feels like, the smells of an ending Summer and blossoming Autumn, the rain pelting on my window giving a certain radiance to my twinkle lights on the patio.  I go outside and breathe easy, calmly. These little things I took for granted, barely even took notice to, growing up in the Midwest. But now I cherish every one of them.

And this, of course, has only given me a deep sense of gratitude for the opportunity of living in Washington.  I can't wait to go to World Market and Homegoods and Target to get some Fall accents for our new place and some Fall attire for our wardrobes.  That's what's on our agenda this weekend.

I hope you've had a great week.  I'll be back on Monday with (hopefully) a mini-haul and a regular blogging schedule.

Highlight of my week and always: her sweetness.  (Pardon my shoe.)

Fri Aug 28 2015

Friday, Friday

Sometimes writing a Friday post is a fun and easy recap 'cause I can say things like, "we went to the beach!", and "we went to Portland!", and "I made the best doughnuts of my life!"  And at the end of other weeks, I can only say things like, "I took a two hour long glucose test which resulted in a headache that would not leave me", and "I bought a Belly Bandit Thighs Disguise."  Though I'm pretty excited over the fact that I don't have gestational diabetes, and I finally found some good maternity shape wear, I know these minor, everyday details of life are so not interesting.  So I'll leave you with a few things I came across online this week that, in my opinion, were interesting.

Enjoy!

TSwift has a Smelly Cat moment.

Schooner Kids: A new children's lifestyle site launched this week.  Can't wait to read a couple of the must-read suggestions for moms!  (P.S. Bringing Up Bebe is excellent.)

The best kind of blast from the past.  An old Oprah interview with the cast of Friends. Need I say more?

Tue Aug 25 2015

A life I never knew I wanted

Let's throw it back to the year 2005.  When my blonde hair was a product of a bad dye job and an on-sale box of Clairol Brilliant Blonde from Rite Aid.  When I sported graphic tees of bands from places like Incognito and Hot Topic - it wasn't a coincidence that those bands were the favorites of guys I was interested in.  I went to school because I had to, attempted to skip detention, and my only true interest was that of Steve Madden clogs.  I said things like "I'm never going to have kids".  And I didn't believe in God.

I guess I was in some ways the textbook version of a rebel - someone who fought often with her parents, said things like "shit" and thought I was cool, and cheated on tests.

But, shockingly, I still had a plan, as much of a plan as a 15-year-old who didn't really have it together could have.  I was going to go to college, major in Journalism, and become a reporter as the greats Walters, Jennings and Brokaw inspired me to do.  I was going to travel - get away from the Godforsaken bubble that was my little hometown - and get married in my 30s, you know after I had lived a little.

I turned 16, then 17.  I went through my Frankie-Says-Relax-tee-shirt-wearing phase (though I had no idea what it meant), got mixed up with guys I shouldn't have, and learned all I needed to know from Friends and Seventeen Magazine.

Somewhere along the way, I grew up a little.  Maybe it's because I ran into some people who became mentors and helped me to see what true fulfillment and responsibility really was.  Maybe it's because I just grew up a little faster than expected for a teen through a combination of good life experience and lack there of.  I picked a state to move to, a college to attend, and packed up, bidding farewell to whatever had been.  My ultimate dream of becoming a journalist remained, my level of determination increased, my work ethic improved, but the angst-y, lost, bad-mouthed teen did not (thank God).

And while going down my own little path, I met a guy.  A guy who was unlike most I had met or dated.  He was driven, he had passion, he knew what he wanted and was willing to work hard.  He was funny, in sometimes an inappropriate way, which my inner rebellious teen appreciated.  He taught me a little something about forming my own path, going against the grain, and challenging myself.  And soon my once steadfast stance on the strict no-kids policy started to fade.  My reasons for once not wanting a family no longer mattered.  

And now here I sit, living out my ultimate anti-dream with all my previous plans having faded into nothing. And I couldn't be more thankful.  My opinion of people getting married and having kids before the age of 30 now seems both hypocritical and ludicrous.  The God I once didn't believe in had other plans in mind, bigger and better plans as the cliché goes.  I got a taste of a newsroom and ultimately decided that life wasn't for me.  My love for Steve Madden clogs has stayed with me over the years. My hair is once again blonde, though never again out of a box.

Making PB&Js is a part of my daily routine and words like "nesting" are in my vocabulary.   I know what it's like to have birthed a child and have experienced the pure joy that comes with your baby's first laugh.  Sometimes date nights with my husband aren't as fancy as others, and I step on one too many legos throughout the week.  My love for writing has only increased and Faith is something I no longer shrug off but cling to.

10 years later, I can't help but be most thankful for detours, speed bumps, and traffic jams.  They're what led me to discovering and uncovering the path to my truest and most fulfilling dream.

Wed Aug 05 2015

Knowing your value

Recently, I was listening to an episode of the EntreLeadership podcast.  It was all about knowing your value, dying to your dreams, and being faithful in the little things.  They stressed the importance of knowing your own value as a person, because if you put your worth on success or a lack-there-of, it's a downward spiral into either pride or self-loathing.

As I stood there at the stove pouring Cuban-style black beans into a pot for a dinner, I couldn't help but think of an exchange I had at the dentist's office a week prior.  The hygienist was making small talk, of course saw my bump and asked if this was my first.  This ultimately led to the question that at-home moms simultaneously dread and brush off, so are you working?  I immediately found myself internally scrambling to come up with an answer because a simple "no" always seems awkward.  I mean no, not strictly speaking, but I'm pursuing what I love.  No, that's awkward, too.  I resorted to the typical no, I'm staying at home right now.  (Catch how I added the "right now"?)  The hygienist, with kids of her own, responded typically (but endearingly) with "oh that's nice".  

This post isn't about working or at-home moms.  At the end of the day, moms are moms and we do what's best for us and our families whether we go to an office, have an at-home office or find our schedules dictated around poops and playtime.  What I realized about my internal dialogue though later bothered me.  It suggested I thought I was something less if I didn't respond with a "Yeah, I work at _____."  This especially got to me, because I have never been happier or more fulfilled.  Thanks to having my daughter, I fell into a place that I actually liked, doing something I actually enjoyed doing - being with my family and writing every day.  And I'm confident in the decisions I made.  But due to societal pressures, stigmas, and the ongoing "having it all" conversation, I always feel a little twinge when I'm asked if I "work".

I know it's the typical small-talk topic, but even if I told you I did work, what it would say underneath my name on an office door wouldn't define me.  And if one day I find myself in an office again, it won't define me.  I wasn't any more of a person a year and a half ago when working while pregnant just as I'm not any less of a person now at-home with one and one on the way.

I'm Kaitlin (or Kate to the blogging world).  I'm a believer, a writer, a wife, a mother, a friend, daughter.  Not any one of these titles solely defines me.  Together, they make me who I am.  Sometimes being a mom demands more of me than being a writer does, but at other times, I go out of my way to be a writer or a friend.  And at others, my daughter is babysat while I put on my best wife hat and go on a date with my husband.  And at most times, each title helps me to be better in another.

My value lies in my name, my person, not in any title that doesn't or will ever follow it.

Wed Jul 08 2015

Enough

There are, especially recently, an abundance of articles out there talking about mothers' and body image, how mothers see themselves is usually passed onto their daughters and ultimately affects how their daughters see themselves.  The article usually links the struggle to adapting to their postpartum bodies to their thoughts on body image.

I get it.  I'm another one wading in the pool of learning to love my appearance.  My weight has fluctuated over the years.  My acceptance of my body image fluctuating along with it.  Throughout my high school and college years, an indecisive thyroid and intense reaction to gluten and processed food resulted in a selection of jean sizes ranging from 2-12.  And when I finally seemed to get a handle on all that internal chaos, when my weight leveled out, when I was comfortable in my skin, and when my wardrobe for once housed a consistent size, I got pregnant.

I gained 35 pounds.  My chest quadrupled in size.  My feet swelled.  After pregnancy, I dropped 26 pounds.  My hips remained wider.  My chest didn't experience the same downsize.  My feet went mostly back to normal.  Then I got pregnant again.  New stretch marks, new sizes, more weight in different places.

Through all this, the mirror's been a sort of enemy.  I get dressed, take a peek, and I'm reminded something doesn't fit right anymore, or I need some Spanx-like slip that I don't have, and I sigh and head back to my closet often repeating this dance.  Only now there's a difference.  There's something at stake when I walk over to the mirror.  The difference now is that I have a daughter who loves the mirror.  She's fascinated by the thing.  I will step in front of it, and not long after I will find her standing sideways looking at her reflection, sticking out her belly, making a funny face, or putting her face real close and promptly laughing.

My reaction to my reflection in the mirror matters to her.  If I want to teach my daughter that she is enough, that she isn't defined by or her confidence isn't a by-product of flaws or a lack-there-of (which is one of my life's missions), I first need to hold that belief.

Lately, mostly thanks to Brené Brown's Daring Greatly, I've practiced this mindset when getting ready.  I try to no longer view the mirror as an opponent but as something that reveals an image to be proud of.  I'm not perfect.  Some days, my sigh is louder than it should be, some days I want to arm myself in all things Spanx, but I'm learning to walk up to the mirror, usually with Ella waddling behind me, and say, enough.