I’ve been trying to write every week, every other if I can’t muster weekly so two Mondays ago was my deadline…but…
On that particular Monday I got home at 2:30 am and into bed at 3:30 so…needless to say, it didn’t go as planned.
What was I doing until all hours of the night on a Sunday turned Monday morning? Turns out, this lady can still party.
And by party I mean pull a double red-eye and still be at least somewhat on point for the week ahead.
Onward, trusty steed!
You see, we sent ourselves to The Vortex and now I find myself forever changed.
The weekend was a celebration of love and partnership and honesty. It brought together a family and solidified their bond but it also did something I didn’t expect: it brought together my family.
Staring down the upcoming two red eye flights, I was optimistic in the sense that I told myself “This may suck, but you can do it”.
Positivity embodied.
By “this” I meant the risky flight times (hello, 10 pm takeoff!), not the weekend itself but I was a little wary for how the “this” might trickle into the rest of the weekend. How would a (likely) mostly sleepless night set us up for a whirlwind weekend? We would see.
Falling asleep mid-bite? Check.
The travel gods smiled upon us that weekend. Ollie slept most of the flight which was – thank all the gods – a direct flight. The Chief and I somehow both found humor in the seemingly endless search for our rental car at 4 am as well as the epic journey required to find a bathroom down the mile long hallways of the Phoenix airport rental area. We took turns being overwhelmed by the city things we still aren’t used to like parking and many-laned freeways and supported the other in their moments of panic. It was a give and take, unlike some of our past travels.
Those proved to be a bit more prickly
Ollie did amazingly (that truth deserves its own line).
Shhhh…it’s secret.
The weekend was spent surrounded by friends from all across the states, friends we don’t often get to see. There was delicious food, wonderful music, heartfelt healing moments, beauty and dramatic landscapes everywhere, and
so
much
laughter.
My boys
It was such a dang treat.
But the sweetest part was the afterglow.
After the dust of another red eye (where Ollie took off his seatbelt once the sign had said he was allowed to and simply plopped himself down on the floor and fell asleep) and arriving at 2:30, getting hyped up by being welcomed home by a northern lights show and finally falling back to sleep around 3:30 settled, the weekend sunk in.
Weddings always give me the feels but this one was something else. I left feeling so incredibly grateful. For my partner. For our son. For our friends. For life.
Our wild bunch ❤️
Being around our friends and their younger and older children reminded me of how tender the baby years were and how fast approaching the kid years are.
Cuddle puddle cuteness
Even a year ago, our Ollie looked so much more like a babe and now, he’s on his way to big kid status. It took me out of the haze that can be the constant boundary setting of being the parent of a 3-year old and into the fun of it.
Always forward.
Look at how he views the world! How he named the trampoline park the “jumpoline park”, how he always asks his girl friends if they would like to hold hands (and respects when they say “no”).
How tender he is when a friend gets hurt. How much he loves to dance.
“Mama! Dance with me like Rocky Rae’s Mama and Dada” **Photo Credit to the fabulous Victoria from White Desert Photography
This soul before me is magic, if I can simply be here to witness it and join it and remember…I’m magic too.
So are you.
I am so grateful for the reset the Vortex (named as such because two red eyes does feel like a vortex and Sedona, where we were, is known for her vortex effect) provided. For the perspective. For the examples I saw watching my beautiful friends as marvelous and inspiring parents. For the beauty I saw. For the moments shared. And for the reset in perspective.
I say it calls for a night on the town (and some really, really good eats – I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist the rhyme).
This weekend, The Chief and I celebrated six years of marriage.
Six?!
How is that even possible?
It feels as if both a millennia and a moment have gone past, as if time stood still and rushed further past where we stand now, all at once.
Six.
Six Septembers ago I started counting Saturdays, celebrating each week’s passing, blessing the babe of a marriage it was with weekly cheer. Six years later, I realize I don’t toast to it as often as that younger me might have hoped. I don’t stop to marvel at the beauty and the madness of tying together two lives.
So today, I stop and thank every force that brought us together.
Thank you to that long and dusty road that sent me to you.
Thank you for that feeling of home I knew instantly when I saw your face.
Thank you for the trust in that knowing, the following of that knowing, that ignorance of reason in the pursuit of my heart’s path.
Thank you for friends and strangers who told me what a wonderful man I’d found.
Thank you for neighbors who supported us every step of the way (and married us).
Thank you to the heartaches we shared that brought us in closer.
Thank you to the quiet of the woods for a gentle place to recuperate.
Thank you to all of you who joined us to make our celebration unbelievably beautiful on the outside and the inside.
Thank you, Alaska for finding my home in the most unexpected of places.
Thank you to our love for allowing us to bring this beautiful being onto earth.
Thank you to The Chief for knowing me and learning me as I change. I love you dearly.
This weekend, I was dead tired. So we headed to the Fair for some R&R.
Everything you need to know is in the name. Fun Slide.
Just kidding.
I was dead tired but I wasn’t delusional enough to expect R&R from the fair. I also didn’t expect a cheerleader.
While unloading our family and the miscellaneous odds and ends we might need throughout the day (ear pro for Ollie? Mama might borrow those for crowd control. Snacks? For all! Stroller? For me, I mean Ollie) I felt a tap on the shoulder.
“Excuse me” I heard a voice say while placing a piece of paper in my hand. As soon as I’d heard her, she was gone and I was left looking at what she’d left in my grasp.
“You’re doing an amazing job! Keep it up!” the index card read.
I teared up on the spot.
If there’s anything I needed in the moment, it was that. Honestly, in any moment.
Validation.
Feeling seen.
Feeling like someone is rooting for you.
I couldn’t point this young woman out in a crowd if I had to but I am grateful to her and for her nonetheless. The next morning, when I felt altogether less than cheer-worthy, I looked at the card (my new bookmark) to remind myself that I am doing a great job, the best job I can do. And all I can do is to keep it up.
The cheerleaders help us move forward.
One day at a time…
Cheers to all of the cheerleaders, known and unknown. To the friends who tell you how fabulous you are when you feel funky. To the random compliment you get from a stranger. For the love notes we leave.
Today marks the end of what I will always remember as the Solo Parenting Summer of 2025. In case I haven’t told you in person (which, if I know you, I have because I needed you to understand why I felt and acted like a zombie every time we interacted), this summer was a struggle. It had highs, it had lows and I’ll always look back on it fondly because time apparently provides amnesia that gives past events a certain glow but the general takeaway?
That shit was hard. How so? Let’s look:
Sleep: Our little sleeping angel went from snoozing a solid 11 hours through the night to taking 1-2 hours to fall to sleep (for naps and for bedtime) and sleeping fitfully for 9-10 hours. Picture, if you will multiple wakings each night taking anywhere from 5-90 minutes to get back to sleep, after which I would struggle to get back to sleep myself, only to wake a few hours later to do it all over again.
Separation: Our independent toddler who went from walking up to ANYONE and starting a conversation suddenly had super separation anxiety making drop-offs and pick-ups a total nightmare for us both.
Sanity: It turns out that one (at least this particular one) needs more sleep than I was getting (around 6 hours a night) and more alone time other than the 27 minute drive twice daily Monday to Thursday to pick up Ollie that I achieved in order to feel sane. Bedtime battles felt hopeless, weekends felt endless and not because I don’t love the everloving heck out of my kid but because my brain was not even close to firing on all cylinders (and perhaps had lost a few along the bumpy way). I needed space, time, a sacred moment to tend to my base needs. But no matter how I gamed the system (I’d wake up early to journal and “get myself right”, he’d wake up right after me. I’d stay up later to get some alone time, he’d wake up extra early).
The cards just didn’t lay well and it was no one’s fault (although, of course, looking back I see a few areas I could have cut myself some slack and given us all an easier time but that’s useless wishing and wondering about a past past-tense). The Chief and I tried to smooth things as best we could by having as much family time together as possible but journeying 16 hours round-trip to see one another every weekend simply wasn’t possible and then ups and downs of reunions and goodbyes sometimes just made things worse.
Finally, finally, things fell into place and we ended up spending the bulk of the end of summer all together in the home that we built, the first home Ollie ever knew. It was pretty dreamy overall.
As the season came to a close, there was just one last stint of the Solo Parenting Summer of 2025 to get through: 10 days while The Chief finished work and closed down the house for winter. What could go wrong?
Two weeks before we left, Ollie got a lovely little diddy called Hand Foot and Mouth disease (which I’ve always mistakenly called “Hand Foot in Mouth” disease which is even grosser). If you don’t know what it is, just think OWWWW. Blisters across your…you guessed it! Hands, Feet and in your Mouth! Plus, bonus if you get them alllllllll over your body. High fever? Check! Pain? You got it! It looks miserable and we all felt terrible that week but undoubtedly, Ollie felt worse. So, needless to say, it was a bit of a messy week with me trying to work while feeling ill myself and simultaneously caring for sweet sick Ollie.
But…
We made it through.
The next week, we narrowly dodged another sickness. I kept repeating to myself “Just stay healthy so you can have all your capacity for this last stretch of solo parenting” and we did…
Until we got to Anchorage.
Within an hour I was sneezing uncontrollably, my eyes were watering, I was coughing and wheezing. It was dope. My allergies were on fire and my meds simply couldn’t stand up to whatever new pollens I was experiencing. Still, Ollie was fine so we were only 50% down. I’d take it. He started a new school the following Monday and…
jumped right in! No separation anxiety, just pure joy AND he had slept pretty well the night before. Things were looking up.
Apparently, opposites attract because up was swiftly followed by down. By Wednesday, Ollie’s school was closed due to a…you guessed it! Hand Foot and Mouth outbreak. No, Ollie was not the Patient Zero,it had arrived before him but since he’d just had it, his doctor figured it was highly unlikely he’d contract it again.
Highly unlikely.
We waited. Nothing. The weekend came and with it, nothing. We’d avoided it!
Saturday night, after a night of pampering myself to congratulate me on not losing my shit through another week of being sick, having my kiddo home from school and just generally trying to piece together life, I went down to the laundry room to flip the clothes and found…
A shitstorm.
The floor was flooded with water but not just any water, it was…sewage! By 11:30 pm, the floors were mopped to the best of my ability and I was finally in bed. Then started the wakeups. Two that night with the final one being before 6 am. I was EXHAUSTED and Ollie was…sick. “Mama, my mouth hurts.”
Fack!
I spent the morning checking to see where the backup was happening and figured it out by flooding the room twice more (call me an overachiever). After every single towel in our house that I was willing to sacrifice was used and I’d called every plumber open on the weekends (none of whom were apparently open on the weekends or whose service lines simply hung up on me), I gave up and gave in. Things were as tidy as could be for now and so…
We went to find mushrooms.
Hey ChickieChickie!
Did we find any? Nope (not that were still edible). Did we stay at home and stew? Nope. Was Ollie a total trooper? Yep.
This morning, I finally got ahold of a plumber. Ollie busied himself while I went to my necessary work meetings and talked with the plumber and…things came together. The clog was fixed. We had water again.
As I drove my little dude for a nap along the Turnagain Arm, I took in the views and listened to a podcast with Esther Perel (loooooooove her!) to calm my mind. I was still completely exhausted and in need of a break, overstimulated and under-nourished but I hadn’t “lost it”. I’d been frustrated, sure, but something felt different in the way I was reacting to the shitstorm. Then the podcast talked about something I’d never thought about. It talked about how we can come through trauma alive or we can come through trauma living. It struck me. I’m not comparing a plumbing problem to trauma, but I have definitely lived through my fair share of true trauma and it left me questioning: was I alive or just living? The shitstorm was small potatoes but it had to start somewhere. Instead of lingering in the hard, I could relish the good on the other side. I could dance through the shitstorm, smile as I came out better and be grateful every time I used the washing machine and didn’t find our floor flooded.
The Solo Parenting Summer of 2025 was good overall, it’s not just the amnesia of passing time. Yes, it was hard. It was trying but I also got to spend the most time I have with our nugget since he was still in diapers and that was beautiful. And yes, I did learn things I don’t like about myself (patience when overstimulated? NOT my strong suit) but I also learned new ways to deal with these things and today I think was the biggest learning:
Come alive in the hard, don’t just live.
Thank you to everyone who listened to me complain this summer and thank you, to The Chief for coming home. This concludes the Solo Parenting Summer of 2025.
With love,
from Alaska
P.S. I write this to you as The Chief puts sweet Ollie to bed and a little afterwards which is why you’ll see few pictures and probably a lot of typos in an effort to balance my need for writing with my need for cuddles. Thank you for reading.
Every morning lately (and sometimes, in the middle of the night, when Ollie decides morning isn’t fast approaching enough) I’ve tried to remember to say something to myself:
“Today, something amazing will happen.”
Watch for it…
When jostled from a deep sleep to screams of “Mama!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” at 3 am are your reality, or life has lifted you up and just as swiftly smooshed you down, “amazing” isn’t exactly the first word I’d use to describe the present but the future?
Amazing.
The other day, Ollie asked me to hear “Shot of Whiskey” aka this banger (yes, my kid shouts “Mom, Shot of Whiskey!!!” in public and yes, I have been nominated for Mom of the Year. Thank you for your votes) but I had forgotten my phone. He was adamant. I was at a loss so I turned on the radio and…it immediately came on. We laughed in wonder through the whole song. Amazing.
Last Thursday, after Camp, Ollie asked to go to watch the planes at the airstrip. He was hell-bent on getting a ride and while we didn’t go up, while we were there, nearly 10 planes took off and landed. For a tiny strip in rural Alaska this was nothing short of… Amazing. Ollie hooted and hollered the ENTIRE time. As you might remember, the boys loves him some planes.
And his Auntie Becca
This weekend, while driving home from the woods, I noticed the cars ahead of us slowing and realized the ever-present summer construction season might find us in a waiting moment (and by that I mean, pull out your camping chair, we could be here a while) until…I realized they were simply slowly moving forward, not stopping. The pilot car had just taken off. Amazing.
This morning, after 27 blissful minutes of alone time to wake by my own internal clock and prep my coffee, Ollie awoke and was sweet as pie, cuddly and cozy, bleary-eyed and full of his epic bed head hair. Amazing.
It looks a little like this…
On our way to his first day at a new school, after bidding a frustrated adieu to the “tractor” that drove ahead of us as we turned towards the school, we turned into the driveway to find…that same tractor! Amazing? Freaking amazing.
This afternoon, I got to talk to my husband for 30 minutes without interruption. Amazing.
This evening, I get to see friends and feel the camaraderie of building and strengthening ties. Freaking amazing.
Love you pups.
What will happen next? I can’t say but I do know I’ve firmly placed my Amazing Goggles on (like Nature Goggles, when you go out for a hike, ya know?!) and I’ll be on the lookout.
What will your amazing be? I couldn’t pretend to know. Maybe your favorite donut shop has just a single one of your favorite tasty treat left when you walk in the door. Maybe a rainbow pops out of an otherwise lackluster day. Be it big or small, I promise you, if you look, it will be there to greet you.
Today, something amazing will happen.
With love (and amazement),
from Alaska
Sun dappled mountains never get old
P.S. The featured image of this post where my mouth is in an “O” is from a burst of family photos I took on a mountaintop. It’s the last one and shows all of our faces after Ollie decided to randomly smack me. But…I caught it on “tape” as we used to say. Even that…kind of amazing.
I’ve written this post to you in my head for over a year, threatening ever so often to actually write it down. Alas, pen has finally met paper (or, more factually, digits have drummed a keyboard) and here it is: a post, finally.
Finally.
I guess I had to wait out the winter to uncover the next bloom
When motherhood and my momentum as a writer collided three years ago, I figured the hiatus would be brief. I’d find my way back. I felt the siren’s call of the blank page and the story untold. The only problem was, I felt, for the first time, unsure. Would my wonderings be solely based on motherhood? Would a life outside of the woods still be one worth sharing? I was changing, as I always have been, as you too are just now as we sit together. Some changes are fast and in the rear view before we know it and some are like molasses.
Motherhood has been my molasses. A slow reconstruction of self that changes day by day as it always has, just with new variables.
Old me.New me. Same doorway (and still carrying my little boo)
For example: my old self would never have known the simple joy of using the bathroom alone. These days, I just might text a friend about such a triumph.
Yahoooooooo!
Life has changed. A lot. And I want to be able to look back and remember it. So, before we get too far moving forward, let’s free up mental space and venture back in time to May of 2024 and talk tits…Tits Out.
‘Twas a day like any other and by that I mean it was the second time I was flying with Ollie without The Chief (and it hadn’t been nearly long enough since the first to forget what that could be like). I was under slept and overstimulated but thankfully joined by an “Auntie” co-pilot. Auntie E, to be exact.
We had all stayed up late and woken up early and Ollie had recently turned from 1 to 2 overnight, despite his birthday not being until the end of the month. He was independent and boisterous and brazen and ready to party! As the plane prepared for departure, his excitement grew.
“WOOOOooooHOOOOOOOoooo!!!” he yelled. He stood atop my knees, peering out the window, whooping and woo-ing like a fan at a basketball game.
The engines hadn’t even started.
Stewards and stewardesses came by to coo at him, telling me they’d never seen a kid so amped for takeoff. He hooted and hollered the entire time until finally, the engines did start and the wheels swirled us around and…
takeoff!
Ollie continued to whoop in wonder until we’d reached altitude. The kid LOVES flying. He also loves snacks and after expelling all that energy, having a couple “Cheddie Bun Buns” (Annie’s Cheddar Bunnies FTW) and other essentials, he was ready for “Booba Yuck”.
Can you guess what that is?
Milk. My kid calls breastmilk, Yuck. It’s charming, I’m sure.
Booba Yuck to the rescue and before I knew it, the tuckered tyrant was fast asleep, and apparently, so was I.
You are my sunshine.
An hour or so later, I awoke, looked down and saw one thing and one thing only: Tits.
Tits Out.
Ollie, little wiggler that he is, had sandwiched himself between my elbow and my breast leaving me looking as if I:
1. Did not have a baby in tow 2. Did have a boob that I needed everyone to see. Everyone.
I had just been lying there for an hour during drink service with an entire boob out on display like a Christmas ham. Cheers!
I readjusted and re-covered myself and then…got to laughing. And couldn’t stop. It was just days before Mother’s Day and the most perfect expression of motherhood I could imagine.
So, a very belated happy Mother’s Day to you all, to all the caregivers and all those who have been cared for in all the endless forms loving takes. I see you, baby.
Cheers to you.
With love,
from Alaska
She’s sure a beaut.
P.S. Last post was a bummer to end on, eh? I’m happy (though still heart-wrenched) to report that Leto did find a wonderful home. We still talk with him often and miss him dearly and also savor the safety of being separate. Life, man. Oof!
Rarely have I written to you in a story half-told. Perhaps never. I regale a tale completed, once it’s risen and formed. Yet today, after weeks of avoiding it I find myself here, half-told, asking for your help to write the ending.
And…this is why I didn’t want to write this post, because as I type, 3 short sentences in, my stomach is in knots, and tears threaten to flee their watery world beneath the surface. Why?
The Fluff.
This cutie pie.
Here’s where the story begins:
It was mid-September, a day like any other except I was EXTRA happy. The Chief and I (ok, mostly me) were blasting Lizzo, drinking coffee, and getting ready for our day. Off he went into his and off I danced into mine, breaking out my best moves as I got Ollie ready to head to Storytime at the Library. We were in our new home in our new city of Anchorage and things were feeling extra joyful. Leto and Ollie hung harmoniously (finally) as Leto’s frustrations with Ollie as he’d become hyper-mobile and all too interested in “petting”, had seemed to fade in the prior weeks. I kept a close eye but had felt myself calm around their interactions.
As I finished the dishes I heard a small growl (a common occurrence in our house) and went to grab Ollie to give Leto his peace.
I was too slow.
Leto bit Ollie.
To answer the most important question first: Ollie is OK. He is not traumatized by Leto or by dogs and he healed up well.
To answer the hardest question next: yes, we are looking to rehome Leto.
Does my stomach turn at typing that? You bet. Do I know it’s the right thing for everyone, even though it feels absolutely terrible? Yes.
It’s been a long time since I’ve avoided the click of my keyboard and the truth that noise brings. This is the truth:
we need your help.
Help in finding Leto his new home. We’ve had Leto leads but nothing has been quite right so, I’m coming to you for help. I know what I’ve told you doesn’t exactly emote a Gosh I Want That Dog kind of squishy feeling but I would never give him to someone without being completely honest and outside of this absolutely crap incident, he’s been an incredible joy in our life. There’s also a lot more to Leto than this story.
Leto among the Dryas
Like:
The pros: – Leto is a freaking gem. Everyone who meets him falls in love with him. The Chief walks him at the park every morning and the boys’ and the girls’ Cross Country teams both STOP running every morning to take a “Let’s pet Leto!!!” break. They call out to him from a hundred yards away. It’s the highlight of everyone’s day. – He’s quiet. Every once in a while he will let out a random howl but other than true protection barks (“Mom! There is a bear!”) he is quiet and calm. – He’s very tidy. He poops in the same locale every day or off-trail if on a walk. Malamutes are tiiiiidy. – He travels well. He will just put his head down and wait until the trip is over (and we’ve driven a lot with him. Like…driven to California and back a lot). He’s chill. Won’t try to jump in the front seat or bug you. – He’s hilarious. Seriously, this dog has a personality. – He’s great with everyone (including all children, except for Ollie). – He LOVES going to the vet. His last vet moved to Hawaii and still sends him Christmas cards every year. – He’s calm. A barking dog will run up to him at the park and he will simply keep on walking. – He skijors (I can’t vouch for how good he currently is at it as I haven’t done it in 2 years due to being pregnant but back then it was a great steady pace). – He’s great off leash (but doesn’t understand cars so needs to be put back on when cars are nearby). Whenever we come to a fork in the road, he waits, or circles back to me. – He’s pretty mellow with grooming. His undercoat is thick so we normally take him to a groomer when we can and then brush him (which he loves) and clip his nails (which he’s fine with) in between. – He’s a road dog. He will go anywhere with you, any time. He wants to be with his pack. BUT he’s also ok at home and has never once gotten into the trash, ripped things up, peed inside, etc. Like I said, the boy is tidy. – He’s smart and happy to learn new tricks. He’s so quiet that we taught him to bark on demand just to hear him do it (which he does in a very dainty “woof”). – He’s very gentle, delicately taking snacks out of your hand. – He’s handsome: Every time you go outside with him, someone will want to take his picture. My friend keeps telling me to just make him a dog model so we can all quit our jobs already. Our loss is your gain, I guess (his Mama was a show dog after all).
The Cons: – He’s handsome: Every time you go outside with him, someone will want to take his picture (this is only a Con if it’s a con to you, hence it being in the Pros section). – He’s a Malamute so…he can be stubborn BUT treats melt all stubbornness. I just found out he could jump into the Subaru by throwing a tiny sliver of Havarti back there. Seriously, treats do the trick. – He sheds. Refer to above: he’s a Malamute. Comes with the territory. But I’ve heard that Roombas cure-all. – He’s good on leash but does pull if he gets scared (I just learned he’s scared of trains. Whowuddathunkit?!). – As I mentioned above, he doesn’t understand cars (since all the cars where we live stop for him). If there are cars around, he MUST be on a leash. – He doesn’t like to be humped and has gotten aggressive with dogs who won’t stop humping him. No bites just lots of growling and teeth gnashing on both sides. It’s a dominant thing and he is a dominant dog. I can see it happening before it gets to that and normally get ahead of it by just leaving the situation. It hasn’t happened in a year or more. – If you have a couch, he will want to get on it. This isn’t a con for us, but maybe it is for you. – He loves children but shouldn’t be in a home with little ones, obviously.
Stats: Age: 4 years old (born on Valentine’s Day 2019) Breed: Malamute Gender: Male (neutered) Weight: 85 pounds Vaccines: Up to date Microchipped: Yep Does well with other dogs? Yes but prefers to live alone Does well with cats? He’s curious about cats. He’s been swiped by a few and hasn’t tried to hurt them but I can’t vouch that he wouldn’t attempt it so better in a house without cats or where they can have separation.
Comes with bed, kennel for travel, lots of love, and a guarantee that if for some reason it doesn’t work out, we will take him back.
Winter adventures
So…who’s his love match? Someone who wants to love on him. Dote on him. Let him be the baby again. People with older kiddos or those not planning to have kiddos are perfect. Someone without other pets is ideal. Someone who likes the outdoors but also likes a good couch snuggle. Someone who doesn’t live in our town (Anchorage is fine but we think that MXY would be too hard for everyone).
Thank you for reading this and for sharing it with anyone you think might be interested. Please reach out if you have a lead.
With a lot of love (and a ton of tears),
from Alaska
P.S. Thanks for allowing me to Scorpio this past while and bury myself in this until I was ready to share. Thank you for following along in our adventures, both happy and hard.
Five or so years ago now I said something I’ve always looked back on:
“I mop my floor every day.”
Wow, profound, right?
Maybe not exactly but…the reason it’s resonated in my head for years is that it’s not true. Well, not now it isn’t. At the time I said it (thankfully, lest I be a liar), it certainly was. Back then, I had one tiny little haven of flooring in my house, a sweet, easily cleanable relief from the shredding OSB and crumbling concrete board that dressed the rest of the house. That little part of flooring was the area I knew I could keep clean, the one area of control I could find amongst dog hair, dirty paws, and boots filled with project remnants (hello, sawdust!) and so when a friend came over one day and admired my sparkling clean floor I noted with pride that I mopped it.
Every
single
day.
And twice a day in moments like this…No idea what that spill was but it was noteworthy enough to forever memorialize, apparently.
Every single day? Yep. Which, I’d bet was true for about another month or so. After that, I think we started to stop dirt before it entered the house (genius! How had no one ever thought of this?! Oh wait..) via no-shoe policies and a quick paw scrub down and also, ignore dirt by following the saying of my favorite pin: “Let that shit go”. Nowadays, my floor is cleaned about ten times a day as Leto and I tag team chasing down bits and pieces of catapulted carrots and missile-like melon bits but it’s properly mopped maybe once a week.
Maaaaayyyyybe.
Let
That
Shit
Go.
Right?
Yet I often think back to where I was then, mopping daily, a snapshot in time and wonder if that friend, who I haven’t discussed the pros and cons of a daily mop with since, still sees me in that Suzy Homemaker-esque snapshot. Did she even remember it? And if she did, did she feel that she too should be mopping her floors daily? Did I unknowingly plant a bullsh*t seed in her brain?
The other night, I left another snapshot that again had me thinking about what we plant, what we put out into the world, and how I often see others as a steady state since our last interaction despite knowing that our natural state is one of constant flux. In a gathering of women, I shared an at times teary, at times comical commentary on where I was at. There’s a lot going on for us right now: moving, school, new job, new neighborhood, new schedules…and if there’s one thing I know about myself it’s that I am amazing at change (cue the laughter sign for the audience, please).
It’s not that the changes are bad. I’m truly excited, it’s amazing, and still, it’s a lot. The Chief and I felt that a lot-ness this weekend and tensions built and then boiled over. And so, there it lay, our snapshot for the group to see. ‘Twas neither our prettiest nor our worst, nor our forever snapshot but if I had to give it a representation, it probably looked a little something like this:
Mayhem!
I know it wasn’t our forever snapshot but…will it be in the minds of those I presented it to until I see each person again? And will I too hold them to each of the snapshots they gave to me that night?
Slowly, as the days passed, our snapshots brightened. The stress lifted. Suddenly, there we were a few days later, motivated and team-like enough to start packing up after dinner and chores (this is not an easy thing to motivate to do for us) for our move with smiles on our faces. And then finally settling in a few hours later as the summer sun began to fade, reading and cuddling ourselves to sleep.
Another snapshot.
Snapshots in time. Life is chock full of them. Some last just a moment, and some last a lot longer. If anyone has taught me to savor my way through a good snap and know we’ll pass through a rough one, it’s Ollie. Everything changes from one day to the next, a shifting tide tied to no moon. Example? At six months old, Ollie decided that he wasn’t going to take diaper changes lying down.
Literally.
For the last 8 months, I have had to wrangle him into diapers and clothing for every diaper change. People are constantly remarking “Oh! I’ve never seen someone change a babe’s diaper while they are standing up!”. At a minimum, I’m chasing this little one around 6 (often 8) times a day to do a standing, knee, or in-flight diaper change (plus cleaning up more accidents than I ever imagined when I haven’t been able to keep up). It became our new normal, our perma-snapshot. In my mind, there he was: the kiddo who wouldn’t lie down for diaper changes. And then…yesterday, I thought I’d see if I could set that snapshot in a frame, hang it up as a memory, try something new, and…
Just like that, the snapshot changed. He let me lay him down to change his diaper. I’ve even reproduced the miracle multiple times now. He stares up at me as I stare back in disbelief, my hands moving through the motions with gratitude for the ease of a lie-down diaper change.
It’s a tough life for a pirate.Thanks, L&J for the endless tissue box entertainment!
Everything changes (even your face, but that’s another story).
Being a mom to a wild one has undoubtedly taught me that. One week he wakes every day at 4 am for the day and a month later, he sleeps till a blessed 5:15 (cue the “Hallelujah!”). Ups and downs and in-betweens come so fast there’s barely a signal before we are changing lanes yet again and still, sometimes I forget in the hard that the easy/ier is coming. Sometimes, I forget another snapshot is on the way.
The other night, made me again think back to my mopping declaration mishap, to the reality that who we say we are and the circumstances we find ourselves in may change as fast as the words come out of our mouths. I realized that I forget to apply that same knowing to those around me. I know I change but I forget others do too, especially when the snapshot is good. A mom friend will send me a picture of her family and an update that’s happiness embodied one day and I assume it’s allllllllllll sunshine and allllllllllll roses allllllllllll the time.
I can hardly handle how gorgeous these Glories are.
Then, a month later, the update will be harder, with less sun, a little more rain.
Oh, right. Duh.
Seeing all the women gathered together this past weekend, I realized I’d snapped them all the last time I’d seen them and held that past freeze frame as their current truth. Their shared stories showed me that good or bad or in between, they too were fluid beings, shifted and shaped since our last interactions.
Shifting river, bye-bye beach.
It’s obvious, right? Yet I think in our age of shiny selfies and made-for-TV moments, it’s really easy to forget. We are ever-changing, we are movement and stagnation and everything in between. We are exactly as we are at this moment, and nothing more.
Cheers to the snapshots, the beautiful and the broken hearted, the shiny and the sullen. May we meet one another as we are. Right now.
With love,
From Alaska (and floors in need of a good mopping)
Smoothie bowls. The best idea
**Update: What’s “hilarious” I kept telling myself over and over again as I scrubbed away last night (which now was one week ago) was just that: I was scrubbing my floors. At 10 pm. You must be thinking: “Why, Julia, would you even be up at 10 pm when your child awakes a mere 6-7 hours later?! And scrubbing your floors, no less?!” Because, dear friend, I didn’t mop my floors after finishing this post, despite their being in dire need of such a show of affection, and so, my floors insisted, nay, commanded that I do so.
As I was emptying the last bit of a massive container of dish soap into the dish soap dispenser, both fell onto the floor and oozed out of their containers faster than you can say:
“Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! That’s all we had left for the next two weeks until we move!”.
Shoulda just bailedwhen I saw it.
Our kitchen became a skating rink. As I slip/slid my way to clean floors 40 minutes later (it turns out that soap, when applied like a frosting rather than a whisper on your floors, is incredibly hard to get off in one fell swoop), suds finally tucked in for the eve, I laughed over and over again. “I just wrote a post ALL about mopping my floors. Today!” I laughed to The Chief.
Instead of a Slip-A-Thon/Mop-A-Thon (where my Walk-A-Thon/Jog-A-Thon peeps at?!) I had planned to tidy up the blog that night and send it on its way to you but alas, other plans had already been destined for the night. And so, today, (nope, two days later, and then three days later than hoped and then, after a 3:45 am curtain call from Ollie and a publishing snafu where this post didn’t save, a whole week later) it’s making its way to you.
I hope you’re in a happy snap and if not, just know one’s coming soon.
Well, actually, our baby is 1 and 1/6 years old now because one came and went and off we were running towards what feels like two, three, or four some days. “Littlest” as one of his uncles calls him, isn’t the littlest bean anymore. He’s a whole year old (and then some).
Post-nap curls
I spent the week prior to his birthday remembering the week, days, and hours prior to his birth. What a whirlwind it has been. From moving just two days before he was born to nearly delivering in the bathroom of the new house to welcoming him in the birthing suite’s tub. The first two weeks felt like heaven and even after the hormonal plunge at two weeks (how rude!) I think I still somehow was getting more oxytocin than your average bear because I was (and still am) so high on life and while my tasks were new to me, they were simple: care for your babe, care for yourself, care for your family.
In doing just that in the last year, we’ve adventured from the wilds of Alaska to the warmth of Hawaii and back. We’ve trekked up mountains and waded in waved waters.
Same place as above…One year later.
We’ve flown on airplanes big and small (update on the small to come). Ollie has donned swimsuits to snowsuits (and birthday suits, of course). He’s gone from a little “squish” as a friend lovingly calls the infant stage to “potted plant phase” (another friend’s title), to crawling and walking and now running (oh lawwwwd, it’s on!). I’ve chased after him and been chased by him and chased that initial high that may have lowered from its seemingly illegal initial levels but has never worn off.
Even after a poke in the eyeGrandma Donna’s glasses. Coolest guy.
What a year it has been.
Happiest of belated birthdays to you, sweet Ollie who eats every lick of frosting before touching the cake and every raisin out of his oatmeal first too. I love you, sweet, sweet tooth.
Don’t tell anyone, but I started a new job and my direct reports at work are being real stinkers this week. You wouldn’t believe it. One disobeyed a direct order and the other threw their lunch at me. One never dresses appropriately for the workplace (pajamas? Rude) and the other comes to work in the nude (thank goodness for Zoom, eh?). They’re constantly pushing my boundaries and my buttons and…
I’ve never been happier.
You see, I’m a workin’ Mom alright, but a few things have changed since we last talked:
I traded my 9-5 (and by that, I mean 6 am or 7 am to the end of business) for a job that’s even more work and 24/7. I moved into something I have zero training in (but thankfully, a natural instinct towards). My salary absolutely tanked.
So what’s the new gig and why am I so excited to have lost all of my earning power while simultaneously be working more?!
I’m working the original WFH job: being a full-time parent.
My direct reports? Leto and Ollie (The Pantless Duo). My meeting schedule? We start at 5 am most days and go until the sun sets (which in Alaska means…never).
Pasta party!
So, what gives, eh? I had an amazing job. I had reached the salary goal I’d made for myself when I first started remote work. And… I was miserable.
Neither of us were impressed with our new setup.
In November, I went back to work, and oh what a journey it was. I had an incredibly warm welcome from co-workers old and new (the company had more than doubled since I’d left in May). My position and schedule had changed a bit as the company itself had morphed so the return was a bit of a rough landing (especially since I’d jumped in at full speed. Hello, 40+ hours/week!). Yet after a few months, my team found our stride. We did, but me? Stella never quite got her groove back. In the split between old and new selves that is motherhood, my heart was with the new. I never saw it coming. I always “knew” I’d want to go back to work shortly after having a babe. Turns out, it’s hard to know what you’d do until faced with the situation.
While I love working and the sense of pride I get from a job well done, working from home with my infant just a few feet away was torture. I’d be in meetings, trying my best to conjure up from my sleep deprived vocabulary bank the verbal athletics that is acronym-filled corporate speak when I’d hear a wail break through my noise-canceling headphones. Despite knowing in my head that he was in the care of his father’s highly capable hands, my body felt otherwise. Nausea would set in, my heart would start beating rapidly and I’d lose my breath. Panic. My body would rebel against my attempts to stay present in whatever meeting I was in, whatever it was that was keeping me from my babe. The effects would last for hours.
Still, I had a job to do. I had to find a way around it. I’d escape to coffee shops and eventually found a co-working space.
Not a bad view, eh?
I’d navigate my meeting schedule to find a pocket of time and load up my computer and cords, pack my lunch + snacks (+ more snacks), my pump and bottles, and myself into our shared vehicle, and off I’d go. Then I’d get there, work an hour or so until it would be time to pump. I’d find some corner or bathroom to keep my supply up and my breasts from bursting, store the milk, wash and dry the bottles, and then it would be back to meetings until I needed to do it all over again.
Pumping: everyone’s favorite
It was tiring and inconvenient and felt like a lot of runaround for little gain but the little gain it gave, we needed. It was my turn to be the breadwinner after a 5-month stint at home with Ollie. I tried to suck it up.
Come January. it was time to start looking for a nanny for the summer in Alaska. I had a few good leads that all sizzled out right around the time that I mentioned “off-grid living” and “outhouse”. Others could commit to helping but not a full-time predictable schedule. My meetings were already mapped out, my days already booked. I had a team that counted on me to at least be as present as a new parent can be. I needed someone 40-50 consistent hours per week.
It wasn’t looking good.
By late February, things were getting serious. In Alaska, we have to start planning for the summer by late winter and here the season was, reaching her end and a nanny felt completely out of reach. The Chief would be back at work in April and we couldn’t both work without help. Originally, I had planned to work from home with Ollie but once he was with us in the flesh, the idea became laughable (I know some people do it but I honestly don’t know how). He was far past the Potted Plant phase, as my girlfriend dubbed it where I could place him somewhere and get a few things done. He was more at the Hell on Wheels phase (aka if you’re not running, you’re not going to keep up). It was on and boy was I feeling off. I kept trying to find a way to make it work but it felt like I was swimming against the current. Luckily, I had a perfect attitude the whole time and was an absolute joy to be around.
Or maybe it was more like this sunset: 50% sunny, 50% grey
One morning, tears stuck in my throat, I called my Mom at 5am and at with first syllables of her “Hi honey, what’s wrong” (Mamas know) the tears came flooding out. “I can’t do this anymore”. “I know”, she replied. And then we began to brainstorm. We came up with endless scenarios some of which were damn creative but in the end, I knew the answer: I had to quit.
The Chief agreed wholeheartedly. While he loved being a stay-at-home Dad, he was ready to go back to work. I, on the other hand, longed to be back with my babe. It just made sense. No more pumping, no more panic-packed meetings. No more feeling like I couldn’t fully be at work or with Ollie because they were both constantly competing for my attention. No more choosing between the two. And no more wandering down childcare dead-ends only to panic further. Heck, even if we had found someone, no more packing and unpacking Ollie and his necessities for the day, coordinating schedules and drop-offs and pick-ups. No finding random corners to pump in to keep up supply. Not yet, at least. For now, I get to be home and boy do I know how lucky that is. Will it mean cutting back? Oh yes, ma’am! Trimming the fat was essential immediately and meant everything from canceling Netflix to selling half of our property.
I know they say not to make your passion your work but so far, it’s working out just fine. They also say having kids changes you and boy were they right about that. Never did I ever think I’d feel fulfilled to change diapers all day but baby, sign me up! It’s not forever, it’s for now and for now, I am over the moon to get to watch this little person blossom.
First flower spotting of the year! Anenome beauty.
While it was a hard decision to make (and one I felt I constantly had to apologize for or validate as it felt incredibly irresponsible), and an even harder one to deliver (I cried. I always do) to a company who’d been so great to me, I knew I couldn’t be what they needed or what I needed. So I bid adieu to my salary goal, my 401k, stock options (my first ever), healthcare, and stability and as soon as I did, things started falling into place and not just metaphorically. My wrist which had been cocked at a 45-degree angle for 8 months painfully popped back into place in the middle of the night and for the first time in as long, I was pain-free. I could hold my child without wincing, type without my wrists being on fire. I felt my entire being start to relax. On both small and large scales, doors started opening to us. Suddenly, we felt with the current, no longer fighting its force.
On my last day, I was lucky to have not one but two going away parties at work, plus an amazing e-card filled with memories of our time together and some beautiful conversations with colleagues and then, come 5pm, my computer no longer worked. Whether I was finished or not (I was), I was done.
And?
I haven’t looked back since.
Except for at these guys
So, what does looking forward look like?
Currently, life looks a lot like this:
The explorer extraordinaire
Come the fall, I’ll be looking for new opportunities but until then, we have tightened our belts and buckled our seatbelts for a beautiful summer together.
Now excuse me while I go talk to my new co-workers about appropriate workplace behavior.
With love and whole heckuvalotta gratitude,
from Alaska
P.S. To all those who care for, love, or caretake someone or something else, a very happy belated Mother’s Day to you!
P.P.S. How does your family manage it all? What’s your work/childcare/self-care combo that’s working (or not working for you)? Let us know in the comments below!
Beneath the Borealis 