She Likes Purple

10K Tips & Another Plea for Music Suggestions

A few months ago I asked for advice on running my first 5K and you offered such invaluable suggestions and tips that I kept repeating your words to myself as I ran (and finished!) that race.

I'm asking again because my first 10K is two weeks away and it's starting to monopolize my thoughts. I need to get out some of this nervous energy and a blog post seems to be a good way to do just that.

So, first up: what are your current favorite running songs? Sure, I'll be re-reading that linked-to post above but this race is twice as long. I need twice as many good song suggestions.

Any other tips? Product suggestions? Carb-filled meals to eat when I'm done?

(Kidding about that last part. Like I need help finding carbs.)

What To Keep in Mind When Throwing a Party

I'm no party planner, but I love a good get-together. In fact, parties are one of my absolute favorite things. Here are a small number of things I've learned from hosting a handful of parties.

1. Size doesn't really matter, at least not when it comes to a party. (Ahem.) No matter how many people actually show up, a successful party isn't about size. I've been at a party with four people and a party with fifty, both with similar invite lists. Both fun.

2. With that said, embrace the mindset that the more really is the merrier. Meaning, be welcome to new people, people you may not know well or have personally invited. Maggie wrote something that's become my new party (and, hell, life) philosophy: "if I'm going to screw up somewhere I want it to be because I don't have enough chairs, not because I left people off the invitation list."

3. How much fun you're having will translate into how much fun your guests are having. Fine, the stuffed mushrooms were burnt and that girl over there really dislikes that other one over here but as the hostess, relax, smile, enjoy yourself and everyone else will follow suit.

4. Too much food and drink is always preferable to not enough. You don't have to make everything from scratch. Hell, you don't have to heat everything up yourself. Just have lots of whatever it is you do serve. (And, hell again, it's okay to go pot-luck style. People don't mind bringing things when they're invited to a party. At least they shouldn't. If they're normal.)

5. Don't make yourself crazy. You should see our extra bath on party nights. Actually you shouldn't. It would make you talk badly about me behind my back. But, seriously, don't kill yourself scrubbing every corner and folding every piece of laundry. Throw whatever you didn't get to into a place you know your guests won't wander.

6. Details, details, details. I try to spend a little time writing down all the things I'd love to do at an upcoming party if time or budgets were of no concern. Then I try to pick one thing from that list and do that. This could mean a signature cocktail, a thoughtful favor, a really incredible dessert. It could mean anything, but just be thoughtful and genuine. For instance, after Kyle's birthday party, I mailed printed-out pictures from the party to guests who had great shots snapped of them. I also handmade the thank-you notes, which I think was a nice touch. Little things, details, thoughtfulness. Oh, it matters.

Plan a party. Enjoy yourself. Celebrate. And, invite me, if you wouldn't mind.

(Kidding about that last part.)

(Maybe.)

***

This weekend I hosted a mimosa (sunset) brunch with my best friend, Natalie. Here are some pictures from that particular shindig.

You

 

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I go over and over in my head all my mistakes, all the times I kissed the wrong boy or said the wrong thing or chose self-destruction over choosing better or decided to scream and stomp instead of acting like an adult or did a million other things I can't speak of and I wonder to myself -- with all those mistakes, all those missteps, all that stumbling around in life and love -- how on earth I managed to make you. 

Yet here you are.

Here you are.

15 Years Later, I Got to Go to Their Concert

The very first CD I ever owned, way back when I was 13, was Greenday's "Dookie." They were the first band I liked, and not because my sister liked them or my parents did but because I did.

I used to listen to "Basketcase" and "She" on repeat.

They played in concert that same year, and I wanted to go so badly. I thought my friends might surprise me with tickets or maybe the tickets would just magically appear in my room. 

I was an optimistic 13 year old, wasn't I?

They didn't appear, of course, but since then, I made it a goal to see them in concert. One day, somehow.

We bought tickets for their concert last year in San Antonio but it was the day after Kyle ended up in the ER for a rather traumatic (for me) chocking incident. No matter how badly I wanted to see that concert, I wasn't leaving my boy for anything. We ate the cost and I sort of thought that was the last chance I'd have.

They came back through Texas -- Dallas -- last night, though, and Mike bought us tickets months ago.

It was a Thursday night, I had to take a half-day from work, we had to ask Mike's parents to babysit late into the night on a work night, we had to drive an hour into the heart of Dallas for the concert, the tickets weren't cheap, the beer wasn't cheap, and I can think of a dozen other things that money would have been more responsibly spent on. 

When we go to our seats, they were just taking the stage. Seriously, we couldn't have timed our arrival any better. And as they walked on stage, I teared up, and all those reasons for not going melted away. I turned to Mike and said, "I'm finally here."

They were unbelievable in concert. They were on fire, engaged with the audience, energetic. They were just incredible. They were also grateful, thankful for their fans. They brought dozens of those fans up on stage, they gave guitars and drumsticks out like candy, they brought kids on stage and let them sing. At one point Billie Joe said, "It's our honor and our privilege to perform for you." I believed that he believed that.

I feel a little silly typing all this out. I'm nearly 30! It was a Greenday concert! But how often do you get to sit at a concert as an adult and listen to the same song you listened to on the floor of your middle school bedroom?

It was a full-circle moment, and I'm just so happy we made it happen.

As Mike and I got out of the car, I turned to him and said, "There's a sippy cup in the car and I have a block in my purse. How rock n roll are we?"

Real Marriages: The "Rules" for Surviving a New Baby

Mike and I have a few rules that came out of Kyle's newborn stage, and I think they're genius and everyone should know them. Now, if we only followed them regularly.

They are:

1) If your work schedules will allow, each person takes a weekend morning. We still do this, as best we can. One person gets to sleep in Saturday, the other Sunday.

2) Shift work. If the baby isn't nursing or there's expressed milk, break up the night. For a while, Mike was on shift from 10-2 am and no matter what was going down, those were his hours. I took 2-6 am and the same rules applied.

3) Our biggest trial-and-error rule: no one-upping. You may be a parenting rockstar but you don't actually win anything for reminding your partner you're better at something than he is. (Even if you are.) (Which, come on, you are.)

4) Take a job. I am the only one who has ever cut Kyle's nails after that first time Mike attempted it and there was much bloodshed. He haaaaates doing it and I'm good at it. Well, better, I should say. So I do it. Mike can get Kyle to sleep in five seconds flat whereas Kyle knows how to work me. So, Mike usually puts him to bed when we're both home. We have our jobs. We do them. We praise the other for doing theirs. 

***

I asked my Twitter friends to share their own rules. Here are a few gems:

  

 

Hillary may be childless but she's also brilliant. The phrase "but I did it last time" can only take you down one road and that road is called Fightsville. It intersects with One-Upping Your Way Into a Sexless Corner.

 

Such great rules.

Also, this one:

Smart woman.

***

What are the rules you made during new parenting (or parenting a new baby)?

A Few Family-approved Meals

Kyle's not so much a picky eater as he is an indifferent one. Sometimes he eats a lot (and a wide variety of things at that), but most of the time, he'd much rather be doing something else, like scaling the walls or playing with bugs outside in the 100-degree heat.

A sweltering day outside over carbs inside? If my labor wasn't a vivid memory, I'd wonder who this kid belongs to.

Anyway, if I can get him to eat a meal I've made for him, I'm stoked about it. I've had a little bit of luck lately, so I thought I'd share.

Dishes Kyle Has Asked for More of and By "Asked" I Mean "Signed" Because My Kid is Also Indifferent to Verbal Communication

1. Pizzagna from 30 Minute Meals. This was one of those glorious Rachael Ray recipes that I actually made in 30 minutes. Kyle ate every bite, including the peppers and mushrooms.

2. The Pioneer Woman's Mushroom and Swiss Sliders. I didn't add the spicy sauce to his, though.

3. Gnocchi. I just used the recipe on the side of the box we bought (basically I just poured some spinach and cheese pasta sauce over the prepared gnocchi), but he was practically licking his plate. 

4. Chicken parmesan burgers from Sweetnicks. Okay, confession, this is a parent-approved meal as Kyle didn't actually eat any of it but only because we made it after he went to bed and then proceeded to eat it all. He probably would have liked it! Tip, though: wait to pour the marinara sauce onto the bread until the last possible moment, so things don't get too soggy too quickly.

5. Pizza with brie, proscuitto, and mushrooms from Half-Assed Kitchen. I cut the amount of brie in half and added parmesan in its place. Mainly because I knew Mike would wrinkle his nose if there was too much brie. He's weird about brie. I KNOW, HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? Kyle liked this well enough. Although, come to think of it, he mostly just ate the crust. Still, tasty! Pizza is like a burger. Endless possibilities.

What have you eaten lately that you loved?

I bought a pretty dress and wore it out on the town, with my husband on my arm

A little while ago I reviewed my year list (in my sidebar), so I could think on a few things, make some plans for other things, budget for this or that, and my eyes rested on the item that said "buy a pretty dress and wear it out on the town, with my husband on my arm."

I instantly thought, well, I'll have to wait to meet my goal weight for that one, and I carried on.

Which was pure insanity. And I told myself as much later that same day.

I can buy a pretty dress and have a fancy date night with my husband no matter how much I weigh. Retail stores and restaurants everywhere actually allow this kind of thing, if you can believe that.

I bought a dress. I paired it with some funky shoes. I made some reservations that coincided with DFW's Restaurant Week (and therefore broke our "no eating out" August rule for this one special occasion). I found a babysitter (thanks, mom!). We ate. We drank. We stayed up late into the night watching season four of Dexter. We had a baby-free, delicious meal where we talked about vacations, money, a second baby?, home improvements, work, wine, weight, everything under the sun.

We even had dessert.

I've learned so much this year that I want to write a book about it all. But one thing I've learned that I'll share with you today is this: have fun now.

Waiting to have fun until you fill in your own particular blank is downright stupid. And this is coming from a woman who has spent many, many years making many, many stupid choices.

In fact, one such stupid decision was saying "oh hell, why not?" when the waiter asked if I'd like to opt for the wine pairing with my meal. My three-course meal.

(The buzz was just wearing off as I watched the final minutes of Dexter's season four finale. Or maybe it wore off because of those final moments. Lord, I never thought I could sob so much at a television cliffhanger I ALREADY KNEW ABOUT.)

I had a really wonderful night with my husband despite crying at the end of it. (Next time: Modern Family marathon!) It wasn't perfect (see: crying), nor are we, and I still look at the above photo and wish I had dropped those extra 18 pounds because stupid thoughts still creep into my stupid head no matter how I wish they wouldn't.

The point of this year isn't to be perfect or to even strive to be perfect, no, it's to strive to be better.

And to embrace life every moment along the way to better.

Rare family photo! With my chin cut off! (You take what you can get with a hard-to-wrangle toddler.) (And shit if he doesn't need another hair cut just a month after his first/last.)

I don't care about your Twitter numbers

I don't care about your Twitter numbers.

Or your blog stats.

Or how many PR emails you get in a given day addressed to the wrong person.

I don't care who sponsored you and for what and how much you were paid to stand on your head or write about soda.

I don't care who sent you on that fabulous trip to that fabulous place. Or why. (Although, I don't begrudge you for going. I totally would too.)

I don't care about the blog celebrity you got to hang out with or how many @s you get in a single day.

I don't care how many names you can drop in a single Tweet.

I don't care about the inspiration you're creating for blog fodder alone. 

I don't care how perfect your life can look through a grainy, artsy photo. (I prefer most of my life to be of the non-photoshopped variety. Unless I have a zit.)

I don't care what doors you can open for me unless my hands are full.

I don't quite care how perfect your husband and family are. Not because I don't assume they're great, I'm sure they are, but because perfect isn't interesting.

Perfect also isn't true.

*

I care about your words.

I care about who you care about and why.

I care about the people you're raising.

I actually do care what you had for lunch, especially if you made it in those precious ten minutes in the morning between when you woke up and when your kids woke up and was it delicious? and would you share the recipe? because I'm such a cooking rookie, I don't scoff at any food-related tips.

I care about what's broken you in the past and how you rose up to break it right back.

I care about your sense of humor.

I care about what it's like to sit down for a drink with you and talk about life and infertility and fighting with our husbands and our crazy in-laws and how damn good sausage on a stick actually is.

I care about how you got your 18 month old to stop eating dog food when he has perfectly good pasta on his plate.

I care about how you find joy in the ordinary, day-to-day, commuting-is-a-bitch, the-laundry-is-never-done life.

I care about visiting you when I'm in town, no matter what blog post or Flick set comes of it.

I care about how you treat people, all people, including that blogger with five readers who won't lead you to any opportunity except that silly little opportunity I like to call friendship.

I care about your enthusiasm more than your traffic, your kindness more than your bio, and whether or not you're someone I can confess my love of One Tree Hill to without fear you'll judge me even a little bit.

(I really care if you watch it too.)

*

I care about your story.

I care about how you tell it. 

Musical discovery worth sharing: Mumford & Sons

I like music, but I don't seek out music the way I should. Or the way I used to. Or the way I'd like to.

That's why I added a list item (sidebar!) about discovering a new artist or band once a month this year. That's kind of pathetic to some of you, those who discover new music as often as you change your underwear, but I have to own who I am.

Hi, I'm Jennie. I listen to the actual radio in the car. And I own an Ashlee Simpson CD. Or two.

So when I asked for musical recommendations the other day to help me along, and someone mentioned Mumford & Sons (was it Kerri? I think it might have been), I added them to my Pandora station and kind of forgot about it.

Over the next few days, though, every single incredible song that played out of my speakers was from this group. They are unique and haunting and beautiful and aching and refreshingly hopeful while still being kind of sad, too. I just love everything about them.

From "Sigh No More" & "The Cave," two great songs to start with.

"Love that will not betray you,
dismay or enslave you,
It will set you free"

*

"But I will hold on hope
And I won't let you choke
On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again"

They're playing in concert in November, and I'm trying to find someone to go with me. How about you?

Invaluable parenting moment, take a million

I took Kyle to the doctor yesterday morning for his 18-month well check.

He checked out well although he seems to take after his mom in one way: he fucking hates waiting an hour to see the doctor. He showed her this by screaming in her face. Man, wish I could embrace the same response. I believe they escort you out for screaming past a certain age, though.

He's 23 lbs, 32 inches, and has the largest head of any baby I know. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Lean, mean Mensa machine!

Anyway, while we were waiting, Kyle was wobbling around the waiting room, holding two blocks he brought from home. There was an older boy, maybe four, playing nearby and Kyle walked over to him and handed him a block. He was so shy as he approached, looking back at me for reassurance, and when the boy opened his mouth and scrunched his face, my chest tightened up before he had even said the words, "Go away BABY, I don't want to play with you."

I didn't say anything. Or do anything. Although my instinct was to pummel a four year old, I can't lie. Have to let kids process things on their own, without our commentary, my brain said. (My heart was still saying, THAT LITTLE SHIT.)

Kyle stood there for a minute before turning on his heels and offering the block to a (much nicer) little girl.

He let the rejection roll off his back better than I do at 28.

I spend a lot of time wondering what I'll pass to Kyle, what he'll remember, what he'll soak up, what he'll retain and tell his friends or girlfriend or shrink about one day. What will he become because of who I've been around him?

Funny, I don't think as often as I should about all he's teaching me.

At BlogHer I spent hours talking with Jonna and Holly about parenting and babies and how do you know you're ready for one and do you ever regret doing it, because, wow, that shit is permanent.

I left the conversation thinking I hadn't said all I wanted. I had too much wine and I was tired and hot and buzzing from the fun of that first night in NYC, and I couldn't articulate all the good, all the beauty, and now, with some hindsight, I would have said this:

No matter what you have to give up or sacrifice or lose -- and you will have to give up and sacrifice and lose a lot, it's just fact -- it will all unequivocally pale in comparison to how much better and kinder and smarter you will become.

Now when someone is mean to me or unkind or a straight-up asshole, I can think of how my son responded to rejection when he was 18 months old, and it'll motivate me to just try again with someone nicer.

Without him, I'd never have seen it so simply.

Swim Class Dropout

Hey, did I tell you we quit swim lessons? Oh, the drama of the suburban recreation center!

I hate to say we quit because, yeah, quitting doesn't sound as awesome as, you know, KICKING SWIM LESSON'S ASS. But, quit we did. Swim lessons are way tougher than they appear in the rec center catalog.

We have excuses, let me tell you them: Kyle was the youngest in the class by at LEAST six months (some kids were nearly three years old) and he just couldn't grasp half the concepts they wanted him to grasp. For instance, at one point during a meltdown, his teenage teacher said to him, "Kyle! Where do you think Nemo went? Let's go find Nemo, but he doesn't like cranky babies. If you stop crying, Nemo will appear."

Yeah, let me tell you how productive THAT was.

Kyle's never seen Nemo. Kyle's never seen anything on TV that lasts longer than 10 minutes.

Also, his lessons were right around his bedtime. That was my bright idea. To go to 7 p.m. swim lessons. Being a working parent includes work lunches and uninterrupted Pandora time and my own office, but it also means screwing my child out of a well-rested swim lesson.

The guilt! It's palpable!

After the first pretty good day, things got much worse on day two. There was a lot of screaming and a lot of hissed whispers of "stoppppp screammmmming."

For the record, he did not stop screaming.

By the end, he didn't want to be in the water. Making my child hate the water is not what I was hoping to get from these lessons, that's for sure. I can think of a few cheaper ways to give him a phobia.

So, we quit. And the parks and rec manager was lovely about it and gave us a credit and said we could use that credit whenever we wanted, even if that happens to be next summer when Kyle will be able to understand why he can't just play in the water and has to crawl across the wall like a monkey. (AND MAKE MONEY NOISES WHICH HE ALSO DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO DO.)

He does know how to go down the slide and wanted to do that over and over, which his teacher would not even think of letting him do since he was such a horrible pupil and, yeah, you know what we should have done instead of swim lessons? TAKEN KYLE TO THE DAMN POOL.

The worst part was after the class, when all the parents got together with their non-screaming children and exchanged numbers. No one would make eye contact with me. Except for the one dad who stepped on my purse and mumbled an apology.

I cried all the way home. (Granted, we live like four blocks from the pool but STILL. I WAS EMOTIONALLY WOUNDED.) Seriously, I've never felt like a crappier parent. And once, on my watch, Kyle rolled off the couch and smacked his head so hard on the floor we had to go to the ER so he could be cleared of a concussion.

I felt like I had failed him in some way because no one wanted a play date with us. No one even wanted to know our names.

We live in this tiny little town, and there are parents everywhere in our neighborhood, and I want to be friends with all of them. Having neighborhood friends is this weird little dream of mine, and the whole way home I kept thinking, "I'm the mom they're all going to talk about at their next play date. THE ONE I WASN'T INVITED TO."

Oh, and this all went down while I was wearing a bathing suit.

I'm sorry but no one should be that humiliated when they're not wearing pants, am I right?

You know, you live and learn. It sucked, it's over now. I'm not forcing my kid to do things just because I want to say he did them. And I'm sure there are much cooler parents in our neighborhood to hang out with. Parents who know that the best way to deal with a thirty-minute-long toddler meltdown isn't with judgment.

It's with vodka.

Buckling down

I've been on three trips in the last month. That's a lot of meals made in someone else's kitchen.

I haven't stepped on the scale since coming back from NYC, but before this last trip I hadn't gained any weight in the last month. But, I hadn't lost a whole helluva lot either.

I'd like to change that.

I'm running a 10K next month. I'm going to my high school reunion the month after that.

(Jury's still out over which one I'm more terrified of.)

I didn't feel guilty about the delicious meals I ate or the glasses of champagne I sipped while traveling. There's always something to celebrate, I like to say. Whether it's a business trip, a blogging trip, a surprise trip, or a Tuesday night at home when all the laundry happens to be done.

Life is meant to be celebrated. With a delicious meal, a glass of champagne, good company, fun.

And not just soft-lit pictures, sponsors-pick-up-the-bill, all-for-show celebrated but really celebrated. Without a camera or a Twitter stream nearby. Not for anyone else. Just for you.

I've celebrated a lot this year. I've celebrated myself.

The year I changed my life, I like to say in my head.

But hard work should be celebrated too. And it's time to finish working hard so I can celebrate some more down the road. 

18(ish) pounds left to lose. 6(ish) miles to run. Hundreds of old high school friends to see. Lots more ways to make myself proud.

Game on.

20 Fun Things About BlogHer '10

1. My roommate.

2. Meeting Padma Lakshmi. Although I was eating turkey sausage on a stick right beforehand, which Jonna made me stick in her purse. "WE CANNOT MEET HER WHILE EATING SAUSAGE."

3. The Style Lush happy hour. We're just so proud of that site of ours, and it was fun sharing that happiness with some great supporters and friends. (Laurie & Sara, I still owe you a drink!)

4. Getting multiple noise violations for merely talking. Jonna and I are just that badass.

5. Alexa's book party because of 1) Alexa, 2) Alexa's beautiful, exquisite, poetic book Half Baked, 3) CUPCAKES!, 4) wine, 5) the balcony with a serious view, and 5) every single person there, and 6) everything else about it.

6. Meeting Meredith. I turned to her at one point and said, "I just met you the other day but it feels as if I've known you for years." She's calming and smart and classy and she also has the most beautiful and well-behaved baby there ever was.

7. Having dinner with Maura, Kristie, and Jess at Casellula. The adobo chicken wings were as unbelievable as the conversation.

8. Sitting in the hotel bar until 2 am talking to Meagan about creating the life and job you want. Also, she's smoking hot.

9. Champagne! (Although I'd have much preferred if it hadn't been $14 a glass, my god.)

10. Talking about babies with Jonna and Holly for a good hour or so. Holly didn't run away screaming, so I now have even more respect for her than I did before.

11. Sipping drinks and talking fitness, health, and life with Jonna, Kristin, and Kristin's boyfriend Corey until the bartender pulled out the vacuum and turned the bar lights up.

12. Meeting: Sara (she's supermodel pretty, people), Kate (as is she), Alana (who I instantly loved), Anna (she doesn't bite in person, turns out), Linda (fucking hilarious), TwoBusy (he handled all us crazy women quite well, I'd say), Jodi (finally we met!), Sam (so adorable!), Pocklock (she looks damn fantastic for being 30 weeks pregnant), The New Girl (hilarious), Katie (so smart), Yvonne (one of the nicest people I met), Leah (beautiful, inside and out), Tracey (I worked for her for years and was still a bit starstruck), Amy (stunning), Miss Banshee, Amber (both were just so damn kind and nice and looked amazing), Palinode (not surprisingly well-spoken but also really wonderful and warm), Schmutzie (as was she), Annabelle (oh, just amazing), Jen L. (her personality was contagious) and Sarah (so sweet).

(And saw some fun people again: Metalia, Slynnro, Ali, Kristin, Regan, Katie (all too briefly!).

13. The sausage on a stick I mentioned above. It was surprisingly delicious.

14. Nearly flooding our hotel room an hour after arriving. We were steaming some of our clothes via shower steam and somehow the tub got plugged. Five minutes longer and we'd have some mighty serious explaining to do to the front desk. And possibly the floor below us.

15. Paying for panels but not attending a single one. (Okay, that's not fun as much as it is lazy.)

16. Speaking of, sleeping in until almost 10 a.m. each morning. 

17. The art gala where I got to see Natalie's beautiful photo featured (and Laurie's too).

18. Being pleasantly surprised by 99% of the people in attendance. Seriously, people were just nice and kind and willing to shake my hand or hug hello no matter my stats or shoes.

19. Two crab cake sandwiches in four days. Scale, go easy on me tomorrow.

20. The sweaty walk we took around Central Park. It's Central Park, you walk without complaint, am I right?

BlogHer was clearly incredible.

It got me thinking.

One day I'll hand the keys of this site over to my son and it will all be his. While I'm sure some words will straight-up humiliate him, I'm also sure some won't. I write for the part that won't. I write for those words -- however few they may actually total up to be -- that may help him, save him, make him feel understood, make him feel warm, make him laugh, even.

The beautiful thing about blogging is that your readers' words live on, too. So, one day I will gift these hundreds of posts to Kyle, and along with my words, I'll give him yours. 

I may have been a little nervous going into a weekend like BlogHer because of my stats or traffic or (lack of) business cards or any number of stupid fears that bubble up when popularity is involved, but those fears melted almost instantly.

Because I now get to say to him one day that you're all just as loving and supportive and selfless as he'll think you to be.

Thank you for being just as funny, kind, decent, and smart as I thought you'd be. I have friends in all corners of the world. That's a beautiful thing indeed.

Pictures here.

You are 18 months old today

Dear Kyle,

You are eighteen months old today, and I'm on my way to New York City to go to a blogging conference.

(You have a very weird mother. But you probably already know that.)

I wish I wasn't leaving you today because leaving you always sucks, but we'll celebrate your half birthday with chocolate and extended bedtimes and a dance party when I get back. There's nothing your mother quite loves more than celebrating good things.

And you are a very good thing.

You are such a sweet boy, far sweeter than I could have ever imagined you'd be. You are both a wild, reckless, dirt-loving BOY and a gentle, sweet, kind-hearted little man. I don't know how so many different qualities thrive in one tiny human being, but they do, and they make you so very unique.

And so very perfect.

Your dad and I are awed by how adorable you are, and while you are most certainly adorable, with your crazy blond hair and your big brown eyes and a smile that stops people in their tracks, I think a very big part of your charm is the personality that bubbles out of you each day.

You don't talk much. Well, not in any language we understand, but you do talk all the time. You hold conversations with Molly and the wall and your blanket and sometimes you'll just go on and on and then pause, look at us, and wait for an answer. Um, sorry, bud, we're not sure what BLOGODADFFSDFUOOUT ALLLDSDDO means, but it sounds fascinating. Something tells me when you do have a tighter grasp on the English language, you're going to be one helluva storyteller.

We can't wait to listen to all your stories, buds.

Some words you do say, though: DAD (in all caps, just like that, you'll make a very good blogger one day), outside, diaper, flower, mama (occasionally, not nearly as often as I'd like you to), water, ball, bubble, duck, bye-bye, baby, please, all done, thank you (sometimes, usually you just sign it).

You love Molly more than you love anyone or anything. You like to sit on top of her and watch tv or play tug-of-war with her. You like to sit next to her bowl while she eats her dinner, just watching, and I can see the thought bubble above her head saying, "WTF kid, a little room, please?" Seeing you adore her the way you do makes me so happy. She was our girl before there was a Kyle and now she's your girl, too, and it's just a beautiful thing to witness.

You are a beautiful thing to witness.

You understand so much, and it blows my mind. We can rationalize with you, and explain things to you, and you nod and look at us, wide-eyed and trusting. While parenting a baby is something incredible, parenting a person is the most miraculous thing I've ever gotten to do. 

You love blocks and puzzles and books and our car keys and chocolate and driving in the car and Handy Manny and your dad and motorcycles and bagels and your grandparents and music.

You give us hugs and kisses whenever we ask for them, and I know you won't always, so I ask for each 75 different times a day. I try to bottle up those moments, so when you won't acknowledge my existence one day, these memories of you now can keep me company.

You are a ball of love and hope and light and although I'll always love you and will always be here for you and will always be your mama, you are so damn amazing right now, I hope to never forget who you are today.

One thing that surprises me about parenting -- at least my experience of it -- is how gradual it's been. There haven't been that many bolts-of-lightning moments or big, giant epiphanies. It's been this gradual permeation so when I look back there's no real way of distinguishing the person I was before and the person I am now. In fact, I mostly feel like the same person. I just get to hang out with the coolest person alive most of the time. You have woven yourself into our lives in such a natural, beautiful, gentle way, it's kind of hard to believe you haven't always been here.

Oh, but then again, maybe you have.

That's not to say it isn't hard, and it's okay that sometimes parenting (and specifically, parenting you) can be hard. That doesn't make me a bad mom or you a bad kid. Life is just hard, bud, and pretending it isn't doesn't make anyone superior. Who really cares if it's hard. You don't win at life because you thought it was easy. You don't win at life at all. All that really matters is who you love and who loves you and making sure that love is known and felt and trusted.

I don't care if there are meltdowns (from either of us) or fights or disagreements or timeouts or frustrated days or tears. Those are facts of life. All I care about is that you know I love you. That while everything in life feels uncertain and shaky and scary, you can walk around knowing one thing for sure: your parents always and unconditionally love you.

Because we do, Buds.

We loved you then, we love you now, we'll love you for always.

 

(We also love sleeping in, and you've started doing that more and more. You have no idea how much we love you for that. A pony for you one day!)

Love,

Your Mama

Real Marriages: Fighting Fair

Mike and I fight.

Not a lot. Not every day. But from time to time we come to blows over something: the dishes, money, parenting, the DVR, coughfamilycough. I'm kind of emotional and he's kind of stubborn. Fun combination.

(He also has horrible taste in television. You can tell him I said so.)

But, Mike fights fair. In fact, everything healthy I've learned from fighting with your partner, I've learned from him. 

We haven't perfected the art of a constructive, relationship-building, level-headed argument and that's because I'm very rarely level-headed, but I'm (usually) proud of the way we fight and how we resolve conflicts.

Here are a few things I've learned on fair fighting over the last six years. (Fine, some of these things I learned in my relationships before Mike. Because I did the opposite of all of them.)

1) No name calling, no bad lanugage. Unless you're saying, "Shit, you've got a good point." Or "Fuck, you're right."

2) Never fight when either person has been drinking. We've had a couple big disagreements after some alcohol was consumed and, hoo boy, that never ends well. No really, never. If you're upset about something when you've had something to drink, write it down. Nine times out of ten, you won't be upset the next morning and it's much easier to throw a piece of paper away than to apologize.* (Also, you should never be drinking so much that you can't write something down. That goes without saying, right?)

*I obviously meant RECYCLE that piece of paper.

3) Never fight in the middle of the night. After having a newborn, I now think that being exhausted is like being tipsy. It messes with your ability to form a rational thought. In fact, those middle-of-the-night newborn screamfests from the early days included so many words (from me) in all caps, you'd think I was Jack Bauer. I eventually made this rule for myself: don't say a word in the middle of the night that's not 100% necessary like "the house is on fire, meet you outside."

4) Don't make threats. I can't remember a single fight we've had where either of us threatened to leave. But I've had plenty of those fights with other people and that's some irrevocable damage you don't want to mess with right there. You'll forget why you started fighting in a week's time, but you'll never forget the threats. They linger. They're toxic. Don't make them.

5) It's okay to walk away. Mike is a champ at this.* He knows when the fight isn't going well, and when we should both take some space to calm down. This means we sometimes go to bed angry, and I think that's fine. I'd rather cool off and re-group the next day than fight until 4 a.m. In fact, whoever said "never go to bed angry" must not have liked sleeping much.

*I am not much of a champ at this, but I'm learning. (YES I AM, MIKE.)

6) Leave "always" and "never" out of your vocabulary. Those two words are loaded and hurtful and I use them far too often. They're also just totally incorrect. 

7) Give yourself 30 minutes before saying something. My dad used to say "think before you speak" and I never understood (as a kid) how that was even possible. How do you have the TIME to think before you speak!? But, as a married adult who likes getting along with her husband, this is a very important rule indeed. Whatever you're pissed about, you have a right to be, let me just say that. But wait a half hour to say something about it. Give yourself just a little thinking time. You may still want to bring it up, but you'll bring it up way more rationally than you would have before.

***

My mom said something recently that I loved: no two successful marriages look the same. What works for you (and works well) might not work for the next couple and vice versa. And, listen closely, your marriage shouldn't work for everyone else. It's your marriage.

So, truly, it doesn't matter how often you fight (or if you fight at all) but that if and when you do, you fight with a level of respect. (That goes for all fights, even the ones you have with the T-Mobile customer service department. You may want to call them (or your partner) a raging douchenozzle but you shouldn't. Save it for your blog instead.)

I always like hearing your thoughts, so tell me:

Any tips for fighting fair you'd like to share?

In case there was ever any doubt, we are absolutely those parents

5:30 pm: I leave work with plenty of time to get home so we can all ride to Kyle's first swim lesson together.

6:09: It's balls hot outside, here let me show you this picture I took of my temperature gauge while I sat in traffic. (That says 117 degrees. I do not live on the sun.)

6:27: As I turn onto my street, I realize we're out of swim diapers. Which makes SWIM lessons problematic.

6:28: "BABE, I'LL MEET YOU AT THE POOL, MUST GET SWIM DIAPERS," "Uh, okay."

6:30: Zip into Walgreens. Choose the only swim diapers they have, which are both stupid and expensive.

6:31: Get stuck behind a lady who decides Monday, August 2nd will be the day she forgets how to use her debit card. Of course.

6:35: Still made awesome time, so "BABE, NEVERMIND. MEET YOU AT HOME." "Uh, okay."

6:40: Zoom into the house, sweating (see above picture), change out of my jeans into a very breathable skirt, snuggle Kyle for .5 seconds because WE MUST GO, EVERYONE IN THE CAR.

6:45: Pull out of our driveway. Bitch the entire half mile to the pool about how hot it is.

6:50: Park, start walking toward the pool when Mike says, "You grabbed the towel on the couch, right?" "Uh, no." "Why not?" "I didn't see it!" "It was right there!" "Well, if I had seen it, do you think I would have decided not to bring it to SWIM LESSONS?"

6:53: I get back in the car to go retrieve the towel.

6:55: To his defense, it was right there on the couch.

6:59: I MADE IT! I AM NOT A BAD MOTHER!

7:00: Swim lessons did not start on time, I'd like it noted.

7:03: In the pool. Kyle's in heaven.

7:10: I've taken 50 pictures, have 15 mosquito bites, and have watched the very sweet, very enthusiastic teenage instructor try to coax my 18-month-old into repeating the "no running around the pool" rule to her. Yeah, lady, that's not gonna happen.

7:15: Pride oozes out of me as my 18-month-old climbs out of the pool by himself, the correct way. (One elbow, the other elbow, one leg, the other leg.)

7:17: No, really, he cannot repeat pool rules, lady. STOP TRYING.

7:20: First and only meltdown. Thankfully there's a rogue four-year-old who's wandered over to our class and is LOSING HIS MIND because he cannot climb the slide. It's drowning out my kid whining because he does not want to blow any more bubbles.

7:30: Class is over. I mentally imagine introducing myself to all the other parents so I can add more "friends with kids near Kyle's age" to my circle, but I chicken out and just smile instead. (There are another two weeks left of class. Plenty of time to muster the courage.)

7:31: I tell Kyle how good he was in class, and he claps for himself for the next 15 minutes.

7:32: We can't remember where we parked. Mike tries to convince me we now have a navy blue Jeep instead of a black one.

7:33: Mike is wrong.

7:35: Sweet, sweet air conditioning.

July Recap

July was batshit insane.

Which is par for the course with us.

(Seems I kind of like it that way. Mike wishes I didn't.)

I flew to Portland. I flew to San Diego. I squeezed in some runs where I could. I lost a writing gig. I gained perspective. I connected, I ate, I lounged on the couch and watched old Veronica Mars episodes and new True Blood ones.

I played with my son. (And finally cut his too-long hair.)

I sipped wine under the hot sun and held my husband's hand.

I realized that true friends leave out guilt from conversations and they instead insist on encouragement. (I guess learning this at 28 is better than learning it at 29 or any year thereafter.)

Molly turned seven, and she's still our favorite dog on earth. (She's Kyle's favorite anything on earth.)

I have big plans for August and those plans include slowing the hell down (right after I take a quick trip to NYC for BlogHer). I'll also be taking Kyle to swim lessons, organizing my kitchen, cooking at home way more than I did in July (since we're not eating out this month), putting my feelers out for a new writing gig I can be passionate about, and running as often as I can since my 10K is next month.

Maybe we'll throw a party. Maybe we won't.

Some other things I'd like to do: finally learn to poach a damn egg, go to a concert, not melt into a puddle during Texas' hottest month, read three books, bake, dance with Kyle, and kiss my husband for no reason other than I still like kissing him.

Kyle's a dream, my husband's such a decent human being I'm constantly inspired by him, my house is usually in shambles but it's still a pretty happy place to be, and I am thankful everyday for air conditioning, my son's grandparents, Netflix, and the Food Network.

Life is sweet.

Here's to August.