To my sister and new brother on their wedding day...

I wrote this post a couple of months before your wedding with intentions of posting it around the time of the big day, but things just got a bit crazy. I knew giving this speech at the wedding wouldn't go over so well because, a) I would probably need a bucket for my tears and not get through it, and b) I knew Jen and I wanted to write some words together. Since I am a full believer in always making sure to share your words, I had to publish this when I stumbled on it today.


Justin,


When I met you, you were a boy. You were a boy that was recklessly and immediately in love with my sister. I don't think it was a secret in the early years of you and Kelly's relationship that I was unsure of you. I was never really quite sure what your plans were for my sister. Even though Kelly was also young, she was rushed into a whirlwind of adulthood the moment she became a mother. You were not. I always knew your love was the real thing. I never doubted your feelings for her, for Ava, or even Kelly's feelings for you. But something held me back from accepting you. I can't say what that something was now-maybe fear, maybe an apprehension to let my sister belong so completely to someone else. But somewhere between those years in the past and now, something happened. You became a man. You became the man that I wanted in Kelly and Ava's lives, in all our lives, forever. You became my brother before this day. You are still headstrong. But you are also Kelly's rock, her solid ground. You are still that boy that recklessly loves my sister and my niece, but now I count that as a blessing. Love like that is rare. You know me. You know how important family is to me-and you know how important Kelly is to me. And you are it Justin. You are family. You are the man that I am proud has my sisters hand and my nieces heart. And I love you. You have been a part of this family for a long time, but today, you officially belong to us all-and I could not be more proud to call you my brother.


Kelly,


As your big sister, I have been blessed with being a part of every single moment of your life. I have witnessed all your firsts firsthand. There truly is no bond like a sibling bond. Our poor husbands. Today, you are getting married, and not unlike all the other milestones in your life, I will be beside you. In truth, this day still feels a bit unreal. I was just bouffanting your hair for prom yesterday. I was just crying over my letter saying goodbye as you headed off to college. I was just fumbling my tear ridden self into your delivery room. But today, you are getting married. There is no girl like you, Kel. And I am the luckiest damn girl on this earth because I get to have you for a sister. Thank you for being amazing. Thank you for knowing exactly what I am thinking without my saying a word. Thank you for holding my hand through the tough stuff. Thank you for letting me show my true mean mom side and not judging me for it. And thank you for picking Justin, there just isn't a better guy out there for you. You don't often do things wrong sis-and this is no exception. I cannot wait to watch all your firsts as a married woman firsthand. I love you with every single piece of my heart. Congratulations!


Cheers to one of the best couples I know, and I am totally not biased.

Lists for Days

I have always been a list girl. When I was in Middle School I wrote down what I wore every day. Mostly I did this because my best friend Alison did it and she was way cooler than me. Still is.
It didn't stop with Middle School though. In High School I wrote lists of books I wanted to read (I really wish I would have taken that list seriously-some of them are still on my to-read list now). As an adult I made a few lists that made me cringe a bit. I made lists of things I needed to do. Things I wanted to do. Things I really shouldn't do. You get the picture.
I think there is an art to list making and although I cannot say I have mastered it, there is something therapeutic about putting a big ole X through the things you have accomplished. Have you ever written something on your list you have already done just to cross it out. Yeah, me either. Do you have things on your list that have been there for months, or even years? I sure don't.
I was reading some posts from last year and I stumbled upon my list of advice. The one I wrote when I turned 30. I am happy to say I completely agree with all my previous advice. It got me thinking though. What will my list look like in 30 years? Will I scoff at some of my advice? Will I think things I previously thought important are really not all that important. That was a bit deeper of a thought when I typed it...
Anyway, since I am such a list lover and it is my birthday (well, it was 12 days ago) I thought I would share another list.
This one is a bit different.
I recently heard someone say (was it a song, movie, commercial, radio...?) "it was the best day of my life." And it got me to thinking. Could I really pinpoint the best day of my life? Could I pick one day that surpasses all other days in its goodness?
The answer was simple.
No.
There is not one day in my life that is better than alllll the other days. Of course there are the traditional answers:
my wedding day
the birth of Addison
the birth of Lucas
On and on and on.
However, are those really the best days of my life? I don't think so. Life-changing? Definitely. The best? Not necessarily.
What really makes one single day the best day of your life? And how often are you allowed to trump that day with the next best one.
I told Zach the other day that all our best days were before our kids.
That came out wrong.
All the best days I actually remember were before our kids.
What I meant was that our life is so gosh darn crazy and fast now that I can hardly remember lots of things that actually happened. Like yesterday, I don't even remember what we did. Kidding. Kinda.
But really, when you are an adult, life seems to move so much faster. It is nearly impossible to really hold onto things. Let's just say writing down what you wear every day is so not happening. Especially not for Alison-she has 4 kids  now. See what I mean? Way cooler.


Back to my point.


Even though I do not have a best day, I have the things that make them pretty great. These are not in order. They are simply in order of how I think of them and then jot them down.


1. Weather. 
No matter what it is, you seem to remember what the weather was like on a really good day.
2. That gut feeling.
You know the one. Good. Bad. Amazing. Terrifying. Stomach dropping. You remember how you felt. Sometimes you wish you could just feel it for one more millisecond. Sometimes, you wish you would never, ever, ever, have to feel it again. I forgot this was a list about the best days though, so erase the bad stuff I just said.
3. Clothes.
Ok, this may only pertain to girls. This may only pertain to Alison and I. But I can remember what I was wearing the day I met my husband. I can remember what I was wearing when he proposed. I have this memory of Zach leaning into the refrigerator in his blue jeans shirtless and drinking from the jug. We were in our apartment in Valdosta. There is nothing particular about that day that I remember. Just that.
4. The important people.
Obviously you remember who was there with you. Or not. Sometimes certain people that were actually there are forgotten. Oops. Gotta hate when you are telling that story and the person is all, "yeah, I know, I was there."


That list is way shorter than I expected it to be.


But, it is really funny the things you remember. And I am sure for each person, it is something different. My grandmother tells the most incredible stories. Her memories of the past are so vivid sometimes, I almost feel like I was with her. I can just look at her hands and hear her telling me about every ring she wears. Sometimes I ask uncle Don and Dad to tell us about Jim or Jay. Just so I can see their faces light up. The things they remember. How he cut potatoes. How they felt when he came home. Sometimes I ask Grandma to tell me her wedding story, even though I have heard her tell it ten times. Everyday I ask Addison how her day was, even though I know she is just going to say, "good," or "fine."


That is the best thing about best days. There are so many in this life. And if you don't ask people to tell their stories, or listen intently when they do, you are really missing out on something fantastic. Even the bad ones that stick with us oftentimes become good ones.
Thank God for that breakup.


Do you have a best day. One? Just one?
If so, go make some more! Or make a list. One is just never enough.


And, if you need something to make your day really, really great... Slow dance in the kitchen.

Inner Voices

With the craziness that is the first week of June in my family, I am only just now getting to sit down and write. I have found lately that writing is taking a major backseat to life, which is normally completely unacceptable to me-but somehow right now, it has felt necessary. With how fast everything is moving, I can hardly catch my breath. Summer officially kicked off for us on Memorial Day weekend-since for some unknown reason school decided to let out that Thursday. It has been non stop ever since. We spent a wonderful weekend in Charleston with Zach's step sister Megan and her family. She has three pretty amazing kiddos-two of which share a birthday, big bright eyes, humongous contagious smiles- and are squeezably irresistible. Let's just say that I had to remind Zach (and myself) that we are quite content with our two munchkins. We spent a couple days on the sand with a 5:4 kid adult ratio. It was busy and beautiful and exhausting. Since then, we have been to birthday parties, planned weddings, hosted sleep overs, obsessed over Clara on Saturdays, and all around just been flat out non stop. So needless to say, when June decided to come around-I was ill prepared.

Somehow, when Addison becomes one year older-it really rattles me. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that her life was the beginning of my adult and married life. As you know, if you have read past birthday posts, I don't...um...I don't deal with it all that well. I do understand and fully realize that I cannot make time slow down. I cannot stop the world from swirling around us. It is going to keep turning into night before I have even digested morning. But, I can still stamp my feet and whine a bit. Right? 

The colossal mistake we (I) made this weekend was charging our old camcorder (is that what we still call them?). I don't know what idiotic voice in my head told me it was a good idea, but that voice and I-we are officially not on speaking terms. When Zach and I first hit play huddled in the kitchen in the dark after Lucas had dozed off, I was the expected amount of nostalgic as I watched Addison eat wrapping paper Christmas morning while toddling as she attempted to sit on her own. Her big grin and rubber band chubby wrists made me a bit whispy eyed-obviously-but I slept easy that night thinking about that small baby that all those years ago was our only. I didn't fret. I don't really miss that stage all that much at this juncture in our lives-likely because we have a toddler now and are unable to really think about anything other than putting out fires and begging he and Addison to quit hitting and snatching. It was Friday night that really destroyed me. After Zane and Hannah left our place, Zach and I decided to torture ourselves just a bit more with home video watching. This time, it was Christmas morning when she was about two and a half. 

I. nearly. died.   

See, there is this weird thing that comes with parenting. This ability to push through. To put one foot in front of the other (with a ton of coffee and wine, lots of wine) and just forge on. No matter how hard it gets. No matter how many sleepless nights. Flu's and vomit. Ear aches. First days of school. Clinging mornings at daycare. Tears, tears and more tears-from both sides. You just watch the minutes tick by on the clock and eventually the hard stuff passes. The good stuff is more like a blip. It comes and goes so quickly you have to hold on for dear life if you actually plan to live in the moment. After all this pushing and clinging, moments have passed you by. And all the sudden last week feels like a distant memory and last year, a different lifetime. So, imagine what six years ago feels like. Or, for that matter-imagine what 30 years ago feels like to my parents. It quite honestly, and quite simply, feels like a lifetime ago. As you look back on it-whether it's still frames or home videos, it feels unreal. The faces looking back at you are your own-but in a way, it's as if they are strangers. Addison's little footie pajamas and whispy long brown hair and sweet little baby teeth and adorably mispronounced words are all like a dream, another lifetime. That is what is so terrifying. One day, I will see this age that way. One day, God willing, I will be seeing her though her little sweet angels eyes. 

So, yeah, it is a birthday. A small milestone in the grand scheme of things. This I know. But honestly, it is so much more than that. It is one year closer to another year that I will soon look back on and long for. Last night as she and I read together snuggled in her bed, I realized that right now she really likes to snuggle and read with me. Right now she wants my attention. Right now she begs me to listen. But that will not always be the case. So, I will keep putting one foot in front of the other. I will keep watching minutes tick by at the office until I get home to she and Lucas. I wish it was in our nature to really envelope each second of this life with slow blissful enjoyment and happiness-but life gets in the way of that. So, until her next birthday, I will just live in the present moment. I will try to convince myself that this year will pass a bit more slowly if I just take a few more breaths and slow things down. I will say that I'll make less commitments. I will say that I will read with her more. I will say that I will yell less. But realistically, life will keeping being life and time will keep passing as quickly (if not more so) as it has this past year.  But that inner voice of mine and I, we are not on speaking terms. 

Happy Birthday Boops. Please, please quit growing so fast. 

Cue still frames of summer so far.

That I Put Down in Words

I was thinking yesterday that I should totally be a song writer in Nashville. I mean, why not? I have all the material I could possibly need to be a country western song writer. Not really, I just like to say country western song writer as if it is a real thing. Not just a line from Sweet Home Alabama. Really though, songs are something magical. Last night, when I was driving home from Kelly's after celebrating life with Cooks Champagne (when you drink champagne, you have to pretend you are celebrating something or people judge you), I was listening to one of my favorite songs (I won't say which one it was...because, well, it is embarrassing) and it just made me so unbelievably....happy. I think happy. Well maybe nostalgic. Maybe sad. And that is exactly why music is so incredible. How can one four minute piece of music make you feel so many things that quickly? Nothing else in life can make you feel that way. Well, that is a lie. Last night I was head over heels crazy about Zach and literally about 2.3 seconds later when Lucas started crying (right as we were dozing off to sleep), we argued and I didn't care for him much at all. Like not even a little.

So really, don't take my word for anything, because I will likely soon realize I am wrong about it.

There is just something memorizing about music, right? Almost every memory I have is paired with a song. If there was not one playing, there is one that brings me back to a moment in time. What else can you really say that about...oh, right-we established that already. Marriage. Maybe smells too. Back to the point, Nickie!

When I spent summers in Iowa as a kid, Sara and I use to sing constantly, but there was one summer in particular we sang our hearts out. One song. We sang it over and over again. We walked down the street Say Anything style with the boom box on our shoulders rewinding that cassette tape time and time again. I will never, ever forget that.

Growing up, I was always surrounded by family. For some, that image will bring up a household of four. That is not even close to what I mean. What I mean is, every family gathering-which is nearly every other weekend- is around thirty people. And that is a normal weekend. It is hard to hear yourself think in that crowd. In fact, it is hard to even feel like you are there. Yet, somehow, you feel so surrounded with love. With happiness. And what is at the center of it all? Music. Music, music and more music. First it was old antique furniture brushes and remote control microphones with Bev, Terrell, mom, Jody, Paula, Bev and Jackie singing Fleetwood Mac and Trisha Yearwood. Later, it was Don on the air guitar-and then on the real guitar writing his own numbers. Then it was visits from Paula, Joe, and Billy. Billy playing just about anything we requested. If he didn't know the tune we wanted, he'd make one up. Then it was Jimmy's original number Sausage sung by the campfire in St. George. Thank heavens one of us actually has real talent-Matt on  his guitar-wowing us all with his perfectly perfect voice. In the Dull's eyes, everyone is a good singer. Everyone! And it makes you feel good. It makes you sing louder. Whether you felt like you belonged when you showed up or not, when the music starts and you know the song, you become one of us. The moment you hear "trailers for sale or rent," you completely lose yourself. You were mad, not anymore. You were trying to fight a toddler to quit licking the ice from the beer cooler, not anymore. You were on the phone, you hang up.

Songs rule the crowd. Rule the situation. They pull you like a puppet to the dance floor. They make you tear up, like Strong at Uncle John's funeral. They make you sing louder than you thought possible like Buffet tunes. They lull you to sleep as a newborn-or maybe every night as an adult. They remind you of a time when things were simple, like Shes in Love with a Boy. They remind you of a Walt Disney trip like Down Came a Blackbird. They remind you of your first slow dance at Cowboys in overalls and Timberland boots (why were those popular?). They remind you of middle school and of how inappropriate Kilo Ali really was/is. They remind of good decisions and bad. Some are so powerful, you can't even listen to them at all. So really, when I say music is magical, I mean it. And I was right, nothing else can do that. Nothing.

30 Things

I just read this article. I don’t really know why. It was there, and I was curious what 13 things every woman will have learned by the magical age of 26. I am not quite certain when I learned all thirteen of these things, but I can tell you there are several I have never learned, several that I learned when I was around three years old, and a couple that were just downright ridiculous. All judgment aside, I decided that since I am 30 now, yeah-I said it, there are about 30(ish) things I have learned slash recommend to those of you that will someday be 30. None of which involve stretch denim.

Number one-I have learned that life is too damn short. This does not mean YOLO. This does not mean "follow your heart." Those ideas are scary to their very core. Terrifying even. DO NOT LIVE ANY SECOND OF YOUR LIFE WITH THESE NOTIONS! Sorry for yelling at you. Yes, you only live once (I think-although I can't be certain) and yes, your heart oftentimes will push its nosy ass into your business, but air on the edge of caution. You will make countless mistakes before you turn thirty and believing in either of those sayings wholeheartedly will lead you to lots, lots more.

2. Be nice to people.

3. Take your education and your intelligence seriously. Make goals and meet them. Break them. Either way, have real life aspirations, career goals and limitations. Know yourself. Know what you are capable of, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Most importantly, don’t let anyone do it for you. Do it for yourself. (I think that was 4, 5 and 6)

#7 Try new things. Try things you don’t want to try. Try things you always wanted to try. Make a bucket list (that is #8) and check things off-life is too damn short.

9. Travel.

10. Ride with the windows down when the sun is shining and the weather is absolutely perfect. This will change your day immediately if you let it.

11. Work late, if for nothing else than to sit in a quiet empty office knowing that every person in all the vacant cubes around you is at home with their families. Somehow this will make you happy and appreciative all at once. It will also make you go home.

12. Be the nicest person you know. See #2.

13. Be honest with yourself. If you hate something, get rid of it. If you need to get in the gym-get there. If you must have a doughnut, have it.

14. Smile too much.

15. Cry a lot. It is seriously good for the soul.

16. Write.

17. Tell your kids your story. Often.

18. Make memories that you will both forget and remember tomorrow.

19. Have kids. More than one. Yeah, yeah- I know Jen-this is not for everyone and I get that. So I will change it to...have something to care for. Something that means more to you than you do. Something or someone that rocks your world every day and challenges you to be better than you are.

20. Be best friends with your sisters. Tell them to have kids even when you know they don't think that it's for them. You are allowed to do that. Because you are best friends and best friends forgive each other for butting in. They also know all your secrets.

21. Spend more time with your girlfriends. You don't see them enough once you have kids.

22. Watch at least one sunset a year, on the beach.

23. Try to see things from the opposing side. Whether it be politics, religion, your neighbor’s decision to plant ivy up the left side of their house. Whatever. You never know what you may learn. Or, it may make your viewpoint even stronger. Or-gasp! it may even make you change your mind.

24. I was 24 once. Tear.

Moment of silence...

25. Use your fine china. Why the hell did you register for $100 + place settings to let them gather dust? Eat delivery pizza on them for all I care. Use the gravy boat for ranch dressing. No one is allowed to judge you when you have fabulous dinnerware. No one.

26. Give. It will make your heart grow three times its size.

27. Send a card in the mail for no reason at all. And (28) write long letters of appreciation to your mom on mother’s day.

29. Re-kindle an old friendship. This does not mean drunk dial a college best friend bridesmaid that did you wrong by not showing up to your wedding and leaving you with an asymmetrical bridal party. Be bold- send her an email instead. Tell her you miss her. Hope she reads this.

30. Be excited to be/turn thirty. Because, you know, so many women say they were the best years of their life. Everyone who says that is in their forties. Kinda like everyone in their thirties say their twenties were the best years of their lives.

And, 31, because I am thirty now and I can break the rules, Slow dance in the kitchen.

Not a Baby

I wake up around 3 AM to the sound of him screaming my name across the hall. I nudge Zach. "He is calling for you," he says. "Pleeeeease," I whimper half asleep.

I wake up around 6 AM, lets be real-it is 6:38, to a small head nudged into my rib cage and cold toes on my left shoulder. I shimmy out of bed and tiptoe into the bathroom for a 3.5 minute shower (yes, I swear, I am clean by then-the water is scalding hot!). I grab my clothes using my iPhone flashlight, all the while still tiptoeing. I wake my 7 year old four times and dress in her room. Finally, after I am certain my 7 year old is ready to walk out the door, around 6:58, I scoop him out of bed. He yells Iwuuuuuzlayindown in a precious half asleep, angry voice. I pop his paci in, wrap him in a blanket, and I load him into the car. I drop Addison at the bus stop and head to Mimi Barbara's to drop him off. He sleeps the whole way there-because, you know, he didn't get much sleep last night in my bed. I kiss him goodbye and head to work. I apply my makeup in the car and don't take my fist luxurious, hot, delicious sip of coffee until I am at work at 8:00.

This morning, all of that was exactly the same. The only difference was that this morning, he was two. No longer a baby. Officially a toddler. Officially a kid. Head in rib cage, check. Feet on shoulder, check. Whining about being woken, check. 1 year old-not today. Today he is two. He is no longer a baby. I know, I said that already. But I have to keep saying it to believe it is true. See, two years is a long time, right? Wrong. Two years ago my daughter was still 5, which just so happens to be the age I still think she is. Which means, my mind works as if it is still two years ago. As in, in my mind, he was just born-today.

Lucas has been whatisthewordIamlookingforhere since he was born. When I spent the most amazing and trying and emotional first twelve weeks of his life with him in sweet delicious solitude, he cried-a lot. He cried when I changed him. He cried when I burped him. He cried when I put him in his swing. He cried when I ate. He cried when I tried to sleep. He didn't cry when he was nursing or sleeping. When I went back to work, I was in constant fear that all his needs weren't being met. "He needs to be held a whole lot of the time-as in, all the time," I'd told her. "He spits up a lot, as in, all his food," I'd told her. "Be sure he burps 3 times," I'd told her. Every second away from him in the beginning was impossible. I could finally breathe when I got there to pick him up. He will be OK now, I'd thought. I finally grew out of that.  A bit.

Now, he is 2. He is not a baby anymore. I don't know if I understand a life without a baby in it. Addison was not a baby for quite some time before Lucas came, I know. But now, for some reason, I feel like my life requires his being a baby. Well, more like-I am going to need him to still be my baby. My baby-he will never stop being that. But a baby - he is not. Soon he won't require a pacifier (god willing) at night. Soon, he won't hold my cheeks in his hands and nuzzle his nose against mine. Soon, he won't require my chest to fall asleep on. Soon, he will pronounce all his words correctly-and his sweet way of saying I love you won't be quite as sweet. Soon, he won't pitter patter in the hallway on his teeny little chubby feet. Today, he won't be one anymore. Soon, he won't wake up and scream across the hall. Soon, he will be in a big boy bed. Shit, tomorrow, he will be seven!

I am the luckiest mom in the world to call him mine. I love him with every.single.piece of my heart. I love him too much. Yes, that is a thing. Loving too much is a scary thing because it makes you worry beyond reason. It makes you care beyond responsibility. It makes your heart hurt with happiness. I look forward to every second and every moment of the next two years I get with this little man, and every single second of every single day after that.

Happy Birthday Little Man.

Daddy, Addison, and I love you too much. Always.

P.S.-of course I cried today.

I am not your competition

I know I have said this many of times before, but, as moms, we so, so, so, far too often judge one another. Did you see how she was holding him? Did you see how filthy her bathroom was? Good lord that dinner was overcooked! She does what? Cloth diapers are gross. Her baby sleeps in her bed? She is one of those moms. She only buys organic. She makes Kraft! .


The sad news...these are just a few of the things we say about each other. Some are far worse. Far, far worse.

Whether you are a friend, a mom yourself, a woman with baby fever, a woman with a positive pregnancy test in your hand, or a woman desperately trying to conceive, please know:

I am not your competition.

I am your advocate.
I am your biggest fan.
I am your supporter.
I am just like you.
I am scared too.
I mess up often.
I feed my kids Kraft.

But, most importantly, I am not your competition.

How many of us confide in our mothers? For support-for an uplifting conversation? For a simple, it is going to be okay? I know I do. I know that at times, without her support, I may literally crumble and break in two. Why then, can we not do that for one another?

We are all mothers, or wanting to be, or trying to be. So why then, can we not help each other? Support each other? I will tell you why. We all feel as if we are in constant competition. We often compare what we do to what every other mother is doing. We break each other down. We judge. We question. We gossip. However, too much praise on your mothering skills-there is just no such thing! So, just in case no one has told you today, or this month, or this year, or in your lifetime:

You are doing such an amazing job.
There is no job on this planet as demanding as motherhood.
Your kids love you so much.
You deserve a metal.
The amount of clean clothes, toilets, floors, baseboards, and fans in your house is just right.
You are making the right choices.
You are doing what is best for your children.
You are sexy.
You are not my competition.

Sometimes, I really get it right. My kids are clean and well behaved, or my dinner party is perfection. My house is clean, and I cook in heels. My husband smacks my butt in appreciation/affection or slow dances with me in the kitchen. But, sometimes, I get it all wrong! I don't wash my hair. My son sleeps in my bed-every.night. I yell, or worse, scream. I go to bed with black feet because my hardwood floors are filthy. My kids wear dirty socks. My daughter doesn't shower for two days. I make chicken nuggets twice in one week. My husband wants nothing to do with me. All these things are true, sometimes. But, at the end of the day, I am a mom. I am going to make mistakes. I am going to compare myself to all of you.

Finally, I am going to do my very best to remind myself that you are not my competition, and I am not yours. We are all in this together. Whether we agree with one another or not-we are on the same team. We all have the same goal in mind. We all just want to be good mothers. To raise our kids right. To love them unconditionally and if we are lucky-get a fraction of that love right back.

I was fifteen in 1999

Today I am thirty. Thirty I am. I do not like it Sam I am.

But I have not cried yet.

The deal is, turning 30 is no biggy. It is just another day. Technically, I am only a day older than I was yesterday. 29 and 1 day. What I don't like is that time, all the sudden, is not my friend.

I am not in my twenties any more. No big deal.

I am officially an adult. Maybe I was a while ago? No big deal.

Yesterday I was 29, and one year ago yesterday, I was 28.

All of these things are true.

Am I sad, no. Am I older, yes. Do I feel old, kinda.

In reflection of being on this earth for a short thirty years (I pray I am granted many, many more), here are some thoughts:

In my twenties, I made mistakes-lots of them. I cannot believe that only nine years ago today I was turning 21. How much I have changed in that short time is astounding, unbelievable really. But really, I am not all that different now than I was then. Am I wiser, yes. Am I smarter, maybe. More educated-sure. More tolerant, yes. More patient, depends on the day. I just don't feel like I am all that different.

About two years ago, my uncle Jimmy passed away. Afterward, we watched lots of in home videos, like you often do after you lose someone. It is that last effort to remember them as they were. In the moments you watch, they are still there with you. It was like that while we watched him laugh and dance, and talk to his reflection in the mirror. When I watched those videos with my parents and aunts and uncles and friends, I realized something. My parents had known Jimmy longer than I had been alive. In the videos, they themselves were only in their twenties. It made me take a moment and step back. It made me realize that my parents, my parents, were once just like me. Just yesterday, they were having toga parties and dancing and singing into all hours of the night. My mom had four children by then, all sound asleep (yeah right!) across the street. They were exactly the same as they are now. I realized that soon, I would be their age- and watching videos that were twenty years old would make me feel as if time had stolen something from me, but offered me a gift all the same. I cant rewind and re-do things I have done. I cannot re-make memories already made. What I can do is look back at them. Some still feel like yesterday, like my wedding, my children's births, my college graduation. Some feel as if they were an entirely different lifetime ago, like ghost in the graveyard on a Friday night in Hamby. But they are all mine. When I see my mom and dad look at Addison and Lucas, when I see them make eye contact and nod at one another...I see exactly what they see. They see me. They see a lifetime ago when I was little. They acknowledge that this life is so damn short.

So, on my thirtieth birthday, I see it too. I see that this life has offered me thirty pretty-damn-amazing years. I have two kids that are my heart and soul. I have the most wonderful, handsome husband. I have a family that is too good for the books.  I have friends that have been by my side through it all, and friends that are new to my life-all of which are always willing to throw on Togas and dance and sing into the night. I have moments of complete clarity where I know exactly what I want out of this life, and many more where I am left breathless, clueless, and stunned at what life can give and take from you.

In my next thirty years, I am going to celebrate my life. I am going to realize that thirty years from now, I will be thirty years older and I will have these 30 years worth of memories and people to cherish. And maybe, if I am lucky, I will get to see it happen all over again with my boy and girl.

Cheers!

Cauliflower Fried Rice

Yeah...another cooking post. Zane made me do it.

For those of you who already knew about this, I am mad at you for not sharing.

For those of you, like me, that had no clue-I am doing you the favor of sharing.

Cauliflower fried rice is delicious. I mean really, really delicious. My son picked up his bowl and started licking up the remaining bits his spoon couldn't capture. My husband said he would never need to eat fried rice again, which is likely an overstatement-and a lie. Addison added ranch dressing to hers-ugh! Seven year olds! I hadn't planned on sharing this recipe, so pardon the not so great photos (and complete lack of progress photos). I only took photos to share with Zane. I paired this with teryaki marinated Coho Salmon. (equal parts teryaki sauce, dijon mustard, minced garlic, dash of black pepper and thyme)

The recipes I loosely followed called for sesame oil and scallions (neither of which I had). This one turned out wonderfully, but I am quite certain it would be equally delicious with those ingredients. I also considered adding some Thai basil, but worried it would clash with my salmon marinade. But anyway-here is how I made it last night.

Cauliflower Fried Rice

4 Servings

Ingredients

1 cup frozen mixed veggies (peas and carrots)
2 shallots-minced
3 garlic cloves-minced
2 tbsp peanut oil (or sesame if you have it)
2 whole eggs (three would have been better)
1 large head cauliflower-cleaned, cut and zapped in food processor until the cauliflower has a rice like texture. You could also use a cheese grater.
1/2 cup low sodium soy sauce
Salt and Pepper to taste

Directions

1. In a large skillet or wok pan, beat and scramble eggs with a touch of salt and pepper. Remove from pan and set aside.

2. Over Medium heat saute peanut oil, shallots, garlic, and frozen veggies until soft (about 2-3 minutes).  *Definitely don't decide to add more shallots and garlic after 3 minutes bringing your total cook time to 5-6 minutes  (I accounted for this change in the ingredients btw) my peas could have been a bit greener, less browner.

3. Turn heat up to Medium High and add cauliflower and soy sauce. For about 8-10 minutes cover the pan/wok, removing cover often to stir the mixture. When cauliflower has a soft center and crisp outside, add eggs and turn off heat. *Don't keep adding soy sauce as I did, thinking the mixture looks too dry. It will end up being too salty. Stick with the 1/2 cup and add more once plated if necessary.

-add thai basil if you have it. I regret my choice to skip it.

Enjoy!

Ps-don't let your toddler pick up their bowl and lick the bottom, it is bad table manners and likely the beginning of a long road of licking bowls-which might just ruin his first dinner date with a  sweet gal pal. Scratch that, let him lick bowls because he is still small and precious and no where near a damn dinner date! His mom is no where near ready for his first dinner date either. Not. Even. Close.

Pss-take a family golf cart ride, or any ole family ride/walk afterward. It will be really nice and your ranch dressing loving daughter and bad table mannered toddler will squeal with excitement.

Cooking Blog?

I have been pretty obsessed with cooking blogs lately (home improvement/renovation blogs have taken a a major back seat). Since Zach and I both decided we wanted to lose a few pounds live a healthier lifestyle, we have really been watching what we eat. I love to cook, but I usually cook to taste-not to health standards. I don't necessarily cook foods and meals loaded with fat, but I am not a recipe cook and I rarely measure ingredients, for calorie purposes or otherwise. I don't think as I am pouring heavy cream into my dish is this three grams of net carbs or 200 calories worth? That is, until now.

I decided since my blog does have the word kitchen in it, I can technically mix in recipes, right? Sure. Why not?

So, I give you-Mediterranean Chicken (ish). Zach and Addison said I needed a better name, but-neither of them provided anything of sorts.

I found two recipes while browsing for something to do with my chicken thighs, and since I had a mixture of the ingredients in both, I created my own!


Serving Size: 2 (and a toddler)

Ingredients:
4 chicken thighs
1 green pepper- chopped
1/4 cup roasted red peppers - sliced
1/2 cup artichoke hearts - quartered
1 tbsp capers
1/4 cup calamata olives-sliced
3 small garlic cloves-minced
1 small yellow onion-minced
1 tbsp butter
1 tbsp olive oil
1 - 1 1/2 cups white wine (you can sub for chicken broth)
1/2 cup heavy cream
small pinch chopped fresh parsley  (optional)
salt and pepper to taste













(I didn't end up using the green olives)


1. Heat a skillet on Med-High. Add butter and olive oil. Salt and Pepper your chicken thighs and Brown thighs on both sides (make sure the skin is nice and crisp-it will soften as the sauce cooks). Remove chicken from skillet. (side note-I ended up removing my skin, so you can totally cook this sans skin if you want to skip the added fat-but your husband will devour his, so-yeah.)

2. Adjust heat to Medium. Add green pepper, garlic, and onion and saute for about 2-5 minutes (they will not be translucent or fully softened quite yet).

3. Add capers, red peppers, artichokes and olives and give the mixture a nice stir. Add salt, pepper, wine and browned chicken thighs back to the pan. With heat remaining on M, cover for approximately 20 minutes. The sauce will come to a low boil at this time-which is fine! 

4. Remove lid and add heavy cream. Do not stir-simply give the pan a couple shakes. Recover on Medium- Low for about 10 minutes (sauce may bubble a bit-but do not let the sauce come to a full boil).

You can serve this over noodles, or you can serve it over cauliflower mashers with Parmesan cheese (like I did to be a good low carb girl). We hardly touched our green beans, so if you were thinking of adding them-skip it.

Enjoy!
















PS-share with your toddler, they will thank you :)

Father's Day

Yesterday was Father's Day. And, to follow suit, I have decided to post today-after the big events. I cannot claim that there were no tears yesterday, because I would be lying. Mostly just misty. Truth is, there are very few special occasions on my calendar that do not involve tears. Even drinks with my girlfriends can oftentimes lead to tears, usually laughter tears-the best kind.

Let me just preface this with: My husband absolutely hates SMA (social media affection). His stance, and I cannot say I disagree completely, is that if you truly love someone, or you are truly thankful for them, or truly happy to have spent another year of your life with them, tell them yourself, in person.
Although publicly acknowledging someone you love or appreciate does not bother or annoy me, Zach flat out cannot stand it. Ha! So, to try and avoid publicly acknowledging him too much, I will try to keep this brief.

My husband and dad truly are remarkable men in every way. Thank you so very much to my Grammy Bonnie and my mother-in-law for bringing them into this world and shaping them into such incredible fathers. I cannot imagine a single second of my life without them in it. I am completely and utterly wrapped around their fingers.

Lucky Seven

I decided to hold off on writing this post until the day after the big seven for several reasons. For one, I thought of it yesterday and then became completely distracted and forgot. Two, birthdays are emotional at my house, and three, I just needed a minute to catch my breath after the week we have had!

When I say birthdays are emotional at my house, I fear it is a pretty big understatement. Usually it all starts with Zach saying something terribly heart wrenching such as "look how big she looks" or "did you notice how well she read that sentence, " or "she is halfway to fourteen." Ok, he didn't say the last one, but my dad did mention at lunch that 9 is the hardest age because that is when your time with them is half way up. I immediately asked him to leave and said we could never have lunch on my daughters birthday ever again. And I said a quick thanks to God that she is not 9. I mean Jesus-your time is half way up. Could those words be any harder to digest?

How my sweet little Bo Bear is seven is absolutely unfathomable to me. I mean SEVEN? I rarely use all caps-I am an italics girl,  but SEVEN really deserves to be screamed. I mean 6 I could handle, 4 was a god sent because we were no longer 3 (which for those of you with 3 year olds, you know exactly what I am referring to)! 2 was tough because she was officially no longer a baby-she was a walking, talking, big girl pottying, toddler. 5 was absolutely miserable because it meant she was starting kindergarten-which is a story for an entirely separate post. SEVEN, well, it is just impossible and unbelievable. Flat out-it just came too fast! Six was a total blur. I thought she was still 5. I was still digesting 5. I was still digesting kindergarten. And now she is about to start second grade! Second grade!

So, a few words to my vivacious, smarty pants, independent SEVEN year old:

Addison,

Yesterday, you turned seven. In the grand scheme of things, this may seem like a blip. A small number and a simple age that quite plainly just followed six. Well, let me tell you-it is a lot more than that to mom and probably dad too. It signifies that for seven whole years you have been in our lives. Every single second for the last seven years you have been a part of me. You have been pulling on my heart strings and destroying my patience for nearly 2600 days (you asked how many days old you were last night when I was tucking you in and I almost had a come apart). I didn't know what life was before you baby girl. I didn't know that I could ever ever love someone so much. I didn't realize what was coming the day you came into my life. As the doctor held up your sweet little scrunchy face and balled up body (as if you were still snug inside my tummy) all I could think was holy shit how am I going to do this? Terror proceeded. Pure terror.

I wasn't a young mom-but I was the youngest among all my friends, and admittedly I wasn't quite emotionally ready to take on motherhood. I don't really know that any woman is-regardless of age. I fumbled through so very much of your early days. I read to you. I rocked you. I changed your impossibly smelly diapers. I snuggled you tightly and prayed I'd never have to let go. I laughed and cried and cried some more. I watched you get bigger and smarter and I (as much as I hate to admit) rushed to the next stages of your life. I couldn't wait to see you sit up all by yourself. I wanted so badly to hear you speak your first words (which was not ma-ma, ma-ma was seventh). I begged for the days when I wouldn't have to change diapers anymore. And then, just like that, all of that was gone. I wished it all away so quickly. Now, I spend every day wishing you would slow down. Stop growing and stop changing. I so desperately want to go back to that day in the hospital when you first came into our lives. I want to do it all over again. You will one day come to understand that there are very few things in life that are that way. Almost every experience you have will shape you, but of those, you will wish to repeat very few. You will take from them what they have given and take a step into something new. Motherhood isn't quite like that.

Being your mom has been the hardest, most trying thing in my life. We often argue. We often yell at one another and we often often forget how special and important our relationship is. You are my only daughter and my first born, and that is something that just cannot be replicated, cannot be replaced or shaken.  You taught me how to be a mom. Your mom. I have wanted you in my life for as long as I can remember. Although I wish I could go back to your earlier years at times, I am so very happy in the moments we have now. You make me laugh all the time with your witty comments. You amaze me every day. I love spending time with you-sometimes feeling like I have the very best seven year old friend anyone could ask for. I love your smile (the real one) and your laugh. Your dad and I are so proud of how intelligent you are-how you dissect every situation and how you are always seeking more knowledge. I love the affect you have on the people around you. It made me so proud to receive all the birthday calls and well wishes for you yesterday. You truly are loved by so many!

So today, the less emotional day after your seventh birthday, I wish for you a year filled with days that pass just a little bit slower. I pray that you continue to grow and learn and love, and I look forward to the day when we celebrate 8 ,10, 11 (nine is officially dead to me) and so on-but please please not too soon!

I love you Bo Bear! Happy Birthday!

Mom

Mom's day=total BS

As we honor our moms this weekend, or celebrate being mothers ourselves, I wanted to remind everyone (moms, daughters, and sons alike) that this holiday is bull shit. Not because I don't think being a mom should be celebrated. I think being a mom should be celebrated every day. The foundation of the idea is smart. But for goodness sakes, thank your mother more often. Buy her flowers next Wednesday and on March 11.

My mom deserves 365 days of recognition. A fact that I may not have fully realized until 6 years and 11 months ago. Becoming a mom allows you to truly honor your own. That is not to say you are unable to understand the undeniable incredibleness of your mother without having become one yourself. I knew my mom was incredible long before I had children. I knew she was incredible when I went off to college and called her 17 times a day to get directions on just about everything I did. "Do I call or email?" "Do I boil or steam?" "Do I buy the bargain brand or the name brand?" "How long?" "What temperature?" "How the hell do you fold a fitted sheet?" I remember at a parents weekend sorority event I sat at a table with 4 of my closest friends and their moms (knowing damn well my mom dislikes events like this) and listening to the other moms go on and on about how much they missed their daughters. My mom was very quiet. Finally, another mother asked my mom, "what do you miss about having Nickie at home?" My mom laughed. Sipped her wine. Then she said, and I will never forget it, "Nickie has never for one second allowed me to miss her." All the moms looked puzzled. They were most likely thinking, how could this mother not miss her daughter terribly as we miss ours? What they didn't realize is that I spoke to my mother more times in a day then their daughters called in a month. I called her before class, during class, after class, before bed, during dinner, while I went to the bathroom and thought of another question. I missed her terribly. Not in a needy way. Ha! Just in a, I cannot do anything without this woman's approval way.

During college, I moved home and transferred schools, pregnant with Addison. My neediness only worsened. Every time she kicked I asked her if that was normal. Every pound I gained I asked her if I was getting too fat. When I ate ice cream with strawberries for breakfast for a solid week, I opened the freezer the following week to find frozen yogurt. She has always known best. Maybe not for everyone. But for me. She has always known just what I need to hear. She has given tough love for most of my life. She rarely says I love you back when we hang up the phone. She isn't much of a hugger or cuddler or hair putter upper. She didn't paint my nails. She didn't get giddy seeing me in my prom dress. She is the most amazing grandmother I have ever seen. My kids fight out of my arms to be snuggled in hers. She cried at my wedding.

Now, as a mother, I rely on her more than ever. I remember when we lived downstairs and Addison got sick in the middle of the night. I was woken by Addison's pain cry-which meant I needed to get to her, and quickly. Zach beat me to her. He held her in his arms as she threw up all down his back. She was hysterical. Crying harder than I had ever heard her little body cry. She was sick. Really sick. For the first time in her short three or four month life. I grabbed her from him and went darting up the steps. Zach called up to me, "where are you going, don't you dare wake her!" But that is the thing, he knew. He knew I needed her in this moment, just as I have every single moment I can remember. I needed her to tell me she was OK. I needed her to hold me while I held her. You never outgrow the need for your mother even when you become one and you are the mother in need.

Every day, I try to be more like her. I try to be a better planner. I try to be tidier. I try to do more laundry (this one will just never ever happen). I still call her nearly every day-although now it is calls with questions about my 401K and health insurance and which car to buy and what soap to use and what to spray my stains with and how long to cook my garden beans she gave me and if I should take Lucas to the doctor again.  I still invite myself to dinner when I miss her. I know that I am not her. We are very different. I don't know the quilt/fabric expression that relates to this very thing, but we are different patches-different patterns. In the world of fabric metaphors-she is solid for sure. I am floral and polka dotted. Girly-have been since day one. I like to paint my own nails once a week. I like to get dressed up. I love a slumber party. I get giddy over baking with Addison. I love planning. I love weddings. I love dresses, frills, lace, curls. I whine. I pout. Things my mother would never be caught dead doing (I think this is the raised in the south part of me). I adore decorating my house for Christmas (this is NOT a chore for me as it always was for her). I curl my hair and buy far too many handbags and shoes. But, I am like her to. I always buy things on sale. I take control. I always know what is missing. I like hand me downs. I like to walk barefoot. I love to cook. I love to be surrounded by people I love. Just like her.

So, this mothers day, and every single day, I honor her. I love her. I remind her that I love her. I ask her how the hell she did it. How she continues to do it. And she just smiles that tight smile. And in her head  I like to think she is thinking "you get it." And she is right. I do. I get it. She does it because she loves her children unconditionally, whether she says it when we hang up the phone or not. She would do anything for any one of us-any day of the week-any time of the night. I die inside every second the thought crosses my mind that she won't be with me forever.

"Mommy how about Nanny keeps me sometimes-you know, I stay with her more nights."
"But mommy and daddy will miss you too much."
"Well, I can just stay with her on Mondays and Wednesdays and Thursdays and Sundays"
"That is a lot of days. Won't you miss us-me and daddy?"
"Mommy, what is the day today?"
"Wednesday."
"Take me to Nannys."

I want. I want. I want.

I have been reading a lot of posts lately (correction-I have been tearing up at my desk while reading a bunch of posts) about things we, as parents, hope for our children. And, to follow suit, I thought I would share some of my own. Just as a preface, I have not made a mental list (as I almost always do) before sitting down to write this. I have not jotted notes either. Basically, I have not done what I normally do, pretty much one hundred percent of the time, which is-write in my head before on paper/screen-so be prepared for this list to be all over the place. Some for my sweet baby boy and some for my over-the-top six year old precious lady. Most of all, all for both.

Firstly (although this is not a word, it should be), I hope they experience love. Every single day. I hope they know what it is to be loved and they know how to love someone in return. Not just mom and dad (but please oh please let them love us unconditionally too). I hope that their love is smart. And silly. And a mess. I hope that they love more than once. I hope that their fist love spares their heart just long enough to love again, and maybe again and again. Most of all, I hope they understand that there are all kinds of love in this world and that each is unique and special. Sometimes I am bursting with it and other times I have hated the very four letters that encompass such a terribly difficult emotion. I want all of that for them. Both. 

Second, I want them to work hard. I want them to understand that iPads and NintendoDS are not the root of the world. That there is more to life than Disney princesses and sticks you carry around a gnaw on. And that, in order to have those things-to earn those things (although you don't have to earn sticks per say), you need to work for them. You need to work hard. And I can only hope they enjoy what they do-enough to where it doesn't affect the great parts of life (well, the hours and days that are left after the 40).

I want them to be intelligent. A pluses and high markings are not what I am referring to-although those ain't half bad ;)  I want them to make good choices, which is not to say I don't want them to make mistakes...I know that is inevitable. But intelligence allows for constant learning and constant growing. Which sums it up-I want them to constantly learn and constantly grow. I want them to question (this, I do not fear Addison has missed-she questions just about every single thing that is spoken in her direction). I want them to ponder. I want them to be afraid of the vastness of the universe but I also want them to be ever-curious (like their dad-as I have missed the mark on this one).

I pray that they get so exited about something, or somethings, that they cannot stand the idea of living life without having experienced them. For me, this is not lost. There are so many things I love-that I cherish every day. I am simple. I know this. I get oh-so-very excited when the weather is warm like today (after several days of cold). I can almost feel my six minute quiet commute with the windows down and warm sun beaming on me (before the kids join me). I get excited when it is Wednesday because that means tomorrow is Thursday and that is only one day from Friday. I get excited when I cook something new and it works out-like really works out-like I want more instantly kind of works out. I get absolutely thrilled when I make a list that makes it to the refrigerator and gets even one check mark placed. I am telling you, I am simple. I want that for them. I want them to understand and appreciate all the simple pleasures of life.

I hope they have days where they do nothing and everything all at once. I hope they have memories that are made and never forgotten-ever. I hope that in certain moments they stop and think I will never forget this moment-ever. Like singing into antique furniture dusters with your aunts, at the very top of your lungs, way past bedtime! Like driving across a corn field in an old Oldsmobile for the very first time. Like listening to Red Rag Top when your parents bring home a new Lexus. Like the first hug you share with your husband having no idea at the time that is who he will turn out to be. Like bringing babies into this world. Oh. My. Goodness. bringing babies. Like sneaking around your grandmothers house with cousins looking for treasures. Or strutting down the street singing with cousins. Or making rabbit traps with cousins. Or playing in small parks in Iowa with cousins-talking about life at twelve years old. Or walking down the isle. Having siblings to share memories with-both good and bad, pretty and ugly. (You're welcome for that kids).

I realize by now that each of the things I have listed are things that I love about my life. But I suppose that is what a wish list is. Wishing that all the good things you have in your life are not missed on your children. FAMILY is definitely one that does not get written off (hence all the mention of cousins, siblings, etc). I have come to realize that families really range wildly across the board. Yes, I have really only just come to realize this. When I was younger, I knew not everyone went home to what I went home to. I had friends that raised their parents, friends that didn't have parents around at all, friends with two moms, friends with single parents, friends with parents that suffered from addiction-really I had seen it all. But, it wasn't until my adult life that I gained a real appreciation for the differences rather than thinking I had it better than they did. Some would argue that I did. Shoot-sometimes I would still argue that. But, I have also learned that families come in all shapes and sizes (these are the exact words I share with Addison). Some people simply call their friends their family. Some of us have huge families that share everything (oftentimes too much) and some of us have one or two people in which we list as family. Some people wish they didn't have family (this I cannot fathom and makes me terribly sad). So basically, I want my kids to know that family (whatever shape or size it may come in) is forever. It is thick and thin. It is have your back always. It is sing past bedtime into furniture brushes and share life with. It is every thing.

There are so very many more things I am sure, but as I mentioned, this was not a well plotted planned out list. It was merely a quick response to all these lists I have read recently that touched my heart just a little - or a lot in most cases (my heart is very easily touched). My heartstrings are very easily tuggable, if you will :) Most of all, I want them to have the good stuff from Zach and I. I want to not screw things up too badly. I want them to love me as much as I undeniably cannot-get-enoughaly love them and my parents alike- and I want them to have the things I want them to have. Did I say want too much in this post. I am pretty sure I did.