Goose Egg

I’m usually overly-cautious in stores with my kids. The parking lot is the worst part, though. It starts when I get them out of the car seats when we arrive—I’m a nervous nelly about it all. I have to do one kid at a time, so while I’m getting the second kid unbuckled, inevitably the first kid has to stand by me and wait. I’m always so nervous that the first one will walk away towards a car while I’m distracted getting the second kid out of the car seat. We all hold hands as we make our way into the store and then I immediately get them buckled into the double seater cart. Getting back into the car when the shopping is over also makes me nervous, because again I can only buckle one kid at a time, so one child has to wait in the cart while I buckle the first. I’m paranoid about the cart rolling away or that another car won’t be paying attention when backing out. But if I get them both out of the cart at the same time, I’m worried one will wander towards a car while I buckle the first. See what I mean? Basically going into a store is a whole juggling act just to keep them safe. I probably overthink it way too much.

On one particular shopping trip, all I needed was some toilet paper. It was going to be a quick in and out, but I still had both boys with me.

“Can I walk in the store? Auden asked.

September Stay At Home Mom

When I was a little girl, I always envisioned myself as a stay at home mom. I saw my mom as a stay at home mom, and it made sense to me at an early age that that’s what I would do too. I wanted other things from time to time, but it’s what I always came back to. I knew as I grew older that most women juggled careers and family life—I knew staying at home was not the norm— but when I envisioned myself in the future, I was home with my kids. It’s just what I always wanted. If you ask me why that is, I couldn’t tell you. Was it a lack of ambition? A lack of belief in myself? Or—on the contrary— maybe it was just a true unfiltered understanding of myself. 

Life Right Now

I’ve called Colorado home for fourteen years. There’s something about making new memories in the same places that holds old memories, something sweet that also makes me feel my age.

A few days ago, Rob and I went hiking on a trail I’ve been on at least 100 times, with so many different people at different stages of my life. I’ve been there a lot, yes, but never once alone. Hiking is always something I do with someone else, and it’s always a time of meaningful conversation, which is probably why I remember it all.

I hiked that trail with my dad in high school and talked through numerous faith crises. I hiked that trail with Rob when we were dating and falling in love. I hiked that trail two days after getting out of the mental hospital, each step one towards healing. I hiked that trail pregnant with my first baby. I imagine myself there with teenage Auden and George behind me, maybe telling me about their own faith crises. 

Breaking News! My Children Do Not Eat Vegetables

I have a fuzzy memory from when I was about 23 or so, sitting at a breakfast restaurant, eyeing the table next to me where a family of five was trying to eat together. There was the mom and dad, of course, and three unruly toddlers. I still remember the misplaced disdain that washed through me as I watched the scene unfold. Mom and Dad were desperately trying to get their kids to eat something—pancakes?—and the kiddos were making a giant mess of syrup and spilled milk. I sat at my own quiet table, full of haughty pride, thinking, “My children will never be like that. Surely not.”

This is me, right now, eating my humble pie.

Present

The sun is setting slowly, sinking into the clouds that look like they are sitting right on top of the green blue of the Caribbean.

I take a sip of my wine and watch mostly-old couples stroll hand in hand on the beach. Most of the guests at the resort have gussied up for the evening full of dinner reservations, just as I have.