14 lessons from the summer of '14

It's September. The kids ran through the sprinkler this afternoon, despite the noticeable chill in the air. "It's our last chance," Evie declared. She's a sentimental kid, and she's very good at recognizing endings.

It happened again. Another summer breezed past us, and it's time to prepare the backpacks and set the alarms and pack the lunches for the first day of school. Tomorrow, Evie will be a 2nd grader, Felix will be a Junior Explorer, and I will be a mom who suddenly feels pressured to buy black boots and pumpkin spice lattes.

Before we jump into this season of homework and structure and caffeinated squash, indulge me as I reflect on all I learned in the classroom of long, sunny days.

Off the grid

I am writing this outside the little shop at East Rosebud Lake, hitched to a spotty guest WiFi in a remote corner of Montana. The sign at the lodge says Alpine. The nearest incorporated town is Roscoe, which boasts a population of 15. I'm not quite sure where I am, but it's small.

The Goan family cabin, just across the lake, has been home for the past few days, a week in all.

The uneventful miles

"You could totally bike that."

A coworker, whom I've never met, posted those words to me on a discussion forum 2 months ago. I work in downtown Minneapolis and live in an outer suburb, separated by 25 miles of busy freeways.

I am the highly suggestible type, and positive reinforcement works very well on me. That's why, today, I had a 2-hour, zero-emission, 1400-calorie-burning commute home.

After my coworker's bold assertion, I sent away for a map (a paper one!) of the awe-inspiring Hennepin County trail system. With the exception of a few blocks of city streets and a short jaunt near my house, I could make the entire trip on designated bike trails, safe from cars.

Frisbees and floor stains: The weight of 15 years

I'm typing this in a shiny, well-lit Macintosh computer lab in upper Sayles-Hill. 

It's very, very clean.

This room used to be a smoking lounge, filled with dark, ratty couches and overflowing plastic ashtrays and a stench that followed you home.

Best Memorial Day ever.

Spring in Minnesota isn't just a season; it's the fulfillment of a promise. It's the exhale after holding your breath for a little bit longer than was comfortable. It's the melodic resolution of a discordant line of music. It's the moment when you take off a pair of ill-fitting shoes or close the door behind an obnoxious house guest.

This winter was especially hard. We endured a Polar Vortex and an April blizzard. Sometimes, it seemed this day would never come.

And then it did.

Lent is over. Alleluia!

Happy Easter, friends.

It's a truly special day when Felix is wearing something other than a graphic t-shirt and running pants.

Here I am, at the end of my Lenten journey. Instead of giving something up, I took something on: I decided to write 40 blogs in 40(ish) days. The math got a little fuzzy toward the end, but we made it.

Why I run (even when I'm not being chased, or about to miss a bus)

For most of my life, I loathed running. I was the chubby, asthmatic kid who was the last to finish laps in gym class. As the workouts got tougher, I showed up at school with an inhaler and notes written on my dad's prescription pad: Monica cannot run.

I could walk for miles, but as soon as I raised my pace to a jog, my chest would burn, I'd gasp for air, and I'd feel a stabbing pain in my side.

Why do people make a hobby out of this? I wondered.

This is 36

I'm 36 years old.

It's not really a milestone of any kind; I'm now "over 35" and I can more confidently admit to remembering things that happened 30 years ago. But mostly, it's just a quiet acknowledgement that I'm moving along the journey of life and I'm firmly in this part.

In this part of my life, liquor store clerks apologize when they check my ID ("I'm sorry, ma'am, we have to card everyone, it's our policy" - Really? You can't just pretend you mistook me for 20? And what's with the ma'am?). In this part of my life, if I walk across a college campus, I am more likely to be mistaken for a professor than a student. In this part of my life, I sometimes look in the mirror and see the outlines of my parents' faces in a way that I never noticed before.

My weekend as a socialite

I'm not one of those fancy people you might see in the society pages, looking elegant at a charity fundraiser. 

But this weekend, it sure felt that way.

Friday, I spent the evening at a fashion show fundraiser for the United Way. It was at a hotel called Blu.

The drinks were blue.

Commuter Troubles

I skipped yesterday's blog, cashing in one of those "day of rest" chips I awarded myself when I learned that I had miscounted the days of Lent and could have been taking Sundays off all along.

It seemed like a good day to rest. Yesterday ended with me Facebook-messaging Sam to come upstairs and turn off the bedroom light so I could go to sleep, because I wasn't sure I could get myself out of bed and complete this simple task. 

It started with the bus.

7 New Rules for Facebook

Today, one of my favorite people posted this message:

"I have 4 Facebook rules: Don't brag. Don't complain. Don't get personal. Be entertaining." 

She went on to admit that she had been dealing with depression, it had gotten pretty bad, and she was going to break some of her rules to fill us in on the situation.

I am so proud of her. Depression is a scary, serious, life-threatening illness that does not benefit from people isolating themselves. She needs a support network, and what better place to find it than among her 600+ friends?

Let there be music.

"And there will always be music."

When I was a teenager, and I knew everything, I liked to tell my parents all the things I'd do differently when I was an adult and it was my house. 90% of them were probably wrong (I'd treat my kids like adults! I'd never make them eat things they didn't like!) but I did live up to one of my promises. The first thing I do when I come home from work is turn on the radio or turn on a CD. I can't even back the car out of the garage without the stereo on.

I grew up in a quiet household. My dad turned on the TV to watch the evening news or Crossfire, but mostly it was quiet. My parents and I read books and magazines. I did homework or wrote stories or worked on puzzles. We talked, when there were things to say. 

How I spent my spring break.

Tomorrow, I return to work, Evie returns to school, and our spring break is officially over. It was relaxing, it was busy, it was a lot of activity packed into 5 days. Here are a few of the ways I spent my time off from work:

Took my favorite little girl ice skating 

Cleaned and organized my bedroom closet

Unpacked two boxes from our last move (4 years ago)

Found a cassette tape of a Carleton radio show that Sam and I recorded on 4/6/99 (15 years ago!)

Friday night's all right

Friday is my favorite day of the week.

It's the beginning of the weekend. It's a day of completion and accomplishment and freedom. 

Friday has been a great day for as long as I can remember, but the definition of why has changed throughout my life.

When I was younger, Friday meant the end of the school week, staying up late, watching TV with my parents. It was, after all, TGIF night.

Sleep (while you still can)

I woke up to tiny fingers gently brushing my cheeks and touching my eyelashes.

"Can I watch a movie?" Felix asked in his sweet little 3-year-old voice. It was 7:15 a.m., late enough that Sam had left for work, but far too early for me to want to wake up on my day off. Spring break should mean sleeping in, but Felix missed the memo.

"Let's go back to sleep," I suggested. 

"But I'm awake!" His bright eyes and cheerful demeanor backed up his story. He bounced on the bed as further evidence.

"Go see if Evie wants to watch a movie with you," I said sleepily and adjusted the comforter. Is there anything more comfortable than a bed you might have to leave soon?

The next thing I knew, Evie was standing next to the bed, explaining something about a mountain troll and Golden Grahams. It was 9:30. Evie had gotten up with her brother, unwrapped a couple of cereal bars, figured out the Blu-Ray player, and watched nearly all of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

If sleep were an Olympic event, I'd have medals hanging from my bed frame. Given the proper configuration of pillows and a down comforter, I'm unstoppable. I can fall asleep in seconds, I can stay asleep through the loudest disruption, and I can sleep for 12 straight hours. I actively enjoy sleep. It's not just a bodily function; it's more like a hobby.

Spring Break

Today was my first "official" day of spring break. Evie has been off school for a week now, and I decided to take a few vacation days from work to enjoy the last bit of her break with her.

Kids with working parents often miss out on the unstructured time inherent to summer vacation and school holidays. Evie has been in some type of year-round school and/or childcare program since she was 3 months old. In a normal week, she is too busy to get bored. Even our weekends are packed with activities, between chores, errands, and socializing with friends.

The past week, Sam and I have taken turns working from home so that Evie can fully experience her 12-day break from school and childcare. We're lucky enough to both have jobs that can be done from anywhere with a phone and a WiFi connection, and Evie can do many basic things for herself: reading, operating streaming NetFlix, making Rainbow Loom bracelets.

Dear Pinterest Mom

Dear Pinterest Mom,
You don't know me, but I've been following you for a couple of years.

At first, I wanted to be just like you. You had the best ideas. You taught me how to make cauliflower crust pizza and how to whiten my teeth. You showed me photos of sunsets in Bali and kitchens in Provence and the Midsummer Night's Dream party you hosted in your garden. You astounded me with your aesthetics and your imagination.

Pinterest Mom, I thought we were friends. You gave me decorating ideas and gently informed me that I was wearing Mom jeans. You told me to lose weight by working out only 12 minutes a week. Meanwhile, you were making Nutella Rice Krispies treats and serving raspberry mojitos in sugar-rimmed jam jars.

Sunday

Sunday has never been my favorite day of the week. It's always seemed like a fake weekend day, one filled with homework and chores and early bedtime and looming deadlines and the stress of the week ahead. My usual Sunday sentiment is harried and slightly melancholy: Another weekend is coming to a close, and I'm surprised at how quickly it flew by.

While I often spend Sunday mornings at church, I've never followed the biblical practice of treating Sunday as a day of rest. Surely, people in biblical times didn't have to deal with grocery shopping, kids' homework, laundry, cleaning, paying bills, and getting caught up on work email.

Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's stress.

This morning, I attended a seminar at my gym about stress. As the presenter started listing off the health conditions caused or exacerbated by stress, I felt like she was describing my personal list of woes: Weight gain, belly fat, carb cravings, feeling tired, irritability, mood swings.

I haven't felt like myself for the last few months. The best version of me is positive, health-conscious, and happy. I still remember what it's like to feel that way, and I can bring bursts of it, but lately I have felt duller, tired, like a fog is hanging over me. Sometimes, I chalk it up to the cold weather and lack of sunshine. Sometimes, I blame external situations like work and busy schedules. "I'll feel better when ___ is over," I tell myself.

Hoarders, Electronic Edition. Episode 2: Flash Drives

Have you ever been to somebody's house, and they took out a box of random photos and started flipping through them, telling you non-sequiter stories about people you don't know and places you've never been?

Tonight's blog is the digital equivalent of that. Sorry. It's been a long week.

Instead of a box of photos, I present you with random discoveries from old flash drives found around my house.

The 10 most (and least) understandable things about being a kid

Kid things that I can completely relate to

1. Being so tired that everything is hard, nothing can make me happy, I just want to cry, but I absolutely cannot go to bed

2. Having so much fun with my friends that I never want them to go home

3. My Little Pony

4. Why we should always buy the unlimited ride pass and arrive at the amusement park as soon as it opens

Called to Blog?

For the past 5 weeks, I've been attending a seminar entitled "Called to Life." Along with a few women from my church, I've been spending two hours a week exploring the question of what God is calling me to do and be.

I signed up for the class because of a word I saw somewhere in the course description: vocation. I was in the midst of a job change, and I thought "Aha! This may give me clarity on how to manage this."

The first week of class, I learned that vocation is about much more than career. It comes from the Latin vocare, "to call," as in "to hear the voice of God."

My Warm-Weather Bucket List

There's a fresh blanket of snow on the ground. Tonight's forecast is in the single digits. I can't take it anymore, so I've started a list. Here are 20 things I'd like to do while the weather is warm because, eventually, it will be. I promise. 

1. Shoot off some of the fireworks we have left over from last July 4.

2. Run around Christmas Lake. Run a 10k in August. Run, and keep running until I feel as healthy as I was last summer. 

Fever Dreams

I'm almost halfway through my blogging project, and I refuse to let a stomach bug and a fever knock me out now. Perhaps if I power through this, it will be like cresting a hill on a challenging run, and then I will enjoy a quick descent the rest of the way.

When I was a kid, I remember being sick a lot. If somebody had a cold, I would catch it, along with bonus symptoms, like asthma and tonsillitis. I cuddled under my big fluffy Polish down comforter and watched game shows: The Price is Right, Hollywood Squares, Bumper Stumpers, Win Lose or Draw (Why were they in Burt Reynolds' living room?). My mom made me hot, sweet tea, and my friends stopped by with special folders containing the homework I had missed. My dad brought home paper pharmacy bags with cough syrup and Sucrets and the occasional round of antibiotics, giving me bedside lectures on the differences between viruses and bacteria.

Sit with me

"Will you sit with me?"

After baths have been bubbled and stories have been read and snacks have been eaten and teeth have been brushed, the question comes. It's the last important question of the day.

I can't remember when the tradition started, but it began with Evie. She might have been a little bit afraid of the dark, or maybe she just enjoyed our company. She would ask "Will you sit with me for 5 minutes?" and one or both of us would stay in her room until she fell asleep, or until she was ready for us to leave, whichever came first. We cultivated the same practice with Felix, and now Sam and I each sit with one child every night.

Sitting with the kids is a welcome respite, a patch of peace in our loud, busy lives. Sam and I might catch up on our social networks or read a novel, the glow of our tablet screens illuminating the dark room. When there are always dishes to wash and bills to pay and things to do, it's a relief to know that, in this particular moment, the most urgent action needed of me is to be present and be still.

Birthday Party!

I had to put an exclamation point in the title because, when you put this many kids together, things get lively.

This afternoon, we celebrated Evie's birthday with 16 of her friends. After the trampoline place we reserved unexpectedly closed its doors 3 weeks ago, we found a solid Plan B solution at our gym, Life Time Fitness.

There was a bounce house.

A letter to Evie on her 7th birthday

Dear Evie,
We've established some family birthday traditions, and you're now old enough to remember them and hold us accountable. We hang up decorations (strategically, because the cats love to take them down). Daddy makes you a cake. And Mommy writes you a blog.

Six might have been my favorite year yet. You're almost through 1st grade, and school agrees with you. Thanks to another year of Chinese immersion, you can distinguish sounds that I can't hear, say things that I can't understand, and recognize characters on Daddy's bottle of Sriracha sauce. Your teacher, Liu lao shi, loves your enthusiasm for the language and culture, and she said she would love to take you to China or Taiwan with her. It's a long trip, but I have a feeling you'll make it there someday, probably before I'm ready.

Little Brother

Tomorrow is Evie's 7th birthday.

Earlier today, I found myself thinking "This is the last day I'll have a 6-year-old."

That's totally not true.

Threenagers: Story of a tantrum

I woke up knowing it was going to be a long day. Work, my hour-long commute, dinner, a class tonight, a blog to write. I can fit it all in, I thought. I had a short lunch and a productive afternoon, so I allowed myself to leave work a few minutes early so I might squeeze in some family time before dinner.

Sometimes, I feel like I have it together pretty well. Those are the moments to watch out for.

10 Things That Happened Today

1. I forgot to put on blush and had to choose between looking paler than normal or streaking lipstick across my cheeks. After the second coworker asked me if I was feeling tired, I opted for the latter.

2. With patience, determination, and the clever use of folders, I got my work inbox under 100 emails, the threshold at which I go from "overwhelmed" to simply "busy."

3.  Following a late-afternoon meeting with my new coworkers, I absentmindedly responded "Thanks, you too!" to someone who said "Bye" because I thought she was saying "Have a good night." Then I tried to fix it by saying "Have a good night" but I stumbled on my words and it came out "Have fun" and I walked away wondering how on earth I have a job in communications.

Prepare to be disappointed

I have a group of friends who mostly communicate online. We're spread all over the country, and while each of us has met at least one other person in the group, none of us have met all of us. We've never all been in the same place at once.

Earlier tonight, we were talking about how fun it would be to organize a huge meetup, perhaps a weekend in Vegas.

After a flurry of excitement and energy, as plans started to take a more realistic shape, the posts changed tone:

Dairy Queen Days

On our way out of Fargo today, Sam and I took the kids to a very special restaurant:

I worked here for four summers, one school year, and a couple of winter breaks during high school and college. I will always think of it as my Dairy Queen.

Have cousins, will travel

My brother is 5 1/2 years older than me. 

Growing up, I was always one life stage behind him. When Chris was in high school, I was still in grade school. When I started junior high, he went off to college. The summer before I went to college, Chris got married and moved back to our hometown of Fargo. The month I got married, he became a dad.

Live from I-94: Driving with Wiants

I'm writing from the passenger seat of our Prius, driving through a cloudless twilight in western Minnesota. We are en route to Fargo to visit my family. 

A fresh mix CD is in the stereo, the snow is quietly melting into the farmland, and it's a beautiful night for a drive. We enjoy the music, we occasionally sing along, we look out the window, but mostly we talk.

If anyone asks me for marriage or relationship advice (which they don't, but that's ok) my best tip is to find someone you never grow tired of talking to. Marriage is a lot of long car rides and waiting for things at restaurants. 

It is my mess

I still remember the moment I found out about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. It was 2009, and I was in San Francisco, talking to a man who had made it his personal and professional mission to help people and companies comprehend the environmental devastation caused by our careless consumption and disposal of plastic.

I wondered if he was for real. I Googled it, and sure enough, this was a thing. I comforted myself in the way that I often do when I hear about bad things happening in far away places: "It's serious, but smart people are on the case. It's not my mess. I'll take a deep breath, remind myself to recycle, and return to my regularly scheduled programming."

Balance is overrated: the ramblings of a sleep-deprived blogger

A week ago, I promised that I would write every day for 40 days. 

It's harder than I expected it would be. Some days, I sit down to write and the words pour across the screen like they were already written, tucked away somewhere, just ready to come out and greet the world.

Other days, like today, it's all starting, stopping, deleting. I'm so tired that I can barely see the screen in front of me. I've been awake for almost 19 hours, my body is crying out for sleep, and I ask myself why I made this commitment. Can't I just post a picture of my kids enjoying themselves at the car wash and call it a night?

The raccoons of Ithilien

I was at the keyboard, trying to think of a blog topic, when my cat, Rosie, jumped onto my lap. I moved her to the floor and resumed staring at the blank screen and trying to think of a topic. Rosie jumped back onto my lap. I moved her to the floor. Her brother, Max, jumped on my lap and purred loudly, as if to say "Could it be any more obvious?" Therefore, I present to you tonight's blog: The story of Rosie and Max.

Soggy shoes and nude pantyhose: the curse of the Midwestern optimist

I am not good at waiting for things.

I take brownies out of the oven while they're still gooey.

I touch things before my nail polish is dry.

I believe that Christmas gifts may be opened anytime in the Decemberish season.

Waiting for spring is very, very hard for me, especially after a winter like this one.

At first, the extreme cold was entertaining. 

The belly question

"Mommy, why does your belly look like that?"

My 3-year-old son, Felix, asks me this question while I'm getting dressed. He puts his little hands right below my belly button and gently pushes, perhaps to see if it's as squishy as it looks. He giggles. He has no way of knowing that he just focused on the most vulnerable part of my body.

I have one of those shapes in which excess weight immediately and stubbornly attaches to my middle. I've grown accustomed to strangers inquiring about my due date. I couldn't even catch a break when I was pregnant; the day before Evie was born, a woman tried to convince me that I must be carrying twins because no single baby could occupy so much space.

Hoarders, Electronic Edition: Life in the B-Roll

I got the dreaded notification: My iCloud storage is full.

My first impulse is to buy more storage, though I wonder if I'm like a hoarder renting a new storage unit: Am I avoiding a deeper problem? Do I need to get better at letting go?

I teased one of my friends for carrying a painfully outdated phone because she couldn't part with the photos on it - thousands of them. I've had my iPhone for 9 months and now I understand her pain completely. The hardest part is deleting the B-Roll.

Can you play me a memory?

Today, Evie played in her first piano recital. She and a handful of other young musicians visited a local senior center and played for the residents. Evie was the youngest performer there, and I was so proud of her.

Watching her perform brought back memories. It reminded me why I was so insistent that she start piano lessons, and why I'm so grateful that she is enjoying herself.

The journey begins: Adapting a centuries-old religious tradition to suit my personal growth goals

Buckle your seatbelts, folks. Today, I begin 40 days of blogging.

But, wait! Isn't Lent the time when Christians simplify their lives and say farewell to things like chocolate or Facebook?

I admit, I'm stretching a bit. Lent is the season of solemnity, repentance, and self-denial, and blogging is fairly self-indulgent. Despite my Googling, I can't find any Biblical or historical traditions to support the religious validity of my approach. I don't even know if Episcopalians are supposed to give things up for Lent. 

The Nevada chapter

"If you want to learn journalism, work for a small town newspaper."

"The sky is bluer out west."

These two ideas took hold of me 15 years ago, in my senior year of college. The first was shared by a professor, the second by my friend during a spring break driving tour of large, rectangular states. It was on that trip I declared, with the certainty that only a person in their early 20s can muster, "Whatever happens to me after graduation, I'll be OK... as long as I can see mountains."