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.