Life gets harder as you get older.  That is my takeaway.  When I become a mom, I want to remember, life was hard now too.  Really, really hard.

I don't know what will happen to me - I don't know what it will be like.  I worry I'll go mad.  I mean it.  I really, sincerely worry about that.  I worry it will be too much.  Thank you Woolf and Plath and life.

And then sometimes, I wonder if it will really be nice.

I've always wanted to be a mom.  When I was little, it was one of the answers I alternated with when asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?"  I wanted to be a lawyer, a writer, a soccer player, and a mom.  I had 13 babies.  I should correct that and say, I have 13 babies.  Because I never let my mom throw a single one of them away.  I paid for a sitter when I left the house.  Seriously, my business minded older sister suggested that perhaps her doll, who was naturally older than all of mine,  could keep an eye on mine while we were away from the house.  So, I paid her doll.

Yesterday, the InDesign decided it would repetitively error out on page 28 of my proposal.  I didn't know it was page 28, and I didn't immediately know what image on page 28 was causing it - but this isn't my first time at this rodeo so I traced it pretty quickly to the problem, screen shot it the page, zoomed and linked the screen shot of the picture instead of the faulty actual picture - and away it ran to the printers (thank God!).  This meant I missed my UPS pickup by about 3 minutes.  Thankfully, again, not my first rodeo - I had a backup plan and ran it down to the UPS drop box that usually gets grabbed around 5pm.

It had been like that all day - with a critical boss, faulty equipment, a lot of questions coming from a lot of people, a lot of missing and poor information for me to track down. I was coordinating company-wide new headshots - leadership group shots - collaboration shots, while rushing through creation of a proposal --- all due to be done by end of day yesterday.  And then I started feeling sick, right around 4pm.  My calves, thighs, back and abdomen started cramping like someone was dragging a metal rake from the inside of my toes all the way up. So there was that fun reminder of my gender - and a deadline.

I made it to the UPS box, with minutes to spare.  I think.  This morning I'm waiting for notification of the UPS delivery, like I do regularly.  I walked back up from dropping off the proposal, sat down at my desk, drank water and opened my Facebook. And straight up top was a Mommy article about how tiring it is. The woman had a cute messy bun, an adorable graphic tee about coffee, she was wearing yoga pants and drinking coffee with a cute little kid next to her.  From the comments, I gathered it was about how tiring it was, but truth be told, I don't really know what that article said.  At that very moment, I just couldn't read it.  Too many long days under deadlines.  I needed sleep too.  By Tuesday afternoon, I realized I wasn't even able to speak full coherent sentences to coworkers.  I'd hoped they hadn't noticed.  They looked at me strangely.

I closed the article and wondered again if being a mom would push me over the edge.  Or if maybe it really wasn't worse than this mad house I've been running around in for 3 years.  I know that's an almost illegal statement to make.  This isn't a "who has it worse post" - this is me letting you into the question and fear that cycles around in my head regularly.  A both longing to be a mom - and a fear that makes me also want to push it away as long as possible.

I don't know if all the mom's realize their Facebook posts actually do that. I suddenly feel like I'm not allowed to think it won't be too hard, because that's wrong and judgmental and who the hell am I anyways?  So all I am allowed to think is that it's the toughest job in the world and it's terrible and the children will make you want to tear your hair out like little tiny adorable demons.... and if my current job already takes everything out of me and already makes me want to cry and scream at the same time... what will this unspeakable terror do to me?

I don't know.  But I decided yesterday, I shouldn't read that article right then.  And I should write to myself for the future - now is hard too.  Remember that.  And yesterday, while I was exhausted and tired and angry and frustrated and knew I had to do it all over again the next day --- I was in a dress, with full makeup and my hair done and uncomfortable shoes. And I wasn't allowed to yell. Or scream. Or say anything terrible to anyone.  I had to be direct, and kind, and keep going.  I had to let it go.

I hate not being in control.  I don't like being tired.  And I have incredible anxiety about feeling trapped. All of these things will make being a mom (and being pregnant for that matter) challenging for me.  But, they also make being a manager, as part of a company, working with a history of very difficult bosses and people difficult too.  Thank you Woolf and Plath and life.

As a friend has always reminded me, this is all training for something.

I am sure being a mom is very difficult.  But right now is difficult too. And life isn't as separated as we like to make it.  You're not a career woman.  And then a mom.  You're you - and I'm pretty sure you bring that same you into parenthood, just like you do into every other challenge and new phase or career.

I think I'm starting to get what that friend had meant.  Before, I had thought she was trying to tell me that learning to coordinate my bosses' schedules meant I'd be good at coordinating my family's one day.  Now, I think she meant less tangible things - but maybe more meaningful.  Like learning not to lose my temper. To be kind under pressure.  To be consistent without sleep. To be better at communicating what I want a teammate to do, what I need my coordinator to learn. To treat others with respect - even when I'm in charge of them. To care about their growth. To present a cohesive front. To be trustworthy.  A confidant. To guard what I really need, but also to push myself.  To put John ahead of the rest. To be the same me in every situation. To learn to trust and find peace when I feel stuck or trapped or out of control of my own life.

I think then and now are difficult. I also think now is part of then.  I'm learning the same lessons.  I'm just not allowed to wear yoga pants and posting about it on Facebook could get me fired. But we're all learning similar lessons, or our own lessons.  So I hope I won't crack.  I'm going to try to see those mommy posts as them training just like I'm training so I stop feeling crippled by this looming doom that I once just called my dream.


I hope this wasn't hurtful to any of my friends who are in the yoga pants days right now.  I honestly really didn't write this to you - I wrote it to me. To the me on the unknown mommy-side in the future - and to the me today who's on the cusp of it and realizing she's been made terribly afraid and to feel largely unprepared and inadequate. I wrote it to remind myself that today really is/was hard. And to convince myself that it does matter, now and then.

Inclusive: Hard Working Women

Warning: This is a bit of a rant.  But it's sincere, thought out, and not actually intended to hurt or cause more division. It's aim is to draw attention to perhaps an unrealized harm. Also, it's on my own private blog. (That's kind of the point of the whole post.)



I have a habit of scrolling through Facebook and Instagram as I fall asleep at night.  After an almost 9 hour work day, I went home and cleaned and folded laundry for about 5 hours. It was a long day.  Past midnight and the last Facebook post I looked at as I tried to quiet my thoughts said something like "Hey Mommy Friends, when do we get to stop? It's 8 and now that the kids are in bed, the dishes and laundry still need to be done."  I get it.  I do. Or I don't.  (I probably really don't.)  But I considered deleting my Facebook account last night. When did it become a mom's chat room?  Here me.

I want ya'all to talk, but that's what moms groups, private messages, gmail, gchat, iPhones or anything else is for.  Women who aren't mom's - also work crazy long days, to come home and start cleaning at ridiculous hours of night, and grocery shop through empty aisles because most of the world is at home asleep, or worse, grocery shop during "rush hour". So maybe start the general Facebook posts with a few less exclusives, maybe write "Hey lady friends" or maybe just "Friends"?  Because life gets busier and busier... even for those of us who aren't moms.  And dear God, when I think of all the women who are these people's friends... who maybe can't have kids, who unknowingly stumble into an internet mommy group every time they open their Facebook, just trying to glimpse through that small window to say hello to all the people dear to them and instead get ambushed with posts beginning "Hey there all you mom's, what do you do when...."  Google it.  That's what the rest of the modern world does with their problems! Then, ask your mom.  Or call your friend.  Or send out a group email.  Don't all you mom's have each other's emails?  Or create a Facebook mommy group!  Please, for the sanity of the rest of us - create a Facebook mommy group.  So that when I fall asleep at midnight, with a 6am alarm to get to work early so I can make that deadline and get home in time to grocery shop and get dinner ready before the out of town guests get here..... I don't feel excluded from the 'real hard working class of women' who just so happen to have the daily privilege of raising tiny humans.

Many of us would love to be doing that - and we get that it's hard work - but we're working hard too.  And we don't get the reward of a child.  Sometimes, I even like the mommy posts and mommy talk coming up in my feed.  These are my friends - and it's their life.  And I want to be a part of it!! But it's getting excessive and borderline inconsiderate.   Just think about it.  Try to find ways to be inclusive.  I feel like that's a good lesson to teach kids - and maybe moms.

The rest of us don't want to feel like outsiders every time we open our Facebook, or sit in a room where there's a majority mommyhood.  Keep posting, keep sharing, but maybe ask yourself a few questions first.  Who all is going to see my post versus who is my post addressed to? Is this the best way to communicate to my specific audience?  Is it going to hurt someone, and if so, is there a way I could do this without hurting those people?  (eg, a different media or different language?) I know you're all moms and you 'have a heart for other moms' and want to support and encourage one another.  But maybe expand your vision.  Because there's a lot of women who aren't moms, who don't have support groups, who still need you.  Women who would love to see an encouraging note of camaraderie on Facebook, that included them.


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As a side note, just to overturn a few things I've heard women say about the difference between being a stay at home mom or a career woman: There are bosses who are as needy and demanding as children (not mine currently), and while the thought commonly exists that you can just quit.  That's not exactly true.  And most jobs aren't just hanging out at work and chatting with friends.  They aren't 'chasing dreams'.  It can be a real test to find purpose in it. And to find friends in it. Women aren't good at compartmentalizing - you know this - so don't expect working women to have this thing that they just go do for a minimum of 40 hours a week and then have all this awesome fun freedom the rest of the hours.  Most careers aren't that way.  We're still always tied to it - thinking about it - being measured by it - and most likely, being emailed about it.  At times, we get talked down to, we have unrealistic expectations set on us, personal boundaries tested and a whole hell of a lot demanded from us nonstop.... at work, and then at home.  Because no one at home knows the big thing you pulled off at work.  You get to prove yourself from scratch, twice a day. You get to learn to be you, while living a very divided life, split between two separate worlds that really don't want you to talk too much about the other.  So, in closing, support and encourage one another, mommys or not.  Please. We already feel like we miss out on enough.

Happy Anniversary Mumsy & Dad!

Happy Anniversary to my mom and dad, who've taught us what it means to love one another for better or worse, through thick and thin. You've shown us a real (stubborn) love.  And, you're a whole lot of fun!

Thank you. xoxo.

Didn't fail
at mumsy's Honey Baked Chicken last night.

Though, I think each of us girls learned to make that one around 13.  

I tried making homemade spaghetti like my mom's last night.  I failed.  Pretty disappointing to taste "bland" after sauteing fresh garlic, onions and mushrooms.  I have a lot to learn my friends.  A lot to learn.   

On a similar note, my boss asked me if I'd ever used AllRecipes.com.  That was an unexpected conversation for the two of us to have.  Turns out he's a big spaghetti fan.  And he had some good suggestions.  Only weird if you know him. 

Time to rebuild the wood pile again, Mumsy. ;)

I love 1920s fashion.  Little details.  And once again, I could say, "I liked it before it was cool."  Except that, I'm pretty sure it was cool in the 20's.  I started loving it back in Junior High.  Not in the dress up in it on a daily basis way, just in adoring the hemlines and shoes and hairstyles.  Oooh and Awwing with my mom as we watch old movies.  I don't know that we shut up through Singing in the Rain (released in 1952, but the style in the musical has a lot of similarities in the shoes and wastelines- I also love the 40s and 50s fashion) when we saw it at the 5th.  Every new costume brought a new comment from us to each other.  I'm sure that could get annoying to the rows behind us (which is all the rows - slight brag?  maybe.), but we figured the bright stage lights prevented the performers from seeing us - besides, there were constant smiles on our faces.  My mom picks me up little things here and there that reflect the generation - hats, jewelry. 

This morning, while walking the downtown streets of Seattle in my new dress... it struck me: has it all just been about the hemline?  And that, just for comfort?  I picked up a new dress last week that I'm in love with, the hem falls low on my hips, the front has a beautiful seafoam (almost) pleat, the neckline hides most of my collarbone in a soft round swoop.  It's comfortable and pretty and flattering.  (And it was picked out for me by Miss Cline, but more on that later today.)

But the most important part of it is, it is entirely loose on my stomach.  I hate things tight on my stomach.  Not even tight, fitted.  I changed out of my bridesmaid dress halfway through my sister's wedding reception because I couldn't stand having it fitted on my esophagus for one more minute.  It makes me nauseous.  And panicked.  I'm secretly terrified of wedding dresses.  :/  So you see, the majority of my style is built on this simple fact.  If it is fitted, it must be fitted at my waste/hips and it must be loose on the top. 

The 20's are the perfect image.  And I'm wondering if that's what has been subconsciously behind it all, all along.  That, and my secret world in which I imagine all of life as a movie with Fred Astaire and myself as Ginger Rogers - a tap scene around every corner.  It's really a miracle that I don't own more sequins.  I do sometimes buy shoes based off of the sound they make when I walk/click.  And shopping malls?  I usually can't resist a bit of a tap solo.  Alderwood is marvelous if I'm wearing the right shoes.


**I know so very, very little about fashion.  And I know it.  I just know what I like, and I use my best descriptive abilities to communicate it.  Judge kindly, you who know.  ; ) 

About this time of year everything begins to change about "coming home."

The car may be in the drive, but the house is empty.  I walk in the front door and can smell it - the back yard.  The kitchen door is open, the heat from mom's tea garden (our "beer garden") pouring into the kitchen like her tea into a porcelain cup.  The afternoon sun sneaks in through the lace curtains.  This is my home in the summer.  A peak down that dark stairway shows you the back door is wide open - always is.  Mom's hands are buried deep in dirt somewhere.  Dinner won't be ready until 9pm - or much later, once the sun has gone down and she's remembered herself.  By then, the frogs have come out.  I don't always remember there being so many frogs at night, it seems to have happened over the past few years.  Two nights ago I stood at my door and just listened.  It's spring and even the ponds have remembered how to sing. Me and the stars, we listened.

It is hardly even April, and my mom has added two new gardens to the yard.  What's next?  I'm sure the pond will be experiencing its annual upgrade soon. ;) 

Sorry about the profanity, but I worry I may be this mother one day.  And those of you who know me, know I'm really not a fan of cursing/ cussing (whichever it is dad).  But a word aptly spoken, I can't help but respect. 

The older I get, the more I find my jewelry style becoming like my mom's - and the more I find myself sneaking into her jewelry box to look, and perhaps to borrow. ;)  I am not much of a jewelry girl.  Never have been.  I like earrings, and some necklaces.  I rarely ever wear rings.  But this past summer I realized I want special jewelry to pass to my girls one day - rings not just from my 30's and 40's and on, but something special from my 20's, maybe something I bought myself because it was beautiful and bold.

Of course, my dad has now given me a special ring for my teen's and one for my 20's.  :)

I have this fantastic old dresser.  It was my mom's as a little girl.  She'd painted it cream and written her name on the back in giant paint strokes along with a friend.  In Junior High, Elise and I painted it blue and added our own names to the back.  The wall paper inside is peeling off around the edges.  I sometimes have saw dust on my clothes, and the drawers are tiny, but I love it.  I love that it was my mom's.  I love that it has our names on the back, along with our childhood friends from down the street.  I love the little old wheels on the bottom.  And I love that it's blue.  I love the shape of it.  And its impracticality.

The only thing I don't love is the knobs.  I never have.   And at some point, my mom decided to surprise me and paint them silver.  But, I was never a big silver girl.  I didn't love the surprise.  And I then loved the knobs even less.  (Don't worry, I knew it was well-intended and once I finished crying, we worked it out. Yes, sadly, true story.  I know I was a brat to cry over it.  Jet-lagged and homesick are my only excuses.)

Changing the knobs has been one of those things I've always meant to do, and I've scanned the knobs section at Anthropologie every time I've gone in for the past 5 years.  But the expense didn't ever seem worth it.  Yesterday, mom took to me a giant craft/ home decorating/ party type store.  I knew I'd end up spending money.  But, I have to say, I'm pretty proud of the purchases I limited myself to.  Here are my brand new knobs.

The photos don't do them perfect justice, but I love them.  And I even love how they reveal the old cream layer of paint beneath.  It's probably tacky and looks lazy to some, but to me it's more than just "looking" vintage, it's sharing a little secret about the life it lived before me.  It's reminding me it once sat in another girl's room and held her (mini) skirts and t-shirts.  I love it and I don't think I'm going to bother to hide them.  I will however paint those key holes something other than silver. ;)

Since you can't really see them, there are three different types of knobs.  The majority look like keys in a key hole.  I left one turned the wrong direction, as if turned in the lock.  I just liked it. :)  The second to bottom drawer has it's own unique two knobs.  Which truthfully, is because I was two short of the key-ish ones.  I planned to put them on the bottom drawer, but ended up liking them right out of place second to the bottom.  I think they just match this quirky blue dresser full of sawdust and secrets.

(yeah, sorry, those are kind of terrible photos of them.  You'll just have to see them in person.)

Mom????!

Dad,  I chose my outfit today to match my ring. :)

Birthday present from Dad & Mom.

My "second ring" for my 25th, with one of the prettiest garnets I've ever seen.

Mumsy, next time you re-arrange the wood pile, I think you should try something like this. ;)

I learned today that laughter really is one of my greatest weapons.   Not nervous awkward laughter, but genuine commitment to laugh in the midst of your fears and trials, and to make others laugh with you.  I didn't realize until I looked back at a situation and wondered how I'd gotten through.  


And I'm thankful to my mom for that, and to her mom.


I hope that when I'm lost and going DOWN THE D>>> HILL, and my little ones are sitting in the backseat laughing at me, I'll laugh too.  I'll make a memory instead of a mess.  

(and now I am totally singing "Make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh...." which also makes me think of my mom... and our 5th Ave Christmas dates which she just so happened to take someone else on this year... don't worry Mumsy, I'm not really upset about that in the least!)

WHY is this funny to me?! I guess potatoes are just funny. They have a sneaky way of ending up in every meal at my house.   This past weekend, my mom made one of my favorite soups.   I have to admit, I was so excited when she woke me up from a nap to tell me "Minestrone Soup will be ready in 10 minutes."   I crawled out of bed with such a warmth of expectation in my heart.   And then, I found potatoes.

I asked, "Mom, did this have potatoes in it before?  [insert confused :/ face] THIS many potatoes?" She responded, "Oh no, I added them." She explained later that she'd run short on noodles and had added the potatoes in their place. I love noodles. I loathe potatoes. :(

Haters gonna hate. Potatoes gonna potate. I think for the first time in my life, I'd count myself in that first group. If it's hating or potating... I'd hate.

Double meaning to "return"?

(this last one especially made me laugh, for so  many reasons- very clever Mom.) 

I mentioned last week how I liked to play with the little baby critters (toy family, not real critters) as a child.  Well, those weren't the only little babies I liked to play with.  There was another, and he only came out once a year, and was set in his little bed on the side table in the living room each December. 

But though he came out once a year, we were the best of friends.  I loved him as long as I can remember.  And one year, I decided he didn't belong boxed away the other 11 months of the year.  So he and I, we made off together.  I can't exactly remember where he chose to go in the end.... but, it's better that way.

Baby Jesus doesn't belong in a manger anyways.  He was there, he did that once.  He's better off with me.  I've always loved Jesus.  Baby Jesus.  (7 lb 8 ounce baby Jesus.) Big Jesus.

So this, this is for you mom.

This is where Jesus has been, rather than stuck in a manger at our front door.  And while I know you've been calling the family and planning an intervention... I just think he's happier with me.  :)  Besides, he's so little and so cute, and he's a lot of fun to play with.  Jesus is in my heart, and in my coat pocket.  (The one here, at work, so don't go check all my coat pockets. It's no use.)

15. A Recipe: Mom's Honey Baked Chicken.  Picking just one recipe I'm grateful for?  That's terrible.  I hate "What's your favorite?" questions.  Truly.  Strong, strong dislike.  But, seeing as these questions aren't about favorites, they're about things I'm grateful for... I chose my mom's chicken.  It has always been a family favorite.  And it was the first recipe of hers I learned to make.  Come to think of it, it is a certain rights of passage in our home.  Katherine made it for her first time this past year.  Learning to bake mom's honey baked chicken is something simple, but special.  And it tastes amazing.  I chose it as the recipe I am grateful for, because it helped open up the culinary world to me.  And, because it's one of those meals that makes me feel at home.