change is good; transition is hard

Goodbye EatingWell—one era ends, a new era begins.

When midnight came and went on December 31 last year, Col and I were miraculously awake to toast in the New Year. That never happens. We didn't require much dialogue to know what the other one was thinking, and so with our eyes and with our hearts, we committed our resolve. "To 2015," I said, raising my glass. "The year of change."

I won't mince words. While 2014 was an incredible year in many ways, most notably welcoming little baby Angus into the world, it was also the most challenging year we've faced together in our marriage. I had returned to a very difficult work environment after my maternity leave. Col was also dealing with the high demands of his job. With two small children and both of us in stressful full-time jobs, we rarely found time for ourselves, let alone each other. It's not that we were arguing all the time. It wasn't like that. It was just that we barely saw each other. We barely knew each other. Our balancing teacup act was resting nervously on the tipping point, just waiting for that one innocent catalyst to smash it all to pieces. Something had to give.

The occasion for change came swiftly, ready or not. Within weeks, I was presented with a promising job opportunity that would allow me to revitalize my career and find passion in my work once again. There wasn't much to discuss—we had already decided change needed to happen. My head, my heart and my gut were all saying, emphatically, "Yes!" I accepted the job.

But that didn't make the change any easier. My colleague at the time said to me, "change is good, but transition is hard." After eight good years with a brand and a company I'd poured my heart and soul into, I had made the decision to up and leave without looking back. Even as I was so excited for a fresh start and to let go of my heavy baggage, saying goodbye to each of my colleagues was like going through a traumatic breakup over and over again. And at my new job, it took me weeks before I stopped really missing my old team, my old systems, my old routine and all of the things that were familiar to me.

In the end though, the change really has been good. At work, I feel challenged and inspired. I come home at night with the mental space to converse with my family. I'm laughing again. I'm meeting friends for drinks after work. I'm regaining my life back. But we're still in transition, finding our new rhythms. Some of the other issues I've resolved to change still need addressing.

And some change is out of our control. That kind of change is sad and it is difficult. But it is almost always good. Eventually. It just takes time.

What I'm realizing lately is that this is not the year of change so much as it is the year of transition. Maybe even years of transition. It will be difficult, it will be inspiring, amazing, scary and heart-wrenching. But when I think about December 31, 2015, I don't have a clear picture of where we'll be on this journey, what our lives will look like or what we will be toasting. The bigger surrounding picture is still fuzzy. And that is exciting to me. That we still have time to shape things for the better. That we don't have to be stuck in a rut or chronically unhappy or stressed. It's incredibly empowering to finally have that epiphany. Would that it had come sooner in life. But better late than not at all.

holding my breath

I'm staying home from work today. To rest. It wasn't the original plan. But suddenly I reached my due date and passed it. And all of the energy I'd been rounding up day after day—to get myself out of bed, get the girl fed and dressed and off to school, get to work on time and work a full day before coming home to make dinner, pass out on the couch and wake up to do the same the next day—suddenly, I couldn't quite scrounge up that energy anymore. It has completely dissipated.

And here I am lying on the couch, listless and lazy. It's a foreign feeling that I haven't known in some time. I know I should make the most of it and just BE, but at moments, there it is: the guilt. Of not being fully productive. Of not working. Of sending my girl to daycare, when I SHOULD be spending some of our last precious days, hours, as a family of three TOGETHER.

Agh.

The breathlessness comes and goes. The crampiness. The contractions day after day. Still no baby. I'm feeling impatient to get on with this next phase of life.

Where did this impatience come from? The routine of non-stop-ness? Is this the American family way? Or am I just turning into my father?

Instead of holding my breath, why can't I just breathe deeply and enjoy it?

The blissful moments when we are able to slow down are so seldom, they are SPECIAL. Last night, for example, I was tired after dinner, so I went to lay down on the couch. Mealy came to join me with a stack of books while Col cleaned the kitchen. We read together for what felt like hours (though it was probably 5 minutes) and it was lovely.

All of a sudden, she started looking around with concern and said, "I peed on Mummy."

"What?" I asked in confusion and jumped up from the sofa to discover a giant wet spot beneath us.

"Run to the loo," I exclaimed! "Run before you pee anymore!"

She ran to the loo and I ran to get some cleaner and was scrubbing up the pee before you could say, "itsy bitsy spider."

And just like that we were back to normal.

multi-tasking is not conducive to the creative process. Or is it?

It's a Friday morning and I'm at home. Not at work, not traveling. Just home. And our little babe is asleep in her crib for a loooonng nap. Kitty is asleep cuddled up next to me. I can't remember the last time I had two minutes to rub together for such a quiet, unadulterated moment. And of course, the minute I realize, "I have MEEE time" I think of a million ways to fill it. So I clean the living room, delete old files off my computer, organize some photos, pay some bills and then I remember that I've been wanting to write more, so I open up my computer AGAIN.

But then I remember I had wanted to check my work email (why, oh why do I do that on my days off?). So I got distracted by that for a while. Then, only then, did I shut everything else down and turn towards my writing.

I remember that when I used to write in my journal, I would spend some time thinking about my day and what I wanted to remember from it—or learn from it. William Wordsworth described this moment as he lay on the couch as a "vacant or pensive mood" in which to be inspired. And so it was, I would seize upon a particular word or image, and then I would just let it flow. That used to be easy for me.

But back then, I was never very good at doing laundry or cleaning house.

Now, when I have one hand holding baby, another feeding the cats, another on my phone checking messages, another hand waving to Col as he gets home from work (and of course that dang work e-mail), and still another hand stirring dinner on the stove and stacking baby bottles in the dishwasher, the concept of quiet introspection seems comical.

And still, the drive to write and to be thoughtful is there.

I will never not want to write. So, maybe for now, when I start to hear whimpers from the nursery and my dang phone is dinging again and the washing machine is buzzing. For now, perhaps my writing needs to be short and sweet and inspired by the very chaos life has become. Perhaps a structured haiku poem to harness that chaos a bit? Yes, a haiku! Hang on, what are the rules for haiku again?

Hang on, let me Google it. Hang on...

Oh yes, haiku is 17 syllables, 3 lines in 5-7-5 pattern. Often about nature. Okay here's my Friday morning meeee time haiku (inspired by one of the loves of my life cozy next to me):

Cat, I love you, purr
Despite bites, blood, ER, pills
I still love you, Cat.

back in the saddle, but it's a different animal

I've been back at work now for a month. We're all doing okay. It's just a different animal, what with the breast pumping, bottle washing, and child care pickups bookmarking and bookending my days. But just like everything else with a new baby, every day is easier—and harder—than the day before.

Easier, because you're constantly learning and improving and becoming more efficient. Harder, well, because you're raising a child and working full time and somewhere in between you have a relationship to nurture and a life to enjoy. So far, it feels that I'm doing everything, but nothing very well. Meanwhile, Meals has dealt with things like a true champ.

For both of us, it's a milestone week. She's turning 4 months on Thursday. And I turn 32 tomorrow. All of a sudden she's doing things like sucking her thumb, making growling noises at the nip, and rolling over from back to belly. She's growing! And for the first time, Mama feels older than her years. Where did all those wrinkles come from? It's bittersweet.

We had our usual Sunday night family dinner last night and it ended up being a surprise birthday party for me. Emi made her famous cupcakes and before I blew out the candles, Col snapped this photo of me and my girl. I absolutely love the expression on her face. What could be going on in that little mind of hers? I think our girl is going to be a thinker, for sure. And what was I thinking? Happy happy birthday.

sleep walking

When I was pregnant, it used to really bug me when people would say, "get as much sleep as you can now, cause when the baby comes, you won't get any..." To be honest, I was annoyed by a lot of things people said when I was pregnant. Thank the hormones. The sleep thing was especially aggravating. I think because deep down, I knew I could never be totally prepared for what was about to happen to our comfortable little lifestyle. (Can you really stock up on sleep points in advance? I don't think so.) But the people saying these things had already been through it. They had one up on me and I hate that. Yes I do. I like to know everything. I like to be right about everything. Ask my husband. It's probably one of my worst faults.

Now that I'm going through it, I sort of wonder what the big deal is with sleep. More to the point, I am amazed how your body adapts to the situation to get you through. There's this whole other dimension of living life out there that I never knew existed until now. I'm talking about sleep-walking. When you're tired all the time, you don't feel tired. Sometimes you feel mellow. Sometimes you feel racy. It's liberating. Exciting even!

Nap when baby naps? Heck no! When she's down, I thrive on bursts of energy that creep up from nowhere. It's making me more efficient. The house is cleaner now than it ever was pre-baby. I can carry on an entire conversation with my husband without remembering a bit of it. Now that's what I call conserving brain power! And the thing is when you do sit down and "wake up" as it were from your zombie dance, and realize that yes perhaps you've reached the end and you need a good old vacation on a tropical island away from everyone, your baby throws you a bone: maybe she decides to sleep for a whole 6 hours in a row that night so you can refuel (go, Amelia!). Or maybe she just gives you one of those heart-melting smiles that says, "it's okay mamma, we can just sit here for a while and do nothing. I'll stare at the ceiling and you can stare at me. And we'll just do nothing and be happy."

the sick

It started out as an innocent cough. So minor, it could've been mistaken for some spit-up down the wrong tube. But the cough didn't stop. Then she started feeling warm and would cry if I tried to put her down. I took her temp. Too hot. By midnight, cough and fever had progressed to congestion and trouble breathing. I was convinced she was going to die. We held that baby all night and didn't sleep a wink. Morning was a long time coming. But finally, the doctor's office opened and they told me to come down right away.

The nurse weighed her. "She's gained 2 ounces since her check-up on Monday!" She took her temp. (Of course, she didn't cry this time.) Normal.

I stammered, "uh, I just gave her Tylenol an hour ago. Maybe that's why her fever's gone..."

A quick exam by the doc and he concluded, "Yup, she's got a cold. Keep doing what you're doing. She'll be better in about a week."

A cold? I thought to myself. A cold??? Am I totally crazy? I almost brought her to the ER last night.

Silly me.

Silly me for lots of things. For thinking the cold was a deadly virus. For waking the doctor up at 1 in the morning because my baby had a stuffy nose. For being convinced I damaged her sinuses with the bulb syringe. But mostly for thinking that childbirth was my formal initiation into this thing we call "parenthood." There is a new initiation practically every day. And I'm feeling humbled by it.

Day 3 and still a little groggy

the working mom thing

The saying goes... "A lot has changed since I was your age." I realized this the other day as I was showing my mum how my breast pump worked. She just couldn't believe the high-tech contraption before her eyes. She exclaimed, "We didn't have those when I was nursing." Whether or not that's entirely true I can't say, but in any case, she raised three children without one and breast-fed us all. I asked her how she managed to do such a thing and she told me a story of one time when she was at a basket weaving class and my dad had to bring my sister down to the class because she was hungry and needed to be fed.

Have you ever heard of such a thing? Of course, my mother wasn't working at the time either.

In fact, I know a lot of people my age whose mums stayed at home when they were kids. I was chatting with my friend Nicci about this the other day. Growing up, neither of our families had a ton of money but we were happy and somehow our parents just made it work. Why can't we do that? Why does the stay-at-home mom thing seem so out of the question?

Well, for one, there's the money thing. Oh that. Yes, we'd have half the income if I quit my job to stay at home. But we wouldn't be destitute. We'd manage. We'd have to sell our house and move out of Burlington, yes. We'd have to change our lifestyle dramatically, but we could do it. If we really wanted to.

Thing is, after several long emotional discussions, neither Colin or I felt like it was the right thing to do. So we made the decision that I would take my maternity leave and then return to work after 12 weeks. We lined up childcare—we lucked out with a really great part-time nanny (my sister!) and an amazing daycare center for the rest of time. We felt good about it.

But all during my pregnancy I felt this guilt over the fact that I'd be returning to work after 3 months. I had these nostalgic visions about my own childhood at home with my mother and sisters. I look up to my mother for teaching me how to read and for inspiring me through art and nature. Will our children miss out if they have to go to daycare instead? Will they have the same amazing childhood experience as I did? Will they have the nature walks? The art sessions? Will they read their primers on a blanket on the front lawn with their picnic lunch?

Now that my maternity leave is more than half-way through, those doubts have been resurfacing lately. But then I read this great blog post by Momastery and was reminded that I will probably feel guilty no matter what I do, so I should stop wasting my time worrying about it. And yes, they will go on nature walks!

Beyond helping out a working mom, that breast pump represents a certain freedom. Maybe that's something my mother and other mothers back then always wished they had more of. I love nursing our baby girl. And that breast pump means that Colin can also enjoy (nearly) the same feeding-bonding experience, while I take a couple hours to myself to go get a hair cut or go to yoga or maybe even a basket weaving class.

Do they even have those nowadays?

I lie to my doctor & other confessions of a new mom

Yesterday, we had our one-month appointment with the pediatrician. It went great! We've got the code figured out. By now, I'm realizing that every time we see the doctor, they tend to ask the same standard questions to make sure we're following all the right rules, and I always provide the same proper answer to confirm that yes, we are good little rule followers. See here:

Q: How's your mood?
A: Great! Things are going great!

Q: Do you always put your baby to sleep on her back?
A: Yes.

Q: Where does your baby sleep?
A: We have a bassinet in our bedroom (notice we don't ever answer this one directly)

Q: Are you giving her vitamin D drops?
A: Yes.

Q: Did you have your car seat fitted by a professional?
A: Yes

etc.

I'm not usually the lying kind of person. My guilt gets the better of me. But yesterday, I realized that I'm lying (slightly) to my doctor, because I can. And because I want to. And I don't feel guilty about it. I feel empowered! Here's what the above conversation would look like if I answered the questions honestly:

Q: How's your mood?
A: Great! We have our ups and downs... I cried to my husband this morning, but things are going great!


Q: Do you always put your baby to sleep on her back?
A: Yes. Sometimes. She really likes sleeping on her side too. We like to sleep on our sides facing each other. This morning I woke up and she was asleep with her face planted between my boobs. I checked to make sure she was breathing ok and went back to sleep.

Q: Where does your baby sleep?
A: See above. We have a bassinet in our bedroom. She likes to lay in there while I take a shower, but doesn't sleep in it. Ever.

Q: Are you giving her vitamin D drops?
A: Yes, I've given them to her once or twice. Does she really need them? Can I just stick her face in the sun for a couple of minutes?

Q: Did you have your car seat fitted by a professional?
A: Yes, my brother in law. He's a pro at that kind of stuff.

There, I've confessed. Can you imagine the wonderful conversation that might ensue with my doc if I really spoke my heart?

papa papaya

Colin is working from home today, which meant we both lingered in bed a little longer this morning. He was happy to hold Amelia, while I went into the kitchen to make us coffee and breakfast. I've been ripening a papaya on the counter all week and it finally looked ready (which means it looked and smelled rotten on the outside!).

I look forward to simple kitchen rituals, which I'm quickly learning are few and far between with a newborn on my hands. I relished cutting into the stinky fruit to reveal the honey-tasting orange flesh inside. Perfect! I scooped out the black jelly seeds from the center, peeled off the mottled yellow skin,  cut up the insides into irregular little squares and tossed them into a pretty bowl. Usually I squeeze lime juice on it to bring out the flavors, but we had none in the fridge, so I used lemon juice instead. It still tasted wonderful.

Papayas always remind me of Papa Roger, my grandfather. He was master of knowing exactly how long to ripen them on the counter. Papaya prepared by Papa Roger always tasted good. Come to think of it, he was master of cantaloups too. And avocados.

I don't often buy papayas, but have started the custom of having a ripe papaya on the counter for Christmas breakfast. Just because we're with family and it's nice to honor passed loved ones when we're all together.

This year, I bought the papaya the day before I went into labor with Amelia. One week later the fruit was perfecty ripe. When we cut it up for our Christmas fruit salad, I thought to myself, that papaya has been in this house longer than our baby!

Like I said, I look forward these simple kitchen rituals. It's not really about the papaya, is it? It's about cutting into a piece of fruit, which inspires me to write these words, inspires me to remember my grandfather, inspires me to note a moment in time when our new baby was just one week old—about how long it takes for a just-okay supermarket papaya to ripen into a wonderful little morning treat with my coffee, while Papa gets his quiet time with our little daughter.

a pregnant pause

Where have I been the last 9 months? I've been pregnant. And something about the experience has caused me to direct my focus inward, rather than to externalize. I haven't been drawn to my writing for some time now. But I know that my writing is a part of me and as I near the end of my pregnancy, I feel the pull to my keyboard once again. Perhaps it's the knowledge that this little rumbling, tumbling meatloaf inside me will not be my own anymore as it leaves its world of one (me) and comes outside for the first time.

When that happens, I hope that I will want to write even more. For now, I am writing to use up time. Isn't that terrible? I never have enough time, it seems, and now that I've stopped working, and have all the time in the world to myself, I wish I didn't have soooo much free time.

Anywho, all the veterans say to make the most of these quiet, restful days alone before the baby comes. So I'm doing my best. I will go to as many yoga classes as I can. I will get a massage. I will get my toes done. I will bake cookies.

I most certainly will not vacuum or mop or clean the tub. Well, maybe I'll clean the tub. We'll see...

Since I haven't been posting, I thought I'd do some highlights over the next few days if it's still just me and the couch. Last month, Col and I took a trip to East Hampton, New York to surprise my friend Brooksie at her baby shower. We called it our "baby moon—the last hurrah—and got a nice room at an inn in town. We visited the beach and just enjoyed ourselves. Col convinced me to dip my feet in the water (in November!). It actually wasn't that cold when it was just my feet, but then all of a sudden, a big swell came in and soaked me up to my knees. Kind of exhilarating actually (thank goodness we weren't too far from the car).

July, she will fly

It's a chilly rainy day—one of the first we've had since spring. On my drive home from work tonight, I passed a maple tree that was half orange already. An early changer, but could it be that fall is so close when I haven't even posted my pictures from berry picking from July 4th weekend?

Every year right about this time of year I am reminded of that old Simon and Garfunkel song that I love so much April, Come She Will, a love song to fleeting Time. This year Time seems more fleeting than ever. But I am cherishing these days.

So, yes, we did go berry picking in July. We picked strawberries and I made jam. We picked blueberries, which I froze. We celebrated birthdays, spent time with family. We did our annual picnic & concert on the Green at Shelburne Museum. It was a full, wonderful month.

my best friend

In a couple of weeks, Col and I will be celebrating our 6 year anniversary since we first started dating. Sometimes I feel like it's been twice that long. But honestly the whole trip has been a real breeze. That's because my boy makes it so easy. Even if I TRY to pick a fight with him sometimes (now, why on earth would I do that??) he always knows how to talk me down off the ledge. He's so patient with me. He makes me laugh. He inspires me to step out of my comfort zone—and that keeps life exciting!

Col has taught me so many things. And not just how to be a better person. He taught me how to snowboard so that we could spend our weekends together in the winter and now I'm good and I love it and I can't wait to go again.

He has tried to teach me things that I didn't end up loving. For example, he tried to teach me how to surf once on Nantucket, but I had a panic attack while I was on my board thinking about sharks and drowning that I had to go in. But at least with surfing, we can still be together. I can sit on the beach and watch him on the water and say to myself, "That's my boy. He loves life so much. And that makes me love him even more."

after a long silence

You've probably wondered where I've been. For forty days, I've been silent on my little online journal. It's not for lack of things to say. On the contrary. But sometimes, when happenings are so large and intense that they overwhelm the senses, it takes a good dose of thoughtful reflection to absorb and appreciate them. And then to be able to describe them.

I've always been moved by Wordsworth's poem I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud. In it he describes walking into a vast, neverending field of dancing daffodils. At the time, he gazes at the beauty, but it isn't until much later, in quiet reflection, that he comes to truly appreciate all of the richness that experience brought him. And it isn't until that point of quiet reflection and realization that he is moved to write about it.

I feel like I haven't given myself that time to reflect. And thus, no reason to write about it.

But this week, I am not going to work. I am not putting any pressures on myself. And I am taking time to be by myself and to reflect. We should all be so lucky to do this every once it a while. I am counting my blessings!

running in the rain

For many people, I think inclement weather is considered good reason enough to put off a workout. Not me though. I don't even need that excuse. For me, a mere "I'm tired," is enough to keep me from putting on my running shoes.

But the rain, I could run in the rain all day. I love the cool, wet on my face. The sound of puddles splashing as I pass by. The verdant landscape all around me that seems to pop with a bright spring green in big contrast to the gray skies above.

I think this rain-running love started way back when I was training on the ski and cross-country teams in school. When you're training, you don't just not run because it's raining. Your coach will see to that. So you learn to enjoy it.

But like I said before, it's not bad weather that holds me back. It's my excuses and lack of motivation. Without a coach around to hold me accountable, I'm realizing that I need a support system to keep me going when "I'm too tired" seems to roll off the tongue so easily these days. So the other day, my sisters and I decided to be each others' support systems.

But today, on the first day of the new motivated me, I texted them to see if they wanted to go running with me after work. Turned out neither of them could make it. I was feeling sorry for myself. For a little bit. But the thing about a support system is this: when all else fails you need to be able to support yourself.

So tonight I left work with all intentions to go running. I got home, fed the cats. I was hungry, so I had a snack. I could feel the urge to run waning with every minute I stalled. So I bargained with myself: "just go for a walk and if you feel like running, you can." That was enough to get me out the front door. But as soon as I got outside it started raining. A good, solid, steady rain. "I can't walk in this," I thought to myself. So I started running. I ran the whole way and got home drenched and hot and chilly all at the same time. But it felt so good. And I was so proud of myself for just doing it. All by myself. So I wanted to celebrate this little moment somehow. So here it is: I went running. Yay!

I'm different than I was

I realize that I've changed. I'm different now than I was 10 years ago, 5 years ago, even 1 year ago. Some of the change is represented by tangible things. Things I can measure and say, "Well 10 years ago, I would have done X, but now I do Y." These have to do with the way I spend money, the way I spend time, the things I yearn for, the way I prioritize my social life. Stuff like that.

But there are other ways I've changed that I can't quite put my finger on. There's a deep pit in my belly that tells me, "things are different now" and "I'm different now."

And then every once in a while, the pit deep in my belly will say to me, "I think you're in the middle of changing RIGHT NOW," and I'll feel butterflies down there in the pit and I'll feel sad and nostalgic for a bit. And then I'll feel excited, because whenever things change, after the sadness, there is newness.

relishing winter

I'm back from my little sojourn of the mind. January was mostly spent, if not burning retinas behind a computer screen at work, then burning brain cells in front of Seinfeld. I have no guilt. I put so much pressure on myself all of the time, I made a conscious decision not to do so after the holidays.

Lately on weekends, I've been, not vacuuming or grocery shopping or doing other mundane chores. I've been at the mountain snowboarding with Col, with friends. Having fun, enjoying winter, enjoying life.

Ah January. This time last year, we were resting our weary bods under a Kauaian sun. Now... we relish the fresh snow.

memory tree

I think one of the main reasons why Colin and I get so excited about our Christmas tree every year is because we are both very nostalgic people. Moreover, when you get engaged and then married around the holidays, there are more things to remember and be nostalgic about. So it goes, we're now into the third year of going to Paine's to cut our tree after a day of snowboarding. It's now an established tradition in our household the weekend after Thanksgiving. So we went last weekend—we were still in our snowboarding clothes. We did our traditional hike to the furthest most corner of the farm. We did our traditional hum and hawing, back and forth, inspecting shapes and branches, measuring heights. Finally, we found our beauty and got to work.

At Paine's, they have a tractor circling the property so that when you've got your tree, they help you haul it back. The tractor came just as we found our tree. An older man and a young boy dismounted and seeing the size of our girl offered to go get the chainsaw.

"No thank you, it's kind of a must we do it by hand," we explained. "It's a tradition." And then we told them the story about how we got engaged there at the farm two years prior. Both the man and the boy were those kind of old time Vermonters, stoic and reserved. Outwardly, they didn't seem to be very moved by our lovey, dovey story, or so it seemed anyways. But they were very helpful with the tree and we (er, Colin) sawed it down in record time.

The boy and his father drove us back to the lot. As we were  dismounting the wagon, the man came up to us and dug around in his pocket. He pulled out a small ornament and handed it to us. It was a metal casting of a car with a tree on the roof rack. It was engraved with: Paine's Christmas Trees 2010.

He had few words, but they said a lot, "Because of your special story," he said.

We had got our garland and paid and were heading to the car when he found us again. "We had just one left," he said handing us another ornament. This time it was a metal star etched with a Christmas tree in the middle and the words: Paine's Christmas Trees 2008. The year we got engaged there.

We were so touched and full of gratitude. I think I even blushed. We thanked him warmly, got in the car and drove home with happy hearts.

I will remember that story every year when we hang those ornaments. Just as I will remember our trip to Paris when I hang the Eiffel Tower man, or our honeymoon when I hang the green and yellow pineapple, our wedding when we hang the paper cranes, or Austria when we hang the wooden star.

Later, that night at home when we were trimming the tree, every ornament that we pulled from the box brought back a certain memory, a wonderful memory. We would reminisce a bit, then pull another ornament from the treasure chest.

"It's like a memory tree," Colin declared. He positioned his traditional hand-made star on the tippy top and we stood back and admired our girl. She's may not be as tall as last year's or quite as special as our love tree from 2008, but she is a beauty and we love her.

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who's afraid? not me

This week is the week of overcoming fears. Why now? It just so happens I have the opportunity to go outside of my comfort zone. So I am going to break my routines and try some new things. Some big, some not so big. This is going to be life-changing, whatever the outcome. Anyways, I started small today with a couple of things...


Fear #1: Car Repair
Status: Conquered squarely
Okay, so I know that my engineer grandfather is going to roll over in his grave when I admit this, but I have this strange fear of fixing anything on my car myself. It took me years to even feel comfortable pumping gas. I think it stems from the fear of doing something wrong and causing the whole thing to blow up. Any-who, speaking of blowing things up, I have never even blown up the tires myself. Until today, I didn't even know how to figure out what pressure they were supposed to be. But one of my tires was low and Colin is out of town. So I thought to myself, "You know, this is one thing I can probably do."

I looked in my car manual to find out the pressure. It told me to look inside the gas flap. And, tad-dah! There it was. There were two sets of numbers, 1 for front, 1 for back, 1 for heavy load, 1 for light load. Well, the first one was easy: Front! The second one I just picked one: that part caused my heart to beat a bit faster. But not nearly as fast as when I drove to the gas station, turned on the air pump and tried attaching the dang thing to the tire. (Again, I was picturing explosions left and right.) But finally I got it to work. I even figured out how to use the pressure gauge. And I did it! Done! Cross that one off my list.

Fear #2: Home Repair
Status: Still out to jury
Again, I think this one stems from the fear of doing something wrong and causing the whole house to fall down. But is a crack in the tub really that scary? Only if I do nothing about it and it starts to leak and cause the entire floor below it to rot. So I went to the hardware store and got a tub epoxy repair kit. Ok, the "epoxy" part sounds scary, but I'm planning to do it tomorrow night. Fingers crossed.


Fear #3: Traveling alone in a foreign country where I don't speak the language
Status: It's all happening
Let's get one thing straight: I am proud to say I've done quite a bit of foreign travel by myself. But it's always been to a country where I spoke the language. If not, I've always been with someone who does. Well, I'm going to have to just get a little brazen and assert my English, because soon I'll be going to Austria for a few days. And while I will be meeting my lovely husband on the other end, I first have to arrive in Munich, Germany, find the shuttle that goes for 2 hours to some tiny village in the Alps, make sure they have my reservation and get on the dang thing. Then I have to find my husband in that tiny village. But that seems like the easy part somehow.

Fear #4: Wild card
Status: Still to be determined
While I'm in Austria, I want to do at least one, maybe two things that really make my heart beat. What will they be?

gtg, always and forever

Let me tell you a little bit about my husband. He's in a gang. That's right: the Good Times Gang. He and his close group of friends have been in this gang together since they were practically tweenagers. GTG is about good times, all the time. It's about laughter, friendship and silliness. The guys are prolific in their silliness. They make movies together. They don crazy awkward costumes. They make tee-shirts. Some of the guys even started a band, Enormous Fun, to further the GTG cause (even though most of the songs in their repertoire are pretty depressing).

As a GTG girlfriend, and now wife, I've seen the GTG boys and wives live through a lot over the last few years. Through new jobs, new cities, weddings, children... there's been messy stuff too, but I won't go into that. This is, afterall, about Good Times.

Last weekend, the last of the GTG boys to get hitched, Spence, got married to an amazing gal, Court. We all went down to Newport, Rhode Island for the weekend to celebrate. It was as off-the-hook as we all anticipated. Not just because it was a gorgeous wedding with a gorgeous bride, or because the food was fantabulous and the dancing was insane. And the guests were so fun. It was all of those things. But it was also a GTG reunion. And when those boys get together, crazy things happen: Chewbacca might show up on the dance floor, a cardboard box and a guy in a 70s leisure suit may give a speech. 5 Fly Crew might show up and break dance at the reception. Your husband might do the worm. Or walk on his hands. Yes, it all happened.

Everyone's hearts were so full of happiness.

There are some people who might be intimidated or annoyed by their husband's friends. Not me. I hope GTG stays together forever, because they're keeping us all young (and goodness knows I am prone to turning into an old fart if I'm not careful). They may grow older, but they'll never grow up. And that's fine by me. Love you guys (and wives!).

how to: get your husband to cook you dinner

When it's Monday night and you're both feeling blah and you don't want to even lift a finger, you say to him, "Hey, do you want to make pizza for dinner tonight? I'll get the dough out of the freezer... We can even make it with BBQ sauce if you want."

That's it. It's as easy as that. Then he'll say, "Yeah!" and proceed to start shredding cheese, chopping veggies and rolling out the dough before you've even had a chance to say the next part, which is key: "Should we eat in front of the T.V. tonight? And should we watch a movie?"

He'll be so excited about that and about all of the amazing toppings he's going to put on his half of the pie—blue cheese, celery, Frank's Red Hot... (oh, yes he did!)—that he won't even notice you've moved out of the kitchen and sidled up to the counter to watch him work his knife skills like the pro you always knew he was.

He may even want to pour your drink and set out the place mats on the coffee table and maybe even rub your feet. And give you the remote control.

Don't push your luck with that one though. You gotta keep the magic going. Pick a feel-good classic that you'll both like. Something like Pee-wee's Big Adventure should do the trick.