Today I’m thankful to live in a place where my vote counts.

Did you know that 100 year ago, women in the US weren’t allowed to vote? We weren’t granted the right to have our voices heard until 1920. That is mind boggling to me.

And thankfully, that is something that is even more mind boggling to Scorch and Bean. They simply can’t fathom a world where a woman doesn’t have equal say in what’s happening in her world. I know a lot of people say that our votes don’t really counts or matter- that’s a debate for another time. What I *do* know is that voting is my right and my responsibility and because of that, I’ll do my best to an educated, involved voter.

Most poling places are open until 9 here in NY- there is still plenty of time to make sure your voice is heard on important local matters!

The Bad: The Hubs had to work all weekend long.
The Good: The kids didn’t have school on Friday, so I used that plus the Hubs working as an excuse to get the kids out of town to go visit my sister and her family down in VA!

The Good: The kids were amazing on the 7 hour drive and we had a fantastic weekend hanging out with my sister, her husband, and their two kids. We did some fun fall things, my sister and I got to have a night out and do some shopping thanks to my brother-in-law and I got to sleep in til 9 every morning since my sister was already up with her kids and really, the kids don’t need 3 adults watching them.
The Bad: My sister’s whole family was either getting over a cold or in the midst of one. Guess who caught that cold and is now feeling like death warmed over, with a side of Rudoph-nose? That’d be me.

The Good: We had our first hard frost today. They only really good thing about it is that it’s gorgeous.
The Bad: It’s also slippery as hell- something I forgot when I went out to warm up our cars. I slipped on our top step and fell 3 steps down.
The Ugly: You guys, the bruises. My right arm from my wrist to my elbow is one big bruise. I won’t even tell you about my behind because I’m a lady. Just know, it ain’t pretty.
The Bad: I may have yelled Mother F’er when I fell and Scorch may have been within hearing distance. I’m a lady, I tell you.

The Good: Scorch is more or less loving school. There are a few issues, but for the most part, he’s a happy kid.
The Bad: O.M.G – he’s had a project due every week for the past 3 weeks. A book report two weeks ago, a map of NY State with 5 land masses, two great lakes, the finger lakes, our city, the state capital and a few other things all labeled on it last week. And this week, a project about a saint- including a costume and a written report. Now, thankfully he’s old enough that this is 85% HIS work- but enough. The regular homework isn’t slowing down to accommodate this and I’m so damn tired. I should not have this much glitter and glue in my house ever.

The Good: Nyquil, soft tissues and the ability to work from home in comfy clothes while medicated.
The Bad: I really don’t have time for this nonsense. Still, so worth it to see my fam.

Well, it’s been a while, huh? I’m very happy to report that the Fall hasn’t killed us yet. After the rather bumpy start, things have leveled off very nicely.

Both kids are loving school, Scorch finished Fall baseball and we had two whole weeks where we only had one thing to do each week after school. It was bliss. That blissful time is now over as basketball, flag football and ice skating are all starting, but that’s OK. We’re in a groove, we’ve got this (I think) (I hope).

Scorch is learning that 4th grade homework is no joke (hello, 3 subjects a night). Thankfully he’s understanding his work, but it takes time and he’s had some tearful nights as he’s realized that not going to Homework Room during after-school care means a lot less time playing at home. Those are fun nights for everyone. Who doesn’t love having a side of tears with their dinner, right? So he’s 95% awesome, 5% snotty-tear stained mess.

And the Bean- she’s just killing it in 2nd grade and it makes my heart so happy. 1st grade was not a great school year for her, so I was honestly dreading going back to school this year. But she is blowing me away with her maturity. Last year, we were lucky if she literally said 5 words to her teacher. This year she’s raising her hand, talking in class, happily doing her work. Watching your kid thrive has to be the best feeling the world.

As for me, I’m just soaking up as much Vitamin D outside as humanly possible enjoying this gorgeous season. NY winters may suck, but man oh man….the Fall is gorgeous.

“I don’t want to wear shorts to school, my legs look fat and ugly.”

“I’m not going to finish my sandwich, I don’t want to get fat.”

~*~*~*~

There are a ton of things about parenting my kids that scare me half to death. If it’s possible to worry about it, then I will. But few things strike honest-to-God fear in my heart – most worries I can dismiss as unlikely to very unlikely and not those fears keep me up at night.

But the thought of my either of my kids developing an eating disorders?

That fear paralyzes me.

I remember when Scorch was little – around 5- he didn’t want to wear a big puffy jacket because it made him look fat. Bean didn’t want to wear anything that showed her legs when school started this year because they looked “fat and ugly.” Scorch joked today about not wanting to finish in lunch because he doesn’t want to get fat.

Statements like that make me panic.

The Hubs and I work out daily (well…5-6 days a week). We try to make healthy food choices, but we don’t deny ourselves much (hence, the working out). We talk about being healthy and strong and the words “diet” and “fat” don’t ever, ever cross our mouths. We don’t body shame anyone and, even when it’s just the two of us, never remark on people’s physical health. We talk to the kids about how we look how God wants us to and how it’s up to us to keep our bodies strong and healthy. I have a belly (thanks PCOS!) and the kids notice that and ask why. So we talk about how my body performed miracles and kept them safe for 9 months and now, this is how it is and how grateful I am that I can run, lift weights and hike with them.

Yet, they still make comments about being fat or their physical appearance.

When they do I want to shake them silly. They are both tiny, skinny kids without a spare ounce on them. Do I tell them that? Do I tell him how awesome their bodies are? Do we list all the great things their bodies can do no matter what they think they look like?  I do all of those things while shrieking on the inside, wondering why in the hell my 9 and 7 year old are thinking like this.

I don’t know who to blame- kids at school? TV? radio? friends? Do I need to call a therapist? Will saying all the right things sink in? Do I need to model better behavior? I really don’t have a clue.

So today, I sit here and I fret. I worry and I wrestle with my thoughts and pray that is one worry that never turns into reality.

The kiddos started school on Tuesday and we spent all weekend sucking up every ray of sunshine and free time that we could. We went to the pool, kayaked on the lake, had sleepovers and celebrated with both friends and family. In short, it was an amazing weekend. The transition back to school went as smoothly as possible (4th and 2nd grade- how is that possible?!) and the kids are as happy as they can be when back in the classroom. I spent the first day of school catching up with friends and telling everyone how awesome our summer was.

I should have known I’d get smacked down sooner or later.

Yesterday I went to work and started to feel sick as the day went on. Achy and miserable, I finally left the office at 3:30 to grab the kids and come home. My goal was to get the kids from school, come home, take some medicine, whip up some meatballs (super easy- let me know if you want the recipe), boil some pasta, get the Hubs and Scorch to baseball practice and let the Bean drown herself in Netflix while I went to bed. If I played all my cards right, I would be in bed by 5:45.

Instead, I got home and asked Scorch to let the dog out. When doing so, he noticed that our umbrella hooked up to our patio table was tipped over from some wild winds we had earlier in the day. When I went to right the umbrella, the whole glass table top shattered around me. The kids came running outside – with me screeching at them to STOP – to see what happened. After taking in the carnage, the Bean noticed that my wrist was bleeding. In my shock, I didn’t realize the glass cut my wrist, side of my other hand and the top of my feet. They kept asking me if I was Ok, and I kept telling them I didn’t know. I was still holding the damn umbrella with glass everywhere, so I was too concerned about getting the umbrella moved and ensuring no one stepped in glass to pay too much attention to what was happening with me.

Bean started to cry and Scorch kept asking me over and over and over if I had to go to the hospital. I finally got the umbrella down safely and ran to the sink to wash the blood away, with the kids at my feet. Thankfully the cut wasn’t nearly as bad as it seemed, so I slapped a band-aid on it and went out to see how the hell the clean up the half shattered table.

Not this years table. This was the table that shattered two years ago in a wind storm. This year, imagine the table upright with half the glass on the ground and half the glass in the table.

I’ll spare you the details, but an hour later, our trusty shop vac did its job and the deck was clear of any pieces of glass. I honestly debated waiting and letting the Hubs handle it, but I couldn’t do it. It would have made me crazy. Lucky man arrived home just as I was bagging up the last of the glass.

Poor Scorch had two bowls of cereal for dinner but we did mange to get him off to practice on time. With the boys gone, I made Beaner dinner and laid on the couch while she took her bath. Finally, I thought- I’d get her out, give her the tablet and let her watch Netflix while I went to bed. Imagine how pleased I was when I discovered that the wind knocked out out TV, phone and internet too.  She and I ended up having a lovely evening, but no one got to bed before 9, I still feel like death warmed over and we’re in the market for a new patio table again for the second time in two years. Preferably one that isn’t glass topped.

Next time anyone hears me rhapsodizing about how great our summer was, slap me.

Dear September,

Well, you’re finally here. I wish I could tell you that I am happy to see you, but really- I’m not. It’s not you, I swear. In my neck of the woods you’re absolutely gorgeous, full of warm days, cool nights, slowly changing leaves and misty mornings.

It’s more that when you arrive, summer is over. And we have had an *amazing* summer.  We went to NC for a week and we did some camping. I didn’t even write about our trip to New Jersey, but that was another picture perfect vacation filled with family, the beach, the boardwalk and lots and lots of ice cream. We rode the waves and the rides. We went to bed late and slept in and just relaxed. It was lovely!

When we were home, the summer was full of baseball and swimming pools and friends. The kids went to camp almost every day and came home coated in sunscreen, sweat and, more often than not, glitter from various projects.  We threw schedules out the window and played family baseball games in the yard long past bed time. The Bean had her very first sleepover and Scorch got to spend time with his very best friends. We even got to hang out with a baby tortoise.

And if that wasn’t enough, we decided to take a last minute trip up to Niagara Falls this past weekend. 9 and 7 are just about the perfect travel ages and this trip was amazing from start to finish. No one cried, not one fought, we all slept well in the hotel AND we got to see extended family. And the Falls? They were Mother Nature in all her glory.

So you see, September, I’m just not ready to let all this go yet. I’m not ready for the stress of a new school year, for colder weather or for schedules and early mornings. I love that my kids smell like sunshine and chlorine and that they have all the time in the world to hunt for racoon prints in the dry creek bed. I know 4th and 2nd grade are going to be amazing and that soon enough we’ll be in a good routine but for right now, I’m going to sit here and be so thankful that we had a summer amazing enough to mourn.

Thirty-seven? How is that even possible? Am I the only one who gets taken by surprise every time they look in the mirror, expecting to see their 17 year old self to be looking back? 17 year old me didn’t have these under-eye circles and the random gray hairs though…

36 was a wonderful year. I made a vow that I would do things that scare me last year and I did. I did it in small ways by using my voice more and speaking up even when it would have been easier to go with the flow. I did it a large way by taking a part time job that took me out of my comfort zone and put some constraints on mine and the Hubs schedule, but has ended up being amazing. The Hubs and I did it while making some decisions for our family on some big topics like having more kids (no) and moving (one day).

I also held some reptiles, including Boo.

It’s an anaconda, nbd.

So, I’m now 37. Outside of being slightly boggled by this fact, I plan on enjoying the hell out of this year. My goal this year is to find my balance. This past year, while awesome, veered more towards the crazy than I would have liked. Things like date nights and work outs took a back seat to kid’s practices and work which is not good for a million different reason and I’m old enough to know better. So here’s to saying a no a bit more and being mindful of what’s really important. Here’s to family and friends and more love than any one person can handle.

Here’s to 37.

Oh my Bean, how can you be 7? When I look at you, 95% of the time I still see my baby. The other 5%? That’s when I see the hints of the girl you’re turning into. You’re coltish with these legs that don’t end and these long, spindly arms. You have this weird physical presence that makes you seem big when you’re really a wisp of a thing. If you weigh 45 pounds, I’ll be shocked.

You, my darling, a contradiction and a mystery to me. At home, you are loud and brash and opinionated. You rule with an iron fist and are quick, witty and so freaking fun. But away from home, you embarrass easy and are as quiet as a mouse. People tell me how sweet and shy and reserved you are and I laugh and laugh and laugh. If only they knew, baby girl.

Because you’re such a contradiction, I worry I’ll break you. You and I lock horns and neither one of us lets go and that scares me so much. I don’t want to break you – you are a glorious creature. I just don’t want to be broken by you either. It’s a fine line we’re going to walk and I hope I manage it with grace and with my sanity intact when it’s over. Because as astounding and amazing as you are now, you’re going to be 100x more so as you grow. It’s my privilege to get to witness that.

So as you blow out your candles for this, your seventh birthday, this is what I wish for you this year:
> I wish you to keep your amazing sense of self. You know your mind, child, and you have since the moment of your birth. That’s a rare gift- don’t lose it.
> I wish that you learn how to bend a little. I don’t want what makes you, you to be broken, but learning to bend a bit will serve you in the long run.
> I wish that everyone can see what an amazing, funny, sweet, quick witted, whip smart kid you are. I hope you learn to be your true self around more people because those people will be so lucky when you do.
> I wish you the gift of friendship. Watching little girls navigate friendship is a very cool thing and I hope I’ve given you the role models you need to find your tribe as you grow.
> I wish you the knowledge that you’re secure in our love. Always. Forever. There is nothing you can do that would make us not love you. We may be mean and we may get mad- but we still love you through it all.
> I wish that you can see how amazing you are. I hope you always know that your awesome even when you’re in 7th grade (which is, IMO, the worst time in any person’s life) and you hate your hair and your parents and your clothes and life is just a mess- I hope you still hold that kernel of truth that tells you that you don’t have to change who you are for anyone. Because you’re the best.

Happiest of birthdays, my sweet girl. You are my sunshine and I’m so very lucky to be your mom.

All my love,
Mom

They say that all women marry their fathers. Literally doing that would be creepy as hell, but marrying a man like my father was one of the best decisions I ever made. Growing up, my father did his damnedest to balance his work as a cop with his family. This meant working odd shifts to make sure he could attend our events, picking up sports just because we played them and making sure he was always around for us. My Dad continues to be one of our biggest supporters, strongest allies and clearest voices of reasons (whether you want to hear him or not).  We are all so lucky to have him in our lives.

The Hubs, bless him, is just as an amazing father (thanks to his father!). I married a cop with a life just as crazy as my father’s and the Hub’s is doing the same amazing balancing act that I grew up with. He coaches our kids, takes them to school every day he can and tries his hardest to be around every night to tuck them into bed. He picks up where I fail, talks me off the edge and makes me laugh every day. My kids are lucky to have him and so am I.

This is a terrible picture, I’ll own that. It’s was taken from my window looking down at the Hubs, Scorch and my father grilling this past Mother’s Day. But it makes my heart happy knowing that my little boy will one day grow up to be an amazing father thanks to the incredible men in his life.

Dear Beaners-

Last night was a NIGHT. You had a fantastic day at school and then it was off to the dentist. You are so scared of the dentist, but you were a rock star. I could tell how nervous you were, but there were no tears and you got through it. It was so proud of you and, as a reward, we decided to stop for ice cream. And that is where the wheels fell off.

You were already pissy that we were going to get our haircut instead of going home. Then the ice cream you wanted had hot fudge on it. That hot fudge caused your ice cream to melt faster then you could eat it, so your bowl overflowed. I was already on edge from a stressful weekend and you and your brother squabbling in the car and I didn’t react to the huge mess of ice cream on your lap and the car seat as well as I should have. I snapped at you and you, my sweets, snapped right back.

And that was that. I was standing in the parking lot yelling at you, my 6 year old over, melted ice cream and you were screaming right back, rejecting all my attempts to help. We were a literal and metaphorical mess.

Bean- I hate nights like that. Even though the night ended on a good note, I still am sitting here feeling like a jerk. I’m the adult, I’m the parent- I’m supposed to know how to act appropriately.

Except, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes you push every single button I have at the same time and my head explodes.  And sometimes I push your buttons and your head explodes. And this scares me to no end because you’re six. We are lucky enough to still have at least 12 more years under the same roof and I can’t wait to watch you grow. Truly. You are an amazing kid, and you’re going to be an equally amazing teenager and adult. You have the brains and ability to rule the world and I love watching you.

But, girlfriend, you and I both need to learn grace with each other. I am the adult so I’ll take on the lion’s share of the work for now, but you’re not off the hook. We both need to learn to take a deep breath and walk away sometimes. We both need to learn how to talk to each other with clearer, kinder words. Your father and I are doing our best to give you these tools and words and skills so you can tell us what you really mean when you tell us your shoes is too loose, then too tight, then too loose again and then end with an ugh I hate my life! and a slammed door.

I adore you more than chocolate milk. You are my favorite six year old in the world and I can’t imagine how boring life would be without you in it. Know that when I’m angry or when you’re angry or when we’re both angry, that I love you. Nothing will change that no matter how many stupid fights we have. You will always be my favorite daughter.

But sometimes, bedtime is my favorite part of the day.

Love,
Mom