Vast, Like the Trees

After making our descent over the orderly grid blocks of Minneapolis containing houses and trees with changing leaves, we touched down on the MSP Airport tarmac.

Our suitcases were packed with a contrasting mix of dress clothes- black, for my Grandma’s funeral, and white flower girl dresses for my brother and sister-in-law’s wedding.

I was anxious about this trip: the last time we flew into Minneapolis was disastrous- Alice puking on the flight and dry heaving in the rental car, which prompted Avery to faint, and then sympathy puke.

But as we pulled out of the rental car lot, I exhaled. The trip had gone without a hitch.

The first thing I always notice when driving out of the rental car lots in Minnesota is the trees. They are tall and wide, expanding, the antithesis of the skinny palm trees that linger awkwardly, mop heads blowing in the wind. The oak and maple trees are wild and audacious– a stark contrast to the manicured trees of Florida, who are hesitant to grow just an inch outside of their preconceived outline. And I like that a lot. The trees of Minnesota have a lot to teach.

My Grandma passed away over a year ago, yet with the timing of COVID, we were unable to have a funeral. I was beyond the waves of tearful grief hitting at unexpected times, I could talk about her without crying, and it seemed as if grief had run its course.

Her zebra print swimsuit is framed in the bathroom that leads out to our pool. Her blue flowered china is neatly stacked in my cabinets. I have voicemails from her saved, asking if I could please, for the love of all things holy, deposit the check she gave me 3 years ago so she could balance her checkbook. She is no longer here- but she is remembered daily.

It seemed odd, gathering so late after her death, to mourn something that had ripped our hearts apart long ago. The wounds had scarred over and it seemed as if there was nothing left to heal.

But as the pastor delivered the sermon at her memorial, grief washed over me again- filling my chest and eyes with the heavy, crushing feeling.

I tried to hold back the tears, but they still found a way to slip out. And in case you haven’t tried it yet, crying in a mask is messy business.

When it came time to bury her ashes, I had a chance to hold the urn containing the grains that made up who she was. It was odd- holding every ounce of the feisty, vivacious person I knew, now a silent mound of dust.

But there was an indescribable peacefulness.

As we stood in a half circle around her urn, with the pastor uttering the final blessings, a warm wind that was powerful yet gentle wrapped around us. And I knew, that she was there.

I remembered a long run I had gone on soon after she had passed. I could feel her presence deeply, and had talked to her as the miles ticked by. “Hi, G,” I had whispered on an exhale. The wind gusted around me.

The pastor reminded us that Grandma or as we fondly refer to her- G-Dizzle, would live on through us. We all carry different aspects of her from the imprint she left on our lives.

For me, it is the love of pinot grigio, a dry sense of humor, and the pointer finger that comes out when I get fired up.

As I said my final goodbye, hand pressed against the wooden box containing her earthly remains, I was reminded that pain is rooted in love. That the heartbreak I was experiencing was because of the deep love we had shared.

And I wouldn’t trade an ounce of the pain in exchange for the beauty that my world holds because she was in it.

Two days later, I watched my brother and sister-in-law exchange vows under the silver maple trees lining the Mississippi river. I watched a leaf float down from the tree, released from its duties. The wind caught it and guided it to the ground in a zig-zag, fluttery pattern.

I was sitting between my nieces and nephews- little Abigail, less than 2 weeks old. The moment contained it all. Love, new life, loss, joy, peace, and beauty, oh the beauty.

And it was vast, like the silver maples.

Path of Resistance

I received a message from one of my friends, joking that for the next mom’s morning out, we should do a swamp walk. Attached to her message was a link.

I was intrigued. Coming from Minnesota, I had never heard of such an activity, and it sounded like a bad idea, because…..alligators?

I clicked on the link. It detailed how you can sign up to be led on a walk through the swamp. Not on boardwalks, but in the water. The particular one I was looking at was rated 5/5 difficulty and was a 5 mile adventure through “a couple inches to a couple feet of water.”

My brain lit up. It sounded like something I was capable of. I love spending time outside, and a swamp walk sounded so… nature-y.

The stars aligned: I was somehow able to convince life insurance actuary husband who is healthily fearful of alligators and snakes to approve of my participation in such an event. AND, I was able to find a babysitter. So, I registered. Shockingly, none of my friends were interested willing to risk their lives.

So last Thursday morning, under the pink skies of sunrise, I found myself driving to the swamp walk with a considerable amount of anxiety.

I had already tried to talk myself out of it the day before, the survival-motivated side of my brain arguing that my allergies could be COVID and I should definitely not go and infect other people.

As I drove, my brain continued to bring up other valid arguments against attending: being unable to find the remote parking lot, alligators, snakes, not being able to keep up with the group, but mostly- the highest fear- was spending five hours, doing a rather intense activity, with a group of people I didn’t know.

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As I ran through a list of the worries on loop, it occurred to me that often, when I am facing something I feel a lot of resistance towards- something that scares the crap out of me- it usually means I am on the right path.

I’ve encountered these moments before jumping off the diving board, before entering a room full of people I don’t know. The seconds that lead up to giving a speech, the pause before the gun goes off at the start of a race.

For me, these moments are marked by a racing heart, flip floppy stomach, and sweaty palms. I do not enjoy being in these moments. In fact, I almost despise them. I would completely despise them if I didn’t know, if I hadn’t learned, that these moments typically occur right before something great happens.

Usually, pushing through the resistance brings me to new places, new people, the opportunity to try something new. And almost always, I leave with a sense of accomplishment.

Maybe, these moments that I try to avoid should be sought out.

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And so, as I turned off on a remote dirt road, lined by tall skinny cypress trees, hitting approximately 5 potholes per second, I ignored the voice in my head that said, “This looks like a spot you could get murdered.” And instead of following the voice in my head, I followed the dirt road, to a parking lot filled with the friendliest nature geeks you’ll ever meet and a disgusting port-a-potty.

The thing I had feared most- awkward moments with strangers- didn’t happen. I forgot that nature people are some of the most down to earth, hilarious, and friendly people.

We slogged through the water, stopping to look more closely at snail eggs, swamp apples, and the Lincoln Log cocoons of bagworm moths. We found a turtle, watched a water moccasin slither away, noticed a hawk feather, and then the hawk above, camouflaging into the tree, watching us curiously.

It was 5 hours of wonder, and it left me more refreshed than a massage. There is something about spending time surrounded by the color green. I left with muddy feet and new friends. It turns out, swamp walks are really good for the soul. Maybe just my soul?

Whatever it is for you, here’s to following the path of resistance. I’d highly recommend you give it a try. Safely. With other people. Because, as my mom reminded me, even the Missionaries of Charity (Mother Teresa’s nuns) go out in pairs. Which is precisely the motherly advice I’d expect to receive after walking through a swamp containing alligators and snakes.

Laura

PS- I didn’t take any pictures in an effort to remain fully present. But you can check out this website for pictures and learn a bit more about “Wet Walks”.

The Tiniest Details

We found ourselves surrounded by lush shades of green, the silence of a dirt path under our feet, and a view backlit by rays of the setting sun, flooding through the tree branches. The path we hiked started out as a typical Florida hike: flat land running along a river, mangrove trees with their roots dipping into the water, signs warning of alligators, and the forest floor covered in greenery, teeming with life.

A quarter of a mile into the hike, the palm trees made way for skinny stocks of bamboo, thickly populating the side of the path. Ten steps further, we were enveloped in a forest of full grown bamboo, reaching way up into the sky. They gently creaked as they shifted in the wind, and it felt for a moment, as if we had been transported into another world.

When we reached the half way point of the hike, the pace changed from the girls sprinting ahead, to the girls lagging behind, waving ferns that they had collected along the way, poking each other, and sweeping the dirt with their pretend brooms. My stomach was grumbling, and I was feeling very hangry. I just wanted them to hurry it up so we could get dinner.

After five times of trying to hurry Alice along, I realized I didn’t have much control over the situation (a seemingly common theme in my life). And that rather than being annoyed by it, I could just soak in the moment. It was a hard choice to make, given my hanger, but I decided to at least try.

I started to notice the tiniest details, easily overlookable, accenting our hike. The alluring pop of red berries the rosarypea vine flaunted, enticing enough to draw one in for a closer look, despite the fact that if ingested, can quickly kill a full grown human.

The understated white flowers of the hairy beggarticks, the plain jane beauty of the dried out blooms of rue, the climbing vines of the air yam, looking like doilies when used as a food source by bugs, and the trees covered in airplants, housing a stunning view if you only looked up.

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Sometimes, life gets choppy and rough. It can be difficult to see the purpose, the meaning, in the fogginess of the storm.

Sometimes, in trying to find the big picture, we lose sight of the small details that make up our reality. We try to grasp for more, for a clearer view. The harder we look, trying to put pieces of the puzzle together, the hazier it gets.

Have you ever noticed how we tend to strive for the big things: new house, career, car; and yet, it’s the tiniest details that end up bringing the most joy? The tiny grains of sand between my toes, the way Alice absentmindedly pats my chest when I’m holding her, the exact same way she did when she was a baby, a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie, still gooey and warm.

While I am a firm believer in striving for improvement, trying new things, changing, I am an equally firm believer that beauty is readily available to soak in, and should not be overlooked in the pursuit of bigger and better things.

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The beauty? It’s everywhere.

It’s the 75 year old worker at Lowes, wearing a veteran cap, who gave me his secretly stashed last small tube of clear caulk, patiently explaining to me how to re-caulk our kitchen sink, and telling me to get rid of the special caulking kit I had in my cart that he deemed, “not necessary to waste your money on”.

It’s the way Alice’s nose crinkles as she smiles.

It is in the sunrises and sunsets, the peanut butter M&M’s, the way Chad’s always knows the right thing to say when I’m out of sorts. It is Avery’s infectious giggle as she tells a story that only a five year old could find funny, the finger painted artwork that covers our walls, the “juicy kisses” that Alice gives each night, which I swear cause me to breakout.

Blink, and you could easily miss them; but mark my words, the moments are there.

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In Gretchen Rubin’s book, “The Happiness Project,” she talks about the concept of “gazing in wonder.” It is one of my favorite take-aways from her book, and I use it often.

For me, gazing in wonder involves tiptoeing into Avery and Alice’s room after they are fast asleep, creeping up to their beds, and studying their angelic faces, peaceful breathing, and dimpled hands. It is the practice of trying to soak in, embrace, another moment with their little selves that I wouldn’t otherwise get.

Beauty abounds. If you read the news, you might not be convinced of that. But if you turn off your phone, shut your computer, and look, I guarantee you will unearth it.

Find your beauty. Gaze in wonder. Repeat.

Cheers,

Laura

Home for Christmas

Christmas, to me, is a holiday that fully involves the senses. The sound of jingle bells and Christmas music, the smell of pine trees, the taste of gingerbread, the prickly branches of the Christmas tree and the sharp pointy end of a candy cane when savored slowly, and how if you squint your eyes just right, the Christmas lights look like stars. Maybe this is why it is such a nostalgic holiday; it has so many pathways to bring back memories.

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Christmas in the Uppgaard house was a big deal, all starting when the Advent wreath appeared at church, with the first purple candle lit and flickering.

Each Sunday evening after we finished dinner, we gathered around our own candle lit Advent wreath, trying to pay attention during the prayers, while anxiously awaiting the Christmas cookies and eggnog that followed.

We ended our prayers by singing a Christmas song, usually “Silent Night” or “Away in the Manger”, during which, whoever was leading started the song too high or too low, causing giggle fits between the siblings and stern looks from the parents as half the group went too high and the other half tried to compensate by switching octaves, only to end up way too low. Let’s just say that our family isn’t full of good singers (although there are a few).

After our prayers concluded, cookies were eaten, and the eggnog was glugged, it was time for the highly anticipated candle snuffing.

We had a Christmas-themed candle snuffer, dark green with a holly leaf and berry on top of the cap. We rotated through the position of candle snuffer, and all who were not selected looked on jealously as the snuffing commenced.

Invariably, someone (Pieter or Anders), put the snuffer too far down on the candle, splattering the hot wax and ruining the shape of the candle. Most nights ended with an in-service on how to properly use a candle snuffer, put on by no other but the esteemed Dr. Uppgaard.

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The taste of gingerbread brings me back to the large kitchen table that our Dad had built himself, big enough for a family of 10 plus an extra leaf for guests.

There, we decorated freshly cut and baked gingerbread cookies. Envision 8 kids at the table, each with their own knife to spread frosting, and sprinkles. Let’s just say it was a process, and I don’t know how my parents have remained psychologically intact after 35 years of cleaning up sprinkles and frosting that I’m sure made their way into every crevice of the house.

Given that we were kids, we always thought it was best to try and put as much frosting as possible on the cookies. They were a recipe for diabetes, heart disease, and a disaster of a kitchen. And while they tasted good, most were ugly.

Some of my creativity may be rooted in the gingerbread decorating: the cyclops, the headless man dripping in blood (red frosting and red sprinkles), the one hundred and seven ways to decorate a star cookie, and the classic, “how many red hots can you fit onto one cookie” competition.

In these pre-COVID days, there was a fair share of finger-licking, despite instructions to avoid this behavior. To make matters more precarious, there was a rule: once you are done decorating gingerbreads, you can lick whatever frosting and sprinkles are left on your plate.

Obviously, the way to exploit this rule was to “accidentally” dump mounds of sprinkles on your plate while decorating cookies. “Oops! I guess I will have to eat those later!”

The moral of the story is that our parents are saints and gingerbreads from our house could have caused a worldwide pandemic had COVID hit back in the 90’s. Contact tracing would lead the CDC back to the cookie platters my mom innocently gifted people.

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Christmas Eve morning, as my siblings and I sat around the table eating our last healthy meal for the next two days, my dad would stomp inside, bringing in a wave of cold air and a cardboard box full of chopped wood for the fire.

He’d stop by the table on his way over to the fireplace. “Do you think Santa’s going to come tonight?”

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Christmas Eve afternoons were spent at Grandpa and Grandma Dubay’s house. It is important to note that I have over 40 cousins on that side of the family (and honestly, I’m not sure what the actual number is).

Upon entrance, we made our way up the orange shag carpet stairs where we were greeted up top by our little, maybe 5 foot tall, 100% Irish, Grandma. She smothered us in hugs, kisses, and whispers in our ears about how much Jesus loved us.

Grandpa could be found at the stove, stirring gravy or checking the temperature on the massive turkey he had been cooking all day. He took great pride in those 30 lb turkeys, and maybe even more pride in his electric carving knife.

We brought our winter coats back to our Grandparents’ bed, the only spot in the house large enough to hold the winter gear of 40+ people. En route, we passed the kitchen table filled with sides, rolls, salads, and my Aunt Brenda’s famous fudge. We eagerly eyed up the food, planning which foods would make the cut for our first plateful.

After eating, we processed through the house with our cousins, singing Christmas carols, with the leader of the procession holding the Jesus figurine from the nativity set. We walked through each room, finally processing back to “the porch”, where we placed baby Jesus in the nativity set and prayed as a family.

An uncle would mysteriously disappear to take a nap to sleep off the turkey, and soon after, Santa arrived.

His arrival was marked by the sound of jingle bells and “ho ho ho’s”. The youngest of the group hid in terror, while the oldest in the group couldn’t wait to pull at Santa’s beard and try to out him.

Santa distributed presents, then knelt in front of the Nativity scene to pray, and left, reminding us to be good for our parents.

After that, we were free to run loose with our cousins in the tiny house until it was time to go, stopping at the kitchen table for another cookie, pickle, or fudge, whenever we needed strength to continue on with our arduous little lives.

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Christmas mornings started bright and early, while it was still dark. Our Dad opened the bedroom door and announced, “Santa came!” while we all clamored out of bed.

We waited atop the stairs until every child was ready. Our dad led us down the stairs to a scene that can best be described as magical: glistening presents illuminated only by the lights of the Christmas tree. We tried to make out the dark shadows of gifts, only to be led past the tree to the family room where our bulging stockings hung by the crackling fire.

“The Nutcracker” ballet music played on the record player as we read the note from Santa, noting that he had eaten all the cookies we’d left out and that Rudolph had a couple bites of the carrots.

Then we opened our stockings, and finally, we made our way under the tree to open gifts. It was mass chaos, but consistent with the parenting style of Dr. & Mrs. Uppgaard, it was organized chaos.

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After the gift opening, there was a flurry of activity as we attempted to get dressed for church and eat breakfast prior to 7:30am mass.

We arrived at church when it was still dark, the church only lit by candles, and filled with the music of the violinists warming up.

There, in the quiet church, we muttered prayers of thanks; and for those still waiting on a desired gift, prayers of petition.

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After church, we made our way to Grandma Uppgaard’s house. She had a string of jingle bells attached to her doorknob, cheerily ringing whenever the door was opened.

G greeted us at the door, pulling us into a boney yet warm hug with kisses on the cheeks, her blue eyes twinkling. Her house always smelled delicious, usually with undertones of prime rib and accents of cheesy potatoes and wild rice.

Compared to the Dubay side of our family, the Uppgaard side was a little quieter, with only 4 cousins. We spent our time opening gifts in an orderly fashion, playing with our cousins, and leaving by 2pm.

The rest of the day was leisurely spent napping, eating leftovers, and playing with our new toys.

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They were the best of days, the Christmases of my childhood. Looking back, it’s not the gifts I received that stuck (although I do remember Sally, the cabbage patch doll who I attempted to do brain surgery on).

What did stick are the memories of time spent with people I loved, the laughter, the feeling of coziness, the magic.

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With COVID, we will be staying in Florida for Christmas this year. It will be nothing like the Christmas I described above; and yet, Florida does have a charm of its own for Christmas.

There is something rather beautiful about a fully lit palm tree, despite the fact that it isn’t a pine tree. We are able to drive around in our golf cart to view the Christmas lights in the neighborhood without freezing to death. And thankfully, we do have family down here to celebrate with.

Wishing you and yours the Merriest Christmas, whether celebrated in palm trees or pines,

Laura

There are memories that couldn’t fit into this post but still stand worth mentioning: the angel candles with fans above that always ended up rotating in the wrong direction, the pickup hockey games in the rink out back, the sibling sleepover on Christmas Eve (when we all crammed ourselves into one bedroom and got the worst sleep of our lives), the cranberry fluff and party mix, and the newish and awful tradition of lutefisk which in my book is not a food, the sibling gift exchange where every year at least one sibling forgets who they have and ruins the entire thing, and finally, the years that Santa would forget a gift, luckily to be quickly “found” by our parents.

Feels Like: Home

I took in the view of the Minneapolis skyline and felt a heaviness in my chest that I didn’t anticipate. Maybe it was my soul reminding me how badly I had wanted to come home to say goodbye to my grandma before she passed.

Maybe it was the huge relief of knowing I would finally get to see “my people”- the ones who raised me, who grew with me, who know me best. Or maybe it was just the fact that I had a massive migraine after a tantrum ridden flight and an hour long wait for our rental car.

Regardless, there we were, driving through Minneapolis. Chad, cheerfully trying to chat me up, and our backseat passengers voicing their displeasure in this long day of travel.

It had been 9 months since we were in Minnesota as a family, 4 months since I had snuck up by myself for a quick 24 hour trip for a friends birthday.

The hotel we were staying at was just 5 minutes from our old house, so it goes without saying that I insisted we must drive past our old house at a creepily slow pace.

The tears started splattering when we turned onto our block and passed the park I spent countless hours at- teaching the girls how to climb up to the slides, pushing them on the swings until their sweet blue eyes got heavy, toddling around as a new family of 4.

I remember going down the slide when I was nine months pregnant with Alice hoping it would put me into labor. I remember taking Avery to the park with Alice snug in the baby carrier when she was just 3 days old.

When we passed our old house, I was basically a nut case, sobbing, while Avery and Alice were confused about why Mommy could be crying. Wasn’t that their job?

When we drove down to Florida last August, I listened to one of my favorite books on Audible, “Maybe You Should Talk to Someone.” In the book, the author highlights the relationship of change and loss.

“As a therapist, I know a lot about pain, about the ways in which pain is tied to loss. But I also know something less commonly understood: that change and loss travel together. We can’t have change without loss, which is why so often people say they want change but nonetheless stay exactly the same.”

Lori Gottlieb

And so, in the front seat of a rental car, stuffed with my mostly favorite people, I grieved the loss produced by a change we purposefully made almost a year ago. A change that, yes, has produced so much good; but a change that, yes, has also produced loss.

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Us Minnesotan’s like to go “Up Nort” (north), to spend time at the lake each summer. My Dad’s side of the family has the tradition of spending a week each July together at a lakeside resort.

Our family vacations in the best possible way: very few organized activities, schedules that run more on how we feel than by what time it is, high quality junk food, a rotation of lounging by the pool and the lake, and late nights playing poker or mafia.

Usually we start a puzzle at some point and in prior years, we would finish it. Lately we’ve given up 1/4th of the way through. This year we stuck to a 25 piece Winnie the Pooh puzzle. Avery and Alice finished it in 15 minutes. We were all relieved.

Showers are not required, nor are outfit changes. If you’re wanting to clean up a bit, you can always turn your shirt inside out. Before guests come, we do try to put deodorant on and brush our 4 front teeth.

This was our first year without G-Dizz (or as normal families may call their elder, Grandma).

Her absence was palpable. Her comfy chair sat empty, and we half expected a snarky comment to come from that direction at any time. We missed her shriek during poker games whenever she was upset by losing. We missed her classy figure, sitting poolside while wearing her zebra print swim suit, sipping a beer. Mostly, we missed her in all the normal moments that we couldn’t share together.

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Have you ever noticed the beauty of familiar things? Like how the first time you listen to a song you might hate it, but by the tenth time you hear it, it might be your favorite song? Or how you can travel the world, but still find home to be your favorite place to be?

For me, it is birch trees, lakes, cool morning weather, and fireplaces. No matter how far I go, or where I end up living, these things will always stick out to me as the most comforting, beautiful things.

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And now, we are back home… at our Florida home. I’m soaking in sleeping in my own bed, with my favorite pillows, wearing my faithful polka dot bathrobe that has been with me for the past 6 years.

I had my weekly visit with Donna, the slightly monotone checkout lady at Target (monotone people unite). I had my weekly wave with deli meat man (name unknown) who’s wife has MS.

The girls are happy to be reunited with their toys, and Chad is happy to be reunited with his golf course.

This year has been full of change and loss. Beauty and pain have coexisted. But Florida is sure beginning to feel like home, in the best possible way.

With that said, I find it fitting to announce that we are beginning to house hunt down here in Florida and plan to stay while.

Wishing you all the courage to make scary changes, the people to love you through it all, and the beauty that comes with the change.

I hope you never forget the people, places, and things that have molded you into who you are today.

Above all, I hope you soak in the “normal moments” with those you love.

Cheers,

Laura

From the Middle

I recently finished reading Empty, by Susan Burton, who wrote about her life-long struggles with eating disorders; mainly, fluctuating between binging and anorexia.

Her story isn’t unique. Plenty of people have disordered thoughts and actions related to eating, on a wide spectrum of severity.

What is unique about the book is that the author wrote it from the middle of her struggle. She is not recovered and looking back with new-found wisdom. She bravely chose to tell her story “as is”, from a spot of struggle, not clarity.

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What I’ve come to appreciate through blogging is that writing is a medium of art. The same story can be told from billions of different perspectives. It can be spun into different webs; it can be interpreted in completely different lights. The same event can make one person laugh and another person cry.

Stories are easiest to tell retrospectively, when you finally have a chance to look back. It is easiest to find the meaning; and certainly, have a clearer perspective once you are out of the heat of the moment.

But what about the middle? It makes up most of our life. We spend a much higher percentage of time in “middle moments” than in “end moments”.

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Since our return to Florida, I’ve been trying to embrace the pea- soup- thick humidity that has descended upon us. Last week, I (stupidly) slept in one morning and wasn’t able to sneak out for a run until Chad was able to watch the girls… at 1pm.

The heat was disgusting. Even “easy pace” felt difficult. As I was slogging along, encapsulated in 114 degree heat, and in a pretty negative mindset about how horrible this was, I was passed by a landscaping golf cart.

Immediately the golf cart fumes and scent of freshly cut grass transported me back in time to the days of high school cross country. It’s funny how a smell can do that.

Whenever I think of high school cross country, I get a slightly nauseated, slightly anxious, nostalgic feeling that spreads through my body. Sounds weird, but I’m guessing most people who have participated in a pain inducing sport can relate.

This scent trigger brought my mind back to a day we were on the track, running repeat 300’s. 300 meters is a gross distance. It’s short enough where you should be able to sprint, but long enough that you feel like you want to die.

Our coach at that time was Mr. Rod. Mr. Rod was tall, funny, and innately understood the pain that running could induce. As we struggled through the workout, he gathered us up for a pep talk.

I’m sure we all had looks of hatred on our faces- he wrote the workout after all. There was no need for him to acknowledge the pain we were in; that was baseline knowledge, punctuated by someone puking in the background.

He simply said, “Break it down. Run the first 100 fast, float in the middle, and sprint the last 100.” Some angsty teenager asked with attitude that only a teenager can have, “What do you mean float?” To which Mr. Rod replied with a smile, “Just pretend you’re floating.”

Sounded pretty stupid to me.

But, given that I was on deaths door, I tried the floating idea.

The crazy thing was, when I envisioned myself floating in the middle of the last couple 300’s, it felt a hundred times easier, and yet somehow I was still running just as fast.

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And just like then, I find myself in the middle. Given the large number of new COVID cases in Florida, we are back to quarantine, in the house, with young kids.

I keep wishing to find myself at the end of this COVID story- to be able to look back, smile, and find some inspirational meaning.

But for now, I find myself in the middle and to be blatantly honest, I’m not floating. The days are filled with tantrums (by the kids and me) and messes. I’m covering the positions of line cook, maid, therapist, anger management coach, teacher, friend, enemy, mother, and wife.

My story from the middle isn’t inspirational, I would say it’s more of a “what not to” story. Making a necklace would be cute but beads bounce all over the house and look suspiciously like candy. Running in 114 degree heat after eating tacos NEVER ENDS WELL. 3 year olds CANNOT BE REASONED WITH. Crafts that are found on Pinterest rarely turn out as well as the promising pictures <liars>.

My story from the middle is messy. (Literally and figuratively, ok?) It’s not something that people will read and say, “I really want to try that! Sounds like she has her life figured out!”

So for now, I’m going to break it down into 100’s and try to float.

Off to Target to buy floaties… and wine. Lots of wine.

Laura

Hitting Pause

I’ve never had any desire to pause, rewind, or re-live any part of my life. However; recently, I’ve been wishing for a pause button.

I have hit a sweet spot in life. All of the change that has taken place over the years has slowly but surely fit all of the puzzle pieces into a beautiful picture.

It is scary to acknowledge that life is at a peak right now. I know that life isn’t all peaks, and eventually we will encounter a valley. But I’m soaking in this sweet spot.

When I stopped working to stay at home with the girls, I feared that I would become less. I wouldn’t be as valuable since I was no longer bringing in a paycheck. I would be stupider since I wasn’t interacting with patients and providers on a daily basis. And what was I going to say when people asked what I do?

Sure, some of it is true. I can’t rattle off oncology drugs like I used to be able to. I am not bringing home a paycheck. And people frequently ask what I do. The answer? “A helluva lot more than when I worked.”

Here’s the thing though: I’ve never been happier.

Our days feel endless- sometimes in a good way, and sometimes in a bad way. They are filled with unprovoked dance parties, singing the same three songs over and over, and stopping to watch the ants.

We have entered the stage of exploring the world while sunlight streams through the trees. We experience wonder on a minute by minute basis, stopping at any moment to admire whatever nature treasure we find.

We take care of baby (doll), read an endless stack of books, and try to find answers to life’s biggest questions: Where can we find a butterfly to catch? How can you tell if a woman has a baby in her tummy vs food? <important life skill for survival> How can we go to Minnesota?

Sure, our days are peppered with skinned knees, the occasional tantrum, and slivers from climbing the slanty palm tree with bare feet. While the joy we experience is beautifully un-masked, the sadness, anger and pain also remain un-hidden. We cry about bonked heads because, dang it, they hurt!

There is dirt under our fingernails. Our house isn’t Pinterest perfect clean. Heck, it isn’t clean… period. And we haven’t quite nailed down social norms.

We are working on keeping our dresses down at dinner, because although tempting, the restaurant is not an appropriate place to compare tummy size. Church isn’t really a spot for yelling. And sadly, comparing poop sizes really isn’t ever appropriate.

Our days end with family prayers in bed. Our little people have big prayers, and nothing makes my mama heart happier than hearing them.

Because, what I’ve learned from my kids is this: life is beautiful.

Somewhere in my adult years, I forgot to look at the world with wonder.

But these little people have patiently taught me to pause and watch the meticulous choreography of an ant colony, to watch in awe as the sky turns pinks and purples after its last rays have dipped below the horizon, and to always, without fail, accept gifts of smashed flowers from little dimply hands.

They taught me that life isn’t about climbing the career ladder. That joy isn’t derived from a paycheck. And that love wins, always.

………………………………………………………………..

I was able to sneak home for a little less than 24 hours this past weekend for a surprise birthday party for one of my friends.

I wasn’t sure how a 24 hour trip would go, but given that I was able to travel without kids (thank you, Chad & in-laws), I was able to enjoy beautiful, uninterrupted conversations with my family. I left Minnesota refreshed, and so happy to have been able to squeeze the people I love.

In other news, we are all well.

Coronavirus is slowly but surely beginning to impact us, first and foremost through the toilet paper shortage we are experiencing. Luckily I stocked up a while back, so we should be set for a few months. And I’m not below using diaper wipes if necessary. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Sending love to all back home,

Laura

A Floridian Thanksgiving & Christmas Preparations

Hi all,

I know it has been a little while since my last post. I have been a bit busy managing the new blog and I was waiting for a more blog- worthy stories to happen before I posted again.

I will be cutting back on these update posts to once every 2 weeks now that we are settled into FL and don’t have exciting stories on a weekly basis. (Hopefully that statement doesn’t jinx us.)

Since I last wrote…

We had our first Thanksgiving in Florida. Given that I was a bit emotional over Halloween, I assumed Thanksgiving would be rough. But in all honesty, it was a really enjoyable, non-emotional day. The day started with a 5k with one of my mom friends. As there were over 4,000 people who ran it, we were forced able to run at a leisurely pace.

We spent the rest of the day cooking, enjoyed a visit with Grandma Helen & Grandpa Chet and had Thanksgiving. dinner with Chad’s parents. I taught Avery and Alice how to knead bread dough, which brought back childhood memories of making homemade bread with my Dad on cold winter mornings.

This past week we went to a cute little Christmas festival that our town puts on. They had a snow machine so all the Floridian kids who had never experienced snow in real life could make a snowball and play in the snow. The Minnesotan in me got a big kick out of that.

We got the obligatory picture with Santa. I envisioned a cute picture of just the girls and Santa with smiles all around. What we got was a picture of a terrified Alice who didn’t let me leave and an unsure Avery.

This past weekend we had a visit from my future sister in law, Shelby, and my good friend from high school, Jill. It was so fun to see familiar faces and bring them to our favorite spots.

We built our best sand castle yet with Jill. By some miracle, the girls didn’t destroy it until after the picture was taken.

We finally put up a Charlie-Brown style Christmas tree: much smaller than usual and without any of our ornaments from home, which are all in storage. It’s beginning to look a lot like feel like Christmas, despite the lack of cold weather.

If you are interested in checking out the new blog I write, here are a few of my favorite posts from the last month or so:

And for All of These Things, I am Thankful: An unfiltered list of things I am thankful for, contributing to my survival as a parent. (Funny)

Parental Burnout: What it is, why it happens, how to prevent it and how to make it stop.

All American Stay at Home Mom: A journey through the history, cultural norms and pressures facing today’s modern stay at home moms.

Plan on my next post in two weeks!

Sending lots of love to all back home,

Laura

Reporting Live from: FL

Hi All,

Whenever I write these posts, I have to sift through the pictures from the last week to remind myself what we’ve been up to. Call it mom brain or dementia, but I have very short term memory. Avery asked me the other day, “Mom, why do you always forget things?” Uhhhh, probably because your list of demands is super long.

Ok, I’m not seeing anything too exciting in the pictures. It looks like we went to the beach to watch the sunset last Monday- that was a gorgeous night and the ocean was as calm as a lake. The waves lapped against the shore covered in sea shells, producing the most beautiful sound. Chad found a perfect sea shell and I was jealous. He wasn’t even looking & I’m always psycho Eagle Eyes walking around like a mad woman in search of the perfect shell.

Next, I see we went to the farmers market. It was a much cooler day than the last time we went, so we greatly appreciated that. I made the mistake of giving Alice a sugar cinnamon pretzel, which, kept her quiet the whole time, but resulted in a huge mess.

On further review of pictures, I note that one of the girls stole my phone and documented me, looking fine as wine, eating a cookie. Don’t judge the mess. Or my appearance. I have kids, okay?

Do you like my middle of day wardrobe choice? Bathrobe layered on top of sweats.

A glamorous shot of me telling the kid to put the phone down. I’m still not sure which kid but I’m guessing Avery.

Friday was our 5th wedding anniversary- woot woot! We celebrated with a family dinner followed by ice cream. We missed the sunset as it sets so early now 😦 But made up for it…

On Saturday we went to the beach and watched a stormy and beautiful sunset. We were a bit under-dressed as the wind whipped around and the waves gave us a show. When the sun peeked out for a minute, we had a beautiful view.

A Stormy Sunset

I spent a big chunk of the week working on an article for my Parenting and Travel blog on “Parental Burnout”. I felt pretty burned out from the article by the end, but thankfully posted it last night, so it is officially off my plate. You can read it here.

That’s about all I have to report. Chad’s parents are due to arrive in FL later this week and we could not be more excited!

Sending love,

Laura

Pompano Beach, FL

I’m writing this post from our sunny family room while lounging on the couch with Chad and Avery, while Alice is taking a rare but oh so needed nap.

We took a last minute family trip to Pompano Beach, FL (on the Eastern coast of FL) while Chad played in a golf tournament. The west coast of Florida is surrounded by the Gulf of Mexico while the East coast is surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean, giving Pompano Beach much larger waves, and a darker sand- similar to what you might see surrounding Minnesota lakes.

We arrived at our oceanfront hotel on Thursday and went to get pizza for dinner at a cute Italian joint. After, we went for a walk on the beach in the dark. It was beautiful to watch the dark waves crashing against the shore, the white clouds passing over the moon above, all while being surrounded by the people I love most.

The girls insisted on playing a game of hide and seek on the beach, which was pretty easy as the picked the same hiding spot each time- and if they hadn’t, their giggles and white blonde hair lit by the moon would have given them away. These magical moments are what keep us traveling as a family. Which is good- because there are plenty of un-magical moments.

While Chad played a practice round of golf on Friday, Avery and Alice did what any kids traveling to a cool destination want to do- swim at the hotel pool. And so that is what we did for 6 hours straight. Alice recently discovered how to hold her breath underwater, so loves jumping in at any chance she gets. Once our cautious Avery realized that Alice had fun jumping in, she joined the fun.

As any golfer might do, Chad was keeping a close eye on Saturday’s weather- and much to his chagrin, we woke up on Saturday to a very windy, rainy day. The girls and I dropped Chad off at the golf course and wished him well (there is nothing cuter than Avery shouting “Good luck, Dad!”) before returning to our hotel. We watched kite surfers take advantage of the windy, wavy day.

Unfortunately, Alice had woken up with a bad cold. And she was doing the weird grunty breathing she does before she starts wheezing/ needs to go in to be put on steroids. I was watching her closely, hoping that I was just imagining things. My anxiety was increased as of course, this was the one trip where I didn’t bring my stethoscope or her neb machine. Her last episode of her asthma type symptoms was almost a year ago, last Thanksgiving. I was hopeful that she had outgrown the reactive airway disorder, as doctors said she might.

But alas, here we were. Given that her symptoms weren’t improving and we had a car ride home ahead of us, I took her into urgent care. Luckily, her oxygen sats were fine and the nurse practitioner couldn’t hear any wheezing. Chad finished his round shortly after we finished at urgent care. And might I note that despite the high winds and rainy weather, Chad won the tournament, adding yet another trophy to his growing collection.

I was hoping for an uneventful car ride home. (Why do I hope for these things?) Half way through the trip, Alice mentioned that her tummy hurt. Immediately I realized I forgot to give her the Benadryl I usually give her to pre-medicate before travel to prevent….my thought process was interrupted by the volcano of puke that erupted, covering Alice, her precious blankie and car seat.

Remember how I talked about magical moments that can happen while traveling with kids? Well, this was not one of them. Luckily, we made it home in once piece. Alice fell asleep after the puke incident at 6pm and slept through the night. As for Avery and me, we fell asleep on the couch at 7pm.

Alice continues to recover today…actually, all of us continue to recover. Our week ahead should be quiet, aside from our 5 YEAR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY on Friday- crazy, right?

Funny moments from the week:

• As we were eating breakfast, Avery said, “I love you” out of the blue & my heart melted. Then she kissed the muffin she was eating and whispered “I love you so much”. And it became clear she wasn’t talking to me.
• Alice smacked Avery in the stomach and yelled “Tummy high five!”. I was about to tell her not to hit when Avery proceeded to whack Alice in the stomach and yell “Tummy high five!”, after which they both had a giggle fit. So, I guess we will consider it sisterly bonding.
• “Mom, where are all my boogers? Who took all of them?!”- a very upset Alice
• As we were walking back to the hotel from the beach, I looked back to check on the girls only to catch Avery dumping an entire bucket of sand over her head. Needless to say, despite numerous hair washes, she still has a head full of sand.

Sending love to all,

Laura