Some Dreams Shouldn't Have To Wait 5 More Minutes

(A scene from ballet photos last week)



We bought a vintage 1971 trailer on Mother's Day! It definitely needed fixing up and we scored such a tremendous deal, which always takes the excitement up about ten thousand notches, right?! It seems like we've been dreaming about doing a glamper project as a family for years now! It is finally here and has been quite the adventure so far. I think we might be driving our families a little nuts with how much we've thrown ourselves into it....but ah, the journey! I will post some sneak peeks as we go and also the complete before and after. Roar is a rockstar...truly. He amazes me with all of his vast self taught knowledge. You know it has been a good day when your hands are covered in paint and you smell like sweat and sunscreen. This is the summer of little (and big!) dreams, I keep chanting to myself. It is all right here in our hands.





The other night we were able to enjoy a rare date night due to my mother's wonderful babysitting skills. We didn't do anything huge or outrageous. And we had an absolute blast. Those nights often end up meaning as much as the big celebratory happenings. It never ceases to blow me away how much date nights bring us both back to "happy go lucky couple" so quickly. Where it all began is a good thing to remember when the stress of running life and a household and businesses build up and our tempers are short amid the chaos in the whirlwind. One of our destinations happened to be running into Target 5 minutes before closed to buy Where The Sidewalk Ends for Sookie. Because all of a sudden it was imperative that we accomplish that silly little goal that night. I was all teary telling Roar how I used to daydream of buying it for her someday.

Some dreams shouldn't have to wait 5 more minutes. You know those things you've wanted to do? Go do them. Life is now.



Sometimes





Sometimes I receive letters from the NIH in envelopes marked "extremely urgent" with results from blood tests drawn five months ago. (Do you see the irony in this? Ha.) Sometimes I quit drinking Diet Coke for 2 weeks after a horrendous stomach bug, only to start it up again much more intense than before. Sometimes I get frustrated waiting on hold for 20 minutes when all I want to do is simply pay my student loan. Sometimes I feel like a mean mom when I take away nail polish from Sook and her friends and tell them princess tattoos will have to wait for another day because today is chaos to the max. (Even though yesterday she went tattoo wild with other friends.) Sometimes I let everything go and lay under clouds in my mom and dad's backyard and tell Sook the one close to the top of the mountain looks like a turtle. Sometimes I run and run and run and run (in my head) until I can't any longer. Sometimes I read things that shatter me. Sometimes I actually like doing the dishes. Sometimes family is the only thing that can save you. Sometimes music is all you need. Sometimes garlic naan is a fabulous idea. (Who am I kidding? Garlic naan is always a fabulous idea.) Sometimes I wonder if everyone is pretending they know how to be an adult and none of us really know what the heck this all is. Sometimes retail therapy actually works. Sometimes I cry at how precious a photo is of my grandpa when he was a baby. Sometimes I physically ache for Sookie to possess that same intense nostalgia from me. Sometimes you can start over. Sometimes you can heal very old wounds with love. Sometimes the sunrise is the magic within you. Sometimes putting sunglasses on a sweet doberman is all you need to have a great day. Sometimes donuts for breakfast is a must. Sometimes Adam Duritz will save your day with his awesomely amazingly adorably awkward interview on Seth Meyers. Sometimes a Danielle LaPorte truth bomb email quote will hit you square in the soul. Sometimes you wish you could hang out with Alice Hoffman for a week or two.

Sometimes you worry none of this life will ever make sense. Sometimes you realize that is okay, for life is a beautiful shitstorm.

Through The Blur



"Through the blur, I wondered if I was alone or if other parents felt the same way I did - that everything involving our children was painful in some way. The emotions, whether they were joy, sorrow, love or pride, were so deep and sharp that in the end they left you raw, exposed and yes, in pain. The human heart was not designed to beat outside the human body and yet, each child represented just that - a parent's heart bared, beating forever outside its chest." 
(Debra Ginsberg)

Many mornings when I wake up before her I put my hand on her chest and feel the rise and fall of her inhale and exhale. I thank her for choosing me, for choosing us. I've been telling her every day for the past several weeks, "Thank you for being my wish come true." She always gets a sly smile and replies with, "You're welcome!"

I would love to be able to say I was the most optimistic person alive when our girl was growing inside of me. However, it was tough. So tough. There were so many unknowns and I had to be extremely careful not to drown in it all. It was a lot of work to mentally prepare myself for all possibilities, including having to do dialysis during everything. It was an eerie space; to be filled to the brim with hope, and yet cautious with dreaming ahead and doing emotional work to be strong enough to handle it if it all fell apart. That joy? Yes it was incredible deep and sharp and often left me raw. I emotionally retreated from most people during my pregnancy because I felt like I simply couldn't make them understand the weight of what I was feeling. 

Today I mentally pinch myself (it is possible, trust me). She's here. She four. I'm here. I'm thirty. My transplanted kidney is still kicking ass and taking names. I'm running around to playgroup and ballet. Did I create this life with all the wishing I did as a kid? 

Our little miracle family is thriving and sometimes juggling extremely normal obstacles like how to manage bedtime routines, decide which preschool to pick, and how do you balance running two businesses and create time for date nights for yourselves as a couple. The everyday choices both hold a tremendous amount of space in my heart, but also feel outrageously liberating because...hey, I'm here to do this. I'm alive to make these decisions as a mother. And as a wife. It is a freaking beautiful dynamic.

I suppose what I'm attempting to convey this rainy May night, is that I'm learning to love the ordinary decisions and the mundane mountains of laundry. Because the years and years and years upon years of struggle and uncertainty, when my health messes were stacked higher than I could see, that is all what brought me here to this humdrum heaven.