Messy Houses

It was around 1 p.m. on a Wednesday. I opened my front door, dropped my suitcase at my feet and did a quick survey of the house, my eyelids heavy from a treacherous 24 hours of delayed flights and missed connections. Greeted only by a dog, I expected a quiet house as everyone was well into their normal routines of work and school and daycare. As I stood there, glad to be home, I noticed the mess.

The graphite colored tiles of the entry way were littered with pine needles and soft remembrances of muddy shoes. There was unopened mail on the table. I walked toward the living room to find a basket of toys strewn about, pinks and purples of barbie accessories mixed with blues and oranges of hot wheels tracks. My eyes soaked up the blankets and pajamas left on the couch and I see the dishes in the sink, noticing the knife used to likely make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunchboxes. A Lego city was constructed on the kitchen table. Joey told me they had made nachos for dinner the night before, and I smiled when I saw the sheet pan in the dishwasher. Elsie’s library book was on the coffee table, the corner eaten off by the dog, a crisis I talked her down from via Facetime just yesterday.

I started unpacking my bags, and found myself smiling.

People live here. They like, really live here. The day-old-artifacts I found myself digging for are proof that memories were made. The mud brought in from outside caked off of rainbow colored rainboots and the pine needles fell off a little boy’s sweatshirt as he artfully crafted a campfire with his dad. The random bike helmet by the front door signaled to me “best skid” contests were executed and the family cheered each other on as kids bombed their bikes down the driveway hill.

The dishes in the sink means meals were enjoyed and the Legos on the table means quality time was spent and conversations happened over the construction of super trucks and crazy boats and goofy houses. The blankets on the couch means as much as my family missed me, they spent time feeling warm and and safe, snuggled on the couch and as they watched tv together. The dog-eaten-book was a metaphor for we will figure out whatever happens. Actually, this whole house quietly repeats that to me as I continue to move through it.

Life happens and it is messy. It happens right there, in the middle of the messes actually, some we create and some we observe. Some messes get cleaned up, and some we allow to stick around for awhile and that’s all okay. All of it.

Now I’m not saying I don’t love a sparkling clean house because I do. What I am saying is sometimes we need to be our own archeologist - we need dig into the mess, find out why it was made, understand what it means and sometimes we’ll uncover something really special.

Killin' it with confidence.

Growing up, a young girl living in rural Oregon, I was taught to be nice.

Nice.

I also learned somehow, somewhere that pretty had value. There’s a bunch of places that came from - TV, music, magazines, the movies. I don’t know anyone who didn’t want to be Kelly Kapawski dating Zach Morris (Saved by the Bell, anyone?) in real life. So this young girl growing up in rural Oregon probably had a similar experience to young girls growing up all over - you better be nice and do your darnedest to be pretty.

I would run out of fingers and toes counting the number of times a man has told me to smile.

And I certainly couldn’t keep track of the number of outfit changes and hair re-dos and using makeup as a shield day after day as I got older to try to fill up my confidence cup. So when Elsie got home from school one day with a smile on her face and a story to tell, holy guacamole, it made me smile for real.

“Mom, I made Greyson laugh at school today!”

I immediately think back to seven-year-old me and can’t remember talking to a boy, and especially not being funny around one. I would have been nice, sure. But I was busy playing games with my girlfriends under the big cedar trees on the playground. Curious, I asked how she made the boy giggle. She proceeded to stick out her tongue, roll her eyeballs to the back of her head, contort her button nose which created the most hilarious and special and out-of-this-world silly face.

“I did this!”

I laughed and laughed and goodness, my heart swelled because first of all, it was super funny but most of all, this girl has confidence overflowing.

And then I remembered the old saying - kill them with kindness and I can’t even tell you how wrong that is. Because what does it really mean? Are we telling our little girls to stay small and to take a backseat and to the boys and to smile when they tell us to? Or are we telling our little girls to stand tall and be themselves and to hold their ground and prioritize themselves over all of that other noise? And let’s be honest, that noise is LOUD. What we should be doing is approaching every interaction and every moment with a not-too-gentle of a swap of words - that kindness with confidence. That’s going to fill our cups, confidence and belief in ourselves being genuine and good over all things nice and pretty.

She then showed me another silly face and another silly face and then another and another.

I don’t know about you, but to me, being yourself and being genuine and being confident in all that you are and that you have to give the world - that’s where it’s at.

XO

Too tired.

So I guess I’ll never sleep again, I muttered under my breath as I bounced from baby’s room to six-year-old’s room at three a.m. on a Monday…or Tuesday, I guess. Bouncing isn’t the right word, actually. I sluggishly sauntered. I dragged myself from point A to B to C to What Day is Today and Where Am I.

Elsie had woken up and couldn’t get back to sleep. It wasn’t big scary dreams or a need for a sip of water or a sick feeling or anything at all, really. She was just up. This happens to me too, and so I get it. Sometimes we can’t sleep. Big people and little people alike, we all struggle sometimes with this. And as an aside, the baby is teething and there’s a new puppy in our lives, so I’m not sleeping anyway, like ever. So, back to my original thought…I guess I’ll never sleep again.

We sat in her twin bed, her favorite now-worn grey blanket wrapped around our bodies and talked for a bit. She lobbied to move to the living room, warm up by the fire and snuggle in, watching a movie until we drifted back to sleepy-town. I agreed, and off we went.

We watched half of a movie and fell into a light slumber on the couch together. A sweet moment, but as we woke just a couple of hours later, I just knew that the day ahead of us would be a struggle.

I muddled through morning routine.

I drank a helluva lot of coffee.

I didn’t workout.

I jammed through zoom calls, reapplying lipstick so I at least looked put-together.

I responded to emails.

I did laundry.

I put out fires.

I planned and made dinner.

I cleaned.

Also, I did baby stuff and puppy stuff over and over and over and over and over and over again.

And toward the end of the day, I looked at Elsie and I asked her if she wanted to do something. You have to forgive the lack of detail here because, you know, tired. I can’t remember. But what I do remember is this - her reply.

No mom, I can’t. I’m just too tired.

Ugh. I wish I had said that one thousand times throughout the course of my day. But I didn’t. And at the end of the day, I full on collapsed onto my bed wearing yesterday’s sweatpants and my hair up high. I was too tired to wash my makeup off my face and to do literally anything else other than roll over and fall asleep at 9 p.m.

But what if at some point in my day, I tried out those words? Would I have more gas left in the tank for the other things I wanted to do that evening? What if I took a break or looked out for myself instead of feeling like there was power in just powering through? The hard part too is I love doing all of those things that I did this day. Usually they fill my tank. Today was different, because you can’t start an engine without any fuel, even if you only want to drive to the gas station.

I don’t know.

I do know that there is just so much muscle that comes from just naming our feelings, and being too tired is a pretty important feeling. So is happiness and fear and gratitude and worry and anxiety and all of it really. And right now, in what feels like year one hundred trillion in living socially distanced as we get through this pandemic, I wonder who isn’t just a little bit tired.

Own it.

Leave the dishes in the sink.

Order delivery.

Call a friend.

Close your eyes for ten minutes at two p.m.

Maybe that email can wait until tomorrow. You might be better for it, too.

XO

Thanks for showing up.

It was a snowy weekday and we found ourselves relishing in the reality that it was likely the one and only good storm of the season. They don’t come around as often as they used to, so when they do, it’s pretty exciting. The inches of the white and fluffy stuff was piling up, and after the (in)famous sled-hill was prepped and ready, we spent the afternoon launching ourselves off of what would soon be considered the best hill in the neighborhood.

For the record, “neighborhood” is a gracious assumption. What we have are a few superstar neighbors who drive over, or hop the fence to give us a little bit of that feeling of community. We love it.

After a couple of hours, we dragged our chilled-bodies inside. We took our boots, snow pants and gloves off and warmed them up near the fireplace and had some cocoa with extra marshmallows. The day itself was delicious except for one thing.

Elsie’s cousin, who lives just a few miles away and also for the record, is part of our “bubble”, couldn’t make it through the snowstorm to come play. The roads hadn’t been plowed and out here, our streets quickly turn into a one-lane sketchy-fest of a drive.

The six-year-olds were devastated and the grown-ups felt pretty bad too.

Hours later, Elsie’s cousin came bouncing through our front door. It was nearly dark. Our snowsuits were hanging to dry and we were settling in for the evening. But, the roads had cleared a little, and her dad was able to make the trek over.

“Piper, I’m SO GLAD YOU ARE HERE.” Elsie said with the most honest, warm, wonderful tone and her cousin reciprocated. “Me too, Elsie.”

The cousins laughed, hugged, laughed some more. We all put our winter gear back on and headed outside. Again, delicious.

The thing is, when I heard Elsie say those words I actually felt Elsie say those words. I felt it deeply.

Because how many times have you showed up somewhere, and you weren’t acknowledged? How many times have you entered a room to be given less than a glance of recognition? How many times have you wished for someone just to share how glad they were that you were there, that you made an effort? I bet once or twice or maybe many, many times, you’ve been excited about something, and the person on the other end didn’t share those feelings out loud with you and maybe it hurt a little.

Even if your presence is expected, it’s status-quo, and it was assumed, even so, why aren’t we shouting from rooftops how grateful we are for someone showing up for us? Even if it’s virtual. Even if it’s metaphoric.

Why aren’t we confident enough in ourselves to be outwardly grateful to others? Because that’s it, you know.

We don’t say those things because we’re scared. We’re afraid how we’ll be seen, and we’re afraid that by being just a little vulnerable we might get hurt. So our fear causes others to feel unseen, and that’s a pretty ugly thing.

Because showing up counts.

And we need you to show up.

And we need to hear how grateful someone is for us doing those things.

ESPECIALLY NOW. Especially when “social distancing” has allowed us to drift away from each other just a little too much. Especially now.

The kids and the grown ups sled and crashed and laughed until it hurt until it was so dark we couldn’t see past our noses. Our bodies were freezing, our hearts were warm.

We need you to come bouncing through our relative front doors, ready to play, Even if the snow’s turned to slush and the sun is almost down. We need you to assume you’re welcome, because you are. And when you show up like that, you better believe we will tell you how grateful we are.

Messy houses and happy hearts

It was 5:30 on Tuesday night. I was doing what I’m usually doing these days on 5:30 on most nights, making dinner and drinking a glass of wine.

I had spent a rushed ten minutes before this just picking up stuff. Kid stuff, stuff from the day, and surrounding me was even more stuff that needed picked up and the fact that I probably wasn’t going to get to it until after the kids went to bed was weighing heavily.

There’s a mess around me, always. And let me be vulnerable for a minute - it drives me pretty crazy.

So there I am, hands deep in batter (we were breading fish for some tacos), when Elsie dances in, opens the pantry and starts pulling cans and jars and boxes of pasta out, placing it not-so-neatly on the floor.

Are you kidding me, child. Another mess.

Mom, let’s organize the cabinet! Let’s do it together!

There’s only so much time in the day, and we can choose to focus, to fester, on the messes that surround us - the chaos and uncomfortable. Regardless of who we are or what our families look like or who we live with, the world is thick with chaos and it’s not going anywhere, anytime soon. And in my house, although I want to clean it up and put it away, it’s all important too - the baby bouncers, Barbie dream houses, bins of diapers and wipes. It all tells a story.

It’s telling us that this is a house well lived in, messy as it may be, and above all, I know that hearts around here are happy. I keep reminding myself that all too soon, I’ll be boxing it up and I’ll miss that baby jumper that hangs in the doorway, even though I’m constantly annoyed by having to push it out of the way as I pass through right now. One day, I’ll be bored of actually using my dining room table for actual dining because today, there’s a slot-car track taking up most of the space.

Time is so weird. Perspective is so important.

If you know me and you know my family and especially have ever been to Lancaster Land, you know that my husband, Joey, has an undisclosed number of motorcycles in his shop. There’s projects everywhere. You’ll find he’s controlling the chaos pretty well, but to an untrained eye, it’s a lot. You’ll find half-built bikes and torn apart engines and from floor to ceiling, you’ll find the space is littered with trophies and helmets and stuff, so much other stuff.

One of the big projects on his list that just never leaves the list is clean up the shop, organize the shop. But, instead of spending time doing these two things, he spends time building and creating and making memories and I just love that about him. He presses pause on the things he feels like he should be doing sometimes because the outcome of placing energy where he wants to place it creates such a better outcome. So, that shop stays messy. That’s okay.

We can’t always do this, because, you know - life, but we should pick these battles carefully. I read a quote from author Nora Barnes once, about juggling and having a lot of balls in the air at the same time. And I think about this A LOT. She was asked how she keeps them all in the air. And I’m paraphrasing, but essentially, she said she doesn’t. She said that some are glass and some are plastic and it’s important to know which are which and to keep the right ones from dropping.

The shop is a plastic ball. Finishing making the fish tacos on time are a plastic ball. Being there for our loved ones is glass, so fragile and so we need to really take care of that one. On this day, rearranging the pantry was a glass ball.

I washed my hands, quickly dried them on my jeans and sat down next to Elsie on the kitchen floor. We grabbed the kidney beans and the diced tomatoes and the macaroni noodles off the shelf and sat it on the floor just to be reorganized and put back again. We did this together. Because to her, it’s not a mess, it’s a memory and if we’re being honest, it’s a memory for me too.

XO

Find your own style of stillness

Just. Be. Still.

Three words, three words I found floating around my mind and I watched water pass by, my legs stretched out on the sandy beach of the Columbia River. Barges passed. Boats cruised from one line of sight to the next. Joey and Elsie were playing a couple hundred yards behind me, and our newest little one, Leo James, was sleeping soundly just to my right on a picnic blanket we packed along, under an umbrella shielding us both from the warm summer rays.

Just be still. A deep breath in, and a long breath out. Just be still.

It’s an action, or an inaction I haven’t had in quite some time, really. In the world now, 2020. Covid. Riots. Trying our best to be on the right side of history. Pregnacy and new baby. Isolation. Missing friends. Missing family. Fear. So much fear. All of it is just so noisy and everything is moving so darn fast. So who has time to just be still…

You. Me. We do.

We must, actually. Because as I sat there on the riverbank, the sound of laughter coming from the play behind me, I realized this was maybe the first moment in so many moments, so many days and so many weeks filled with constant motion and constant concern that I had actually just found myself alone with myself, although not really. And that’s okay.

I think I was waiting for stillness to come only in a space dedicated just for that, in a space where and when I could be really alone, in a time I could set aside and package up with a bow, that I could dedicate to myself. A time to think, a time to process, a time to remember what’s important. I envisioned a solitary walk or sitting unaccompanied somewhere for a really long time. But stillness doesn’t need all of that. Turns out, my style of stillness is inside the noise.

I was waiting to give space to so many things in my heart and on my mind. I was waiting to find a space to think about the things I really wanted, and how grateful I was to become a mom again, and to grieve one more time the pregnancy we lost and how thankful I was for this moment in my own history, my husband and daughter creating a special memory just behind me, and this brand new baby that I get to love laying right beside me, his world entirely in front of him. Our gifts and our responsibilities and our own stories deserve stillness, and that stillness found me in the weirdest and loudest time and for that too, I’m grateful. The boats kept passing, the water kept flowing, and now, my eyes had tears flowing from them too.

Like I said, weird.

Maybe you can find stillness inside the noise. Maybe that’s where it lives for you. Because in today’s world, especially if you’re working and parenting and teaching and doing all of the things that demand our attention, we don’t have those moments to be alone very often. We have children or parents to care for, lessons to teach, dinners to make, work to do, relationships to keep, households to manage, news to filter for what’s real or what’s not, and decisions to make that impact so many. It’s all so noisy.

Within that noise, let’s find our stillness because that’s where we get our power. And in no other time in our lives, we need our power and we need our voices and we need our love and our creativity and our feelings of community and we can only have those things if we pay attention to ourselves once in awhile.

XO.

Oh, by the way. I almost deleted this picture (below) because when I first saw it, I thought all the bad things about it, about me. But then I looked at her face, her smile. Another gentle reminder, that we need to be gentle to ourselves. All the time. And take the pictures, and save them because one day, we’ll want them and we’ll hold these memories so tightly. Elsie doesn’t care how I look, but she sure cares I’m in the water with her, spinning her around and around on a giant donut floatie.

Meagan

Hit your own instant replay

Hey there,

How are you feeling? Today? About the week, the month, the year? How are you feeling right this minute? I bet you can’t name just one feeling. I bet you can’t name only three.

Stop and think carefully before you answer. Because knowing and believing in your feelings is pretty dang important, especially right now, in this world, with so much going on all around us all the time.

How are the people around you feeling? About the week, the month, the year? How are they feeling right this minute? The people you work with, the people you live with, and all of the people you love. Have you asked? You should ask. And you should share.

Want to know how I’m doing? I’ll share too. Thanks for asking.

I’m stressed, you guys. I’m overwhelmed. I’m grateful and I’m nervous. I’m anxious and I’m thankful and I’m cautiously optimistic for the future, even if that future comes as quickly as the next ten minutes or the next hour or the next day. I’m sad. I’m worried. I’m feeling so many feelings. I’m feeling guilty and I’m not sure why. I’m also exhausted.

Aren’t you glad you asked?

I hadn’t been paying attention to how I was feeling lately, until it hit me like the weirdest wake up call. In this current world of Covid-19, we were about two weeks into our stay-at-home order and doing our best to just…do our best, you know? Uncertainty was (and still is) everywhere. The air is thick with it. Uncertainty is this pungent smell, this uncomfortable taste and this swirling, whirling something that just makes our nerves a little more tense than usual.

It was in this thickness, this sludge, that hubs and I were passing the baton of full-time work, full-time teacher (schools are closed), and trying to stay part-time sane. Details aren’t important, but honesty sure is, so I’ll tell you this. I said something. He said something and I was angry.

I wanted to chase after him, probably not the nicest words flowing from my mouth. I wanted to be angry on the outside because I was angry on the inside. Feelings, am I right?

But I didn’t. I walked downstairs. I stood in front of the kitchen window, looking outside. I breathed, once, twice, three times. And then I thought. I thought about what I wanted to say and the fight that would have ensued. I thought about why I was angry and I realized it wasn’t because of the exchange of words but it was because of the state of the world. I am angry.

But I paused, and I hit my own instant replay. I watched the movie that played out in my mind how much worse off we’d all be if I immediately reacted, overreacted. I didn’t want to live that movie scene. What I really wanted was those few deep breaths, to really understand where my feelings were coming from, and probably his too.

Instead of an immediate reaction, I gave myself the gift of time to process. We don’t receive that gift nearly enough, even when its our own selves gifting. So when we finally reconnected, it was coming from a place of shared empathy, instead of shared anger. That movie was way better.

We’re all stressed. We’re all feeling all of the feelings right now. But if I can offer something I learned about myself in hope that it’s a lesson to whoever reads this - watch that instant replay before you react in real life. Consider intentions. Consider what might be going on behind the scenes, because I promise you, right now a little more understanding is the reaction we all need.

Stay well.

XO

Ladies, it's time to take up space.

Here’s something to think about - space.

Actually, no - space is something we should be talking about, all of the time.

Space is something we should be changing behavior around, every day.

I’m a tall woman, standing at 5 feet ten inches tall, and some days, I love wearing a wedge or a heel, so that puts me closer to six feet tall. Unrelated, I also travel on airplanes a lot. Most of the time, these two don’t intersect because I understand that I’m tall, seats are small, legroom is tight and you know what? That’s just the way it is. That’s air travel.

A few weeks ago, I was on a short flight (thank goodness) from Portland to Seattle. These thirty-five minute flights invite you to small planes, four seats per row separated by a faded burgundy aisle. I board the plane, wedge my travel bag under the seat in front of me with enough space for my legs to fit in that space although not comfortably. I snagged a window seat, because the views on this route are magical. I remove my heavy coat, bundle it up under my arm next to the window, and plug my headphones in and continue listening to whatever true crime podcast had already downloaded to my iPhone.

All is good and normal, until my passenger friend arrives. He’s also about six feet tall, adorning a business suit and briefcase, glasses and a Starbucks. It’s Portland in the winter, so he also sheds his coat, just shrugging it off of his shoulders and arms so it lands behind him, sleeves cascading over the armrest to my seat.

I say nothing.

He opens the airline magazine, his headphones also in-ear and taking his attention. His left leg slowly leans closer to me, right leg in the other direction. Both arms are on the armrests. He’s taking up my space. We’re probably the same size, perhaps we travel this airline the same amount. We both have places to go. And he’s taking up my space.

I say nothing.

I shrink down, lean in toward the window and watch as he manspreads all over the place.

I am angry and I say nothing. And I do nothing.

The thirty-five minute flight is over. We both stand up, grab our things, and are on our way, probably never to see each other again. But I’ll see someone just like him on my trip home, and on the next trip and the next and probably forever. Because this passenger was just one of so many men, (sorry guys) that take more than their space next to a woman.

Here’s the thing. I realized that I don’t just do this on airplanes, I do this everywhere. I shrink, I adjust, I shift the space I take up depending on what is around me. And I think a lot of women do this. What if we stopped? What if we started taking up the space we deserve, that we are entitled to?

And I get it, sometimes it’s outside of our control and we have to be sensitive to those around us. I’m talking about when the playing field is equal. We should be and act and feel equal too. Because we are.

Here’s the warning to the world. Mr. Passenger Man, I’ll see you in the friendly skies and that seat I paid for, it’s all mine.

XO

Meagan

How talking about fear will bring you back to gratitude

I’m scared.

It was way past bedtime on a pretty important Thursday night. I was laying in bed with Elsie and we were talking about the day, the week and all of the things that transpired over that period of time. We usually talk about funny things that happened at school or what we want to have for breakfast or what book to read in the morning. But, it wasn’t a regular week and in our heart of hearts, we sure wish that it was.

In the soft bedtime whisper that only a four-year-old could manage, she whispered it again.

I’m scared, mama.

But that is one of the funny things about fear - it hits you when you just aren't ready to be hit, it swallows you whole when it’s just not the right time. It comes out of nowhere, or sometimes in the middle of a bedtime story. Fear is brought to the surface while you find yourself sinking. Deeper and deeper, fear is something that you can taste. And it’s sour and bitter and stays in your mouth for just a moment too long.

And when your four-year-old feels fearful, well, you feel a little helpless because those feelings don’t just go away with a standard It’s going to be okay.

Earlier in the week, my husband’s dad had a series of small heart-attacks. Two were right in front of all of us, and let me tell you - they’re not always like how we see them in the movies. No grasping of the chest, no falling to the knees. Just quiet, slow, pain. Sweating. Nausea. And people, if this happens to someone you love, get them to the ER. Fast forward a few days and we found ourselves walking him through a quadruple bypass, and happy to be part of a team helping him after the surgery.

Anyway, a series of additional unfortunate events during this process gave Elsie eyes into the soul of a late-night emergency room, seeing first-hand her grandpa be no-bones-about-it sick, and waiting patiently yet observantly in the wings while her family figured things out. Her eyes wide, her heart open and her energy so young.

So yeah, on Thursday night we found ourselves cuddled under the weight of her down comforter, and she was scared. She told me so, but she didn’t have to because I already knew.

As she talked and talked about her feelings, I listened intently and tried to find the right words to ease her mind. I struggled.

It was scary.

I was scared too.

And so I told her so. I told her everything that had happened within that last week was scary and it was okay to feel those feelings and feel them hard and deep and wide. I told her things were better now. I told her we had a plan. I told her though, that I was scared and the things she saw by accident were scary and I felt that way too.

In that moment, nightlight dancing across our faces, I realized how darn important it is to be honest with these feelings we feel, with ourselves and with others. We broke it down - what being scared meant, what it felt like, and what exactly were we scared of. We planned what we were going to do the next day to face our fears. Talking it through made us feel a little better, but then so naturally, so easy, we quickly began talking about things we were thankful for.

That list was way longer that the scared list.

Way longer.

And we fell to sleep that night wrapped in truth that the things we are grateful for are stronger and larger and heavier, yet so much lighter in so many ways, than the things that give us fear.

That’s the power move. When fear creeps in, refocus on thankfulness and not just thankfulness but good old honest gratitude.

Things won’t stop being scary. Scary things will keep coming, sometimes at a pace that feels wild and unmanageable. But let’s keep talking about them. Let’s be honest about them. Nobody is a hero when fear wins. So let’s keep breaking fear down and building up the moments for gratitude.

This world is thick with those moments.

XO

Own the jackass.

One decade is a really long time.

Really. Long.

It’s, like, a really long time.

One decade is ten years, 3,650 days and for us, one decade is buying a house, raising a child, and doing a whole lot of growing up together.

Happy anniversary, babe.

I am not a fan of the mushy-gushy, but after being married to this guy for ten years, I’ll just say this… I am overwhelmed by the kind of man that my husband has grown into, turned into, and I’ve been able to watch the evolution from twenty-something boy to thirty-something man. And there’s this element that girls, women, when you find it, grab it. Never let it go. I was reminded about that on said anniversary.

Relationships are weird and wild, right? And if you know me through this little corner of the internet or if you know me in real life, I think you know that we’re on the road a lot, we work full-time jobs, we have our hands in a lot of side projects and overall, we’re just busy. Sometimes we might go a day without really talking or texting or Facetiming, depending on where we are. Sometimes we’re moving so fast we forget to slow down for the important moments. Sometimes we forget what makes us great.

And sometimes, we remember.

It was a rainy fall evening in September, our anniversary.

I was in the bathroom putting the last curl in my hair, ready for a dinner date with the hubs.

“Mama, your present is outside. You have to hit it reaaaaaly hard.”

That was my clue. And I was clueless.

I followed her on her excited jaunt to the front yard, underneath the apple trees. It was there that I found hubs, wearing a huge grin. He handed me a wooden stick. Next to him was a pinata, hanging from the apple tree. I was a little confused.

This wasn’t just a regular old pinata. It was special for two reasons. First, he (the king of selfie hate), had taken and printed a selfie and taped it to the face of the pinata. The pinata was in the shape of a donkey. Also known as an ass, a jackass.

This is my husband. He handed me the stick, put a red bandana over my eyes, and encouraged me to take a swing.

“For all the times I’ve been a jackass…”, he said.

Okay.

Batter up.

I swung and I swung and we laughed and we laughed and we laughed some more. At some point, the pinata exploded over the wet grass, and our daughter ran straight for what was inside. But inside wasn’t your typical pinata fixings. Inside was special too.

Inside was representative of the last ten years of our life. Inside was candy worms (I hate worms) an acrylic wine glass (I love wine and durability!), a welcome mat, and so many other things that gave me all the warm feels and reminded me of the journey we’ve been on this past decade. Out of this jackass, came all of the things that so beautifully make us who we are.

Our daughter ate the candy worms.

She also took a selfie with us.

Maybe you have found that special someone and maybe you haven’t. If you have, be sure you’re reminding them once in awhile how great your collective story is. Fight for it. Fight hard.

If you haven’t, I challenge you to look for someone with all of the qualities that are important to you, whatever they are. And as a small public service announcement, just stop waiting for the knight to ride in on his white horse. That Disney dream is a wonderful story but isn’t real life. Real life is more wonderful, because it’s so real. Anyhow, look for these things too:

• Look for someone who knows the value of a moment, of a memory.

• Look for someone who understands the meaning of adventure.

• Look for someone who knows the levity you need in what might be a dark moment or a heavy moment and find that person and let them bring that to you.

• Look for someone who wants to keep getting to know you, ten years later.

• Look for someone who wants to create something special for you, ten years later.

Okay, so that list got pretty long, kind of fast. Maybe just look for this one thing:

Find someone who fights hard to see you smile. All the time.

That jackass is yours. Own it, and own that sometimes you might be the jackass too.

XOXO

Forget your phone.

Forget your phone.

This is a dare. A big time, double-dog, super important dare. And I bet you can do it. And I bet you'll be happier.

I did. And I am.

It was your average Tuesday. We were overscheduled, over-tired, overworked, and just plain over it. Summer, you guys. Every year, it gets crazier. More things to do, more things to plan, more places to go, more demands and overall, less and less time. This was one of those summer Tuesdays where all of it was happening. I can't remember really, what all of it even was but I remember it felt like a lot.

So, when we got an invite to visit my sister-in-law and her beautiful family for dinner, you bet we got in the car and headed her way without thinking twice. Somebody is cooking for me, come on. You'd jump at it too. I did think about bringing marionberry ice cream for dessert and a bottle of wine for drinking. I did not think about bringing my iPhone. This never happens. Ever. I mean, bringing wine - yes. Forgetting my phone, no.

After my initial panic rinsed away, I thought out loud well, I don't really need it, a reaction that was immediately followed by sarcastic agreement and laughs from my husband.

Thanks for the support, bro. I got this.

Anyway, I spent the evening totally hands-on with the kiddos and fully present with the meal and completely involved in soaking up every single moment. Elsie and her cousin (just three months apart and acting more like siblings than cousins most days), they pranced around the backyard, picking dandelions out of the grass. The setting sunlight danced on their faces and the soft breeze slowly drifted the white puffs of dandelion seeds through the air, carrying wishes from both girls. 

This moment. This moment and so many more moments that night were captured and neatly filed away in my never forget this moment folder, deep in my mind. This folder is filling up fast. We were gone for hours and I was so swept away by the richness of this summer night that I didn't think about emails or text messages or my calendar for the next day. I didn't wonder about Instagram or Facebook and the only pictures I took were mental ones. Really, really good mental ones.

These are the moments that only happen once. We don't get a second chance. Time doesn't give us do-overs and there's no rewind button on our lives.

I started thinking about all of the moments like this that I've missed already. All of the magic and beauty that happened right before my eyes, except my eyes were zombie-like glued to a screen, so I missed them.

The next day was a scorcher, and we found ourselves outside doing the evening chores of watering the garden and feeding the chickens and just enjoying some fresh air and the chance to be outside. My phone, it was inside. 

The little one, wearing brand new "light-up shoes" was in command of the garden hose, and proceeded to create mud puddles, and then jump in those mud puddles and then laugh at the level of muddy she became. That moment, it was priceless. Her laughter, her smiles, her pure enjoyment of just being.

And to think, I could have missed it because I was behind a screen. I don't want to miss anything. Things are moving too fast to miss the special parts.

(I did run to get it to snap a photo, because...just because...it was meant for a frame on the wall).

Sometimes we need to be tethered to the world, we need to check the emails and watch the calendars and update Facebook so grandmas can see pictures of our lives and our families. Sometimes we're so tired that we want to do something mindless, like thumb-scroll across social media. Sometimes we need to disengage from the day and these channels are easy ways to do that. I get it. But that's just sometimes. It can't be all of the time.

So I challenge you. I dare you.

Forget your phone. Forget it inside the house for an hour or leave it on your nightstand for an afternoon.

Forget it and you'll create some extra-special memories that you'll never want to forget.

XO

Meagan

Sometimes the outtakes are better than the plans we make.

It was an early summer morning. Dew danced on the newly planted garden, clucking chickens welcomed the day ahead and we had adventure on the mind. We loaded up all of the toys, the family, the dog, and we headed east for a weekend of all things good about living where we live. We were excited, because for the second time in nearly two years, we were getting out of town together. We weren't headed to a work event (including those passion projects we have). We had no agenda other than to just purely enjoy.

After an anticipatory five hour drive, one of which was sprinkled with potty breaks and fuel stops and leg stretching and snack time (and for the record, most of the requests to stop were done by an adorable three-year-old), we were just miles from our destination.

Christmas Valley is an incredible place, and this was our first visit. The land is thick with geological history, boasting nearly 11,000 acres of sand dunes. The incredible part is that these dunes are nowhere near any coastline, but were created over 7,000 years ago when Mt. Mazama erupted forming Oregon's only National Park, Crater Lake. The sand is actually from the ash and pumice that landed from the explosion.

Because it's located smack-dab in the middle of Oregon, summertime there is supposed to be just that - summertime. It was our escape from the soaking wet winter we were inching out from. We expected hot sun, warm days and we were equipped to be greeted by high temperatures. I packed all of the sunblock and all of the summer clothes. We were ready.

So there we were, miles from our destination and instead of being greeted by summertime vibes, we were greeted by angry skies and warnings of flash floods and wondering if we'd even make it to the campground at all. Claps of thunder and flashes of lightning were angry in the air. 

Great.

On our approach to the camping spot, it was evident that this storm meant business. Several camps were flooded, the road to enter was nearly washed out. My fearless husband navigated the terrain and my daughter laughed as we embarked on the final bit of the journey, literally bouncing through and bumping over water and sand. I laughed too, but only to cover up my nervousness. We made it, though. We had arrived.

We spent that first night dodging raindrops as we ran between motorhomes, drinking wine and snuggling up with the kids as we watched movies while the rain so loudly pelted the outside of the vehicles. We cranked the heaters and we were forced to stay in close quarters and make group dinners and it was magical because it was everything we didn't want in that moment. As it turns out, it's just what we wanted. It's what we needed, too.

When morning came, we woke to more rain, which slowly changed into sunlight.  We did all of the things we wanted to do. We adventured. We played. We did a little bit of doing nothing. We watched our kids get dirty as they built sand castles and we laughed as said sand found its way into their lunchtime sandwiches. We made new sandwiches. We watched sunsets and made campfires and we vowed to come back next year. The kids fought and they shared and we all made memories that I can only hope will last our lifetimes.

There was this extra special moment probably better suited for another blog post, where I watched little Elsie put into practice a great lesson about sharing I taught her just hours before.

Really, it was great.

The weekend quickly passed and it was time to go home. And then a flat tire put us hours behind schedule. Our friends waited with us. New memories were created as we problem solved and found solutions and made good out of not so good. 

So really, that was great too.

We were almost home, almost. And a brush fire closed the highway and again, we were delayed hours. And we found the binoculars and grabbed the guitar and we played some more. And although the memories are still fresh and vivid, I really hope they stay that way.

Our weekend was full of plans, full of expectations, thick with preconceived notions of what we were in for. And guess what? We were wrong about a lot of them. 

Like I said, it was great.

It was great because that's what adventure is all about. It's about not knowing exactly what's around the next bend. It's about having to pivot, to adjust and to decide just how to make things work. And I know, sometimes the very bad turns into the really, really very bad and those times are extra hard. But a lot of times, we can turn the not-so-bad into the really good, and those are the times that are an extra special kind of sweet.

The lesson is this: Look for the light, find your tribe and just power through. Trust me, you will never regret those moments where you found the good in the ugly.

Sometimes the outtakes are better than the plans we make.

And if you let them, you'll find that's usually the case.

XOXO

Meagan

Hot to Cold: Lingerie to Ice Machines

I was having a drink with a friend. We were catching up on kids, life, relationships and reality tv. You know, all of the important things. She shared with me that for her last birthday, her husband surprised her with the purchase of TSA Precheck. 

Yup.

And my reaction - Wow, that's so romantic. She enthusiastically agreed. We continued sipping our drinks and the conversation continued through the evening.  On my way home, I couldn't help but think what twenty-one-year-old me would have thought of such a gift. I'm sure I would have been mortified. Twenty-one-year-old me would have preferred something romantic, something personal, something that smelled good or made me feel sexy. But thirty-four-year old me, the me of today - that kind of practical gift was about as romantic as it got.

Like me, that friend travels a lot for work. The regular commute to the airport is taxing on her, and the rush out the door, savoring the final few moments with her family before she was about to literally jet somewhere else was a common and precious activity. I get it. I often times find myself doing the same thing. So when we arrive at the airport for a few work-required days out of town, breezing through the TSA Precheck line is a gift. It's a gift of time saved, a gift of stress gone away, and a gift of an extra few minutes with the ones we love. To me, that's romance. 

A note to my husband: I already have TSA Precheck, so for my next birthday, you'll have to think of something else. 

Another friend shared that for Mother's Day, she wanted a night alone in a five-star hotel. She wanted to order room service and stay in her pajamas and watch movies all afternoon. She wanted to sleep all night and wake up late in the morning. Twenty-one-year-old me would have been, again, mortified at the idea of a MOTHER wanting to spend MOTHER'S DAY alone. But today, with a toddler who doesn't sleep through the night and is deep in a stage of  "Mom Only", I get it.

A note to my husband: I also prefer five-star hotels and room service and sleeping in, literally anytime this could be possible.

My husband's birthday was just around the corner. We've celebrated fourteen birthdays together, and in the beginning, birthday gifts were easy. I might cook a nice dinner and open an expensive bottle of wine. We might whisk ourselves away for the weekend or spend all night in a dive bar catching the last set of whatever band was on stage that night. Clueless of what to do this year, I asked him what he wanted for his birthday.  He knew immediately what he wanted.

An ice machine.

You read that right. For his birthday, my husband requested a countertop ice machine.

Ouch. I mean, have we gone from hot to cold that fast? In fourteen years, did we not want the exciting adventures, the fancy dinners or the unpredictable nights? Have we totally failed each other? Are we boring? Like I said, ouch.

An ice machine.

And then, I got it. His ice machine is my friend's TSA Precheck. It's romantic. At the end of a busy day, my husband likes to sit in the living room with his family, have a cocktail, and an ice machine adds an element of ease to his nighttime relaxation. It means we can entertain more, fill our summertime camp coolers faster, and make sno-cones for the little ones whenever we want. An ice machine is sexy.

Things change over time, that's obvious. But sometimes it's surprising just how they change and how we accept that kind of change. This stage, this phase of life is all about appreciating the things that we have, and finding the ways to cherish our special moments just a little bit more or for a little bit longer.

I know that we're lucky to be in a place where we think about gifts for each other. I know if we didn't "gift" at all, that would be just fine too. I treasure the moments where we focus more on others instead of ourselves, and look forward to seeing just how our perspective and practicalities continue to morph as we grow.

Don't get me wrong, I'd love a romantic weekend getaway but for now, I'll enjoy his ice machine right along with him.

XOXO

Meagan

Falling in love with a four letter word

I did it.

I took the leap. And oh my goodness, it feels good. I'm happier than I've been in a long while. I'm sitting on the couch, hands cupped around my coffee with a smile stretching across my face. I'm staring past the magazine on the coffee table and completely through the turned-off television. I'm not anxious, I'm happy.  Swoon. I'm in love and I don't care who knows it.

I'm head over heels in love...with a four letter word.

It might not really be quite that romantic, but the love and adoration part is certainly true. And the four letter word? Can't.

That's right. Can't. And for you linguists and English Majors out there, I know that can't isn't exactly a four letter word because it's a conjunction and all of that, but stick with me.

I've been reading a lot lately about something called the mental load, and you guys, my mental load is heavy. Really heavy. I don't know why I finally came to this realization, but here's a preview into my month of June and maybe we can figure out together why.

• Multi-night work trips for Meagan: 2
• Single-night work trips for Hubs: 3?
• Losing someone close to us: 2
• Health scare for Hubs: 1
• Hosting a party at our house: 1
• Days without showering or putting on makeup or caring at all about myself: A lot
• Blah blah blah things I can't remember: Infinity

Between the fullness of our calendars, we have to live our lives too. And that means nightly bath time for the little one, making dinners each night, working on personal projects,  trying to fuel some creativity and have a little fun, working on our husband-wife relationship, doing dishes, trying to be good and present parents, yard work (although there's got to be a better name for yard work when you have nearly three acres), spending time with family, seeing close friends, staying active and cleaning our home.

Here's the thing.

I know I'm not the only person on the planet with a full calendar, a busy work life, and I'm not the only person on the planet who tries her best to juggle all of everything. Whether you've got kids or not, there's a lot to going on. I also know I'm not the only person on the planet who drops a ball once in awhile.

And in June, I dropped all of the balls. I felt bad, really bad. I failed. I failed because I tried to do everything. I was standing on a dirty kitchen floor surrounded by dropped balls. Hair in an unwashed messy bun, toddler asking for a second popsicle, which I gave her because, well, easy button.

I can't.

I can't do everything. I just can't. I'm not a magician and I can't pretend that I am. I can't. I can't.

See how much fun that little teeny four letter word is? Can't. (I love you). I can't. Something's gotta give. So, I asked some friends and I looked for recommendations on Facebook and found myself a fabulous house cleaner. She spent the good part of a day cleaning all of the things I've been neglecting and when I finished work, walked through my front door, my house was clean.

Check that off the list. Mental load, lightened.

Because before, I'd get home and immediately start the process of cleaning. And then it's dinner and then it's bathtime and then it's family time and then it's cleaning some more and then it's grown-up relationship time and you guys, I'm tired. And even on the days and weeks and months when everything gets done, it's not all done right or done well and nobody feels good about that either.

Here's my challenge for you.

Fall in love with your four letter word.

• Can't.
• Won't.
• Nope.
• Nada.

Give something up. Stop doing something. I know we can't all afford the luxury of a wonderful fairy to come clean our toilets, but the challenge is to feel okay about saying no. Feel okay about not doing something today, tomorrow, yesterday. I challenge you, moms. I challenge you, single ladies. I challenge you, dads and workaholics, and work from home parents. I challenge you to stop doing just one thing that you feel like you have to do. Find a way around it. Get creative. Ask for help. Figure out the difference between a "have to" and a "need to" and a "want to" activity, and focus on the things that are the most important for you to do.

And in the time you get back in your day - do something with it. Sit outside on a blanket, under the shade of your favorite tree. Stare into the sky and laugh with your kiddos about the shapes the clouds make as they pass by. Crank the music and have a dance party in your living room. Read a book. Spend a few minutes holding your partner's hand. Or, just be thankful and breathe deeply. To me, that's doing something big.

XO

Meagan

The two kinds of friends, and why I need you both.

So, I have this friend. She's seriously the best. Let me explain...

She's the kind of friend that has goldfish crackers on her kitchen floor, just like me.

She's the kind of friend that rocks a messy bun most days, just like me.

She's the kind of friend that tries her hardest to feed her toddler organic, non-gmo foods, but at some point realizes her toddler doesn't eat anything she cooks, so gives in after a long and stressful day, offering a chicken nugget and admitting defeat, just like me.

She's the kind of friend that understands that you can feel happy, guilty, proud, invigorated, exhausted and embarrassed at the same time, just like me.

She's the kind of friend that texts me about toddler tantrums, running out of wine (boo), sleepless nights, relationship challenges, and funny memes about serious #momlife things. At 3 a.m., because she's probably awake, just like me.

She's a mom, just like me.

She's one of my best friends, and I really need her in my life. But here's the thing. We didn't always have these kinds of similarities. I remember walking through her front door so many times to an impeccable home, everything in order, everything a showroom kind of nice. It was not at all like walking through my front door, where if you did at the time, everything would feel under construction, in total disarray. You'd be greeted by sawdust, unfinished bathrooms, and sometimes have to step over power tools to get to the couch. We used to dress up, go to happy hours, and now so many of our happy hours are in our living rooms, where we don yoga pants, and we watch our little girls learn to play with each other. It's a different kind of happy hour.

Through this friendship, I've learned two important things.

1. Toddlers are the great equalizer.

2. I really, really value my mom friends.

And then I have this other friend. She's seriously the best, too.

She's the kind of friend that laughs when I apologize that I can't meet for dinner until late...like 7:30 or 8...because my dinner time is dictated by a little kid, and because she doesn't have kids, hers is dictated by her stomach, 8 p.m. is a reasonable time for an adult woman to actually eat a meal.

She's the kind of friend that reminds me that I should probably pull my favorite pair of heels out of retirement and wear them sometimes.

She's the kind of friend that encourages me to splurge on a new pair of jeans because I deserve it and damn it, they look good.

She's just like me, before kids.

She's the kind of friend that fills me in about the newest hot spot for a rare date-night, best brewery, favorite new boutique or where I can find the world's best cold-brew coffee. Because that's a thing.

She's the kind of friend that empowers me to remember that deep down, I'm still me. I'm me, with an adorable baby girl, who is a huge part of my new life, but that's not all of who I am. She asks about the family when we see each other, and does so genuinely, but then we laugh and tell stories that transport me back to when my life was like hers.

I really need her in my life, too. She's helped me realize two more important things.

1. It's important to find balance.

2. It's important to be the good kind of selfish. Selfish with your time, with your dreams, with your goals, and with your heart.

And then these two kinds of friends, with me somewhere in the middle and maybe to both women, I'm one of these kinds of friends too, we gather.  We see the challenges, the trials and the hardships in each others' lives. But we also help each other see the beauty and the magic. We know sometimes the grass may be greener, but we're there to help each other water our own lawns, cherishing what we have and helping each other softly move to the next stage life throws at us.

We laugh, we adventure, we support. Because that's what friendship is about, and together, I have learned one final thing.

1. Each chapter we live changes us, and through our friendships, we are wrapped in the coziest kind of love.

XO

Find the passion, be the backbone.

I see you. And I'm talking to you.

I'm talking to you, the woman standing behind me in the grocery store checkout line. Your shopping cart is overflowing with cheerios and whole milk and dinner ingredients for your family. I recognize so much of what you're buying. The baby shampoo and the diapers and the dog food. I watched you toss the latest issue of Vogue on top of your whole-wheat bread and chardonnay. Good for you. The circles under your eyes are dark and I bet your to-do list is long.

I'm talking to you, the man sitting next to me in afternoon traffic. Your windows are rolled up and I see your hand anxiously tapping your steering wheel. You likely worked all day, suffered through yet another mindless meeting after meeting, or schedule full of conference calls and I bet you can't wait to get home to your family.

I'm talking to you, the mom at the baseball game or football game or volleyball game. You're standing on the sidelines and you're cheering. You're nervous and you're stressed, but you're excited and you're proud. You're making time to be right where you are, with snacks handy for the hungry and tired.

And I'm talking to you, the woman at the motocross race. Your clothes have gotten dirty and dusty and your hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail. Your brows are furrowed behind your sunglasses, but your lips are tightly smiling underneath your nude lipstick. There's dirt under your fingernails. Your eyes are focused everywhere, on your husband headed to the starting line and on your little one who can't wait for the swarm of bikes to hit the first turn. You didn't just show up. You've spent hours and days preparing for where you are right now. And I know the work won't stop when the race is over because there's another race next weekend. I am especially talking to you. I am you.

We are the backbones of our families. We don't have superman capes to wrap around our tired shoulders. We don't have secret hours to add into our days to get it all done.

We are the strength, the motivators, the voices to keep pressing on. We are the backbone and we drive the passion and we do it all, because doing it all is the kind of people we are.

Like me, you love being able to fulfill this role. You take comfort in the well-deserved thank-you and the extra long, extra tight hug at the end of the day. You don't offer the kind of support, both tactical and emotional, because you have to. You offer it because you want to, and because you can.

We all have a lot of different priorities that we can call jobs. I have my real job, my nine to five. It's my career, and I love it but it's also not all of who I am. I have my job as "mom" to our little one, which is a full time job, sometimes requiring around-the-clock alertness and focus. And then there's the job of being that backbone (or behind-the-scenes badass), and for me, it's a doozy.

The world of motocross is an incredible one. We are lucky to be part of such a strong community of racers, riders, fans, friends and families who call the sport their passion and their life. Each weekend spent at a track, I find myself having sweet and beautiful moments of reflection.

I'm hand-in-hand with our daughter. Her little fingers wrap around my palm, both our hands dirty from a combination of leftover peanut butter and a sprinkling of track dust. And we're there because we support. We respect the mental challenges it takes to be part of the sport. We understand the physical demands and rigorous training required to not only be a safe participant but also a competitor. We support the business and the politics and the time away from home that the industry requires and we do it all because it's part of who we are.

We stand for not only our own rider, but the entire community. We band together. As the backbone of strength, we watch each other's kids as our husbands hit the line. We cheer for the guy in dead last as enthusiastically as we cheer for the guy leading the pack, because he's someone's husband and dad too. And if someone gets hurt (because that happens), we do all we can to support - financially, emotionally. We do whatever we can.

And here's the truth - it's not always easy and it's not always fun. It's not always fair, either. There are days and nights that go without our own kind of support, and that I can do it all mentality wears and weakens us to the core. There are lonely dinner tables and empty beds.  There are our own personal priorities that sometimes find themselves in the backseat while we drive the dreams forward of those we love.

So why? Why do I find myself up late, pounding away on a keyboard, editing my husband's website or drafting documents for a passion project of his? Why is the writing of my own pieces reserved for naptimes or for those sacred hours I find when I wake up before our little girl on weekends? It's because doing these things are my passion too. My passion, our passion, is helping those we love find their own joy. That's where our joy comes from. And when I take time to focus on my own personal priorities, my family becomes the backbone that I need too.

XO,

Meagan

The Summer BBQ - Stress and Destress.

Ah, sweet summer. I've missed you. The last days, weeks and months have been dreary. They've been wet. They've been cold. The nights have been arriving too early and the morning light coming far too late. Our heavy blankets are tired. Our fireplace is begging for a break. And, sweet summer, when you arrive, we slowly emerge from our cozy houses, ready for a breath of fresh sun-kissed air. And it's then, that we gather.

The iconic summer BBQ summoned us this past weekend, and after a busy week of work, and evenings that demanded activity, we decided to dust the cobwebs from the grill, shoot out a few text messages and make something happen.

That's what I love the most about summer, the friendships. Sure, soggy winters aren't without, but something is different when we can be outside. Especially here at Lancaster Land, there's so much to do, especially especially (yes, double especially) as our Phase 1 Remodel is coming to a close. 

And though the end result of these moments are reinvigorating, the first gathering of the summer can be overloaded with an overflowing to-do list.

Our top five before-the-party priorities:

1. Mow the yard.
2. Seriously clean the BBQ...cobwebs galore.
3. Meal prep.
4. Cocktail prep (it's just as important as meal prep, people).
5. Clean EVERYTHING.

Sometimes those moments that should relax us and help us find our centers are the moments that cause us the most stress. Think holidays. Think major life celebrations. It's true. It's easy to sink deep down into the worry and the pressure of planning, but it's important to remember that even if everything on our to-do lists don't get completed, that's okay. People still gather. We still laugh. We still connect. And we've got to remember that our best friends really won't mind a forgotten potato salad. They might mind a forgotten margarita, so don't neglect #4...just to be safe.

Soon the margaritas will be full of fresh blueberries, grown right here at our home.

So, perhaps the better top five list isn't about what we need to do, but what we need to remember.

1. Floors get dirty. Food gets spilled. Kids...dogs...mini-mess tornadoes are everywhere. The only thing we can control is how we react. So slow down, watch the messes happen. Enjoy them. Watch the fun that's being had, listen to the memories being made. Suddenly, it's not about the mess. It's about life.
2. Nothing is perfect, ever.
3. The best moments are built because of who we have around us, not where we are, or what we have. Focus more on people. Enjoy the heck out of friendships.
4. Pinterest is evil, because #2. Trying for perfection is exhausting. Wouldn't you much rather spend time with a friend who is enjoying the mess instead of trying to be perfect? I would.
5. Don't forget the margaritas.

Yup, that's the list that's going on my fridge.

XO,

Meagan

Rusty trampolines, tall grass, mowed track and our little buddy having the best time of his life.  #lifeatlancasterland #itsaboutpeople

Fight, Flight or Write

If you know anything about psychology, you know that as humans, we are have an innate "fight or flight" response that's embedded deep within ourselves. When something puts our emotions into overdrive, we either want to run far, far away, or we want to stay and fight. We can't control it. It's real. It's serious. It's proven.

For some of us, our response goes beyond that. For some of us, we write.

Our heads swirl, our emotions run high, and the only reasonable thing that we can do is take to the keyboard and get everything we are feeling down on paper. Call it a coping strategy, if you will. I am one of those people. 

I can't tell you the amount of email drafts I have in my inbox addressed to my husband, never sent, because I had to organize my thoughts on paper before I could organize them in person. I talk in circles, a lot. Sometimes, I was so equally proud of what I wrote and heated about the subject, that I did hit the send button. To my dear husband, my most sincere apologies for these few emails you've received.

So, how do we harness the power of everything we're feeling? How do we turn our emotions into productive conversation? Friends, I have a few tips for you. If you're like me, you probably have some tips to add to the list - so please do!

1. Just write. I'm serious. Whatever you're feeling, get it out. Pretend that the laptop screen is your best friend, and the keys you're frantically typing are the equivalent of the words spewing out of your mouth over margaritas at happy hour to your best girlfriend. She just bought you another round. Get it all out. Even the tough stuff, the stuff you hesitate about writing. Get every last piece out on that screen. And then stop.

2. Put it away. Do not hit that send button. You couldn't anyway, because it's not like you drafted a real email, right? Good. Put it away. What you have just written might be messy, it might be nasty, but I bet getting it out of your insides made you feel better. Close the laptop. Go make some calming tea. Relax. 

3. Review. Review. Review. Somewhere in what you wrote, there's some gold. There's something raw and real and something that you've learned about yourself. Dig. Dig deep. Inside of your newly crafted piece, there's a light bulb just waiting to go off. Find it.

4. Revise and share. Take out all of the bad grammar and the parts of your story that you might be embarrassed to have your grandma read at Thanksgiving in front of a table full of relatives. Soften it up. Use that single light-bulb and turn it into a city full of bright lights. And then, when you're ready, share it with a couple of people who you know, and who you trust. And who you trust will tell you if you've gone off the deep end.

5. Find your media. Post that piece on your blog. Link to it on Facebook, Tweet about it, find a photo that relates and makes you smile, and post that photo to Instagram. Ask friends to share it.  You created something that came from YOU. Be proud.

My first successful piece of writing

was posted on The Huffington Post, and in a week had over 4,500 likes and shares. The reason it was successful is because I just wrote. I put it away. I reviewed it and shared with my tribe, and then I gathered up the gusto to put it out there. And the reason it resonated was because it was real. So, so real.

It's easy to get to step one. It's not so easy to look at your raw emotions in the face and craft them in a way that will resonate with others. If you can do it, I want to read what you've written.

XO

Meagan

Gardening is the worst.

I know, I know. I post a lot about how wonderful and beautiful Lancaster Land is in the spring and summer months. And that time ins here, friends! It is beautiful. The things that grow here are delicious in both smell and taste.

I know. 

I make it sound like we hit the sheets at night, and wake up well rested, to birds chirping and things flowering and everything is just oh-so-natural and happens without effort.

I know. 

I think I owe you an apology. I think I've mislead you. I have recently just cleaned the dirt from underneath my fingernails and gotten the grass stains out of my jeans, and now I sit here, in front of the trusty laptop, wanting to gush about how great everything looks and how easy and fun gardening is around here. But, I just can't. I can't lie to you. Not anymore. The truth is, I think it's the worst but I do it anyway. Because the end result is so worth it.

Blueberries?

I am not one of those people who find gardening an art. I don't look forward to it. I'm happy when it's done, sure, but I don't want to spend hours in the garden and I've never gotten excited about spending an afternoon pulling weeds. And there are so many weeds. So many. 

So before I show you the "after" - I have got to show you the "before" - because until you can appreciate where you've been, there's no way to move forward and appreciate where you're going. 

First I've got to plug

this fancy thing

It's a wacky contraption that you can use to cut into deep roots and also is a handheld rake for easy pulling out of spindly, sticky weeds. It's the best.

And second, wine. Because gardening, as most things, are more enjoyable when you have something to look forward to after, or even during. And I'm a fan of the rose'/working outside combination. So, cheers.

The garden bed (1 of 2) before we weeded it.

Would you guess these are grapes?

Our home is an ongoing, forever changing, hopefully evolving work in progress. That's what Life at Lancaster Land is all about, though. It's about picking up pieces, reclaiming wood, creating a journey without really knowing our destination. The coming months will bring fruitful apple trees, far too many plums, blackberries and then blackberry jam, blueberries, grapes, and so many vegetables from the garden. But, like most things, it takes an undeniable amount of work to get there. That's the lesson.

We've got to make time for things that we don't look forward to. We've got to sometimes prioritize the work before the play. We've got to weed the garden before we can saute the zucchini. We've got to water the plants, pull the weeds, dig the holes, build the jumps, work on the bikes, and the list goes on and on around here. We've got to do the work, because when we do the work, we enjoy the result a lot more. 

XOXO

Meagan

Why I blog

I sit here behind my computer, sun beaming in through the office window. Roscoe's behind me, laying on the rug, panting heavy breaths. Judging by the twitch in his paw, he's dreaming. 

I'm coming up on the one year anniversary of when I launched Life at Lancaster Land and I've been asking myself why. I love my day job, I am in love with my all the time job of being a mom, yet I take to the keyboard on a semi-regular basis to share with the world wide web what's bouncing around in my mind.

The honest answer is easy. I enjoy it. The secondary answer is that in some way, I want to inspire whoever reads my words. Inspire you to act? Sure. Inspire a smile to span your face? You bet. Inspire you to feel that in a dark time, you're not alone? Absolutely. I know that there's probably not a lot of up-front commonalities between me and you. But dig deeper, and we just might be the same. 

Here's an example: my husband is gone all week riding a motorcycle in the Oregon wilderness, trying his best to get lost, and the adventure is being filmed for a big company. Yeah, that's different. But at the core of it is that I'm a working mom, who is married to a man who is gone a lot. I have to shuffle schedules and lean on family and friends, and when he returns later this week, I leave for a work trip so we're juggling and trading and dancing to make everything work. We use whiteboards and calendars and have conversations about our schedules over dinner, making sure that our little girl is in bed by 7:30 and she's cared for the next day. 

Keeping the family on track - this whiteboard saves the day.

A few years back, he was invited to race the Baja 1000, and he left for a month to train and race the race in Mexico. He quit is job to make the trip happen. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. I know, that probably isn't very relatable either, but I'm sure that you've all sacrificed something to help someone else follow their dreams. And you better believe we've learned that dreaming together is a lot of fun.

Joining the Baja 1000 Team in Todos Santos, Mexico

Working for the weekends, making dreams come true. We were babies here in 2013.

So, there's that. That's why I write, but why would you read? Really, beyond my best friends and my mom, why is any of this relevant? 

I read an article awhile ago. I will admit I was spiraling down into a world of blogging advice columns and confusing myself about SEO and feeling pretty frustrated that I wasn't doing the business of blogging right. Because let's be honest, there's a lot to know. But then I read a piece of advice that reassured me. 

Pretend you're sitting across the kitchen table from your average reader. Ask them what they want. Write about that.

I'll continue being personal. I will let you know what my favorite lipstick is, or what primer I used when I refinished our awful office cabinet. (Seriously, it was the best stuff ever but I'll tell you all about that in another post). I'll write about wine and our home projects and our motorhome adventures. I'll talk to you about keeping sane while feeling crazy busy and the tools we use to make it all work. I hope that hits the mark. But, do me a favor. Pretend you're sitting across the kitchen table from me. What else do you want to know? 

XO

Meagan 

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