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

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

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