The best day ever.

It was kind of a shit day.

It was kind of like that book, Alexander and the no good, very bad whatever sort of awful day or something like that. It was a day like that. If that kids book was written for grown-ups, the title would only be it was a shit day.

We’ve all had them. Days where we wake up, we feel off, something happens followed by something else and then our feelings are compounded by something else and there you are, it’s that kind of day. I found myself having one of these days lately. The details aren’t important or maybe they’re irrelevant or perhaps they’re’ better suited for another chapter of this story - either way, here we are.

And then something changed. I asked Elsie about her day, with honest and genuine interest and with an honest and genuine response, she replied.

It was the best day ever.

And all of the sudden, through the beaming of her eyes and the openness of her heart, my day became the best day ever too.

And that’s it. That’s my entire point. We have the power to change the trajectory of someone’s day. Our energy is contagious. And let’s just sit for a moment and think about the kind of power that we really have.

It’s a lot. It’s gigantic. And that power, it’s important.

The photo above wasn’t taken by me. It was taken by Elsie. We had trekked for miles to the peak of a mountain for an overnight backpacking trip. Her first. While we stood together, we stared into the great beyond - focused on miles and miles of scenery, clouds floating on top of trees and other mountains greeting us in the far-off distance. And Elsie was taken aback by this flower.

That flower was at the tips of our toes and right under our eyes. Beauty isn’t far away and it’s easy to see if our eyes and our souls are open. It’s right here. And during each and every day, we should try to focus on what’s right in front of us, the positive things that create the good moments, the sweet seconds and we’ll see the tiny things turn into big things and before we know it, we’ll turn our shit days into the best days ever.

And then when someone asks you, be sure to remind them of that beauty.

That’s our power.

Be Brave.

This one’s for me.

Because I just don’t want to forget.

We found ourselves deep in the woods, following an old trail. Through evergreen trees, just bloomed trillium flowers were signaling the arrival of springtime.

Your dad was leading the way, finding the best path forward. I trailed closely behind you, closing our pack of three. He joked we were going on a bear hunt, just like your favorite story book.

The forest was quiet. We heard our heavy breaths as we traveled uphill. We heard the crunching of branches under our feet. We heard the occasional bird sing and we watched as the sun fought its way through the treetops to shine on our shoulders. We felt the warmth.

And then I heard you.

You’re so brave, Elsie. Elsie, you’re so brave.

You were just thinking, out loud. Your inner voice apparent.

You’ve got this. You can do this all by yourself, Elsie.

Your hot pink, sparkly light-up rain boots crossed over puddles and through old ferns. My heart swelled.

You believe in yourself. When I tell you how strong you are and how brave you are, you listened. That power is part of you.

I just need to capture this moment. I need to remember forever and frankly, I need to harness that kind of power sometimes too.

We focus so much about the importance and the necessity of positive self talk. And through hearing those words flow so freely from your little body, I learned something else - you taught me something really big in that moment, deep in the woods - that hearing others be kind to themselves inspires kindness everywhere.

Days later, in the car on the way to swimming lessons, I told you that I thought you were so brave. And that if you got scared, just remember how brave you are.

Without hesitation, you replied.

I know.

Knowing you believe in yourself helps me believe in me. It helps me believe in others, and it makes me want to believe in you even more, if that would even be possible but it isn’t because girl, you’ve got this. And I’ve got your back. And I’ve got me too.

XO

Celebrating the victories.

The day was long.

I mean, it was one of those long days. And we were in the middle of it. There was so much to do, so much I'd already done, and the time was slipping away faster than the early spring daylight.

Over the last few months, we've tasked ourselves with more than a handful of special projects, focusing on their completion, sometimes wearily after the completion of our day jobs. After we put the little one to bed and when most people would be sinking into their sofas with a good book or the most recent binge-worthy show, we were in front of our laptops, desk lamps illuminating whatever it was we were working on at the time. The clock would tick, our eyelids would feel the gravity of the day pulling them closed, and we worked until we weren't doing these projects justice. 

The alarm clock would cheerily sing in the morning, and we'd do it all again the next day. Projects have deadlines, people.

The Climb.

It was feeling like we were climbing a mountain that we couldn't see the top of. We didn't know if there was a top, if the effort would be worth the climb. But we were climbing that mountain, damn it, because opportunities to be your creative selves (with your husband, doing stuff you both love) don't come every day. But that mountain, it was steep. Who am I kidding....it still is. And we had to climb the mountain after Elsie was in bed because if we didn't, if we prioritized time to work over time with her, well...we might miss out on a beautiful moment, or in this case, learn something about ourselves that we really needed to know.

So on this early spring day, between the breakfast battles and the bathtime bubbles, the sun made a rare appearance. "Outside, Mama, outside." For you moms-of-toddlers out there, you will feel me when I say I blame that phrase on the Bubble Guppies and now it will be stuck in your heads, too. Anyway, we put on our boots and jackets and headed outside.

"Line up, line up. Everybody line up. It's time to go outside." See, there it is.

In our particular outside, we are lucky to have a few acres of land, which my husband has manicured into a motocross track, mini bike track, and go-kart track. These activities and experiences are part of why our land is deemed Lancaster Land. Elsie and I walk the ups and downs of the track, splashing in mud puddles and weaving in and out of the tall pine trees. 

We come to one of the jumps. We walk up, slowly, hand-in-hand. She looks at me, throws her hands in the air and exclaims, "Mama, I DID IT! I DID IT, Mama."

She sure did.

I looked down at her blonde curls, her grin stretching across her two-year-old face, and the pride beaming from her body. She did it. She was proud and I was proud of her. What seems like such a usual feat, a small hurdle to me, was worth celebrating to her. She felt a victory, and together we celebrated. 

And then I started thinking as we continued on our trek up and down and around, and back again. I was reflecting on all of my work lately, my accomplishments, and the work that the hubs and I had completed. I thought about the big goals and the small wins and even the losses that stung so hard.

I thought to myself, I want to be more like my two-year-old.

I want to celebrate the small victories. I want to climb a small hill on the path to climb the big mountain and I want to feel that win. Even though the summit might be so far away that I can't even see it, I want to celebrate the victory and take a moment to just feel good about where I'm at, not focusing on where I'm going. Although the next steps and the action plans and the to-do-lists will always be charging fast at you, the immediate feel-good, pat-on-the-back celebrations need to be slowed down for.

Every day, there's a reason to stand up, throw our hands in the air, and say (even if it's just to ourselves), I did it.

XOXO

Sometimes you gotta roll with it.

I had a plan for today.

And if I'm being honest, it was a really, really good plan. It was a plan full of girlfriends and dirtbikes and road-tripping and before today's plan, I planned even more getting ready for today's plan. I premade lunch for the family to eat while I was gone. We made sure my bike was running, the oil was fresh, the air filter was clean and that my bag was packed and ready by the front door. I scheduled the coffee maker to start brewing my beautiful, thick, black wake-me-up-juice promptly at 6:30 on a SUNDAY morning, because today folks, I had a plan. It was about to get real. I had one foot out the door.

And then the night before, somewhere in-between coffee-maker programming and the wind chime alarm on my iPhone gently rattling me awake, something happened. And my dreams of a day in the dirt with some of the coolest girls I know was foiled.

It was right around midnight. I was woken by an unusual sounding cry coming out of our little girl's room.

"Mama. Mama. Help me. Mama."

Let me pause for moment, because this was preceded by the sweetest nighttime in the history of nighttimes. I know it won't convey well over words on a screen, so I won't even try. But as I closed her door after putting her down, my eyes welled up and I thought to myself, Please, never forget this moment, ever.  It stole the air from my breath for that one tiny second. I choked down a tear to find the air again.

Fast-forward back to midnight.

I called to her, to let her know I was making the short trek from our room to hers. I flipped on the light, and there it was. On her. In her hair. On her sheets. Everywhere. Dreaded vomit. I know. Gross. And my poor, scared, sick baby. Ugh. Her tummy bug from last week had returned, and we fought the nasty, evil beast for hours and hours, until she finally drifted off to dreamland. I stayed awake watching, waiting, hoping that the tummy-devil was gone for good.

My alarm went off. The coffee was brewing. I snuck out of bed and grabbed a quick shower. The hubs and I shared one of those thank the universe we have each other kind of hugs, and I started texting the girls. Today, I wasn't road-tripping, dirtbike riding, hanging out with girlfriends kind of days. Today, I was going to live that #momlife hard. Today, I was going to work and my job was the most important, best job on the planet - making sure our kiddo felt safe, comforted, and got back to being her healthy happy self soon. Today, like most days, the biggest lesson is to just roll with it.

I slipped on my most comfy jeans and oversized sweater and remembered these sweet Mom Socks that my friend Kellie had given me. If any of the days deserved a uniform like this, today would be the day.

Kellie has just started the Mom Socks line, and she was kind enough to send me a few to try on. You guys, I'm not going to tell you how cute and comfy they are (okay, they are), because what I love most about what Kellie is doing with Mom Socks is that she's supporting other moms, just like me. It's a product created for moms, by moms, and she's working create a meaningful, safe, empowering work environment for women. I am a big fan of the pay-it-forward kind of universe we can create together, and that's exactly what Kellie and her team are doing.  It's big stuff, and it's starting with cute socks.

Kellie told me that the reason she created this brand, and this line specifically, was for one reason only - to remind moms just how important they are, how important their jobs are, and how valued they really are. And if we can feel just a little bit spoiled, as moms, by having fancy, good feeling feet, then that's a big win. Gush. See, how cool is that?

I shuffled around all day in my Mom Life socks, grabbing juice, noodles, crackers, popsicles...lather, rinse, repeat.

Don't get me wrong. I'll forever be sad that I missed a fun spring ride day, but I'll never regret making a choice to be here, to be present, to be a mom to our little girl. I'm sure there was beauty at the track (I know there was because, hello, Instagram), but there was a whole lot of beauty here at home too. And the only reason I was able to experience the snuggles, the hugs and the I need you, Mama loves is because I made a choice, a choice to just roll with it.

You can find these socks online and at select (and growing) retailers.

XO

Just fake it until you make it.

I'm probably a lot like you.

I'm good at some things. I'm really good at other things. I'm not-so-good at different things, and there are things that I just shouldn't do, ever.

And then there's a bucket full of things that I want to be good, or better at. There are those things that I've put on a list to learn, to invest time in, and that list is somewhere and hasn't seen a lot of action lately. I haven't crossed anything off in years. I could tell you that I'm too busy to work on them, which might be true. I could tell you that after all, I'm just not very good at them, which also might be true. But the truest reason for the inactivity is this: I'm just not confident enough to keep trying. 

There. I said it. I'm just not confident enough.

Earlier this week, our little girl saw the hand-me-down acoustic guitar in the corner of the living room, propped up against the wall, collecting a fair amount of dust. She tip-toed over to it (that's her thing these days and no, I have no idea where it came from), and asked me to sit next to her.

"Mama, sit."

I looked at her, smiled.

"Mama, sit."

So, I sat. I picked up the guitar. I grabbed the pick too. I pretended to know what I was doing. I put the pick between my thumb and finger and began to draw out a few terrible, off key sounds. I took my left hand and slid it up and down the guitar strings, pretending to find chords. I was faking it. But, her face lit up. Her tiny fingers reached for the strings, strumming. Her eyes were wide, looking up at me. We were playing the guitar, together.

"Mama, more!"

As we made awful music and pieced together made-up songs about our day, it hit me. When it comes to parenthood, lack of confidence just won't cut it. And letting my own excuses keep me from moments like these not only hurts me, but it hurts her too. Sometimes, we just have to fake it until we make it.

I may never learn to play the guitar. My list of "maybe someday" activities and talents might never get smaller. In all honesty, it will probably get bigger as I get older. But one thing that will never find its way on my personal wish list is standing back because I'm not the best at something. When it comes to our family, our daughter, I'll do my very best to sit when she says "mama, sit."

Like I said, you are probably a lot like me. You're probably good at some things. You're probably really good at other things. You're probably not-so-good at different things. Let's not the things we're not one-hundred-percent-awesome at keep us from doing them, and doing them with the people we love. Maybe perfection isn't perfect. Maybe, just maybe, perfect, to us, is being there. Perfect is showing up, sitting down, and playing the guitar.

Daughter, you are lucky just like me

I know I'm lucky.

I loved my childhood. Every.Single.Minute. I grew up with parents who loved and nurtured me. I had space, both physical and emotional to grow. I was given responsibilities and boundaries and respect. I had an example of a marriage between my parents that showed me the kind of partner to seek, the kind of relationship to expect and the kind of nest to build in my own adult life.

I grew up on a farm in small-town Oregon. Acres and acres of space surrounded me, along with a whole lot of family. Cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents watched me run and jump and ride my bike without training wheels for the first time and stumble, fall and get back up. I grew up encouraged to do whatever I wanted and honestly believing I could achieve great things. I grew up proud of myself. I knew of no glass ceilings, just open skies.

To my daughter, it's in these respects that our childhoods will be the same, I hope. You have space. You play on those same acres and acres of land as I did when I was your age. We gather with friends and family and I watch them watch you so carefully. You have aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents who hold your hand as you try new things, and give you enough space to stumble. You're not even two, and I can see how proud you are and I love that. Some days you're barefoot and dirt covers your face and hands, and is stuck in between your toes and all I can do is smile and remember the days where I donned the same degree of mess.

Daughter, you too will know no glass ceilings. Those open skies surround and embrace you. You will grow up in a world where a woman can be president. When you grow up, you'll tell me one day, you will want to be a doctor or an astronaut or The President of The United States. And I know you'll believe that you can be any of those things, because you are confident and proud. And because that's the world you're growing up in.

I have never known a world where women don't have the right to vote, or buy land, or work outside the home, or stand up on their own two feet and celebrate their independence. I appreciate those things, of course, but I have never lived without them. I've only heard of the sacrifices it took to get there. I was born into an era where my right to vote, my choice to work and so much more were already fought for me. I know I don't make as much money as a man would in my same job. I know there's still work to do.

But I'm excited for both of us, because now you will never know a world where a woman can't run our country. Regardless of politics, it's pretty darn amazing to be a girl in our brave, new world.

You're lucky too.

An Open Letter: To New Moms on Mother's Day

Dear New Mom -

I get it. This is my second year celebrating our day alongside all of the other moms. My first Mother's Day, my daughter was only a few months old. I didn't feel like them, I thought. I didn't really deserve to be in the mom club. Sure, I had a baby, but I had nothing figured out. I didn't feel polished or put together or organized. I wasn't confident or certain, not even mildly so.

This year, I'm still not any of those things, but instead of feeling different than the other moms, like I might not measure up, I realize now that imperfections define us and leaning on each other makes us stronger. We are in a club. We learn together, we band together, and we get through things together.

Moms, let's get real. Your new job of being a mom is a messy one. You're tired. You're alone, although you're probably surrounded by people that love you and your new baby. You're unsure, you're scared, and you're tired. You're tired. I know I already mentioned that, but it's an overwhelming kind of tired, so it needs to be mentioned again. And everything you're feeling is totally normal.

Something unfair happened. Someone, somewhere made us believe that having a family is easy work and that it should just come natural to us. Moms are portrayed as always so happy, never having down moments or tough days. That our babies will always be smiley and easily nurse, and sleep through the night because we trained them early on, and that we can do it all -- work, family, shop, cook, clean, and the like and still have time to romance our husbands and stay caught up on Scandal. Yeah, right.

The reality is that all of that just isn't true. It isn't possible, New Mom. And once we can get to a place of admitting that we can't be everything to everyone, New Mom, we can slow down and focus on the one thing that we can be, ourselves, which is exactly what our family needs.

Dishes can wait. Laundry can wait. It's okay to order takeout or let your friends bring you freezer meals. That friend who said she'd come snuggle your baby while you take a hot bath? Call her. Asking for help is not admitting defeat. It's allowing someone who loves you step in and snuggle your new baby. People want to help, and we have to ask for it when we need it.

You're going to get mad at your partner. You'll get mad when they go out with their friends, and then you'll feel guilty for getting mad. You'll feel resentful that they get to take a break when you're tethered to the baby. And then you'll feel guilty for wanting to be anywhere else but being tethered to the baby. Here's my advice to you -- take a walk. Get outside. Bring the baby and breathe some fresh air. Talk to your partner. Express what you need. Enjoy a glass of wine, if that's your thing. (That is totally my thing, by the way.)

I remember those first few months, New Mom. I remember those trenches that you're fighting in. On this Mother's Day, with a new found screen to view our own moms, we appreciate them a whole lot more. When we were kids, our first memories were when we were a bit older. We don't remember those early days and months of our own lives, but our moms do. I realize my little girl won't remember the timed-hourly wake ups so I could feed her, or the mornings I woke up, my shirt soaked with my own milk. She'll have no idea about the tears I shed on my first overnight work trip, or the hours I spent researching the right crib and car seat and rocker and blanket and tub and so much more, even before she got here. She won't remember the freezer full of milk I pumped, to make sure she always had enough, or even the skill I carefully crafted of cutting every little piece of food into a safe size, still worrying that it wasn't small enough and watching her every swallow.

She won't have any idea how often I Googled things in the middle of the night. She'll always remember having teeth, but not how much I pained watching them slowly, agonizingly, pop through. She won't remember dancing in the living room to her Grandpa's favorite rock and roll songs he taught me to love, and how big my heart swelled when she took her first steps. She won't remember smiling at me for the first time, and how much that moment changed my life. She'll never know these things, until she's a mom.

You probably don't recognize your own body. Your pants fit tighter than before, if they zip at all, and you're not comfortable in your old wardrobe. You rock yoga pants and zip up hoodies and ponytails, because they are easier, and also because they are forgiving of your new body. You might find a minute to hit the gym, but you'd rather spend that minute snuggling your baby and not jogging on a treadmill, so you don't go. And then you're upset, because again, you're tethered. And the guilt sets in.

The weight of all of the emotion you're feeling is heavy. It's crushing. So much is resting on your shoulders, New Mom. And you can't explain it, you can't describe it, but it just is. And I get it. We all get it, because we're moms.

You are a superhero now, New Mom. With only your body, you created another being. Before you brought your new baby home, you probably needed eight hours of sleep. You couldn't imagine being awake at 3:00 a.m., unless you were closing down the local bar, and if that was the case, you'd sleep in until ten. You probably didn't miss meals because you forgot, and showers were probably part of your daily ritual instead of what is now a luxury.

Now, you function on little sleep. You might go a few days without a shower. You might not even remember where your favorite body wash or scented candles are, because you haven't used them in months. Your last check before you leave the house isn't in the mirror to make sure you look okay, but it's double and triple checking that you have all of the baby's supplies for the hour you might be away from home. You have a first, new full time job as a mother, a second full time job as a strategic planner, and if you're a working mom, there's that you're doing too. Not to mention your original job of being a wife, a daughter and a friend. But. you are doing it. You are doing all of it, even when you think you aren't doing it well, you are, and you should be proud. I promise, you will surprise yourself with how much of a superhero you are.

New Mom, I have a challenge for you. Because it's not just one day a year we work hard, sleep little, and love a lot. It's every day, every hour, every minute and every second. I challenge you on this Mother's Day to share your gratitude with your own mom if you can. And if that person who loved you, cared for you, worried over you isn't a "mom" at all, be sure to share your love with that person too. And for yourself, remember to take time each and every day to breathe deeply and appreciate the gift you've been given of being a mom to your new baby. It's undoubtedly the hardest job in the world, but it's so worth it.

Happy Mother's Day.