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.

Filling up the Tank of Positive Self-Talk

On a beautiful winter day - one where the sun crept out from behind the solemn grey clouds, warming our bodies while changing the rainsoaked ground to a glossy shade of mud - on that day, our daughter turned three.

It was a Saturday.  We spent the day as a family of three together, or to be fair, a family of three plus a dog and two cats and five chickens and an undisclosed number of motorcycles. We played. We adventured. And we celebrated. Like I said, it was beautiful.

Throughout the day, I watched her. And I thought of my hopes and dreams for her over her lifetime. Hopes I can't yet imagine and then hopes that seem so clear to me right now.

Stay steadfast in your love for everything around you.

Be hopeful for the future and thankful for your past.

Love yourself as much as I love you.

Don't let anyone break you down, ever.

I know, these are grand and ambiguous goals for me to have for her. But as we run and jump and play, I see the wonder in her eyes and I feel the genuineness of her belly-laughs. I want her to be this way forever. Full of life and wonder and so very curious and open to learning. She chases giant bubbles in the field behind our little house, catching some and missing others. She trips and she falls. She looks to me for a reaction, for affirmation. She smiles, gets back up, and keeps on playing, unphased. Her mud-soaked leggings and glistening rain boots carrying her through this brief flash of childhood.

I find myself wishing for the power to protect her for eternity, to anticipate what might knock her down and stop those moments before they show up.

But that power doesn't exist. As parents, we do the very best we can to give our little ones all of the love and all of the protection we can. And at the end of the day, our best power is in the tools we give. And the best tools are those of ensuring her Self-Talk-Tank is overflowing with positivity. It's chalk full of only everything good. 

See the positive. See the hard work. Communicate it. Recognize it. Communicate it again.

Because I think we, as parents, can own that for a while. That's something we can do. When she fails, we praise the trying. When she succeeds, we praise the hard work it took to find the success. When she falls, we celebrate getting back up. When she thinks she can't, we encourage her that she can.

See the positive. See the hard work. Communicate it. Recognize it. Communicate it again.

And at a small but mighty three-years-old, we have to know how much she's watching. She's observing. She's forming ideas about the way things work; the expectations she'll have in her lifelong relationships start here. The behavior she sees in her parents and her aunts and uncles and grandparents - those actions become her truths. And it's about the small things too, as much as it is the big things.

Does she see her dad steal a kiss in the kitchen, while I'm making dinner? Does she see him hold my hand while we snuggle in for a movie at night? Does she hear of the I love yous and the You made my day extra special sounds from her day? Are those notes of affection and kindness things she'll come to expect? I hope so. But I hope so because they are there. And they are good.  Because she also watches me catch a second glance at my body in the mirror, or touch the wrinkles on my forehead with a disapproving breath. I vow to pay attention to these moments where my own Self-Talk Tank feels empty, and force them to be full again. Because she's watching all of it.

It's my job. It's my job to love me, and love her dad and love our world because she's learning what all of that means. My hopes and dreams for her depend on this time with her.

I want her tank to be full of the good stuff. Of the love and the magic and the power of being not just a smart and fierce three-year-old girl, but of also the responses and the reactions she must pull out in the moments life throws her curve balls. In those moments where she might be led to believe she's not enough, or question her worth, I want her to easily pull from that tank and remember just how wonderful she is. At three, or at thirty.

My advice, for what it's worth: Keep your Self-Talk Tank full too. Not just for you, but for the people in your world.

XOXO

Meagan

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.

The Infant Period - What I wish I knew

Our little girl is teetering on 18 months old, and just now do I find myself emerging from the heavy fog of having a newborn, infant and the introduction to toddlerhood.

And friends, the fog was so heavy. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced. It was full of joy and exhaustion and sprinkled with fear and embraced by love. It was a literal smorgasbord of emotions and now that I'm here, in today's moment, watching our toddler laugh and play and run and explore and learn both the good and the not-so-good, I have a few things to share with the world. There is so much advice spilling out of just about everywhere when it comes to pregnancy, motherhood and relationships, it's overwhelming. I am not looking to give advice. Honestly, in before my entry into this new world, I didn't want advice either. What I would have liked was a friendly heads-up about a few core things. So, to my friends near and far, here is a list of a few things I wish someone would have told me before becoming a mom.

What I wish I knew:

1. It will be over before you even remember to remember. This one really got me. The hours in the first few days and months seemed to drag on. I was exhausted. Even though I was surrounded by people, I felt like it was just me and my baby, alone in the world, without a clue of what to do. I felt like I was living in those moments forever. But I didn't, and we can't. The beautiful moments go by so fast, and it's not fair because when we're in the heavy fog, it's too hard to remember those precious times alone with our newborn babies. It's not fair, but it will be over before you even remember to remember, so try really really hard to create some concrete memories before they're gone.

2. Breastfeeding is hard. I remember before our little girl arrived, thinking for awhile that it's natural and we'll know what to do and it will be easy. And then I heard some real-life stories and started scouring YouTube for instructional videos to prepare. It didn't help. Nobody told me just how hard it was going to be, how much work it would be to get a correct latch and how much pain I would be in as the baby and I figured out how to do this together. I remember waiting on hold with my advice nurse, thinking something was surely wrong with me, as I was on the verge of tears because I couldn't do it and it just hurt so bad. And then I got answers. I did it. We figured it out. But, breastfeeding is hard. And if you can't do it, or if your baby won't eat, it doesn't mean you're a bad mom, or you're unfit to parent. It just means that it's hard, and finding another way to nourish your baby just might be the perfectly right answer for you.

3. Not sleeping is hard. Before we entered into parenthood, my husband and I had plenty of late nights followed by early mornings. We enjoyed an occasional night out closing down the local dive bar, or staying up late with friends, sometimes on weeknights (gasp!) when we had to wake up early for work the next day. When people told me "you won't sleep", I thought I got it, but I didn't. I had never been so tired, that midway to the grocery store, I had to turn my car around and gohome, because I knew being behind the wheel at such a level of exhaustion was dangerous. There's a very big difference between being up all night because you want to, and being up all night because you have to care for your little baby, who may be crying, or happy, or sick, or just "up" - whatever the reason, the level of tired that follows is unlike anything I've ever known. And it's not just one night, it can be night after night after night sometimes, and you don't get to sleep in or sleep it off. You have to wake up cheery, ready to welcome the day with your baby. So far, this hasn't stopped for me. I wish you better luck.

4. Relationships get challenged. Someone should have warned me and my husband that we'll probably take our exhaustion and our frustration out on each other sometimes. That small things might manifest into bigger things and that the amount of under-my-breath commentary that I would direct/not direct at him would hit a breaking point. But it was because I was hitting a breaking point, and instead of being passive aggressive, the answer is to just ask for more help. We are superwomen, but even Batman has his Robin and we need to find the "sidekick" in all of our relationships. Friends, family, spouses - they know we need support. It's up to us to let those people in.

5. You'll become a different person with different priorities. I know, people do tell you how much things will change once you have kids. For me, things didn't really change as much as I, myself, changed. I don't prioritize the things I used to. It's clear that our family is priority one, and I'd rather stay at home on a Saturday night snuggling my baby and watching a movie with my husband. I don't even know what the cool bars are in town and that's fine with me. It's not that the world changed, but it's that I changed. And it's not a bad thing, it's an amazing and positive growth that I'm proud of.

6. Everyday tasks are hard, and you'll be late most of the time. How do I go grocery shopping with this newborn? I honestly remembering asking a friend about the logistics of grocery shopping. Should I wear her? Where does the car seat fit in the cart? What if she cries? What if she needs a diaper change? How do I do it? It was not only the grocery store, but so many other things. I am no longer punctual (see #5) and everything does take more time to prepare...and even though you spend all that time getting ready, you'll probably forget that one thing you need.

7. You've got to take time for you. Before being a mom, I didn't know that mom-guilt was a thing, but it's a real thing. Hit the gym after work? Mom-guilt will ruin your workout. Feellike grabbing a cocktail with a friend? Mom-guilt will sit at the bar next to you. Have to travel out of town for a few nights for work? Mom-guilt will wake you up in the middle of the night, so don't even think a benefit will be sleeping through the night. Mom guilt is so real. But find a way to kick it the curb. Find an hour to get a manicure or go for a walk alone, or just watch a movie or go on a date with your partner. Take time for you and your relationship. When you're on an airplane, and when the air mask drops from the overhead compartment, you have to take care of yourself first. I wish someone would have reinforced this to me...that I have to be good to myself so I can be good to my baby.

People will tell you the things you need to buy, and the books you need to read, and the classes you need to take. Do those things if they make you happy or help you feel prepared, but don't do them because you feel pressured to do them. I suppose that's my only real advice - just do you.

XO

Meagan

The Mathematics of Motherhood

I'm just going to put it out there. I'm a closet-math nerd. I thought I hated the subject in middle school. I rolled my eyes at the teacher and I wore out the eraser on my number two pencil pretty regularly. But then I got it. I am a problem solver. I like answers. And spreadsheets. And I actually really like number two pencils with fresh erasers. I am a math nerd.

Our lives are full of problems that need solving, and circumstances that demand answers. Friends, have I got a doozy for you.

The math problem for today is this: You have 24 hours in the day. You have one toddler, one husband, one house, one dog, two sets of in-laws, one set of parents, a daycare schedule to figure out and a whole lot of random things will pop up that need your attention. You must work your full time job, ensure everyone in the house gets a decent meal for dinner, plan the details of the next day, find some time to unwind, connect with a friend or two, and visit dreamland for a solid amount of time. Is this probable?

The answer is yes. But wait, there's something that needs a little more definition.

You have a toddler. So that one hour of grocery shopping becomes two. That thirty minutes of getting ready in the morning becomes sixty. The quick trip to the coffee shop requires double the time because you have to pack up half of your house just to get out of the house, along with a kiddo who doesn't want to leave. Your full 24 hour day doubles with need and you get zero extra hours in the day. What do you do?

You subtract. You subtract the time with your husband, you remove your unwinding time altogether, you opt for sweatpants and wine instead of happy hour with your friends, and your full time in dreamland becomes negotiable depending on what the day decided to dump on you. That's the Mathematics of Motherhood.

My 24 hours looked different when I was just me, before I was a person someone called mom. Those hours included an ample amount of sleep, gym classes, happy hours, date nights, late days at the office, early morning yoga classes, long vacations, quick getaways and spontaneous romantic times with the hubs. Yup, times have changed. I was spoiled, but I'd argue that I'm a different kind of spoiled now.

Our weekend trips aren't quick getaways. We don't just throw a bag in the car and drive. We don't lazily go for brunch and spend afternoons reading. (Let's be honest, we didn't do that anyway). But instead, a weekend trip includes planning. Hours and hours and days and days of planning. Before we leave, we grocery shop for snacks and meals because our toddler doesn't do so well lazily brunching. We pack a bag for ourselves, a bag for the kid, a bag of activities and supplies and a bag of diapers. We pack and over pack because that one thing we desperately need in the middle of the night can't be something we forgot. We cannot be spontaneous anymore. That is not part of our equation. Spontaneity is not part of the Mathematics of Motherhood.

We have spent some time down the road of weekend trips with the toddler, and I have three important things for you to remember in this season of life.

1. It's just a season. There will come a day where we are saddened by the scarce amount of planning, the lightweight reality of our bags, the empty sounds in the air.  This time is just a season, and we need to love the heck out of it and take albums full of mental pictures of the sweet, the hard, the good, the bad and the beautiful. We are doing it all, and with only 24 hours in the day.

2. Slow down. This is important for me. Let us not rush our kids to be faster, to move more quickly, to keep up with us. Let's walk at their pace. Let's learn alongside them and appreciate right next to them. Let's be children in our hearts forever.

3. Plan. A lot. Because taking care of details for a weekend outing on a Wednesday afternoon will make you feel better about leaving for a weekend outing. And with each set of plans, things will go wrong, and that's when we learn and get better. It's in the hard times that we get stronger, smarter, and it's when we step outside of our comfort zone that we can grow. So plan. A lot. But be flexible and find the lessons when things go wrong.

There's no easy answers. I write a lot about how motherhood changes our identity, and challenges us to remember our past-selves. But with how much we might miss our abilities to do absolutely everything in a packed 24 hours, we are lucky. We are lucky. And our kids, husbands, families, jobs, homes, pets and all - they are lucky too.

What does your 24 hours look like? What do you subtract to make it all work?

XO

Meagan

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.