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.

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

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