Mother's Day Weekend

Oh, Monday. I typically really love Mondays but today I'm dragging a bit. I got up early to get my cardio out of the way at the gym, then Henry and I went food shopping, and now all I want to do is nap! I'm one of those people though that can't sleep at night if they nap, so I know it's out of the question. Plus after being out of town for a few days there is way too much to do around here to "waste" one of Henry's naps sleeping myself. So here I am, counting on this bright screen and my ever-growing "summer" playlist on Spotify to keep me going until the little guys wakes up and we head out to tackle more to-dos.

This weekend was awesome. Saturday morning we walked up to the gym and had a great workout, then later one Hank and I headed out to Scottsdale to celebrate one of my best friends turning 30. We spent the day swimming at the beautiful Montelucia, and had a great night out with so many people we love, toasting to Shirley. Hank got a little crazy and even had a red bull! Haha! On a side (but related) note, can I say how nice it is to be around my oldest friends? I love new people, and new experiences, but there's something to be said about those friends who knew you "before" and "way back when." We all have so many amazing memories and funny stories between us, and when I'm with these girlfriends it just feels like home.

Sunday my family and I went to brunch, then spent all day swimming, sunning, and eating! I got to spend it all with my Mom (who is the best mother in the entire world), so my day was made from the start. Add in some pizza and chocolate covered strawberries, and it was better than anything I could have imagined. I'm still on Cloud 9.

Here are some photos (a mix of iPhone shots/my regular camera). And I hope all of you had the happiest of Mother's Days too!

Becoming My Mother

Growing up my sister and I were lucky enough to have an elementary school teacher for a Mom. Some people wouldn't know what's so special about that, but those who have had the experience know exactly what I mean. Our days were virtual classrooms and filled with crafts, plays, books, different activities for different days of the week, for different months, for every season, and so many songs. Oh, the songs!  We had a little diddy for absolutely everything- bed time, teeth brushing time, clean up time, you name it.

I have very vivid memories of every kind of moment with my Mom- some simple things, like sitting with her at Island Beach State Park, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, careful not to let the breeze blow sand into the strawberry preserves. Funny things- like when she visited me up at college and we got a little tipsy, my Dad driving us all the way back to their hotel with her singing Bruce Springsteen's "Jersey Girl" out the window. Or that time when we were so bundled up we could barely move, let alone run a few miles in the middle of a Wyoming snowstorm two weeks before my wedding because I just had to stick to my workout regime. I remember more complicated things too- many of them- like that one time in high school I knew I really, really disappointed her, and the way it felt to see her cry, my too-cool-for-anything teenage heart breaking at the sight of her tears. Most memories are happy though, like the pb&j on the beach, or baking a million cookies at Christmas, or being so little and hearing the sound of her favorite songs wafting up through the house on Saturdays, straight from the 8-track player downstairs.

There are so many times now where I'll catch myself doing something that is 100% my Mom. I'll be cooking dinner and find myself singing a silly, made-up song under my breath, "yeah, put in that pepper and stir, stir, stir- mix up good, oh yeah, yeah, yeah," and I'll stop for a moment and think "oh my god, I am my mother." I'll be at the grocery store and be in the middle of a five minute conversation with the cashier, and think back to my eye-rolling teenage self, mortified that my mother just had to talk to everyone. It's how I always have to say "I love you, bye" when hanging up the phone, the way I call Henry's feet his tootsies, the big deal I make over every holiday, and the "good morning to you" song whenever I come into H.'s room at 7am. I'll catch myself tapping my hands on the steering wheel in the exact way that would annoy me to no end back in the day and I'll think "I am my mother." It's bizarre.

It's all of the little things, the everyday things, that remind me so much of her. And it's pretty crazy to now have a son of my own, and to understand what hard work she and my Dad put in over all of those years to have both my sister and I look back and say, without a doubt, that we loved our childhood so, so much. I get now why she and my father were so protective and I understand why they made the choices they made. Isn't perspective amazing? There were quite a few years growing up where the last thing I wanted to be was anything like my parents (those jerky people who enforced too many rules and took away all my fun!), but now, I wear the "I am becoming my Mother" badge with honor. I couldn't be prouder to share so many qualities with the best woman I know, and now every time a silly little song comes into my mind, or I find myself small-talking with a stranger, or eating dark chocolate before I go to bed I smile, because I know exactly where that comes from.

On Being a Mom and Having Tattoos

This is one of the many pieces I'll be re-sharing here over the next year. This originally published on Hello Giggles, but since I am not writing for them anymore, it's important to me to have all of my writing in one place. If this is the second time you've seen this, I hope you don't mind too much! Enjoy. 

If you would have shown my 15-year-old self a photo of me now, I wouldn’t have believed that the girl pictured could really be me. It would have been hard to even imagine; I grew up in an open-minded yet somewhat conservative family and knew hardly anyone with a tattoo. Outside of the one biker friend of my Dad’s who had a rose tattooed on his skull, it was all foreign to me and admittedly, a little scary, too. In high school, I dated a few boys who had artwork on their bodies – one with his last name across his back and another with some sort of tribal etching on his bicep. But that was it. I don’t actually even remember ever seeing a heavily tattooed person in my life before I was 18 or 19. On our senior trip to Mexico the summer after graduating high school, I recall getting truly upset at two of my girl friends for going off and getting tattoos in a random shop on a back street in Puerto Vallarta. Not only was I mad that they could have contracted some sort of disease from the unsanitary conditions but I was appalled that they would do “that” to their bodies.

Well. Since then, I’ve done a lot of “that” to my body and now, at 29, I am what some would call heavily tattooed.

I’ve written about this topic in my own blog before and likened being heavily tattooed to wearing a dress that you just can’t take off. You went to the store, loved the dress, bought the dress and guess what? You will wear that dress for the rest of your life. Others will stop and comment on your dress – maybe they love it, maybe they hate it. But because it’s colorful, different from the norm and so out there, they feel that they have the right to discuss it with you, maybe show you their own and sometimes even touch yours. And you still can’t take it off. Ever. And that’s what it’s like to be heavily tattooed. It’s a part of you wherever you go, a conversation piece and what many people see before they really see you.

And now that I’m a Mom, I’ve gotten so many more questions from my friends, family and even complete strangers about my tattoos. What will you do if Henry wants to get one at a young age? Do other Moms judge you? What happens if your son is embarrassed of them?

It’s funny because these are all things I’ve thought about myself. My husband and I have laughed about the fact that Henry will either think we’re super cool or super lame. And that’s okay. I couldn’t imagine having a Mom that had her arms, chest, legs, etc. tattooed but this is all Henry will know. And because he’s surrounded by our tattooed friends and family most of the time, seeing beautiful colors and pictures on peoples’ skin is completely normal and probably more commonplace to him than seeing skin without it.

And because of this, I do wonder how it will affect our son. I hope if my tattoos do affect him at all, they teach him to be accepting of different kinds of people and to never base his opinion on someone’s looks alone. I wish more kids had that lesson growing up – we’d have a lot less adults who are quick to judge solely based on appearance and stereotypes.

Before I was a Mom, I was a high school English teacher in our small, conservative town. Every day I’d cover up my tattoos with work appropriate clothing and most of my colleagues never knew I had them unless they saw me outside of school. I taught there for almost six years and surprisingly, there were some people I never had the chance to see beyond our classroom walls. Then just the other day I actually ended up running into a group of them while out to eat with my family. Some of the women were shocked when my husband, son and I walked up; I was wearing a strapless dress and my chest piece and sleeve were completely visible. Many of them were in disbelief – “You always seemed so sweet! I never would have guessed you had so many tattoos!” and “I had you pegged all wrong- this is truly a surprise! You always seemed like such a sweet girl.” Because I had always seemed so nice (‘sweet’ seemed to be the adjective of choice), it seemed preposterous to them that underneath my pencil skirts, blouses and cardigans lie this seemingly wild and crazy heathen who must be intent on covering every inch of her skin with ink.

I’m used to people giving me weird looks – sometimes they’re just curious, but sometimes I get some pretty awful glares – and it was very interesting to me to see how these women reacted. They had already known me for years. They knew that I was a hard worker, friendly and a great teacher. They had based their opinion off what they saw everyday but I was suddenly tossing a wrench into their wheel of impressions. I was throwing them off.

We talked a bit more and as I walked away, I realized that I had done something pretty neat back there at that table. I had broken a stereotype and hopefully taught these women that whatever crazy idea they had in their heads of what a tattooed person is supposed to be like was wrong. Hopefully. To be honest, I’m sure when I left the table most of them didn’t give it a second thought, but I’d like to think that maybe just one of them questioned why they had been so shocked in the first place and realized I was still the same person they’d always known, even though I may be a little bit out of the box they had originally placed me in.

And that’s what I hope for my son. I hope he grows up and sees that not everyone can fit into a neat box. That diversity, uniqueness and thinking outside of the norm are all good things. I want to teach him acceptance and tolerance. Compassion and kindness. As time goes by, tattoos will become more common but I know that in the world we live in, there will always be someone quick to judge or make an assumption based on appearance. And that’s okay. So when people ask me what it’s like to be a heavily tattooed Mom or how I think my tattoos will affect my son when he’s older, I still can’t say I know. All I can do is teach him to have an open mind and kind heart, and hope that the foundation his father and I have built for him will allow him to grow up to be a person who embraces differences. Or, at the very least, allow him to accept his two crazy, tattooed parents in all of their colorful glory!

What a weekend!

This weekend was one of the best I've had in a long time. I think the extra-greatness came from a combination of finally starting to feel better, warm, warm weather down in Phoenix, and being able to spend two whole days with my family, both immediate and extended. My Uncle Brian and cousin Daron Grace flew in from New York and we spent the weekend eating way too much, looking at so many old, amazing photos, and catching up. My sister and I also decided we were feeling brave and took Daron shopping for some clothes. Keep in mind that she is 12-years old- that should help you make sense of the "brave" part. I had no idea it was so difficult to find modest length shorts for a little girl!

Saturday was also my sweet mama's birthday, and she turned 58! My Aunt Pat and Uncle Bob came up, and we all celebrated together with a big meal and a delicious ice cream cake. Afterward Henry had a bit of an early Easter and made out like a bandit, thanks to my parents. He's super into Elmo right now and my sister and Abe got him the cutest little singing Elmo doll too. He's a lucky boy.

Some of my most favorite parts- the long walk my Mom, Hank, Henry and I took Sunday morning, the Greek yogurt onion dip my Mom made, watching Henry get so excited over his new treasures, dinner at Nando's Friday night (I could live on guacamole), and seeing how happy my Mom was to be surrounded by almost all of her family. It was such a good weekend. 

We have a busy, busy week ahead and I can't say enough how excited I am to be (almost) back to normal. If you remember I had that crazy food poisoning in San Francisco, followed by that weird prolonged sickness, and then this whole wisdom teeth thing. I'm never, ever sick, so it's been a very weird past couple of months...and to to say I have a new appreciation of feeling healthy and happy is an understatement.

Here are some Instagram photos from the past couple of days. Enjoy!


my still swollen face on Day 9, Mexican food with the whole family, smoothies and shorts- it almost felt like summer! shopping with Laur and Daron, Lauren's "I'm done" smile, the guys and the dogs heading to the park to throw around the football.


the birthday girl, Carvel ice cream cake- so good! Uncle Brian and Daron, our 2nd frozen yogurt trip of the day, our big family Sunday dinner, and Henry zoning out while watching basketball in his new chair from Grandma and Grandpa.

Lucky

Sometimes I feel like I might be stranger than most people because I think about morbid things like death or loss a little too much. I don't know if you're like this too, but sometimes in a super happy moment or time I'll think about how it won't always be like this and how things always won't be so good. Weird, right? It's only for a second though, but in a way I think it almost helps me really enjoy those good times because I'm hyper-aware of them happening. Sometimes I'll start thinking about this with my parents and it brings me to tears. I recently lost my Grandma and it's bizarre to think about one day losing my own parents. It feels weird to even vocalize this kind of thing here, but it was on my mind as I've spent the past few days with my sweet mama and enjoyed every second of it. I love her SO much, so so much. I can't imagine my world without her, and I can't even begin to think about losing my Mom, like my Dad did a few months ago. So I keep focusing on the now, on the little moments I have with my parents. I take it all in. The way my Mom always seems to have a piece of dark chocolate in her hand anytime after 8pm, how my Dad will always wash my car on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I relish in the hugs and kisses my Mom gives me, even when I pretend to hate it, like my 16-year old self. I love my Dad's tough shell but sweet, sweet heart and my Mom's constant sunshine. I pay attention to the small details, the "make sure you call us when you get home," the "be safe" my Dad always has to say as his last words as we pull out of their driveway, and the way Henry runs to my Mom, arms outstretched, "up up up!"  I take in every single little bit I can, because I know one day it won't be like this. And maybe I'm really weird for having these thoughts, but in a way I'm grateful for them because they remind me to be in the now, and to really pay attention. I never want to take a moment of it for granted.

New Year's Weekend

Oh, Arizona!  After a bit of a rough morning we decided to spend Saturday afternoon at the park in my parents' neighborhood to cheer up a bit. It was a beautiful day- 77 degrees and sunny. What a New Years' Eve, right? It was a lot of fun watching Abe and Hank throw the football around (the photo of them makes me laugh) and Henry enjoyed playing in the grass since most of it up north at our house is dead due to the freezing winter conditions. I love that you can drive a short two hours one way and be in snow, and turn right around the other way and head towards heat. Pretty cool.

We spent the rest of our New Year's laying low, eating and laughing. It was the perfect way to ring in 2012! We're currently dealing with some family stuff- my Grandma isn't doing too well- so being together was great. Plus, Henry brings a smile to everyone's face. I was so tempted to wake him up at midnight for a little smooch but my responsible side won out.

Whatever you did, I hope you had the happiest of New Year's Eves! Here's to a great 2012.