Tag: Personal Post

All On My Own

When we were still prepping to move, someone said, “Oh, you can always come back.” And I said, no. And they said, “But don’t you have any friends here? How could you just leave your friends?” Oh, I have the very best of friends. My tribe is so special, you guys.

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Which brings us to today. The first day I’m really feeling the sting of flying solo. Normally, today, I’d be texting Tara planning our outing. We’d have until 1 to play, because Wilson has school at 1:30. Tuesdays was usually Biz, because that’s when our schedules lined up. Katie would be lunch dates, because preschool every morning. Stefany had Friday’s free.

Today I’m on my own. We’re going to our new Children’s Museum alone, with just us. Ryan’s back to work. It’s just me and the kids, living this new life that we dreamed up. And I’m really sad about it. I know new friends will come, but they won’t be my old my friends. And I really love my old friends.

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It’s okay to want something huge and scary and be so excited and still be sad. Today, I’m feeling the loss. Tomorrow, we’ll climb mountains, but today is hard.

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The Last Time

We’re several hours into the first of what I imagine will be many cross-country drives. We’ve only stopped twice, we just booked our hotel room for the night, and barely anyone’s cried.

Today was was the beginning of a whole new world of firsts. And the end of six weeks of lasts. The last time we’d roll down our favorite hill. The last time we’d eat at our favorite breakfast place. The last time at the big mall or Eagles Nest or our local Target. And the really hard lasts: the last hug from all of our favorite people. The last play dates with my very best friends. The last dinners. The last coffee dates. The last photo dates. The lasts.

Last night was our last night in the house we loved so much. The house we brought Wilson home to. The house we had our first day of school in. The house we laughed and cried and rebuilt. The house that we wallpapered with photos I took of all of our favorite adventures. The house that we made so much our home.

And now, a new chapter. A big, scary chapter filled with new firsts. With all sorts of firsts and unfamiliarity. And we absolutely cannot wait.

It was hard, all of the lasts. Well, most of them. Some things were welcome goodbyes. But the best things in life are hard, right?

If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. It’s the hard that makes it great.

– Tom Hanks

Go do big things your heart longs for. It’ll be totally worth it.

Wilson is Four.

Four years ago, I woke up early in the morning. One week after we’d moved in to our forever home. One week before his c section date. 15 weeks in to placenta previa, I’d finally had my first bleed. We woke up Matilda and headed to the hospital.

My birth was not awesome. The first few days after were terrible. The entire first week he was here, I cried. It was hard. It was so much harder than I was ready for it to be. We can laugh now about the shit show that was that chapter, but it was hard. 

But here we are. Four amazing years later. And life is so so good.
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Wilson, happy birthday. You do your own thing, in your own time. And you always have. You figure things out. You problem solve, deconstruct. I see so much of your father in you. I can watch the little gears turn in your head. You’re a planner. You’re a lover. Oh, Wilson. You love to hug. Your hugs can change the world.

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Your favorite things. Grilled cheese. Ketchup. French Fries. Chocolate Milk. (Clearly, you’re a health nut.) Your sister, Iz, and Shep. And me and your dad, obviously. Riding your bike (and your scooter). The beach. Nickelodeon Universe. The Children’s Museum. The Garbage Park (aka Franconia). Culver’s, McDonald’s, Noodles & Co, and DIY pizza from Papa Murphy’s. Trucks. Trucks. Cars. Police Playmobil set. Trucks. IRL trucks.

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You’re hilarious. Your confidence is astounding. You will explain anything to anyone with complete conviction. You are the man with the answers. And the questions. You love a good adventure, especially with friends (and sissy). You’re so curious, always excited to learn and explore.

But Wilson. Your lower lip. You know how to pout like no one I’ve ever met. You feel big, and you make sure that everyone knows where you stand.

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Wilson, you are so dang incredible. You light up a room (or you shut that party down based on your current mood). If you’re having a moment, which happens frequently, you need hugs, lots and lots of hugs. You do things your own way, in your own time. I laugh thinking of how we potty trained you. You were almost 3.5 and it was very much time. You woke up one morning and I told you that this was your idea. That you decided you weren’t going to wear diapers. You rolled with it. You owned it. And you didn’t. Once you decide something, there’s no stopping you.

I love you. Happy 4, Wilson. Happy 4. Thanks for letting me be your mom.

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