Remember those TV ads from the ‘80s with the close-up of a greasy fried egg sizzling on the skillet, followed by the ominous “This is your brain on drugs?” Well, consider this my updated millennial PSA for all you mamas and mamas-to-be out there. But instead, imagine a close-up shot of your feet with a flip-flop on one and a work flat on the other (which one of my fellow colleagues totally did), followed by the words “This is your brain on baby.”
Last week I had started a draft for this blog post with a working title of “Happy Place.” Except a lot’s happened between now and then. As I laid awake after a much needed cry fest last night, the only thing I could think of was that it was time for me to “get real.” Too often we feel the pressures of putting on that happy face, even though we know well and good we are holding back tears or anxieties that eventually come to a head when we’re least expecting it. Last night was one of those times. I was preparing to give my son a bath just like any other night, but this night he insisted on having a “boo boo” that was going to hurt if he put his foot in the water. Oh dear. So for a solid five minutes (felt like 30) I tried every bribe in the book, until tears ensued and dad walked in asking buddy what’s wrong. To which I went off on a lightening speed explanation on why I’m so frustrated after trying to negotiate with a toddler for ten minutes, which results in said dad backing out of the bathroom slowly, very slowly.
Now that my superstitious mind has waited long enough, I’m finally ready to announce the big news. I’m pregnant! Yep, the Murray’s will be welcoming another little tyke into our family August 1st (but I’m thinking it’s gonna be a July baby, given that Garrett came early and this one’s measuring a whole week bigger already!). Aaaand, wait for it – it’s aaaaaaa….GIRL!
Everyone knows 2016 was a crapshoot. I don’t think I know one single person who couldn’t wait for it to be over. So as I was mulling over just how to put into words what this year meant for us, it dawned on me – 2016 was a leap year. Now try and follow me here. A leap year, in both the literal and metaphorical sense, means to correct drift. So if you think about it – all 2016 was meant to do was get us back in synch and help us find our true North. I don’t know about you, but the older I get and the more complicated life is – it only seems harder and harder to follow my internal compass. But 2016 was a year for reflecting and looking inward, whether I wanted to or not. Many of you have read my initial recap of this year that I wrote back in Sept. Well a lot, and I mean A LOT, has happened since then.
Dear Judgy Mom at the park this morning,
I can see my son just offended you, and I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that my son, who just turned three less than a month ago, and who you undoubtedly took one look at and mistakenly took him for a five year old, didn’t live up to your high standards. Because here’s the thing – he does look five. At first glance, if I were you, I too would have scoffed at his behavior – running up and pushing aside your son who had at least four years on him and who he thought was done on the swing set. And I’ve been known to tell a kid (much, much older than Garrett) to let him have his turn, but minus the incredibly rude tone saying that “my son was playing there first.” And as you sat in the only other swing (as an adult), I’m sorry I didn’t thank you profusely for reluctantly getting up to let my son swing – because we all know how put out we feel to give up something to a child.
I never thought I could love fall, and October in particular, more than I did when I was a kid. But then I had my own kid and it’s like fall has taken on a whole new meaning. Primarily a new found love for pumpkin patches. I mean seriously, who knew plopping a baby down on a field full of pumpkins could be so stinkin’ cute? Now that my son’s a little older, we get to enjoy more things like hayrides, petting zoos, etc. which is what we found after stumbling upon Sunset Hill Tree Farm. We literally just mentioned it in passing when visiting my father-in-law in Alvarado, TX a few weeks back – and turns out, he knows the man who owns the farm. He told us the story about how he helped fetch him and his lawn mower out of the mud last Spring. After a good laugh I imagine, they got to talking about how Duane (the husband) and his family have been running a Christmas tree farm and pumpkin patch for the past several years – and invited my father-in-law to stop by. These are the kinds of good country folk who make us so proud to be back in our home state.
As much as I would love to write a typical fashion post (don’t worry, I’m rounding up my “currently coveting” vest trends as we speak), there’s just something more pressing that’s been weighing on me for a while now. It’s this notion that nothing is ever good enough – and here’s what I mean by that…
For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled with wanting and needing more. So much so, that my dad used to tell me growing up, “don’t try so hard to keep up with the Jones’s (or the Kardashians as it turns out), because you’ll never be satisfied that way.” I literally had no idea what he was talking about, but my dad knew and understood me better than anyone, and even he could tell that I was a restless soul – always wanting, never satisfied with what was right in front of me. With his passing, I definitely gained a new perspective on life that he was so desperately trying to help me find, but I often still find myself longing for that greener grass on the other side of the fence.