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.
So I admittedly have always had a hankering to make it to Coachella, and yet in the 7 years we lived in LA I never made the trek. To add even more salt to my wound, this year my awesome Fashion Mamas tribe is hosting their first “Mama Mirage” Coachella event, sponsored by Havaianas (cue sad face). Because I never like to wallow in my own sorrow, I figured what better way than to pay it forward to all my lovely followers. I’ve partnered with SheIn to send 2 lucky persons to Coachella – including airfare and hotel! The winners will also receive makeovers by some of hottest influencers for the entire weekend – seriously how cool is that??
What a week! Our family got hit hard with the stomach flu (sans mom, phew, and because who else is gonna take care of everybody??). Fortunately we are on the mend, but our dryer literally went kaput from me forcing it to do laundry for 6 days straight (so much poo…sorry, tmi).
NEWS FLASH: I turned 35 this week. It felt just like any other birthday, with the exception of one thing – it was one of those “mid” birthdays. Remember the first time you had to refer to yourself as “mid-twenties,” and you realized all those life expectations you set for yourself in your younger years were like one big fat joke played on you by the universe? Saying things like, “I’m totally gonna be married with a kid by the time I’m 25” or “I’m gonna live in a big house with two dogs and an awesome car.” But that’s the beauty of young naivety – you can dream about these things and no one will fault you for it. In fact, your parents even condone it all the while secretly knowing that life is a heck of a lot more unpredictable than you can explain to a teenager.
Let’s just set the record straight. I’m a sucker for anything old. Vintage cameos, antique decor, old towns – you name it, I covet it. It started with weekends spent strolling the quaint streets of Old Town Spring with my parents growing up, where the shops and restaurants make you feel like you’re living in an old west town rather than in the middle of the booming city of Houston. We’d spend hours at our favorite lunch spot, the British Trading Post & Tea Room, where my father bonded with a fellow Brit, Maureen, who ran the place with her daughters and quickly became like family. After moving away, I would plea for Grant to take me back any time we visited home, just to get a glimpse of my childhood memories.
I could have written the typical “2nd Birthday Recap” post, showing off the crazy themed party with professional-like photos. Except, we opted out of that this year for an at home low-key celebration with the hubs and GaGa (my mom) – complete with gifts just from family, and a dang good box cake if I do say so myself. So instead I decided to do some reminiscing, and it may have taken me 2 years – but I finally know how I met your mother. Buried under all that flimsy armor, so proud and tough, hiding her emotions at her own expense. I have only one regret – I wish I’d met her sooner.
Year after year, October rolls around and you start to see pink everywhere. I never thought much of it, other than another month and another way to draw people’s much needed attention to breast cancer awareness. I even used to run in the Race for the Cure every year in memory of my dad. But as my life got increasingly busy, my commitment to the cause waned. Until now.