Parallels

These past few months brought so much shit into our daily news cycle. I wanted to sit here and launch into stories about how I don’t think it is a coincidence that my mom died on the only day that is a command- March Fourth. I wanted to shout it from the blogspot.com (now turned blogger.com) world that my mom would've wanted all of us to March Forth in other people’s shoes- to do what is right for others in all walks of life. I really wanted to. I also wanted to sit here and reflect on my mom, which is why I think many of you click on this antiquated link. I’m choosing to focus on the latter, but please, I beg of you on behalf of my mom, March Forth in someone else’s god damn shoes before supporting anyone who doesn’t take that approach. 

I just like this picture, but clearly she's showing you she raised us to March. Fucking. Forth.

Now, onto the rest. 

I’ve written before about our house in Atlanta on Aberdeen and the house Nick and I bought in Seattle. Our current house is small in stature and square footage, and large in projects and to-do lists. Aside from the size differences, I can’t help but see parallels between the two houses. Both houses required some updating (but were initially very livable), both houses had/have outdated bathrooms with either yellow tile or blue/white patterned tile. Both houses had/have linoleum. Both houses required dehumidifiers in the basement. Both houses featured great neighbors, great locations, and were filled with people willing to use some elbow grease to turn the house into a home. 

In our current house, one of our aforementioned bathrooms got updated this year. We did not personally put the elbow grease into the bathroom updating- just on the finishing touches. I wanted to add something unique in an otherwise “standard” bathroom remodel featuring subway tile, black hexagon floors, and Sherwin Williams Alabaster walls…all lovely, but nothing unique. So, now both houses have/had wallpaper. Remember when wallpaper had its moment? Wallpaper came and went just like skinny jeans. But now it’s back! 

Nana's bright wallpaper and proof I should never be surprised there is always a child at my feet.

While I’ve painted many times, I had not ever hung wallpaper. I read the instructions from the wallpaper company and watched all their tutorial videos multiple times. First mistake was that I didn’t think it would be too hard based on the videos I watched. Second mistake was starting this project on election night. I could go on with the mistakes made, but you get the idea. I prepped the walls with special “wall covering primer,” which you can’t buy at Sherwin Williams because, “nobody uses wallpaper anymore,” according to the man I talked to on the phone (I think he’s wrong). Home Depot was more accepting to DIY wallpaper-ers, in case you were wondering.

Anyways, Nick and I rolled the special glue onto the wallpaper, folded it inward (without creasing it!), and bookended it to let the glue set. I was still feeling confident at this point. We hung it on the wall ok-ish, but confidence was starting to wane. Then all hell broke loose when we tried to get this unwieldy wallpaper around the window trim, a medicine cabinet, sockets for lights, and corners. And don’t even get me started on having to match the repeating patterns. A Type B teacher and a Type A engineer both need each other and don’t need each other for this type of project. I needed Nick’s brain for doing the math to figure out how to use just the right amount of wallpaper so that we didn’t have to open the 2nd roll of wallpaper (reality: we had to open the 2nd roll). Nick needed my brain to overlook the inevitable imperfections (reality: an engineer literally will never be able to overlook imperfections). 

Despite its unhappy beginning, this is the happiest wall in our house.

I called my dad after our two late nights of wallpapering. I told him that I could not believe how much harder it was than I realized, especially the spots where you’re trimming around something. I should also add that we only wallpapered ONE wall. One wall! He said to me, “you know, your mother did all of the wallpapering in our house by herself.” I truly don’t know how the fuck she pulled that off. The only thing I can think is that she knew better than to hang wallpaper with your spouse (and I say that with gratitude for Nick’s help because I would've cried doing it alone). My mom wallpapered so. many. rooms. in our house on Aberdeen. The downstairs half bathroom had various floral patterns, the kitchen had a striped pattern, and my bedroom once featured a yellow floral Laura Ashley wallpaper border.

I can't imagine why it's so hard, but please focus on the wallpaper.

In the house on Aberdeen, my room was 4 different colors in the 13 years it was mine before I went to college. It began as a pale pink, then became yellow (to go with the aforementioned Laura Ashley theme), then became a sky blue color (obviously to match a striped PB Teen comforter), and lastly featured a navy blue accent wall with the rest of the walls being off white. The only color I don’t recall helping paint was pink. Every time I wanted to change the color of my room, it was on me. My mom taught me how to buy a good angled brush, how to cut in around edges/trim, and how these important steps allow you to squeak by without taping because taping is too damn time consuming. My mom painted every piece of trim and every wall in our house that wasn’t covered in wallpaper. She also painted the entire exterior of Camp Howe’s About It in Vermont one summer long before I was born. While Howe’s About It is not close to being a mansion (ha!), it still has a lot of exterior paint for someone to paint largely by themselves. 

Proof of the green paint my mom painted. It's still there today- which should not be surprising to anyone who has been there.

Now, switch gears to current mom Abby. Anna (5) and Emily (1.5) shared the smallest room in our house until 2 nights ago. One item on the to-do list for our house was to get a window put in the largest bedroom of our house, which was conveniently built without any window. When this change recently happened, we let Anna choose the paint color from a few pre-selected choices. While her initial request was for a rainbow colored room (I compromised with a rainbow pillow), she happily settled on a light shade of pink. I was able to prep, prime, and paint 3 walls of their room when I was off for a week in February and the girls still had school. The 4th wall involved moving furniture, so could not be done until the weekend when both girls were home. I’ll be damned if Anna didn’t want to play a very active role in painting the new room. All I could think about was how I had to learn to paint at some point and how I should instill the same philosophy in her. But dear lord, if my mother went through what I just went through teaching a 5 year old to paint walls, I am forever indebted. Picture this: globs of paint on the roller, paint dripping all over the trim and drop cloth, Anna stepping in the dripped paint and then being mad that she couldn’t just walk off the drop cloth with paint on her feet. I did draw the line at teaching her how to cut into edges. 

This is what refusing to change into painting clothes looks like.

At the end of the day, she did start to figure out how to get the right amount of paint on the roller and took immense pride in where her own elbow grease led her. 

This scene looks idyllic. Don't let them fool you.

One final completely random story, but because it happened last night, it feels like it’s meant to be heard. I lost the diamond in my engagement ring almost a year ago. I noticed it after taking Anna to a swim lesson and I frantically asked another mom waiting for her kid’s swim lesson to help look for it- just the diamond was missing, not the ring, so this was futile. I searched our house high and low and we went back to a restaurant we ate at earlier in the day. No luck. I filed a claim with insurance, reported it lost, and got a replacement stone for my original setting. Last night, when we were moving Anna’s bottom bunk mattress to the new room, we found the original diamond sitting nicely on the floor directly under the mattress. Abso-fucking-lutely crazy. I am telling you this for a reason though…Nancy reminded me that my mom lost her ring at one time and found it many months later in a gardening glove! Parallels, anyone? 

Anyways, if you’re still here, thanks for reading, reminiscing, and finding parallels with me. It’s been 14 years since my mom died and it is mind boggling to me that I can sit here and continue to write about ways she still impacts my life. I just sure wish I could have had a wallpapering lesson. 

Luck

Someone once asked me if I could think of my first memory. I was four years old and was told that I couldn’t go visit my brand new baby sister in the hospital yet (key word is yet). The sister I had (not so) patiently waited for during the 9 months of watching my mom’s belly grow. The hype and the anticipation of getting to visit her in the hospital was squashed when I was told I wouldn’t get to see her yet. I’m sure Nancy’s diaphragmatic hernia was explained to me in kid friendly terms that I don’t recall. But my vivid memory is not so much being told why I couldn’t go see her, but more my memory of saying that I was, “so mad I wanted to throw our couch in the middle of the street.” I remember exactly which couch- it was navy blue with tiny white lines in a pattern. And I remember exactly where I envisioned my 4-year-old self throwing said couch- right in the middle of the street in front of the sign marking the condo complex we lived in- what I now know of as Johnson Ferry Road. 

While you think about your first memory, I’m going to try to explain why my first memory is essentially all about luck and the coincidences of people who fall into our lives. Growing up, I was reminded that my first memory involved luck because I regularly walked by the framed picture below that hung on our stairwell.

I don’t think I really understood the level of luck until a couple years ago. I had the chance to sit on our back deck with Eileen, one of Nancy’s NICU nurses, who happened to be in Seattle working as a traveling nurse. Over a glass (or 2) of wine, she went on to tell me just how lucky I was to even be told that I couldn’t go see my new baby sister in the hospital yet. She told me that because the ECMO machine was so new to Eggleston (Nancy was born in June 1991, they got the machine in 1991), that there wasn’t yet a set criteria for knowing how to handle specific cases. Essentially, it was too new to know exactly what to do with Nancy to determine the best outcomes. The current data they have on the best outcomes for critically ill infants on ECMO likely wouldn’t have supported keeping Nancy on ECMO for as long as she was. So the fact that loads and loads of patient outcome data didn’t exist yet, was sheer luck. Eileen’s stories of luck went on and on, but the biggest being that this brand new life saving machine was only miles away from where Nancy was born was certainly the biggest factor.

I’m going to take a wild little tangent here, but stay with me! Three weeks ago, I got to go to the Madonna concert with my cousin. Being born in 1987, I was a little late to the Madonna craze, but when my cousin invited me it seemed like a no brainer to take her up on the invite. And yes, Madonna is 65 years old and still on tour! I learned at her concert that her mother passed away from breast cancer when she was only 5 years old. Madonna went on to talk about how her dancers and the people on her show became her family. This summer, Nick and I are going to see Willie Nelson in concert (yes, he’s 90 and still on tour!). This led us to watch the Willie Nelson documentary series on Paramount+ (highly recommend) and he also talks about how all of his friends who continue to go on the road again, became his family. Madonna and Willie couldn’t be more different. Yes, they’re both famous musicians who are somehow both still on tour. But their music is completely different, their fan bases are completely different, and their concerts are completely different. Yet, they both surround themselves with people who became like family.

My mom took to heart surrounding herself with good people. I think much of that is attributed to her being a person that people wanted to be around. I also think much of it is luck that good people came into our lives and, much like Madonna and Willie, she knew to hold on tight to the good people. Eileen was a brand new nurse assigned to hold Nancy and keep her from crying. Eileen told me she considered Nancy her own baby and she took on her shushing and rocking job with exactly the love and kindness you would expect of a NICU nurse. How lucky we were to have Eileen and all the doctors and nurses involved in Nancy’s care. My mom knew how lucky we were and she kept in touch with her for that very reason (and I think she also liked that Eileen similarly threw in an F bomb here and there). From Nancy’s time at Eggleston, we became connected with people who are still dear friends. I remember my friend Kate’s mom coming to our house to help make Nancy’s famous Eggleston handprint wreath Christmas card. This led to me becoming friends with Kate who is still a close friend. My mom stayed in touch with Nancy’s pediatrician- and even made him write this note on paper so that it was crystal clear that Nancy was ok despite every single odd- except luck- being stacked against her.

"Nancy Jean Howe is a normal child. -Dr. Bob"

Just as my parents did, Nick and I live far away from family. With two young kids, I see the importance of surrounding yourself with good, solid people who become like family. Frankly, there’s no way to survive the chaos of working and having little kids without having good people around to remind you that you’re sane. On top of surrounding yourself with good people, I continue to find coincidences in my life that can only be my mom saying, “Hey! Hey! I’m still around and checking in to make sure you’re surrounding yourself with good people!” A few days before Eileen came to visit I learned that the 16-year-old daughter of our neighbor (3 doors down) was born with a diaphragmatic hernia. I only learned this because, just like Nancy, she re-herniated her diaphragm at 16 years old. About 9 months ago, I learned that the person renting a basement apartment across the street is a Pulmonology Resident at Seattle Children’s specializing in- you guessed it- diaphragmatic hernias. The mother of our neighbors who live 2 doors down also lost her mom to cancer at a young age. When was her mom’s birthday? February 2nd (my mom’s birthday). And what was her mom’s name? Nancy.

“What the actual fuck?!” is all I can think to myself. 

This past June, Anna had a much more “traditional” experience of becoming a big sister to a little sister born in June. We welcomed baby Emily- who we still can’t decide if we’ll call Emily, Emmie, or Em- into our family 2 days after Nancy’s birthday. Emily/Emmie/Em’s sole mission in life is to laugh with her big sister. Soon after, we also made a rather rushed decision to welcome Clark, a puppy 3 months younger than Emily/Emmie/Em, into our family. Clark’s sole mission in life is to quietly destroy every toy we buy him.

To circle us back to the beginning here with Nancy- how incredibly lucky I am to get to say that I’m going to be an Aunt to Nancy and Kyle’s baby boy arriving in June!!! Since I’m way over here all the way across the country, it makes me beyond happy to know Nancy and Kyle are surrounded with similarly wonderful people in their lives as they begin their parenting journey. Here’s your reminder to take a little slice of Queen Jean this coming year- surround yourself with good people and remember to hold onto them tight.  

Growth.

12 years feels both like a long time and like no time at all. Take a minute and think about where you were 12 years ago. Not where you were the moment you found out we lost the Queen, but just in general- what was your life like 12 years ago? For me, I lived with a friend in Athens, GA, I was in my second year teaching, I hadn't met Nick yet, and I drove a Nissan Maxima. Most striking to me is that 12 years ago I didn’t drink coffee. Today, the thought of starting my day without coffee and a splash of cream is appalling. Sometimes, it’s hard to grapple with all that’s happened in 12 years and all the memories fade together. The big things stick out for me, like moves, a marriage, and a baby, but it’s the little things that become harder and harder to remember. While many, many things have changed in all of our lives in 12 years, some things have remained unchanged. That’s why today I’m going to tell you about one thing in my life that has somehow remained unchanged, yet also grown. 

A plant. 

Yes, you read that right. I’m here to tell you about a fucking indoor house plant. A plant that 12 years ago I would have never guessed would be alive today. 

If you ever visited our house in Atlanta on Aberdeen, you may remember the sunroom off the kitchen. This room began as a dusty, pollen covered screened in porch until my parents enclosed it into a cheery yellow sunroom filled with windows that were cranked open a few months of the year, a big table (obviously, found at a yard sale), a green chair and ottoman (also found at a yard sale), and a window seat stretching all the way around the room. The window seat was filled with various indoor plants. These were the best pictures we (Nancy) could find of the sunroom with the plants on the window seat, but who doesn’t love a good picture of Sam proudly dressed as BatDog and our sweet neighbors- who are now in college (!). 

 

These plants were so ingrained in the fabric of our house, that I’ve written about them multiple times over the years: 

12 years ago, in 2011, I spoke about the plants at my mom’s memorial service as one of the Queen’s life lessons:

“You can never have too much stuff. Now, I’m not talking about those people who are Hoarders and have TV series devoted to them. I’m talking about surrounding yourself with pictures of loved ones, paintings you love, and things that make you smile. In my mom’s case, she surrounded herself with angels. Wooden angels crafted by my dad, metal angels hiding within indoor plants, and stained glass angels that glisten as sunlight shines through the window.”

6 years ago, in 2017, I wrote about our trek across the country from Boston to Seattle and dropping some of our things off in Seattle before we embarked on a 6-week travel adventure:

“We are thankful to have friends taking care of our car, friends storing our bags, and friends watching our indoor plant.”

When my dad moved to Charleston and we began the great purge in the Aberdeen house, the plants were one of those, “Ugh. What are we going to do with all of these?” items. We must have given away or gotten rid of most of the plants, I honestly don’t remember. I took one plant that was in a ceramic pot I knew would remind me of my mom. I figured when the plant died, which would likely be soon, I would at least have the pot as a keepsake. 

In 2015, when we moved from Atlanta to Boston, my friend Kate drove most of the way with me before I dropped her off in NYC. On our drive, there were 2 precious cargo items- the plant and my mom’s/grandma’s wedding dress (soon to become mine and later on to become Nancy’s). These precious cargo items were treated like the royalty they were. They had their own spots in the back seat and they came inside during any overnight stops- including when my car was parked in NYC and Kate and I schlepped the plant and huge wedding dress box into her tiny apartment. I didn’t know how to take care of the plant, but I did at least know that leaving a living plant in a hot car was a bad choice. 

In 2017, when we moved from Boston to Seattle, the plant was included in a select group of items that didn’t get packed onto the moving truck. So yet again, the plant began another long car journey- this time stopping for visits with family and friends, trips to national parks, campgrounds, and hotels across the country. Still receiving the same royal treatment and coming inside with us during overnight stops.

When we first arrived in Seattle, we lived in temporary housing for a while until we found an apartment. It was in this temporary housing that I thought the plant had seen its last days- it was covered in tiny bugs. Convinced I killed it, I was ready to throw in the towel and quite honestly proud that the plant lived as long as it did. Nick convinced me to at least try to save the plant. I took my first trip to a Fred Meyer that night to buy new potting soil and a spray to put on the plant to kill the bugs. The replanting worked and the plant survived. The plant not only survived, but really started to thrive in Seattle. Apparently the plant appreciates cloudy, overcast weather. The plant thrived so much that we took part of the original plant and put it in another pot because the ceramic pot from the Queen was becoming overcrowded. 

Today, the 2 plants sit in a prominent spot in our living room where I see them multiple times a day. They seem to love the amount of light they get and are long past ready to be replanted into more containers as the Queen’s original ceramic pot is yet again too small for this happy plant. I can’t tell you the name of the plant (please inform me if you know!). I can’t tell you if it is healthy, although I'm making an assumption it is because it keeps growing. I literally don’t know anything about this plant except that it is pretty incredible that this plant was cared for by my mom and is still (miraculously) alive and thriving in Seattle 12 years later. And in full transparency, after being convinced I killed the plant years ago, Nick is now the primary caregiver for the plant. He waters the plant 1x/week, and the rest is just the plant being a kick ass low maintenance plant. Also, fun random little tidbit: If you look closely at the picture below, the angel has eyes and a smile. My mom couldn’t stand an angel without a face, so if she ever bought a faceless angel, she added on a face.

I know we’ve all grown and learned a whole hell of a lot in 12 years. Just like this plant, sometimes we feel like we’re barely surviving and sometimes we’re thriving. And if you’ve miraculously made it this far reading about a damn plant, you should also know that along with the plant, there’s some other growth happening over in this house in Seattle. And yes, aside from an ultrasound, this is currently the best picture we have of Anna’s future sibling arriving in early June. 

Pride

This will be brief, because life in Covid times with an unvaccinated toddler in daycare and two parents working outside the house (a house that needs lots of work) leaves little time for much else. But I digress. Some number of years ago, I wrote about all the things I was so glad my mom wasn’t here to see. The former President and gun violence remain tops on that list. This year though, I’m here to tell you about something Queen Jean would have fucking l-o-v-e-d. She would’ve loved it so much that she would have likely founded the neighborhood group. 2 words for you…

Buy Nothing. 

Call me a trendsetter, but I’ve been a big Buy Nothing fan for years now. Really just since we've moved to Seattle...but who's counting? It seems the rest of the world has recently caught on (New York Times article). When I say my mom would have loved Buy Nothing, I mean it with every ounce of my being. If you don’t read the NYT article, the gist of Buy Nothing is, “give where you live” (via a neighborhood specific Facebook group). People post pictures of things they want to get rid of, people comment if they’re interested, and you arrange a “porch pick up” where someone will come take your unwanted items. Recently, we’ve given away stacks of old pavers from our backyard, a duvet cover, and a towel rod, to name a few. The cool thing is the amount of good that can come out of Buy Nothing groups. People donating items to shelters and organizing single drop offs at one person’s house, people collecting brown paper bags to take to food pantries (remember during the first months of Covid when we couldn’t take reusable bags to the grocery store and people had hundreds of paper grocery bags?), and people in need asking for items they need (e.g., the foster family in need of immediate baby items). This is one slice of incredible on a social media platform that has a lot of un-incredible things happening. 

If you knew my mom, I likely don’t need to get into a ton of detail here about why she would’ve loved Buy Nothing. But to remind you…she was up at the crack of dawn on Saturdays to go to yard sales. She was so into yard sales that other people would tell her what they were looking for and she would go to yard sales for them. She was basically a yard sale personal shopper. She was also very into getting a good deal. The excitement of a good deal from a yard sale was what kept her circling those newspaper ads, plotting her route, and always debating how early was too early to be outside of someone else's house. 

There were truly so many yard sale gems from my mom….the $1 prom dress she got me was always her biggest source of yard sale pride. But a close second was the vintage Electrolux vacuum. News to me, but I guess Electrolux vacuums were cutting edge? My mom already had an Electrolux for our house, so the one she found at a yard sale was an “extra,” which made it's way to one of my first apartments in college. While once 'cutting edge,' it is still just a vacuum, so one would assume that using it was self explanatory. The directions below (one of my favorite keepsakes from my mom because of the laughs it brings me) tell a different story.

WHY did she buy this vacuum? Likely because it was priced as a steal and she knew it was a once trendy vintage item. So you can only imagine how much shit she would've collected had Buy Nothing been a thing 11+ years ago.

Buy Nothing and my mom are on my mind a lot. Mainly because every item I snag, or get rid of, has me knowing that my mom would feel some sense of that original yard sale pride. I've had some really great Buy Nothing finds, all from very generous neighbors- a rain suit for Anna, far too many toys, a kids book titled "Goodnight Vermont" and many, many more. My best, most treasured find came about a month a half ago-

I mean, incredible, right?! The original owner of this chair is now a teenager and her mom was "having a hard time letting go." She was thrilled it was going to another Anna. My Anna could care less about this chair, which just makes me thrilled I didn't buy it for her.

In honor of the Queen, check out your local Buy Nothing group. Don't have one? Do what the Queen probably would have done and start your own. Or, stop by the next time you see a sign for a yard sale.

Upside

I find it unreal that a year ago when I last looked at this blog, we were on the cusp of a life altering- dear god please let it only be a once in our lifetime- pandemic. And yet, here we are, 1 year later and forever changed in a multitude of ways. 

Equally as mind boggling, here we are 10 years later and forever changed in a multitude of ways. Over the past 10 years, I've written to you about love, time, adventure, strength, kindness, perspective, gratitude, and honor. Truth be told, these somewhat motivational seeming titles are simply ways of me trying to find an upside in a time of year that is sad.

10 Years ago we found ourselves trying to find the upside. 

She’s gone…

-and she’s free from pain.

-and she’s in a better place.

-and there’s no more chemo.

-and the suffering is over.

-and there’s no more scans.

-and blah, blah, blah [insert whatever comment you say to try to make yourself feel better here]

Quite simply, it seems that there comes a point in grieving where you mix your miserable, sad emotions with emotions that have a little bit of an upside to make you feel less sad. Thank goodness we do this, because life would be mind numbingly sad if we didn’t have this capability as humans. This past year of life during a pandemic brought so many similar mixed emotion feelings. Quite a few low moments, mixed in with moments where maybe, just maybe, we were able to find a tiny slice of the upside. 

We didn’t get to travel, and we’ve still seen and grown closer to people. I am beyond disappointed that we didn’t travel back to the East Coast this past year. It is unfathomable for me to think about the fact that the last time our families saw Anna, she was 3 months old. Thanks to incredible people great at technology, we have video chat capabilities. Due to this, Anna thinks that anyone on a video chat- including anyone during work staff meetings- is there to talk to her. Despite COVID restrictions, we’ve stayed more connected than ever with family and friends across the country. So, there’s the upside. 

We have school online, and we have tight knit relationships. Teaching children with special needs in Kindergarten through 2nd grade online has gone exactly how you think it would go. We’ve had our fair share of challenges including the days spent teaching how and when to mute/unmute, how to click on a link, how to keep your materials organized, how to hold up a paper to the camera so we can oohh and ahh over the hard work. Despite those challenges, I’ve never felt more connected to students and families. Ever. My co-workers and I are quite literally in these children’s homes. We’ve cried with their parents on Zoom, we’ve smiled at the siblings who jump in to wave and say hi, we’ve asked all the questions about all the pets (including parakeets sitting on shoulders during sharing time), we’ve heard the washing machine beep that it’s finished, and we’ve given hundreds of virtual high fives and hugs. So yes, it’s been hard in all ways AND I’ve never known more about the kids I get to teach (AND I can't wait to go back to school in person soon). So, there’s the upside.

And the phrase rolling out of bed has never been taken more literally.

All that being said, if you lost someone this year, if you’re living the trauma that is being at home and working while helping your children do schoolwork at home, or whatever other absolute shit happened to you this year, there might not be an upside yet. Maybe in 10 years. Just kidding, it’ll be before then, but probably not yet.

Enough about COVID, you all didn’t come here for this. You came here because you clicked on a link or got an email and wondered what the hell would be here 10 years later. I digress. 

Pretty much every day of my life for the past 10 years has been filled with trying my damndest to find the upside amidst continuing to miss someone. So, a few snippets from remembering Queen Jean this year...

Apparently my family is nomadic (and give their homes names), and it brings me joy. I’m filled with extreme happiness and laughter when I think about my dad and Nancy’s living situations. My dad still lives on a boat. And now, to add to the apparent new family tradition of nomadic living, my sister and Kyle live in a “travel trailer.” Important to note that it is NOT an RV! Their travel trailer, named Tina (Fey), gets towed behind their truck, named Amy (Poehler). This year, my dad’s plan is to do the “Great Loop” (going up the intercoastal, through the Great Lakes, down the Mississippi, around Florida, and back to Charleston) in his new boat he named ‘Loafer.’ I’ve asked many times if he’s sure he wants to name the boat Loafer. He loves the name, so it’s official. While he’s doing that, Nancy and Kyle are exploring the US and apparently encountering all the crazy weather phenomena along the way. Yes, they were in Texas for THE cold weather and even had to use a hair dryer to melt their RV slides. While I’m filled with a constant state of worry that my dad will sink or my sister will fly away in a windstorm, I’m also so happy for each of them. I really do laugh out loud when I think about what my mom would have to say about all this. So, there’s the upside.

                   

Nick and I are the opposite of nomadic. We bought a house that needs a little extra love, and I’m painting without using tape. If you know Nick at all, you know that the idea of painting without taping makes his engineering brain cringe. Prior to owning our house, I never had the opportunity to show off the tape free painting skills I learned from my mom. My mom’s tagline of, “all you need is a steady hand and a good angled brush” was not music to Nick’s ears. In a shocking turn of events- probably during the “oh crap we bought a house that has a long to-do list” realization phase- Nick saw the light and even outright complimented my straight edges [once] when I painted without taping. I’ve never been more proud of my steady hand and good angled brush. So, there’s the upside.

I’m filled with questions I want to ask my mom, and I’m regularly reminded that Anna is a reflection of her. Multiple times a day, I wish I could call my mom to talk about Anna and ask millions of questions about how the fuck you’re supposed to help these tiny, destructive humans survive and thrive. Anna is ‘strong willed,’ which I’ve learned is just an upside way of saying, “your child is challenging, so hopefully they’ll get their shit together as they grow up and then use their strong willed nature to do some good in the world.” I’m filled with extreme joy when I see Anna do things which so utterly and perfectly reflect that she is Jean’s granddaughter. Most notably, she rocks sunglasses (see below), loves my mom’s Groundhog Day necklace, and points to my mom’s picture in our house. And yet, I’m so incredibly sad at the same damn time that I can’t text these pictures to my mom and say, “apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” which she used to say to me so often, that she shortened the phrase to, “apple...tree.”

   

In the next 10 years, may we all continue to try our damndest to find the upside.

Gratitude and Honor

(The formatting here is certainly far from perfect. Technology is not my strength, so please ignore the funny formatting!)

When I kept up with writing these blogs, for some reason I got into a groove of giving each entry a title with only one word. I find myself organizing my thoughts around that one word, thus creating an entire story woven around a single word. This year, I couldn’t do that. I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to think of a single word that molded together my feelings of gratitude and honor and I couldn’t think of one. I even thought of just molding the words together and creating my own word- “gratihon” or “hontude.” Yikes, bad idea. By now, you’re catching on to how much I really wanted to continue having a single word title. But as you can see, I gave in and just decided to use two words in my title. You’ll have to bear with me as I organize my thoughts around two words instead of one.

November 23, 2019 was a date etched in my head for what felt like all of 2019. This was a date I would say a million times over in answer to the question, “When are you due?” On November 24th, 25th, 26th, 27th, 28th, 29th, and 30th, I would understand that alleged due dates are a load of bullshit and when someone asks you your due date you should just give an approximation- maybe the month you think you’ll have your baby, or better yet, maybe just the season you think your baby will be born in.

Finally, on December 1, 2019, an 8lb 6oz little girl not-so-eagerly joined our world and just like that, 

Nick and I embarked on an entirely new adventure, an entirely different pace of life, and entered into 

an entirely new world where we constantly walk around questioning our every move and realizing we have no idea what the fuck we’re doing. And none of this is without extreme gratitude.

Since December 1st, I have realized the extreme amount of gratitude I have for anyone who is currently a parent, or who is working their ass off trying to become a parent. I had no idea of the level of work and love that goes into this new title. From the ups and downs of trying to begin a family, to the ups and downs of just trying to keep a child alive, and then on top of that, trying to help that child thrive. Sheesh. And they tell me this is the easy part.

I also have an incredible amount of gratitude for our family and friends who have supported us. From family coming to visit and provide baby help and cooking, to friends stocking our freezer and making grocery store runs, we are so incredibly grateful for people helping us. I have actually joked a lot that people are either just genuinely really nice or they must be thinking, “Geez, Abby and Nick really need some help.”

 

I have extreme gratitude for women. For all the women with children, I am so damn sorry I had no idea what you’ve been doing. I’m sorry I didn’t understand the hardship put on your body whether it be trying to start a family, being pregnant, childbirth, or postpartum. And why don’t we talk about postpartum more often? Oh right, because if we did there would be a sharp population decline. I’m sorry I didn’t understand the level of tiredness that just becomes normal. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize how skilled you were at multitasking and getting things done in a short window of time. I am most sorry that I never had the chance to tell my mom that I now understand the sheer magnitude of what she did for me. The level of gratitude I have for my mom quadrupled on December 1, 2019. I only wish she could have known that I am starting to understand how much gratitude I have for her. Actually, I guess I don’t wish that because then I would have had a child nine years ago and I was most definitely not ready to be a parent.

I have no segue here, but onto that second word. Honor.

Before I was even pregnant, I was stressed about how I would be a mom without my own mom to help me learn how to be a mom. Someone gave me the advice to honor my mom through being a mom. Honor my mom through being a mom. I spent a longgggg time stressing about not knowing how to honor my mom. I could always craft, but there wasn’t anything I wanted to craft. Seriously, how would I honor my mom if I didn’t know how to honor her and I didn’t feel like crafting?

I inadvertently dipped my toe into the “honor my mom” advice last summer. It all began at a kids
consignment sale in a convention center. I can and I can’t believe I went to one of those. Yet suddenly, I realized how to honor my mom- by bargain hunting for anything related to baby gear. It almost became a game- how often could I check Facebook Marketplace for baby items? Could I be the first one to respond to the “Buy Nothing” neighborhood group when someone posted a free baby item for porch pick up? How far was too far to drive for a great deal on a baby item? How well could I haggle with the prices? Needless to say, I got many free and deeply discounted baby items all while trying to honor my mom. I suppose I should have been venturing to yard sales in order to truly honor her, but I don’t have that 8AM on a Saturday morning yard sale gene in me.

The truth is, my stress over not knowing how to honor my mom was unnecessary. There was no way to know how to honor her until I became a mom myself. My 3 month stint at parenting has shown me a few things I can do to honor my mom.


I can make sure she keeps laughing.

 

I can make sure she keeps visiting our family and friends.
  

I can make sure she has a love of the beach.

 

I can make sure she knows she is strong and mighty.

 

I can make sure she knows the crazy deep level of love I have for her.

 

Anna Jean Arch, even though you came into this world in a different month than I had in my head, I am grateful for you, and as your mom, I will keep trying my damnedest to honor your grandmother. Which means that I will probably embarrass you big time.

Perspective.

Eight years ago I did what anyone would do when something traumatic happens. I picked up the phone and called two of my friends from growing up who unfortunately also experienced the trauma of losing their mothers. I vividly remember both of them essentially saying that my mom had already taught me all I needed to know in order to succeed and that I would be ok. In that moment eight years ago, I definitely called bullshit on their advice. I now realize that the point of many life experiences happening to anyone is to help us put things into perspective. I am learning that gaining perspective happens in many different ways...and that the advice from my friends was actually not bullshit and was wise and profound beyond their years.

Jolt of Perspective

I will never forget the jolt of perspective I got just a few days after my mom died. Nancy and I were headed out to the “shed” in the backyard. I put “shed” in quotation marks because my mom turned the tool shed my dad built into the cutest little mini version of our house. It was painted the same grey color as our house with the same shade of teal on the mini shutters and the door, it had a mailbox marked 6330 ½, it had cute little white curtains along with a flower box in front of the window. Anyways, Nancy and I headed out to the tool “shed” to get something. Most likely a shovel to scoop up Sam’s poop that was scattered across the yard like land mines, but who knows. Nancy was in front of me and she was the first one to open the door. As she opened the door, I knew I heard something rustling around inside. Without saying a word of warning to Nancy, I took off and bolted across the yard leaping over piles of dog poop while leaving her to deal with the rustling noise. Something fell, or jumped, from above the rafters in the shed- probably a squirrel, mouse, opossum, or some other creature you never want to be surprised by- and then Nancy turned around and bolted only to find me clear across the yard, laughing so hysterically that I was crying. In any normal circumstance, there probably wouldn’t be anything particularly special about this event. In that quick 30 seconds, I got the first true belly laugh I’d had in weeks. I also got a dose of perspective. 

How lucky I am to be here, laughing with my sister, on a gorgeous day?

I spent a really long time trying to find a picture of the damn shed and this hair style prom pose picture is seriously the only one I could find. Also, I'm wearing my infamous prom dress that my mom found at a yard sale for $1. I honestly don't think I've ever seen her more proud of her yard sale abilities.

Reflective Perspective

Other times, gaining perspective takes years. I was 13 when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was on the verge of turning 24 when my mom died of breast cancer. I was 29 when my dad was diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer. Hearing those statistics initially provides thoughts of, “Ugh. Depressing.” It’s taken all these years for me to learn that all those traumatic experiences have actually given me incredible perspective. Now, don’t get me wrong. If I was #blessed with magical powers and could go back and change it, obviously I would rather erase all cancer from the world with a giant “fuck you” while ninja kicking in the air. But alas, I don’t have those magical powers (yet) and I’m here with a futile attempt at finding the positives after hell. 

Just a few months ago at 31, I was vehemently complaining to my dad about a hike that Nick and I did that I thought was too hard, too long, made me too hungry, required us to get up too early, and was generally just too much for me.

You see, I am notoriously un-enthusiastic about exercise. I know it’s good for me and I always feel great after I exercise, but the process of jump starting myself to actually exercise is a continuous challenge. I love going for a power walk on a nice day, but ask me to go for a run on a nice day? Hell no. I’ve tried gyms and spend most of my time trying to figure out how to use the machines. I’ve tried spin class and my butt hurts so much afterward that I wobble like a penguin for days. I’ve tried Zumba and I did love that, but is Zumba even a thing anymore? I’ve tried barre and I am the person constantly being readjusted by the teacher because I’m not doing the moves quite right. The one thing that has stuck is yoga. I’ve started going to hot yoga and found this great studio that’s walking distance to our house and they always have some very motivational/inspirational knowledge to pass on during the class. Yoga has this magical way of making me feel strong and calm. I’ve even learned how to do crow pose which in my wildest yoga dreams I never thought I would be able to do. 

That was a gigantic side tangent about my exercise habits that none of you needed to know except to understand that I’m not one of those people who is an eager beaver when it comes to exercising. The point of my story is that after listening to me gripe and moan about the aforementioned terrible hike, I’ll never forget my dad saying, “You’re lucky to be able to do something like that.” And with those words, my outlook on exercise- and really on a lot of things- changed. 

How lucky am I to be physically able to do whatever I choose to do?

One of many gorgeous hikes that I complain about.

My dad’s simple words made me realize that I am so lucky to be able to do these things and that I need to have an attitude and take on the challenge of caring for me- including exercising- with a better attitude. As a somewhat healthy and somewhat active almost 32 year old, a family history of cancer can completely change how you care for yourself and what preventative measures you take to ensure you stay healthy. Nancy and I have met with genetic counselors, tested our genes through some sort of a full genetic panel, and met with a nutritionist who specializes in preventative cancer diets. The nutritionist gave me some insight into why eating less meat is important and she also taught me some hard lessons that I’m working on...most importantly, that I should only be having one- yes, one- glass of wine a week. I am also now privy to many of the recommended preventative screenings for someone with a family history of cancer. In the last year I had the joy of experiencing a mammogram, a breast MRI, and even a colonoscopy. You might be thinking how lucky YOU are not to deal with that until you’re much older than I am. But you know what I’m thinking? Whatever drugs they give you for a colonoscopy are awesome and how lucky I am that I get to have that loopy experience every 5 years. But in all seriousness…

How lucky am I to have the opportunity to know way more about my health than I ever wanted to know and to attempt to be ahead of anything that may be cancerous?

If I can learn how to do this from yoga, you can do anything. Truly anything.
*Not pictured: this pose lasting for long enough for someone to take a picture and then me instantly falling into the water.

Changing Perspective

When Nick and I made the decision to move to Seattle, my biggest worry was all of the people we were leaving on the East Coast. Would I become the long lost relative on the other side of the country? Would our friends forget about us? I couldn’t shake this gut wrenching feeling that I was saying goodbye to all the important people in our lives as we made our way across the US in my black CR-V that was stuffed to the brim. Now that we’ve been in Seattle for over a year and a half, I realize that somehow, those worrisome questions are not worries at all anymore. I realize that calling my sister and my dad is actually easier on West Coast time and I talk to them both more than I probably would if I lived on the East Coast. Somehow, we miraculously have friends in Seattle and somehow, my East Coast pals have not left me in the dust. Also, we have 2 sets of great friends on either side of the country both named Meg(h)an and Jordan. How cool is that?

How lucky am I to have incredible friends- and also family, too!- on both sides of the country?

With Megan, Jordan, Meghan, and Jordan.
Apparently we have a hard time remembering names. To remedy that issue, we just befriend people with the same names.

Perspective from Others

I am also lucky to have people in my life help me find perspective when I can’t seem to find it. Since 2011, Nancy and I have a chip on our shoulder toward the month of February. Not only is my mom’s birthday in February, but February is also the month we all spent with her in the hospital. This year, on February 1st, just the day before my mom’s birthday, we had to say goodbye to Sam, our doodle of a poodle who was most definitely the strangest, quirkiest, yet best and most lovable dogs you’ve ever met. Since Sam was our first dog, I never experienced the horror of losing a dog. 

[If you recall, the short version of Sam coming into our lives is that my dad got Sam as a Christmas gift for us without consulting my mom, who always said she never wanted a dog. You can imagine how that went over.] 

Through my blubbering tears, I sobbed to Nick, “This is another reason why my mom never wanted a dog. She always said that people get so upset when their dogs die and everyone has to see their dogs die. And now I get it.” I was truly a blubbering mess. Nick’s reply was short and simple, “There’s also all the great times you had with Sam.” Cut through more hours of me being a blubbering mess...only to realize that Nick gave me the perspective I needed.

How lucky are all of us to have all the memories with Sam, the strangest, best dog?

                         

What you don't see is the piece of bacon, chicken, cheese, or overpriced refrigerated dog treat (he refused to eat normal dog treats) luring Sam to stay in these perfectly adorable poses.

We Control our Perspective

Life is hard. Nobody really tells you that, because who wants to spend all their time talking about how life is hard? The reality is that we all have our own struggles, we all have traumatic experiences, we all get into ruts of negative thinking. This year more than ever, I seemed to finally recognize that it’s what you choose to do with all that shit that flies your way. You can fester in it and be pissed off, or you can chalk it up to learning about perspective and move along. This year has brought me continued perspective, continued reminders to be patient even when I don’t think I can be patient, and continued gratitude for all the luck that has been thrown my way. Whatever your individual situation, I hope reading this brings you some form of perspective, because if you’re reading this that means you’re here. 

And damn...how lucky are we to be here? 

Of equal importance, Nancy and I have renamed February. It shall now be called Fuckuary.