Strength.

Last week, I spent approximately 30 minutes taking a parking sticker off my car and then putting the new parking sticker on my car. This was not your typical cling on sticker that peels off the car with ease. This son of a bitch sticker was basically cemented onto my windshield after almost a year of baking in the sun. I attacked it with a razor blade and WD-40. Tiny crumbles of sticker now dot my dashboard, along with a greasy gloss from the WD-40. As I was attacking my parking sticker, I thought to myself: things that could be simple are just harder in Boston. There could be cling on stickers, but there are not. The Department of Motor Vehicles is not the “DMV,” it is the “RMV” aka Registry of Motor Vehicles. When I changed my last name on my passport and license, I was left with a temporary paper ID issued by the RMV. Bars and restaurants literally refused to let me in with my temporary paper ID because they thought it was a fake that I made (nevermind the fact that I was hanging out with other almost 30 year-olds). Driving is an extreme challenge. Not only are the roads very confusing, but many roads do not have lines painted onto them (my theory being that the snow plows scrape off the paint). All roads have giant potholes. Most drivers are aggressive (I am now one of them). Roundabouts are called rotaries and they are everywhere. And some of them even have traffic lights in the middle of them. None of my teaching license credentials transferred to MA, causing me to have to take MA teaching tests. Moving into apartments is hard. Couches and boxsprings don’t always fit up stairwells. And it snows and your car doesn’t shovel itself out….nor do the stairs….or the sidewalks (and we have gotten a teeny tiny amount of snow compared to average winters). And don’t even get me started on how hard it was to be a Falcons fan here this year.

I say all of this, because as I was attacking my parking sticker, I remembered something that I’ve thought about before. My grandma lived in Boston. My mom lived in Boston. My Aunt Jenny lives in Boston. My Aunt Emmy lived in Boston. Boom. The badass, strong, and amazing women that I have looked up to, and continue to look up to, lived (or lives) in Boston at some point in their lives. I thought to myself, maybe a small slice of why these women are so strong is because they tackled living in a city that often isn’t always easy to live in. And maybe a small slice of how I’ve gotten through some tough situations this past year is because I come from a line of strong, independent women, and I’d like to think they’ve rubbed off on me. And who knows, maybe living in Boston has given me some extra strength. In the picture below, my aunts and grandma were strong enough to tackle getting me through the airport as a toddler. Although it looks like it may have been a bit of a struggle....

This year was full of highs and lows and had me feeling especially grateful for the line of strong women who came before me. The biggest and most obvious high being that Nick and I got married! I could go on for hours about how it was the best day ever, but there’s really not more to say aside from the fact that in our eyes, it was the best day ever. And that we’ve never had so much fun. The only reason this day happened was because of the people Nick and I refer to as our “village.” On top of all the strong ladies I previously mentioned, there’s my dad, my sister (also a part of the badass lineage), Nick’s amazing parents, and very close family friends who may as well be called Aunts. Planning a wedding out of state literally would have been the most stressful experience without this village to help us.

My mom’s sisters, Aunt Jenny and Aunt Emmy, rallied around helping us plan the wedding. One thing I knew from the beginning of the planning was that I wanted to wear my mom’s wedding dress, which was also my grandma’s wedding dress. But I also knew that I wanted to update it. This is where Aunt Jenny comes in. She helped me find a wonderful seamstress who was willing to tackle the project of carefully redesigning this gorgeous gown from the 1950’s. Aunt Jenny, my cousin Audrey and I spent many, many Saturdays driving an hour outside of Boston to go to the redesign appointments. I am so grateful that I lived near them and had their company during the entire dress process. You can see more pictures of the amazing wedding dress redesign here.

While Aunt Jenny took care of the dress side of things, Aunt Emmy took on all things related to Pittsburgh. She helped us find a photographer, she went to the florist with me, she did a walkthrough of the venue with us, she did an enormous amount of work helping us find and set-up a venue for the rehearsal dinner, and she let us take over her house the weekend of the wedding. In the picture below, I am making children's gift bags at Aunt Emmy's house next to my enemy, Rex (my Grandpa's toy dog that continues to terrify me as an adult). My Aunt's placed him next to me to "help" with the gift bags.

One of our biggest laughs came on the Wednesday before the wedding when I dragged the two of them to a grocery store produce seller to buy 200 peaches for the wedding. Looking back on this, it sounds so stupid that I put so much energy into finding peaches. In Pittsburgh. In May. I was doubted by many a peach sellers, but nevertheless, I persisted. :) I wanted a piece of Georgia at the wedding and peaches as nametag holders was the solution. Let’s just say the very nice man at the massive produce building gave us a full tour of their facility and taught us ALL about the many different varieties of peaches. For an hour.

Needless to say, going through planning a wedding with these two ladies, my grandma, and my sister, eased the pain of not being able to plan a wedding with my mom. They all have the same wacky sense of humor as my mom, they creepily all look and sound alike, and they are just as badass and organized as my mom was. We had more laughs than tears, and I know that’s what my mom would have wanted.

Since the wedding, saying that life has felt like a whirlwind is an extreme understatement. Nick moved to Seattle for 6 months a week after the wedding for an internship. I was lucky enough to live there with him for the summer. We had a blast exploring the Pacific Northwest and I especially enjoyed a relaxing summer. Fall arrived with a crazy move to a new apartment in Boston where we gained two fabulous roommates (named Jen and Emily- notice the connection with my Aunt’s names? So weird!), who I now realize I never would have survived the Fall without.

The arrival of Fall also brought the arrival of my dad’s cancer diagnosis. I’m not going to go into detail here, because I feel like unfortunately the social media world already knows all too much about this due to our battles with the insurance company. As you can imagine, this was a hard one to swallow. I had my fair share of “No way. Not us. Not again. Not fair. Nope.” moments. But there comes a point where you make a choice. You can sit around feeling sorry for yourself or you can pick yourself up and make a plan to tackle it. My dad, my sister, myself, and our entire family chose the latter. My sister’s badass strength has been out full force helping with my dad. She has spent hours upon hours upon hours driving back and forth from Atlanta to Charleston to help with my dad. And she has been phenomenal! She makes sure he is doing his exercises- and gained the title of his Physical Therapy Assistant- she makes sure his spirits are lifted, and she makes sure he is eating well. I am confident Nancy and I wouldn’t have the strength we’ve mustered up without not just one, but two lineages of strong families. And now, enter the other badass side of our family.

She cleans the deck of sailboats, too! Superwoman, I say.

My dad’s family is also full of strong people who are hilarious, thoughtful, and kind. He has had siblings, friends, and a niece visit him, some on multiple occasions, to help out during his recovery. They traveled from Ohio, Vermont, New York, New Hampshire, and Wyoming. His siblings send him weekly cards via snail mail, cool puzzles, and old family photos. Our cousins were gracious enough to help pay for some of the travel expenses Nancy and I incurred traveling to and from Charleston. I look at my sister and I look at myself, and I think, “Damn. We are so lucky to have all of these people in our lives.”

I can’t end this blog without mentioning someone who came into my dad’s life a year ago and has subsequently become family. My dad started dating a wonderful woman named Karen last year. She came to the wedding in Pittsburgh with my dad and we were thrilled to have her there. Yes, my dad gets all the credit for meeting her. But I can’t help but think my mom had some sort of role in bringing Karen into our lives. Aside from the important fact that she and my dad are a great match, Nancy and I love her- as does our entire family. I can promise you that six years ago, I would have balked at this statement and said it would never come from my mouth. But apparently, a lot can change in six years and we couldn't be luckier. Obviously, she is also a strong, badass, independent woman.

And in case you were wondering, Nick and I have loved our time in Boston and wouldn’t change a thing. We have explored a city rich with history. We value the fact that we live in an area where we can walk to the grocery store and restaurants. We are within a very short drive of some amazing places including Vermont, Maine, NYC, and Cape Cod, just to name a few. We loved “Marathon Monday” and going to the Red Sox game at 11AM. If you’ve made it this far, you should also know that while we loved our time in Boston, we are headed back across the country when Nick graduates and I finish the school year to begin a new adventure in Seattle as Nick starts a new job (and I hopefully find a new job soon!). We couldn’t be more excited, so please come and visit!

Adventure.

         This morning, I woke up grumpy and mumbled the words, “I don’t want to go to work. I just want this day to be over.” As with anyone who experiences a traumatic event, the date that your life completely changes may as well be etched in stone inside your head forever. There’s nothing you can do to make the date pass except pick yourself up and use every ounce of your willpower to get through the day. All I wanted to do was curl up under my heated electric blanket and watch House of Cards while eating Cabot’s Seriously Sharp Vermont Cheddar Cheese with Wheat Thins. Alas, this dream was not an option because it was crazy sock day at school, which was fitting, because I obviously wore the Queen’s googly eye crab socks. Needless to say, I (reluctantly) grabbed my coffee and my lunchbox, headed out the door, and began the adventure that is March 4^th. 

On this date five years ago (crazy, right? five years?), we all began a new adventure. At the time, it inevitably felt like chaos. Trying to figure out how to live our lives without Queen Jean present = obvious chaos. It was an adventure to figure out how to wake up, get out of bed, and start each day as a new day. It was an adventure to tackle birthdays, Mother’s Day, and holidays. As days have somehow quickly turned into years, I can actually say that I’m finally beginning to feel like I am figuring out this adventure. While it took me five years to realize, it’s actually quite simple: If you can wake up and remember to try your best to live each day like the Queen, then you’re bound to be ok. Figuring out how to live like a badass Queen is tough, though. It requires thinking back about how the Queen handled things and it also requires a massive support network of people to help you laugh, read People magazine, watch Ellen, wear crazy socks, and be kind to others as you give this thing called life your best attempt.

            The same year the Queen left us for a cooler place, this pretty cool guy walked (literally) into my life. He was a smart, well-traveled, lego-loving, handsome man who checked off almost every item on that list I made as a thirteen-year-old of my “dream man.” This is already sounding horribly cheesy (get it? I've still got Cabot cheese on my mind!), but stick with me. So this new adventure began and this lego-loving man, named Nick, stuck around. Nick and I have gotten to take a lot of traveling adventures. We were lucky enough to travel to Iceland where we went camping and ate copious amounts of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in between hiking to the most beautiful waterfalls. We explored Budapest and Krakow where we brushed up our knowledge of WWII history. We went to Big Bend National Park in Texas where we camped in the desert and went to sleep looking at more stars than I’ve ever seen.

           When this adventure partner of mine decided to apply to graduate school, I thought, well, what’s another adventure, right? So the adventure of MBA school began. Nick took the GMAT; I hated the GMAT and the amount of time it consumed. Nick spent lots of time online browsing lots of different programs; I daydreamed about what it would be like to live outside the state of Georgia. Nick wrote essay after essay after essay; I was one of many proofreaders [read: I was the one who determined if non-engineers could understand].

After the adventure [chaos] of preparing to apply for school, Nick then tells me he only wants to apply to one school. He says this one school is the exact program he’s looking for and if it doesn’t work out, then so be it. Obviously, at this point I think he’s crazy and I’m seriously questioning his sanity. Then, he proceeds to tell me that the other reason he's picked this one program is because he thinks it would be cool for me to live in Boston. For me to live in the city my mom went to college in. The city my mom and dad met in. The city my Nana and Pa met in. The city my aunt lives in. And, this people, is one of many reasons why I’m marrying this man.

            Ok, enough of this sap. The point of this story is that it is pretty exciting to live in this city that my parents began their own adventure in. My mom met my dad via her college roommate at Simmons College. To say my parents began their relationship together as an adventure is an extreme understatement. Shortly after graduating from college- with a degree- my mom up and moved to St. Croix with my dad! Whenever I think about this, I just laugh and laugh, because my mom would have never been pleased with this if it were my sister or me. My mom never actually revealed this whole story to me. One day I was able to put the puzzle pieces together and I remember saying to my mom, “Wait. YOU moved to St. Croix? And you weren’t even engaged yet? And you didn’t have a job when you moved there?” Her response, “Yes. And Nana and Pa were NOT happy about it. So don’t get any ideas.” So anyways, they moved to St. Croix where my dad worked on a boat and my mom was a secretary. Whenever she told me about her secretary job, she always mentioned her psychology degree from Simmons and also inserted her advice there: “Don’t be a psychology major unless you actually want to do something with psychology.” After the St. Croix adventure, my parents moved back to the US, lived in Pittsburgh, and got married.

After getting married, they trekked off to Hyde Park, NY for my dad to go to The Culinary Institute. Then, my dad got a job as a chef in Atlanta in 1985, so my parents packed up all their belongings and headed to the South in a U-Haul. My dad drove the U-Haul and my mom followed behind them in their car. Until the U-Haul broke down. They stood on the side of the road and watched all of their possessions get towed away by a tow truck. I’d like to think that in that situation, after screaming your fair share of expletives, you’d just have to remember that it’s all part of an adventure (adventure is obviously a synonym for chaos- but it sounds a hell of a lot more fun). All these adventures occurred before my sister and I were even a thought.

Now, circle ahead 30 years later to 2015. Last May, when Nick and I packed all our stuff into our U-Haul, I couldn’t help but think about all the adventures my parents had in the early years of their relationship. On our trip to Beantown, our U-Haul didn’t break down. But I did spend a large portion of the drive writing a lesson plan, in the loud cab of the U-Haul, for an interview that I had two days after this massive move (chaos or adventure? you can decide). We made it safely to Boston and unloaded all of our things into our tiny apartment on the first floor of an old, lavender colored house. And so our Boston adventure began.

            I can’t say that learning this new adventure of life without my mom is what I would have chosen. But I can say that my life has grown for the better out of this adventure. Family, friends, people I’ve met along the way, relationships that have formed, jobs I’ve had- those are the reasons why this new adventure is an adventure and not just chaos. And it takes an army of seriously amazing people to turn chaos into an adventure.

Time.

Lately I’ve been thinking about time. Not thyme the spice, but time like a tick tocking clock.

When my parents moved to Atlanta in 1985, I highly doubt they had intentions of staying here for the long haul. I mean, why would two Northern bred people move to the South and plan on staying forever? People say “y’all” here and drink sweet tea. And it’s sweltering here in the summer. Although, after the winter that is currently happening in the North, maybe they had the right idea. Anyways, over time they established roots in Atlanta. They found an area with a good school system and bought a house at the bottom of two hills on Aberdeen Drive. They made friends, joined the local pool, Nancy and I became Girl Scouts, and they sent me to cotillion (I still resent this because Nancy never had to go). Over time, the city they didn’t plan on living in forever became home.

About three years ago, my dad told us his master plan of selling the house, moving to a city or town near the ocean, and buying a sailboat. Initially, all I could see from his master plan was that the house would not be our house anymore. The house with all the memories of my mom, the house that literally exemplified everything that was my mom, was going to be lived in by another family.

The next year and a half was busy. Nancy, my dad, and I went through every single thing in the house. And I mean everything. My mom treasured memories. This is just a nice way of me saying that she saved everything and had hoarding “tendencies.” It was all very tidy and organized, but it was ALL there. From the daily notes when I was an infant in daycare, to every piece of artwork Nancy and I ever made, to napkins from my parents wedding, to rocking horses and wagons made by my dad, our Little Tikes plastic kitchen, and even my mom’s sweet Paddington Bear straight from her trip to London as a little girl. There were times when it was enjoyable and funny to go through boxes of things we had never seen. And then there were times where I couldn’t look at another piece of silver or china without wanting to cry because nobody knew what to do with it. Also, we frequently didn’t know what things were. Did you know people used to have knife rests? Each person had their own silver box like thing to rest their knife on when they weren’t using it during meals.

We never left empty handed!

Nancy and I determined what we wanted, what my dad wanted, and what my aunts wanted. Then, we held two massive yard sales for the stuff that nobody wanted. We were selling so much stuff that multiple people asked us if it was a “multi-family” yard sale. Nope, just us. To cap it all off, my dad held an Estate Sale to sell the bigger pieces of furniture and fancy things like knife rests. During the midst of all this, my dad was traveling around the east coast to find a new place to call home. He visited multiple small towns and cities along the coast in North and South Carolina. When he narrowed it down, Nancy and I spent time with him in two cities trying to help him decide the pros and cons. After lots of travel, and many good options, he ultimately decided to make the move to Charleston, SC.

Playing with my toys before selling them at a yard sale. These weren't the "hot" items I had hoped they would be. Apparently plastic kitchens are way cooler now.

The house on Aberdeen was on the market for a month and a half before it was swooped up by a nice young family with two little girls. The two little girls were the same age that Nancy and I were when our family moved into the house. Meant to be? I think so. There were about two months from the time the house was sold to the time my dad actually moved. In these two months, I just kept thinking about how terrible moving day was going to be. I prepared myself for how awful it was going to be and how it would be so sad, blah, blah, blah.

Moving day came. I said goodbye to my bedroom that saw coats of pink, yellow, blue, and cream colored paint while I lived in it. I said goodbye to the dogwood tree that I researched for my third grade science project. I said goodbye to the mailbox my mom painted to look like a cow. And I said goodbye to the azalea bushes Nancy and I had our picture taken in front of every Easter. Nick and I were the chosen ones to drive Sam to Charleston (more on Sam later). We gave Sam a double dose of anti-anxiety medicine and loaded him into his crate as I said one last goodbye to the house on Aberdeen.

When I was in college and would leave home after a visit, my mom would always stand in the exact same place outside the garage and watch me back down the driveway. As I switched my car gear from “reverse” to “drive,” I would give a little honk on my horn and my mom would wave until I was up the hill and out of sight. Every single time I came home during or after college we had this same little routine. As Nick drove us away with Sam yelping and screetching in the back, I looked back and had that same memory of my mom waving away as if to say, “It will be ok. Go.” And then I was fine. The drive was fine (except for Sam’s incessant yelping) and I realized that I was indeed ok. I realized that the time I spent going through everything in the house was the time I needed. It gave me time to understand that the house on Aberdeen gave our family memories. Luckily, memories don’t have to be contained to the walls of a house.

Any inkling of sadness that may have existed over the house on Aberdeen was gone when we moved my dad into his new house in Charleston. He was so happy to have a fresh start and within a couple of months he found the perfect sailboat and became Captain Jeff. Never have I ever seen my dad as happy or excited as when this boat became his. He named the boat “Patience” and the numbers on her mainsail are 2259- my mom’s birthday. Sheer perfection, if you ask me. Over time, I realized that even though the house on Aberdeen is being lived in by another family, now we will have new memories to make in Charleston.

        

I don’t really have a good transition here, but I mentioned earlier there would be more about Sam, so here it is. My sister and I spent our entire childhood wanting a dog. We begged and pleaded to get a dog. My mom always said no because she didn’t want anything else to take care of or worry about. So, we spent our whole childhood dog-less. Yes, you should feel sad for us. The closest we got was having a giant dog bowl outside our sliding glass door that said, “Killer.” This is because Oprah recommended having a giant dog bowl as a defense against people breaking into your house. The addition of “Killer” was my mom’s idea.

Fast forward to Christmas 2008. I am a senior in college and Nancy is a senior in high school. We headed over to a family friend’s house for Christmas Eve dinner and my dad was acting really weird. On the drive to their house he kept saying, “Abby and Nancy, you guys are going to love your Christmas present this year.” We were convinced we were getting a Wii. We walk into their house and we are greeted by this itty bitty adorable black fluffy puppy wearing reindeer antlers. My dad said, “Merry Christmas! He’s yours!” For most people, this would be a great moment. Cameras would be flashing, everyone would be hugging, the dog would be giving everyone kisses.

The exact opposite happened. My mom screamed, “WHAT?? You’re kidding. You didn’t talk to me about this?!” I could go on, but this would be R rated if I wrote the language that she actually screamed. My parents disappeared and discussed this for quite some time. The ride home with the adorable itty bitty puppy was awkward and quiet. This awkwardness went on for a couple days. Nancy and I said we would send the itty bitty puppy back to the farm he came from because things were so weird. Finally, we had a “family meeting” where my mom said the itty bitty puppy, who got the name Sam, could stay. As long as: she never had to feed him, she never had to take him outside, and she never had to take him to the vet. Basically, he could live in the same house as her and breathe the same air as her as long as she was not responsible for him.

So Sam stayed. And the ‘funniest’ part of all of this is that while Sam is adorable and hypoallergenic, he is bad and he is kind of weird. He ate his fair number of shoes, he chewed on rugs, he broke window panes trying to chase squirrels, chewed on beautiful maple and cherry wood furniture my dad built, peed everywhere, ran around the house in circles while continuously barking, and had (well...still has) difficulty going on walks because he lunges and attempts to attack all moving objects and animals. As time went on, Sam chewed on things less, learned to go to the bathroom outside, and even was brave enough to learn how to use a dog door- it just took Nancy two weeks to teach him that you could also go back IN the dog door from the outside.  

I still don’t think my mom would admit to any of this, so what I am about to tell you is merely my speculation about her relationship with Sam. When my mom got sick again, she was home more often and spent more time resting around the house. Amidst this, she sent me this picture text of Sam laying his head next to her when she was resting on the couch that said, “Look who is keeping me company today.”

Also, there was a little dog named Buffy who lived down the street and belonged to an older woman who my mom watched out for. My mom would write little notes with dog bones taped to them that said, “To: Buffy, Love: Sam.” Sam and Buffy would then get together for “play dates.” My mom claimed this was because it made Buffy’s owner happy, but I secretly think it made my mom happy too. While Sam had an unwelcomed arrival into our family and my mom wanted nothing to do with him, over time he grew on her. Again, I am speculating, but I think the aforementioned stories show a little bit of her change of heart.

Sam and Buffy on a play-date organized by MY MOM

What is so amazing about Sam is how much he helps all of us. Sam is the best comedic relief during hard or stressful situations. Sam greets you smiling (he really does smile like a human), sitting, and wagging his tail when you walk in the door. The minute he sees a squirrel, he runs out his dog door and around the house trying to catch it, which is hilarious to watch because he is so determined even though he has failed so, so many times (he has caught one- we think it was a senior citizen squirrel). Sam and my dad are buddies. Sam often whines when my dad is not in his sight. Probably because my dad spoils him rotten with bacon grease poured over his food and refrigerated dog treats. When Sam came into our family he was possibly the worst thing that ever happened. And then, over time, he evolved into the best thing that ever happened to each one of us. If you're reading this and thinking, "Gosh, they are weirdly obsessed with their dog that they became 'those' weird dog people"...you are correct. The hardest part of this blog was narrowing down how many pictures of Sam I could post. Also, I know it's so inappropriate that we let him on the couch. But it just happens.

  

I don’t know why I write these blog posts every year near the time that my mom left us for a cooler place. Four years ago, I needed this blog (ok, you did too, but I NEEDED it). Now, I don’t need it. I could go into tomorrow without posting this and I would be ok. Inevitably, the time period of February to March every year is just a little bit harder than the rest of the year. It’s hard to go through February and March without thinking about what we all went through during that time period four years ago. It’s like I’m drawn back to this blog during this time of year as a form of self-therapy. Is that a thing? Can a non-doctor, average person provide therapy to themselves? Whatever- I’m making it a thing.

Love.

I've been thinking about my mom more than usual lately. Typically, I spend a good portion of most of my day thinking about my mom in some way, shape, or form. But lately, it has been even more than that. And no, not because tomorrow marks year 3 of figuring out how to live without the Queen being physically present in my daily life. 

I've been thinking about her more because all these random things keep happening that remind me of her so much. First of all, my mom always L-O-V-E-D Ellen Degeneres. I mean, who doesn't? Oprah was my mom's first 4:00 talk show love. But then Oprah often had depressing people on, my mom got cancer which was obviously depressing, and then Ellen appeared. As everyone knows, Ellen is hilarious, so Ellen became the Queen's 4:00 post school form of laughter therapy. I have followed suit and enjoy settling in for Ellen after school as well. My only qualm is that Dr. Phil comes on right after Ellen and I don't like Dr. Phil because he is just too involved in other people's issues. Anyways, moving on. Ellen was an absolute fabulous host of the Oscars. She had Nancy and me cracking up. The pizza, the infamous selfie. I often claim that the Oscars is just too long of an event. Last night, I didn't even want to go to bed because Ellen was making me laugh so much. Alas, something I just know the Queen would have loved.

My mom used to take yoga at High Point with a group of her friends. She used to always tell me how much she loved it. Around the same time, she also started eating weird sushi spinach that looked and felt like a piece of paper so I just assumed she was going through a phase. Well, I started taking yoga towards the end of December and now realize why my mom took yoga. I tried to get into yoga right before all the New Year's resolution people so that I would feel like I was not a New Year's resolution person. I entered yoga with one goal: to be able to touch my toes. No, not from standing upright. I just wanted to be able to touch my toes while sitting down and stretching out my legs. I blame my long legs, but I am just not a flexible person. Small goals people, small goals. 

In addition to the goal of touching my toes, I also initially went to yoga because I wanted to get my money out of the $49/month unlimited offer I paid for. But then, I took a leap and decided to sign on for another three months, which meant that I was actually becoming a member of a yoga studio. Me. The girl who can't touch her toes was joining a yoga studio. My trend with gym memberships generally follows the same treacherous path. I get some 'great' intro offer, I sign on the dotted line, go for a week or two, and then completely stop going and lug around this terrible guilt for not using something that I am paying for. All the while, toting the key card thing on my key chain so that I look like I am a member of a gym but in reality I never go. 

Anyways, I have kept up with yoga and I would now consider it my primary form of exercise. If you know me, this should also shock you. I generally consider myself a "walker." My slogan in life is, "Why run when you can walk?" This is a slogan for someone who is clearly not athletically inclined. So, even the fact that I am saying I have a "primary form of exercise" is a huge personal life improvement. Furthermore, I am even falling for all of the weird yogi sayings like, "Melt into the Earth," and "Reach up like a sunflower reaching for the sun." 

At the beginning of each yoga class, they always tell you to "center yourself" and "focus on one goal." Usually, my goal is something along the lines of, "Be Strong" or "Focus" so that I don't make a fool of myself. Tonight, I made a new goal. "Love." I thought about my mom and her love for each and every one of us.  Her love for teaching, her love for crafting, her love for collecting little trinkets, her love for family, and her love for friends. I don't know why, but focusing on love seemed appropriate tonight. I thought about the fact that she would love that I took the time out of my day to do yoga just to love myself (and try really hard to touch my toes). If we all live our lives loving a little more, I think we'd all be a little better off. Alas, something else I know the Queen would have loved. 

And guess what, I can touch my toes now.

So, aside from Ellen and yoga, there is something even more shocking I know the Queen would love. My sister and I are roommates. Yes, you read that right. We live together under the same roof for the first time since Nancy was in middle school and I was in high school. These days, we actually get along and enjoy each other's company. If you knew us growing up, this would most definitely shock you. My memories from living with Nancy as a child involve incessant fighting over who got to sit in the front seat, which way we would ask my mom or dad to drive through the neighborhood (this is so weird), and constant bickering over who got the remote. I guess this is all pretty natural for siblings, but I do remember a stapler being thrown at someone's head, which probably is not so natural. While us living together is something I know the Queen would have loved, I think she would also have been extremely shocked.

Thank goodness Nancy and I do live together, because we have filled (and I mean filled) our apartment to the brim with all of my mom's trinkets. Angels, trunks, candle holders, blankets, clay art, towels, pictures, and painted pottery. It is absurd. But if I didn't live with Nancy, who knows where all these trinkets would have gone. All of the trinkets were in need of a home because my dad is making a very exciting move to Charleston. Our house is on the market and he has plans to downsize to a smaller home and buy a sailboat. I couldn't be happier and more excited for him. Nancy, my dad, and I went to Charleston over Christmas. We scoped out the town, walked up and down marina docks, peered into beautiful sailboats, strolled the streets filled with historic homes, and found the nearest beach. All that being said, we all collectively agreed that Charleston is a city with a lot to offer. My dad decided that when the house sells in Atlanta, he'll make the move along with his trusty, yet still crazy, dog Sam. I know the Queen would have loved that (some of) her trinkets were saved and my dad is fulfilling a dream of owning a sailboat and living near the water.

So. Many. Towels.

As the years tick on by, I realize that nothing will change. I will always have these random things that come up in life that make me wish my mom was here. All I can do is live each day as though my mom would want me to. Maybe, writing completely random therapeutic blogs is my answer. Maybe, it is traveling to escape to a different country and get lost in another culture. Maybe, it is Nancy, my dad, and I attempting a game of fetch with Sam on a sunny day in the backyard (it's probably not this, knowing my mom's relationship with Sam). Maybe, it's sailing away as the wind catches the sails and the boat keels to one side (always makes me want to sing, "Come Sail Away, Come Sail Away, Come Sail Away With Me..."). Maybe, it's just hoping for living our lives with a little more love. Just like the Queen would have wanted. 

One Year Later

I completely and utterly failed at actually posting on this blog this year. Life got busy and I just neglected to update it. It's hard to believe I haven't gotten to see my fabulous mother in one year. It's even more hard to believe that we have all survived a year on Earth without my fabulous mother. But we did. And I think we've all come out a little stronger. For me, I've aged probably 30 years (hopefully not in my looks though), my outlook on the world and my outlook on my daily life has completely changed, and I miss her more than I've ever missed anything in my life. As I sit here typing, I decided to listen to James Taylor on my Pandora station. James Taylor was always one of my mom's favorites. Very fittingly, the first song that came on was There's Something in the Way She Moves. Check out the lyrics. It could not be more fitting to my mom or how I'm feeling today:

There’s something in the way she moves,

Or looks my way, or calls my name,

That seems to leave this troubled world behind.

If I’m feeling down and blue,

Or troubled by some foolish game,

She always seems to make me change my mind.

Chorus:

’n’(and) I feel fine anytime she’s around me now,

She’s around me now

Almost all the time.

’n’(and) if I’m well you can tell that she’s been with me now,

’n’(and) she’s been with me now

Quite a long, long time

And I feel fine.___________

Every now and then the things I lean on lose their meaning,

And I find myself careening

Into places where I should not let me go.

-- she has the power to go where no one else can find me,

Yes, and to silently remind me

Of the happiness and good times that I know, you know.

Well I said I just got to know that:

It isn’t what she’s got to say

Or how she thinks or where she’s been.

To me, the words are nice, the way they sound.

I like to hear them best that way -

It doesn’t much matter what they mean,

Weh (when/well? ) she says them mostly just to calm me down.

Chorus:

’n’(and) I feel fine anytime she’s around me now,

A-she’s around me now

Almost all the time.

If I’m well you can tell that she’s been with me now,

And she’s been with me now

Quite a long,

Long

Time -

Yes, and I feel fine

I think a lot of people who knew my mom would agree with these lyrics in relation to the Queen wholeheartedly.

"She's around me now almost all the time."

Just yesterday Kate and I went on a walk right before tornadoes swept across Georgia. After getting stuck in the rain for a little while, the clouds opened up and the sun shined through this one little hole in the clouds. I couldn't help but think it was my mom popping in to say hi. And, to tell us that we were f**king idiots and should get inside and away from the tornadoes. Over the past year, moments like this have happened to me all the time.

I've been keeping a running list on my phone of all the reasons my mom gave me to smile. When I'm feeling really down, feeling really angry, and feeling like life is unfair, I pull out this list and remember why my mom was amazing. Again, I go back to James for some inspiration:

Every now and then the things I lean on lose their meaning,

And I find myself careening

Into places where I should not let me go.

-- she has the power to go where no one else can find me,

Yes, and to silently remind me

Of the happiness and good times that I know, you know.

Here are just a few of the ways my mom "silently reminds me of the happiness and good times that I know" throughout my day:

-I smile when I wake up and think about the fact that my mom used to wake me up in elementary school by asking me how many French toast sticks I wanted for breakfast. I usually said 10. Ridiculous.
-I smile when I get dressed and wear her silly Heinz ketchup, birthday cake, angel, crab, or shamrock socks (only with boots...our little secret!).
-I smile because I have latched onto her morning school routine: 11 Alive followed by catching the first 15 minutes of Matt Lauer and Ann Curry on The Today Show before heading out the door at 7:15.
-I smile when I drive to work on the highway and think about the near miss 285 accident she just about revoked my license for.
-I smile every time I see a sign for a yard sale.
-I smile even more when I stop at the yard sale. For no apparent reason aside from thinking she would be proud of me.
-I smile every time I think about her embarrassing me with Xmas sweaters, sequin shoes, purple eyelashes at Halloween and turkey headbands.
-I smile even more at the fact that I am now the proud owner (and user) of the aforementioned items.
-I smile when I find myself drinking a big glass of ice water.
-I smile when I order wine from a restaurant because the only thing I know to say is: "I'll take the house Chardonnay." Because that's what she always did.
-I smile when people tell me I talk on the phone a lot. Because she did too.
-I smile when I find myself watching the 7:00 ABC World News Tonight followed by Entertainment Tonight.
-I smile when I find myself saying, "I'll return it" or "I disagree...I'm going to write them a letter."
-I smile when people say, "Wow. You really are your mother."

-I smile when I'm around my dad and my sister and we talk about things my mom would have loved or hated.

Speaking of my dad and my sister. They are doing great. They might just be some of the best roommates I've ever seen (aside from Kate and myself, of course). They get along well and enjoy each others company. We all have dinner together once a week and it's one of my favorite nights of the week. Obviously, I'm a little biased, but I think we've all done a pretty good job figuring out this new life. Here are pictures from some of our adventures as we've learned to live this year.

We spent Christmas in Costa Rica:

We got my dad a helicopter ride for Father's Day:

Nancy and I walked for 60 miles over 3 days in the Susan G. Komen walk:

We all went to Vermont over the summer:

We also stopped in Bar Harbor, Maine this summer:

Thanks to all of you for helping our family over the past year. It's taken me this entire year to come to grips with it, but I'm so happy that we are where we are this year as opposed to last year. My mom is an angel to all of us and I know she is watching over each and every one of us daily. She is probably judging me for many of the decisions I make, like going for walks during tornado warnings, but I still feel like "she's around me now, almost all the time."

I love you, Mommy.

All Hail the Queen,

Abby