In the eye of the storm.

My husband and I built a house in 2020. I distinctly remember telling him when it was time to move, I wanted the kids to go stay with family. I didn’t want them to have to be in the middle of the chaos that is moving. I wanted them to come home and see their rooms unpacked. To find comfort in their new home right away.

In retrospect, this is hilarious. And, ridiculous.

We moved in April 2020. In the eye of the storm. With lockdowns in place, we had little help and were certainly not sending our littles to stay with family. The kids, they were right in the center of the chaos - carrying boxes and sleeping on mattresses on the floor.

What I learned this year, and I continue to learn, over and over, is that we can’t shield those we love from the storm. Whether that storm is figurative or a literal derecho. We must sit in the dark hallway with the fear until the storm has passed.

In 2019, we made the decision to keep our daughter at her small private school for kindergarten. We assumed, when it was time to transition her to the public school she’d attend for first grade and beyond, we’d have the ability to tour the school. We’d attend an open house and acquaint ourselves with the teachers and school. We were wrong.

When her first day came this year, I walked her to the front door of the school. That was it. She was on her own. My six-year-old was masked-up, walking into a building neither one of us had ever entered, being greeted by people we had never met. She turned to me, with tears in her eyes and said; “Mom, I don’t know where I’m going!”

I cried the entire walk home.

When I picked her up that afternoon, I quickly noticed a different bounce in her step. She was walking with more confidence as she told me about the teacher she met when she got to school that morning. She told me every turn she took to get to her classroom.

This is what I'm learning over and over. We can't shield ourselves from the storm. We have to feel the cold darkness. To cry on the walk home. To allow the fear to fill our eyes and bubble over. Because only then will we be able to walk out of this year with a different bounce in our step. With a little more confidence. Telling each other every turn we took to get there.

Are We the Trees?

I recently spent ten minutes talking on the phone with my son’s new teacher. He knows her. She knows him. But I still felt compelled to spend ten minutes explaining his allergies, demeanor, and how he’s handled these last few months.

I’m scared for the school year ahead. Even so, I forgot to ask how many kids are in the class. It was lost on me to ask about COVID-19 protocol. Because in between catching up on email, paying bills, answering text messages, cleaning my house, trying to get my son excited to go back to school without his sister, and explaining to said sister why she’s delayed three weeks for her first day, I am craving the ability to root myself in some semblance of normal. To just talk allergies and demeanors. 

If you’re in the Cedar Rapids, Iowa area right now, you’ve grown used to seeing trees, branches and limbs all around these last few weeks. In fact, they’re downright obstructing our views around each corner. 

They’re leaning. Some uprooted. Some displaced. Some are bleeding. Some have fallen face first into the closest house, seeking some amount of comfort, I’m sure.

The trees are not okay.

A friend asked the other day after I confessed my overwhelm; “what has you overwhelmed?”

All I could muster up was to explain that it’s the sheer magnitude of it all. I’m leaning. Broken limbs all around, and I don’t even know which way to fall.

When those 140 mph winds came tearing through my community, I finally let go of all I had been trying to hold on to for the last six months.

Now I can see all the pieces scattered on the ground around me. And I know I'm not alone. 

Do I send my kids back to school? How can I work and parent? Should I be volunteering more? Do I submit a claim? Should I even be feeling any of this considering how well my family fared? Wait, should I hire a teacher? Am I doing enough to combat systematic racism in this country? Where are everyone’s masks? When does school start? Are sports bras acceptable to wear each day? Are my son’s tears normal or a sign that all this is wearing on him too? What’s a date night?

We are not okay. 

Survival Mode

This photo popped up on my memories recently. It was taken three years ago. My son was using a breathing treatment. Again. Because his oxygen levels were low. Again. I had just given him a steroid pill to help with said oxygen levels and he threw it up. Again. While I was cleaning that up, he drew all over his legs with a marker.

Three years ago, I was surviving. That was it.

Gather around, friends, there’s something I want you to know.

You are amazing. And, what you’re being asked to do right now is bullshit. Your survival mode isn’t endless. It’s essential, but not endless. So, when we are done surviving, we must care for ourselves properly in order to thrive.

18 months after this photo was taken, I stopped sleeping. I had not healed what my family had gone through. And it caught up with me.

Today, with proper self-care. Sleep. Writing. And therapy. I’m healing. I’m less in overdrive.

But, I’m worried about the state of parents right now, and what we will experience on the other side of this pandemic. I’m concerned we will all wake up at 3 am wondering what the hell just happened to our collective families.

Keep surviving, yes. But, let’s lean on each other to heal. If you need to chat, I have coffee. Looking for a therapist? I’ll hook you up with the name of a good one. If you want to run, my legs are strong. And if you need someone to truly hear how hard it is, I will listen.

So, stop on over. The boy might still be covered in marker but he’s probably not puking.

Cheers, my friends!

Polar Bears

Several months ago, my husband picked my daughter up from school and asked her how her day was. She replied, “Terrible!” Surprised, he dug a little to better understand what was so terrible. She told him she’d explain when we were all home together.

Without warning of that interaction, I got home and saw my daughter lying on the couch looking exhausted. I asked her; “Nora, are you ok?”

She sat up. Slowly. And announced she could now explain why her day was terrible.

She then educated us on the danger the polar bears of the world are experiencing through climate change. She had tears in her eyes as she asked me what we could do.

We talked about the ways our family could make a difference and set out to do so. She reminded her brother constantly that leaving the lights on when we weren’t in a room would hurt the polar bears. I even caught her telling a character in a movie that their situation wasn’t “as bad as the polar bears'!”

This girl was feeling this pain deeply.

A few weeks later as the snow began to melt outside our Iowa windows Nora showed up in the bathroom announcing there was an emergency outside. We had litter in our yard. Stuck under the melting snow and what would this do to the polar bears?!?

***

A few weeks ago, I completely lost control of all my emotions. Alone in my car.

I was listening to Glennon Doyle’s new book, Untamed, and couldn’t believe my ears when a chapter in her book told an identical story about her daughter. In kindergarten. Learning about the polar bears.

It hit me. All at once. I’m watching my daughter grow into herself and admittedly have had the urge to tame her.

My girl is unapologetically sensitive to the world’s issues. She's Untamed. And, we need her to be.

As her mama, I need to respond. So, our family has gotten more involved with Indian Creek Nature Center. We do what we can to support them with our time, talent and treasure. Today, they need our support more than ever!

Because...

"First, it’s the polar bears.

Then, it’s us."

Lane Assist

I bought a Subaru Outback just over a year ago. With it, came this amazing feature “lane assist.” If you’re not familiar, this feature maps your lanes and gives you a gentle nudge if your vehicle veers out of said lanes. I'm not a girl who gets too excited about cars. In fact, I was was once on SR22 insurance due to too many accidents. However, I find this feature to be quite literally a life saver.

It’s also a reminder each day of my role as a parent.

I remember telling a co-worker just after Nora was born that I always thought parenting was about making our kids into the best versions of themselves. But, once Nora was born, I knew she was already her best self. As a baby, I could see it in her eyes. I knew, through her eyes, my job was to map the lanes for her, and gently nudge her each time she was veering out of the them.

But, my job has gotten so much harder these last few months. My dear Nora is driving on roads that are unfamiliar to both of us. Kindergarten is in full swing. For us, this means her brain is going faster than a Subaru can drive. The lanes she has grown accustomed to staying in are expanding. She is seeking more control. She is falling apart and wanting to put the pieces back together herself. For God’s sake, her teeth are falling out of her mouth! Ha!

So, each morning I look into those sweet eyes and remember that my job is the gentle nudge. The lane assist. It’s not to drive the car for her (no matter how tempting). And while lane assist doesn’t prevent accidents, it helps keep us aware of the boundaries.

In short, kindergarten is hard.

And we can do hard things.

Cheers, my friends!

To the Woman Who Bought My Jogging Stroller...

I cried thinking about selling you this stroller. Tears of joy and a bit of sadness.

My husband and I struggled with infertility for two years before finally finding out we were expecting our daughter. In those two years, I dreamed about being the kind of mama who ran with my kiddos. I’d get stronger on those runs. Mentally and physically. I’d teach my daughter to love her body and all that it can accomplish.

I ran once with my daughter when she was eight months old. Days later, I found out I was pregnant again.

My son, who was born seventeen months after my daughter, brought with him more sleepless nights than I can count. I found solace on runs with him. I would run so he’d sleep. I’d run so I could release the tension I felt far too often with a baby and a toddler.

Today, my two little miracles are far too large to run with (and they may be faster than me). So, I pass this stroller to you! I hope you enjoy being “the mama who runs” as much I do.

Your miles with this stroller may be slower than the ones you had before it but I promise you they pass quickly.

Happy running, mama!

"Mom, I'm mad at you!"

“Mom, I’m mad at you!”

I didn’t know these words could bring me so much comfort.

You see, I’m raising a boy.

A boy who instinctively wants to tackle. Who is drawn to motors, wheels, and super heroes in a way that feels unfamiliar to me.

And, I feel a responsibility that is also unfamiliar.

I feel responsible for creating an environment that makes it safe for him to explore his natural interests. And instincts. Because while his interests include a whole bunch of things that are classically masculine by our society’s standard - that is not him in his entirety. His instincts, they include being sad when a friend is not nice. And angry with big expressions when things don’t go his way. And kind in subtle and gentle ways. 

It feels important to embrace all these facets of his little soul at the impressionable age of three.

Because, our boys. I don't think they're okay.

While the roles of women have evolved {with a long journey still ahead}, the roles our boys play in our society have been slower to evolve. I believe my son can be his full self if we create an environment that is welcoming. And, somehow, this feels at the root of where we are as a country.

So, I’m trying hard to do my part.

To tell my son to share his feelings.

All of them.

The big ones that want to erupt as punches.

And the little ones that stop a friend in the hall to tell her she looks beautiful.

Even the ones that come out in the succinct phrase of; “Mom, I’m mad at you!”

I simply thank him for telling me.

Reassuring him that we all get mad.

Mistakes

I think we were finishing up brushing her teeth. A long day behind us, I’m sure. Both of us tired with a million things running through our heads, I assume.

She turned to me, and with no warning said;

“Mom, sometimes I make mistakes. Then, I think about those mistakes later, and I feel weird all over my body.”

I hugged her!

Hard.

Then, I dropped to her level, looked straight in her eyes, and with the utmost sincerity said; “me too, my girl!”

Photo by Studio K Squared

We proceeded to talk about those mistakes. We talked about how they make us better. And, how we really can’t learn without them. And, we talked about how hard they are, and how weird they make us feel.

This is a big one for my girl. For me.

Because I’m not really at peace with my daily mistakes either. In fact, if I’m being honest, I immediately wondered what mistake I’d made that would lead to her putting so much pressure on herself.

So, I asked her to report back to me about her mistakes the next day.

She returned home from school proud to report back to me about the mistakes she made. We high-fived and celebrated the fact that mistakes are gifts - lessons tied with a messy bow.

The gift she has given me is the time to reflect on my own mistakes and truly learn from them. How grateful I am for her profound bravery to put her emotions into such meaningful words.

This girl, I tell ya, keeps teaching the "teacher"!

A Blue Camaro

It happened again the other day. Heels on. Professional attire in place. I grabbed my coat to head out for a meeting. I zipped it up, and put my hands in my pockets for warmth (because I’m never put together enough to remember gloves). And there it was. I could feel the familiar outline. I felt the curves of the metal and the curve creep across my face too. My smile was uncontrollable. 

A small blue Hot Wheel Camaro was in my pocket.

I was so thankful to hold it. To smile for a second and think of my little man who never leaves home without a vehicle in his hand. While he spends his days at school, and I spend my days at work, we are connected.

These little reminders of my daily motivation, they’re everywhere. Sometimes it's a blue Camaro and sometimes it's a purple hair bow. They're in my coat pockets, purse, and under the seats of my car. Every time I find one I can’t help but smile.

This season of parenting is hard. There's never any time and I always feel I'm stretched too thin. But these tiny reminders, they help. They are quick examples of my why. Why I wake up before the sun rises, and close down my computer long after it sets.

This car is neither blue or a Camaro. It was another car. On another day.

I already know, one day, in the not-so-distant future, I’ll stop finding these reminders everywhere I look. The Camaro and the purple bow will be missing from my pockets, and the little people they belong to won’t be so little anymore.

So, for now, I smile with gratitude. And refill my coffee.

Cheers!

Getting Holes in Our Pants

Dear Nora,

The other day your cousin and brother ran outside to play. Their hair was wild from an all-too-short night of sleep, and their little bodies were still cozy in their pajamas.  

You stood back.

In judgment.

“They will get dirty!” you said.

“I know,” I replied. Lacking concern.

---

I came into your room quickly the other night after a long day.

I craved your smell and a brief conversation with your wise eyes before you drifted off to sleep. But those eyes were filling up with tears. You had gotten a hole in your pants earlier in the day.

“I was playing puppy, Mom, but then I got the hole, so I sat in the corner!”

Photo by Studio K Photography

My girl, please let your wild curls stay wild. Your spirit too. Let go of the rules (and the straightener you’ll someday discover) and explore your way off the beaten path.

Those gold stars you crave, they won’t define you. The reward you seek lies in the dirt and the holes.

I want to whisper. So you’ll hear. Those disapproving looks you receive for not fitting a mold won’t define you either. That mold says you should hug and smile and be pleasant at the beck and call of our society. I say, “screw the mold!”

I want to bottle up your anger. Your frustration. Because sometimes I have to keep you safe when you know exactly what you want and can’t capture it on your own. I’ve seen that anger and frustration tear you apart over the tiny details you crave for each of your imaginative ideas.

I’d give that strong-will back to you at 25, my girl, and let you put it to good use as you find your way on a dirty path. Your wild curls blowing in the breeze. A fresh hole in your pants.

To My Babies’ {Other} Mamas

I remember the first time it happened. I was dropping Nora off at her first daycare - an in-home center. Nora reached for the woman who ran the daycare and said; “mama!”. I could tell the woman felt uncomfortable. I didn’t.

When your child is small, they sometimes liken the word “mama” to love. "Mama" can come to be shorthand for the individual who cares for them, provides comfort and dries their tears. When Nora uttered those syllables, I felt comforted. I felt it was a clear sign that during those long hours while I worked, she was feeling loved by this wonderful woman.

Fast forward to a few more daycares, another child, and so many more “mamas”. As the season of back to school is upon us, I can’t help but reflect on what these teachers mamas have meant to our family.

Thank you doesn’t seem to capture it, but I’ll try

To the woman who walked the halls. I remember getting to daycare for what felt like the one millionth time to pick him up sick. You weren’t “his teacher” anymore. He had already transitioned to the next room. But, there you were all the same. Cradling him and walking the halls. So calm. So loving. I’m sure you were tired. I know I was. But, you pushed through that tired so gracefully and found an extra gear. Thank you for finding that gear for my boy. Thank you for loving my boy like he was your own. And, for ignoring my silent, tired tears as I took him from your arms.

To the woman who exuded pride. Sometimes it feels like our littles are the only littles who have ever learned to walk or count or sing the ABCs. It’s always nice when someone genuinely shares your pride in your littles’ accomplishments. Thank you for the countless texts and pictures of our little writer working tirelessly on her letters. Thank you for spending your own time and money to put together lines and curves for her to practice at home. Thank you for sharing my pride as she beamed with pride at all you accomplished and learned together.

To the man who changed her card to yellow. I hate to label a four year old, but honestly, sometimes you have to call a spade a spade. So, I'll say it. I believe my daughter to be Type A. To her, a green behavior card - the color that symbolizes a good day - is not enough. Every day must be a pink card day. Pink symbolizes exceptional, and that's certainly what she's striving for each day. But, sometimes, just sometimes, we all have yellow card days, don't we? And you were brave enough to call a spade a spade too. You switched her card to yellow knowing it wouldn't be easy on her. And, you took the time to talk her through it. And me too. We all learned that day that life isn't easy and we can't be great all the time. Except for you. You were great. Thank you for taking the time. Thank you for being brave with us.

To the woman who loved them no matter what. For over two years you cared for at least one of them. You laughed when they said funny things and shed tears when they were sick. You embraced them for the people they are - the crazy and the sassy. You saw the little person in the midst of all the big emotions no matter what. You made room in your arms for extra cuddles and became an extension of our family. Thank you. Thank you for making your lap a second home. Thank you for loving them for who they are - the good and the not-so-good. That's what mamas do!

Five Years

This photo showed up on my phone the other day as a memory

It reminded me that I took it five years ago.

Five years ago.

I remember placing a whole bunch of personal information in that envelope with a little bit of hope and mailed it down Interstate 380. I was scared. Nervous about needles and medication and hormones and failure.

Thankfully, we got pregnant before the needles and medication. The hormones and failures inevitably followed.

Today I have a four-year-old and an almost three-year-old. I don’t think the girl placing that envelope in the mailbox could even fathom that as a possibility. She seems like a completely different person. If I could go back in time and tell her something, I’d say…

Girl, you’re going to grow. You’re going to grow by 30 pounds with each pregnancy and immeasurable patience. You’re going to grow to the point of almost breaking. Your skin is going to stretch, and your brain is going to stretch, and your heart is going to stretch too. And just when you think coconut oil is the answer to all that stretching, you’ll learn it’s not. 

Take a nap. A long one. And, when you wake up, binge watch Netflix. Time is a finite resource and in five years you’re never going to have enough.

Breathe deeply. The challenges you’re facing today are preparing you for what’s to come. Go for a run. Do some yoga. Exercise those skills that make you stronger. You’re going to need that strength soon.

The only thing constant is change. The minute you think you have the baby thing figured out, the second one will come along. He will turn your world upside down. You won’t sleep. And that you job you love? Yeah, you’re going to quit it. You’re going to get burnt-out. You’re going to cry and scream and clean up so much throw-up in the middle of the night you’ll literally be able to do it in the pitch-black dark. You’re going to feel like you hate your husband in the darkest moments and appreciate him in a way you never have before. It will be confusing.

Ultimately, love will be what takes over in the next five years. Your love for those two little surprises will get you through the worst of times. That love will ask what’s wrong with the baby more times than you can count. And that love will eventually figure it out.

You’ll wake up (yes, you’ll sleep again) one day and realize it wasn’t hate that you felt. It was the strongest kind of love. Your husband will come to define the word partner in the next five years.

You’ll come out the other side loving yourself even more completely too. You’ll be driven to champion more women. Your judgments will slide away more easily. Your legs will get stronger. And those legs will carry you forward.

These five years, girl, they’re going to be a hell of a ride!

Both Sides Now

My daughter is about to turn four.

I feel my Mom universe starting to shift.  This small person who I have the pleasure to call my daughter is becoming less toddler and more young lady. She hears things. Absorbs. Understands. She feels tough emotions and wants help navigating them.

I’m so excited to see the person she is slowly becoming beyond the fits and tantrums of toddler-hood. I also can’t help but already miss these days gone by. These days of chubby cheeks and forgetting the “y” in yesterday.

I feel I’m wandering through Joni Mitchell’s song Both Sides Now.

I see motherhood from both sides now.

I imagine this won’t be the only time I’ll feel this way. I imagine it will rush over me many times throughout my motherhood journey.

But, today, I’m moving out of the stage where kisses fix all hurt and into a stage where I must explain why it’s OK if she isn’t someone’s “best friend”. We’re done with diapers, cribs, and clothing sizes that end with the letter “T”! She asks what hard-to-define words like "bullshit" mean {Note to self: Watch your mouth!}. She watches closely as I curl my hair and asks me why I do so.

Yet, she still wants to live with us forever, marry her dad and grow up to be Adele.

Yup, I’ve look at motherhood from both sides now.

I’m realizing I don’t know motherhood at all.

What I Learned When I Quit My Job

I've been sitting on some writing the last few months.

Sometimes it's best to write. And think.

And then share.

I quit my job.

Yup, you know that job I’ve loved for over six years? I stopped loving it. Slowly. It started with some cracks and continued until it was a full fracture. If I’m honest, I was a little broken too. I stopped being my best self. I got burnt out. I lost some confidence along the way.

And, sometimes, when something is fractured, you just need to break it in order to put it back together. So, I broke it. I made the decision to leap without knowing exactly where I'd land.

And I learned some stuff. 

We are not our careers.

I sit on the board of a local non-profit and shortly after I quit my job, I attended a board meeting. There were new members of the board present so we all went around the room and introduced ourselves, saying what we do. Jobless, I froze. Without the title of Marketing Director, what am I? And, why am I here?

The truth is, we are not our careers. They are a part of us, but not the totality. What outlasts a job or a career path are the relationships gained along the way. We build these relationships by helping others to grow, doing work that inspires and investing in each other. These relationships define the person; not the job itself. And, frankly, I did a great job building and maintaining some of the relationships gained during the past few years of my career. And other relationships I did a piss-poor job of establishing and growing. We live and we learn.

I am not meant to be a stay-at-home mom.

I adore my children. Anyone who has only had brief contact with me since having kids knows this to be true. I’m borderline obsessed. I’m also an achiever. I like to set goals and accomplish them. And, every parent knows that any day home with kiddos means you’re simultaneously doing so much while getting nothing done!

And, yes, you’re doing the most important work. I believe that to my core. But, I also know that my mental health can’t take the feeling of coming up empty every day. I always thought this to be true, but the experience of being home with my kiddos with no job to attend to each day, made me know this to be true.

I so admire all the stay-at-home mamas I know. I am absolutely in awe of them. I know I don’t have it in me to do this important work so I’m proud to have found a good village. And I’m happy to know myself well enough to know this is best for our family.

Pausing is important.

I’ve heard the power of meditating comes from lengthening the time between thoughts. Embracing the pause. Lingering in the pause.

We go from singlehood to marriage with little pause. Just the two of us to a family of three with absolutely no pause. And, typically, job to job with no pause. The problem with this is that each new phase of our life is going to expect a new us. To figure out the parts of our selves needed for each new phase takes a pause. It takes a moment to identify what strengths we need to focus on and what areas we need to improve upon to bring our best selves to this next challenge.

I was blessed with a pause. I know this time was a gift. I was fortunate to end up with options for my next career path and I understand this isn’t the case for all. But, whether that pause is taken by quitting a job or just taking a few days off, I believe it’s important.

So, more to come about what's next in my professional life. 

Cheers!

Coconut Allergy Update

It’s been a little over a month since we confirmed Weston’s severe allergy to coconut. And, man, it’s been a journey. My initial reaction was a mix of guilt and relief. Guilt for all that we had put the guy through and relief to finally have an answer. My next thought was; “this won’t be so bad!”

And, I was kind of right.

Coconut is like a crazy little boy who hides in things and then jumps out to roar at you like a dinosaur.

I don’t know, maybe that analogy didn’t work. What I’m trying to say is that coconut is in more places than I expected – and this is coming from someone who previously proclaimed that coconut oil cures all!

What I thought might be helpful is to update people along the way on what we’ve found.

Skincare products

We think Weston experiences rashes on his skin when he comes in contact with products with coconut if his skin is already irritated – think diaper rash + sitting in a bath tub with soap suds that have coconut oil in them. So, we’ve changed the hand soap we use in the bathroom and his shampoo / body wash. And, while this has helped, we can’t control everything. He still washes his hands at school and is a thumb sucker so we notice irritation around his mouth but this seems minor in the grand scheme of things. The products we are using are included below.

Clean Kids Naturally Germ Busting Soap

This doesn’t include coconut oil but does smell like black licorice – not ideal. I will let you know when I find a better smelling product. But, for now, it works!

Trader Joe’s Laundry Detergent

This DOES include coconut oil but we haven’t noticed any major irritation. I usually do an extra rinse cycle when I wash his clothes and so far, so good.

Shampoo and Body Wash

This was hard. I went to my local Co-op and with the help of a VERY nice lady, read the backs of shampoos for a long time. She eventually found this one and while my son smells like a baby hippie (which I love), we don’t notice any skin irritation!

Baby Wipes
I had always used Huggies wipes which I loved but found they had ingredients derived from coconut. So, we switched to Water Wipes which seems to leave his skin less irritated. While the wipes seem much flimsier, we are making it work!

Foods with coconut

This is where we’ve struggled the most. One thing I looked into after learning of Weston's allergy was formula! Weston is no longer on formula but I was curious about options seeing as this was clearly an issue for us. And, I still haven't found one. I will update the blog as I continue to look.

There are obvious places where you find coconut; coconut yogurt, many granola bars, and lots of cereals. But, specifically we have found coconut in the following items;

• PAM cooking spray
• Corn Pops
• Fruit Loops
• Ranch Veggie Stix
• Some Progressive soups
• Chocolate coated ice cream
• Some animal crackers
• Swiss Miss hot cocoa
• Welch's fruit snacks

With food, we've definitely connected Weston's exposure to coconut with breathing issues. He has a specific cough we've identified that signals an allergic reaction and it usually ends with him throwing up. But, all in all he's doing much better and we continue to learn. We're so thankful we've figured this out and just hope there are no additional food allergies.

Cheers!

A Two Year Mystery, Solved!

Please Note: This is a history of our experience. I am not a medical professional in any way!

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sleep-deprived. Barely back to work, and I made the decision to introduce formula to the little man. I believed all the hype about formula fed babies sleeping longer and I was willing to give it a try. So, I filled a bottle up, rocked my little guy and was optimistic about the sleep we were about to get. He no sooner finished the bottle before he literally puked the entire thing up.

---

Since that day – almost eighteen months ago – we have had slightly more sleep but many more headaches. Weston never did take to formula well. He threw it up consistently upon its introduction even at a 3:1 ratio of breast milk to formula.

In addition, Weston has endured countless colds that seemed to always escalate to include ear infections and low oxygen levels. We have gotten tubes in ears, own a nebulizer, and even put him on a twice-a-day inhaled steroid after months of low oxygen levels. And, sporadically in between all of this he has broken out in hives.

An example of one of his hive outbreaks.

For two years we have been exhausted. Confused. And, frankly, sad for our little guy who seemed to never catch a break.

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A few weeks ago, I was excited to pick the kids up from school early and head to the park. Ever the smart mom (ha), I made sure I had a snack to keep any hanger at bay. On this particular day, we’d snack on Larabar brownie bites before hitting the park. Weston barely took a bite before he started whining. Nora responded by reminding him that if he didn’t eat his “chocolate,” she would. Weston responded by puking. I quickly cancelled our park trip and changed routes to head home. Weston continued to whine as we were driving and I turned around to check on him only to notice him once again covered in hives. This was clearly an allergic reaction and luckily these bites only have six ingredients.

Post Larabar hives on his face

As I racked my brain that evening and examined the pictures from all of the other hive episodes, I finally connected the dots – coconut. I had made muffins with coconut oil, given him coconut milk during one episode and now finally these brownie bites were dusted with coconut flour. But, I still couldn’t get right with this being our answer because why in the world had he always reacted to formula as well?! I finally looked up the ingredient list of Earth’s Best Organic Infant Formula and the sixth ingredient listed was “organic coconut!” And, because we tried just about every formula under the sun, I looked up countless others’ ingredient lists and found coconut in every single one.

His reaction following coconut milk

Cue: Mom Guilt!

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I write all of this down and share it today so hopefully it helps someone else. I can’t help but think “if we would have just known!!” Of course, he wasn’t sleeping because his belly hurt. And, while I nursed him for ten months, I certainly supplemented and so wish I hadn’t. Maybe if we would have known I could have just nursed, maybe he wouldn’t have had to go through so many rounds of antibiotics for ear infections or the countless other medications due to his respiratory issues.

So, we live and learn. I’m thankful we’ve now connected some dots and our little man is back to smiling. And, I’m so grateful we can proceed by eliminating coconut from his diet with very little effort. Finally, I hope this story helps some other tired mama out there!

Cheers, all!

I Ran Into Myself

I think I was fifteen when I started running consistently. This means, for over half my life running has been an outlet for me. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found that running is more for my emotional health than it is for my physical health. This is exactly why I was so excited to lace up my shoes and head out the door shortly after Weston was born.

I was prepared for it to be a rough road back, but was ready to have something that was mine again. I was ready to find the quiet that exists when out on a good run. Unfortunately, that quiet didn’t quickly return. Instead running became another area of frustration. Every time I’d head out the door, I felt wobbly. Slow. Unsteady. I couldn’t clear my head. I’d remember how tired I was. Physically and emotionally. I’d beat myself up for lacking the endurance to run. This ineptitude was a reminder of all the other areas in my life in which I seemed to be lacking endurance.

I desperately wanted to see a glimpse of my old self out on the pavement. To find my stride there even if I couldn’t find it anywhere else. But for seventeen months, I felt clumsy instead. Then one day, with Eric Church in my ear, I ran right into myself. I looked down at the app I use to track my distance and speed, and realized I had run two miles with ease.

Mom or not, I think we women put a lot of pressure on ourselves to be all things to all people – including ourselves. I thought I’d run right back into my old self quickly after having my babies but the truth is that woman is gone. In her shoes instead is someone who is a little more patient. She laughs a lot more often, sleeps a lot less, and runs fewer miles. Her body – the one that once endured a marathon – has grown two people and learned to carry both a baby and toddler while simultaneously wearing heels (equally important feats).

I finally feel – nineteen months later – like I can call myself a runner again. But, admittedly, my running has changed too. I now find my quiet more quickly, but I’m more often pushing a stroller. I take out my headphones these days, and zone out to the tune of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” sung by my three year old who anticipates our running dates as much as I do.

Dear Nora James...

I can honestly say that at three years old, you are one of my absolutely favorite people.

I don’t mean that I like you because you’re my daughter. I mean, of all the people I’ve come across in my life, I’d choose you to be around!

Want to know why?

You’re Funny.

You say hilarious things all the time. You told Weston’s friend at school that “your brother needs a little space!” You were insistent that we’d have a purple cake with a rhino on it for your birthday, and think you can only “giddy-up” while wearing sparkle shoes. But, beyond the funny things you say and do, you have a sense of humor that is dry and off-the-wall. I appreciate it so much!

You Listen.

You ask your dad and me how our days were during dinner. Then, you nod your head as we talk about our experience and ask follow-up questions. Do you know how rare this is? There are so many adults who don’t take the time to truly listen. And, at age three, you do! How cool is that? 

You are an Amazing Sister.

Your entire demeanor and tone changes when Weston is around. You bend down to look him in the eye even though he’s not much smaller than you. You offer to share your birthday presents with him and yell from the other room that you’ll be right there when he’s crying. The genuine care you show for him makes me happier than you’ll ever know.

You know what you want and you won’t stop until you get it.

I’ll be honest, sometimes this is a hard one as your mom! I’ve never met someone as stubborn as you. You don’t back down when there is something you want. And, while at three this can be frustrating, I know that this drive will serve you well in the long-term. 

You have vision!

You go to great lengths to tell me about the things you want. You leave no detail out! This can (and does) often include the shoes you think you should wear for a particular activity and / or how you think we should proceed with a family adventure. I often think it’s my job to just keep you safe on your quest toward your vision!

But, ultimately, Nora James, I hope you know that for three years you have been loved. Through every smile, tear and frustrating-as-hell moment, you have brought so much joy to your dad and me. Today, and every day since you were born – I love you and I like you!

Cheers, little lady!