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Birthday

Try That With Matt

To my brother on his 40th birthday

March 14, 2017

I know you don’t want this. I know you’ve been dreading this day for 19 years, at least. I know in your mind this milestone is marked with canes and can’ts and all the limitations you fear so much. But all those thoughts were born before we knew the truth. Now we know what 40 really looks like on you. It kind of looks like 21 driving up in a Honda Odyssey. It looks like flippy cup over nice carpet and gift bags crammed full of craft beer. And that’s really not so bad.

We know the important things haven’t changed and, if anything, they’ve gotten better. You’re still active. You’re still loved. You’re still one of the funniest people I know, even though sometimes I really don’t want to laugh at your stupid, sarcastic self.

From far away, 40 might have looked like Mike Tyson biting someone’s ear off, but up close, it’s more like Mike Tyson talking to his pigeons, right? You’re fine. Everything is just fine. I’m proud of you.

Celebrating your last four decades with friends and family last Friday was a treat. I always forget just how hilarious you are until I see you in your element – hosting a room full of people, telling a story in that voice that thunders over the group, and shakes the ground as you punctuate the important parts. Even though most of us have heard your bullshit before, it always feels new, hysterical, hard to believe. You’re theatrical and over the top and completely ridiculous. The people who know you best, know you’re best served up in this state. Showing off and workin’ your side hustle as a professional smartass.

You’ve been blessed with good friends who accept and humor you always, and that’s a gift you get to open every day. Not everyone is that lucky. Never stop sitting around with them and telling those stories. I mean, when someone knows the punchline involves you shitting your pants and they still let you get all the way to the end without blowing the whole thing, that’s generous.

I can’t wait to see what your 40s hold. More challenges, more stories, more love. I hope you choose to walk a little lighter and settle into all the best parts of who you are. I hope you don’t grow up and you don’t stop fighting to be the person you want to be. Meditate. Hike. Relax.

I can’t necessarily see into the future, but I’d say some of your best is yet to come. I can tell you one thing that I predict with 100-percent certainty though. One thing I will gosh dang guarantee you won’t be happening in this decade. I hope you read this next part extra carefully, old man: I will NEVER, ever stand up to sing karaoke with you again. You hog the mic and you don’t need me up there. There’s only room in that spotlight for one star, and it’s all you, brotha.

So, happy birthday and best wishes, you lovable son of a … Here’s to 40 more!

Thoughts

To Courtney, with love on her 34th birthday

November 3, 2016

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Today I turn 34.

As an early gift from the universe, I had the best conversation with one of my oldest girlfriends last night. We talked about expectations and pressure and our dreams and stress and our shortcomings and all the other hangups I regularly write your eyes off about. It was one of the most honest conversations I’ve had with someone face-to-face in some time. I live for talks like that with people like her. We cruise along on canned exchanges – How are you? I’m great, and you? – but when you really dig in and expose all the sores and bruises and shared struggles, that’s when it gets really good. That’s when it changes us.

Then this fell into my lap, so I unwrapped it:

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This pursuit I’m in. This journey I’m on. At the brink of my 34th year, it finally gets a name. I am a woman absolutely seeking wholeheartedness. And man, aren’t we all?

My friend said so many times, “I just want peace, ya know?” I do. I looked at her face and into her well-intentioned heart and I thought, I 100 percent know. Because I want peace, too. Not only for me, but for my children and my family and my friends and my neighbors and the gal who pumped gas next to me this morning.

Whether you call the monster scarcity, as Brené does, or guilt or shame or by some other ugly name, the feelings of inadequacy that we carry on our shoulders all weigh the same and all hurt the same. And what do they get us, really, other than a shared sense of “not enough”?

But I get a wish today. So, here it is … In my 34th year, I wish for freedom from the poisonous lies and bullshit that scarcity whispers in my ear every day. I wish for more contentment and peace and strength. I wish to become friends with the idea that I do enough. I give enough. I am enough. And I wish to reinforce those same feelings in every person I meet.

Here’s to wholehearted living! I’m comin’ for ya …

Spike Speak

The Week of Spike

August 2, 2015

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Today, our second-born beauty turns 4. Her eyes light up when we talk about the things 4 year olds do – ride bikes with no training wheels, stay up at nap to play Skip-O, go to summer camp, learn to swim with no bathing suit (she means lifejacket) –  and I feel that familiar pull to put life on pause and make the Earth turn just a tiny bit slower.

In our house, everything relates back to food, so when we decided to have The Week of Spike, it boiled down to 4 days of dinners with “Sp” worked in.

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She didn’t have specific requests for gifts like her big sis who repeatedly pleaded for a family trip to Mexico but happily settled on what will forever be known as the camping trip officially sponsored by the plague. In fact one of the things I love most about our sweet Spikey is her genuine joy in life’s surprises.

There is so much to celebrate about this kid. She is a character in the most hilarious, dramatic, imaginative play I’ve ever had the privilege of watching. From the animated inflection in her voice, to the unmistakable sparkle in her big brown eyes, to the style in which she pops her little hip, puts her hand in the bend of her waist, raises her eyebrows and points right at you when she really wants you to engage in her story, this one is special.

Not a day goes by when she doesn’t make me laugh. And not like, oh let’s encourage her to embrace her individuality and fuel her spirit laughs … like legit, from the bottom of my belly laughs.

Most mornings go like this: I wake up at 5:40 and try to get ready as quietly as possible. I go downstairs to gather my goods for the day and feed the dog. As soon as the bowl drops, I hear the shuffle of too-long toenails as Mya makes her way to breakfast. My last order of business is firing up the Ninja to power blend my smoothie. It automatically shuts off and within 5 seconds I hear her. She scoots the tiny pads of her kissable feet across the tile and, before the rest of her, a bird’s nest of beautiful brunette hair breaks the vertical horizon of the kitchen wall. She is always rubbing her eyes. She is always quiet for the first minute or so. She is always my favorite sight. I get her settled with 2 yummy nilla bars (oatmeal raisin granola bars, which I realize aren’t the greatest choice but that conversation goes here) and a show before … and this is my favorite part … she commands me to give a “kiss and huggie”. As I walk to the garage smiling, she yells, at an inappropriate and unnecessary volume, “Have a good day, Mama, OK? I see you at dinner! Bye!” Boom. Day made.

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We spent the day at the lake, but first, we needed a cake. Her dad whipped up a Cake Without Cake Mix for our Friday night gathering, but we needed something to feed about 25 people for this party, so we stopped into Kroger. Those folks know how to handle their flour and sugar. I grabbed the cutest assortment of cupcakes, arranged to look like an ice cream cone with a cherry on top. It was adorable. I’d post a picture except the only ones I have are from after. After I let Spike opt to do candles outside. After I turned too quickly. After the tray slid off the plastic base. After I dropped 24 cupcakes, frosting side down, onto Great Grandma Marge’s rug. After I made the cutest cupcake ice cream cone into a poop-looking pile of frosting.

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But the day was not lost.

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Happy birthday, dear Spike. I hope this year holds nothing but new discoveries and happy memories for you, ya little Sour Patch Kid. Keep inspiring those around you to dream out loud and never, ever fear that imagination of yours; it will take you far in this world if you embrace it and share it the right way. Thank you for the laugh wrinkles and warm snuggles, and for being a living, laughing example not to take life too seriously. As you would say, “You know … I love you so much. I really, really do.”