Wednesday, April 27, 2016

From Maine to Arizona, for love.

This post is for my Creative Writers who have been holding me to task for not blogging enough lately: M, B, D, K, and E, here you go  :)

My sister Liesel told me ahead of time that when I landed in Arizona I was going to feel like I was on a different planet, and she was right. In Maine right now we are just barely leaving winter behind; our trees are still barren and brown. I’ve been cold for seven months but as soon as I stepped off the plane and walked onto the tarmac, I was warm to the core. The air smelled like honeysuckle and sunshine even though it was evening, and the curving road that led us out of the airport was lined with palm trees. We drove 20 minutes to the resort and bam, just like that, I was sitting with my sister, barefoot by the pool next to a cactus garden with a mojito in my hand.

Sometime last year, Liesel and I decided it was time to initiate a mid-year sisters retreat, that the once-a-year visits during the summer just weren’t enough. She lives in Utah and I live in Maine, so as we were staring at the US map trying to figure out where to meet halfway, we thought: Kansas? Missouri? Kentucky? And no offense to Kansas, Missouri or Kentucky, we wanted some place warm and a little bit exotic. We chose Scottsdale, Arizona, which is definitely closer to Utah, but I was totally game to make the trek west, into the sunshine and into the loving arms of my big sister.

During our two days in Arizona (which is not enough, but all we had), we talked and talked like it was our job. When we are usually limited to 10 minute phone conversations while my kids are pulling on me, or her kids are waiting to go to soccer practice and dinner is simmering on the stove, two days of uninterrupted sister time (in the sun! surrounded by wild flowers!) was a welcome change. We caught up on all the regular stuff, what the kids and our husbands are up to, the stresses and joys of work, and updates on friends. And then we got to wander through all of the other stuff, the funny anecdotes that you never have time for on the phone, the good books we have read, the observations we can make about ourselves as working mothers. We know we are both missing out on a lot because we accidentally put down roots in places that happen to be 3000 miles apart. But we made up some ground in Arizona.

Some conclusions we got to by the side of the pool, in brief: our kids are changing in both predictable and totally surprising ways, we can learn things about ourselves as we watch our children grow up and other relatives age, we both worry like our mom does, and we are both blessed beyond measure.

I am an anxious traveler but I don’t want to be. So whenever I travel, I create more internal conflict by judging myself for struggling with things that I so wish could be easy. I don’t mind the actual state of flying; I watch out the window as much as I can, and I love the feeling of being suspended between two places. But I just don’t like being in a closed space with no exit, and airports with all of the security measures and lack of fresh air just make me nervous. But most of all, I am just anxious about getting anxious. My heart races and my palms sweat. Travel takes a toll on me.

I want to be this carefree woman who just flies over here and flies over there and doesn’t think twice about it. I am not. But here’s the rub: I used to be. I keep thinking I can get back to being that person, and therein lies the struggle. Maybe I know too much, or love too deeply, or care too much about the life I've created and I have become more sensitive with age. Maybe becoming a parent has changed me inexorably, made me more vulnerable in the world. I don’t know. But despite the fact that traveling has gotten more challenging for me as I've gotten older, I still won’t stay home. I will go anyway, and white-knuckle my way around the world because I don’t want to give in to the alluring pull of home/ the kids/ Tim, a comfort zone that is more comfortable than ever. Traveling reminds me of the quote I posted when I was about to do my first half-iron triathlon:  “I can’t do this, but I’m doing it anyway.” With anxiety, it is tempting to want to just stay home, live a small life, where everything is safe and predictable, but I resist. There are too many places to see, and too many people whom I love that don't live in Maine.

On the second day of the Arizona trip, Liesel and I drove to the Desert Botanical Gardens outside of Scottsdale. What a different land. The sun was high and hot by 9 am, the desert sand was dusty on my sandals, and there were way more species of cacti than I had ever imagined. I find the desert beautiful in a slightly haunting way; the earth is so dry and the vegetation so prickly, but the sky was a deep blue and the flowers smelled sweet. When I go west now, after living in New England longer than I’ve lived anywhere else (16 years), I realize what a New Englander I truly am. I prefer a lake, an old-growth forest, and a crumbling stone wall marking old foundations in the woods to any other landscape feature. It’s fun to walk around and point at a cartoon-looking cactus and desert bird, but at the end of the day, I find myself thinking about the cool breezes and damp earth of home.

But not so fast. Liesel and I had more to discuss, more drinks to order, and some incredible Mexican food to eat (oh my God, the pork belly tacos with cola and lime; and the spicy Mexican street corn; and roasted butternut squash tacos with spicy black bean sofrito, poblano, pickled jalapeƱo & cotija; and the skewered chicken in mole with sesame, peanut, cocoa & pepitas) at The Mission (voted best Chef in Arizona). We sat in the sun, each read an entire book, alternating between sun, shade, and pool. We ordered drinks from the very attentive wait staff. We ate chips and guacamole in lounge chairs.  We exercised not at all.

For people who don’t know my sister, I describe her as an older, wiser and much more relaxed version of me. I soaked up as much of her good vibes as I could at the airport before we parted ways for our separate gates and each flew home. She flew north, I flew east. We both returned home to our loving husbands and children, and our piles of responsibility, and unfortunately, to some late spring snow storms that didn’t help showcase our suntans. 

I am so thankful: for comfort zones, sunshine, window seats, and the greatest sister in the world. 

Thursday, March 3, 2016

Parenting Pre-Teens: I've got an eye-roller over here.

This post originated in the Bangor Metro, March 2016

Dear parents of pre-teen kids, can we talk? 

Have you noticed as our kids turn the corner from kid toward teenager that our job description has changed pretty dramatically?

My daughter is now 11 and has grown up so much in the last year. The tricky part of parenting her seems to be that I am supposed to simultaneously acknowledge how capable and independent she is while not forgetting that she still needs me. Some days I feel like we are walking such a fine line along this new boundary that one tiny step in the wrong direction, and suddenly she is running upstairs to her room, and I am eating Nutella straight out of the jar.

On any given day, it’s just not as easy to know whether I’m being a good mom to her. Even though I swore it was challenging at the time (the sleep deprivation!), the baby and toddler stages were a breeze in comparison. Am I right? As long as I fed her, smiled at her, got her to take a good nap, rocked her and patted her little diapered butt before bed, I felt like the champion of all the mothers. The parenting books I had dog-eared on my bedside table always told it to me straight. 
“At 18 months old, your baby should be able to: say several single words, shake her head no, point to one body part, drink from a cup and eat with a spoon.”
I always passed these little tests, giving me the false impression that I had this parenting thing figured out.

Now the answers to all of my parenting questions are “maybe” or “it depends” or “not a clue.” Should I follow her up to her room when she retreats there? Should she have an Instagram account because most of her friends do? Is it unforgivable that I nag her about deodorant and hair brushing? How candidly should I answer her questions about sex? Should I intervene when she thinks a teacher is being unfair, or let her sort it out? Can I educate her about food and exercise needs without giving her a body-image complex? Some days she wants help, some days she doesn’t, sometimes I embarrass her when my intentions are only to help.

Last week, she was upset about something, and we were lying on her bed. After some major eye rolling and frustration, made worse by my assumption she was just being “moody,” she said: “I just feel like I’m trying so hard to be a grown up but I still feel like a little kid,” I thought, well, there it is. My daughter actually has a pretty special knack for articulating how she feels, and I should have just asked her. I should have absolutely known that this push-and-pull between little kid and grown up  is at the forefront of every moment for her.

I’m starting to figure out that as she gets older, I don’t need the parenting books anymore. I have this tremendous resource right in front of me. Lying on her bed that night, I vowed to accept that I may not always know what she needs, but most of the time, she knows. And even when she doesn’t know, she needs me only to be patient, to listen, and to offer love, love, and more love.

My job now is to keep the lines of communication open. I need her to keep telling me what Susie said at school, and how she isn’t sure Jane is a good friend anymore, what she is worried about, and what she’s looking forward to. It’s true that sometimes she wants to be alone in her room, but other times she wants to hang out and be silly, and still other times she wants a heart-to-heart. I need to keep asking good questions, to be quiet and listen, to let some things go, to apologize when I get it wrong, and most importantly, to just be there for her.

Our growing kids are working especially hard to make sense of the world and all of these new feelings, bigger responsibilities, changing bodies, and complications with friendships that had previously been easy. The last thing they need is a parent who refuses to see them as the adults they are becoming.

Maybe parenting pre-teens and teens is challenging because we are clinging to the vestiges of being the one who had all the answers, who passed all the tests. It’s humbling to have your kid, who needed you for every single thing, suddenly morph into this smart and opinionated person who needs you less, or at least differently.

Just remind yourselves, and remind me when you see me in the corner with a jar of Nutella, that kids who want to establish independence, to do things their own way, are proof that we are, as a matter of fact, passing the test.

Monday, November 2, 2015

Things I never thought I'd say about football

I was not raised on football like most Americans. My father was a German immigrant and my mom is a musician who spends her Saturdays at the Opera. My parents only watched sports when their kids were playing in the game. I never watched football and didn't understand the people who did until I became a Throckmorton. Even then, I was still resistant, but when football is all around you, it starts to rub off.  
Once a babe, always a babe:  Tim as a UMaine Black Bear.
Ellis, my 6-foot 3-inch, 235-pound stepson is a linebacker for Husson University, and watching Ellis play football has (truly) become one of my favorite things in the world. Ellis is one of the most gentle and loyal and sweet people I know, but on the football field? He is big and strong, and you best get out of his way. Watching Ellis play has taught me to love football, and even more miraculously, to understand it. I swear to God you guys: I lived my whole life until I was in my 40s without actually knowing what a down was.

I now even like to watch an occasional football game on TV, and not just because of the hot wings. Living in New England, I caught the Patriots fever. I love Tom Brady.

I look forward to Ellis' games every week. On about half of the plays, I follow the ball because it helps me learn the game, but what I really love to do is follow Ellis and watch him knock people over. One time Ellis popped one of his opponents so hard that the poor guy's helmet went flying right off his head. I stood up and cheered, wanting everyone to see the 47 on my back so they'd know that the giant linebacker is with me, and I thought: Who have I become?

He looks mean, right?  He is not.

When Reed turned 8, he started talking about playing football. How could I be surprised?  Tim, who played college football and generally loves the sport, has been playing catch with Reed out front since they first met. And Ellis? Well, as far as Reed is concerned, the sun rises and sets on Ellis. Anything Ellis does, Reed wants to do too.

Ellis, age 4, with Tim looking on.

I spent a long time being undecided about whether we'd let him. I read all the concussion articles and worried about my sweet boy and his sweet head. But in truth I was more worried about the culture of football. I had heard that youth football coaches can be harsh with kids, that they push them hard and yell at them in practice. 

I asked Ellis: Did your youth football coaches yell at you?  
He said: Yes.  

I drilled him about his thoughts on the subject, and Ellis promised me that Reed could handle it, and that his tough coaches had been really good for him. Football, he explained, was the turning point that helped him figure out how to stay focused and disciplined in the rest of his life, specifically in school. Hmm. That was pretty convincing.

Reed told me we would “crush his dreams” (he actually said that) if we didn’t let him play football.

We signed Reed up for football.

I was more nervous than Reed at his first practice. I warned him this would be different than rec soccer and baseball, where Reed picked dandelions and sometimes stood on his head in the middle of the field, and that was perfectly okay. The other parents stood on the sidelines, shouting to their kids as they ran laps around the field in the hot sun. The kids were big and their dads were bigger. The parents chatted about drills and plays and positions, and I felt really out of place. I only participate in sports where no one touches anyone else. I listen to NPR and shop at the farmer's market. These were not my people.

Five coaches shouted commands at the team as they circled up for warmup drills. I resisted the urge to yell, “I love you, baby!” as he trotted out to join them. They started with "up-downs," where the kids drop to the ground on their stomachs, and then pop up and run in place, drop to their stomachs, pop up, repeat. The coaches allowed no slacking. If one kid didn’t do it right, the whole team had to start over. I kept my eyes on Reed as he struggled through the drill. I swallowed a lump in my throat. I was rooting so hard for him to keep up.

I admit it. I wanted to cry several times watching him out there getting barked at by the coaches. People told me football would “build character” for Reed, but maybe we could  just build character by baking cookies together and cuddling on the couch? I considered grabbing Reed, running right through the end zone and to my car. Out on that field, though, Reed amazingly followed every specific direction the coaches gave. He did not want to be the one who made the team have to redo a drill. Reed isn’t exactly an expert at following directions at home, but these coaches and their whistles had his attention.

At the end of that first practice, when he pulled off his helmet, I first noticed that his hair was soaked with sweat and his cheeks were blazing red, and then I saw his smile. The kid was seriously happy.

For the next few months, three nights a week, in all kinds of weather, Reed worked harder at football than I’ve ever seen him work at anything. He ran. He did push ups. He did up-downs. He got knocked down and got back up. He ran some more. 

I stayed for most of the practices, watched and learned alongside of the team, and talked with the other parents who, it turns out, are totally my people. All of the moms I talked to were also worried about the concussions and the intensity and the yelling, and we all watched our kids figuring this football thing out together. I made great friends on the sidelines while Reed made great friends on the field. I learned to check my own judgments about football and football moms, which is a good thing, because it turns out I was now a football mom.

Reed always looked forward to practice, and always walked off the field smiling. The coaches did yell commands to the kids in loud voices, but no coach was ever unkind to a player. One night I heard a coach yell at Reed: “Why are you hesitating on your tackles?  You need to drive through!” And I thought to myself: OK, that wasn’t very nice, but he’s right. Reed isn’t driving through. In the next drill, Reed tackled correctly and earned a coveted high five from the coach.

If he was told to run a lap because he had forgotten to put his mouth guard in during a drill, he’d do it and say later: “It’s OK, Mom. I deserved it.” How is it that my son was responding so positively to such a rigid, disciplined program? Ellis was right. This was a rite of passage for Reed, and it was truly surprising to see how he seemed to understand that what was hard was also good for him.

At the end of every practice and game, the coaches gathered the team into a circle. In these meetings, the kids took off their helmets and chugged water while coaches acknowledged what had been hard and specifically discussed what they did well. There was no gratuitous praising going on here; the kids were commended only when they had worked hard and executed what they had been taught. During these team meetings, it became obvious to the kids and the parents that these coaches truly loved our kids.

Football has its own subculture and takes some getting used to. I was lucky to have Tim by my side to explain what was happening and why, and Ellis to serve as living proof that football can provide direction and structure for a kid like Reed.

No one is more proud of Reed than Ellis.

Reed has grown up a lot this season, and no matter what happens with his future of football, he will always have this year. He learned that he can survive a challenge, and that hard work and perseverance pay off (the kid has some new muscles). He wasn't one of the best players, and he stuck with it anyway. He started off the year tentative and afraid to tackle (and his pacifist mama doesn't blame him). He got more confident and more brave with every passing week.  

photo courtesy of Tony Llerena

photo courtesy of Tony Llerena

This past Sunday, he played his last game, and it was by far his best game. The coaches all made a big deal about him and how much better he got. "You are on fire out there!" they said to him. It was perfect. Football isn't too tough for Reed. My boy can handle stern and direct instruction. He does not need to be babied or coddled. He can hold his own in tough situations.

Coach Tony was Reed's defensive coach.  He pushed Reed pretty hard and got huge results.
 Reed LOVES Coach Tony.

Reed's season is over and Ellis only has a few more weeks, so soon our weekends won't be consumed by bundling up and watching football games anymore, and I'll have to wait until next fall. Good thing I have the Pats and my Fantasy Football team to tide me over.

Monday, September 21, 2015

Gifts for yourself: surviving your busy weeks

I haven't even posted all of our summer photos yet.  Case in point: Back-to-school month is crazy busy, and a major adjustment from our relaxed summer pace, but you all know this already.  I'll get to the summer post eventually.

We are back in action:  The kids started 3rd and 5th grade, and I started my 16th year of teaching.

Skyler is rocking a henna tattoo on her hand, and Reed is rocking the knee socks.  Skyler still lets me pick out her clothes and Reed is EXTREMELY particular.

We are living at our house on Phillips Lake, about 20 minutes outside of town for the month of September. We decided to do this to see how we liked living out here while driving the kids into town every day as a possible trial run for a future move.  It's September at the lake, so it's gorgeous, plus, we have had the hottest September on record.

That means, our first school nights at the lake looked like this:

And this:

And this:

I love it out here. When I come home from work, and the wind off the lake is filling the house, I feel like I'm holding on to some pieces of my summer self.

Once the after-school activity schedule kicked in, we had no time to lounge on the dock.  Instead, I was frantically running around and trying to get dinner on the table.

Reed started playing football, and I definitely have at least a whole blog post of thoughts about that.  

I'm conscious about not over scheduling kids, but somehow, we feel over scheduled.  Reed has football 3 nights a week and guitar one night.  Skyler has girl-scouts, piano, soccer and Nature club.
We are busy, and it's a challenge to get it all done.  So, I came up with this Sunday-cooking-day idea that I want to share.

Disclaimers:  Let me be clear about a few things, because I hate it when I accidentally come off as some sort of know-it-all-mama.
 1.) I have an awesome husband who does at least half of the work around the house;  he cannot cook dinner most nights because he gets off the air at 6:25.  But he always jumps right in to help and then cleans up. He takes great care of all of us and I know how lucky we are.

 2.) We share custody with the little kids' dad, so there are 2 week days that they aren't with us.  This gives me a chance to run errands, clean, workout, grocery shop and go to appointments.  I know that gives me an enormous advantage in terms of staying organized, but before you get jealous, remember, I don't get to kiss their heads every night at bedtime.  I would trade with you in a hot second.

The first few weeks of this school year, for a bunch of reasons, I was just off my game, and I was in that mode where I was running to the grocery store on most days to grab something easy for dinner.  This is a stupid waste of energy and I know it.

This past weekend, I was presented with a rare opportunity:  a Sunday all to myself.  The kids were with their dad and Tim was in New York with Hillary, and so I set out to cook the whole week's worth of dinners in one massive cooking session.  It was super windy and cool out and it felt like fall as the leaves were whipping around outside.  I was inspired.  I made a plan and turned on NPR and I was HAPPY cooking for 3 straight hours.  I promise you, this makes me happy. It felt like giving myself a present, or a life preserver, for the upcoming week.

My goal is to have mass-cooking-sessions once or twice a month. The plan is to spend a few hours on Sunday cooking, and then I will thank myself every other day of the week. Some friends requested the recipes that I did this week. I'll be honest and tell you that I mostly make them up, but I'll try to recreate what I did.

Here is one week's worth of meals (if you eat meat, that is) from my first mass-cooking experiment.

I made 4 dinners and prepped a bunch of stuff for lunch.  I'll give you the recipes and then tell you about my approach for tackling them all at once.

Chicken and Cheese Enchiladas, Super-NOT-fancy edition:

I don't even want to insult you with this recipe, because it's as basic as you can get: Chop up two large chicken breasts into cubes. Saute them in a pan until cooked through, then shred/ dice them into even smaller pieces. Stir in one package of taco seasoning. Let the chicken cool, mix it with a couple handfuls of Monterey Jack cheese, divide the mixture between 8 flour tortillas and roll 'em up, sprinkle with the rest of the cheese, cover with foil, put it in the fridge or freezer. When it's time to eat it, bake it with foil at 350 for about 30 minutes (assuming it's not frozen).  Then serve with salsa, sour cream and shredded lettuce.

Chicken Pot Pie:  
I use whatever veggies I have, and this week I had a bunch of good stuff from our farm share. I sort of made up the recipe, but this is the one I used as inspiration.  I use one top layer of store-bought puff pastry as the crust instead of a top-and-bottom pie crust as this recipe suggests. I also use less than half the butter that recipe uses.

Pork and Veggie Stir Fry with Peanut Sauce:
Mix together in a bowl:  1/2 cup water, 2 teaspoons sugar or honey, 1 teaspoon black pepper, 2 teaspoons salt, 2 tablespoons sesame oil, 1/4 cup rice or apple cider vinegar, 2 tablespoons natural peanut butter, 2 tablespoons soy sauce, and 1-2 garlic cloves, minced.

Chop up pork chops into 1-inch cubes.  Put in a zip lock bag with the Peanut Sauce, above.
In a separate zip lock, store all of your pre-chopped veggies.  I used broccoli, red onion, and green beans.

When it's time to cook it:  Cook the veggies separately from the pork because of different cooking times in two saute pans.  Once it's all cooked (make sure that marinade comes to a boil/ simmers hot in the pan for several minutes, otherwise it's not safe to eat), toss it all together.  Serve with rice.
The pork and veggies are pictured in the back here, in two separate zip lock bags.

Turkey Meatballs: 
Skyler likes these on plain pasta, Reed loves them with spaghetti sauce.  It's very easy to customize.

I have no exact recipe for this.  I just mix together a pound of ground turkey, one egg, a handful of breadcrumbs, some diced onion, a handful of Parmesan cheese, salt, pepper, and oregano.  Then, mix it up, form meatballs, brown and turn in a frying pan with some spray oil until cooked through.

I combined these with one bottle of Marinara plus two cans of Tomato Sauce and it's all in the freezer.  Just boil some pasta, warm the sauce, and done.

Mass-Cooking Strategy:  I roasted 4 chicken breasts in the oven at 350.  2 of them went into the pot pie, 2 of them went to Curried Chicken Salad (greek yogurt mixed with curry powder, cubed chicken, celery, and dried cranberries). I saved the last 2 chicken breasts for the Enchiladas.  While the chicken was in the oven, I also roasted a cookie sheet of diced sweet potatoes (tossed with olive oil, salt, and pepper). I then made the Peanut Sauce and prepped the pork and veggies.  Then I assembled the enchiladas and pot pie, then I made the meatballs.

I used most of the sweet potatoes on 3 salads I pre-made for myself for lunches.  I saved another serving for a snack or another day's lunch.  I NEVER get sick of sweet potatoes.  With these salads, I also pack some extra toppings on the side, like cranberries, blue cheese, and sunflower seeds.  You can pre-package these in small tupperware for your lunches too.

Once the dinners were made, I took a few minutes to portion out some snacks, cut-up veggies, granola, diced melons, and cheese and crackers that the kids take for lunches.

All of this prep took me 3 hours.  And then I collapsed on the couch and thanked myself for making my week ahead so easy.  

I have other thoughts about helping yourself during the week. Once I got into the habit of doing everything the night before, I can't NOT do it.  I think I would freak out if I had to pack a lunch in the morning.  All I have to do is drink coffee and take hot showers. I also get up in time to have at least 30 minutes of quiet time to myself.  Everything else is done.

Things I do the night before:
-Set up the coffee pots (Tim drinks caffeinated and I've switched to decaf).
-Put out clothes for the kids.  Right down to the socks and underwear and shoes, it's all in a pile in the morning.
-Make all the lunches.
-Put all the bags (school bags, soccer stuff, piano music, whatever is going with us in the morning) by the door.
-Iron my clothes and put an outfit out.
-Tidy up the house.  Tim and I both believe in going to bed with a clean house.  Even when he gets home at midnight from work, he'll empty the dishwasher and/or fold laundry before bed.

If I'm swimming or going to the gym before work, my bag is also packed and by the door.  I have a bag that stays packed with shampoo, conditioner, brush, deodorant, lotion, make up, and a hair dryer, so all I need to remember is the day's clothes.  Investing in two of everything just makes your life easier.  

I'm going to stock up on more ideas for make-ahead meals.  If you have a favorite, or a strategy for making YOUR life easier during your busy weeks, please share.

Carry on, busy people.  xo

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

one massive summer post

I can't even tell you how it got to be August, but here I am going through all of the photos from all of the things that have happened.  I'm in denial that we are headed toward back-to-school talk.  People have started saying to me: "When do you go back to school?" And I say:  "Shhh.  We aren't ready to go there yet."

But when I look at all these photos I am feeling proud of us for squeezing so much goodness out of summer so far.  But it's not over yet.  Did I mention that?  Not over.

Here,  I'll organize the summer into categories for you.  



Tim ran the full, I ran the half.  It was pouring.  I tried to love it, but the whole time it rained and rained and I didn't feel the love. This was my 16th half marathon, and while I still love the distance, I just felt a little underwhelmed the whole time.

I ran most of it with my loyal running buddy Susan.  We are soaked right down to the underwear but you can't even tell.

My mom came to the finish line and brought me a towel, coffee, and a bagel (good mama!) and then we waited for Tim to finish. In the pouring rain, he still managed to PR and I was so very proud.

Amazing job on a very tough day.

The next day, I got out my bike because I felt like I needed to take a break from running. It felt good to be back, so I signed up for a triathlon.


For the next 4 weeks, we lived at the lake.  Life is easier on the lake. The kids don't need anything except a peanut butter jelly sandwich around noon. Once their morning tasks are done, they are outside straight through until it's time to go to bed.  Friends come to us, but we don't leave very often except to resupply on s'mores stuff.

Friends and lunch making; the lake makes everyone hungry.

There is more time to lie around and look at the sky.  And think.

 And read...

Reed learned to steer the canoe.

Every meal was on the deck.

The Ohio Throckmortons came to visit.

 Ellis had a birthday.

 Hillary had a birthday.

Blueberry picking and painting on Sunset Rock.

And we just played and felt lucky.

After dinner, we'd head out in a boat and then the kids would swim until dark. It's a good life.


As soon as our time at the lake was over, we came back to town and started the process of redoing our bedroom. Talk about a reality shift.

I don't have a real BEFORE pic, but there was floral wallpaper in there from 22 years ago, so suffice it to say, it was time for a change. Because the house is so old (built in 1827), the walls are horse-hair plaster and we needed to skim coat and sand all the walls and re-sheetrock the ceiling, so it took ten full days and a lot of sweat and a few tears.

Have you ever sheetrocked a ceiling?  Not so easy on the neck.

I spent five straight days sanding/ patching the walls.  FIVE DAYS. 

On day 9, we finally got to paint.

And then floors, and then furniture, and finally, DONE.


And hard.  He actually dented the car. We all either heard it or saw it, and it was horrible.  Beside the fact that I thought Ryder was dying, I also watched Skyler's heart break in two pieces.

Want to see true love? This is Skyler comforting Ryder at 11:30 at night.  Unbelievable, he was extremely sore but sustained no broken bones or any internal injuries.

He looked like this for a few days after, sort of sad that the world could hurt him so badly.  And then three days later he was swimming and running again per usual.  We feel so lucky to have him with us.


I did this sprint triathlon really just to keep myself in the game of triathlons.  I hadn't properly trained for the bike, but it felt really good to get out there and do it.  Well actually, the hills?  They did not feel good.

Mainly, it rekindled my love for open water swimming.  It's the only part of the triathlon that I'm competitive in and it's the part I truly love.  I also love race medals and my husband.


While I was sanding the bedroom, the kids were having a fantastic week creating art and taking theatre classes at art camp. Skyler had her BFF Ella with her, and Reed was worried he would make no friends.  This fear lasted until Tuesday when he introduced me to his "best friend Simon" whom he had met on Monday.  The kids had a blast at this funky, hippie, throwback, ramshackle wonderfully nurturing and creative place.


We drove out to Sandi and Suzanne's camp where the last several miles go through the Blueberry Barrens (dirt roads, heads out of the car, blueberries for miles).   We were missing our lake, so this was a much needed dose of fresh water and time with our friends.


Tim and I went to Bar Harbor for 2 days to celebrate our one year anniversary.  And well, it was like this:

view from our table at La Bella Vita

I'm still thinking about this chicken picatta with HOMEMADE pasta.  

full moon

And that brings us all up to date, I think.

If you made it this far, you must be my mom (hi, mom!).  

Enjoy your summer, and remember, let us not talk about school for 3 more weeks.

Carry on!  xoxo