Good Riddance, 32

Guess who just finished celebrating her first solo birthday with her first solo wedding! That's right, this woman right here.

 (I was gonna write "this girl" but at 33, it's time I call myself a woman, I think.)

Now, I can't say that I survived the birthday weekend unscathed. I mean, I did sob while driving through the pouring rain at 8am after dropping off the boys, but a phone call to Big Sis and reassuring texts from KB and other friends helped keep it the only real cry of the day.

With that behind me I ventured out to get my hair relaxed at a new salon. And no, I haven't dyed the gray yet. Despite lots of people asking me. Just so you know, I don't plan on changing my mind any time soon, but feel free to keep asking. Seriously. The endless inquiries make me feel amazing. So young. So beautiful. So treasured for my intellect and personality. Can you tell how much I love being judged for something my body is doing naturally? I'm looking at you, random man at Target who felt the need to know if all that gray was real. Awesome.

Less sarcastically, I ate at the bar in Olive Garden while reading another Liane Moriarty novel and it was pretty fantastically self-indulgent.

So with my hair done and lasagna enjoyed I joined KB and O and hit the road to wild and wonderful WV for SA's wedding. There was a moment during the rehearsal when I realized I'd be walking down the aisle to the same song I walked down my own wedding aisle to and my eyes welled on instinct, but remembering it was SA's day and she is an incredible and wonderful friend, I told my emotions to save the pity party for another weekend and pushed through.

After that moment I honestly forgot it was my birthday for hours. We ate and laughed and crossed our fingers the weather would stay warm and sunny for Saturday (spoiler: it didn't). At the end of the night, back in the amazing cabin that we hope to revisit in September - according to Big O we will definitely be back, and fishing, with the little ones - we ate birthday cookies and it sunk in that I was 33.

The next day there were only tiny moments of heartbreak that sneaked in. I knew they would. I breathed them in and exhaled them back out. I accepted hugs from kind friends old and new, and I danced. A lot. With a confidence I owe to J-Man and eleven years of him insisting we always be on the dance floor within minutes of it being opened to the crowd. I wished I had someone to dance with. Then a new song would come on and I'd shoo that thought away and keep dancing.

I kept dancing.

And dancing.

And dancing.

Until the band packed up and we were the final twelve or so folks on the floor.

It kept my body warm in the crazy-cold, see-your-breath, wear-a-coat-through-dinner, night.

It kept my heart warm to be in motion. To cling to the songs about love and happiness and celebration, even if they all didn't feel 100% like current anthems.

SA's wedding was beautiful, and deserves more of a post than this, but what I realized about myself through the weekend is that for my 33rd year, I'm ready to be a doer. I'm ready to say yes. I'm ready to take the confidence I learned in the early years with J-Man, braving the chaos of Harlem and NYCTF, two cross-country moves, the madness of questionable fertility, the juggling act of two under two, and keep pushing forward.

I'm going to say yes more this year.

Yes, I'm going to NYC in two weeks.

Yes, I plan to have applied to grad school by my next birthday.

Yes, I will be on that committee or go to this yoga class or help out with those activities.

Even, yes I will recognize that I need a good cry, YA book and early bedtime to recharge before continuing to say yes to something else.

Yes, I will be happy this year.

Good riddance, 32. You brought too much heartache. You left too many scars. You demanded too many tears and compromises and surrenders.

Hello, 33. Bring on your adventures. Show me your hidden surprises. Tempt me with your possibilities. Teach me what to do with this bowl of lemons because I'm ready for the pitchers and pitchers of lemonade now.

Bring. It. On.

Flashback to the Fourth

This year we were tempted to do things the exact same way as years past for the Fourth of July. You know, pancake breakfast at church, parade in Barcroft, fingers crossed for good naps in order to stay up until dusk for driveway fireworks. And honestly, we mostly did. Except the threat of rain put a little hiccup in the plans.

Rather than waiting until Monday night to set off the fireworks, risking rain and resulting in me dealing with sleep deprived toddlers all alone on the fifth, we pushed the party up to the night before. As you can imagine, none of my boys were disappointed by one less day of anticipation. They'd already been setting off the pop-its and snakes (using a magnifying glass!) for days.

We invited the neighbors - including the ones who had just moved and we will miss terribly during our after school sidewalk scooter races - to fill the yard and benefit from J-Man's pyrotechnic love affair.

The show was a success, with two finales no less, and ended with pitch black bike riding and enjoying summer weather that was days away from shifting into a July inferno.  And when the boys still woke up at normal time the next morning, J-Man and I worked together to head to church for pancakes and overcrowding and small talk.

From there we changed things up and headed out to see Great Grandma M. The boys played well as we talked about the usual topics: Redskins, American public schools and education trends, family business, and the status of the neighborhood. PDG refused to take a picture, but we at least snagged one.

After all the excitement we snuggled down early as the rest of the east coast began their own celebrations. And we had zero regrets.

More Spring Break

I swear I'll get to summertime photos soon, but first let me fulfill my promise to finish up Spring Break.

After a lovely trip to visit Big Sis, the boys and I headed to Mama and Papa H's house. There they were fully spoiled and played with the ever delightful though totally unnecessary Gator truck they'd just been bought. (Keep in mind we never had any Power Wheels growing up. But it's cool. No big deal. Save all the cool stuff for the grandkids. Whatevs.)

To fill the other days we set out to the great parks in the area. Frying Pan Farm is one of our favorites, and it was just in time to see brand new baby piglets alongside all the traditional barnyard occupants.

Before Easter rolled around we headed out to one more egg hunt. PDG had to practice some intense patience as the 0-3 year olds got a head start and he had to stand back, watching his little brother start to find the ones spread obviously on the grass first. Tears streamed down his face for the sixty seconds or so that he endured such a painful delay. I wasn't sure he'd recover. And yet, soon enough he set out to find his own allotment of ten eggs and happily discovered and devoured a whole range of treats.

It was a great ten days, even if it took me another four months to officially commemorate it. And now that I'm all caught up on March, expect some more up to date stories, thoughts, and photos in the weeks to come.

Flashback to Easter

Oh man, where to begin?!

First, as I always am after a long break, I'm sorry for disappearing for a couple months. I could pretend that it's because things have been just so darn wonderful that I've been too busy to write, but the truth is that 2016 has been emotionally difficult in ways that I'm not going to write about today (or ever?). And even though the best thing for me to do when I'm feeling down is to write, it's also when I'm least interested in doing so.

Instead of catching up on it all, I'm going to start with some old memories and just cross my fingers that I don't lose steam.

So... remember Easter and Spring Break?  It seems I never wrote about them. Oops!

We spent the first weekend visiting Big Sis's house now that she lives in our same state. MDG got to see his favorite dog in the whole world, and we even braved a rainy and super cold egg hunt.

At J-Man's request, we took the boys on their first bowling adventure. They loved it. (It's in their genes). And yeah, I rocked it.

Plus, how great to see all these girls. I miss girls. I mean, I love my boys of course, but how great to have so many girls!!

Ok. Boys are awake now. More from Spring break coming tomorrow. Or in two months. We'll see.

Signs I'm Getting Old(er)

1. I put in my leave request this week for my upcoming tenth college reunion. Tenth!

2. My impulse buy at the grocery store was brie and water crackers.

3. I celebrated my thirty-second birthday.

4. I didn't care much about eating cake on my birthday. Although I still did.

5. My back hurts enough these days for me to request a massage as a present.

6. I fell asleep around 8pm on my birthday and felt no shame whatsoever. I was tired.

7. The early morning and late evening commute radio stations play throwback jams that now match my middle and high school years. Not my older siblings'. Not my parents'. The nineties are nothing but serious nostalgia now.

8. I spent the Saturday between Mother's Day and my birthday home alone, avoiding Chuck E. Cheese with its bright lights and terrible pizza and overwhelming noise like the plague.

9. While avoiding the big C.E.C. reward adventure (30 bedtime stickers for PDG!!), I instead took pleasure in catching up on laundry. Pleasure!

10. Did I mention already falling asleep at 8pm? Or is this early memory loss? And am I talking to myself now? Eek, this aging thing is scary!

...

But in reality, I know I'm young. I have another year full of many great memories in the bank, and plenty of reason to look forward to all that being 32 entails. Bring it on!

One Last Snow

Every year around Valentine's Day Big Sis and her husband come to DC for a week for a work-related thing, and every year they bring crazy cold weather. It's true. Every single year. Meteorologists might try to convince you that this has always been the case around President's Day weekend, but I dunno. I think it's Big Sis.

And this year was just like before. Except, that is, without me having to take her to the hospital and get her treated by my doc on the L&D floor and forcing her to finish her turkey sandwich so we could all go back home on that snow day.

This year, we had our annual brunch with Mama and Papa H, KB's family, Big Sis's and mine where, like we have every single year since beginning this tradition, we showed up with more kids than the year before. Table for thirteen anyone? One sling, one high chair, three sets of crayons and lots of delicious Clyde's food and conversation.

Afterwards we all fought the cold by cramping together in my tiny house for Mama H's surprises: layered cake and iced sugar cookies. Of course the naptime countdown began and some wailing commenced, but once the babes were all locked away, and sadly that meant KB and fam heading out, we did manage to get a game of Scattergories going.

You guys, do you hear that? It's the sound of me celebrating convincing my family to play a competitive board game with me!!! (It's also me entering the 2000s and learning how to save and use gifs - expect my blog to be revolutionized with short animated visuals (also no, there's no actual sound, don't worry, I'm not that fancy))

Anyway, it was all in all a great day. And much like the last time Big Sis was in town, and like the previous years she visited, it was immediately followed by snow.

Monday, a day I already had off school of course, was a beautiful snow day. Three or four inches of pretty, light, fluffy stuff just dancing outside the windows.

We didn't get many snowstorms this year, and one could argue winter isn't officially over yet, but the few we got were still dazzling and perfectly punctuated by this sweet little white blanket.

Also, by some strange miracle, we got Tuesday off school too, which naturally meant we hung out around the house like this.

Isn't that how you dress on your days off? Boots, helmets, and Christmas pajamas? Ok, good. Me too.

So... spring?

Lil Bro Comes to A-town

Oh how we G's love company. We really, truly do. You should come visit us in our tiny house and see for yourself. That's what Lil Bro did for a few days over vacation, and he was beyond loved.

I haven't seen Lil Bro in far too long. He got to meet MDG last year at a funeral I was unable to attend, so that makes it closer to one year than two since we got to hang out. He's far from the little kid kneeling with the ring and making sweet toasts at our wedding. He's, like, an adult.

The boys were in heaven. He taught PDG how to build even better towers, and PDG chose to listen, such that now there is only one tower-building approach allowed in our house. He read stories and tickled and shared his candy the way any terrific uncle would. Once, when he stepped outside for a moment, PDG broke down into hysterics believing he had left forever and I thought he might hyperventilate. That's how much the little boys loved Lil Bro.

J-Man and I loved having him too. Except, that is, when we felt really old. He filled us in on all the apps that I hear my students discuss, but never actually see during school hours. I still don't understand periscope and snapchat or the need to video face to face if the goal isn't for a toddler to better recognize his extended family, but I've seen them all in action. I even figured out the whole swiping left and right Tinder lingo.

not his baby. or mine. just fyi

We were glad to have him come, hold all the babies we could put in front of him, put his marine muscles to work making fresh juices, and out-technology all of us in an instant. Hope it won't be so long before his next visit.

Christmas Card 2015

Merry Christmas from all of us G's

Please note MDG's smile. And PDG's crazy eyes. And the behind the scenes help of Mama and Papa H - very important given we were quite literally bound and useless during this photo shoot.

Here's hoping you and yours are getting everything you want this year!

Thanksgiving Break 2015

Thanksgiving was really, really nice. Why?

1) No school on Wednesday! - This was a change now that we start before Labor Day, and one I can definitely get behind. After all, it's when I had a chance to handle all my hair anxiety.

2) A nice visit home! - The boys love seeing their Mama and Papa H and the feeling is mutual. Sometimes when I get annoyed by NOVA or get antsy like I want to pick up and move on a whim, it's nice to be reminded why we moved here in the first place. Seeing MDG and PDG light up and rush inside for hugs and toys and stories as fast as they can does just that trick.

3) Christmas card photo success! - I'll do another post on that when I'm sure I've tracked down all my addresses and gotten them out. Hopefully you've gotten yours by now. Clearly we needed Mama and Papa H to help with this year...

4) Family photos! - Mama H is sending a letter and some photos out with her cards this year and asked for something non-silly. I'll post what we got below. Someone please explain to me why my very happy baby boy refuses to look happy for the camera. The fact that we got a smile for the card was its own Christmas miracle, and clearly not repeated.

5) A nice trip to Great Grandma's house! - Sometimes MDG and PDG flip out when we go to GGma's house in Maryland. They have tantrums or refuse to give hugs/kisses/any attention at all. It leads to conflict because we don't visit enough and stress levels go up. Of course, we usually aim for morning visits. This time we did a 4pm arrival, the kids were awesome even without many toys to distract them, they were super affectionate, and we all left feeling all holiday happy.

6) A warm day for putting up lights! - J-Man is slowly becoming less grinchly over time, and while he's still winning the artificial tree battle, our yard gets brighter each year.

7) Even more warmth for raking the leaves! - Procrastination can pay off, folks. I've been too lazy or cold or dry to want to step foot in the back yard for a while, but then this warm spell came through and I was so glad I didn't do it earlier. PDG jumped, then taught MDG to jump, and I raked for all of ten  minutes before just taking pictures and heading back inside.

So yeah, a great five days with a million things to be thankful for. Now, when's Christmas break?

And All That Hair

You guys, I hate going to the beauty salon. Hate it. I avoid it for as long as possible, and sometimes longer than should be permissible.

It's ironic, though, because every time I go, I get showered with compliments. Every black woman inside takes a moment to ooh and ahh over my "good hair." And at the risk of sounding obnoxious and ungrateful, I'd like to admit that it's kinda the worst.

Do you know what good hair is? You probably do, and you probably have seen the Chris Rock documentary. If you haven't, check it out sometime. Hair is this powerful concept that you learn very early on will affect the way people look at you. It's a competition, it's a choice, and often it's a complicated burden.

In my case, on a Saturday morning when I've taken the time to wash it, it looks a little like this.

Talk about an undertaking. If you've met me and thought I washed this mess daily, this photo should convince you otherwise. I aim for weekly. Even that was more realistic pre-kids. Now I try for the least frequently that can still remain presentable and hygienic. Sometimes that's my approach to showering too. Just kidding. Kinda. Not really. Anyway.

The other day I got to thinking about my hair and how it's a pain and I should do something about it. I told J-Man I was going to make an appointment. I hadn't had a relaxer since June. (This is something I always lie about at the salon, and pretend it's only been 3 months, or a number less outlandish than my typical 5-7. It's one of few lies I just can't not tell.) You know what happened though? I changed my mind.

I said it out loud, "I'm going to make a hair appointment," and then I quickly decided against it. I didn't want to make the call. I didn't want to try to remember the lady who did it the last time. I didn't want to lie about when I was there last. I really didn't want to go and sit in a chair and be complimented on something for which I can take zero credit beyond inheriting a specific set of genes. I also didn't want to awkwardly assess whether I was black enough to participate in the conversation, laughing at the right jokes, using the right lingo, and appropriately thanking everyone for their interest in these eighteen inches or so I often dream of shaving off.

On a meta level I didn't want to sit and think about how having these thoughts are, for the most part, not at all the fault of the other people in the salon. They're instead a twisted mix of insecurities in my own identity, cemented over three decades of walking the light-skinned tightrope as a black, Mormon, nearly six-foot, ivy league, small town, never-fitting-in girl. Woman.

Going to a hair salon brings out every fear I have about the construct of beauty and my inability to accept that I both want to be, and yet fear the process of becoming, beautiful. I tell myself I want inner beauty. I don't need people to look at me and use words like "stunning" or "gorgeous." But don't I? Doesn't everyone? At least, a little bit? Doesn't it feel amazing to look in the mirror when the stylist is finished and see a set of locks you want to flip around as your love takes you to a fancy dinner or spins you around a dance floor? Can't you laugh like nothing matters because you feel the eyes of the room deciding you're worthy of their gaze?

Most days I look in the mirror and I shrug at what I see. There's a girl. She's getting wrinkles and her eyes carry bags of dark exhaustion. Her smile's ok. Her nose will do. When she stands tall, she looks like she's doing all right. And that hair, it'll work. Just braid it to the side like Elsa. Or twist it into a bun and slap a scrunchie around it. Pull it tight and ignore everything it makes you think about who you are. Spend your time on sleep, or your kids, or packing a lunch so you're not starving by seventh period.

But sometimes, after my darling husband has given my confidence the boost I need to make the call, schedule the appointment, let Miss S keep the boys the first day of Thanksgiving break, and step foot into the salon, I come out looking like this.

Maybe not stunning. Maybe not gorgeous. But I survived. I felt shamefully happy with the outcome. I changed my profile picture. I decided it was all right to indulge in a little vanity. I took family photos for our Christmas card and I secretly felt happy to have my hair. Typing this now it feels so silly to say. I'd be happy with any hair, right? It shouldn't be so weighted a statement to make. I should love it however it looks. I should love myself however I look.

One day I might.

For now, the question remains - how long until I have to wash it again? Surely not before J-Man's work party tonight!

Halloween Happenings 2015

You guys, the scariest thing happened on Halloween night.... I dreamed I was pregnant! It keeps happening and I keep waking up with the same unsettled feeling. I think it's because a coworker is talking about babies a ton as she gears up to start trying this spring, and given my whole crazy birth control history, I have little faith in my body to follow my program.

I love babies. I do. It was super cute to Facetime with baby C last night in her adorable pumpkin onesie. I've hit like on just about every Facebook post of kids under age one on my timeline. I can't wait for more of my friends to be at the point where they're ready for pregnancies and babies too (but zero pressure, ladies). I just keep remembering how much crazy work goes into the beginning.

Thankfully, the rest of Halloween weekend was less terrifying. We kicked it off with a trip to J-Man's work. Once again they went all out with decorations everywhere. Cubicles were covered in streamers and lights and candy and even some outdoor inflatables. The boys practiced their "trick-or-treat" or "treat" as MDG preferred, and PDG corrected everyone who thought MDG was a dinosaur instead of a dragon. I mean, what knight hangs out with dinosaurs??

Saturday we woke up with too much energy for 6:30am so we made plans with my work BFF and her kids at an indoor trampoline park. Lots of fun but lots of money. It made me want to open one of those in a town that doesn't have one yet and rake in the dough.

After buying too much candy and having an unsuccessful mama/PDG naptime, we lit the rotting pumpkins, velcroed on the costumes, and set out to go door to door.

We kept it simple, just walking up and down our own Mormon Street, and even bumped into some kids we know from Nursery. J-Man and I lagged behind a bit, letting PDG work on his social skills of walkiing up by himself to ask for candy and say thank you on his own.

What a big kid he's becoming. So grown up. No wonder I dreamed about more babies. This guy is so far from a baby I almost don't remember the four months of ear-piercing screams every two hours.

Almost.

We got back to the house and counted our stash. The boys each picked three to eat before reluctantly letting us place their pumpkin baskets out of reach. Then, even more confused, they helped us pass out other candy to other kids who came to our door.

The up side is they got to stay awake a whole extra hour. J-Man and I thought it might help our chances of last night's Fall Back not screwing over our morning. It didn't help anything though. They awoke at 5:30 like it was 6:30 and are currently showering with J-Man while I search the internet for that meme all my fellow parent friends were sharing yesterday.  Ok, found it, here you go...

Still, even with the early rising and the crazy sugar rush adrenaline craziness and the additional mandatory teeth brushing over the past 48 hours, it's been a good run.

Now, time to eat their candy and pretend like nothing happened...

Those Perfect Pumpkin Pictures

Now that I’m blogging again, I’ve been thinking about mom guilt. If you don’t have mom guilt, you’re either a) not a mom or b) way more evolved than I am. In either case, we are on totally different wavelengths because mom guilt and I battle it out all the time.

Sometimes, the battle is simple. For example: I know too much screen time is bad. I also know that there are few tears in my house that free reign of youtube doesn’t solve. I push the guilt aside and swear that I don’t give in too, too much. Then I pass my phone along and adjust to endless Wheels on the Bus or, worse, the Gummy Bear song. I’m proud to say I also draw the line when PDG starts watching those ridiculous videos of people unwrapping toys to show how they work. How does he keep finding  those?! Or the ones with kinder eggs?!? The internet is weird.

Anyway.

My recent battle should be straightforward too. It’s the whole insta-mom thing. Like, if I’m being honest, I’m a bad mom instagrammer. My boys do so many cute things. More cute things than any other mom’s boys because they’re my boys and that’s how motherhood works. But somehow, on Instagram and Facebook, and the other social media websites I’m too dusty to figure out yet (I hear dusty is a word the kids say these days about us old folks) other moms are totally winning. At the pumpkin patch, their kids actually sit by a pumpkin and smile while looking at the camera, showing teeth, and twinkling their eyes. Mine? Well, here’s the best I got.

Not horrible, I know, but we were there for hours. We did a billion slides. We rode a hayride (ok, in fairness, I almost lost my phone in the hay and PDG did spend the first few minutes crying in fear so pictures were low on the agenda). We got to pet animals and run free with our best friends. We picked out pumpkins for the family. I should have a whole album edited in the perfect filters, right?

Well, I think I'm failing. I feel a little guilty, and the only thing making me feel better is that hey, at least these couple pictures I did happen to capture can now be forever commemorated on this website. Because I will keep writing. I will.

You know how I know? PDG asked for “Welcome to New York” yesterday morning in the car. It was (embarrassingly enough) the music I was jamming to when I was writing my story last spring and once again got me itching to type away. So while I need a better muse than T-Swizz, I’m back in this blogging thing for the long haul. And if I can wrap my brain around it, I’m going to be ok with the few imperfect shots I do manage to take of my boys along the way.  

from a few weeks ago