Wine a Bit

My life right now is one to-do list after another. I'm preparing for a trip to Denver and three special events at work. I'm up to my eyes in details and trying to fit so many tasks into the matrix. All of this, along with my life, is incredibly overwhelming.

But I'm hanging in. My car and my body are both threatening to drop out, but I'm forging on. A couple more weeks, and I'll be crashing.

The kids are all well. They got a brief taste of mommy being away this past weekend when I went to Pittsburgh to visit my best girl, Roberta, and celebrate her bachelorette status before she wills it away later this year. There were several bottles of wine, some really great margherita pizza, amazing line-dancing cowboys and laughs galore. Some rode bulls. (As in mechanical.) It was an enjoyable, memorable night. And I rocked it in a new dress from Target (that's tar-JAY) and my brown suede high-heeled boots.


Now I'm suffering from a really jacked-up knee. It's been whining for weeks and will no longer be ignored.

My goals right now: bed, accomplish a couple dozen major tasks tomorrow at work, possibly risk this knee further by playing my league volleyball games, pack for Denver, figure out how I'm going to fly with 60-plus ounces of breast milk and -- oh yeah -- leave my four kiddos for three days with a kiss and a promise to come home.

Taste the Rockies!

Whatever moments of utter relaxation I manage to find in Denver will be much deserved. I'm looking forward to long showers, plush robes and some great times with awesome people. But maybe not as awesome as this one.


So long for now...

Council of Friends

The last time we were all together... The Bitches, June 2000

I gotta tell you... I'm still looking for the bunnies and butterflies. I am working hard to rearrange some things in my head right now. I don't really want to bear my soul on the issues, and, luckily, I'm a grown up, with free will as you'll remember from last week's post, and I don't have to do so.

But I'm compelled to tell you of a soothing daydream I had today in which I called a council of friends together on my behalf. I laid my options and my heart on the table before them, asked their advice and was supported. And I just might call the council.

Because the worth and the power of truly good friends can't be underestimated. They help us to see the world more clearly, to admit our true feelings even when we haven't admitted them to ourselves. They rise in the brine of those who make up the days of our lives. They become our sisters and brothers, our own personal shrinks, our in-case-of-emergency contacts. Our strength.

My close circle of friends includes both women and men from every era of my life. Some of them don't even know each other. I see some of them on a regular basis and others, only once a year or even more seldom.

While I've gathered amazing friends at different places and at different ages, I came upon a goldmine of sorts my senior year of high school and all throughout my college years. I had the great and unending pleasure of becoming one of a fairly tight group of friends affectionately self-proclaimed as "The Bitches." You might not expect it, but we were four women and four men, and we were nice to each other and nice to others. And I honestly can't remember exactly how we came to be "The Bitches," but we did, and we are to this day.

What I do remember is having the time to meet for coffee, for lunch at the Union, for drinks, for trips home to see each other's parents, for shots, for guitar sessions, for moral support. We had standing dates on Thursday nights for NBC Must-See TV in the late '90s and met every other possible night in between. There were parties, study sessions and "conferences." There were hook-ups, upsets among friends and, eventually, a marriage when Shrek and I made it official in 2002.

I could write a book about those friends, our early days, and the way in which we remain connected, though spread in physical space. (And I might.) And on nights like these, I remember and cherish and celebrate the fact that I really could call any one of them, right now, and use a lifeline that wouldn't count against me in any way. Those friends would answer and would grant me the forgiveness, the favor, the friend I needed.

The idea of convening my council of friends changed my perspective today. It made me turn my head in the other direction, to see what they'd see. And while I still don't have the solutions, I can see the open doors through which I might walk. I know if and when I need that final shove, I'll have some friends to kick me the last few feet in the right direction.

So to my council of friends, near and far, thank you for what you did for me today. My bedtime has whizzed by me yet again, but I've stayed up late to have those conversations with you all, in my heart and in my head, that are worth the late bedtimes, the all-nighters, the rest of my life. Thank you.

High School, Remembered

I'm feeling a blast from the past tonight. I spent some time this past weekend with about ten of my classmates from my graduating class. We were the class of '96 at Waterford High. And, it ended up being true, "We never had it all together, but together we had it all." I remember leading the committee on the class motto and not knowing if that really fit when we chose it. We were a competitive, female-heavy, oddball kind of class, and I knew some mushy quote just wasn't going to work. When this quote came up, I made peace with it, thinking, "Well, we do have all kinds in this class, we've got it all." And, fifteen years later, it's still true.

It was great to see some of those faces I used to see everyday. There were a ton of memories, and I was surprised by how much of it I had forgotten. My favorites were from Mr. Nowell's chemistry lab. He was an older teacher who truly liked us and had a penchant for saying hilarious things like "Baker, are you masticating latex derivatives?" (chewing gum) and "Stollar, quit jerking me around!"

Gosh, those were long days. When you're a teenager, the hours in class drag on forever. It seems you'll never grow up, you'll never get to call the shots. You'll forever be a subpar citizen, with chores and curfews and pimples.

But you do grow up. Those days help to prepare you for the other trials and tribulations you might face. And, for me, they weren't all bad. There were "big sisters" in volleyball who decorated my locker on big game days, a crew of boy friends who taught me the fine art of slingshot (that's us, above, showing a little leg after graduation), and parents who supported me in all kinds of ways.

So the class reunion was a good thing. And maybe it got me in the right frame of mind for the sad news I got today. A dear cousin of mine was killed in an occupational accident. He was the epitome of a good guy, and my memories of him during our high school days abound.

They say only the good die young, and if that's the case, it's a wonder he made it this far. I'm telling you, this was one of the truly phenomenal good-time guys. He had a heart of gold and a smile that made you believe he'd just gotten away with the wildest stunt, which was often true.

I don't think I can find a picture of him from those days, the way I remember him best. I just spent nearly an hour, to no avail, looking for a photo from the night we had a '70s dance at the school, where one of my best memories of him took place. That was a good night for me and my cousin-friend. He paid me a compliment that night that made a big difference in my life. It was a nod of confidence in the best way, and I can still appreciate the "aha!" moment it created for me, the way it clicked it my head that I was worthy and that I did have something to offer.

And those moments, at the age I was then, were and still are absolutely priceless. So, rest in peace, my friend. You'll always be among my memories and those of others from the worst of days, the best of days, that were "high school."

Never Grow Up

It's a constant theme, and yet I keep learning it. It's not that I forget, really, but somehow, I have to be reminded. These days are precious. There will always be dirt, but these kids won't always be little.

We had a great weekend of camping with friends at Wolf Run. There were way more kids than adults, so, of course, it wasn't always relaxing. But there were a lot of hands and a lot of eyes, and it worked out beautifully. The food was great, the company was fantastic, and memories were made!


I've been thinking about seasons--not so much the seasons of the year, but the seasons of life. Dave and I, and the other amazing couples and single parents with whom we spent the weekend, are in the season of young parenthood. There are times you can't imagine ever getting out this season. While it is nice to feel needed, it's also a bit suffocating at times. As hard as it is to believe, these days will end. The kids will grow up faster than we ever expected, and it will be time for a new season.


So while the weekend was full of the busywork of caring for children, it was enjoyable and right. I had a couple moments of decompression, mostly later at night, when the kiddos were in bed and my mind wasn't racing to keep tabs on four little people. One of those moments was thanks to my dear friend, Traci, whose beautiful reason is pictured above. My girl has pipes like you wouldn't believe. She pulled out a song Saturday night that has been right under my nose for nearly a year. "Never Grow Up" by Taylor Swift. If you haven't yet really listened to it, you should.


Oh, darling, don't you ever grow up,
Don't you ever grow up, just stay this little.
Oh, darling, don't you ever grow up,
Don't you ever grow up, it could stay this simple.


You and I both know I am still fighting to find that balance in my life. To accept the past (all of it), to enjoy today, to not worry about the future. I'm consciously trying to keep money in its place -- not just in my wallet, but out of the realm of worry, out of the realm of utter importance. I'm always seeking that balance between work and home, and struggling with the 45 miles I drive between them.


But there are images like these, not art by any means, but snapshots of my most important little people, smiling and enjoying life, that remind me, that ground me. When this season of summer is over, I'll pack up and welcome fall, knowing summer will come around again, and that hopefully, I'll be here to see it along with the players of my life.


But when this season of my life is over, I won't see it again. I'll likely never be this tired again. I'll never be this needed again. And, more than anything, I may never been this blessed again.


I have to admit, in spite of the worries, I'm glad to have grown up. I've spent my whole life being an old soul, which is probably why motherhood suits me so well. And, of course, I want my kids, all of the kids in my weekend, to grow up. Please get to grow up.


But not yet. Ride your bikes in the 90-degree heat until your Daddy agrees to trade you his gel seat for your hard pink one. (True story.) Eat nothing but hot dogs if you want. You'll be fine doing that for a couple of days. Share string cheese with your adorable little friends.


And let's just keep this as simple as we can. You've all the time in the world to worry about the woes of life, real and imagined.

Please, for now, darlings, just don't ever grow up...

Giving Thanks

I love Thanksgiving. It's family, food, gratitude. It's no pressure, a cuppa coffee with dessert and the meeting of the women when we try to come up with a Black Friday plan and simultaneously plan a Christmas gathering for 80. It's my Vera Bradley apron and the matching one I bought for Lily but that gets more use from Max. It's the anticipation of Christmas; the beginning of four intense weeks of kids lip-syncing songs at holiday programs, family gatherings and Advent calendars.

And it's just my kind of holiday. I try to be grateful for the many, many blessings in my life year-round. I seek to always be aware of my own situation and those of others, especially those less fortunate. I strive to teach my own kids what it is to express gratitude everyday.

What am I grateful for? I'm grateful for my husband, who gets better all the time, I swear; for my delicious children and their little brother kicking away in my womb. I'm thankful for my mother, my sister, my entire family. For friends who know me well, and like me anyway. I'm grateful for my health, my country and my freedom.

I am grateful for my house with the furnace rumbling, my warm bed and my life stretching out before me.

I'm drinking from the saucer because my cup is overflowing.

Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you get to spend it with the ones you love.

If She Doesn't Scare You...

That Cruella De Vil. If she doesn't scare you, no evil thing will!

I tell ya, she might be scary to see, but she sure is fun to be. I had a great Halloween weekend with this award-winning costume coming together just hours before Trick or Treat last night. Shaggy... er, Shrek.. and I decided to dress along with the kids for the town's Trick or Treat, which we don't normally do. But we were planning to go out afterwards, and it just made sense. So the whole lot of us: Shaggy, Cruella, a witch, a zebra and Scooby Doo hit the street around 6:30 p.m. It was a blast!


The kids had a great time and we finished the evening, as is tradition, with a visit with cousins at the Cooper house. There were cousin witches, smiling four-year-olds and the dynamic duo of Shaggy and Scooby...




We left the kids happy at home with their mammaw and a couple of Halloween specials on TV. (Thanks, NBC!) We headed off to the American Legion for some good-natured Halloween fun with friends. We got to see lots of friends, including my best girl, Spider Woman, and my brother, the Scottish athlete. I even won third place in the costume contest!



It was another fun notch in the belt of Roberts Halloweens. Check out the belly on this Cruella! She must not be as scary as she looks...


Hope your Halloween was festive. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to kick off November in the morning. Let's keep the good times rolling!

Keep Calm and Carry On

So I mentioned I'd had a rough month in May. I can't really tell you why; it was just one of those times in my life where there was a lot going on, the blues kept sucking me down, and I couldn't find the time to take care of myself, to be gentle with myself ... to even be by myself very much at all.

One day, as I was walking down Court Street in Athens on my lunch break, I saw this poster hanging in a store window. I'd seen this poster in a picture on one of my favorite blogs, www.nieniedialogues.com. With funds low but my interest piqued, I marched into the place and bought one of these beauties. It now dances around the various walls of my office. I can't seem to figure out where it belongs, but it does belong.

(The history of this poster is as striking as its simple design. It was produced, but never used, in 1939 by the British government at the start of World War II as a "last resort" in the event of a Nazi invasion.)

My wise junior high English teacher, Mrs. Gretchen Montgomery, once told my parents in a parent-teacher conference, "Erin sometimes gets a black cloud over her head, but we know if we leave her alone, she pulls out of it."

It's true. I've always been a bit arrogant in the way I believe that no one can help me but myself. I'm independent and headstrong to a fault. I take care of people, and I don't let them take care of me--even when I am in need of care. One of the many drawbacks of this is that people around me get used to this and quit trying.

But what I'm getting at is this: I was in more than a bit of a funk. And now, I'm out. The poster helped me, I helped myself, and, this time, I let some of you help me too.

Thank you.