35 Down, 15 to Go

I’m 35 states into my quest to visit all 50 states by the time I’m 50. Since I made this goal a few years ago, we’ve traveled to a few unexpected places, and I’ve researched countless more to strategize future trips. Recently, during trip to New York I realized something that I’ve learned along the way: I love an underrated city.

Maybe it’s because I’m closer to that “50” than I was before and tastes change with age, but I was walking through the streets of Manhattan after sipping a perfectly roasted espresso latte at a cafe, listening to the dogs barking and the traffic honking and the strangers ignoring one another while talking into their headphones on the street. An odor wafted my way as I crossed on a red light with a crowd of pedestrians, avoiding cyclists. Weed and pee. I stuck to the middle of the sidewalk, away from the piled up trash and mysterious puddles and strolled into Madison Square Park where the first greenery I found lay untouchable beyond fencing. “Keep off grass” posted in regular intervals ensuring every shrub, flower and blade of green remained just out of reach. The greatest city in the world. All of the sudden I thought of Boise Idaho.

I thought of the farm we visited where the boys got lost in a corn maze so vast we actually started to worry we’d never find our way out. The river that wound its way through the city, bending just a few blocks from our Airbnb rental where the kids made good use of the fishing poles we’d brought with us. The French fries that came in more than 5 different potato styles, salted to perfection.

I thought of Canon Beach Oregon, with its boulders stretching to the sky and the diverse array or sea life on display during low tide. The Tilanook factory tour we took that ended with ice cream cones.

I thought of the cabin in the tiny town of Kanab Utah, and the sunset views over red rocks a short drive to Zion and Bryce Canyon, or the smallest airport I’ve ever seen coming into Montana near the entrance to Yellowstone and Grand Teton. The shrubs, the grass, the trees, the flowers, all untethered with no barrier to keep them off-limits.

Don’t get me wrong, New York is a great city. But what I love about the challenge I’m trying to accomplish is finding out what all the other cities have to offer in their own way. The food, the scenery, the culture and the little gems you discover by accident while exploring. And in a country filled with landmarks and mountains, I guess now I prefer the mountains. I prefer to touch the grass.

Morning Rush Routine

We’ve gone through several evolutions of our bedtime routine, but morning is a different story. I’d love to call it a routine, but it seems as if we just can’t get consistency into the start of our day. Only one thing has remained the same each morning: utter chaos.

I wake up with the best of intentions. My alarm goes off early so I have time to exercise for 30 minutes before the boys get breakfast. Instead, I stay in bed thinking of all of the reasons I don’t have to get up right that second. I plan for packing lunches, making their breakfast and getting myself ready to head off to work and school. Instead, I throw a fruit, vegetable and pbj into a lunchbox with a hope and a prayer that maybe a third will get eaten, I rush to get dressed while the boys toast frozen waffles, and I scramble to make coffee while yelling about putting on shoes. Most days, we’re lucky to get in the car with 10 minutes before their school gates close. We’re lucky we live very close to the school, which is also very close to work.

It doesn’t seem to matter how many different ways I try to make mornings a peaceful, organized affair. I’ve set reminders for each step that needs to be done, I’ve tried packing lunches the night before, and I’ve made my hair and makeup the most efficient process humanly possible. I even bought Big Bro his own alarm clock so he gets himself up and dressed before everyone else. But, no matter the tactic, we still end up piling into the car with minutes to spare and show up without a water bottle, or homework, or a trombone, or today- a lunchbox. (It doesn’t matter, he wasn’t going to eat half of it anyway)

We have five weeks left in the school year, and I doubt we’ll use it to miraculously pull off a polished morning exit. I had high hopes that by now we’d have it in the bag because next year, Big Bro will have to catch a bus on his own. He’s starting middle school. By the time the middle school bell rings, little b will have already been in his elementary classroom for an hour. Big B will need to find his shoes and remember his water bottle and lunchbox on his own.

Five more weeks to nail this morning routine so I can leave with the confidence of a mother whose son doesn’t follow right in her snooze button footsteps. Wish us luck.

A Little Bit Country

Being from the D.C Metro area with family from the Northeast, there was very little about me I considered “Southern” even through I grew up in Virginia. I tasted my first grits when I went to college in Richmond, and I didn’t utter the word “y’all” until more than a year into a reporting contract that took me to the Florida Panhandle. But, my mom went through a brief Melissa Etheridge phase in the early 90s just like everyone else’s, so I’m no stranger to most of the country classics. When I studied abroad in Shanghai, “Country Roads” at a karaoke bar took me close enough to home.

This spring break we continued my quest to visit all 50 states with a trip to Nashville. We met up with friends and toured the zoo, spent a day at Mammoth Caves in Kentucky, saw a show at the Grand Ole Opry, and walked more than once down Broadway, which reminded me of New Orleans with music spilling out of every door and window except that instead of jazz it was country.

Though I wouldn’t consider myself a country music fan, our visit to the Opry and the Musician’s Hall of Fame made me see the genre in a whole new light. It’s not all pickup trucks and cold beer. Hearing Craig Morgan sing about waking up a man on a cold bench who was “almost home” nearly had me in tears. Lainey Wilson singing about her daddy’s boots and how she hoped to find someone one day who could fill them, and Jelly Roll taking the whole auditorium to church with his songs of redemption. It was incredible to see the talent and power of these voices right in front of us, effortlessly telling stories through song. Most of those are voices I ignored for years, thinking all they had to say was something about football and denim.

I guess that’s what music appreciation is all about. No matter the genre, the instruments, the accent, it’s still the universal language for storytelling. I’m not sure if I’m a little bit country, but maybe I’m a teeny bit country now. And still a whole lotta rock and roll.

9 & 12

I don’t know where the time went, but we have a nine-year-old and a twelve-year-old. Big Bro celebrated with a gametruck party at the park with about a dozen of his friends, all running between flag football and video games, pounding pizza and powerades and having a great time. Little Bro chose a local Lego store where he and his classmates built cars to race down a track and left with their own minifigures. It’s so much fun to watch them in their element with their friends, telling jokes, running around and just having fun. We’ve had a lot to celebrate this week with these two, and loved every minute of it.

At age 12, Big Bro is a true leader. He runs the show during his Lighthouse Leader in Me club events, including speaking in front of crowds of 50-100 people! His reports cards have come back straight A’s so far, and he’s a team player on the basketball court.

At nine, little b is a dynamic, wisecracking ball of energy and creativity. His favorite time to ask deep questions about the universe is right after bedtime. He has found a new love of engineering through joining the school robotics club, and he’s in his sixth year on the same soccer team surrounded by his best friends.

Both boys still love Legos, dinosaurs, Pokemon and Minecraft. They dislike bedtime and grocery shopping.

Little Chef

One of the things we’ve been doing ever since our boys learned to walk, is bringing them in to help us in the kitchen. Over the years, we’ve seen their skills sharpen, their tastes diversify, and their interest grow.

What started with a toddler measuring and pouring flour for cookie dough turned into Big Bro waking up to cook his own over easy eggs, taking pride whenever he doesn’t break the yolk. When he was nine, he decided to cook an entire dinner himself. He planned, shopped, and kicked us out of the kitchen while he ran his restaurant titled “The Fruit Bat” and enlisted his little brother as the server/comedic relief. He made meatballs, pasta, and even raspberry scones from scratch! All it cost was a burn on his arm while he took a pan out of the oven. He took it in stride and now we have matching scars, (mine is from making mixed nut pie).

What’s neat about having these little chefs in our house is that they not only learn and expand their own culinary experiences, but we grown-ups do too. Big B introduced us to making crepes, which I’d always thought would be difficult but turned out to be quick and easy. This past summer, Little b took an interest in pasta, which I’ve always wanted to learn how to make from scratch. The three of us took on fettuccini and ravioli and ate some of the best pasta I’ve had in my life. It really does make a difference, even if it also made quite a mess of our kitchen.

This year, we made a resolution to have kid-cooked dinners once a week. They select a recipe, plan the meal, and make it with some supervision and assistance. So far, we’ve had a potato sausage frittata and blueberry pancakes, and they tasted great! This week is tomato soup and grilled cheese. I can’t wait to see what they cook up next.

Holiday Experiences Everywhere

Last weekend during a Costco trip, I spent $20 on a 90-pack of holiday themed hot cocoa cups. Did we need that many? Absolutely not. But, we needed a few and I didn’t want to make a trip somewhere else so I laughed and told the boys we had enough cocoa cups to last until they graduate college.

That night, I broke out the cups and a crockpot of cocoa for the boys and their friends while we toured the neighborhood looking at Christmas lights. Neighbors brought out tables of treats and cookies, and we all chatted and walked the streets like a more cheerful and far less scary Halloween.

In years past, we’d taken the kids to big name events like the Enchant Hallmark Christmas or Pratt Brothers Christmas, purchasing tickets and standing in long lines to ride a train or see a light show set to music. While I have great memories with our kids in those event centers or parks transformed into magical workshops or wonderlands, I’ve learned over the years that you don’t have to break the bank for a truly magical experience if you don’t want to. We’ve even had several encounters with the big man himself- Santa, without standing in a line at the mall for hours on end or reserving an appointment. Just yesterday morning he winked from across a farmer’s market, waiting with his wife for children to come ask about their lists.

Last night, we filled a couple more cups of cocoa and drove about 15 minutes to a neighborhood with a well-known light display so the boys could mail their letters to Santa, in a true North Pole mailbox (the only way to get it to the North Pole without using a ton of stamps.) When we pulled up, we realized the traffic was even more packed than we anticipated. We found ourselves in a turnaround, but caught a glimpse of a parade, so we parked. Walking over to the curb, we had a great spot to see the Queen Creek 4×4 Parade, an annual event I had no clue existed. There must have been over a hundred jeeps, go-carts and four wheelers, lit up and decorated, throwing candy and blasting Christmas music. We laughed and cheered as the boys filled their pockets. Then, we wandered the “Lights on Lark” display and dropped their letters in the mailbox, waving to Santa. We couldn’t have planned it better if we’d tried. And I think that’s the best part; the parts that come together when you don’t plan.

One of my favorite holiday memories happened because I couldn’t go to an annual holiday party. I was about 5 years old and I had the chicken pox. Instead, as a sort of consolation prize, my dad took me to a neighborhood much like “Lights on Lark,” where everyone on the street decked out their houses for all to enjoy. We walked down the street looking at lights, and of course, drank some hot cocoa.

I can definitely understand and appreciate annual family traditions of train rides, high dollar holiday events, and professional photos from Santa’s lap. But, for families that want to make memories without the means, there’s a joy in the simplicity and surprises that come with finding the magic everywhere you look. And if you want to add cocoa, I have about 70 cups left.

Extra Extra! The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far

When Big Bro started creating his own website with the help of a few friends at school, I was a little surprised but also impressed. Even though the site is mainly pranks, jokes, and Wings of Fire fan fiction, his ability to create and connect multiple pages, forms and photos with relevant captions showed a tech savviness that’s sometimes hard for me to to find in my own office. One evening, he handed me a piece of paper he printed off our computer that referenced his website and said “News.” I glanced at it and smiled, noting his creation briefly while I continued my conversation with Drew.

Then later that week at the parent-teacher conference, his homeroom teacher brought out a printed paper, saying she was nervous at first when she saw my son distributing copies to his classmates. I looked at the paper and realized it was the same he’d handed me while I was talking. I should’ve paid more attention, because what he handed me was his own newsletter. And he used our printer at home to make copies for distribution.

I flipped through the pages of stories, jokes and links to his site for things like voting on the “person of the week.” His teacher and I had a good laugh and I told Big Bro it was fine to write a newsletter as long as his other work got done and I could be his managing editor before he sends it to print.

I received his fourth edition this week in my inbox. He now boasts a “staff” of about five other classmates who collaborate on reminders and topics. They add polls and fictional stories about hybrid zoo animals or sales on their site, and one true story about a substitute they had who was a published author. Complete with a link to purchase the book of course.

I don’t know what’s more unnerving for me as a parent. The fact that he seems more focused on this side project than any of his schoolwork, or the fact that he is showing such a passion for journalism. Drew and I left the news industry a decade ago, but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I guess the only thing we can do now is see how this story unfolds.

Home Again

They say you can’t go home again, but I’m lucky enough to be able to. While I love life in the desert, every year around this time I do miss the feeling of a chill in the air and the sound of wind in the leaves, the flash of bright color that comes only when the earth extinguishes its summer sun for the coming winter. That does not happen in much of Arizona. It’s why we travel for Fall Break, so we can experience everything I love about my favorite season.

We stepped into my childhood home again on October first; a place the kids fondly call “grandmama’s house” while they run straight for the big bin of hot wheels cars and sturdy plastic track, circa 1980s.

We walked past my old high school, now mostly construction site, as workers transform the old ball fields into a new building and prepare to demolish the old one. We drove past miles of long gone restaurants and retail space as I counted about a dozen new “data centers,” several in the final phases of construction. The farmland behind my childhood best friend’s house was paved into a retirement community. The numbers on her house are all that remain the same as the residents I knew so well moved on years ago. But, like any house with good bones, there’s a lot left that feels just the same.

During our trip we spent time with grandparents, cousins, uncles and aunts, some who’ve earned their titles through lifelong friendship. They greeted us with warm smiles and hugs. The kids played and we caught up, shared meals and drinks and s’mores and laughter.

Yes, a lot has changed and will keep changing. But those bones, what’s most important, remain the same. That’s what makes it feel like home. It’s what stands the test of time. When you focus less on the place and more on the people, you can always go home again.

Contractually Obligated

While I love that our boys are both brothers and best friends, we’ve reached the point in parenting where that unbeatable team can turn against us. Last week, they decided to present a united front to advocate for an allowance. What resulted were some pretty unusual agreements… in writing.

Both boys decided to write up their own contract to get paid for chores. In these contracts, they set their terms, tasks, payment proposals, all with formatting and spaces for signatures. The only thing missing was a notary, and now I’m wondering if I can use that detail to get out of the commitment I signed. Little b took composing his contract very seriously, insisting on typing it up on our computer. I even showed him an old work contract so he could get the formatting right.

It reads in part, “My contract is a contract to approve paying for the agreed chores and so I can buy toys and save money for later in my account and so I can not be broke for a long time of the year.” (the “long time of the year” of course being between his birthday and Christmas, when the gift money dries up and he’s forced to wait it out for his next set of legos.)

He sets the expectations in bullet points outlining payment, committing to get his work done before tv or video games, and my favorite point number 3 reads, “So he has an amount of money to use for later life although he intends to stay at the house and be with you and dad.”

Shortly after I signed and Drew and I began discussing payment once per week in cash, little b tapped the paper, reiterating bullet point number 2, which stipulated his payment should be received at the end of each day. Buyer beware.

While his contract read like a binding legal agreement from now until we retire someday, Big B’s read like a sales pitch. His included the benefits of entering the agreement, including “you won’t ever complain, the work will be so good.” After a page of options to select from an array of chores and number of days per week, the final (fourth) page of the agreement outlined discounts offered- including $1.25 off for every hour of tv or video game time.

I knew enough after little b’s contract to do a bit more negotiating, and we entered into an official agreement with our oldest son.

Although I’m excited about the prospect of more chores getting done without my asking, I am still trying to do the math on whether or not this shakes out in my favor. I will say, they both packed their own lunches this morning, little b has been doing the dishes, and Big Bro volunteered to learn how to do laundry. Perhaps you can’t put a price on good help, even if it’s contractually obligated.

Geeking Out

I was having coffee with a new colleague the other day, clad in my usual accessories that often catch the eye of those who share my taste in movies or book genres. Sitting across from me, she said “I love your bag!” I get compliments on it a lot, and I smiled, ready to share our mutual love of Star Wars, when she asked, “Is it a Birkin?”

That’s when I found myself explaining the symbol of the Rebellion, and opening it up to proudly show tiny Tie Fighters lining the inside of the purse. It’s a Loungefly. Officially licensed fandom fashion that incorporates imagery from our favorite Disney franchises into bags, wallets, and more. Glancing at my watch (with Wonder Woman watchband,) I quickly changed the subject.

In our house, we love Sci Fi, Superheroes and book series of all sorts. It’s one of the things that has made this stage of parenting so fun. There was nothing like watching the kids watch Star Wars for the first time (after Drew and I heavily weighed the decision of the order in which to show them) or seeing them dress as their favorite characters and superheros and battle in the backyard.

Earlier this summer, we even took them to Phoenix Fan Fusion, a huge comic convention downtown. The boys loved it, and asked to go back again the next day. They loved seeing all of the other costumes, browsing booths full of memorabilia, and geeking out over everything from Pokemon to Lego to Zelda. They could, and have, spent hours and hours on each topic.

Tonight, they sat at our kitchen table, each adding to their own fan fiction stories. One about Big B’s favorite book series Wings of Fire, as little b wrote a continuation of The Mandalorian. It’s so fun watching their creativity and to know they’re unapologetically themselves. The world needs more people who care enough to know a lot about something—and love every minute of it.