Many times in my career, I’ve been called a “Jack of all trades.” In my fifth year working in TV news, I spent three months doing weather forecasting, covered sports when we were short-staffed, and was asked to become a co-host for a morning talk show. It’s not that I was particularly good at any of these things, but my producer kept asking and I kept saying “why not?” The talk show gig fell in my lap for just that reason. The show’s producer said I wasn’t afraid to do anything and I didn’t embarrass easily.

Turns out, those are pretty good life skills.

When I saw that ASU offered a Masters degree in a field I wanted to learn more about and my employer offered tuition reimbursement, I said the same thing: “Why not?”

Sure, there were moments in the last year when my “why not” became a “why,” and even a “how?” But, I stuck with it. I managed my time, taking my “third shift” as student after baths and bedtime.

Last week, I graduated with my Masters in Digital Audience Strategy. Now, I can proudly say this master of none has mastered at least one thing. No, not the ever-changing field of digital marketing. I like to think I’ve mastered the art of lifelong learning. And it all starts with asking the question: Why not?

This year we celebrated our oldest boy turning 12. He’s sweet, intuitive, wise beyond his years and still loves to snuggle. He still wags his tail and jumps when I pick up his leash, and he’s never lost his homeless habit of scouring the floor for scraps and crumbs. Though we don’t know his actual birthday or even his definite age, he’s certainly a senior now, and he’s starting to show all the quirks that come with it.

At nearly 70 in dog years, Max has his humans trained more than the other way around. Every morning I wake up to him staring at me from my bedside floor, as if it’s so rude of me not to have served his breakfast yet. Drew can no longer sit on Max’s corner of the sofa, and moves aside for him to curl up in the evening. He refuses to sit anywhere else. When the boys play outside and leave the front door open, Max meanders down the driveway to make sure everything is in order, and waits patiently for someone to realize the door to his home is ajar.

Working from home during the last year has given us even more insight into the daily routine of our dog. To my amusement, he actually follows a schedule:

6:30am– wake up mom, eat breakfast
7am– add to the chaos of getting the boys dressed and ready for school
8am– bark at recycling trucks or delivery vehicles
9am– nap
10-11am– stand outside basking in the sun and meditate
Noon– nap

The remainder of the day varies between naps, supervising the small humans while they eat or play, and barking at anything suspicious.

The old dog may be unable to keep up with me on a run, but he still keeps us on our toes. He’s our oldest boy, and the goodest boy.

A year ago, we were spending the weekend at an outdoor festival and the railroad park in Scottsdale, surrounded by crowds of people, calendar full of baseball games and birthday parties, looking forward to a week-long spring break. Little did we know my son had already spent his last day in his kindergarten classroom, he’d outgrow his little league uniform before wearing it more than once, and our whole world was about to change.

Now, my kids wear masks when they pretend they’re going to wizarding school, because to them it’s just another school supply. They got a new art kit and mistook the glue for hand sanitizer because the clear liquid looks the same and that’s become a more common household item. My first-grader knows when his classmates’ grandparents are getting their vaccines because that’s what they talk about during lunch at school.

Last March, we cancelled visits with family and postponed all travel plans. We stocked up on toilet paper and canned food, preparing for a potential lockdown that became reality. We entered the unknown. We didn’t know when it would end.

Now, one year later, hope is on the horizon. We are making plans to travel again. All of my family members back east have been vaccinated, the first of which was my mom, a healthcare worker who we haven’t seen in person in a year and a half.

Now, she’s spending spring break with her grandchildren.

The kids were focused, squinting in the sun as they poured water from the hose into the sandbox that had been transformed into a general mud pit in our backyard. They jabbed toy dinosaurs into the sand and grabbed super hero action figures, yelling dialogue and narration to one another during their daring rescue. I squinted too, trying to find the slightest bit of toddler left in their faces. It’s all gone in big bro’s, and barely a glimmer left in his little brother’s. They’re muddy, rough and full of noise and sass. They’re all boy, no longer baby.

This week, we took another step up the staircase of parenting, and while I reluctantly let go of the chubby toes and bulky board books of toddlerhood, I realize what’s ahead is so exciting. We’ve reached the sweet spot. That place where our kids still want us around and love to cuddle up to a movie on the couch but we don’t need to change diapers or bring anything more than a couple of water bottles when we leave the house. They play for hours on end with one another. They don’t have to go down for a nap. Best of all, they’re old enough to go on a hike, or spend a day sledding, or play at the beach. Our interests are colliding and they bring fresh new eyes to every activity.

This week, Big Bro turned seven. He reads above his grade level, he writes his own stories in his spare time, his imagination has no bounds, and he gets more curious about the world every day. It hasn’t been easy to answer all of his questions this past year, but he has taken every challenge, change and scare in stride, adapting and learning at every turn. While I hope year seven takes it easier on him, I know he can overcome any obstacle.

“Baby” Bro turned four. He will never pass up an opportunity to tell a poop joke, he draws better than I do, he’s fearless in the face of adventure and he’s still my little snuggle bug at bedtime. While he has less of a sense of what’s going on in the world around him, his laid-back personality lets him go with the flow and adjust to schedule disruptions and transitions quickly. His new sense of independence will have him taking year four by storm and doing things his way.

Mom and Dad are going to enjoy every minute with these goofballs.

Once a year, I like to brag about this state’s unique ability to provide the fun of a winter wonderland and the comfort of 70-degree weather all in one day. We recently took our annual trip just three hours north of our Phoenix suburb home and lucked out once again with a blanket of snow and another perfect sledding hill discovery. The boys had so much fun with their cousins, and even our three-year-old (who decided not to participate in winter last year) was sledding head first, screaming with delight. For anyone else interested in a sledding day-trip or weekend, here are some of the best spots in the state:

Sunrise Ski Resort– This resort in Greer, AZ offers skiing, snowboarding and a hill for tubing (the tubing hill is currently closed due to COVID) but there are a few places to pull off HWY 260 to enjoy a day of snowy fun!

Flagstaff– Our first few Arizona sledding trips were to Flagstaff, but some of the popular sledding spots including Crowley Pit and the Wing Mountain Snow Play Area (off HWY 180) are now closed. Flagstaff’s sledding map breaks down all of the best places and you can check the snow status through their hotline at 1-844-256-SNOW.

Mt Lemmon– This peak in Tucson, AZ is home to the southernmost ski resort in the country, Ski Valley. Sledders pull off Mount Bigelow Trail or recreation areas between miles 19-22 on the Catalina Hwy.

Williams– The Oak Hill Snow Play Area near Williams, AZ makes great use of an old skiing slope from the 1950s. When the conditions are right, it can make a daytrip up Route 66 memorable for everyone.

When the kids woke up this morning, you would’ve thought there was two feet of snow on the ground. “Is school going to be cancelled?” asked my six-year-old. They rushed to the windows, peering out into the pouring rain.

That’s right. Rain.

I can’t blame them. It’s been 110 days since we’ve seen measurable rainfall. My three-year-old came running into the kitchen from the front room yelling, “It’s raining in the front yard too!” I rushed around looking for waterproof jackets that still fit or a working umbrella. I listened to their chatter as they planned to splash in puddles. Then I paused, and took this picture.

It was a brilliant reminder of the lens through which they see the world- their curiosity, excitement and hope. It pushed away my thoughts of soggy backyard toys, road debris and muddy floors. I just listened, smiling.

As we start to say goodbye to a year riddled with challenges, anxiety and uncertainty, I’m going to look forward through that window- with curiosity, excitement, and hope.

It was 2009, and Drew and I had been dating for a couple of years. We were living in apartments in Panama City, Florida and working for the local ABC station. His parents had recently moved out to Arizona to join his sister, and mine were back in Virginia. We worked Thanksgiving Day and got off after most dinners had been done. We decided to watch a movie and order pizza, but a few quick phone calls confirmed all the restaurants were closed for the holiday. We cooked rice and ate, just the two of us. Our families were more than a thousand miles away in opposite directions. That was the day we decided to move.

For many people, today will go down as the worst Thanksgiving. But I look back at that lonely, sad, rice Thanksgiving with so much appreciation more than a decade later. The worsts make the bests that much better. They allow us to feel more thankful for what we do have, more gratitude for future days to come, and to realize what truly is important.

This year, I’m thankful for those important things; my family’s health, my beautiful boys, our delicious food, and the technology that lets us stay connected. I’m also thankful for that worst Thanksgiving, the one that pointed us home.

My worst investment of 2020? A popcorn perks membership at our local movie theatre. We saw Onward in January and haven’t been back since.

When the lockdown happened in March, my husband the film major took it upon himself to make movie nights happen again. Production quality guaranteed. He bought a projector and screen, we modified our sitting room and he’s been conjuring up his former Regal Cinemas employee popcorn-making skills to recreate the magic of the movies at home. And it’s become one of my favorite nights of the week.

Snuggling with the boys on the sofa, they lit up in excitement to watch new releases like Detective Pikachu and Sonic the Hedgehog. We started showing classics like Star Wars and E.T. We dove into the Disney archives to introduce them to The Lion King and Aladdin, although we went a little too far backwards in showing the original Peter Pan, and have since put a pre-screening requirement on anything Disney prior to 1970.

One of the best things about being a parent is experiencing moments for the first time all over again through a child’s eyes. With the weather getting cooler in the desert, we turned our backyard into a cozy campfire cinema. Our circle of Adirondack chairs with the screen mounted on our back wall and s’mores roasting over our fire pit. I think it’s my new favorite room in the house.

We may be missing out on that membership, but we’re not missing the magic of the movies. I’d argue it’s become even better.

It’s incredibly common. It happens in one in eight pregnancies and it’s happened to at least half a dozen of my close friends. The commonality doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking and the pain it causes makes it an easy topic to gloss over or bottle down inside. It’s happened to me. And yes, I never talk about it either.

In April 2013, I took a positive pregnancy test. Overjoyed at the prospect of having the baby we’d been trying for, I told my husband right away, taking video of his reaction on my phone. I set up my first ultrasound and envisioned telling my dad in person, when he was scheduled to visit that month. But soon after, I found myself doubled over in pain, losing a pregnancy. I was a little more than six weeks along.

I remember crying as I deleted the video from my phone. I didn’t tell my dad anything during his stay. We toured Sedona and celebrated my birthday and had a wonderful time while my heart broke on the inside. I wondered what was wrong with me.

I kept my appointment just to talk to a doctor and find out what happened and what I should do next. I remember the nurse checking me in with a smile on her face that faded into pity when I told her I was no longer pregnant. The doctor came in and handed me a box of tissues. And THEN I found out one in eight pregnancies end in miscarriage. That there wasn’t anything wrong with me, that there was nothing to worry about, that it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know. Because no one ever talks about it.

A month later, I was pregnant again. I spent the pregnancy doing everything by the book, taking every precaution and holding my breath. I tracked everything I put in or on my body for nine months. It may have been a little obsessive but a control freak likes to think they’re in charge and I didn’t want to feel that heartbreak ever again.

In February 2014, I had a healthy baby boy.

Since then, I’ve told several fellow moms as we share stories of the trials of conceiving a child. I’ve watched close friends lose their babies and I’ve offered my shoulder to cry on. But for the most part, I left my experience in the past, the only hint a well-placed object in the background of the photos during my pregnancy with my big boy… a rainbow.

I wrote this blog post years ago and never published it. To be honest I thought people would find it absurd that I grieved someone I never saw. There are so many other tragic stories, so many other babies who come so close to term or delivery and don’t make it. It seemed ungrateful to write about something dashed that was so fleeting. But I’d never want to dismiss anyone else’s pain, so it’s unfair for me to dismiss my own. My hope is that by talking about it, more women will feel a sense of community and compassion instead of isolation. I also hope that every mom struggling to conceive or dealing with the loss of an unborn child finds their rainbow after the storm.

For several years, we have spent fall break back east with my family, celebrating with hayrides, pumpkins and the crisp air of my very favorite season. I always get a little homesick around this time of year, but unfortunately because of the current pandemic a trip across the country has become a lot more complicated, and risky.

We decided to find our own fall here in Arizona. We rented an airbnb in Flagstaff, where the pines tower over the terrain taller than our mesquites, palo verdes and shrubs. We saw the colors change on maple trees, and collected acorns and pinecones. A hike in Buffalo Park gave us beautiful panoramic views, and a trip to Mortimer Farms near Prescott allowed us to enjoy cooler weather on a fun-filled farm.

Flagstaff isn’t the only place to find some fall flavor here in the desert. In the Phoenix East Valley, Mother Nature’s Farm, Vertuccio Farms, and Schnepf Farms all offer the fun of hayrides, pumpkin-picking and more, at a shorter distance from the city. In Southern Arizona, Apple Annie’s has apple-picking and a pumpkin patch.

So, whether you’re looking for a short day-trip to scratch that autumn itch, or a long weekend to bask in the brisk air and see the colored leaves, you can find fall in Arizona. You just have to know where to look.