Your Oldest, Greatest Dream

Written by guest writer, Ashton Ray

At the beginning of this year, when things were what we’d call “normal” and “good,” rather than writing a list of new year’s resolutions, I wrote a list of short and long term goals. The first goal I wrote down was easy, because it’s always been my biggest, greatest dream.

I wanted to write a book.

See, I’d tried this before. Twice, actually. Once in college when a creative writing project took on a life of its own. I wrote about fifty pages of that one before I quit. The next time, with a new idea, I wrote 130 pages before closing the document for what I didn’t know would be the final time. I’ve never been a quitter and I’m not afraid of hard things, but something about writing a book got the best of me. All I’d ever wanted to do was be an author, but it truly seemed impossible.

When another book idea crept into my mind, I welcomed it with caution. I sat with it for a few months, letting it blossom into a full concept with an actual plot and characters, making sure it would stick. I waited for it to tell me that it was a story ready to be told. But, even then, I hesitated. I didn’t want to let myself down again. Then on Sunday morning in late January I went to see Little Women. I wept as I watched a story I’ve loved my entire life be told in a new way. I was reminded of the fiery Jo March and I left the theater crying, inspired by her for what was probably the millionth time.

That afternoon, I started outlining the plot of what I hoped would be my first finished novel. Naturally, I named my heroine Jo. 

On that first afternoon, 3,000 words fell out of my head. A good, strong start. The beginning of a novel. Over the next few weeks I’d write as much as I could, whenever I could. I kept track of my word count and spent my free time daydreaming about my characters. I was giddy with hope that the book would be finished before the end of the year. With trepidation I sent pages to my best friends. When they told me that they couldn’t put it down, that they wanted more, now, I cracked a smile so wide my cheeks hurt. 

My oldest dream was going to come true. I was sure of it.

When the pandemic hit and I was sent home from work, I packed my laptop and my pets and headed to my hometown, which happens to be where my novel is set. I was excited to see how being there would inspire me. I thought, maybe, it’d be helpful for my writing. I was 20,000 words in and had good momentum. Maybe being in Orange Beach would be helpful.

What I didn’t expect, by a long shot, was to finish the book.

At the end of April, weeks into lockdown and an additional 60,000 words later, I finished writing the first draft of a novel. As I typed the last words of my epilogue, I cried. I texted my friends that had been reading along and we celebrated even though we were miles apart, even though the world felt like it was on fire. That moment, sitting in my childhood bedroom, having accomplished this dream I’ve had for so long, was one of the greatest moments of my life. I’ll hold onto it forever.

I accomplished my oldest, greatest dream, in the middle of a global pandemic at that, and it felt like taking a deep breath. The ride since then, in attempting to secure an agent who would eventually sell my book to a publishing house, has been something else, but we don’t have time to talk about that here. What matters is that I did the thing I’ve dreamed of for so long. Despite how hard it’s been since I finished the novel, no amount of rejection can take the accomplishment away from me.

So, reader, I ask you this: what is your oldest, greatest dream? What is that thing you’ve tried and failed at, but still find yourself daydreaming about? Who is your Jo March that will give you the kick in the butt you need to get going? Go find them, whether they’re real or fictional. Let your fears go, just for a moment, and see what great things you can accomplish. I promise, it’ll be worth it.

Ashton Ray was born and raised in Orange Beach, AL. She has a bachelor’s degree in English Writing from Mississippi College and a master’s in English from the University of Alabama at Birmingham. Ashton currently lives in Birmingham, AL where she works as an English Professor for a local college and a Graduation Coach for GEAR UP Alabama. She writes both fiction and nonfiction, always with her goldendoodle Harry and her cat Snape by her side. You can follow along with her adventures on Instagram and Twitter (@ashtonvray), or if you want to learn more about her journey to become a published author, follow @ashtonlovesromcoms on Instagram. 

Apologizing

Bursts of orange and pink danced across the sky as the sun began to settle into the horizon for the evening. It was our final day of vacation, and we decided to venture down to the beach one last time to snap a few photos as all southern white families do.

My 16-month-old was in a particularly volatile mood after refusing to nap, but we were bathed and dressed and the sky was gorgeous and dadgumit we were going to get a happy family photo. 

I asked if any of my family members would take a few pictures of Tyler, Wren, and myself as we walked down the beach barefoot in our dress clothes. (I know, I know—it was a very original idea.) My 13-year-old sister, Anna, eagerly jumped at the opportunity.

“I’ll do it!” she said, lunging for the camera. Anna recently told me she wants to be a photographer when she grows up.

“Awesome,” I said, handing her the camera with one hand and trying to keep my kid from eating sand with the other. “You just press the button on top, and that’s all there is to it. It’s super easy.”

My little family of three wandered about 10 yards down the beach and turned to walk back. Anna was in position with the camera, beaming from ear to ear. We held hands and walked slowly as the golden beams of sunlight blanketed our shoulders and the tide brushed our bare feet. We laughed as we made animal noises to coax Wren to smile. My parents stood behind Anna acting like utter fools to make this stubborn toddler laugh, and it worked. In a moment of summertime magic, she giggled and smiled and in my mind I thought, “We’ve done it. We have achieved the perfect family photo.”

Anna handed me the camera when we were done. I couldn’t wait to see the pictures. I was already writing an Instagram caption in my head. Her face was filled with pride as she returned the camera to me. I clicked the playback button and began to scroll left to review the photos, but there was only one, and it was blurry and my eyes were closed. One picture after all of that work.

“There’s only one picture,” I said in disbelief.

“What?” Anna ran over to the camera. “How?” she exclaimed. “I thought I took like a hundred.”

“Well you didn’t,” I replied, not even attempting to hide my frustration. “There’s one, and it’s blurry, and the sun is almost gone and Wren will probably never smile again in her lifetime so let’s just forget it.”

“I’ll do it again,” Anna said softly, noticeably disappointed in herself. 

“No, don’t worry about it.” I passive-aggressively snapped back. Wren was fussy and Tyler was over taking pictures and the moment was gone. Anna's eyes filled with tears as she hurried away.

My mom talked us into letting her take a few pictures, and of course they turned out fine and I felt like a narcissistic maniac for snapping at my little sister. The whole walk back to the condo I replayed the last half hour in my head, and no matter which way I spun it, Anna had done nothing wrong.

Ugh.

I had to apologize. I HATE to apologize. Apologizing means you were wrong, and I am not good at being wrong.

After we returned to the condo, I found Anna snuggled under a blanket on the couch scrolling through Pinterest. I squeezed in beside her and stretched my arm around her shoulders. She wouldn’t look at me. 

“Anna,” I began. “I owe you an apology.”

“Okay,” she said, still not looking up from her phone.

“You didn’t do anything wrong down on the beach just now,” I said in a tone of defeat. “I did.” 

She looked up at me.

I’m in.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so upset about the pictures,” I continued. “I cared way too much about getting the perfect family photo, which is stupid because the truth is that babies are fussy and husbands don’t enjoy photo shoots and honestly I’m bloated and unhappy with how I look and none of that has anything to do with you. Those are my issues. You are amazing.”

“It’s okay,” she said, giving me a hug in what felt very much like a Full Housemoment. I waited for inspirational music to begin playing in the background.

“And Anna,” I said, “you are a great photographer. Please keep taking pictures forever.”

She smiled and we hugged, and I still felt like a jerk but much less so than before. 

Apologizing is so freaking hard. And humiliating. And vulnerable. But it is also brave and liberating and right. 

Historically, I am not great at apologizing. As a person who thinks she is right practically all of the time, admitting when I am wrong does not feel natural. It feels like walking to my mailbox in my underwear—awkward, exposed, and at the mercy of those around me. But I’ve decided that having healthy relationships and building up the people that I love is far more important to me than being right. So I am trying to become a good apologizer. Or at least a sincere one. It takes work, and I still mess up quite frequently, but I will keep trying because I love my people. And also because I don't want to be the person they talk to their therapist about.

It Counts

My chest achingly tightened as I listened to the former marine describe his open heart surgery DURING WHICH HE WAS PARTIALLY AWAKE. We were on our way to the beach, and Tyler had requested that we listen to a new audiobook he downloaded. By “a new audiobook” I mean “his first audiobook ever.” Tyler does not read. In the seven years I have known him, he has never finished a book, so of course I was happy to listen to his book if it meant he was interested in reading. 

As this man told his life’s story, it included a handful of gruesome details including a chapter about the time his anesthesia didn’t work correctly during his open heart surgery. “My chest is getting tight,” I said to Tyler, rearranging the vents so they blew cold air directly into my face.

“You have a problem,” Tyler laughed as he watched me overreact. My breaths grew deeper and deeper, which made me lightheaded. I do this thing where when I hear about symptoms other people are experiencing, I take them on, myself. My brain knows I’m not lying on a hospital bed with my chest cut open, but as this man describes how it feels, my body thinks its there too.

“Here, why don’t you put in your headphones and listen to something else until this part is over?” Tyler suggested. I countered with the suggestion that he put in his headphones instead, but then he pointed out the dangers in not being able to hear while driving, and I can’t argue with that kind of logic.

Apart from a couple of other overly descriptive bits such as the author’s hands being shredded to the bone while breaking a pull-up record and his toes nearly freezing off during a long run (WHY DO YOU NEED TO SPEND FIVE PAGES DESCRIBING EVERY DETAIL OF THIS?), we listened to the remainder of the book together. When it was finished, I told Tyler how proud I was of him for reading a whole entire book.

“I didn’t really read it,” he said. “It’s an audiobook. It doesn’t count.”

“Of course it counts,” I assured him, though I’ve heard this argument before. Who made up this rule? Is there a designated person whose job it is to decide what counts as reading? Is there a page limit? Do children’s books count? If I read a book in bits and pieces over the course of two years, does it count? Can someone read the book aloud to me? What if I reread the Harry Potter series for the seventh time? DOES THAT COUNT OH GREAT WISE BOOK SULTAN?

As I stared out the window in the passenger seat, mentally advocating for Tyler’s reading achievements while he obliviously drove down the highway, I thought about how I do this to myself. Someone recently congratulated me on publishing my first book. “I’m self-publishing it,” I quickly corrected them. “It doesn’t count.”

When I first started running, I was afraid to call myself a runner. I thought it would offend real runners for an amateur like myself to identify with them. When I started my business I was afraid to call myself an entrepreneur. I thought there was a certain level of success that my business needed to attain to be considered legitimate. When I started writing, I was afraid to call myself a writer. Real writers spent their days in a cabin in the woods sipping whiskey and writing novels while a cat named Felipe snuggled at their feet–not writing short stories at their dining room table during nap time.

But it counts.

And whatever accomplishments you are downplaying in your own life – those count too. There is no official count-classifyer who is going to tell you that you’ve finally arrived. I hope that you will take time this week to appreciate of the progress you have made. Celebrate your hard work. Be proud of yourself–you're allowed to do that. And if you're waiting for someone to tell you that you're doing a good job, I am happy to be that person for you. Today. Right now. As you're reading this email. This is it. Because it counts. It all counts.

Join Their Cries

Illustration by Jennifer Geldard

This morning I am tired. Not sleepy, but tired. It’s deeper than a physical exhaustion – more like an aching hopelessness in my soul. Instead of turning on the news like I usually do, I opened my bible for the first time in longer than I’d like to admit and read about love and strength and hope and all of the things our world seems to be lacking.

I read about a Savior who stood up for people who didn’t have the means to stand up for themselves. Who spoke the truth even when it was unpopular. Who listened to the hurting and showed up for them. Who called out injustice. Who made people uncomfortable. Who refused to just sit quietly in the background.

And I cried. I cried for the disgraceful mess that humanity has become. I cried because none of us look like the Jesus I read about. We have gotten to a point where we put politics over people, and we are so blinded by our stubbornness and insistence that we are right and everyone else is an idiot, that we can’t have a civil conversation about injustice without getting defensive. 

Our Black brothers and sisters are suffering. If you rolled your eyes when you read that, I beg you to consider why.

I may be feeling tired, but I cannot imagine the depth of their exasperation. For far too long they have been ignored, disrespected, and treated unfairly, especially in the part of the country where I live. And while we as their white sisters may have sympathized with them, we have not cried out with them. And for that, we have been wrong.

I don’t have a solution for systemic racism. That’s partly why it’s so frustrating, right? How do we even begin to untangle a knot this tightly woven? And I don’t think white people suddenly starting to talk about it will make everything better. But I do think by not talking about it, we are agreeing that it’s okay, even if that wasn’t the intention of our silence. By not calling out the injustice, we are allowing it to happen over and over and over again. By not lamenting with our Black brothers and sisters, we are communicating to them that we have chosen a side and it’s not theirs.

So we have to say something. Not because our white voices can make it better, but because our white silence is making it worse.

White people, let’s do a better job of speaking up. Call out injustice. Don’t tolerate hate. Listen to your Black sisters and brothers – really listen, and let them know you’re with them. That you love them and you are on their side. They have been using their voices for a long time now, and we shouldn’t have taken this long to join them.

One Brave and Wobbly Step

Written by guest writer, Elizabeth Moore

Every week in the fourth grade, I hauled a little blue tote bag (that I sewed myself) to my piano teacher’s studio. Surrounded by the trophies of her former students, I played the pieces I was assigned and left with a nifty prize like a sparkly pencil or a pumpkin-shaped eraser. While most kids my age spent their Saturdays running in cross country meets or playing in soccer games, I showed up to obscure university recital halls and participated in piano competitions. It didn’t take long for me to learn that if I played the music exactly as it was written, I’d win. So I did. I mean, I didn’t always win, but I came ready to nail every note, dynamic marking, finger pattern, and weird Italian directive (andante, adagio, allegretto…) Every day for ten years, I practiced on the old upright in my parents’ living room, preparing for competitions, memorizing entire Baroque movements, and studying music theory until I was blue in the face. 

But when I got to college, I met these intriguing and mysterious individuals who could play by ear, with no music. I was legitimately thunderstruck. How? How does one nonchalantly sit at a piano and produce music without first pouring over the score for days? WEEKS! With a tinge of resentment, I realized that even though I could regurgitate notes, I had never actually learned to make music. So what if I could whip out Rachmaninoff at a dinner party? That was significantly less cool than the people who were playing Coldplay by ear.  

A few days ago, I read a story by professional tap dancer Ayodele Casel in Suleika Jaouad’s Isolation Journals where she recalls the first time she saw a tap dancer improvise, and wondered how someone could come up with something so spectacular off the top of their head! When she asked her mentor, he simply said, “It starts with a step.” So she tried it. She took a step, and then another step, and then another. One step at a time, continuous movement, until she was tapping all over the place. 

I’ve wanted to branch out and make my own music since college, but perfectionism and performance anxiety has kept me from taking the first step. I was afraid to acknowledge that I’d have to bang out some terrible-sounding chords before something not-so-terrible could emerge. But this quarantine is making us do things we’ve never done before. People are cross-stitching pillows; friends are posting backyard yoga videos; others are cooking beef bourguignon; my sister-in-law is sewing me a dress for crying out loud! And me? I’m eyeing my keyboard like it’s plotting to either seduce or hurt me. 

So this week, I finally sat down to play with no sheet music and it felt weird. I sat quietly for a minute--it’s important to go slowly with these things--and then played one note, and then another, and then another. Those notes turned into a melody which turned into a chord progression which turned into my left hand playing the same three notes while my right hand fumbled around with something resembling a tune. It sounded painfully imperfect, but felt scandalously liberating. I was doing it. One step at a time, I was creating something out of nothing. 

So what about you? Is there a dormant skill or interest that you’re curious to pursue? If so, what is one brave and wobbly step you can take this week? If it helps, I’ll be right there beside you, stumbling around a keyboard, discovering music that doesn’t exist yet. 

PS: To encourage you in your journey, enjoy this little video of my own awkward foray into the world of invention, taking one step (or playing one note) at a time. Please excuse the unfortunate sound quality. Embrace the imperfection of discovery, friends! 

Elizabeth Moore earned her Bachelor of Arts in English Writing from from Mississippi College in 2015, and completed the Columbia Publishing Course at Oxford University in the Fall of 2018. Prior to the Columbia Publishing Course, she worked as a virtual assistant to bestselling authors and as a writing consultant to aspiring authors, helping write and edit book proposals, digital and print articles, workbooks, and manuscripts. She is now a Publishing Assistant for Vintage & Anchor Books at Penguin Random House. You can read more of her work on her website. 

Where Darkness & Light Meet

Brooke’s hair glowed in the flickering streetlights as we pedaled our bikes down West Canal Street. The lights gave off a buzzing sound, and their burning tint made her long, blonde hair looked like it was on fire. It was the middle of June, or maybe it was July. It could’ve been August for all I know. When you’re 16 and out of school, all of the days merge into one – like an orchestra of instruments, each playing its tiny role in one elaborate symphony.

The sticky summer air was no match for the breeze we created when we rode our bikes at full speed right in the heart of our little town. There’s a magic that comes with knowing these same streets are lined with cars during the day, but at midnight, they belonged to us.

Music blared from my iPod as we belted the lyrics to cheesy songs about staying young forever. At the time, we believed it. We believed with all of our hearts we would never grow up.

Lately, life has felt a lot like summer break. I spend half the day completely oblivious to the time. (I made coffee at 3 p.m. the other day, thinking it was still morning). I don’t wear makeup or a bra for days on end. My meals are thrown together with whatever I can find. Pretzels, an avocado, and ice cream? Sounds like lunch to me! I go for afternoon walks or evening runs or sometimes both if the weather allows. I swing on the porch and stay up reading late into the night. I get wild ideas like maybe Tyler and I should cut each other’s hair (we did) and think it will work out fine (it did not). The normal routines and rhythm of life no longer apply because in summer, there are no rules.

Friday evening, Tyler, Wren and I want for a long walk through our neighborhood. When we got home, it was still light out, so we hung our hammock in the backyard and Wren and I rocked back and forth watching Tyler chip golf balls. We laughed as we played with the dog and let the week’s final rays of sunshine warm our shoulders, and for a moment I forgot the world was falling apart.

But two hours before, I was very aware.

It was a hard day – there’s no whimsical way to say it. The monotony of our “summer break” was weighing on me. It’s the same thing every day: washing the same dishes, picking up the same toys, walking the same route, watching the same newscast, staring out the same window, calling the same friends. 

I felt trapped. I wanted deeply to rewind a month or fast-forward three. I longed for the normalcy I didn’t appreciate before – meeting with clients and coworkers face to face, getting a sitter for date night, leaving town for the weekend, happy hour with friends, wearing pants – real pants. I genuinely never thought I’d see the day I missed wearing pants.

I felt tired of perpetually feeling anxious. Worried about my daughter getting sick. Or my Nana. Worried about a recession. Worried about what the world will look like when all of this is over. 

And sad. Broken-hearted for all of the people hurting right now – physically, financially, and emotionally.

I saw a video of people cheering for healthcare workers and I began to cry. And once I started, I couldn’t stop. I cried big, nasty, snotty tears. For the lives that have been lost and the ones who are still to be. For the life we all had before this pandemic and the hunger I have to get back to it.

There’s a profound sadness to this season, but there’s also a treasurable beauty. I can crawl into bed and wholeheartedly weep for the world, and two hours later bask in the most glorious golden-hour, trying with all of my might to freeze time with my family. We are in a strangely sacred place where darkness and light coexist. It is both a burden and a gift, and I believe the heaviness and enjoyment can dwell together.

Let’s make memories and embrace the spontaneity of it all, but allow yourself to feel the sadness too. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. There is a place where the darkness and light meet, and I believe we are all in that place together.

Homechanging

We recently moved to a new home. I say new, but it was built in 1925, so I suppose I should say new to us. For the last week it seems like every day has been filled with packing and unpacking boxes, loading and unloading furniture, and trying to figure out which light switch turns the fan on and where the heck is the box with my deodorant?

It’s been hectic, but we are slowly getting settled and are very much in love with our new home. We’ve been so busy with the move that I haven’t had much time to process the fact that I’m sad to leave our little mustard house that we’ve called home for the last 4+ years. 

As we were getting one final load the other night, Tyler paused and looked around the dim, empty living room and after a minute or so of silence said, “I don’t want to go.” The last glimmer of daylight was lazily peeking through the front window onto the wooden floors, coated with dust after a long few days of moving. I put down the box in my arms and looked around for the first time in days. “Me neither,” I said quietly, “let’s put everything back!” He hugged me as we both laughed because we knew it was time for this season to be over so that a new one could begin.

“We met right here in this room,” I said walking over to the front door. “This is where I walked in…” 

“… and I was sitting right here,” he finished the sentence. 

“And remember when we moved all of the furniture in here to practice our wedding dance?” I asked. “And when you turned the whole room into a massive blanket fort for my birthday?” 

As the sunlight began to fade for the day, we walked through the house standing in dark, empty rooms that would appear common and quiet to anyone else in the world. But we knew they were not empty. When we looked around, we could see years of magical memories – evidence of a chapter in our lives we will remember fondly. Mundane moments to be tucked away in boxes with the rest of our belongings and carried with us to our new home.

The place we were standing when I told Tyler we were pregnant. 

The crack in the window where I playfully threw a burnt blueberry muffin at him and missed. 

The corner in the nursery where I sat and cried because I had trouble breastfeeding.

The scratch on the floor from when we moved the bookshelf he built for me.

The dent in the gutter I created trying to park Tyler’s truck.

The deck where we grilled burgers with friends on so many summer nights.

The place I was sitting when Tyler told me my Mawmaw passed away.

The dining room where we had breakfast for dinner too many times to count.

The door we walked through when we brought our baby girl home for the first time.

Soon someone new will live here. They will not know what this place has meant to us, but I hope it means just as much to them. I hope they fill the halls with laughter and burn dinners in the kitchen and have to order pizza instead and have hard conversations on the nursery floor. I hope they drink wine on the deck and listen to the frogs croak late into the night. Maybe they’ll use the living room to build their own forts and make up their own dances. Have friends over and use air mattresses to squish as many guests into that tiny house as humanly possible. 

Buy a Christmas tree that’s too tall and have to chop 3 feet off right there in the den. When they walk outside to check the mail, I hope they wave to Maria, the kind lady who lives next door and makes an excellent pet sitter, and check on 92-year-old Ms. Joy across the street. 

Mostly I hope they feel at home. Like it is their safe place. A place they long for at the end of a hard workday. Where they can love and be loved and know that they belong. That’s what this house has been for me.

Tyler and I met in that living room as two single strangers and are leaving as a family of three. Our little home on McRee has been a gift, and I hope it will be just that to its next occupants.

I’m excited to make memories in our new home. To grow into the space and fill the rooms with friends and family over the years. To figure out how to work the oven and stop opening the wrong drawer every time I need a spoon. And I’m excited for someone else to make their own memories in that special, old yellow house on McRee.

Also, we are renting it out so holla if you want to be that person.

The Mattress in my Living Room

I have never been one to have a super clean house. But I do pride myself on sweeping up the tumbleweeds of cat hair before people come over and making sure everything has a place. Right now, this mattress’s place is in our living room.

This golden, floral beauty landed there a few weeks ago, and there it has remained. My parents brought it to go on our new trundle bed, but it was too long. We propped it against a chair and bookshelf for the weekend and planned to find a place for it after they left, but here we are… three weeks later. 

During these three weeks, the mattress has made itself at home. It has camouflaged itself as part of our decor to the point that I don’t even notice it anymore when I walk into the room. Once it fell over, and we left it flat for a few days because the cat liked to nap on it. This mattress is like a dinner guest who had too many drinks and was unable to drive home, so we let him stay the night. The following day, he had nowhere important to be so decided to grace us with his presence for the rest of the weekend. Things were slow at the office so he decided to extend his stay for the remainder of the week. Now he’s receiving mail here, I’m doing his laundry, and I anticipate his wife and children will join him any day now.

I realized I had become too content with this new addition when I moved it while sweeping the other day, as I would any other piece of furniture. I simply pushed it aside, did my cleaning, and put it right back as though it belonged. As though it were a part of our family.

A year ago, this would never have happened. I would never have allowed a giant, unattractive eyesore to settle into our living room with no plan to relocate. I don’t know if it’s because my husband and I both work, have a 5-month old, and are trying to maintain some form of a social life, but having an unnecessary mattress in my living room doesn’t seem to bother me as much as it would have in the past. Previously, the clutter would have given me anxiety, the fact that my husband didn’t even notice its presence would have bewildered me, and the entire situation would have all around been a huge ordeal. 

I mean, do I want it to stay there forever? Absolutely not. 

Would I love if it found a new home soon? Obviously.

Am I writing this post as a passive aggressive way to bring it to my husband’s attention?

But have I learned to be okay with the presence of this mess? Most certainly.

Life is messy. Throwing a baby into the mix has made me realize this in more of an “in your face” way like when I’m changing a blown-out diaper in the Target dressing room, but life without a baby, is equally as chaotic. If I recall correctly, there’s less poop, but still… it ain’t easy.

There’s so much relief that comes with welcoming the mess. With realizing other people are dealing with their own giant, embarrassing mattresses, and maybe all they want is to come over to your house and realize that you have one too. That they’re not alone. That we all have struggles we’re dealing with.

So let’s be kind to each other. More importantly, let’s be honest. We can read all the books we want and listen to every podcast on the app about how to get rid of the mattresses, but I think more importantly than getting rid of them, we need to be unashamed of them. To embrace the disorder that comes with them, and to love others despite the mattresses in their living rooms.

Summer Reading List

IT’S SUMMER!

Well, not technically until June 21, but since it’s hot as Prince Harry in this joint, we’re celebrating early.

Nothing says summer vacay like lying poolside with a good book, and I’m sharing my summer reading list with all of you!

I did this in the fall, and you guys seemed to enjoy it, so I figured why. not make it a twice a year thing. I asked people on Instagram and Twitter what they were reading and have included some of their recs, some of my own, and some that are highly anticipated by the inter-world.

I sent the list out to everyone on my email list today, but it’s not too late for you to get a copy too! All you have to do is put in your name and email address below to sign up if you haven’t already. Happy reading and happy summer to you!

How I Prepared my Business for Maternity Leave

Early in my pregnancy, I knew I wanted to take a maternity leave once the baby got here. But when you run your own business, it’s scary to think of stepping away for an extended period of time. Moore Media Group was my first baby, and the thought of abandoning it for a couple of months really freaked me out.

I started thinking of what maternity leave would look like for me and what I needed to do ahead of time to prepare the business to run without me. Now as I begin to transition back to work I am incredibly thankful for this precious time, and I want to share what I did to prepare my company for my absence so that it could continue to thrive and I could turn all of my attention to my new baby without feeling stressed. Here’s what worked best for me and for Moore Media Group:

1. Wrap up big projects

Most of the work we do, like managing social media accounts for businesses, is ongoing. It doesn’t have a set end date, so it’s not something that could be finished before the baby arrived. However we also build websites and create videos for clients, and these were projects I knew we could wrap up before I left. I decided not to book any big projects that couldn’t be completed by the month before my due date. 

As a business owner, it’s scary to limit the amount of work you’ll take on since it directly impacts your income, but I knew it was the best decision for me and the company. And it all worked out. Toward the end of my maternity leave, we were able to onboard two new clients who we will begin work for as soon as I get back. It would have been stressful to take them on before I left for 10 weeks, but I waited and they were still available when I was ready to go back. It doesn’t always work out this way, but the point I’m trying to make is that it’s okay to turn down business for a few months in order to have a peaceful time away. 

2. Work ahead and streamline

Because a lot of the work we do is planned in advance, we’re able to streamline some of our services. For instance, when we knew I was going to be out, we planned content ahead of time for social media posts both for Moore Media Group and for our clients. Then we scheduled the posts using Hootsuite, but you could use any online scheduling platform. The same goes for blogs, e-blasts and even invoices. Having systems in place to streamline our workflow meant that I didn’t have to constantly be creating content or even approving it because much of it was created and approved ahead of time.

3. Tell your clients 

Another factor that played into my successful 10-week absence is that we have the best clients in the world. I made sure to let everyone know pretty far in advance the dates I would be out of the office. They worked with us to knock out as much as we could before baby Wren arrived and were so kind and flexible during my leave. Some of them even bought gifts, made us a meal or simply sent well wishes. They were all so excited for Tyler and me and truly made me feel like I had the freedom to enjoy my time off.

4. Get you a Jesse

Honestly, everything above was important as we planned for my leave, but I don’t think I could have done it without my incredible employee and friend, Jesse. Jesse interned for Moore Media Group last spring, and I hired her as soon as her internship ended knowing she would be a phenomenal asset to our clients. In the last year, she has grown so much, and because of her commitment I knew Moore Media Group would be just fine without me for a couple of months. 

Whether you’re planning for maternity leave or not, one of the most important decisions you make as a business owner is who you add to your team. Intelligent, creative, hardworking people who you actually want to spend time with are hard to come by, so if you find one, hold on to them. Thanks to Jesse, I was able to spend my maternity leave snuggling my newborn instead of obsessing over my inbox. It’s been the most beautiful season, and I will always be grateful for it, but I am ready to get back to the office at least a few days a week. Basically, if you own a business, you need to hire a Jesse. And Jesse if you’re reading this, please don’t ever leave me.

It's OK to Drop the Ball

I’ve been a mom for less than two months, and I’m fairly certain I’ve already traumatized my kid. 

It happened this week en route to her 6-week checkup. The morning had gone beautifully, and I was considering nominating myself for mother of the year since I got her fed, dressed and out the door with a headband in her hair all while finding time to eat a bowl of oatmeal and put on a bra.

We were driving down the interstate listening to “The Greatest Showman” soundtrack when I heard a tiny, adorable grunt coming from the backseat. I assumed Wren was just trying to adjust herself in the carseat, so I kept my eyes on the road and continued belting “THIS IS THE GREATEST SHOW” with Hugh and the others at the top of my lungs.

A few miles down the road, the grunt got a bit less adorable and a lot more forceful. I took a peek at Wren in the mirror and realized her cute little headband had begun to slide down her forehead and was now resting across her eyebrows – or where they would be if she actually had eyebrows. Really hoping those come in soon.

“Uh oh,” I said to the newborn who I know full well can’t understand me. “Hang in there, sister. I’ll fix it when we get to the doctor’s office.” Wren did not find this reassuring. She continued to wiggle and bob her head about until the headband completely covered her eyes. This is when she began to scream.

“Wren, I’m so sorry, but I can’t pull over on the interstate,” I said trying to talk over her shouts of rage. Again, this did not comfort her. I continued to console her with promises to fix it when we arrived as I weaved in and out of traffic trying to reach our destination as quickly as possible. She yelled and kicked and threatened to runaway and never return, and after what felt like an eternity, we finally made it to the clinic.

I jumped out of the car, ran around to the backseat and took the headband off. She looked at me like “What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what you are doing?!”

No. 

No, I do not.

This about sums up my first couple of months of motherhood. It’s moments of feeling like I’ve finally got the hang of things immediately followed by fear that Child Protective Services could show up at any moment because who thought it was a good idea to let me raise a human?

It’s holding Wren all day and feeling like a good mom until I see all the dishes I didn’t wash, the errands I didn’t run and the emails I didn’t answer. Missed calls from clients. Not getting my dad a birthday present. Thank you notes I should have written months ago. Watching frantically as all the balls I’m accustomed to juggling crash to the ground and roll in 75 different directions.

It’s stressful trying to take care of a newborn AND run a business AND keep the house clean AND eat healthy AND shower occasionally AND work out AND be a good wife, friend, sister, daughter, dog-mom, etc.

It’s just not realistic to do it all perfectly. And I’m learning to be ok with that.

To be ok with my in-laws coming over and discovering our floors are covered with cat hair. Or letting a week (or a few weeks) pass before returning a phone call from a friend. Or setting specific hours to deal with client work and sticking to them. Or eating takeout every night this week.

To be ok with dropping the ball every now and then. Because in this season, Wren is the most important ball.

Photo by: Katelyn Anne Photography

I started seeing a therapist about a year and half ago, and one of the most important exercises she taught me is how to prioritize, both my time and energy, and how those priorities can change. She encouraged me to pick three things that would take priority over all others. These can be anything from my family to my career to a certain goal I’m working toward. Once I settle on my three priorities, I have permission to pour less time and energy into everything that didn’t make the list.

The best part about the list is my three priorities are constantly changing depending on my season of life. When I start to feel overwhelmed, I stop and think about what three things I need to prioritize right now.

Without the list, I end up trying to go everywhere, be there for everyone and do everything, which leads to anxiety and disappointment. I spread myself too thin, and instead of doing everything well, I come up short across the board.

But with the list, I can pick three priorities, give them the attention they need, and free myself from the guilt that comes with letting go of everything else. When I start to feel embarrassed about having a dirty house or skipping a workout, I tell myself, it’s just not on the list right now.

And right now, Wren is at the top of the list, which means I’m going to have to let some other balls hit the cat-hair coated floor. I won’t always be able to cuddle on the couch with her. Or to solve all of her problems just by holding her close. Or spend an hour doing nothing but encouraging her to coo and smile. But right now, I can, so I’m going to snuggle her and sing off-key to her and maybe wait until we reach our destination to put her headband on to avoid traumatizing her.

I hope you too can set your priorities, and enjoy the freedom of letting go that comes along with it. I hope you can drop the ball a few times and know that the world isn’t going to end. Because it’s ok to drop the ball this Mother’s Day – just not the baby.

Photo by Katelyn Anne Photography

Waiting

It’s nearly 4 o’clock in the morning, and I’ve just woken up to pee for the third time because that’s pretty much all you do when you’re pregnant. As soon as I open my eyes, I know I won’t be able to fall back asleep. I wake up a lot these days and have developed a knack for predicting when I will be able to go back to sleep and when I will lie in bed until my alarm goes off.

I can feel her squirming about up near my right rib cage. The doctor told us we could have her any day now, but she still doesn’t have a name. It is no secret that I will not miss much about pregnancy, but it will be strange not to feel her little kicks and tumbles each day. I’ve grown fond of the constant reminder of new life.

It is now 4:32 and I’m hungry, so I decide to go ahead and get up. When I do, it throws the bed into chaos. Our cat, Tony, immediately jumps down, deciding it must be time for breakfast. Balto, the dog, leaves my side of the bed to go curl up next to my husband. Tyler sits up abruptly and asks what’s wrong. Even though this getting up before the sun happens a lot lately, he always feels the need to make sure I’m not going into labor or in any kind of pain.

I fix myself a bowl of cereal and wander into the living room unsure of how I’ll spend my extra hours. The house feels too quiet to be disrupted by the sound of the television, so I leave it off. I might dabble on a project for work or do a little reading. Still contemplating what to do, I take a peek into the nursery. Perhaps there’s some tiny detail that needs to be finished. A book I forgot to put on the shelf or an outfit I didn’t wash. Did I write all of the thank you notes? 

But as I flip on the porcelain lamp, sitting atop a classic Peter Pan book, the room appears to be complete. Maybe too complete. It’s baffling to think that less than three months ago, this space was a disaster. The walls were bare, there was a hole in the ceiling and we didn’t own a single item fit for a baby. No crib. No rocking chair. No teeny, tiny little footed pajamas. But now I just look around the room, and it’s waiting for her. The antique Jenny Lind crib in the corner with the freshly laundered sheets. The Cypress floating shelves Tyler insisted on building himself. The delicate quilt my Mawmaw had crocheted for her, before she passed away just last month. The teddy bear named Annie that I toted around as a child. It’s all here, just waiting.

It’s good that it’s all finished, isn’t it? The mile-long to-do list I made for us just after Christmas is complete. And while that should bring peace, I can’t help but feel restless. Did we do everything we were supposed to? Surely there’s something we forgot.

I settle into the glider in the corner and dream about how this time next week I’ll be rocking her back to sleep, likely at this same early hour. Looking down at her rosy cheeks and tiny nose. She’s still such a mystery. I place my hand on my belly and think about the thin layer of skin that separates us. “What are you like?” I want to ask her. “Do you have your dad’s red hair? Or your mom’s green eyes? Are you a good sleeper? What do you dream about? Will you think your dad is as funny as I do? 

Are you going to be a writer? 

An engineer? 

A dolphin trainer?

I hope you have freckles. And a silly laugh. I can’t wait to take you on trips with us. We’ll climb mountains and swim in the ocean and explore other countries and cultures. I hope you’ll love them as much as we do. 

I want you to be compassionate and adventurous and brave. A strong voice for yourself and for others. Mostly I just want you to be you. Unapologetically yourself. I don’t want to ever make you feel like you need to be someone else. I hope you’ll know how deeply and specifically you were loved before you ever existed. To never doubt how much you belong in this family.

So in a few days, I will hold you in my arms. I’ll rock you and read to you and sing off-key to you. But for now, I will sit in your quiet, expectant room  – waiting for the sun to come up and waiting for you to come home.”

Best Books I Read in 2018 (By Category)

2018 marked the second year in a row I’ve set a goal for the number of books I want to read. It’s also the second year in a row that I failed to reach that goal.

I still believe I read more books than I would have if I didn’t have a goal, so I’m ok with it.

I did a post like this last year, and you guys really seemed to like it. So I decided to do another one. This year I read some great stuff, some good stuff and some just ok stuff. So let’s get to it. Here are the best books I read in 2018 (by category, because I’m a fan of those).

Favorite Fiction Book: The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

Summary: This is such an important book, and the fact that the author is from Mississippi makes me love it even more. It’s about a teen girl named Starr, who is torn between life in her rundown, mostly black neighborhood and her private school full of wealthy white kids. She witnesses a white cop shoot and kill her black friend, and the book follows all of the events that unfold in the following weeks.

Most important takeaways: It’s easier to get defensive than it is to listen to the people we disagree with. We all could do a better job of listening to and trying to understand each other.

Favorite quote: “What’s the point of having a voice if you’re gonna be silent in those moments you shouldn’t be?”

Honorable mention (Fiction): Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

Favorite Non-fiction Book: Bringing Up Bèbè by Pamela Druckerman

Summary: We are expecting our first baby in March and have no idea what we’re doing. I have not read many parenting books, but this one intrigued me. It’s written by an American journalist who married a European and now lives in Paris. She noticed that all of the French babies were so well-behaved and seemed to sleep through the night after just a couple of months, so she began to investigate what French parents do differently. It’s FASCINATING. We hope to apply some French parenting techniques when baby girl gets here in just a couple of months!

Most important takeaways: Babies are new here and need to be taught how to be humans. This includes exploring emotions and learning to sooth themselves. Love and care for your baby, but take care of yourself too.

Favorite quote: “When I ask French parents what they most want for their children, they say things like ‘to feel comfortable in their own skin’ and ‘to find their path in the world.’ They want their kids to develop their own tastes and opinions…. But they believe children can achieve the goals only if they respect boundaries and have self-control. So alongside character, there has to be cadre.”

Honorable mention (Non-fiction): Chasing the Scream by Johann Hari

Favorite Work-Related Book: Building a StoryBrand by Donald Miller

Summary: Every person who owns a business or works in marketing needs to read this book. Donald Miller does a beautiful job of explaining how to get back to the simplicity of your brand and your story. He teaches you how to communicate clearly and creatively with your clients or customers. I have referred back to this book so many times when helping Moore Media Group clients determine how best to connect with their audience. This book is GOLD.

Most important takeaways: Know what your company does and how you help people. Then clearly communicate that. Keep the customer/client first.

Favorite quote: “The customer is the hero of the story, not your brand. When we position our customers as the hero and ourselves as the guide, we will be recognized as a trusted resource to help them overcome their challenges.”

Honorable mention (Work-related): Talk Like TED by Carmine Gallo

Favorite Comedic Book: Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan

Summary: I am currently finishing up the final book of this trilogy, and I will be so sad when it’s over. It is a light-hearted romantic comedy with SO MANY characters and plots. In this first book, Crazy Rich Asians, Rachel travels to Singapore with her boyfriend, Nick, and discovers that his family is one of the richest and most prominent in Asia. Of course tons of ridiculous drama ensues. This is a super fun, lighthearted read that will weirdly make you thankful you are not crazy rich.

Most important takeaways: Love trumps money.

Favorite quote: “You look like a slutty ebola virus.” 
*this quote is in the movie, not the book but still LOL

Honorable mention (Comedic): Where’d You Go, Bernedette? By Maria Semple

Favorite Memoir: Talking as Fast as I Can by Lauren Graham

Summary: Oh man. If you were a fan of Parenthood or Gilmore Girls, this will be the most nostalgic book you read all year. If not, you probably won’t care much for it. Lauren gives us the inside scoop on both shows as well as the GG reunion. She also tells her personal story of breaking onto the acting scene in a way that makes you feel like you’re having coffee with a good friend. I listened to this one on Audible because Lauren reads it herself, and I highly recommend it if you’re a fan of hers.

Most important takeaways: Work hard, be kind and when your plan falls apart, make a new plan and press on.

Favorite quote: “I guess what I’m saying is, let’s keep lifting each other up. It’s not lost on me that two of the biggest opportunities I’ve had to break into the next level were given to me by successful women in positions of power. If I’m ever in that position and you ask me, “Who?” I’ll do my best to say, “You” too. But in order to get there, you may have to break down the walls of whatever it is that’s holding you back first. Ignore the doubt —it’s not your friend—and just keep going, keep going, keep going.” 

Honorable mention (Memoir): The Magnolia Story by Chip and Joanna Gaines

Perhaps 2019 will be the year I finally meet my goal (which is 30 books). Feel free to comment below and give me a few books to add to my list. And don’t forget to sign up for the email list for exclusive content and free downloads, including a worksheet to help YOU crush YOUR goals this year!

How to Stick to Your Goals in 2019

Ahhhh the new year. It’s that special season where we get excited about all the change and possibilities the turn of the calendar will bring. I personally love this time. Every New Year’s Eve, Tyler and I make a point to reflect on the year that has just passed and be thankful for the experiences, friendships and lessons that came with it.

While it’s a season of gratitude, it’s also a time to consider what we want to change in the new year. But most of us end up setting goals on January 1st and neglecting them before the end of the month. Just this week I read that 93% of New Year’s Resolutions will FAIL.

93%.

That’s practically all of them.

I’m sure it’s not shocking to hear. Most of us know what it’s like to set a goal and then get distracted as time ticks by. In most cases, the problem is not our resolutions, but the way we set them. We have good intentions but our goals are either too unrealistic or vague to have a fair shot.

This year, I want to help you make real changes that last all the way through next Christmas. That’s why I’ve created the 2019 Goal-Crushers Group. By joining this free group, you will receive a worksheet where you can write out your personal, professional, physical, spiritual and financial goals for the new year. We’ll then break them down into smaller quarterly goals so you can measure your progress. I’ll send out an email to the group at the end of every quarter checking in and reminding you not to give up.

Make 2019 the year you finally follow through with your goals. Put in your name and email address below to join the 2019 Goal-Crushers Group.

A Season of Expecting

This is a unique Christmas in our home. Where two stockings hang year after year, a third has been added. The first two read “Emily” and “Tyler” in matching monogrammed fonts. One features a jolly looking Santa Claus holding a star. I have no idea why Santa is holding a star. This one is Tyler’s because though he has few opinions about Christmas decor, he insisted on “being Santa.” On the second is a reindeer with long eyelashes and a poinsettia positioned delicately in her antlers. This one is mine. The newest addition features a baby polar bear eskimo-kissing its mother, but has no name on it. 

We are six months into this pregnancy thing and have practically done nothing to prepare for all of the changes that are about to take place. We do not have a name. We do not have a crib. Or really any part of a nursery. We do not have a registry. I keep telling myself we’ll get to all of these minor details eventually, but I’m starting to feel like eventually is creeping up on us.

This week someone asked me how pregnancy was going, and I responded, “We’re just ready for her to be here.” “Aw, what’s her name?” he asked. “Oh she doesn’t have a name,” I informed him. 

“That’s ok,” he said. “I’m sure y’all have been busy getting the nursery together.” 

“Um, no,” I said. “We actually haven’t started on that either.”

So maybe we’re not so much ready for her to be here, but rather eager to meet her. She is like Christmas. Every year, I say I’m “ready for Christmas,” but I don’t mean that I’m prepared. I buy all of my gifts at the last minute, scramble around to squeeze in all of the holiday activities, and am devastated when the day arrives because it passes too quickly. I want to enjoy it. To sit in it for just a while, taking in all the feelings of gratitude and light and warmth.

The best way I can describe this time before her birth is a season of expecting. I don’t mean that in the literal sense that we are expecting a child, but in a deeper way I can feel in my bones. There’s an unfamiliar energy in our home. It’s like nothing I’ve felt before and I really can’t think of anything to compare it to. I suppose it’s like missing someone you’ve never met. An abysmal longing for her to be here that continues to grow with each passing day.

I’ve always been able to picture what the next chapter in my life would look like. When I moved away to college, I could picture the late nights with friends, being on my own for the first time, and maybe even going to class every now and then. Years before I got my first job as a news reporter, I could see myself standing in front of the camera with a microphone. When Tyler and I were engaged, I imagined us brushing our teeth together. I don’t know when or why I decided synchronized teeth-brushing was a sign of a happy marriage, but now you know our secret.

However, this next chapter – this whole parenthood thing – I can’t see. I try to imagine what she will look like and my mind can’t do it, though we’re all praying she inherits her dad’s fabulous red hair. I want to hear her tiny giggles and spit-filled babbles, but the sound isn’t there. Every time she kicks in my belly, I think about how it will feel to hold her for the first time. What her little body will feel like pressed to mine. How her tiny hand will feel wrapped around my index finger. But my brain can’t show me. It’s like a photo that’s out of focus. For the first time in my life, I can’t picture what the next season holds. I just know I want it to be here.

I know that it is not going to be easy. That we’re going to lose sleep and possibly our minds during the first few months. That she’s going to be mad when she doesn’t get her way in those early years. That she will say mean things to me when she is a teenager because let’s be honest teenage girls are horrible to their moms. 

But I also know there will be more good moments than bad. That she already makes me want to be a person who lives and loves more deeply and who she is proud to call “mom”. That Tyler is going to be the most comforting, patient and hilarious dad. And that she will always know she is loved, despite her imperfections, and that she belongs in this family.

So as Christmas passes too quickly next week, I am going to try to appreciate this season of expecting. To not wastefully wish it away, but to embrace the feelings of longing and love and maybe even buy a crib and come up with a name.

"Do Good" Holiday Gift Guide

This one goes out to all of my last minute shoppers!

If you’re like me, you haven’t even put a dent in your Christmas shopping, but things just got a whole lot easier with my “do good” holiday gift guide.

With this guide, you can buy thoughtful, quality gifts (think shoes, candles, and even wine!) from companies that are doing good. I’ve put together a list of my favorite businesses that use your purchases to do good or give back in some way. From building wells in Uganda to empowering working women in Honduras, this guide will help you put your money to good use this holiday season.

Put in your email address below to get this exclusive guide right to your inbox today!

How I Went on Vacation and Actually Relaxed

I’m pretty sure vacations are supposed to be relaxing, but mine never are. When I get home from a vacation, I’m usually more worn out than before I left. I cram as many activities as humanly possible into a short timespan for fear that I will never visit that particular part of the world again. We get up early and stay out late and make all the memories. Every single one of them. It’s exhilarating and memorable and honestly kind of exhausting.

Tyler and I recently went on a vacation to the Pacific Northwest, and the strangest thing happened – we came back well-rested. On the flight home, he looked at me and said, “I feel ready to go back to work tomorrow,” and as I thought about the declaration, I realized I did too. “Is this how we’re always supposed to feel after vacation?” I asked him. “I think so,” he said, laughing because normally we spend the entire flight home plotting how we can get out of work the following day to recover.

The more I thought about it the more I became convinced that maybe this is how vacation is supposed to be – relaxing, refreshing and full of rest. So I wanted to share with you why I think this vacation was different from the others and why we will hopefully be having more trips that leave us feeling more full than empty.

Here’s what we did differently: 

We took naps

Before I met Tyler Moore I had never taken a nap on a vacation. In the last few years we’ve snoozed during the afternoon on a trip or two, but not like we did on this one. We were gone for 10 days and took naps on at least half of those. In the past I would have felt guilty for napping because that meant I was missing out on some exciting experience. I can sleep at home, right? Maybe it’s the pregnancy, but I cared 0% about missing out on this trip. As I snuggled up on the couch I tried to think of anything in the world I would rather be doing in that moment, and nothing sounded more appealing than sleep, so that’s what I did. And it was glorious. 10/10 recommend napping on vacation.

We didn’t do things because “we’re supposed to”

Three years ago on our honeymoon, Tyler and I spent a few days in Florence. Everyone told us how spectacular the museums were, so we dedicated an entire day to taking in the historic artwork of the city. That evening over pasta and wine, we discovered neither of us actually cared about any of the art we saw that day. It was beautiful and impressive of course, but we would have rather done something outdoors than spent the day in museums.  

There have been other times where we’ve done things solely because they were recommended by friends or TripAdvisor, but on this trip we decided not to do that. Mainly I just didn’t have the energy to do that. We did what we wanted and skipped the rest. Perhaps you do that already. If so, I’m v proud of you and am hoping to continue to turn off my FOMO and skip out on the things I don’t really care to do.

We really left work stuff at home

Running your own business is awesome, except when you’re supposed to be “off.” It’s hard to completely walk away from work for 10 days when you own the company. I’ve been known to travel with my laptop, respond to emails, take business calls and even work on projects while on vacation. This is not healthy for me or for you or for the company or for the client.

I wrote about this earlier this year, but working on vacation is less productive than you think. If you’re dividing your time and energy between work and rest, you’re not going to be satisfied with the results on either side. Your work will not be the best it can be and you will return to the office feeling more drained and frustrated than when you departed. There are several experts who say it’s much more beneficial to everyone (your family, your boss, your clients and yourself) for you to finish up all of your work obligations before you leave town and completely walk away from them until you return. That’s what T and I did on this trip, and we both still had jobs when we returned. I had such a peace of mind when we boarded the plane to start our vacation knowing that I had tied up any loose ends at work and that nothing was expected of me over the next 10 days.

And that’s the simple story of how we went on vacation and actually relaxed. We didn’t miss out on anything. We didn’t sacrifice making memories. We did everything we wanted to do and just enjoyed being with each other. I’m not sure how this will play out when our little one arrives in March, but I hope to continue to find ways to come home from our adventures well-rested. Do you feel refreshed or drained when you come home from vacation?

Make Your Own Gratitude List

‘Tis the season to be thankful! This is my favorite time of year, but I feel like by the time I’m done rushing from place to place, burning something in the kitchen and plowing through my to-do list, I look up and the holidays are over. I always think I’ll make time to rest and soak in all the grateful vibes, but I seldom ever do.

This year, I’m taking time to write down several things I’m thankful for. To stop what I’m doing, sit down with pen and paper, and reflect on all of the wonderful blessings in my life. And I want to help you do the same.

I’m sending out a gratitude list template to my email list this week. It’s broken into categories with blanks for you to fill in once you’ve thought about what you’re thankful for this year. Over and over again, studies connect gratitude with joy, but if we don’t take time to pause and recognize what we’re thankful for, we risk missing out on some of that contentment and peace. Sign up below if you’d like to receive this special gratitude list template just for my readers. Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

Fall Reading List

Not to sound completely basic, but I really love fall. I’m not a big pumpkin spice fan, but sign me up for everything else that gives off all the autumn vibes.

This includes cuddling up with a good book and pretending it’s colder outside than it actually is. 

I asked people in our Facebook community and on Instagram last week for book suggestions. This could be the best thing they’ve read this year or just a favorite book to read during this season. Using some of their suggestions, some of my own, and some from other recommended lists on the inter-webs, I’ve put together a fall reading list I want to share with all of you. 

The list includes specific recommendations for different types of readers. Whether you’re nostalgic, just wanting something happy to get you through the holidays or trying to get your sh*t together before the new year, this fall reading list offers something for everyone.

I sent the list out to everyone on my email list today, but it’s not too late for you to get a copy too! All you have to do is put in your name and email address below to sign up if you haven’t already. Happy fall reading to all!

Pregnancy is kind of hard

Some women absolutely love being pregnant. I always thought I would be one of those women. Frolicking about, glowing at the thought that a tiny human was nestled safely inside of me – rainbows and butterflies following me everywhere I ventured.

But so far, there has been no frolicking, no rainbows and no butterflies.

Mostly just puking, napping and trying to find pants that fit.

My husband and I found out we were expecting our first child in mid-July. We told our family and friends a month or so later and recently posted this video to share the news with everyone else.

People keep asking us if we were “trying,” which is a bit of an awkward question if you think about it. But the truth is we were not. We do understand basic biology, so I can’t say we were completely bewildered when we saw the two little pink lines on the pregnancy test, but there was some element of surprise.

Of course once we got past the initial shock, we were excited to start our little family. But as the weeks progressed, I have discovered that pregnancy is kind of hard. There are many reasons for this, some of which no one warned me about – you know who you are. 

Everyone knows you can’t drink and you have to cut back on caffeine and you probably shouldn’t eat sushi and blah blah blah. But there were some aspects of this season I was not prepared for:

1. You can’t tell anyone

It’s so strange. You receive this life-altering news, and you’re not supposed to tell a soul. You lie to your parents. You bail on plans with friends so they won’t be suspicious when you don’t order a drink for the third time in a row. You pretend to feel fine at work, while shoving crackers in your. mouth every time your coworkers look away. You have to remember not to mention you vomited while getting ready this morning. You’re feeling anxious and excited and terrified something is going to go wrong, all at the same time, and you can’t process it with anyone. Instead you just act like you have food poisoning and read way too many articles on google.

2. You’re sick

Ok, I realize not everyone gets sick, but for those of us who have to deal with morning sickness, it’s pretty miserable. Oh and it’s not just in the morning. The best way I can describe it is like having a hangover when you didn’t drink anything. It’s maddening.

3. Eating gets weird

In real life, you may love fruit and vegetables and all things healthy, but in the pregnancy vortex – NOPE. I pretty much ate bland carbs all day every day to survive the first trimester. It was the only thing that didn’t make me gag. Toast and pasta. That’s about it. Oh and Cheeze-its. Like as a meal. This is problematic because they say you should only gain 3-5 pounds in the first trimester. I can gain 3-5 pounds on a fun weekend. If any of you wants to explain to me how I’m supposed to start hating all things healthy, only ingesting carbs, and manage to only gain 3-5 pounds, I’m all ears.

4. Puppies make you cry

Watch this video and tell me if it makes you cry.

It made me SOB. That’s actually one of the reasons I ended up taking a pregnancy test. I was stressed one night before bed, and Tyler pulled up some puppy videos to make me feel better, but when this one came up I just fell apart. “What’s wrong with you?” Tyler asked, “Are you pregnant?” He was halfway kidding, but the next day I took the pregnancy test and… here we are.

5. You’re not yourself anymore

For ten months you are growing another person. You know your body is going to drastically change, but when it starts to happen, it becomes difficult to feel like yourself. Your clothes stop fitting the way they always have. You get winded faster when you exercise. You feel sick or tired a lot of the time. And you find yourself saying things like “In real life, I actually do like broccoli,” or “I swear I never cry like this.”

This has been the most difficult change to deal with. For several weeks I felt guilty because I knew I should be overwhelmed with gratitude for this baby, but in reality all I wanted was to feel like myself again. On social media, you see the creative announcements, the fun parties and showers, and the cute baby bump photos, but what you don’t see is the woman who is struggling to adjust to all of the changes. A girl in her twenties who was not ready for all of this. Who is worried she’s going to mess this up. Who is trying to keep up and enjoy the season and see how many days she can get away with wearing leggings and an over-sized sweater.

I am learning it doesn’t have to be one or the other. I am incredibly grateful to be carrying this child, but I can be thankful for the life growing inside of me and not love the process of its development all at the same time. Just because I’m ready for this whole pregnancy thing to be over, doesn’t mean I’m not excited to be a mom. I can’t wait to snuggle this little girl and one day make her feel guilty for making me pee on myself every time I sneeze.

In this weird season of change, I am reminding myself that this is just part of the process, and “pregnant me” is not who I really am.

So if you’re pregnant or have ever been pregnant and you feel like something is wrong with you because you don’t love it as much as you should, you are not alone. You can be frustrated at all of the changes and still immensely love the baby responsible for them. Hang in there, keep counting down the days until your little one gets here, and watch a few more puppy videos.