one year ago

One year ago today was the last time I packed lunches for my children and sent them into someone else’s care. I rattled off a list of urgent instructions as they stood at the door zipping their coats. Don’t touch your face. Wash your hands every chance you get. Don’t share food. Don’t share chapstick. Stop touching your face. Didn’t their lives depend on these instructions? The past 24 hours brought an onslaught of hard hits, each one chipping away at normal and deepening a gash just the right size for fear.

*****

It was Thursday, March 12, about 3:00 in the afternoon, one day away from the kids’ spring break, and I was sitting on the living room floor with Milo waiting for Andrew to come home from preschool. The evening before I took Andrew to Mini Ninja class, and his teacher gave all the kids a squirt of hand sanitizer at the start of class. Well, I suppose she has to be extra careful. Chip. 

During Andrew’s class I called my mom in Chicago. We planned to meet her and my dad in Indianapolis the following week to go to the children’s museum, but all this talk of coronavirus was beginning to feel unsettling, and a children’s museum seemed like the ultimate petri dish. We canceled our plans, but our tickets would be good anytime in 2020. We can just go another time, probably over the summer when the coronavirus was gone. Chip.

As Milo and I played on the floor and watched out the window for Andrew, my phone buzzed with the official message that all Ohio schools were canceled for the next three weeks. Three weeks? Can they do that? Just cancel school for an entire state?  It felt daunting but not impossible. I foolishly imagined we would go to parks and to the zoo, maybe even squeeze in a playdate. I would definitely pack up the van to go visit my parents for a few days. An extended three week spring break. We could handle this. Might even be fun.

Within minutes of the governor's announcement about schools, my phone was blowing up with the thoughts and opinions of friends and family all over the country. It wasn’t just Ohio; schools all over the country were shutting down. Some thought it an overreaction, others celebrated freedom from school, but most, myself included, didn’t know what to think. The seriousness of it all couldn’t be overlooked, but I was teetering on a ledge and one faulty step could send me tumbling into anxiety. I didn’t let myself go there—yet.

*****

Stephen left early the next morning and called within a few minutes. He stopped at Kroger to pick up a gift card for someone at work, but at 8:00 in the morning the lines to check out were 30 people deep. Chip.

I put Charlotte on the bus—Wait. Did the girl next to her just cough?—and dropped Andrew off at preschool where he greeted his friend with a hug —A hug? Oh my gosh, he’s going to be the death of our family. I sat in the preschool parking lot debating whether or not to call the doctor. Milo had been fighting what was clearly manifesting as an ear infection, but it seemed like there were more serious medical concerns going on than ear infections. I decided to call and an automated voice told me I was 14th in line to speak with someone. Chip. 

The doctor was able to see Milo that morning. Relief. I didn’t know at the time how those tiny moments of relief would sustain me in the upcoming months. All the toys were cleared from the waiting room, and we were ushered to a room in the far back that I had never been in before. The visit was brief, faster than any other time we’d been there. It didn’t seem normal, but Milo indeed had a double ear infection and getting in and out of the doctor’s office felt like a victory. I took a deep breath and wondered if this coronavirus thing maybe wouldn’t be that bad. 

We tried to drop off books at the library on our way back home, but they were not accepting returns anymore. Chip.

Soon after we got home I saw a picture on Facebook of the line at Costco, stretching into the parking lot, people waiting hours just to get into the store. I did a mental tally of our food supply. Chip.  

I foolishly kept scrolling and saw another picture of an empty meat case at Kroger and an article about a nationwide shortage of toilet paper. I did another mental tally of our toilet paper supply. Chip. Chip. 

Information and updates came faster than I could keep up. Emails from every company I’d ever given my email address to sent updates on how their business would handle the upcoming weeks. It was a parade of cancelations. First soccer, then Mini Ninja class, then ballet. The library was closing. The zoo was closing. Airline travel was restricted. Italy was shut down. Hand sanitizer was selling for $100 on Amazon. Church would be live streaming. The president officially declared this a pandemic. Tom Hanks tested positive for coronavirus. Facebook was overflowing with 50 Great Activities to do With Kids at Home and 10 Tips to Help You Thrive While Homeschooling. There were color-coded sample schedules to help me survive my day. There were free virtual story hours and craft hours and yoga hours. We could gather by the computer to draw with Mo Willems at noon and then meet a zoo animal every day at three. Educational websites offered a free month trial. Stephen’s coworkers were packing up their entire work stations. I saw someone wearing a mask. What does shelter-in-place even mean?

My head was spinning, trying to not slip over the edge because the kids would be home from school soon, and I didn’t want them to be afraid or disappointed. Certainly the pain in my chest was anxiety and not coronavirus.

“Are we still going to be able to go on the field trip to the aquarium in April?” Charlotte asked as we walked home from the bus stop. It didn’t cross my mind that we wouldn’t walk home from the bus stop again for at least another year.

“Well, I’m not sure. I think a lot of fun activities over the next few weeks will be canceled, so it might be best if we start thinking of fun things we can do at home instead.”

What a lame response. As if anything we could do at home would be as fun as a field trip to the aquarium. I could tell she was disappointed, but really I was just being cautious, trying to prepare her just in case. The field trip was over a month away.

Certainly things would be under control by then.

savoring this school year

We had this date night on the calendar for weeks, just Andrew and me. In true 2020 fashion, we made reservations for a time slot at the pool, and then went for curbside pick up at Dairy Queen. Afterward, we hit up Target to buy Andrew’s school supplies. I’ve made this annual outing twice before with his older sister, but this was Andrew’s first official journey into the magical aisles of school supplies. He would start kindergarten in two weeks, and it was finally his turn to flip through folders and gaze at all those perfectly pointed pencils. Unblemished erasers and the scent of new crayons were calling his name, and even though Andrew isn’t much of a crafty kid, he still gets pretty jazzed about a fresh glue stuck. But I should clarify that what Andrew would actually start in two weeks was virtual kindergarten which means back-to-school shopping is more appropriately titled keep-staying-at-home-and-now-log-onto-a-computer-each-morning shopping. 

And that kind of shopping is pretty lame. 

Fortunately, he didn’t know any differently, so I put on my happy face and talked up the school supplies even though our list was only two items long. We already have plenty of pencils and scissors and notebooks, and we’re pretty much drowning in crayons and markers. The only items on his supply list that we did not have at home were those My First Pencils—the big thick ones for tiny hands, and a blue and yellow folder with prongs. So when I say I talked up this shopping excursion, you can see I had my work cut out for me. 

“Whoa, buddy! Look at these big pencils! This is so cool! Your sister didn't get to buy these big pencils. These are just for kindergartners. And prongs! Do you know about prongs? Let’s hurry over to the folder aisle so I can show. You’re gonna love prongs.” 

To my great fortune, the pack of My First Pencils came with a small pencil sharpener which was the highlight of the 3 minutes we spent in the school section. He wasn’t as fascinated by the prongs. 

*****

By the time I pulled up a chair next to Andrew on his first morning of virtual kindergarten, I was already maxed out. The buildup to school was both nonexistent and completely draining. We had shuffled the children’s rooms around, moved beds, borrowed desks, hung bulletin boards, and printed schedules to hang in every room of the house. And now I was stepping into the role of learning partner, not just for Andrew, but also for his second grade sister, a role that required me to be “available” to help during the school day. I joined millions of parents across America who suddenly landed the job of administrative assistant to their child—managing various schedules, downloading software updates, and documenting logins and passwords, all while keeping the half-naked potty-training toddler out of the background of the class meetings. And I’m proud to say that only once did my child’s teacher need to schedule a call with me to ask that I keep the “exposed baby” away from the camera.

After months of motherhood demanding more of me than I had, virtual school felt like the slow, painful peeling off of my last layer. How many times a day could I die to myself and still have something left?

For the past nine months, I had made the best of a crummy situation. My creative energy and positive spirit were in overdrive as we’d head out for yet another family walk, and I’d carried on about how wonderful it was to have all this extra family time. Well kids, we might not love everything about being quarantined, but it’s the best decision for our family right now and we’ll make the best of it! School felt like yet another situation for this same tired pep talk. Well kids, we might not love everything about virtual school, but it’s the best decision for our family right now and we’ll make the best of it! 

But our best efforts weren’t working, and three weeks into the school year, we decided to unenroll our children from virtual school to homeschool instead. The notion was comical. 

Hadn’t I just spent weeks (i.e. months) surviving on fumes, and now I was going to solve this problem by homeschooling? It was ridiculous. When the governor shut down schools for three weeks in March, it felt like too much. I couldn’t imagine a lockdown with three children for three weeks. Now, somehow, I was willingly signing up to be with these children everyday for the next year AND be fully responsible for their education. This wasn’t lining up.

But I was crumbling under the demands of virtual school, starving under a mountain of boredom as I locked myself upstairs running back and forth troubleshooting technology and reiterating the need to sit in a chair and pay attention to the screen, a screen I’ve put so much effort into limiting. 

“Get back on your computer! You can finish with the Legos later! Right now you need to be on your computer.” 

These unfamiliar words felt poisonous. We had gone from months of extreme freedom to a day dictated by the schedule posted on our new bulletin board telling us to eat our snack from 9:55-10:10. These new restrictions were taking the frustration of 2020 to an unhealthy level for our family. But homeschool? Could I really do this? Time for another pep talk.

Well kids (and Joy), we might not love everything about homeschooling, but it’s the best decision for our family right now, and we'll make the best of it! 

I didn’t believe a word of it., but my bar for making the best of it was pretty low at this point.

*****

We explored nonfiction books all week, and it was now our turn to take a crack at writing our own. Charlotte was already off and away designing a magazine about pumpkins as I sat next to Andrew to begin my daily opening line about how the first thing an author needs is an idea. 

“I already know that, mom. You tell me everyday.” 

“Well, today darling, you get to be the teacher as you write and draw,” I said in my half teacher, half mom voice.“You need to pick an idea that you know a lot about, so you can teach your readers. What do you know a lot about?”

At this point I was paving a trail for the answer I expected. Andrew is an animal expert, devouring and remembering the strangest pieces of information he’s gathered from animal books, movies, and countless trips to the zoo. I was ready for him to pick an animal, draw a picture, and write a simple sentence. Snails have thousands of teeth. Dogs can only see blue and yellow and gray. Geckos shed their skin and eat it. It seemed pretty cut and dry, but Andrew wasn’t taking my bait. He had no interest in writing about animals today. 

“I want to write a recipe book like Charlotte,” he announced. Charlotte has written a handful of recipe books, and by written I mean she either makes up recipes she hasn’t tried or copies them from her favorite dessert bloggers. (Sidenote, if Charlotte ever sends you a recipe in the mail, contact me first before making it. It will be crucial to know if this is one of her own, untested creations. And once again Smith family, I apologize for the chocolate pudding disaster.) I understood that Andrew wanted to mimic his big sister, but a recipe seemed like a big undertaking for a little boy with minimal writing stamina. I continued to suggest animals he was more familiar with, planting my feet firmly in the plan I had imagined. 

“No, I want to write a recipe.”

“Ok,” I said, slowly drawing out the K. “What do you know how to make?” I asked with part curiosity and part smugness, ready for his grand idea to hit its first wall. 

“Cinnamon sugar toast,” he announced. Everything about his face told me he was saying “duh” in his head.

My mind swirled to figure out the next step needed to help him create a recipe. I knew I couldn't shut down his confidence, but this was not my plan. Did we have the freedom to completely ditch my plan? How-to writing wasn’t scheduled for at least another month. Isn’t this the beauty of homeschooling? I can ditch the plan and go with the flow, right? During this internal 20 second debate, Andrew drew two lines, splitting his paper into 4 boxes. He numbered the boxes 1, 2, 3, 4, and then started drawing all sort of rectangles in box #1. 

“What are you doing?” I asked. 

“These are going to be my steps. First you need ingredients.” He pointed to each rectangle in box #1 and named his ingredient. “This is the toaster, the bread, the cinnamon, the sugar, and the butter. Oh, and you need a plate.” He added a circle. “And a knife!” He smiled up at me, and although he never said it, we both knew his idea was better than mine. 

*****

For fourteen years, I have been teaching young children to read and write. I have nothing to contribute to a conversation about investments, interior design, event planning, or business start-ups, but if you want to talk about early literacy development and six traits of writing, I’m your girl. My favorite part of the school day was writing workshop when I pulled kids to a horseshoe shaped table or sat down next to a child in a chair meant for a six-year-old, all for the sake of putting pencil to paper. We brainstormed ideas, attempted to spell words that seemed too hard, drew pictures to enhance the story, pushed through writer's blocks, and celebrated writing in all its beautiful forms because these students had become authors. I loved it. 

And somehow, in the midst of this nightmare we call 2020, I was given the chance to sit next to Andrew and watch him become an author.

This mushy feeling inside me, the one clogging my throat and blurring my eyes came with a strange realization. I’m not inclined to look for the good. All that silver lining, glass half-full nonsense irks me. I mean, why can’t the bad just be bad? Why do I have to look for diamonds in my rough and roses in my thorn bushes? But this felt different; it wasn’t a bright side or a fake smile or a mustering up of positivity from a dry and cracked well. It felt lucky, like winning a little jackpot. It felt like relief and genuine joy, and for the first time in nine months I could see our family moving past survival. This school year—the one that started with tears because I didn't want my kids in front of a computer all day, but I also didn’t want them to miss out on buses and backpack and gathering on a colorful carpet to listen to Kevin Henkes books—had become a gift. 

We have every intention of sending our children back to public school next fall (famous last words, right?), but I have a hunch that this school year, this wretched 2020 school year, will be one of my favorites.

---

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in this series "Savor".

summer was here

I washed all the bathing suits and beach towels for the last time today. I folded the towels and put them up high in the hallway closet. I rotated the too-snug swimsuits out of the drawers and into boxes to be packed away and passed on. Then I came downstairs, lit an apple spice candle, and chopped vegetables for one of my favorite fall meals. This is all part of my grieving process, a necessary routine for me as I say good-bye to summer and begin to embrace fall goodness. 

It was a good summer - a perfect blend of nothing and everything. We anticipated these months as Milo’s first true exposure to the wonder of sunshine and water. He was too tiny to soak in all of summer last year, but this, this was different. Experiencing summer alongside my children is one of my favorite parts of motherhood. Life is better when we’re outside - wet, dirty, or stained with red Popsicle. Older siblings get along better when they have an entire park to roam, and they need fewer reminders to keep their hands to themselves when there are diving boards and water slides. Add chubby baby thighs toddling around that park or pool, and you know it’s going to be a good season. 

We kicked off our summer with a weekend in Red River Gorge. I have strict rules about camping with babies. Actually, I have one strict rule: I don’t tent camp with babies. Instead, we opted for a lovely little cabin, well off the beaten path and just uphill from a small pond. This quiet pond came alive at night as the sun slipped from yellow to pink and hundreds of frogs sang out their mating calls, each boastful male trying to out-sing the other. In the mornings, we ate our breakfast around the campfire and then headed out for days filled with hiking, exploring, and trying to be cool parents by jumping off giant boulders.

June was filled with lazy days mostly spent at the pool. Long gone were my days of relaxing on the pool’s edge while the big kids swam and baby Milo slept in the stroller. I became a physical helicopter mom as Milo fearlessly toddled around the pool with no regard for the water’s depth. He was drawn to water in any form he could find: water tables, sprinklers, fountains, baby pools. He was also partial to naps in the sun.

Summer evenings in our front yard give me all the happy feels.  We affectionately (and somewhat sarcastically) call our home Camp Blue Ash due to its wilderness-like qualities. We have no shorten of dirt, bugs, wild animals, or unusual plant life. But we have learned to take advantage of all Camp Blue Ash has to offer; we watch woodpeckers destroy our trees, we compete with neighbors in mole trapping competitions, and we save baby birds who fall out of their nests. (Unsuccessfully, I might add.) 

July and August were packed with travels. We loaded the van for a week-long beach vacation in North Carolina, and days later we repacked the van for a week-long lake house vacation in northern Wisconsin.

Vacationing with a one-year-old is a different kind of vacation, and there were many times I felt like I was missing out. 

I stayed back while the others went to the beach so he could take his morning nap.

I stayed back while others went out past bedtime to watch the baby sea turtles emerge from the sand and scurry to the ocean.

I went to the drug store to get cough medicine for a sick baby while the others were at the pool. 

I walked around outside entertaining a baby who’d rather move than sit in a high chair while the others sat down for dinner in a restaurant. 

All the missing out prompted self-pity, and I began to think: If I didn’t have a one-year-old on this vacation, I could do all the other things everyone else was doing. But then again, if I didn’t have a one-year-old on this vacation, then I wouldn’t have Milo on this vacation. And that’s when all the self-pity seemed kind of foolish. 

Our summer ended with our annual trip to Coney Island. No, not the boardwalk in Brooklyn. Our Coney Island is a rickety little amusement park with carnival-like rides that spin you, twirl you, whirl you, rotate you, revolve you, and then pause for a moment before doing it all over again in the opposite direction. There is a single outdated roller coaster that cannot possibly meet current safety regulations, and a ramshackle Ferris wheel that requires Dramamine for all riders over the age of 30. But our children adore this place, and my blessed husband has a stomach of steel, so while they’re screaming their heads off on rides like The Scrambler and Tilt-a-Whirl, I’m listening to a local show choir sing Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off and watching Milo sit in a train that moves in a circle at about 2 miles per hour. And then he sat in a boat that moved in a circle. Then a rocketship. Then a plane. Then a helicopter. You get the idea. 

We spent months telling Milo all about this dreamy time of year called summer, and it did not disappoint. 

I’m pretty sure he liked it.

Til next time, summer.

solo writing weekend

Before having children, I don’t think I would have ever chosen a weekend away by myself. Girlfriend getaway? Sure. Roadtrip with Stephen? Absolutely. Mother-daughter shopping weekend? Oh yes.

But alone? Who would I talk to? What would I do? Are you even allowed to eat in a restaurant by yourself?

Add it to the long list of how seven years and three kids can make all the difference.

I had my first solo weekend in September of 2014. I was 36 weeks pregnant with my second baby, and Stephen had just graduated with his doctorate after a six-year program. Our families sat around our living room as Stephen opened a few small gifts to celebrate his great accomplishment.  Stephen then turned the attention to me, and with a baller husband-of-the-year move, he began acknowledging the sacrifices I had made in order for him to complete this degree. He thanked me and passed me a large envelope. Inside were the reservation papers for a solo weekend away in Indianapolis.

Oh, that guy.

I spent two night in the Omni Hotel and filled my weekend with reading, writing, shopping, and a prenatal massage. There was a fair amount of sleeping in, an even greater amount of ice cream, and as it turns out, you can in fact eat in a restaurant all by yourself. It was an indulgent weekend away, and I returned home rested, well fed, and with a few new nursing tops

Earlier this month I again went on a solo weekend, but with a different purpose. Years ago I started a writing project that just keeps lingering, and I wanted a weekend away to write, work, and finally start down the homestretch of this project. I made three writing goals for 2019:

1. Launch my new blog. Done!

2. Take a writing course. Done!

3. Go on a weekend writing retreat. Done!

Three out of three and it isn’t even June, yet. Wow. Does this mean I need to make more goals?

There were a few moments leading up to my weekend away that caused brief panic. The time seemed like such a gift, and I didn’t want to mess it up. Looking back, here are my two nuggets of wisdom that really helped make the weekend a success.

Finding the perfect place

I opted for an AirBnB over a hotel because I wanted something cozy and the ability to “cook” my own food. When I say cook, I mean heat up a Trader Joe’s frozen pizza. The idea of a Bed and Breakfast sounded dreamy, but all my google searches led me to lace curtains and night stands with doilies. Not the creative inspiration I was hoping for.

I finally stumbled upon this tiny house in Kentucky, and it was perfect.

I’m fascinated by tiny homes, and have been known to get sucked into the abyss of YouTube when I start watching tiny home tour videos. A spacious work area was a must, and this place had a great counter right in front of the window where I spread out notebooks, PaperMate flair pens, and books. As an added tiny house bonus, the bed folded out of the wall and a giant projector dropped from the ceiling. It was pretty legit.

My tiny house was almost two hours away. Because I was going to be gone two nights, I didn’t mind the commute. Driving in a car by myself has become a luxury, and I filled my time with equal parts silence and podcasts. I do some of my best thinking in the car, and I often need to talk through ideas out loud to myself in the form of pretend conversations; I never get very far with this when I try it in my living room.

Making plans and specific goals

I knew I needed to spend time planning both my big goals and tiny details before the weekend arrived. If I didn’t, the sound of silence would likely provoke shock and rather than writing, I would spend the weekend in bed, binging on Netflix and popcorn. On the other hand, I could also see myself with a list of twenty-five things to accomplish, scattered, overworked, and leaving more exhausted than I came.

In order to avoid either extreme, I made plans, goals, and I wrote them all down.

I posted this sign on the window in front of me to keep me focused. It is easy to think of a dozen other tasks I could be working on, but these four were the weekend goals. They provided me a variety of work from formatting a cookbook to revising old essays to dumping out first drafts from intriguing prompts I’d tucked away. Having this variety kept me from getting burnt out on one task.

But let’s be real. I cannot have a weekend away without plans for doing nothing, so I also packed nail polish, face masks, books, candles, and good food. I went as far as to map out each meal because I wanted to eat well but didn’t want to spend my precious time reading online reviews as I scrambled to find somewhere for dinner. Knowing that I would introvert pretty hard the majority of the weekend, I brought breakfast, dinner, and snacks, but I did venture out for a couple hours on Saturday afternoon to a cafe and bookstore where I dined as the mysterious lone lady scribbling voraciously in a notebook.

I had given myself permission to take an afternoon nap, but as it turned out, I didn’t need it. After 8 hours of sleep and sitting in a chair all morning, my body wasn’t even tired come 2:00. Such a strange phenomenon.

I made solid progress on each of my writing goals, and I came home both energized and rested. At the risk of sounding too hermit-like, I loved spending time with myself. When I’m alone, I remember who I am apart from motherhood, and that my brain still has capacity for creativity beyond unicorn crafts. I can focus on a single task for longer than five minutes, and I still have problem solving skills beyond who gets to sit in the middle stool.

On the two hour drive home, my mind was racing with ideas and next steps. It’s been a few weeks since my retreat, and truth be told, I’ve made little progress toward some of those next steps. I could easily get down on myself for that, but that won’t do me any good.

Instead, I’m still living off the high of all I accomplished and the stillness that allowed me time to think.

Oh, and I’m also planning for another retreat in the fall.

Bonus: My request for a later checkout was granted, and I used every quiet minute of it!

fall was here

Fall's the best. Right? The perfect way to ease out of summer without being too depressed that the pool is closed and that we need to start enforcing bedtime. As much as I love making dinner barefoot in my swimsuit, I am such a sucker for fall. And the Beckers had a good one.

We stayed in the pool until the final minutes of the season, closing it down the evening of Labor Day. That pool was my saving grace this summer as the older two darlings swam happily for hours and Milo napped in the stroller. And yes, Andrew looks like this pretty much the entire time we’re at the pool; I could look at that goofy smile forever.

It was a big year for school in our family.

Charlotte started kindergarten and Andrew was off to preschool for the first time. All my mama feelings were bubbling over as they both strapped on backpacks that came down to their knees. I was confident Charlotte would adore kindergarten; she even laid out her outfits for the entire. But Andrew stepped up and surprised us all, completely forgetting to give me a hug and kiss as he dashed into his classroom on the first day.

Stephen likes to take my picture on the darlings' first days, too. Look. No tears.

Last year Stephen approached me with a beautiful idea: he wanted to take his dad to Europe. His dad would be turning 75 this year and had never experienced Europe. Stephen had a conference and wanted to bring his dad along, turning that four day conference into a two week vacation. This was a lovely idea that sounded much better when I only had two children. I had a slight panic attack in the days leading up to his departure, but it turned out to be a success on all accounts. Andrew only threw up in one elevator, and I only had to pull off one birthday party by myself.

I'm pretty sure they ate their weight in gelato. I'm so jealous.

Charlotte turned 6 and with Stephen's absence, we decided to break the five year tradition of having her birthday party at the apple orchard. Instead, we took the lead from one of her favorite book characters and dressed up in our Fancy Nancy clothes. Eight of her friends joined us for an afternoon of crafting, cupcake decorating, and "tea." Thank goodness for Grammy's help.

Even Milo got fancy.

But we couldn't forgo the apple orchard altogether. After Stephen returned home, we spent a blue sky Saturday morning at our favorite little orchard. We have six years of pictures at this orchard, and I adore everything about it.

Did I mention I adore this apple orchard?

Stephen's cousin got married in October, and Charlotte was the flower girl. We joined the big Becker family in New York and spent time at Niagara Falls the day before the wedding. These pictures don’t quite capture the freezing temperatures. Milo and I mostly hung out in the car.

Charlotte has been a flower girl two other times: one was a success and one was a total flop. She was much younger, and to my great relief, being a flower girl when you are six is much easier on mom. I didn't need to entertain her in the back of the church or bribe her with candy to walk down the aisle. In fact, she very much enjoyed getting all fancied up and took her responsibilities very seriously.

Andrew in suit. I have no words.

Babies and weddings are not the best mix. But babies and bow ties. Oh yes.

Milo hit the six month mark, and I reluctantly started making him baby food. I've held off as long as possible because life is so much easier when all I need to bring with me is my boob. I also dread the mess. However, it's been about a month, and he shows no interest in food. Fine with me.

Milo also joined me on his first flight to meet Baby Liam. My dear friend Lindsay had her first baby in August. I originally planned to visit them in September, but a 12 hour stomach bug changed my plans. We finally made it to Atlanta, and I got to smooch all over this handsome little fellow. Lindsay has been spoiling my children from they moment they were each born; I've got a whole lot of catching up to do!

And because Stephen is the epitome of fun dad, he took the older two darlings to the horse races when I was out of town. They gambled away their quarters, choosing the horses with fun names, but it was a highlight of the fall they are still talking about.

We couldn't resist the "baby in a pumpkin" movement that swept social media this fall. Milo was surprisingly content for our ten minute photo shoot, and we had some ding-dong-ditch fun with our dear neighbors as we left Milo on their front porch.

I wouldn't be lying if I said my daughter was named after a spider. I have always loved the book Charlotte's Web, and as I sat with my pregnant belly reading the final chapters to my classroom of first graders in 2012, I settled on the name Charlotte. The night before Charlotte started kindergarten I gave her a copy of the book. Andrew, Charlotte, and I have been cuddling up in the big La-Z-Boy chair and reading our way through. After we finished the book, we celebrated with a themed party and watched the movie.

Andrew turned 4 the day before Halloween, and man oh man, is that kid the best. Much to Stephen's delight, he has developed a love for opera, particularly Maria Callas. Stephen surprised him first thing in the morning with a new Maria Callas record. He was delighted.

One of Andrew's favorite gifts was a Nature Explorer Kit that came with a flashlight and whistle. He slept with that kit, and I was awakened at 4 in the morning to the sound of that whistle. (Insert cuss words.) Before the sun was even up, he shuffled down the stairs with that kit. We told him he had to use it outside; a moment later I saw him, heading out the front door to wake our neighbors with that blessed whistle.

A few days later, the birthday celebration continued at Paw Patrol Live. Stephen tried to roll his eyes and play the "I can't believe I have to go see this show" card, but I'm pretty sure he loved it. I caught him looking up adult Paw Patrol t-shirts on Amazon days before the show. Afterward, we celebrated with pizza and strawberry cake - Andrew's choice, of course.

Our love for Charlotte's Web continued into Halloween with Charlotte dressing up like Charlotte and Milo playing the role of Wilbur the pig. We tried to get Andrew to dress up like Templeton, the rat, but he wasn't interested. I can't blame him; I wouldn't want to be a rat either. Despite a stormy forecast, we were able to get in a solid hour of trick-or-treating, and good news, only three people thought Milo was a girl. We ended the night with a favorite tradition - spreading all the candy out on our bed and taste testing some of the loot. 

I was raised in a Disney loving home, and we took our Disney World vacations very seriously. My mom was the ultimate Disney planner, and long before the Internet bombarded vacation planners with tips and tricks, my mom was reading The Official Guidebook cover to cover. She knew the ins and outs of those parks and led our family on the greatest vacations ever. We are all pretty nostalgic about Disney World, and I have been getting the itch to begin my own family memories, especially because Charlotte and Andrew are at such fun ages to go all kinds of crazy over the magic of Disney. I've been in Disney planning mode for the past six months - books, highlighters, post it notes, a mad stream of texts to my brother, who has already led his family in Disney extravaganzas. Stephen keeps calling me Monica Geller; I'm pretty sure he's making fun of me, but I take it as a great compliment. Our children have very little knowledge of Disney World, but we still wanted to have some fun with the great reveal. We sent them on a scavenger hunt around the house, gathering clues about our December vacation destination. The hunt ended with them popping balloons in the basement to reveal a picture of Disney World. We celebrated by eating Mickey Mouse pancakes in the matching pajamas my mother sent us.

The past few months have also been filled with smaller moments I don't want to forget.

Andrew joined his sister and tried wall climbing for the first time.

We said good-bye to Andrew's long, floppy hair (inset heavy sigh), and just like that, he's all grown up.

Milo can sit up which really just accentuates his rolls. Oh yes.

Charlotte continues to impress us with her never ending love for drawing.

And finally, fall has been beautiful here at Camp Blue Ash, the affectionate name we've given our home that quite often feels more camp like than suburban like. We're surrounded by gorgeous trees which means the past month has been filled with leaves. So many leaves.

Happy fall.