Don’t take it personally, you’re still on my Christmas card list…

It’s less than a week to Christmas! Looking at my Christmas checklist, have I done more than half of the holiday-associated tasks, or are more than half of the to-do’s still hanging over my head?

Neither! I have chopped my list in half with the machete of grace!

Cut down and put up the live Christmas tree? Yes! Done on Thanksgiving Day.

Full disclosure: we may not have
actually finished decorating the tree.
We kind of just stopped after the
second glass ornament broke and
decided to move on to something else.  

Hang up our artificial pine boughs as garlands over all the first floor doorways and groupings of windows? No, not this year.

Decorate the mantle with a variety of Christmas kitsch that makes me happy and wish that I could be a professional junk collector who finds vintage Christmas ornaments and transforms them into pieces that can be appreciated in the modern era? Yes! Done the weekend after Thanksgiving.

Find the perfect family photo, or at least a photo of the boys both smiling, even if one of them isn’t looking at the camera, and evaluating at least four different websites to compare card layout options and prices and adjusting those prices once you see what shipping costs would be and then recounting how many people we need to send cards to see whether I should go up to the next bundle bracket which would bring the price per card down but the total still goes up…?

No. Not doing it this year. I was late getting on board with photo Christmas cards, instead preferring to just find a cute photo of Rye by an outdoor Christmas tree on my phone, getting wallet-sized prints made, and tucking them into an old-fashioned folding cardstock card that I bought at Marshalls. I remember when cards used to be about reaching out to family and friends personally, telling them a little about yourselves since the last time you got together, asking them about themselves and maybe sharing a holiday memory with the recipient. I put time into my cards — and I mean writing the messages, not comparing websites. Even though I doubted my aunts and uncles got together and compared the versions I wrote them, I made a point to write something different to each of them. (Sentiments that they may or may not have understood because apparently my cursive is indecipherable to others, which they told me in my mid-30s, much to my horror.)

Last year, or maybe it was the year before, I found a cute picture of the kids and did order the photo cards, with one big photo of the boys having fun together. People loved it.

Sadly, that might have been the last good photo I got of the two of them looking happy together, and since the people who were on the list last year have already seen it, I didn’t think I could use it again. Plus the kids look so different from one year to the next. Those who have seen my kids in person would be quite confused by those baby cheeks and tooth-filled smiles, seeing how my first-grader is rocking the “All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth” look this year.

Yeah, they fight a lot. And Rye also just hates having his picture taken. In fact the only pictures he wants to be a part of these days are ones that he is photo-bombing. Like this:

 

This wouldn't be too bad of a shot
if Rye was wearing a shirt. 

I don’t get envious of people’s lives and photos on Facebook or Instagram. I know that it can really bother some people to see the “happy version” of other people’s lives, and so a lot of my close friends aren’t even on there anymore, but it doesn’t bother me. If anything, I just try to keep it real by putting the messy parts of my life on display as well as the good things.

But picture-perfect Christmas cards? They get to me. Because I know there’s no way even a professional photographer could get a good photo of us, and if they did, it would feel so fake to me it would probably make me angry to look at it. It’s been a rough year in our household.* Like this:

You might have seen my last blog post about "vacation" with the kids. Well let's just say that around here, every day feels like that "vacation." So there won’t be any matching outfits or fake smiles or even happy candid shots that I captured. I was joking with some friends that if I had made a Christmas card, this is the best picture I have to use.

That’s right, we’ve rearranged the living room furniture and I painted the fireplace brick blue. That’s the best I’ve got, everybody.

So don’t worry, you’re still on my Christmas card list, and in a better year, you’ll hear from us again on paper. In the mean time, for 2019, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

*For the record, Josh and I are doing great together. Don't want anyone worrying about that. 

I hope you enjoyed vacation kids, because it's the last one you're ever going on!

Do you remember going on vacation as a kid? I don’t remember too much of my childhood (I’m pretty sure pure long-term memory deficiency runs in my family), but vacations definitely stand out in my memory more than the everyday days of childhood.

I remember our beach vacations meant going to the beach every day and then having one other activity every day, like playing mini golf or going out in the boat or biking on the boardwalk. These were all fun pursuits, but the days weren’t over-stuffed, and I remember them being relaxing for me, as much as a child needs relaxation (besides naps). I always assumed vacation was relaxing for my parents too because they didn’t have to go to work for a week.

I now realize my parents were NOT having a relaxing vacation because of the nature of “vacationing” with children does not allow for a parent to relax, unless the children are sleeping. And there’s a good chance that the kids aren’t sleeping enough and are being total jerks and ruining everyone’s chance at a good time.

So much of the enjoyment of life is based on how the reality matches up to our expectations, and yet no matter how low my expectations are, vacations are still more work, and more trying of my patience, than being at home. This past vacation was the most difficult one yet, even worse than our first vacation to Ocean City when Rye was 5 months old and we had never experienced being the parents of a family vacation before. That first “vacation” was a real eye-opener into what the future had in store. Little baby Rye, who probably still napped 3 times a day, wouldn’t get into a solid nap, and at night, he would lose the binky or try to roll over and wake himself and all of us adults up as well. I got to see the beach for about 45 minutes at a time and felt chained to the condo otherwise. Welcome to the new normal.  

Fast forward 6 years. A week ago, my family and my parents were on a weeklong vacation in Lewes, De., as we have done for 3 summers now since Rye was born. If you’re unfamiliar with it, Lewes (pronounced like “Louis”) is the town north of Rehoboth, and it has a public beach on the Delaware Bay rather than the Atlantic Ocean. The bay is great for kids because it is warmer, has almost no waves, and is so gradually sloped that you’re probably 50 yards out before it gets to even my shoulders. The town itself is also incredibly cute with really well-maintained and modernized historic homes, walkable streets, a good number of restaurants and businesses, several parks and beautiful gardens all around. Last year we had a great location in downtown and we walked the kids to the canal front park nearly every night, where 5-year-old Rye would take a net and try to “crab” or “fish” off the docks, and Knox, the 2-year-old, happily played on the train-themed playground at the same park. We were excited to go back this year, with the kids now 3 and 6, thinking things would only get easier as they get older and “more mature.”

But maturity is not a continuous, predictable, straight line on a chart where age is the X axis and maturity is the Y axis. Knox turned 3 while on vacation this year, and while everyone knows the expression “the Terrible Twos,” I think both of my kids weren’t so bad at 2 but took sudden dives as they turned 3 and became “three-nagers” (pronounced like “teenagers,” if you’re unfamiliar with this expression). Knox has really been digging in over dumb stuff, and purposely does things to push our buttons, like calling everyone (including me) “stupid,” climbing on the couch by going over the arm instead of the cushion, and doing anything that you remind him not to do (like throwing the couch pillows on the kitchen floor) or not doing things you want him to do (like taking his potty-trained self to go pee in the morning, because just because he made it dry for the past 12 hours, he is not going to continue this streak for much longer).

All of these 3-year-old tensions came with us on our trip, and Rye started amping up on the things he’s not supposed to do either. Things like blocking the main pathways of the house with his homemade signs that say “Detour” and “Roadwork 1500 ft,” and over-reacting to every Knox instigation with a way-too-loud and angry scream of “Knox!” which is really only meant to get our attention. They fought even more than they do at home, and it’s not even like they were playing together. It was more like their independent, ego-centric worlds kept colliding into each other, causing each one to scream and maybe hit and often stick out their tongues and do a raspberry-like spit. Sigh. Naps were seriously fought, which was ridiculous, because after 2 ½ to 3 hours on the beach, they were exhausted and should have just enjoyed their stinking naps. (I know I would have!) They were up by 6 a.m. each day. Nervousness over a new sleeping space often meant bedtime rituals took an hour, so instead of Josh and I leaving their rooms at 7:15 the way I do at home, we weren’t done until 8. And Josh and I and my parents were way more tired than we wanted to be because we didn’t get that mid-day break. There were no adult naps that week, and very little book reading, and no date nights out for Josh and I until AFTER the kids went to bed because if the kids are that disobedient and disrespectful to us, we were not going to hoist them onto my parents because they already had to endure their bad behavior when Josh and I were trying to manage them.

Were my expectations too high? I guess so. I knew it would be harder to get them to sleep in a new environment, especially since this was the first year Knox was not sleeping in a pack ‘n play (which he can easily climb out of). The first 2 nights, Knox went to bed then woke up screaming around midnight, but we could get him to calm down, only then he would start up 10 minutes later and it turned into a temper tantrum that went on for the next hour, so that Josh and I slept in his queen bed with him, without pillows, with him kicking us unintentionally, and then poking our faces intentionally, at first light. I really thought nap time would be a shoe-in, because if the kids are up at 6 a.m., then at the beach from 9 a.m. to noon, they’re exhausted when they get home at 12:30 for lunch and nap. But I underestimated their stubbornness.

Another disappointment was their disinterest in enjoyable activities. They didn’t want to go to the canal park. We went twice, and Knox never tried the playground this year. By the fourth day, they started fighting about not wanting to go to the beach. They never took out their scooters, which they love at home and we thought would be a fun vacation activity, especially since our house had a dead-end street that led to the paved rail trail path. We took our remote-control monster trucks out on the path once, but that was it. The kids, especially Rye, just wanted to go home. From vacation. As soon as possible.

There were also lots of house problems, that I will now briefly summarize. This could be a whole blog of its own, but I’ll try to be short:

House #1: We booked it in September 2018 for a week in July 2019. My mom noticed in the spring that the owner had a bunch of cancellations in December 2018. We each emailed her separately, didn’t hear back, and I called VRBO to see what was going on but didn’t really get anywhere. Finally, over Memorial Weekend, my mom did a property search and learned that the property had been sold in January. I tracked down the new owners (who thankfully had been in the newspaper like 10 years ago so I knew where they lived and they had a home phone number so I could call them) and they told me they were unaware of any rental agreement for the property and that they would be living there themselves for the whole summer. We got our money back through VRBO and scrambled to book a NEW vacation house, one of the THREE that were left for our vacation, just 6 weeks later. We had our choice between a) The Pink House and b) Jefferson Street, and we chose Jefferson Street because it had a bathtub (for washing the kids) whereas the other only had 2 showers. So, we arrived on a Saturday at…

House #2: Jefferson Street. The house was kind of dirty when we got there. Not gross, but not well kept. And the realtor company that we rented from has a policy that says you pretty much have to clean everything yourself before you leave, but also that the cleaning company has until 6 p.m. to clean the house, even though you’re allowed to check in at 3 p.m. We couldn’t tell if our cleaning company had come or not. We started to think there is no cleaning company, considering how many cobwebs there were, and the fact that the main living room had 3 burned-out light bulbs. We did find a note in the utensil drawer from the previous renters who had left the property July 5, telling us that the house had had a sewer back-up during their week, and that if we discovered an inexplainable puddle by the side of the house, beware: it was raw sewage. Well, that was not very reassuring. On Sunday, the first-floor toilet stopped flushing, and in the most bizarre act of plumbing I’ve ever witnessed, it started bubbling when someone took a shower on the second floor. I was very worried that toilet was going to start overflowing in the middle of the night, contaminating my parents’ stuff in their first-floor bedroom. On Monday morning, we walked out the front door and clearly smelled sewer smells. We checked the side of the house and yes, there was a black puddle, which apparently was coming from out of the outdoor shower. So gross. 

Nothing says "vacation morning" like
the smell of poo in the back yard

We called the realtor, she said they’d send a plumber, who showed up around 1:30. The plumbers admitted they had been to the property 2 weeks ago and had been unable to fix it. They snaked the line from outside, then came inside, removed the first-floor toilet, and snaked from there, but could not solve the problem. At 5 p.m., they gave up, realizing they would have to dig up the front yard the next day. Our agent called us back and agreed that we could change houses, which we were ready to demand, considering the plumbers had been in and out of the house throughout the afternoon, wearing their boots through the sewage puddle and inside, tracking in sewer germs in our house where our kids still play with toys on the floor much of the day. So, at 6:30 p.m., we loaded up the first two vehicles and drove 2 blocks to…

House #3: The Pink House. It was smaller, with fewer closets, no bathtub, and it was a little less kid-friendly in design and decor, but it was so much nicer and cleaner and more homey. Knox was now in a twin bed that was pushed against a wall and my parents had a bed guard so he wouldn’t roll out, and we think he felt much safer in the smaller bed and he slept better (though still resisted nap several days). On Wednesday night a big thunderstorm rolled through, and we lost power. It was kind of fun at first, the house had candles and I found some matches and we stayed around the dining room table until 10:30 when we went to bed. The house was getting a little stuffy without the air conditioning, but the electricity came back about 15 minutes after we went to bed and we were able to use the ceiling fans to cool us down until the air conditioning got back to par. Except it didn’t get back to par. Thursday, I noticed the upstairs A/C was set to 73 and it had gotten to 76. By Friday morning, it was 78. We called and reported it, and they gave us a BS answer about the unit might have gotten frozen and to set the thermostat to 75 and see if it could get down to that. We went to the beach and when we got back, it was at 82. We called and complained, and a worker came around 4 p.m. and confirmed that the unit’s capacitor was blown and he had to replace it. He was done by 5:30, and temperatures were just getting comfortable around bed time, which was early, because we would be leaving early Saturday morning to go home.

As we waved goodbye to my parents at 6:35 a.m. that Saturday morning, Rye said “Yippee, we’re going home!” And after a few minutes, “When does school start up again?” Indeed, child, I’m looking forward to school starting back up too.

That’s a lot of bad luck for houses, but we’re not soured on Lewes, or its old houses, or even renting through VRBO. The Pink House was located directly next door to King’s Cottage, the house we rented last year that we really loved. So throughout this awful week of dealing with houses that are breaking down and kids that are breaking down and the desire to have a personal breakdown as well, we were conflicted by “we should contact the King’s Cottage owner right now and lock in a week for next week so we know we’ll have a great house” and equally feeling “if the kids don’t appreciate this vacation, and we’re working harder to make them happy than we have to do at home, then why are we doing this?” 
    We still have not come to a conclusion over this. We had a nice (still not relaxing) vacation when the kids were 2 and 5, so we assumed 3 and 6 would just be better. Not true, and so we can't assume next year their attitudes or behaviors will be any better next year. Rye was a pretty difficult 4-year-old, but we wonder how much of that was because he was no longer an only child. Or are these children produced by a combination of our genetics just really willful and demanding and bossy and unappreciative generally? There’s no guarantee that taking a 4-year-old Knox and 7-year-old Rye on vacation will be any better or easier. Friends with slightly older kids tell me parenting doesn’t get easier with 2 elementary school aged children, and friends with kids in middle and high school use the phrase “big kids have bigger problems.” But I think I’m more equipped for counseling kids through bigger problems. It’s this small shit that I can’t handle. “You’re screaming because your brother is leaning forward like he’s going to grab your sign, but he hasn’t actually grabbed it yet?” Nope, no sympathy. “You’re crying because you’re tired but don’t want to nap in your bedroom, you want to nap on the couch, so everyone has to be quiet and tiptoe around you?” I don’t think so.

I realize that we are so blessed that Josh has a job where he can take off a week here and there for vacation, and that we have money to actually GO away and stay somewhere and do things. But if the kids are just going to make us miserable, and ask every day when we’re going home, and say they don’t want to go to the beach because they just want to “stay around the house and be lazy,” (I’m not joking, these were Rye’s actual words,) then why are we doing this?

I believe in family vacations because they take us away from the usual, the ordinary, and give us time to give each other our full attention and try new things and create vivid memories, like some of the only memories I have from my childhood—our family vacations. Perhaps we should try 3-night trips instead of a full week? Should we care less about a beach and just go somewhere you don’t have to book so far in advance and just try to enjoy the differentness of the place rather than the idealness of a town like Lewes?

Or maybe we should pawn them off on relatives and Josh and I can take a week for ourselves. Heck, the first time we took a 3-night trip to ourselves it felt like a full week because there were no children to take care of or separate or argue with. Maybe Josh and I need more VACAtions, and the kids need more STAYcations.

Checking AirBNB now.

We got no pictures of all 4 of us together

Tyra Banks, here I come!

 Dear Tyra, 

   I was so excited when I heard that "America's Next Top Model" Cycle 25 is going to be focused on "cougars." I have been a fan of ANTM since it premiered in 2003, and secretly always wanted to be a contestant. However, I was already 23 at the time, and at 5' 1/2", I did not qualify for being a "fashion model." I understand, the industry has standard expectations. I'm sure it would be hard for photographers to keep lowering their tripods to capture my smaller stature, and all those mini-dresses the models-in-training are wearing would probably sit an inch or two above my knee, which I understand is not the look the designers are going for. It just seems kind of discriminatory to me, and I'm hoping things have improved over the past 16 years.
   When you debuted "America's Next Top Model: Petites" in Cycle 13, in 2009, I got really excited. Every little girl (or grown-up) wants to see role models who look like them on TV. But then I saw you counted "petites" as women up to 5'7". That is NOT petite. The average women's height in America is 5'4"--I checked. If you're allowing a woman who is 5'7" to run in the petites competition, just how tall were those other women? No wonder those mini-dresses are barely covering their asses.
    Also, I've been referring to your previous contestants as "women," but really, they were children. Sure, some of them had graduated from high school and may have done a freshman year of college, but they were children. Living in a house with 13 of them probably would have killed me, even at age 23. I would hate to share a room with 3 other girls, or even worse, a bed. Or bathroom. Or the van ride to photo shoots. Those lofts that the girls lived in looked pretty posh, except there were never enough beds. Was that to save money and/or time rearranging furniture each time someone got kicked off?
   Are there going to be private bedrooms on ANTM: Cougars? You know that grown women are going to expect more grown-up spaces of their own. Maybe you could look into the hotel that they use for "Project Runway." You and Tim Gunn are probably friends, I'm sure he could give you he hotel's number. I would hate living with 13 girls, but with 13 women, for a couple of weeks, that might be fun.  Especially if everyone took care of their own crap and just let you do your own thing and be yourself. That's the point of reality TV, right? But please don't pick too many loud mouths, or drama queens, or primadonnas. No more than one of each, because I can't handle any more than that.
  Speaking of which, let me tell you more about myself and why I would be a great candidate for your show. My name is Carrie Ann, and the way I would brand myself is as "a little bit city, a little bit country." I was born and raised in Baltimore. I don't really have a Baltimore accent, but when I drink whiskey I sometimes get a little bit of a southern twang. I don't hear it, but enough strangers have told me so that I figure it must be true. I would be happy to work with a voice coach to develop more of a southern accent if you think it would increase my chances of getting on the show. Or I could just carry a flask of whiskey around with me.

Watch out, ladies, Carrie Ann is coming for you!

   I read a lot but I still mix up my words quite often, like sometimes I say "lasterday" instead of "yesterday," because I think something happened last week when it really only happened the day before. I also pronounce "antenna" as "antanna," like it rhymes with "Montana." Your producers and your audience are going to find that really cute. I also mix up people's names all the time. I live with three men: my husband and two sons, and I use all of their names interchangeably. I'm sure I would do that with the other contestants' names, which could create some drama because it would sound like I was making things up about people when really I'm just calling someone by the wrong name.
   I definitely don't have the body of a 19-year-old model, but I think I look pretty realistic for a 39-year-old mom that's a cougar. Like, if I was in a room with a bunch of women and you were trying to cast the part of a 39-year-old mom, you would totally point to me and say "yes, her!"

Looks like this mom got a new jean jacket!

    I'm guessing most of the other contestants are going to be moms too. Then again, you kind of got the petites thing wrong, so maybe you're looking for 39-year-old women who have never been married. I mean, sure, they should be eligible as well, but if you give 14 moms a chance to leave their daily hum-drum lives to live the lives of 19-year-old budding models, it's going to be hilarious. And think of these moms making sexy faces at those young male photographers ... it is going to be sexual chemistry perfection.

This one's for you, Nigel Barker!

   Don't worry, I'm not going to be one of those moms that's always talking about her kids. Those women drive me nuts--we finally have a moment without the kids constantly bickering and interrupting, can't we just enjoy it without letting them infiltrate every moment of our lives?? Unless you want me to talk about my kids. I can show their picture to everyone and say, "these are the reason I'm here, I would do anything for them." I feel like I remember some of those teenage models saying something like that about their babies when they were on the show.
   Back to my modeling experience. You know how every season has one of those contestants who is not classically beautiful but then they put all the makeup and fancy clothes on her and she looks like a totally different person? That's me. And I never wear make-up, so nobody knows that. Instead I go around looking like my haggard self. Who has time for makeup? Or money? And why don't men have to cover up their haggardness? No thank you. Unless I have professionals to do it for me. I don't think my friends will even recognize me on the show. But once I'm wearing make-up, I'm really quite versatile. And a little bitchy. That probably would make for good TV too.
   As I've said, I've watched a lot of ANTM, and I've learned a lot from your mentors and judges. I'm know how to smize and be fierce and stomp down the runway. I will make Miss J proud. I think I would do well with editorial shots:

I can be serious, with a hint of smile

or more commercial ones. Just look how great I am at showing off these fingerless gloves:

Making high fashion seem achievable

  I'm really hoping you will give me a shot at my 5 seconds of fame, a couple of weeks away from home (have you picked a location for the grand finale yet? Could it please be Venice???) and some mini-dresses that do cover my ass. Because I look good for 39, but still...
   If I make it onto the show, you won't regret it, and hopefully, I won't either.

Glamour shots at their finest. Thanks, Jess!

   

Driving woes

When I was 21, I went through a terrible streak of speeding tickets — three instances, all exceeding 15 miles over the limit, in a window of about 6 months.

To give it some perspective, I was living in rural Jarrettsville — 30+ minutes from everywhere — and at College Park, and I have what I would call a genetic disposition toward impatience and a confident/aggressive style of driving. Every drive was going to take a long time, so why not drive AS FAST AS I CAN to get there sooner?

The first ticket was in Jarrettsville on a weekend morning, the second was probably a weekend afternoon in Towson from an officer that was named Deputy Speed, who as you can imagine, relished pulling people over and giving them tickets, and the third ticket was in Salisbury, which everyone knows is a speed trap for people on their way to Ocean City, as Josh and I were on that day.

Rather than paying the tickets and accepting the points that came along with the fines, I had decided to go to court to ask for leniency. The first judge gave me probation before judgement. Somehow the second judge also gave me probation before judgement, even though the first ticket and probation was already in my file. This was kind of amazing, but it also meant that the points were kind of hanging over my head and could all come crashing down IF I got another speeding ticket.

So when that third ticket happened, at the speed trap, on the first day of vacation, I bawled my eyes out. Not for the cop, like I should have, but after he left, when Josh and I did the math about how many points I was going to get in one fell swoop and about how much my auto insurance was going to go up, and he literally said, “We might not be able to get married now.” They weren’t mean words, but just my over-worrying fiancé’s thoughts, being spoken out loud, crushing my dreams. Thankfully my parents didn’t freak (though I guess I was 21-year-old and on my way out of their home, though for the time I was still on their auto insurance policy). My mom agreed to go with me to traffic court in Salisbury, to once more plead for mercy.

We showed up in town the night before and got a motel room because court was supposed to start at 9 a.m. and you were supposed to get there even earlier, and with commuter traffic around Baltimore, we didn’t want to take any chances making that long of a drive and missing my name getting called. I dressed up as professionally as I could. I sat on that wooden pew (I don’t think they’re called “pews” in courthouses but that’s really what they are) feeling sick to my stomach with nerves, but then something amazing happened. The judge read a long list of names — several dozen, including mine — and informed us that our state trooper was part of the national guard and his unit had been called up to go to Iraq in response to 9/11. We were all getting off our tickets that day.

And that, my friends, is how I was completely blessed to remain on “double secret probation,” to incur no points, to get married in July of 2002 as was planned, and to not get a speeding ticket again for many years.

Why am I sharing this? Because in the past month I have had ANOTHER terrible streak. All of my own making, and yet these THREE incidents still feel like they’re not fair. So indulge me as I whine, and learn from my mistakes.

1.) Severe bumper damage: I was driving my Highlander to the gym, like I do 4 days a week, and on this day all the parking lot spaces were taken. I needed to do a 3-point turnaround to parallel park on the opposite side of the street. No problem, I thought. I made the first point turn into the alley on the left, and watched in my rear view mirror as another mom carried her wiggling toddler towards our gym. Once they made it to the sidewalk, I continued to watch in my rear view mirror as I backed up and angled my car into the second point of the turnaround. I heard an awful “kkkkkkkkuuu” sound that I knew was something scraping, so I pulled back forward, straightened out my wheels, and pulled straight back. Then I made the left turn forward again, down the small street I had started on, and easily parallel parked in my intended space. I remember Rye was distressed by the sound, and I said something like “I think I scratched the bumper but I’m sure it’s OK,” then hopped out while the kids were still in their car seats and took a peek at my front driver’s side corner, which now looked like the Incredible Hulk had punched it in. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach! It looked awful, and it was also on the piece above the bumper, and it scratched my headlight as well. 

I reported the damage to Rye, who burst into tears and demanded we go to the auto body shop that very minute to get it fixed. I told him it didn’t work that way, that we would have to make an appointment, get an estimate, and then schedule another appointment for them to do the actual work. Rye was sure they could fit us in that day, and besides, how could we go to the gym after something this tragic had happened? We walked back over to view what I had “hit,” if you can call bumping into something at 3 miles per hour in reverse “hitting” it, and sure enough, there was this RIDICULOUS concrete barrier that looked freshly roughed up on its corner edge. I took the kids into the nursery, ran for 25 minutes to get the adrenaline out of my system, and then texted the upsetting news to Josh. He took it very well, assuring me that everyone makes little miscalculations and mistakes and told me we could fix it. But then…

2.) The photo speeding ticket: That very day, in the mail, I saw an envelope from the Baltimore County Automated Photo Enforcement Program with Josh’s name on it, so I quickly opened it. I’m embarrassed to admit that I thought Josh had gotten a photo ticket and it would be my opportunity to show him grace, and I wouldn’t feel so upset at myself anymore because look, we all make driving mistakes. Except the picture was again of the Highlander, which I drive 99.9% of the time, and if Josh was driving it and got a photo ticket, it probably would have been because I was egging him on to drive faster. But I looked at the date and time and quickly deduced that yes, I was the one driving the Highlander on that Tuesday, just 9 days before, and had been taking the scenic route through Parkton in hopes that the kids would get a car nap on the way home from my mother-in-law’s house. I definitely had NOT noticed any signs warning about photo enforcement of the speed limit, like you see in Montgomery County, or any road work sites, like you see on the beltway. So this offense also seemed totally unfair, and receiving it on the same day that I crunched in my bumper made me want to put on my pajamas and give up for the day.

Josh had originally said we could pay to get my bumper fixed, but then didn’t bring it up again after that speeding ticket. And then, just 15 days later,

3.) I got pulled over for using my cell phone. I had left from breakfast with a friend on Main Street in Westminster and went down John Street and took the right onto Englar. Josh was at the skate park with the kids so I decided to call him and see if he wanted me to pick them up right away or if they could wait another 20 minutes so I could run an errand. Josh is saved under my favorites on my phone, so all I had to do was push “phone,” “favorites,” and then “Josh.” He didn’t answer, so I hung up. There were two SUVs taking up the left lane and center lane on Englar, it looked like two women had had a fender bender and were waiting for a cop before they moved out of their lanes. I saw a Sherriff’s car behind me with the lights on, so I figured he was responding to their accident. But then he drove past the accident, looking right at me, so I pulled over as much as I could in the only open lane, about 40 feet up from the SUVs. He got out and walked over to my window. I thought maybe I had done too much of a rolling stop at John Street for his liking, but he told me he had seen me using my cell phone and that a new law had gone into effect April 1, which is why I was pulled over.

First off, I was surprised that my phone was the issue, because I wasn’t texting, I had merely made a call. I was aware that there had been a law change, but I didn’t know exactly what it was, but I DID know that the police were really upping their enforcement in April because they had been publicizing it on Facebook and I had seen it shared a couple of times. Well, apparently under the new law, you cannot be HOLDING YOUR CELL PHONE to make a call, unless it is an emergency, and it is now a PRIMARY OFFENSE, not just a secondary offense that they can tack onto a ticket after they see you break some other law. The first ticket is $83 and no points, the second is $140, and each one after that is $160. Texting fines are now $70 plus 1 point on your license. Both of these can lead to suspended licenses for minors.

Just the night before, I had warned Josh that we probably shouldn’t talk on the phone as he was driving home because I knew his Bluetooth earbuds were out of commission, and with him driving at night time, a cop was more likely to see that glowing phone up at his head and he could get a ticket. And then the very next day, it’s ME who gets a ticket for making a phone call, which seems doubly unfair because Josh hadn’t even picked up.

Josh was infuriated when I told him about it—not at me, but at the unlawfulness of the law. I wouldn’t say it’s an unlawful law, but I certainly wouldn’t have voted for it if I were a state delegate. Because frankly, this is super unrealistic. How often do you use your phone in the car? I’m going to guess that 80 percent of us use it EVERY SINGLE TIME. At least out here in the suburbs. I would not be texting while crossing the Bay Bridge, or driving on the beltway or 95, or anywhere at rush hour. I’m mostly doing it at red lights, or when I’m 30 miles per hour or less. And I know the anti-phone-use-while-driving people are going to say that it is still distracted driving and it could get you or someone else killed. And I would agree with that, at high speeds and unfamiliar territories. But really, when are we ever not distracted while driving? When my toddler is screaming for his milk bottle? When my six-year-old is asking me what brand of traffic drums SHA uses on 795? When we’re sick of hearing The Strokes album again in my 6-disc player and I’m trying to find which disc slot has Talking Heads? When I’m trying to eat my Chick-Fil-A breakfast chicken biscuit without getting crumbs all over my shirt so no one knows I made a morning Chick-Fil-A run? When I’m using GPS to figure out why in the world 140 is at a crawl? (GPS is still technically allowed.) Also, are these new cars with their fancy dash computers any LESS distracting than a phone? Maybe I can find a phone holder that I can slide into my cassette player and then they won’t give me a hard time next time.

I agree that phones can be distracting—remember how everyone made fun of smartphone users that would be walking and looking at their phone instead of up, back when they were the minority and the rest of us had flip phones that we only used for making actual calls? But then people adjusted, and learned to walk with their phones. I feel like driving has already gone through some of that growth period. You don’t see people making as many stupid mistakes as they used to. But I have no statistics on that.

Anyway, my car looks beat up, I’m watching the speedometer closer than I have in a long time, and I’m trying to put my phone on silent and keep it in my purse while I’m driving. The biggest upside I can see at this point is 10 years from now, when Rye is driving, I won’t be a hypocrite when I tell him to not use his phone while driving.

Of course by then we’ll probably all have a microchip in our brains and “smartphones” will be obsolete.

Rye has added a "caution" sign to prevent any-
one else from hitting this stupid concrete barrier

I got my first rejection letter!

So, I haven’t been writing in my blog as frequently as I theoretically would like to. What have I been up to? Well, writing query letters to try to get my book published.

Back in 2017, I wrote a children’s picture book that I had thought a lot about and finally sat down and put it on paper. It’s called “My Dad Digs Dinosaurs…But I Don’t.” It’s about a kid who likes construction and playing with trucks (yes, Rye was my inspiration) and a dad who is always asking if they can play dinosaurs instead (no, Josh is not the inspiration for the dinosaur part because he hates dinosaurs and thinks most of them are made up, but that’s a discussion for another time), and the boy learns to humor his dad because he wants to make him happy. I think it’s a very funny tongue-in-cheek concept because we parents are always playing things the kids want to play that we are not interested in but we do it because that’s what you do for someone you love, and I thought the role reversal would be humorous.

This is an AMAZING piece of original art that my sister-in-law Julie made me for my birthday this year, which so wonderfully captures the flavor of my book:

 

Who wouldn't want to read this book?!?

I’ve had two friends that are children’s librarians as well as two writer friends read it and suggest edits (really just cuts—I’m always overly wordy in my first draft of anything), and I told myself that I was going to pursue publishing with it in 2018. And then I did nothing. Like really nothing, the whole year. I’m pretty sure that if I knew how to check my Word file history it would have shown me that I didn’t even open the file in 2018.

And then this year, I sort of woke up and decided to go for it. After all, there is absolutely nothing to lose by trying. So I started researching how to get a book published and it starts with finding a literary agent to represent you because pretty much all publishers will not accept unsolicited manuscripts, but they do work with agents who have pre-vetted things. So 20 minutes here and there during the kids’ nap times or video times, I have been searching across the internet for literary agents that 1) are accepting unsolicited manuscripts for picture books and 2) seem like somewhat of a match. Most agencies ask you to send your manuscript to a specific agent in their company, but then say if that agent turns you down, you are welcome to send it to another agent in house, which I guess is kind of them, but then it also tells me that the agents don’t share — there’s no “hey, Bob, this book wasn’t my style but I know how you’re a sucker for dinosaurs so here you go.” It’s best to carefully look at all the agents, see what authors or books they already have represented, and send it to the one that whose books are similar to your style or audience.

I submitted my book to my first agent on Feb. 12 of this year, and got an immediate response that they read all submissions but not to expect a response for 4 to 6 weeks. They say if you don’t hear back you can send a follow-up after those 6 weeks, but I know how it works — they’re not just “forgetting” to respond to someone whose work they love and are ready to offer a contract to. I prayed over my book and my endeavor to have it published as I submitted it to that first agency, and decided to give it 4 weeks before sending it to the next agent.

And on March 13, I did send it to my next agent. And on Friday, a day I was feeling particularly restless and productive at the same time, I sent it to 3 more agents. And it was after sending it to that third (or really fifth) agent that I refreshed my inbox and saw that I had received my first response! The subject line simply said “Query Reply from [Agent Name],” (I think it’s probably in my best interest not to name names), but it was the second agent I had sent it to, and it was such a carefully worded (though obviously a form letter) response of rejection, and my heart still kind of leapt a little! Yes, I know that this industry (and all forms of the creative industry) are highly subjective and I should be encouraged to send it to another agency where it might be a better fit and they "can be an enthusiastic champion for me and my work!" I was so excited to see that letter, even if it was bad news, that I kind of couldn’t wait for Josh to get home so I could tell him. Getting that rejection letter made it feel real! Someone in the biz has read my work, and thought I at least deserved to know that they gave it “careful consideration.” I’ll take that—that’s better than having it sit unopened in my laptop. I even printed the rejection letter out to save in a folder of rejection (you know, for those days when I’m suffering from a swollen head). Thank you, Agent 2, for acknowledging my work and getting me even more excited to keep seeking out more agents.

I know it’s a real longshot to have my book chosen by an agent, to even have the possibility to be marketed to a publisher, but I’ve got nothing to lose in trying. In fact, the energy of sending out this first attempt at getting published forced my creative juices to get flowing again and I have a second book that I’m really happy about, “The Boy Who Talked to Squirrels,” on the off chance that an agent might say “I like your voice, but I think this dinosaur book would be a hard one to sell, what else ya got?” It’s not 100 percent yet, but I at least have something that I’d be happy to show as another sample of my writing, something that could be a second chance to get my foot in the door.

So here’s to impossible (or hopefully just improbable) dreams and taking first steps!

Planning for more good days

OK, before I get to specific goals for 2019, and I’m happy to announce that I have found my motto for 2019. I like the idea of having a one-word motto for each year, but sometimes one word is not enough. And I got this motto from a sign in Michael’s that made me laugh when I saw it, but I decided it was just the reminder that I need: “Today is a good day for a good day.”

It hangs on the outside of
my office, in the dining room.
I plan to center it better.

Silly, right? But one of my biggest problems, and this has been the case since Rye was 2, is that I let someone else’s negativity, (cough, “my children’s!”) put me in a sour mood and then it feels like the day cannot be redeemed. This is especially bad in my household because we’re early risers, so the day is often ruined by 8:30 a.m. That leaves a lot of miserable time left on the table.

I’ve asked for advice on this at my Mothers of Preschoolers meetings, and no one seems to have figured this one out. Or rather, for some moms, they just don’t have this problem, and for the ones that it is a problem, we don’t know what to do about it. On the really bad days, such as when Rye is constantly giving me ultimatums and making threats to take away all of my privileges, or Knox keeps hitting me when he’s mad about the directions he’s being given, or the two of them keep fighting with each other about stupid stuff, then I put on my giant headphones and either play music or just pretend I can’t hear them. Sound on or sound off, it helps take the edge off. I’ve decided my sign is going to remind me that today can still be a good day, and my kids are going to hear this expression repeated back to them many, many times.

Now, as for goals. Last year was BIG. I’m ready to have a small year. Lower my expectations. Instead of 19 goals for 2019, I’m going for 9. And they are:

1.       Have 1 Carrie Day per month. As I mentioned in my wrap up of 2018, having Carrie Days is the biggest thing I can do for my mental health. They are my lifeline to my pre-parenting self, when I could come and go and linger and explore and practice as I pleased. I will not let them fall to the wayside this year!

2.       Have 1 Date Night a month. If I deserve a day by myself, Josh and I surely deserve a time away together per month.

3.       Read 18 books this year. I’m not sure how many books I read in a typical year, but this year I want to be more intentional about reading. I plan to keep a list of all the books I read, even those I quit. And I’m giving myself permission to quit a book I don’t like, because I’ve found that if I don’t like a book, I avoid reading, and then it’s even more time before I start something I do like. And sadly this happens to me a lot, because I’m usually grabbing random books from library shelves without reading the book jackets or having heard of them before because I’m trying to keep track of the kids. As I was writing this, I took a break and created an account on Goodreads.com, which makes recommendations on books based on your ratings, kind of like a Netflix for books. I’m really excited to get better ideas for books through this, and then I can request the books to be put on hold for me at the library so I can pick them up from the reserve shelves faster than I could ever choose a book from the stacks.

4.       Keep a one-sentence diary. I have a terrible memory, and I enjoy keeping planners on paper, if only so if I’m trying to remember when I bought that deli ham I can look through my planner and see that I went to the grocery store on Monday, and yes, it should still be good. But I want to remember more than just my lists of errands and responsibilities, but I get overwhelmed by actually writing in a paper journal the thoughts and emotions that make up my day. So I’m using the app Simple Diary, which simply allows you to write something in each day’s line. So far I’ve kept up with it, never getting more than a day behind. To give you an example of the exciting life I lead, some recorded entries include “I have a sore throat” and “Because the plumber couldn't go to Scott's PA job, Scott and Nick came here and my office is now 1 day away from being done!”

5.       Buy a new computer. This one is a pain. I hate technology, and my Lenovo laptop drives me nuts. I had a Lenovo for the last 5 or 6 years at my job, and I loved it, so I bought one about a year after sharing Josh’s laptop, which also drives me nuts because it’s super slow. But about a year into owning my computer, perhaps when we got a new modem or something, it started giving me a ton of problems with using the internet. Some days it drops my internet connection every two minutes, so I constantly have to refresh the connection. Some days it’s fine, but never for more than three days at a time. And sometimes it just turns off in the middle of doing things. Sometimes it turns itself off over night. It’s just extremely inconsistent. Because the only ways I use my computer are to connect to the internet to read, email and shop, and create documents, I’ve decided to go with a Chromebook. I finally picked out one I liked from HP, only to find it’s sold out everywhere. So now I’m trying to see if I want the newer model or not. Ugh. But I plan to pull the trigger on this decision by the end of the month.

6.       Be more creative. And to be more specific, make something creative quarterly, in any art or craft genre. I greatly enjoy the achievement of having made something creative (which also means finishing it), so these will be small tasks, but it will feel good to be doing them, even if they are small or easy.

7.       And going along with being creative, I plan to look for inspiration. Creative people need to be exposed to creative stuff for inspiration. I’ve talked to other people in the art world, and that’s a thing. So I want to try to go to more local art shows and maybe a museum once a year and then find ways to expand my repertoire through these experiences. Like right now there’s a quilt show at the Carroll Arts Center that I really want to go see. I don’t think I’ll take up quilting, but maybe it will give me a good idea for collage, a medium I have been really interested in starting.

8.       Put more effort into gardening this year. I really appreciate attractive curb appeal, but we keep putting off real landscaping because we want to renovate the porch (some structural stuff required as well as the cosmetic stuff) so I don’t think I’ll get to do the front garden bed yet, though I am thinking of putting pansies in for the spring because they’re just so darn cheerful. Last year we finished all the masonry work on the foundation so we can finish anything with the perimeter of the house. And I’ve kind of ignored the front corner garden for the past two years, so that needs some love. I could add a few more perennials, it needs more mulch, and definitely some fertilizer. We also bought a dump truck of topsoil last year to correct the grading around the house's perimeter, and it seemed to work, and I was really dedicated to watering the grass and it worked, but we still have about 1/4 of the dirt pile left that needs to be spread out and re-seeded, and it is the gigantic eyesore that Josh and I cannot wait to be over with. Rye's looking forward to just shoveling up the dirt into his wheelbarrow and helping to move it, whether we ever plant over the dirt or not. 

9.       Accept help when it’s offered. I really try to be there and say yes to others when they need help, so when they’re offering to help me, I should let myself say yes to that too. I think that should be a resolution for everyone! Giving and receiving help is a big part of being in community. We don’t have to be strong all the time. Accepting help is not weakness. Let life be easier if you are in the blessed position where it can be easier! Plus it makes you more willing to give to others in return, and not just to the people who helped you, but to people in general. Let your cup be filled so it can overflow unto others.

   I had read another interesting piece about having an “Every Damn Day List,” in which you think of five things that you can do every day to make you feel like that day was a success even if you didn’t necessarily accomplish something that moves you forward in life. They are meant to be really simple, and this author’s list included things like drink three glasses of water per day, spend ten minutes outside every day, eat at least one fruit or vegetable per day. The idea is that these are things that are good for you but that are easy to ignore, but just as easy to do if you make it a point to do them. They are not to be lofty goals, or anything that takes more than 15 minutes. I’m still playing around with this idea, but I’m not ready to commit yet. We’ll see.

   What are you planning to do differently in 2019? I would love to hear from you guys too! As I saw on a Facebook post at New Year, “Don’t live the same year 89 times and call it a life.” And I think having goals and areas of focus help keep us from doing that.