Letting the structure fall

Adele has been getting really good at building with blocks. Yesterday she had put together a very tall tower and kept adding little blocks at the top. Obviously, you and I know a successful tower requires a strong structure. Adele is just learning this, and hasn’t quite mastered that technique yet. So as she kept adding to the top, the tower got more fragile and less steady. I kept holding it up for her so she could keep adding more blocks. It swayed and swayed and came close to breaking. But I held it up. I didn’t want her to get disappointed when it fell over. And eventually, I couldn’t hold it up anymore. And more than that, I let it fall. I wanted to see how she would react. I wanted her to know that sometimes things fall down. I wanted her to see what happens to her block tower if it gets too tall. So I let it fall.

She stared at it for a minute and then went right back to building.

Sometimes I have to remind myself I can’t always hold everything up, all the time. Sometimes things fall. And sometimes that’s OK.

I don’t usually help Adele unless she needs it or asks for it. She feeds herself, takes out and puts away her toys. She knows what food and drink she wants, and how to ask for it. She knows how to wash her hands, including rubbing her hands together with soap, drying off with a paper towel and throwing the towel in the trash. She knows how to brush her teeth (kind of) and her hair (kind of). Unless she needs help putting her dollie’s tiara on the dollie’s head, or winding up the toy caterpillar, or, after much trying, getting the proper shape into the proper hole or the puzzle piece in just right, I don’t help her. I wait until she asks for help.

My big girl enjoying an almond butter + jam sandwich!

As a mommy I want to protect her from everything. That’s why letting her go down the slide by herself this past weekend was a huge step for both of us. She does so much on her own, including running around the playground, climbing up what’s age appropriate, and gallivanting around the house with her toys and Campbell. She even got a little ride by Sean in her tricycle; her feet can’t touch the pedals yet, but as I saw her sitting there, hands on the handle bars, I knew – in only a few months – I am going to have minor panic attacks as she learns to ride, and all over again (like when she started crawling and then walking), want to bubble tape her body.

Adele and Claire at Claire's 2nd birthday party

But I know, as a mommy, I have to her let see what happens when the blocks fall down. I can’t predict every fall or tumble. I try to, but I can’t. And sometimes she falls down. And she brushes herself right off and keeps on going. If it’s a minor stumble, I ask, “are you OK?” and she says “yeah” and stands right back up and moves on to the next activity. If it's a bigger tumble, one that ends in tears or shock, I scoop her right up and kiss her boo-boo until she forgets about it. The more she walks and tumbles, the more I realize she (I) am going to be OK. She's fast on her feet and I can't predict every move. And that's OK. 

It’s OK to let her blocks tumble because she needs to learn how to build a good tower.

Aunt Julie and Adele <3

For so long I have felt like I try to keep every single tower from falling, and it’s a hard job. I juggle a lot as a full-time working mom of a toddler. And not only is it being a mommy and working, it’s all of our activities and plans. It’s training for Tour de Pink. It’s being on the boards and committees of Pink Zone, Hadassah and Discovery Space. It’s blogging (when I have the time). It’s maintaining friendships and relationships, near and far. It’s continuing to share my story and promote awareness about breast cancer in young women, and now Li Fraumeni Syndrome, and now adoption. But it all serves me. I may seem busy, and I AM. But I choose the activities that serve me, and I remove that ones that don’t.

toddler swim with Melissa and Brandon!

Yes I am training for Tour de Pink, and this past weekend I went out on a 20 mile bike ride by myself. And I loved it. I enjoyed it. It was my time away. My alone time.

Two years ago when I was training for my first Tour de Pink I would get nervous and anxious about every bike ride, almost dreading it because of the amount of pressure I put on myself. Now, today, I enjoy the ride. My last ride before yesterday was in the beginning of July, more than a month and a half ago. But I’m OK with that. No pressure. I ride when I can and I ride when I want. Tour de Pink isn’t the most important thing. My family and my well-being is. Adele comes first.

Tara and Duff's engagement party! We are so excited for our friends!

I’ve learned how to not feel overwhelmed by all my activities by not LETTING myself get overwhelmed by all my activities. I don’t think twice about saying “no” or canceling a cycling class I booked. I do what serves me.

Friday night live music at Happy Valley Winery

Friday night live music at Happy Valley Winery

That being said, I do feel like I have to keep all these towers together. I put a lot of pressure on myself, not to be perfect, but to be close to it. To make healthy meals every night for Adele. But sometimes we get Chinese food. To work out a few times a week. But sometimes it’s more like once a month.

I don’t need every structure to stand tall all the time. As long as most of them are somewhat standing, albeit swaying, it’s OK. Most have a good, strong foundation, in that the intention is good. The intention is pure.

The intention is I don’t want to disappoint Adele. But I also want her to learn how to build. How to make a good foundation, and what makes a good, strong, stable tower. And she can only learn that by seeing, sometimes, those blocks fall.

Fun at the park! (With a Tour de Pink water bottle!)

And for me, as a woman who wears all these different hats – wife, mom, working mom, cancer survivor – it’s great that all these towers have good foundations, and it’s great I want to keep them all standing. But I’m only one person. And I have to learn, too, what makes a good strong tower, what makes multiple good, strong towers. What makes a good, strong woman. For me, it is sometimes, just sometimes, allowing the structure to fall, and knowing it’s really, truly not the end of the world when it does.

Blowing bubbles at Ryan's 6th birthday party!

We are all truly soaking up these last few weeks of summer with plenty of parties and play dates and trips to the park and the pool. It’s been an amazing summer now that Adele can play outside with friends. The campfires and time with neighbors is never-ending. It’s been an amazing summer as Adele is growing so fast and learning so many new things. She loves the playground and sings in the stroller when we go on walks. She knows how to put sunscreen on herself (and her dollie, and mommy), and knows to ask for her hat when we go outside. Every day is such a joy with her, as she discovers more of her world. And my heart sings when she “takes care” of her dollie and lovies – kisses them, and “feeds” them with the toy bottles. I wish I could find the words to describe what that’s like, to see your daughter, without any prompting, just pick up her doll, cradle it, and kiss its forehead. If it was my heart singing it would be the loudest most joyful song. It would be my heart climbing to the tallest rooftop in the world and singing as loud as it possibly can. The joy is indescribable.

Enjoying crackers and hummus at Claire's birthday party

All of Adele is. All of being a mom is. It’s more amazing every day. It’s different every day. It’s the hardest, most rewarding job of all. It’s the best, best thing.

Adele and Nicole at Wiscoy for Animals' doggie ice cream social

Antennas up

This may have been my longest stretch of not writing. So this is an update with LOTS of pictures.
It's been a crazy past few months. Since I've blogged, we had Adele's baby naming, and then the unexpected deaths of three of our grandmothers within a few weeks of each other: Nana Stromberg at the end of May, Bubby Sara Dembowski, on June 14, and grandma Rochelle Miller just three days later.

From left: Nana, Rochelle and Sara

So the day after Adele's baby naming in Warminster, Sean and I flew to Buffalo, NY for Nana's funeral. Bubby passed away about two weeks later, and then Grandma Rochelle three days after that. There really are no words for how to describe these past few weeks. My heart breaks for all of our families. We honor their legacies, we honor their names, we honor their lives. They all lived long and fulfilling lives. They all left so much love in their paths. Love that will be carried on and built upon. Nataline, Sara and Rochelle, we will miss you. Please rest in peace knowing the beautiful families you created.

Me and Bubby Sara at our wedding, March 31, 2012

Adele's baby naming was beautiful and we were so blessed to be surrounded by friends and family to share in our special day. Adele is doing BEAUTIFULLY! she walks now! Just as my love for her grows each day in new ways, my love for being a mother grows each day in new ways. The rewards are endless. She is such a PERSON.

This face!

"Partini" with Emily <3

Going for a walk in the park with Melissa and Brandon

I wish I could just list all of the ways in which she continues to grow, but it would be impossible. I try to savor each moment, soak it all in. This morning as I was getting her dressed, she was just walking around her room with her bottle, flipping through Amelia Bedelia (her new favorite book; she tries to say "Bedelia" and it is THE CUTEST THING EVER), and I just watched her toddle around with her chubby thighs, half dressed. (How many Weight Watchers activity points do you get for dressing a toddler? It should be a lot.) We weren't in a rush, so I just let her toddle around her room, looking at her toys, and I just watched her and talked to her and smiled at her. I am always in awe of her.

When in Chicago ...

When Sean and I get dressed in the morning we put her in her Pack N' Play in our bedroom so she can play with her toys and we can keep an eye on her without her roaming around. This morning I was putting on my makeup and I didn't hear anything from her in the next room (she always talks or sings really loudly) so I quietly peeked my head around the door and saw her leaning in to kiss her Violet (purple talking dog stuffed animal.) MY HEART LITERALLY EXPLODED. Just silently, she leaned over to give her lovey a kiss, without knowing I was watching.

A precious moment captured by Lloyd

Adele and Brandon

Joel, Adele and Avi, in Warminster, PA for Bubby's funeral

It's these tiny moments where my heart just feels so full. Like I can't believe this is my daughter.
Now when I'm getting dressed in the morning I take her into my closet. She likes to look at my clothes and try on my jewelry. She does whatever Mom does. She wants to brush her hair like I brush my hair.
She follows Campbell around trying to give him his bones. She looks at me before she reaches for something she's unsure if she's allowed to have, and I reassure her it's OK to pick it up, or no, it's not OK. She knows when to wash her hands when we enter her classroom. She knows how to turn on the faucet. She likes when I brush her teeth. She likes her Amoxicillin to the point where she asks for more when it's gone. I cannot believe this little person is my daughter. I am in AWE. Every single day.

Me and Sally! On left, when our friendship began in the 1st grade, on right, us in Chicago last weekend! Friends for 22 years is something special! :)

Chicago selfie!

With the joyous awe and amazement comes all new new-mom panicking as she's learning to walk and is taking more tumbles. She is pretty steady on her feet, and I am slowly learning how to let myself go into the next room while watching her toddle around. This morning I was washing something in the sink and watching her in the living room with her walker, and I didn't take my eyes off her curly little pigtails at the top of her head, which I saw just peeking over the couch. I knew if her pigtails were up, she was still standing. I'm learning to let her go a little more and not be literally on top of her every move. She is moving wonderfully, and I know, like all other things, this will take time for me to get used to. I'm getting there and she's getting there.
Sean and I have been busy with work and social plans and fundraising for Team Pink and Pearls. We've already had three successful fundraisers, and two more are on the horizon, including Yoga on the Mountain, which I'll include more about at another time - but you can find out more on the fundraising page on this blog!

Enjoying a night out in Chicago xo

Adele playing with Legos at Barnes and Noble

These pictures are from the last few weeks, including my weekend trip to Chicago to visit Sally (last weekend), some pics from when my mom and Lloyd came to visit and we took a trip to the Arboretum and story time at Barnes and Noble, and just some other odds and ends.
We are all healthy and happy. We are all OK.

Buckingham Fountain, Chicago

Adele's baby naming!

Storytime at Barnes and Noble

I want to give a HUGE congratulations to my best friend Karishma who recently got engaged! I am so excited for you and Mike and I CANNOT WAIT to begin the wedding/planning/festivities/OMG! And I want to wish Sean a happy second Father's Day. Sean: you also continue to amaze me. I am in awe of you as well. Every day I am blessed to see firsthand how much you love our family. How much you love and care for Adele, for me and for Campbell, and for your parents and siblings. You take care of us all. I see the way you look at Adele. It is the same way I look at her. I constantly think there is no way anyone could know my love for her, the way my heart feels when I see her face or hear her talk. But when I see you look at her, I know you know. You share that same feeling. Just as I am in awe of her, every little piece of her, so are you. Your love for Adele is palpable. It is bursting. The way mine is.

I am just in awe of it all. In awe of this life. I am, again, after these recent deaths, aware of how precious life is. Of how I already imagined my life as this fragile faberge egg, but now it feels even more fragile. With Adele walking and the recent deaths, my alerts (which were already pretty high), are on higher for now. And I know that's OK. My antennas are up more. I'm more on edge. I have a walking baby and we lost three family members. But I know things will settle back down to the "normal crazy." Until then I think it's OK I'm on high alert, I'm a little more sensitive, a little more panicky. More anxiety. It's OK. A lot is happening.

pink roses at the Arboretum

Change is the only constant in life. 

Dear Mom of an Adopted Child, by Kathy Lynn Harris

I did not write this, but I had to share it. It reached something deep inside me. The words are so powerful, so spot on. So much of this was and is our journey. This puts into words so many of my feelings, that I can't articulate, even though I've tried. Of the pain and joy and knowing and not knowing what's to come. This so perfectly illustrates those little feelings in the little corners of my heart that are there, but I didn't know how to reach. Other people feel these feelings I feel. Warning, you will cry.

By Kathy Lynn Harris

Dear Mom of an Adopted Child,

I met you in adoption education class. I met you at the agency. I met you at my son's school. I met you online. I met you on purpose. I met you by accident.

It doesn't matter. The thing is, I knew you right away. I recognize the fierce determination. The grit. The fight. Because everything about what you have was a decision, and nothing about what you have was easy. You are the kind of woman who Makes.Things.Happen. After all, you made this happen, this family you have.

Maybe you prayed for it. Maybe you had to convince a partner it was the right thing. Maybe you did it alone. Maybe people told you to just be happy with what you had before. Maybe someone told you it simply wasn't in God's plans for you to have a child, this child whose hair you now brush lightly from his face. Maybe someone warned you about what happened to their cousin's neighbor's friend. Maybe you ignored them.

Maybe you planned for it for years. Maybe an opportunity dropped into your lap. Maybe you depleted your life savings for it. Maybe it was not your first choice. But maybe it was.

Regardless, I know you. And I see how you hold on so tight. Sometimes too tight. Because that's what we do, isn't it?

I know about all those books you read back then. The ones everyone reads about sleep patterns and cloth versus disposable, yes -- but the extra ones, too. About dealing with attachment disorders, breast milk banks, babies born addicted to alcohol, cocaine, meth. About cognitive delays, language deficiencies. About counseling support services, tax and insurance issues, open adoption pros and cons, legal rights.

I know about the fingerprinting, the background checks, the credit reports, the interviews, the references. I know about the classes -- so many classes. I know the frustration of the never-ending paperwork. The hours of going over finances, of having garage sales and bake sales and whatever-it-takes sales to raise money to afford it all.

I know how you never lost sight of what you wanted.

I know about the match call, the soaring of everything inside you to cloud-height, even higher. And then the tucking of that away because, well, these things fall through, you know.

Maybe you told your mother, a few close friends. Maybe you shouted it to the world. Maybe you allowed yourself to decorate a baby's room, buy a car seat. Maybe you bought a soft blanket, just that one blanket, and held it to your cheek every night.

I know about your home visits. I know about your knuckles, cracked and bleeding from cleaning every square inch of your home the night before. I know about you burning the coffee cake and trying to fix your mascara before the social worker rang the doorbell.

And I know about the follow-up visits, when you hadn't slept in three weeks because the baby had colic. I know how you wanted so badly to show that you had it all together, even though you were back to working more-than-full-time, maybe without maternity leave, without the family and casseroles and welcome-home balloons and plants.

And I've seen you in foreign countries, strange lands, staying in dirty hotels, taking weeks away from work, struggling to understand what's being promised and what's not. Struggling to offer your love to a little one who is unsettled and afraid. Waiting, wishing, greeting, loving, flying, nesting, coming home.

I've seen you down the street at the hospital when a baby was born, trying to figure out where you belong in the scene that's emerging. I've seen your face as you hear a nurse whisper to the birthmother that she doesn't have to go through with this. I've seen you trying so hard to give this birthmother all of your respect and patience and compassion in those moments -- while you bite your lip and close your eyes, not knowing if she will change her mind, if this has all been a dream coming to an abrupt end in a sterile environment. Not knowing if this is your time. Not knowing so much.

I've seen you look down into a newborn infant's eyes, wondering if he's really yours, wondering if you can quiet your mind and good sense long enough to give yourself over completely.

And then, to have the child in your arms, at home, that first night. His little fingers curled around yours. His warm heart beating against yours.

I know that bliss. The perfect, guarded, hopeful bliss.

I also know about you on adoption day. The nerves that morning, the judge, the formality, the relief, the joy. The letting out of a breath maybe you didn't even know you were holding for months. Months.

I've seen you meet your child's birthparents and grandparents weeks or years down the road. I've seen you share your child with strangers who have his nose, his smile ... people who love him because he's one of them. I've seen you hold him in the evenings after those visits, when he's shaken and confused and really just wants a stuffed animal and to rest his head on your shoulder.

I've seen you worry when your child brings home a family tree project from school. Or a request to bring in photos of him and his dad, so that the class can compare traits that are passed down, like blue eyes or square chins. I know you worry, because you can protect your child from a lot of things -- but you can't protect him from being different in a world so intent on celebrating sameness.

I've seen you at the doctor's office, filling out medical histories, leaving blanks, question marks, hoping the little spaces don't turn into big problems later on.

I've seen you answer all of the tough questions, the questions that have to do with why, and love, and how much, and where, and who, and how come, mama? How come?

I've seen you wonder how you'll react the first time you hear the dreaded, "You're not my real mom." And I've seen you smile softly in the face of that question, remaining calm and loving, until you lock yourself in the bathroom and muffle your soft cries with the sound of the shower.

I've seen you cringe just a little when someone says your child is lucky to have you. Because you know with all your being that it is the other way around.

But most of all, I want you to know that I've seen you look into your child's eyes. And while you will never see a reflection of your own eyes there, you see something that's just as powerful: A reflection of your complete and unstoppable love for this person who grew in the midst of your tears and laughter -- and whose loss would be like the loss of yourself.

By Kathy Lynn Harris

What IF vs. What IS

We'll start with the most important stuff first: Wednesday's appointment was non-eventful! Yes, it was just an exam by Dr. Kass, and everything felt/looked fine, so I go back in six months for an MRI. Because I'm in the LFS study at the NIH Dr. Kass thinks I may be able to get a breast MRI less often than once a year, because I'm getting a full body MRI - additionally - every year for the study.
So, yes, a small six-month step, but I am so relieved. Every appointment that goes well is another deep breath and another milestone. I'll take it. I'll take it all.

So, back in November for an MRI, and then full body and brain MRIs in December for LFS.

There's always so many different parts of me, tugging at me, during these appointments. First, I can't talk/think about life/plans until after the appointment. In the car on the way to Hershey Sean and I always talk about our plans for the week, month, etc. Sunday we're going to take Adele to the park. We need to buy chairs for the backyard. We'll get the kiddie pool set up. We need to go on a bike ride. I am going to Chicago next month, Sean has a softball happy hour, etc. I try and I try to imagine life beyond the appointment, and even though I am four years out with NO reason(s) to be worried/concern, I STILL have a hard time functioning until after the appointment. What if something happens/they find something/we need to follow up? Plans will be altered.

And then there's the relief part of me mixed with the panic part of me. Today, for example, Dr. Kass said the exam was fine, and that everything felt fine, looked normal, etc., and I had this HUGE feeling of relief inside. Like a big cloud just blew away out of my lungs. Like WHEW, OK, I am good. I am so good. And then: panic. What if she missed something?

(Let's keep in mind that Dr. Kass is nicknamed "Golden Fingers Kass" for her ability to feel everything and anything. She found a STITCH around my implant for goodness sake. A stitch. And I've had plenty of follow-up ultrasounds to lumps and bumps when it was deemed necessary.)

So, all that in mind, I know it is me, my brain. My brain always does this to me and I am learning how to reverse it. When there is relief I create a fear that isn't there. I have learned, through therapy and self-reflection, to pinpoint exactly what I'm doing when I'm doing it, and to tell myself it is in my mind and not a real thing. I create a scenario that isn't there. It takes a lot of practice - and I'm still learning - how to recognize and reverse these thoughts. Thoughts that have no basis. Thoughts I create out of scenarios that don't exist.

There are a million what-ifs in the world. But we don't live by what-ifs. We live by what IS.

Here's what IS: Dr. Kass said everything felt fine and to come back in six months.

I am learning to just take what IS and just go with it. It's gotten easier and I've gotten better at it, but there are still times I catch myself creating fear and fearful situations that have no basis.

So upon relaxing I am looking forward to Mother's Day weekend with Sean and Adele and Cams. We have lots of fun things planned, including trips to the winery, going out with friends, walks, playing at the park, bike rides, etc.

I can't believe Adele is a TODDLER. Like, a toddler. There is no greater feeling in the world than when she looks into my eyes and "pats" my hair and touches my face. Or when I'm holding her and she reaches her arms around my neck for a closer hold. There are a million little things she does, where, in those moments I am in complete awe. I am continuously surprised by this little being, who knows so much and who learns so quickly. Tiny little moments - there are too many to name them all - I try to cherish, to freeze. Her curly hair tickling my chin as she falls asleep in my arms before I put her in the crib. And I think - I will stay for two more seconds. Squeeze very tightly this exact experience. I love this moment.

There are a million what-ifs in the world.

They can float along in the world, on their lists, doing their own things.

Today, I choose what IS.

What-ifs are crowded and mind-numbing. They are overwhelming and confusing. They are overlapping and mysterious. They are contradictory and dizzying.

What IS, is clear and crisp.

Here's what we know. Let's take that, and let's run with it.

Ain't nobody got time for anything else.

Put on the backpack and wear it

UGHHHHHHH I have Dr. Kass on Wednesday in Hershey. It is just a routine six month checkup. Normally, being four years out, I would go every year (exam + breast MRI) but because of my special, attention-seeking genetic mutation called LFS, I keep going every six months. (exam alternated with MRI). During the exam, if a lump/bump/something else is felt, they will do an ultrasound that day. If the ultrasound looks suspicious, they will schedule a follow-up or do a biopsy that day. 

Sometimes there are lumps and bumps and sometimes there are ultrasounds. 

I always get anxious and nervous before these appointments. The anxiety never goes away. Sometimes it's less, but it never goes away. And sometimes it's really not less. Sometimes it just takes different forms.

These checkups will always be a part of my life, and I have no problem with that. Four years out, 44 years out, I'll probably always go every six months. Because LFS. And because many women I know were breast cancer-free for 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 years and then it came back. Because it does. And because LFS. And just because. 

With Leukemia, (the type that I had, which was childhood ALL), the longer you are in remission, and the further out you are from treatment, the less likely the relapse. Of course, you can always have a relapse. But with my case and my age and my treatment, each year out was one more year away, and it became less likely for it to come back. I am now 17 years out from ALL.

With breast cancer, there is no such thing. It can come back 20 years later in the same spot (despite surgery, chemo, radiation), or as mets. And it has been known to happen, A LOT. Women are clear for 20 years and then two seconds later they are stage 4. This crosses my mind. In the same way all cancer crosses my mind - in a battle between I am healthy now and I can't live my life in fear of cancer coming back - between - oh, it can absolutely come back anytime. To: I don't know if and when it will come back - between - oh, it can absolutely come back anytime.

All the while I move forward and I keep on keeping on. I have a daughter to care for and a job to do. I'm a mom and a wife with a full-time job and laundry and thank-you notes and playdates and bath time. I LOVE all of my jobs. I LOVE being a mom. My daughter needs me to be brave, so I'm brave.

Just as I always have, I live fully (very fully) while still being very much aware that I can get cancer again - a new cancer or the same cancer(s). I live fully in the moment (very fully) and also try to plan ahead (trips, vacations, etc.) while still being very much aware that cancer could ruin those plans, and it absolutely has in the past. But just because something has happened once before doesn't mean it will happen again.

What if it does?

But what if it doesn't?

We don't really know.

So we all know how I live - the fear doesn't control my life but it's definitely there. And when there is pain somewhere or a migraine or a bruise that doesn't heal right away it's there.

The fear doesn't stop me from anything. It doesn't keep me from anything. I still signed up for Tour de Pink this year and booked my flight to Chi to visit Sally in June. We still built a house and adopted a baby and became a family. I commit to everything I do. And then I do it. But all the while I have LFS. 

My friends, the backpack is heavy. True, this week it is heavier than other weeks because I have Dr. Kass. When I have Dr. Kass the backpack is HUGE. I hate that freakin' backpack. It comes every six months and it's a terrible backpack. 

And it also comes around when I have LFS clinic in December. And all other times the backpack is OK. It is manageable. But this week it is heavy and I hate it. 

Right now - there is also so much more than that backpack. There is this spark in my life. My beautiful family. This past weekend we took Adele to the mikveh to begin her conversion process into Judaism, and later this month we will have her baby naming. The rabbi and cantor who married us also did the mikveh ceremony, and will also conduct Adele's baby naming. In the same synagogue where we were married. Full circle. And Adele turned 1. Full circle. And it's spring. A lot of circles. 

We are truly, truly blessed. 

Yes, I hate this backpack, but I'll wear it. I have to. Stress hurts. Anxiety hurts. 

But what choice do I have? I wear the backpack. I just wear it.

A light and fluffy survey

A wine can never be too dry, and you can never have too many napkins. 
Adele's poop doesn't gross me out, but crumbs do. Again, you can never have too many napkins. 

And now, here's a fun survey! 

I know I’m getting old when: wearing flip-flops makes my toes spasm. And I look forward to Lifetime movies I DVR in advance.

If I were stranded on a deserted island with only one food, what would it be: fresh Medjool dates. (if a person were asking me this question instead of a computer, I would have interrupted him or her mid-sentence with my answer).

Since becoming a mom, this has surprised me: how much I talk about poop. And how much our schedules revolve around the poops of Adele and Campbell. And how many words I use to describe poop. (Mainly, “poops” even if just referring to one singular poop). And how much I ask Adele about her “poops” even if I already know the answer. (“Did you make poops in your diaper?” Yes. The answer is always yes.)

My favorite part of the day: bedtime. For one and all.

I can’t recall the last time I: wore matching socks, washed my hair. Unpacked from a trip. Wore high heels. 

The worst thing I ate for dinner this week: pie. (If “worst” means unhealthy.)

The thing that’s surprised me most about my baby this week: how insanely fast she scarfs down food. I can actually HEAR her gulping down banana. It’s ridiculously cute.

My perfect morning: guilty as I write this, but before the baby wakes, and I get to watch Real Housewives on DVR with a humungous cup of coffee while Campbell lays on the couch next to me.

My perfect evening: in bed before 9 p.m., showered.

I hate being: itchy, tired, hungry, full, cold.

I love being: relaxed, hot.

Favorite office supplies: highlighters, dry erase markers and paperclips.

Least favorite office supplies: keyboards because they have crumbs and dust. 

Things that gross me out: crumbs and wearing my glasses in places I can see crumbs when I wouldn’t otherwise see them. And dust.

Things I do that my significant other/partner doesn't understand: my overuse of napkins during mealtime, and saving semi-dirty napkins after mealtime. How I don't unpack my suitcases, and instead use another, different suitcase when packing for an upcoming trip. My lack of matching socks and lack of desire to put away clean laundry in an effort to be able to identify matching socks. My "panic attacks" over listening to NPR; anticipating long car rides with dogs and babies; unpacking the car after a trip; procrastinating over simple household chores/tasks, yet planning birthdays and anniversaries months in advance; not eating dinner by 6 p.m. or not being finished with dinner by 7 p.m. 

The struggle is real when: I want to get a coffee but I'm too tired to move. I can fit into and buy children's shoes from Target and I'm all excited but then they give me blisters. 

I can't believe I (blank) in high school: ate Cheetos and Ramen noodles every day.

I won't knowingly eat: mayonnaise.

I won't knowingly drink: whole milk, soda, sweet wine. (blech)

Favorite drink: water, black coffee, red wine, green juice, coconut water, cherry chia Kombucha. 

Least favorite drink: anything carbonated. unless it's champagne. and milk. 

The struggle with being tall/short: short. People back up into me.

The benefit of being tall/short: short, again. I can buy junior girls' clothing. But then again, most of the time I don't know it's junior's until after I've already bought it.

People claim this about me: they can never hear me coming and are always surprised when I'm behind them. I don't know why I'm so sneaky.

I hate when people: open doors quickly. you never know who's behind it! and they could be carrying hot coffee! (I always open doors very carefully and slowly.)

You can never have too many: bracelets, shoes, fresh Medjool dates, bottles of wine, napkins.

You CAN have too many: un-filed papers, pens that don't work, receipts in your purse.