Summer Tour

It might have been an eternity since you blogged if you had to search back through your Facebook to remember the website. Sorry, Char.



Boy, we had a SUMMER! A finding-water-every-dang-day-lake-loving-wave-dodging-family-filled summer. My heart is full, and my energy is tapped, but I wouldn't do one thing differently. I sat down at least three times throughout June and July with every intention of documenting our time in great detail; it just never quite happened, so here it is. 2015 was one for the books.

The first of June threatened to be bleak. John started a new job and part of the on-boarding included two weeks in Seattle. Two entire weeks. In our fifteen years together, I don't know that we've ever spent two whole weeks apart and certainly nowhere near two weeks since Charlie-boy was born. Everyone around me had the same appropriate reaction, "Two weeks? Are you gonna be okay?!" Dallas begged me to come north. My in-laws proposed we take over the extra rooms at their house. My best friend offered to fly us all the way to Portland to be with her family. I'm actually not sure if I should be grateful or embarrassed that everyone knows my weaknesses so well. We politely declined all invites, John jetted off one Sunday morning, Charlie started swim lessons that Monday, Tania vowed to come down for the last four days of the two-week separation, and we did it!  We tackled a wicked summer stomach bug and strep throat all while John was gone, and I felt empowered and brave and exhausted and ready to see my husband, but mostly, I felt grateful for this community we've built around us. Charlie and I busied ourselves with play dates and swim dates. Friends and in-laws invited us over for dinner, dropped over to watch late-night movies, took us on museum tours perfectly suited for Charlie boy and surrounded me with doses of adult conversation. Adult conversation. Who knew I'd miss it so very much? And Tania and the boys battled through the rainy end of the weeks with us - strep throat and all. Magically, Charlie finished swim, John came home, and all was right with the world again.

John, however, came home to a different household. In the two weeks he was gone, we had a new full-fledged swimmer in our house. Charlie started swim school with his cousins early this summer, and the familiar faces and the kind swim teacher served him so well. (His competitive spirit may have come into play too.) There was one boy in the class that was, by all accounts, already a swimmer except he couldn't swim the necessary five feet by himself to move into the next class, and when Charlie saw all that the swim teacher was letting that boy do, he started asking what he had to do to be like that. She showed him how to blow "humming bubbles" with his face under water, encouraged us to swim everyday after swim class, and the rest is history. Watching this kid swim swells my heart to an unbelievable size, and he couldn't be prouder of his new-found skill. Those two weeks shaped our entire summer. I felt motivated to help him develop his skills, and swimming, shoot, it wears a kid out. Our new goal was to find water every dang day, and we did a pretty good job of it.

Minnesota was next on the summer agenda, and after two weeks of separation, I was so grateful to have our family together for an entire week. We spent Sunday on airplanes and then in a car, but it was all worth it when Charlie stepped out the back door of the cabin. He couldn't get in the water fast enough, and in typical Kavanaugh's fashion, there was a whole crew of people cheering him on and sweet Jamie even ran up, threw on her suit, and jumped in with him. My heart bursts with love up there and watching Charlie on the receiving end of all that love makes me a complete puddle. Kavanaugh's is just plain family fun - a week-long retreat from technology, from the hot Texas heat, and from reality, but this year I realized John and I long for Kavs for completely selfish reasons too. Kavs offers mentorship and encouragement. Almost like clockwork on the first night, John stays up entirely too late catching his uncles up on a years-worth of work. They swap stories, offer advice, and listen intently to all the changes we've encountered over the year. I'm not sure there's much that fills my heart more than seeing people take the time, invest interest, and listen intently to the person I love the most. John walks away from those nights reassured, encouraged, motivated, and hungover. Selfishly, I look around for seven days and watch an entire generation of people who created families with kids in their teens, twenties and thirties who actually still want to hang out with their parents, their siblings, their cousins, and their cousins' kids. They've built the healthiest kind of family dynamics, and while it's an imperfect system, that's the absolute beauty in it. You don't have to do everything right. You simply have to invest time (over and over again), and it's in this week that I'm encouraged and reassured in my daily job. And the cousins. Oh geez, don't even get me started on the cousins. John got to grow up with friends that were also family, and they're all so good at welcoming us newbies into the fold. Our hearts are always a little fuller and our bellies a little bigger when we leave Minnesota, and every year we can't wait to go back for more.

We had almost three weeks in Austin before Charlie and I made our great voyage to the beach with my family. It was great to be home all together for a good stretch, but I also couldn't wait to get Charlie to the beach for his first ocean adventure. When we decided Charlie and I would drive, John would fly and meet us mid-week, and then we'd all ride back together, it seemed like a no-brainer, but as our departure date approached, the thought of eleven hours in the car together gave me the cold sweats. In hindsight, I should've been worried about almost 16 hours in the car. Ignorance is bliss. I won't detail every bit of our car trip, but know that an eight and a half hour day took almost twelve, and there were about a million bathroom pit-stops. The Bastrop forest fire was a topic of hot debate, Louisiana almost put me to sleep, a gas station in Mississippi made me grateful for the portion of the south we reside, and shells at the Gulport beach are actually hermit crabs. (Charlie and I almost peed our pants laughing.) Overall, it was a really good, easy car ride, and Seaside was the ultimate treat. Put me with my siblings for a week, and there's not much that could go wrong. I laughed until I cried every day, and Charlie ran around non-stop for seven days straight with his older, cooler and (sometimes) wiser cousins. I'm eternally grateful for the time I got to steal away with my niece and nephews. They're some of the coolest kids I know. There were death hikes, forest walks, catching up with extended family, horseback riding, airport races, too much food and Cards of Humanity. Oh Cards of Humanity. I've never seen my husband giggle harder. I want to play it with every inappropriate person I know. The week was restorative. If I could, I'd live right next door to my siblings and parents. Being with them makes me feel more like myself than I ever do anywhere else.

We're home, and it feels so good to settle back into reality. We're prepping for Charlie's first day of school and jumping back into work. My boy transformed this summer, and he picked the perfect time to do it. Hope this love, gratitude and these summer vibes carry us right through the year.

Three!

A three year old. Holy smokes. We're living with a dang three year old. Most days I can't even believe it. On the tantrumy, whiny or days peppered with "whyyyy?" I realize very much that we've arrived, but most days, I can't believe you're ours and you're already three. I'm grateful for three - grateful for your language, problem-solving, interaction with familiar friends and your ability to make friends when we're out and about. Your dad and I talked so much about traits we wanted you to have during pregnancy - always settling on adventurous, kind, and funny, and this year you've proved you're all of those things and so so so much more.

Last month, we geared up to head back to the dentist for your bi-annual cleaning, and while you loved the tiny kids' door, the games and the themed rooms, you were apprehensive about going back. As we walked through the doors, you still weren't quite sure this was a great idea, but when the hygienist called us back, you willingly followed, and I fell behind y'all and listened to you chat with her, answering questions about your shoes, your favorite color and superheroes. By the time we got to the room, you climbed right up in the chair, put on the sunglasses to shield your eyes, and let her start in on a real cleaning. I weirdly felt myself quietly falling apart. How the heck did I have a kid that was old enough to lay there so calm, cool and collected a get his freaking teeth cleaned all while chatting with the hygienist? I choked back tears and thought about all the ways you'd proved your independence in the last year - soccer, school tours, park moments and now the dentist. Every time you engage in a "regular" conversation asking questions, answering and carrying on, I find myself a little dumbfounded. I guess this is what growing up looks like - very slowly becoming less of the equation. That night I talked with your dad about your agreeable nature. It's not that you never protest or ask for more time when you're doing something you want to do, but mostly, you go with the flow. You're happily ready to do whatever comes next. You have a definite backbone (which I hope you hold firmly to), but mostly, you're laid-back and easy-going. Three years ago, I didn't know this would be something I'd value so much in you, but it's been firmly added to the list - adventurous, kind, funny and agreeable. Let's hope it sticks.

These past years have been a slow shift from playing around other kids to playing with kids and now to seeking out friends. At the park last week, we were playing when you eyed an older boy, Wyatt, playing one of your favorite games: hide and seek. You immediately rushed over and hid with him while his grandma searched for her boy. When she stumbled upon the two of you, you broke into giggles and quickly suggested, "let's do it again!" You and Wyatt took off in different directions, and when he called after you to come to the tunnel, you yelled back, "No. Come on! I've got the perfect place!" Wyatt was sold (either by your enthusiasm or your assertiveness), and the two of you sat underneath the playground equipment quietly chatting about your awesome spot as you asked him his name and age, told him yours and gushed that you "reeeeally like playing this game." I wanted to sneak in and record every word of your conversation. After that round, you eagerly darted my way ready for a drink as Wyatt called out, "Hey! Charlie! Will you be my friend?!" Turning around with your hands on your hips and face beaming, you happily accepted, and my heart jumped right into my throat. The two of you were thick as thieves for the next hour. Watching you make friends and seeing other little humans appreciate your nature leaves me in total awe. You're magnetic.

In the months to come, you're starting school, bidding adieu to your pacifiers (gasp) and will undoubtedly embark on so many more tiny adventures that feel like gigantic milestones. We can't wait to walk through all of it with you. You fill us with gratitude. Always and forever. You're a real kid. A really awesome little person.

Finding Our Way

In the first few months of motherhood, I started a book. It was fated to be the saddest, most depressing book known to man. I'd unequivocally come to the conclusion that what all bookstores were missing from their shelves was a book that detailed the reality of motherhood in the first few months of baby's life.  I didn't want any more What to Expect or Dr. Sears bull. I wanted real life. I wanted to detail every moment of sleeplessness and sexlessness, the breastfeeding woes, the flubby skin, the inconsolable crying, and all the damn blood. I felt called to let all expecting mothers know. I scolded my sisters for keeping it from me and quietly reevaluated who my real friends were. Did I even have any?! I knew I'd never forget any part of it, but I wrote bits and pieces down daily. I stumbled upon a shell of a book a few months ago and laughed at my blurry, sleepless fueled writing. Nobody tells you the dirty details because nobody really remembers. In the moment, they were my every thought, but even just six months later? A blur. Two years later? Forget about it.

By now, of course, we're sleeping, and all of the early woes, fears, and frustrations have disappeared, but we've hit another stage. That almost three-year-old thing. We whine, we rage, we negotiate. About everything. There's a not-so-peaceful person that resides inside of me that sometimes doesn't know if we'll make it through the day when the whining begins. And that short-fuse-kinda-anger that lives in both John and my bloodlines boils over every now and again. As Charlie continuously jabbed me with a stick while I was driving (a stick he shouldn't have had in the car...I'd clearly picked my battles that morning), and I quietly considered my patience level, he hit me right in the armpit, and I laughed - a real, honest, from my toes, you tickled me, kind of laugh. The situation immediately diffused. He was mad I was going to work; he'd been working all morning to push my buttons. I was stressed; getting both of us ready and out the door to drop him off and make it to work on time has that effect on me. But that laugh made everything disappear. He cracked up in return which only made me laugh more which only fueled his giggles. And then we talked about sticks in the car and poking people's bodies with them and decided it wasn't a great idea. Nobody got mad, he put the stick down, and there was a real understanding.

I spent too much time wishing away infancy. I'm now acutely aware this is all in fact a blip. I probably won't remember him raging about raspberries in his pancakes or crying when he didn't get rice for breakfast, and I might forget him combing my hair with a fork while I was trying to have a real conversation with my colleagues at a work lunch. But I think he'll remember my grace. I know he'll learn more from calmly communicated lessons than my frustration. And I hope we always find a way to laugh.

This Year's Love

As a pants-less Charlie bolted by us in the kitchen, John asked if this was the future I had in mind when I agreed to go on a date with him fifteen years ago today. Well, not quite.

The truth is I didn't see John coming. On Monday we coincidentally walked out the back doors of our high school together, Friday he asked me out, and fifteen years later, we just never quit. John and I finished childhood and leapt right into adulthood together. I didn't know how much we'd struggle or how happy we'd be, and I couldn't have told you John would evolve into my best friend because on the day he asked me out I didn't know his heart, his loyalty and his patience. This past year tested us in ways we couldn't have prepared for, but as we sat down just after the first of the year talking through last year's struggles and this year's goals, we undoubtedly agreed that we've never been a stronger unit. Fifteen years together, and we've hit a really good stride. Here's to a lifetime more.

Soccer Shots

My blurry, overly-fantasized version of motherhood was realized today - soccer started. Part of my vision of motherhood is games on Saturdays and practice during the week. It's cheering and supporting. Just before Christmas, we signed Charlie up for Soccer Shots in hopes of building a small bridge between life as he knows it and school in the fall. The idea of him having a coach, following directions, and sharing seemed like a step in the right direction. And sports? Forget about it. We're kinda obsessed around here. 

We got some sporty gear for the cold weather, GaGa and PaPa bought him some cleats (cleats!), and Charlie couldn't have been more ready to get to the field. Charlie-boy's a little obsessed with his clothing lately and always wants to have on just the right outfit for the next activity. Soccer class proved no different. There was a minor meltdown when he realized he didn't have an official soccer shirt (how embarrassing), but he suddenly reminded me he did indeed have one, silly mom...I left out the minor detail that the shirt was actually part of his pajamas and quickly pulled it right over his head. Crisis averted. Our sweet friend Melissa rode over with us, PaPa met us at the field, and just like that Charlie officially had the largest fan club. 

As I got him out of the car pulling his sweatshirt over his head and reminding him to listen to his coach, to ask people their names and tell them his, and to be friendly and kind, I felt myself almost losing it. Here it was. This moment where you hope you're succeeding. Yes, yes, I'm aware it's just soccer, but it was our first let go moment. I wasn't in charge. I wasn't even meant to be involved. It was my first true trust. Trust that I've prepared you for this, sweet boy. It was small, tiny actually, but the significance felt huge. John and I talk a lot lately about the weight of raising a person and who we want our boy to be at his core, and while we certainly want him to be smart and successful, ultimately, we want him to be kind. We want him to be adventurous and enthusiastic. Mostly, we want him to be a friend. And from the little, teeny tiny snapshot I got today, I'd say we're on the right track. He did it. He happily tried something completely new. He was apprehensive at first, but he followed his coach. He made new friends. He helped set out and pick up cones and collected balls at the end of practice. He stayed with Coach Jonathan until the bitterly cold end even though he was dying to go drive the steering wheel at the park. And most importantly he can't wait to go back. My heart's bursting with pride today. I cried thanking Melissa for showing up, for being there with me. And Charlie and I celebrated. We took an extra long bath and read way too much of Black Beauty and screamed GOOOOOAAAALLLLLLLLL! way too loudly way too many times while we laid in bed together.  Undoubtedly, this is just the very beginning, but it feels really great to be here.