The Big Ten

On June 14th, 2009 my husband and I were married in Oregon. Yup, we lasted a decade and hit the big ten everyone. Pop the champagne!

Since we had the baby, anniversary stuff has been extremely low key but for 10 years we decided we needed to do it up. Actually this happened only about two months ago that we agreed to make it a weekend worthy of time away.

My husband and I recently reflected on where we've been the last 10 years and I don't mean that geographically. To put it lightly, we've been through some shit. Most of you might say, "Ah, yeah the car accident and everything." Nah, that's only wading ankle deep in the shit.

Ironically we started uncovering the layers of what's been happening with friends and family and have gotten mostly warm, understanding and concerned support and reminders that we have people around us that love us. One particular response, however, is so painfully ironic that I just keep replaying it in my mind and to sum up, the response to our big ten was a reminder that it likely won't get much easier.

Some of you will laugh and scoff saying that's not exactly supportive of how far we've come. For those of you that know me quite well, you can understand my interest in just how ridiculous it all is. If you want me to put it politely, things have been generally okay. If you want the raw truth, the past 5 years have been the toughest we've ever been through, nearly leaving us completely broken and irreparable. However, we've been working our asses off not to get to the low point, or close, again.

We've overcome a lot of personal battles, spousal battles, and parenthood battles, all of which have made us even stronger, but were challenging, hurtful and sometimes unfair, nonetheless. So, this weekend isn't about reaching some random number. It's about look at what we've done the last 10 years only to this year, yes 2019, be the closest we've been since our wedding day, to landing on our feet.

Don't get me wrong, our wedding wasn't perfect or flawless. The best man forgot the groom's suit and didn't realize it until 40 minutes before the ceremony was set to start. One of my bridesmaids had to make people completely re-do the table set up. One of our friends showed up like 3 hours late. It was a pretty normal wedding actually, but it was OUR day. 

We've gone to some pretty fancy weddings, and we always admire their ability to plan so far ahead and have such amazing detail. I just wanted a day to celebrate with the people I loved, and to look skinny in a great wedding dress. Goal reached. Oh and a cake from my favorite, legendary Eugene Oregon bakery. Also, goal reached.

No one tells you that no marriage is easy. No one tells you that getting help is always a good thing. No one tells you you'll go through periods where you don't even like your spouse. You just love them because they are yours, but you don't have to like them sometimes.

No one tells you that you can grow into adulthood separately to the point where it can create a rift. No one tells you how much parenthood changes your entire marriage. No one talks about financial issues making you go to bed angry and not speak for days. No one tells you about any of the shit, just the cupcakes and rainbows.

It's as if we have to lift the veil and share our wounds before anyone else comes out with their marriage woes. It's like in Wizard of Oz when they drop the house on the wicked witch but you have to coax out the munchkins like, what am I walking into? 

I honestly have no expectations that things will be easy. I am cautiously optimistic that we've gotten through some rough waters and have some slightly sunnier weather ahead. I'm sure we will continue to work on things and grow and communicate so we actually like each other. For me personally, the love part is easy, but always liking the person you've married, especially when they are being quite un-like-able, is the hardest. 

In true form, the last few months in healing I have quoted Parks and Rec over and over, with some serious Ben and Leslie goals:

These two are important, especially at the end of the day.

What we're doing is a big deal for us. We are going away for one whole night. We are staying on the beach in a nice place with privacy and quiet, we are having a nice dinner together, and we are just going to enjoy each other with no child in our midst. 

In truth, we probably have 2 to 4 date nights a year, and I'm not over-dramatizing at all. Usually we have to be in Pennsylvania or Oregon to warrant being away for even just a night, let alone anything more. Taking this time for ourselves is huge. This is such a big deal I've told almost no one about it, so as not to jinx or ruin it somehow. As if sharing my excitement could spoil the fun, but mostly it's not about anyone else but us.

It's been a rough handful of years, so for the big 10, we're ushering in 10 more and hopefully rekindling what we need to make it less volatile, stressful and stormy. We love us some thunderstorms, but I'd much rather enjoy them with my hubby than weather them at each other.  

My wisdom after 10 years of marriage is this: You're going to be horrible to each other, you're going to have really dark moments, but don't give up the fight. If that is the person you want to fight with and annoy, keep annoying them, don't disappear. Remember that divorce is never a bad thing because happily married people don't get divorced, generally, so if you're fighting the good fight, you don't really have to worry about that part. I intend to keep fighting the good fight for as long as he's around to fight with. 

The Florida Move - Who, What, When, Where...Maybe Even Why?

We're inching closer to a full decade as Floridians and my husband also has reminded me, I've officially lived in Florida longer than I did in Oregon and I'm 3 years shy of beating out my 13 years in Pennsylvania. The Florida move was a big one for my husband but less so for me, and 10 years later I figure I can better explain the move now, as opposed to before.

When I was all of 7 years old and obsessed with Father of The Bride with Steve Martin, I decided I was going to get married in my dad's church, have the reception at our house, that I loved so much, of course stay close by to family and raise my kids right there, right? Why would you ever leave "home?" That's how it worked right?

By 13 my mom was consistently out of the picture and my dad, having moved to Pennsylvania for my mom and her family more than anything else, was growing tired of being where he no longer seemingly had a reason to solidify his roots. My dad attempted to find us a secondary space in North Carolina, our version of a summer home he bought for him and my mom. When the shit hit the fan, he lost the house, and all his future plans, so he started devise a decision on what he wanted in terms of a new life alone.

He decided on Oregon. My mom ended up in Delray Beach, Florida for her first solid year of stability. I came down for summer camp and visits and much like the opposite of Frozen's Elsa, "The heat never bothered me anyway." I fell in love easily with Florida. My grandparents were just an hour north of her in Port St. Lucie too and I was just in awe of all things Florida.

I loved the palm trees, the big changing signs along I-95, the malls, and it was bright and sunny so that you could go to the beach or the pool year round. I loved the big houses almost as I loved the little key west style one-floor ranchers and loved that it was WARM!

When I was vying for having a mother figure back and my dad was itching for distance, he said he was going to go back to Oregon when I was 16 and I had zero interest in following. I wanted to live with my mom in Delray. So, I finished my sophomore year of high school living with my Aunt in Pennsylvania and then was shipped to Delray Beach.

I landed in Ft. Lauderdale, and did my junior year in Delray Beach and literally lasted a year to the day, before my dad packed up all my stuff and dragged me across the country with him to Oregon to finish high school and then go to college. My mom and I were not fit to share a roof. Unfortunately this still stands and has been recently proven. 

After moving to two high schools in 2 years, moving didn't bother me. I could be a nomad, whatever. In fact for the next 7 years, I moved once a year. My dad rented a place on Hilyard in South Eugene for High School. After that we moved to West Eugene to an apartment for my first year at community College. Then I was on 11th with my first roommate, then I lived by myself on High Street, then to Bailey Hill in a little townhouse with a roommate, moved in the same complex but a one bedroom with my then boyfriend, now husband, and then with my Aunt back in South Eugene, whilst I planned my graduation and Oregon escape.

My sights were originally set on San Francisco, or New York. I always dreamed that being poor in a big city was more romantic than being rich in the suburbs. But, after another bad situation with my mom derailed me, and I had a year of pretty intense depression and anxiety, I gave into the idea that maybe I was the type that could settle down and have a family, and my adolescent Carrie Bradshaw dreams were just the stuff of immaturity.

My husband had never really lived anywhere. Just Oregon; Medford and then Eugene. When he met me, we visited Pennsylvania often, he saw the Jersey Shore and even Delray Beach, Florida. When I mentioned possibly leaving for a new place, he was all in. But then I was like, well if we're moving 3,000 miles together, if we were to get married we'd do that before we left right? Because I'd never be that person to get married on a beach. 

So, in the midst of planning a cross country trek and new life, we snuck in a wedding that turned into an epic send off and I was ready. I had studied for about 4 months in Europe in 2007 and it was just the best time ever. I LOVED to travel. It didn't  matter if it involved road trips or flying anywhere new, I was in. My husband was just kind of starting to embrace new horizons. Moreover for me, I wanted a place that was just ours.

My mom almost successfully ruined our relocation, but I refused to let her take away one more thing from my life. Originally I wanted to go back to Delray, but my husband had an Aunt in Tampa and I had had cousins move from Pennsylvania to St. Petersburg, Florida about 2 or so years prior. We visited once and very much liked it so we just changed the location a bit.

I was so ready for a clean slate, a warm new place that didn't even know anything about us. In Oregon, everyone knew my husband and I as this entity of "us," which was great and fine, but I just wanted our own real place.  I also didn't want to get stuck doing everything that everyone around us in Oregon was doing, but rather to find my own way.

Finding my footing was tough at first, but after about 2 job changes I found a place to thrive. After I left Pennsylvania "home" became a fluid concept anyway. It wasn't a place but more, a feeling of comfort in who I was with. My husband was home. The apartment didn't matter, only that we were in it together. 

For career reasons, I knew that Oregon couldn't support what I wanted to do for writing. I was in for a rude awakening that nowhere really could, especially in my married life, and also that our lives couldn't support endless internships or relocation for such things. Therefore, I just found my way with jobs to pay the bills.

In truth, with a broken heart from family life, and a guy next to me saying he wanted to go with and love me, why stay put? I wasn't immediately ready to settle down and have a family, but I liked knowing I didn't have to be alone. I wanted to just live a bit. 

Maybe my husband's reasons are completely different and I won't speculate but for me, the "who" was my husband and I, the "what" was, "moved to Florida," or as my sister said, "You can't move any further away." The "when" ended up being June-July of 2009 because we took our time getting down here. The "where" changed from Delray to Tampa Bay and the never ending "Why," would be best answered as, because we deserved a chance to have something that was our own.

Of course a decade later with a dog and a child, and even a house purchase in, boy did nothing go as I'd imagined. Expectations have been shattered and things have been harder than I could have ever thought, but I don't regret leaving. I asked my husband the same thing last year and he agreed.

Don't get me wrong, I love Oregon. I miss it. But I cannot handle the cold. The cold makes me so very physically uncomfortable and depressive. I'm much better here in the Sunshine State.

The why is complicated, I'll admit. I also think as I get older and one can only hope, wiser, it may become more succinct but I just wanted something that was completely and utterly ours. In Oregon I would have had babies immediately with everyone else, got a job I hated for no pay and struggled through the seasons to find what I was even looking for, and I didn't feel like that was where I should be. Luckily, I had a co-pilot who wanted to come with. 

Ironically now I have zero desire to leave Safety Harbor. My daughter jokes about having a different house and I'm like, "Uh, no, this is the forever house." I've had what I've built threatened to disintegrate often, and this is the first time I'm not like, "Sure we'll just move along elsewhere," but rather I'm like, "I refuse to give up what I've worked hard for."

It took me 8 years to land a job that even kind of used my degree, not to mention a job that actually was friendly to my anxiety and personal struggles. It took me 8 years to find a place I would want to stay and right now I'm having to rebuild some massive personal destruction and I won't let anyone tell me I shouldn't be spending my time to be a better mom and human. When I had my daughter there were a few times when I wished family was closer, but even when we go visit, I'm constantly reminded at how hard it is there for us, or at least for me.

Florida may not be forever but at least I can see the first hints of calm. I love this "colorful, lawless swamp" that I call home and why even? Because it is my home. And home is where the heart is right? I think we can end on that cliche for a Monday!

Last Day Of 33, Whatcha Got For Me?

On the eve of my birthday, or as I have been referring to it this year as, "Just Tuesday the 26th," while of course saying goodbye to 33 and hello to 34, I'm almost forced into some reflection so just bear with me.

I remember last year going to an amazing concert with some of my favorite people around this time of year, running the St. Patty's 5K and I think there was ice cream cake. Not to mention, my mother's annual forced upon new fashion or a shopping trip with her. This year I am opting for as much calm and quiet as possible.

My daughter has promised me a "boutique" of flowers and as much as I didn't want to correct her, I did and told her she meant "bouquet," and I hope to snag some time to myself, a novel idea in motherhood.

I will say this, 33 has been a huge year for me personally in terms of growth and strength. Last year at this time I was still settling into things after surviving one of the worst Christmases of my lifetime. I was trying to scrape things together and stay positive, but I was feeling really hopeless and utterly alone.

This was before April, and in April my life was completely turned upside down in every way and I didn't handle it well. March, and especially my birthday, was the beginning of the chaos. At that time, I was still in a place of fight or flight and I was faced with having to support choices I didn't agree with, but sucking it up "for the greater good." It wasn't my best start to 2018.

This year has a much different vibe, more positive and affirming, and I'm proud of and happy with that. After a horrible April 2018, in May I took my life back. I really stood up for myself and my daughter and redefined our family norms. It was a bit rocky through September but we are still building, and growing. So this year, I'm just ready for 34.

Birthday wishes are great, but I no longer feel they are some kind of required barometer for a friendship or an attention level anymore. I feel grateful when someone remembers to text me, let alone remembers something as trivial as a birthday. I won't feel "forgotten" because people have lives and any relationship is complicated and scattered at times. Not getting a nod on a Facebook wall or a text the day of won't break my birthday or get anyone in trouble.

There aren't many years of my 34 on earth that I can recall the kind of strength and growth that I've manifested, especially over these last 6 months, so I want to celebrate that, more than anything else within the birthday. As an only child, my mom cannot help herself when it comes to making it a "thing," no matter how much I beg to just have some ice cream cake and call it a day. My husband gets annoyed I ruin my own requests by buying myself the stuff I need instead of waiting for him to do it for me.

I've decided that Jenny Lewis' new album "On The Line" was released as a birthday gift to me, as she is my spirit animal and one of my most favorite artists. She also starts her tour tomorrow, in Indiana unfortunately, but I can rock from here, regardless. I've been replaying her album as part of my reflective time because she usually writes and records all the feels I need, and somehow exactly when I need them. So, little things like this I consider part of the celebration.

For 34 I want continued growth, strength and bravery. I want to become less and less afraid to stand up for myself in every situation. Ironically this past weekend I had a recurring nightmare about still working in a place where I was made to feel intimidated, inferior and where my needs and requests were consistently ignored only to wake up disgustingly grateful that I'm no longer there. I'll take that as a good sign that I'm in a better place.

Also this weekend my family seemed to master "the chill," of which I am completely the worst. We did some household chores and some necessary upkeep, but we were lazy and watched too much TV, ate what we wanted, had a family sleepover, slept in and just bummed around. It's not something we indulge in often, even though it is necessary. On top of that, I had good conversations with favorite people about struggles and growth and about how we just need to face certain things head on anymore. We're too young to take it for granted and too old to mess around, and I think those two are interchangeable.

So 33, what else have you got for me? I'm ready for more with 34 and yes those all kinda rhyme in weird ways. Maybe the corny, dorky stuff comes with age too. Here's to growing up!

Big Birthday Stuff - Mom's Day Off

It's Luna's 6th Birthday! And here is what that all means for my day.

I took today off. My dad just arrived last night and this morning I dropped off Luna at school, a rarity, and went off to adult. You know you're an adult when you take a personal day from work and you're like, "Oh I can go get the work done on my car!" Nothing like dropping hundreds of dollars on your car on your daughter's 6th birthday but life is life. It just happens.

I also have to take a treat into her class at 2PM, and then pick her up from aftercare around 5 for presents from Grandma. Then tonight is dinner at Red Robin, per her request and dessert at my husband's restaurant, Chocolate Mousse. This is a busy 6 year old day.

I made the mistake of buying a singing balloon...but it is also kind of hilarious. I wanted to be ridiculous and buy her this huge, her-sized my little pony balloon but of course I would have had to drive to the next county to get it. So in comes the singing balloon one. My husband picked up the balloon first in a series of errands and got to hear the balloon sing almost non-stop for the drive. This morning Luna decided she had to punch said balloon to cause the singing. Eventful morning indeed.

When it comes to birthdays, I don't get too crazy. My husband has few memories of anything remotely awesome birthday related. My childhood before 10 was filled with epic parties and themed wrapping paper and cakes and everything. I totally had a Toy Story cake when the first movie came out. But because my husband's birthday experiences were lacking, he always feels like he has to make up for them.

I just like making her feel special. Her grandma bought her a new dress and off she went with her "Birthday Girl" headband to class. She was all about it and I loved just being there to see her shine and walk into school announcing it was her day. 

When I thanked my bosses for the day off yesterday they said, "Of course, you deserve it." I've never had a boss tell me it was okay to take a day off and that I was deserving. I'd always been made to feel guilty or forced to make up for it later. It's making today all the more enjoyable.

So this is my daily blog post and it's not that exciting. Why? Because. Today is about family and celebrating my tiny one. Today is about someone else. Tomorrow I can go back to longer-winded diatribes and all the things. But today, when 6 years ago I had just pushed out a baby, I will relax and enjoy things because dammit, I do deserve it. And so does Luna!

Last Day Of Five - All The Feels

Tomorrow is my daughter's 6th Birthday, thus making today the last day of her being 5. This whole age five thing has been an interesting ride, I will say.

She is fierce and strong-willed, which is a love-hate thing. Some days I am just in awe of her. Others, I get so mad that she's exactly like me.

The other day we had a face-off that was one for the books. I said, "Now go brush your teeth and go pee before we leave please." Her response, "Um, yeah I'm not going to do that unless I can watch Doc McStuffins on your phone in the car for the drive." I saw red. WHAT!?

This kid could be a negotiator one day. She seems to have a plan of attack and well thought out reasoning for everything. I think my favorite part of 5 was watching her become such a little person though. During some very dark and trying times she would actually reach out to comfort me and when she got frustrated with me, she'd call me out, which was both amazing and infuriating all at once. 

She grew into her own and has more independence. It's amazing. Dressing herself (it never matches but I could care less, it's just adorable), bathing herself, feeding the dog, walking him a bit more, putting things away on her own. She thrives.

She's learned to read and compare words and have real discussions with me, more than "She was mean to me today and I'm never talking to her again," or "He called me this or that name!"

She was the most fun for Christmas ever. Totally into it and so engaged for the entire thing. It made the holiday so exciting and fun.

She has manners and knows how to hold her own in social situations. I've loved seeing her independence evolve. I still have those moments where the memories of her as a baby come up on Facebook and my heart hurts but I love this stage more I feel.

I wasn't the biggest fan of infancy honestly and once we got to 4 and 5 I knew how to do things with her instead of feeling like we had to be more carefully involved in certain things. We can go have adventures now!

I'm not that mom that gets teary-eyed often about her growing but I try and let her know I see and appreciate her doing new things and being more "Luna" than before. She's such a trip and of all the things I've done, she's by far my best achievement and reason for life, without a doubt.

So we're entering the next age tomorrow and I'm so ready, or as ready as I can be. I'm thinking this year we do an epic road trip and she starts being my date to some weddings. I think we'll try some better beach days, new parks, maybe some pottery painting and craft classes. We are going to enjoy all of 6.

I'm still not ready for crazy sports schedules, sleepovers and too much time away but I'm ready for this next walk of life with her holding my hand because it's not going to fit in mine the same next year. Let's do this!

Blog Post Challenge 24: A Difficult Time In My Life

Well this is kind of an intense subject. There have been a few times in my 33 years on this planet that have been difficult and most definitely parenthood in general has been rough, but I'm going to take a risk and write about something I'm super not comfortable talking about and we'll see how it is received.

Nearly a decade ago I was finishing college and I had my world rocked. My mom has struggled with addiction my entire life. She has had periods of sobriety and also horrendous relapses for about the last 20 years. When I was 17 we learned the hard way that she and I could be great at a distance but could not coexist in the same home.

She stayed in South Florida and my dad moved me to Oregon when I was 17 to finish high school and get into college. When I was finishing at University of Oregon, my mom had just lost both of her parents within and year and had a cancer scare with a huge ovarian tumor removed. I had spent 2 weeks the previous summer before classes started, taking care of her until she was well enough to function on her own just after we had buried her mother and father. 

But one cold, January morning my Uncle called me really early and told me that not only was she using again but that he needed to remove himself permanently from the situation because things had gotten so bad and she had wronged him so deeply that he needed to cut off contact. Somehow he mustered the ability to apologize to me that she had become such a mess and urged me not to stay close with her, afraid of her next moves with no family support. I spent the day home from school, 3,000 miles away from her and freaking out.

My mom had just inherited a great deal of stuff from my grandma. Most of it was sentimental but still important. My grandma's house was on the market and that was just an hour north of my mom's place at this time as well. I was worried about my grandma's stuff being lost or sold. She had done countless watercolor paintings and had some great furniture as well. Also, my then-boyfriend-now-husband and I were planning on living with my mom and putting him through school. This changed everything. We couldn't risk being around her either.

One of my Florida high school friends and my dad helped me get a storage unit and in February of my last semester I flew to Florida by myself to lock up and protect my grandmother's treasures knowing that in July when we moved to Tampa, we could get them and keep them with us. 

When I got to my mom's house she was in a frenzy in the process of being evicted. She had two cars, my grandmother's old Mercedes and a Ford Escape she had promised to my husband. Her other brother was coming to get the title and the Mercedes to drive north for my cousin while he stopped to check how the house was doing on the market in Port. St. Lucie.

When I first got there she gave me this look like "Uh oh, busted." I think I had my friend's truck to pack up and make runs. It was only a matter of minutes before she started yelling at me about taking her things. Then she had quick mood change. "Well, take this stuff too," she said. "Yeah, for later and then I can have the key."

This was one of those moments in life with an addict that no one could ever prepare you for. This was when my 23 year old self, struggling to adult and protect things that are important to myself and my family has to stand strong and summons the energy to say: "Mom this is not me helping you, do you understand that? I don't want you to lose Grandma's things. This is not a favor, these are now mine and we will see what happens if you get clean. And I need the title to the car."

She told me the car was hers and the title was in a safe deposit box at the bank. I knew full well her brother was in route but dare say nothing in case she bolted. She started talking to me again about keeping her things and I finally lost it. "You get no key or access. I will be coming to get these things when we move. Your ex-husband (aka my dad) helped me get down here and by the grace of my old friend and ditching a few days of school I'm taking what's important so you don't lose ANYTHING ELSE." She looked at me blankly and asked, "Can you pay my phone bill too?"

When my uncle drove up he just walked in and said, "I'm taking the car where's the title?" My mom looked at me, enraged, "You told him I was here? You little shit! He can't take my car! SHE LEFT THAT TO ME." I walked outside and let her scream it out before my uncle came back out with the keys. 

When he left in the Mercedes I finished packing up and went to crash at my friends house. My friend joked with me enough that I fooled myself into being calm. I'd given him a key to the storage unit too in case someone needed to get there fast for any reason. My mom harassed him for the next 3 months until he mailed it to me in surrender. 

When I left my mom she was getting ready to live in her car, until a month later they repossessed that. When I said goodbye to her she wasn't even really her if that makes sense. I cried the entire plane ride home because in that moment I didn't know if I would see her again or she would end up dead. I came home deflated and went back to finish my last semester.

I don't tell many people that story because it's dark and uncomfortable. My mom hates being judged as some "filthy addict." If you've ever met her she doesn't ever come off that way but I had to see her at her worst. For me what makes this a difficult time is knowing that I had to be the one to help my mom hit her true rock bottom. I had to give her real consequences so she could find a reason to get healthy.

She's been sober 8 years this summer. No child of any age should have to be that strong and sometimes the weight of what that does to a person is so much heavier than you can imagine. Telling your mom to deal with the ramifications seems unfair but addiction takes over and makes her turn into someone who is not even the same person you thought you knew.

I don't share this for pity or sympathy. Most of my family doesn't know the depth of this. Most of my family doesn't talk about this and still doesn't even speak to her. So yeah this was a dark, difficult time in my life and I appreciate you reading about it. If you, too, have struggled with a life around or in addiction, just know that even when we seem like we're against you, we're with you in more ways than one. And no one's experiences with addiction are better or worse than anyone else's, the just ARE and they must be difficult times for you all as well. You are not alone and you definitely can appreciate the lighter times now, or so I have experienced!

Daily Blog Challenge 22: Ten Favorite Songs

Only 10? Only Ten FAVORITE SONGS! My goodness, these will have to be in order from least favorite to most favorite. Here we go:

10. Joni Mitchell - The Circle Game. Google immediately if you have not listened to this gem! When I turned 30, I demanded my dad help me indulge my Joni Mitchell love affair with her album, on vinyl, Ladies of the Canyon. Not only is this one of the best songs of motherhood ever written but my goodness it is simply gorgeous musically as well. My favorite lines are probably the chorus which include: "And the seasons, they go round and round and the painted ponies go up and down. We're captive on a carousel of time. We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came and go round and round and round in the circle game!"

9. Simon and Garfunkel - El Condor Pasa (If I Could). I found this one on a soundtrack and I feel so in love. I have felt that Paul Simon and/or Simon and Garfunkel are poets and seriously very underrated but this song just got me. I can actually play this loud and proud and rock out. Favorite lines include: "I'd rather be a forest than a street. Yes I would, if I  could, I surely would. I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet. Yes I could, if I could, I surely would.

8. Death Cab for Cutie - Lightness. I could listen to this for days at a time. This is a seriously underrated, gorgeous, tragic and poetic piece. I have listened to this loud singing, "Oh, instincts are misleading, you shouldn't think what you're feeling. They don't tell you what you know you should want..." It never gets old or any less true. 

7. Rilo Kiley - A Better Son/Daughter. This song I have belted more times than I can count and I cannot stop thinking Jenny Lewis wrote this about me: It goes like this: "Sometimes in the morning I am petrified and can't move, awake but cannot open my eyes. And the weight is crushing down on my lungs I know I can't breathe and hope someone will save me this time. And your mother's still calling you insane and high, swearing it's different this time. So you tell her to give in to the demons that possess her that God never blessed her inside. Then you hang up the phone and feel badly for for upsetting things, crawl back into bed to dream of a time when your heart was open wide and you loved things just because, like the sick and the dying. And sometimes when you're on you're really fucking on and your friends they sing along and they love you. But the lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap, and it teases you for weeks and attacks it. But you'll fight it and you'll make it through, you'll fake it if you have to and you'll show up to work with a smile! You'll be better and you'll be smarter and more grown up and a better daughter or son and a real good friend. You'll be awake, you'll be alert you'll be positive though it hurts, and you'll laugh and embrace all your friends. You'll be a real good listener, you'll be honest you'll be brave, you'll be handsome and you'll be beautiful. YOU'LL BE HAPPY!"

6. The Decemberists - Engine Driver. The Decemberists have mastered music that comes with epic tales of love and loss. They very much tackle certain eras of tales and recreate a musical narrative. They are not to be missed. This song just has such an amazing melody and story that I connected with, quickly.  "I am a writer, writer of fictions, I am the heart that you call home. And I've written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones."

5. Hanson - Strong Enough to Break. This was my car accident anthem and inspired one of my tattoos. The lyrics that got me most were: "Things keep coming and I keep wondering, I start feeling the walls close in. Things keep coming and I keep stumbling, I start feeling strong enough to break." Hanson is actually a great band past MMMBop and before you judge, listen to a recent album and message me. Let's chat!

4. The Shins - Simple Song. Have you ever liked a song and never really listened to it? Then one day you listen and you're like WHOA, they totally nailed it!? That's this song. Specifically when he sings "I know that things can really get rough, when you go it alone. Don't thinking you gotta be tough and play like a stone. Could be there's nothing else in our lives so critical as this little home!" And then also, "Love's such a delicate thing that we do, with nothing to prove, which I never knew!"

3. Dire Straits - Romeo and Juliet. Does this even require a description? I think it does not. This is an epic tale and musically, Mark Knopfler is a god among men. Listen to it. Over and over. And it'll change your life! 

2. The Beatles - A Day In The Life. I love ALL BEATLES. They will never get old. This one is both gut-wrenching and gorgeous all at the same time. I've listened to this in times of joy and sadness and it speaks to both, consistently. Over and over.

1. Death Cab for Cutie - Title and Registration. The lyrics of this ENTIRE song are beyond perfection. I have seen this live nearly 10 times and each time it gets better. I could never get sick of this one. It never gets...untrue!

So here we are fans! Enjoy and thank you for reading and following with me! Hope you discover some awesome new music today!

Daily Challenge 21: Something I Miss

Something I miss very much lately is the house I grew up in. Lately in my lottery-like fantasies I have hoped to buy my old childhood home and move back near my bestie to raise my little one in the best place ever. Nothing about my childhood home let me down before all the me being 12 years old engulfed in family drama.

You could smell my dad's cooking on Thanksgiving upstairs and when he made pies or baked anything it made the house warm and welcoming. It was cool in the summer and warm in the winter. It was an old house with creaks that made me feel safe, not scared. It was clean and homey and filled with good things and comfort. It had a huge back yard with a hand-built-by-dad swing set and play house. My golden retriever ruled the yard. The garage smelled like lawnmower and old tools.

Sometimes I think I miss what the house represented, which was simple family of us three, and I worry that my daughter is missing out on that. Sometimes I think that I just miss it because I'm going through some mid-life crisis type thing. I guess we'll see.

I miss holidays with cousins and presents and the Christmas tree lighting the front window. I miss the brick sidewalk and the square less than a block down. I miss riding bikes with neighborhood kids and never being bored. I miss walks to the river and bouncing between houses with friends. I miss watching TV with my dad and listening to music in my room. Maybe I just really miss childhood. Regardless, challenge accepted and these are the things I currently miss. Way to bring on the nostalgia!

Daily Challenge 19: My Worst Habits

If we are going to lay out worst habits...mine would be biting fingernails. It goes hand in hand with my anxiety. 

I've been a nail chewer since I was little. I can still hear hear the scolding. When I get my nails done or paint them I am usually okay, but mostly if I am stressed or anxious that is when I chew away.

Other worst habits? I'm super self critical. In so many ways I think we can all say this about ourselves but I can get very mean to myself. Maybe that's a womanly trait, which is sad, but I think we often beat ourselves up far more than we deserve.

Talking about worst habits for a blog challenge is kind of a self-critical practice when we live in a society that preaches an awful lot about self care. Maybe some of our worst habits are pertaining to self care? Like if you like to unwind by doing a facial and plucking eyebrows and doing some personal maintenance to boost your confidence, maybe some see that as worst habit and plain old narcissism. What a thought that our worst habits could be tools in our preservation in one way or another!

So if your worst habit is working out too much? Like, what is that? I recently heard a comedian talk about how women want to be so skinny that people are concerned for their health. But then again some guys say they like thicker women. Where is the balance? Maybe a worst habit is being obsessed with balance! This is a dangerous blog challenge, so I digress.

Let's get back to the main subject of worst habits. I think all of these worst things are just subject to personal judgment. I would say my husband's worst habit is leaving his clothes all over the house, he might say something completely different about his own AND about mine. Regardless, I feel it best not to dwell. 

How about no more "my worst," and we re-frame this as "a habit I'd like to work on." Because isn't it all about attitude in the end? Let's work on all of it!

Daily Blog Challenge 18: What Am I Afraid Of?

Are we talking big picture, deep stuff like "failure" or actual fears like heights or spiders? Maybe we should cover it all.

When you're younger you might be afraid of the dark, new places or trying certain new things. As you get older you become more aware and you fear getting lost or go through the whole "death fixation." 

My actual fear? S-N-A-K-E-S. I mean like screaming, shaking, anxiety, knees buckling fear of those creatures. They need to stay far away and if you ever "joke" about my fear or try and scare me with one, I will show you why you should have been more constructive during your time in your death fixation phase. 

Spiders don't bother me, bugs in general I can deal with, lizards don't bother me. Snakes scare the beejesus out of me. They need to respect my space and I will respect theirs.

Other fears? The real deal ones including being a bad mother, not being able to pay bills, and letting the decisions of others define or dictate my life. But those are normal, right?

As someone who has been watching way too much Dexter lately I can tell you that fear is quite the motivator. And we all have such different fears. I never really feel afraid of heights until I'm up higher and then I'm like "uh oh!" 

Sharing fears is tough too, especially in a relationship. It makes us so vulnerable and sometimes creates more fear in and of itself. However, it can also bring you closer together when used properly, in many ways. 

Some people say you have to conquer your fears and I should just like, get a snake or something but I disagree. I feel like some fears are just meant to stay scary and some you grow out of, like being afraid of the dark. And let's not forget that some childhood fears like abandonment, getting actually lost, or not being good enough just grow with you. 

Those are the fears that keep therapy and billion dollar business, but that's another diatribe. Those fears don't have to define us though and can also give us strength in tackling them and overcoming some aspects as we become who we are meant to be. And often, as fearful as that journey is, it's worth the fear and vulnerability to become more of ourselves through it all. I'm still not touching a snake or being near one, though. Nope. 

Failure to Thrive: A First Time Mom's Account of What No One Could Have Prepared Her For

My daughter just turned one last week. And I haven't really had much time to write because she is a full time job. This is my personal account of my mistakes, my ignorance, and my trials as a mother. Judge me if you like, but the following story is one of heart ache and guilt of a first time mother. I share this because I felt so alone and I would never wish that on anyone.

I was one of those freak women who loved being pregnant. I'd never felt more important in my life. I was responsible for another's existence. Pretty epic feeling. I also wasn't genuinely uncomfortable until my 40th week of pregnancy. It was the only time in my life I was grateful for being a real sized girl with curves. I was made to have babies.

We'd moved far away from immediate family four years prior and had been positive we could go it alone. I had one mom friend. One. And a bunch of women around me who talked about wanting babies but were no where near ready. My mother wasn't a positive part of my life. In fact she told me that I probably couldn't have a natural birth and still comes down on me for being bigger, post pregnancy.

Now I'm not going to say I'm "smart." There are some things in this life I'm completely stupid about but I'm reasonably intelligent. As far as kids go, I was a nanny for 10 years of my life, taking care of babies from 9months on. And a big part of me did believe most of it is instinctual. Still, I read the books and took the classes and heard other stories but no one could have prepared me for what happened, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

My daughter's birth was amazing. I was only in hard, active labor for about 5 hours and when we got to the hospital, 5 pushes, a bit of a tear and out she popped, puffy and perfect. She was everything. Now I was in a pro-breastfeeding hospital, and one that promoted skin to skin. But everything happened so fast. We arrived and went straight into delivery, even though the admitting nurses thought my screams of pain were overdramatized.

When she popped out, I remembered this video I saw of this perfect baby doing a boob crawl where she literally just wanted boob and I thought breastfeeding was the coolest thing ever so I was ready. But I needed stitches, so after about 30min of them poking around and prepping me, they took my daughter to be cleaned and wrapped and gave her to daddy.

My entire body was shaking, the adrenaline and body exhaustion was intense and I just wanted to be left alone, but they needed to make sure I would heal ok. After about and hour they moved us to our on room. I remember being kind of wishy washy about visitors but there were a few people I didn't mind coming to see her fresh. But before I knew it, we had quite the following. I didn't mind at the time but in retrospect that probably wasn't the best.

Everything in the books, the classes and our birth plan said breast feeding in the first 2 hours is key. And I was ready! Here's my disclaimer: I always hated my boobs. To me they only existed one day to be suckled and sag. I didn't dress them up in cutesy bras, they weren't an erogenous zone for me and I never tried to have cleavage. They were just boobs.

The only good advice I got about breastfeeding is: "Breastfeeding is HARD, definitely see a lactation consultant." That was already part of the plan. Breastfeeding was really weird. I didn't feel much. I was having a really hard time keying into my body and felt really disconnected about the whole thing. It wasn't as beautiful and heartwarming as I thought. The nurses, one of which was mean and ugly to boot," kept saying I needed to feed her, but she wasn't cueing hunger and was asleep. I'd always heard, never wake a sleeping baby.

We saw the Lactation Consultant, she was super nice and helpful but then we had problems later and she was no where to be found. In comes nurse number two and starts talking to me about expressing and stimulating the nipple, which seemed so weird to me. I couldn't grasp it. It felt awkward. My hubby expressed my milk better than me and the nurse said, "You have flat nipples." In the midst of my exhaustion I just kind of got offended. I'd never thought of my nipples as any different than anyone else's. Apparently this was an issue. She gave me a nipple shield. I remember her just sticking it on me. No explanation. I was just thinking, I don't need some nipple prosthetic. I think we'll figure it out. None of the holds except classic cradle worked and my breasts just felt numb to anything she was doing the first 48 hours. All I felt were the uterine cramps to acknowledge her getting the colostrum.

When we left the hospital, my dad had stayed with us to help us keep up the house and hubby had two weeks off. I'd naturally had the sore and cracked nipples but after the first week and a half everything became painful. I was exhausted and mostly disoriented. We were also overwhelmed.
I finally started texting the few moms I knew asking if breastfeeding was uncomfortable and everyone said the first month was so tough. So I just rationalized, ok I had the perfect pregnancy and delivery, so this is your challenge.

My husband was as great of a support as any man could be. He read and Googled and spoke to all the moms he knew seeking help and advice. He bought witch hazel and nipple butter and cream and jelly and anything. Finally it just got to be too much. My nipples weren't getting better. Breastfeeding was getting worse. I tried hot showers, being bra-less and nothing worked. That's when the hubby brought up the nipple shield again.

On another related happening, my daughter had lost a bit of weight on her 3 day old appointment, which was normal at the time. Her two week appointment was about 12 days away. So my husband and I decided that if it didn't get better, we'd get a lactation consultant then. The nipple shield helped but unbeknownst to me, I was using it improperly. I read the directions but something didn't translate amidst the new mom stress and exhaustion and I wasn't using it properly. We constantly saw milk in the reservoir and I leaked often so we thought everything was ok. She was a quiet, happy baby for the most part.

I remember saying to my husband, "You'd think she'd be generally miserable if she wasn't getting enough, right?" Breastfeeding didn't get better. The pain was so terrible that I'd taken to breastfeeding alone with water and hard candies to push through the pain. I cried and cried and cried. I didn't understand. We had our appointment and I knew I'd seek help. Before our appointment my dad insisted I speak with my step mother who scared the shit out of me by saying nipple shields were bad news and caused problems. She used to be a pediatric nurse, so I decided we'd ditch it and try on our own. I finally reached out to my only mom friend, my breastfeeding idol, and she told me I should contact La Leche League for free help because it shouldn't be that kind of painful.

Her husband came over shortly after to do her newborn photos and all day we'd been doing well without the shield. It was also our first few days alone and I felt like a really good mom. She'd had newborn acne but her shots came out wonderful and the breastfeeding shots he got I'm truly happy and in awe. It was the first time I'd felt comfortable nursing in weeks.

The next day I was all ready to contact an LLL leader when it occurred to me that my mother in law would be bouncing into town and I was afraid she'd judge me. I was afraid she wouldn't support my getting help and she'd be more of a stress. I thought, ok, we have our doctor's appointment and he 6 day visit. Let me just talk to the pediatrician and then get through the visit and we'll go from there.

The day of our doctor's appointment we arrived with our daughter and were informed she didn't have an appointment. My husband was livid. We were then told that we wouldn't be able to be seen for another 5 days. During this time, my mother in law arrived and I used to nipple shield to make sure I didn't have any more issues to make the visit more stressful.

On the last day of her visit, my husband had the day off and we went to visit the pediatrician. We asked about lactation consultants and we talked about breastfeeding and she said everything looked fine, she disappeared to get us some paperwork and then came back and gave us the worst news ever:
Our daughter had lost, not gained weight. The amount was dangerous and we needed to take her to the hospital to make sure that everything in her little body was working and make sure we could get her weight up.

I just burst into tears. I felt like the worst mother in the universe. I really did. How could I not tell? How was I not feeding my baby? What did I do wrong?

We went to the hospital, to admitting and I was just constantly crying. I was a complete mess. My husband was just trying to work things out. We'd self paid our delivery with a midwives group and had no insurance. This was stressful on top of the fact that our daughter was in danger.

Sitting in admitting, someone saw her sleeping and commented on how beautiful she was and then said, "She's so little, she must have been a premie!" My heart just shriveled. My healthy baby girl had withered down to someone tiny and I didn't see it. My heart still hurts just thinking about it as I type teary eyed.

Once we got to pediatrics all the testing began. My husband left to go home and get us both clothing and pajamas. All we'd heard was, "a few days." The nurses came in and so did the doctor and told us she just wasn't getting enough and they'd measured and tested and my body just wasn't making enough to feed her. She'd need to have some formula to catch up. The first band of nurses and her doctor were amazing. I sat there crying and cold and they just reminded me, it wasn't my fault. Sometimes we all need a little extra help.

I'd never looked at formula. It was never an option to me. I wanted things to happen naturally so one of the nurses gave me recommendation, and I took it. The first 2 nights were the worst. They had us on a rigorous feeding schedule, I had to pump in between and they had to constantly check her. The put a feeding tube through her nose and were testing her for every scary thing you could imagine: liver, kidney, stomach and intestine issues. We had to rule every thing out.

After 4 days we got antsy and my husband couldn't take any more time off. They kept saying, maybe tomorrow or the next day in reference to our questions about when we could go home. She was gaining steadily but not enough to release her. My husband left the 5th night and we didn't know when he could come back.

Thank GOODNESS for my friend Emily bringing me DVDs and for my best friend Jillian coming every afternoon to check on us because I was very lonely and upset. It was a shared room and I refused to leave my daughter's side. By the end of the visit we were there for 10 days. TEN DAYS. I didn't step outside. I barely left the bed. They wouldn't let her sleep with me. I had to eat shitty hospital food that made me sick. 5 days straight we couldn't see my husband.

It was on day 7 that I lost it. They'd switched doctors and the new one was not very warm. I cried and told her she couldn't keep telling us maybe tomorrow. I'd pleaded that I would bring her in every day. WE needed to go home. I missed my husband and my dog and my bed and my mental health was dwindling. And then the mean bitch doctor uttered something I will never forget: "She is doing better but you need to realize, your baby almost DIED, so we can't just let her go home until she's in a more stable healthy state."

I just cried. And I just retracted back into my little corner of a room. She offered us a private room and I told her we had no insurance, we couldn't afford such a luxury. She said that shouldn't be a concern and yet she didn't offer to pay my bills. The nurses in the pediatric ward were mostly amazing. My daughter was the youngest on the floor so they just loved her. Our neighbor in the room was a sweet Latin mother and grandmother who's toddler got a bad grease burn and needed skin grafts. They were very supportive.

I was a zombie in that room. I was completely disconnected from everything. By the end of the visit my daughter had been diagnosed "Failure to Thrive." Unfortunately this is a very blanket term. It covers a wide range of weight, size and internal issues for babies and children. My supply never caught up to where I needed it and she had to have formula supplementation.

No one ever told me how intense breastfeeding is. It's not romantic and easy. And no one told us we needed a web of support. It does take a village. My mom kept saying I just got it down so easy, and my friends told me it would get better or they gave up and did formula. As soon as this happened I had so many mothers reach out and tell me about their trials with breastfeeding. But it wasn't until this crisis that I even knew.

I know I may sound like an ignorant, negligent mother. I have serious guilt about this. It's exactly a year later and I still have anxiety about it. I still cry. My daughter is healthy but people comment on her being small and I get so upset. I've also become resentful, I see these young new moms just take to breastfeeding like a dog to water and I'm jealous. I go over and over and over in my head on what I did wrong and why I didn't see it. I also see these mothers who view breastfeeding as an inconvenience and who tell me they just "gave up" and I think they're cheating themselves and their children.

Now I will say that two of my closest friends have perfect formula-fed children and both shared their stress and distress with breastfeeding with me. Pretty much only those two women do I back for their choices because I love them so much -ha!- Unfair, but true! With that said, I am grateful for formula. Having been on both sides, I give MAJOR props to both moms really. Mixing formula, the cost, the supplies and the cleaning of bottles is a PAIN IN THE ASS. Power to you! Breastfeeding is intense, it runs your life. Your little one rules and drools! Those breastfeeding mamas who go the distance need literal medals. Seriously.

This was not my plan. Never could I have imagined this. There is so much I'd change. I know how fortunate I am that I even have a healthy child. I know there are so many mothers with worse situations than mine. This isn't just some cautionary tale. But I'm sharing the truth because I never even knew problems like these existed. Maybe that makes me stupid. But maybe there's ONE MOM out there, ONE mom going through something similar, and I just gave her the nudge she needed to get help. It wasn't ignorance or arrogance in me that kept me from getting help. It was just that first time mom haze. I just thought it was an adjustment period.

At times I think, "now I know for next time." But at other times I feel scarred for life and afraid to have another baby. Time heals all and only time will tell. For now I just concentrate on my daughter. She is my everything. And we have everything because we have her.

ODE to the ECHO

On Halloween 2012, I lost something very dear to me…my car. You can roll your eyes; you can brush it off but let me explain something to you: that car has been with me longer than my husband, and it’s taken me everywhere I’ve ever lived!

In 2000 my dad had to get a new car for us. After he and my mom split up he picked his own car out. He really wanted a Toyota Prius, but if you think those babies are expensive now, imagine 12 years ago! The Toyota Echo was a new model they’d released that boasted 35 miles per gallon. He chose a four door forest green version and this new car sported the first I’d ever seen in the “middle dashboard” style interior. No more odometer and gauges through the steering wheel; they slapped that sucker in the middle and tilted it to the left. It was almost like a little alien car!

My dad bought her in Lancaster, Pennsylvania at Lancaster Toyota. Let me explain something about my awesome dad, he hated most new technology with the exception of musical equipment. He wanted a CD player and a tape deck, but no power windows and no air conditioning. The air conditioning wasn’t a choice: he had to have it, but the windows you had to roll down. Nothing too fancy in the new car!

When he and my mom split up we left Lancaster.  I left for Delray Beach, Florida to try and live with mom my junior year of high school and my dad headed out to Oregon after purchasing 40-some acres of isolated woodland property. He took the Echo with him.

When my life with mom went to shit, my dad drove the Echo from Eugene, Oregon all the way to Delray Beach Florida to pick me and my possessions up and take me back to Oregon. That Toyota Echo towed a trailer with my bed, my furniture and all my other stuff I deemed important. Under complete protest he dragged me to the west coast in June. The car was so overworked the check-engine light came on before we even got out of Florida. We couldn’t tow my crap with the air conditioning on or she’d overheat. So we rolled down the windows, sweat profusely and had a lot of ice to munch on. We had to crawl up the mountain ranges. And eventually she got us to Eugene safely.

For my senior year I shared that car with my dad. Occasionally he’d allow me out on the town with that car, and so began the legend of Enid the Echo. By 2003 she was still relatively new. My dad kept her in pristine condition. I helped wear her in.

Much like the Queen classic, I’ll admit, “I’m in love with my car.” I snuck cigarettes in that car. I went on drives to nowhere and everywhere. It took me to concerts, to work, to school, to events, to new apartments, to visit friends and boyfriends, and to visit family. That car took me practically everywhere I’ve ever been.

Enid the Echo didn’t officially become mine until my dad bought his truck. After she was paid off, he needed an all terrain vehicle to help him get further into his rustic property and Enid just wasn’t that kind of car. She could hit the Oregon coast highways and curvy roads like no other, but she wasn’t a rough and tumble kind of car.

When she became mine I’d just started my punk rock princess phase, so I immediately outfitted her properly with bumper stickers, cartoon air fresheners, interior stickers and stuff. My car became local legend. Everyone knew the bumper sticker car.

Anyone who knows me, even remotely well, knows me with that car. That car took me to meet my old best friend for the first time, and without that trip I would have never met my husband. That car took me to and from the nannying job that changed my life. Enid drove me to and from Lane Community College so I could get my Associates Degree. My car took me to University of Oregon every day to get my Bachelor of Arts.

My horrible ex almost stole my Echo and when I drove three hours to retrieve her, I then drove home in her alone crying, listening to Modest Mouse and she rocked out with me. That car took me to so many concerts and then was festooned with souvenirs from those epic adventures.

Enid the Echo took my husband and I on our first date. He wanted to drive because his car was filthy and didn’t have a reliable heater. That car drove half of my husband’s band on their one and only multi-state tour. That car took my husband and I on our first anniversary when we were still dating. She took the little ones I babysat to feed the ducks and one day when I gave her stickers, she decorated the passenger, back sear window. Dora the Explorer was all over, and I never took it down.

I got my first and only two speeding tickets in that car. That car had more memories and stories than most and anyone who ever knew me, even just a little bit, probably rode in it. That car was a part of me, and she was tough to let go.

I’ll tell you one story about Enid the Echo. It sounds like something out of a movie, but I swear this is true: Back in High School I went through a classic music phase. My friend and I were obsessed with Led Zeppelin, Elton John, The Who, Cat Stevens, The Doors, The Grateful Dead, etc. My friend and I got the Echo and went on one of our afternoon drives. It was just after we graduated high school and we were rocking out some “Tiny Dancer.” We had the windows down and the music up. We were on a quiet but main road in Eugene at a stop light singing, and we look over and on the front lawn there are three hippies playing hackey sack and they join in with us and we’re all singing “Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer!” And we all knew all the words.

Enid the Echo was there for me in all other changes. When we moved, when I broke up with my exes, fought with friends, needed to run away, needed to get from job to job, she was there. She was my constant in a world of chaos and change. She was my first and only car up until recently.

She took my old best friend to say goodbye to his grandparents when they passed because he didn’t have a car. She took me to and from the airport to fly to see my grandparents for the last time and to say goodbye. She took me to and from the airport so I could see the world and study for three months in London. She took me to and from my in-laws houses. She was my wingman!

The night my husband and I got married, we packed her to move to Florida and left her in front of my Aunt’s house. Someone broke her window and stole a bunch of our stuff. We took that car, on a trailer across the country again on our honeymoon moving adventure, with a busted window. We duct taped a Forever 21 bag on her and it didn’t budge in the scariest storm we’d ever seen. There were still marks form the duct tape on her when we said goodbye. She took us around San Francisco and even down Lombard Street. She took us all over Memphis and New Orleans. She took us to Tampa. She’s always brought us home.

Enid the Echo had 253,000 miles on her! She still got 29 miles per gallon! She lived in Tampa for three years with no tinted windows and unreliable air conditioning. We had a scare with her last year but because she’s a rock star she cost us very minimal amounts to maintain and I swore I’d drive that car until she just didn’t drive anymore. But sometimes life has other plans.

When we found out I was pregnant in May, we’d already been discussing, getting a newer car. We’d decided on Toyota or Subaru because my husband and I had seen great longevity with both. Finally I won out on trading the Toyota in for another Toyota and I had my heart set on a Yaris or Matrix. Every time I wanted to test drive new ones, my husband came up with something else we needed to do.

Finally, about 5 months into my pregnancy we realized that with my not working for three months, having a new car payment and insurance wasn’t exactly a smart plan. We also realized we’d have no down payment. We thought we’d just keep Enid for one more year and then turn her in next summer.

In the midst of all this we had some other unexpected expenses come up, as they do in life. We were desperately trying to bounce back when my husband told me Enid really needed new brakes, which we’d put off long enough. We took her in and it cost twice what we’d estimated.

It was around this time and opportunity came up. Our best friends had just been given a brand new car and were getting rid of their old Pontiac Grand AM. They’d planned to just take it to Carmax but they offered it to us for a very fair price. Up until we took Enid in for the brakes, we’d toyed with the idea of having both cars. But when they came out to quote us on brakes they came out with a laundry list of other issues totaling over $2000. This was it. She was a goner.

We looked at her bluebook and even with a few dings and a LOT of bumper stickers she was worth about $1400. We took her to Carmax and they offered 500$. That was a slap in the face. I started to mentally let her go but to be honest, I just wanted it to be done. I couldn’t handle it.

Being pregnant and getting rid of my car was intense. I realized she was the first car our fuzzy pup, Brodie had ever been in. He loved to go on car rides and he knew which car was ours. I realized that someone else was going to take her away because we needed to put her on Craigslist to get a fair price.

Even though our amazing friends gave us the Pontiac, it took us a few days to sell Enid. It was very stressful for me because I wanted it to be over with. I’d told so many people I had to let her go but the whole letting go thing was not easy. I spent as much time with her as I could before we showed her to a buyer. I had this sneaking suspicion that she would just sell. That someone would see her and just say yes and that would be it.

My husband is a saint because he knew this whole thing would suck so much for me. I would never ever recommend selling a car you are attached to while pregnant. It’s unfair on every level. I’d already taken almost everything out of her and she looked barren and sad. But on Halloween my husband had a buyer. He took them on a test drive. He let me stay in the apartment and I just cleaned up a storm to distract myself.

He came to get me. He told me the offer and he said we should take it. I agreed. I asked if I could keep my key and he said no, we needed to give them both. I went to change and get the title and I started to well up. I felt the tears bubbling inside me. I went downstairs and met them. They had heavy accents. I have no idea where they were from. They gave my husband the money and I had to sign over the title.

As I was signing I had that moment. That moment out of “The Goonies” where you’re about to sign something and you hesitate and double check what it is you’re signing, while someone is leering over you to make sure it happens. I signed and we were going to have to give them the keys. The buyer said “Is that the only key?” My husband looked at me, and then him, and said, yes, just that one.”

We shook hands and they left. I saw them pull out and I lost it. I couldn’t watch her drive away from me. I bolted up to the apartment and just started to ball. My husband handed me my key, and said, “Here, she’ll always be yours.” I looked up at him red-faced and cried, “This really sucks!” He told me he knew and he’d miss her too.

It was the end of an era; the end of Enid. Everyone put the realistic and positive spin on it for me but I still needed a good cry. I know that the Pontiac was a better family car. It had more room, 150,000 less miles than Enid and was a better investment for the next year. It was definitely better to get rid of Enid while we could before she really broke down. And our friends saved us from having something seriously complicated happen and helped keep it simple and on our own terms.

BUT, it sucks saying goodbye. I miss her; a lot! And like I said, you can make fun of me as much as you want but when you have a car with that much history, that many memories and that many miles, it’s bound to stir up some emotions…especially when you’re nearly 7 months pregnant.

So goodbye Enid! I’m so sorry we had to let you go after taking such good care of all of us for 12 years but you’ll always be a rock star and I could never watch you really die. Thanks for being the best car ever! YOU WILL BE MISSED AND REMINISCED! ALWAYS!