Life on the Runn...

  Our baby is officially a little boy; he declared it with the same excitement he used to proclaim he is “Twooooo.”   To celebrate, we did many of E’s favorite things. We took Sister to school, had pancakes and sausage (“hot dogs!”) for breakfast; cleaned all the things; baked (Who doesn’t love    to “stir, stir, whoa!”?);    read lots of books; looked for trucks, airplanes, and machines; snuggled; swung on the swings with Sister; had black beans for dinner; stayed up late and ate ice cream.   We even turned E’s crib into a big boy bed, hoping it would help take us back to his rockstar sleeper days - always a solid 12 hours. I wrote this while on hour two of holding E so he won’t scream and potentially wake up his sister, so the bed plan didn’t work. (He keeps reminding me it’s dark out, and I tell him it’s because it’s 2am). I wishfully thought he’d show us some gratitude for his birthday present — his very own vacuum — by allow us one night of uninterrupted sleep. Welp.  As I reflect

Two years ago, I didn’t know that I would ever get back to being me. We had just brought home our little guy and were monitoring him closely as he had dropped nearly 10% of his birthweight; he had made the discharge really questionable, and I immediately began to wonder if I was capable of doing this mama thing. Sure, we had done it all before, but never with a toddler at home, and never in the midst of a pandemic. I struggled to settle in, to find my sense of self. I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin, my body didn’t yet belong to me again. I knew it could do amazing things - I was looking at proof of that in the two perfect humans now ruling my world. But there was so, so much work for it to do still. Those worries made one thing seem certain: I’d never have time to run, to lift, to train again.   Today, as we prepare to celebrate our baby turning two and becoming a self-proclaimed big boy (he’s still my baby…always!), I can say I’m running more and further than I have in nearly three

We have Homeroom this year, and while I had my reservations, as most of us did, I’m really enjoying my time with this crew. They’ve taken to having little Q & A sessions, with topics ranging from pop culture to (likely unintentionally) deep philosophical inquiries. Most recently, they asked if I preferred summer or the school year.     Each spring, when contacts come out, I ask myself that very question. I struggle with it all summer and much of the early part of the school year. Am I where I’m supposed to be at this moment? Should I be with my own children? Am I good enough, present enough, effective enough in the classroom? At home?  This past weekend was a beautiful reminder    that I need both my classroom and my chaotic, sleep-deprived home. I have  met so many wonderful humans as an educator, and I get to share my own wonder humans with some of them. I am right where I am supposed to be.  H and I had a blast on our mini girls getaway to Appleton. We swam, made art, stayed up