And Now For Something Completely Different

It all started with Mr. Money Mustache. 

Last year around the time that Little H joined us, The Mister stumbled upon a website and immediately started obsessing over this very frugal living family. There was an unsettling spring in The Mister's step and gleam in his eye. I have tried, and failed, at many a budget, and the Mister and I come from very, very different families and backgrounds regarding money which means that he and I were constantly at odds because of our mismatched philosophies and upbringings and compensatory habits regarding emotions and pretty sparkly things. In fact, early in our marriage, when he even broached the subject innocuously by saying, "Hey let's talk about money stuff," I would immediately burst into tears.

He encouraged me to read some blog posts. So I read. And read. And read. And read until I was pretty sure my eyes were going to fall out of my head and then all of a sudden the realization of what I wanted our life together to be like (ADVENTURE! FUN! TRAVELING! FOOD! COMMUNITY!) was not achievable on our (my) current plan. And talking! Oh so much talking. My man is a bit of a strong silent type and I think this is the most constant talking over several weeks we have ever done, and most of the conversations started when he walked in the door with, "So I was reading on Mr. Money Mustache..."

I have spent years frustrated by my own duality - wanting to live simply and way beneath our means but having absolutely no skills nor really even a working understanding of what that meant. The Mister would say things to me like, “Well, just don’t spend money.” That just absolutely did not compute, and quite frankly still doesn't. People spend money every day, right? Moms toss around memes that go something like “Heading to Target! See you in $150! LOLZ!” I mean, having Amazon Prime means it’s Christmas EVERY TWO DAYS for goodness’ sake. And THINK OF THE CHILDREN. They need clothesdiaperswipesspecialHonestCo.windowcleanersandoxypodsandsandboxesandwatertablesandlighttablesandsocksandshoesandhairbowsandballetslippersandballettightsandleotardsandbooksandDVDsand...FOOD! Oh don’t even get me started on food. We have been on a lifetime food journey together and we started pretty much where everyone starts...things that are fast and convenient, restaurants that we think are awesome and delicious, eating out whenever we want instead of like when we were kids and only went out for birthdays…

     

The problem was (is?) that maybe because we live in a town of movers and shakers and people with serious scratch that we (I?) became numb to what constitutes as “normal” consumer habits. Or even what the rest of the world lives like. Americans are rich beyond measure pretty much at baseline and we don't see it. I even read Jen Hatmaker’s “7” a few years ago and even though I was horrified by so many truths about how the rest of the world lives, still would buy the odd bit of fast clothes, occasionally looked at my overfull fridge that I just filled from a ridiculously priced trip to the grocery store and then closed it and ordered pizza, and popped in to Starbucks for a chai latte on the regular.

But somehow, amidst the postpartum hormones and something I like to call “Hello Frontal Lobes!” I got it. I started to see what a regular Starbucks habit would cost me now if I wanted to maintain that habit when we retired. And then how long it would take us to retire if I kept up with that habit. And then how long we would have to put off all the TRAVEL! and ADVENTURE! if we constantly got takeout or even dropped cash on brunch instead of squirreling all that fundage away for amazing brunch in say...Paris.

I saw excess everywhere in my house that I just kept cleaning up over and over and over when my little preschool tornado tore through it. Toys and clothes and trinkety decorations and things I had kept that didn’t necessarily have pleasant memories associated with but felt like I had to because they had somehow melded with my identity. Books that were given to us that we would never read and just...stuff. Everywhere. The worst part of the whole thing is that I was all happy to have nested and gotten rid of -I’m serious- 10 trash bags of stuff and here I was staring at MORE STUFF and quite unsure as to how it all ended up in my house/garage/livingroom/CRAFTROOM/closet/BRAIN.

Y’all. The mental clutter that all of this brought was making my inner world hell. Well, that plus hormones plus then the holidays were looming....

Yuck.

Eventually, we saw a way through, and we are now on a path toward sweet simple living and despite my best efforts, are totally kicking ass some days and totally sucking the next and then getting back on track and then having wild adventures. In fact, the mister STILL says to me, "Hey just don't spend money," but now I hear it as, "Hey think really hard about how and why you want to spend this" or I hear myself telling my daughter, "Do you want to get hot chocolate here or do you want to get hot chocolate in Puerto Rico" (if that sounds harsh it's because she is 4 and would drink ONLY chocolate milk with whip cream on top if I let her. She even conned her babysitter into three chocolate milks while I was at work one day.)

There are a lot of parts to this story that we are still writing every day, so if life and love and adventure and creativity is something you're into, then wheeeee let's go!

Afterword

After the birth of our second, everything changed. All of it. I was most worried that I wouldn't have enough love in my heart for everyone. Baloney. It overwhelms me at times. Everything isn't sunshine and rainbows every second of the day - the transition from one to two was HARD.

IS hard. And then you turn around and realize your relationship with your significant other is also different so you have to figure that out again too, amidst the regression of the things and the mess of a house and ALL THE NOT SLEEPING. At the very least, the not sleeping the second time around is totally expected and therefore not so much rage-filled. Maybe just a little ragey. A cute little rage monster. The thing that I struggle with the most, because I am quite a distracted individual at baseline, is how to be fully present with A while in this crazy storm of life with the little one. Even three months into this things have settled down a little, but she tells me she wants "just girl dates. No boys. No daddy, no little bro." and I have to figure out how to do that without jumping up to clean/email/text/whatever.

This I think will be the struggle of the millennial generation - finding meaningful connection via technology and knowing when to put that aside, sit on the floor and look your kid square in the face and say, "I'm here. Let's play." Hands Free Mama is a good place to start...although I'm reading it on a tablet and that feels wrong...and I think that it also has wisdom for people without kids. I also am enjoying Notes from a Blue Bike and The Art of Simple by Tsh Oxenreider. Simplifying, being present, and living life in this age of consumerism and more-more-more-all-the-everything are all inextricably linked. I wish I had a BLAM! one-size-fits-all fix for this, some prescriptive thing I could read or checklist or whatever but I don't. It's lots of little checklists and no's and conversations about how this or that makes someone feel and whether this THING makes you happy or your life better or what someone wants their life to be like, what they want their kids to remember.

All the big questions and the small questions at the same time. It's kind of a rollercoaster.

I know as a perfectionist yet fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants person that I can beat myself up about missed opportunities or things I could have done differently...currently I am evaluating my craft room, throwing actual DAILY BAGS OF TRASH from there and wondering why the hell I accumulated so much worthless stuff...things that I would "eventually get around to" that eventually just amounted to jumble in my brain and guilt for not having or making the time for the (SEEMINGLY) important but what turned out to be (ACTUALLY) unimportant...eesh.

So yeah, that's the reason for the blog redesign. As a family we're fumbling our way toward an unhurried, intentional, adventurous life.

Is it weird that I say "here's where I document all this unplugged-ness on a blog." ? Yeah probably.

It's Time to Begin, Isn't It?

This post today is brought to you by tremendous amounts of ugly crying. 

I am sitting here, overwhelmed, because suddenly I want to write about ALL THE THINGS...there is so much. But I'll just start with today and call it good enough. 

I'm 16 weeks pregnant with our second kiddo, and last week had my first appointment with the doctor who will deliver this baby. Suffice to say I had a really tough time picking a provider. My first daughter's birth was completely wheels-off and crazy and I spent nearly three years cowering in PPD and off-the-charts anxiety. I didn't write a lot because I had a lot to sort through, relationship-wise, mama-wise, and I didn't want to do it publicly. I guess I'm writing to say: It Gets Better.

Birth trauma sucks, and I'm learning from dear friends that you don't even have to have a three day labor that ends in a cesarean birth to be traumatized. The loss of control, blood, modesty, and sometimes even just the startling fact of, "I'm used to things working out, and this might not work out..." is enough to send one's body into a super case of fight-or-flight. And not in a good way.

So...fast forward through rocking my newborn with tears streaming down my face, countless therapy sessions, anxiety attacks, nighttime (ie: INFINITELY WORSE) anxiety attacks, prayers on my face, friends not understanding, thinking I'm crazy, therapy, being terrified of having more babies, antidepressants, and...did I mention therapy? to two days after I found out I am pregnant again: me, curled up in the fetal position, telling the mister that I'm convinced I'm going to die.

Hello, fight-or-flight. Missed you.

Just kidding. Opposite day. More like:
WHAT THE HELL I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEALT WITH.

Surprise.

And you know what? This pregnancy was TOTALLY PLANNED. I went into this all "YEAH! best idea ever! it's going to be great!" thinking that I could just fake it 'til I made it. So, back into therapy I went, for several different areas of life. The journaling and processing started up again, and I began searching for a supportive birth team. I spilled the beans the day that plus sign showed up to my previous doula/current chiropractor. We cried, and then after a few weeks she gave me the names of several providers in the area, and suggested a meeting with the best doula we knew to help get my head straight. After that meeting I scheduled an appointment with the doctor who delivered A and then one with a doctor she recommended.

The one who delivered A was...fine. Charming. Great guy. I mostly went because I was curious how my feelings would be about him, and also because I wanted to get his perspective on VBACs. I'd heard he was one of THE guys in Dallas that champion them. I was disappointed to have him start immediately laying out risks and all the ways in which a VBAC could go wrong, including uterine rupture, which he mentioned at my 6 week postpartum checkup and then I made the mistake of googling it and ended up on the floor in my first panic attack that day. Don't get me wrong, I have climbed way out of the crunchy rabbit hole since my very, very humbling birth with A and I have pretty much ZERO expectations, and a healthy appreciation for modern medicine, so I need to hear that stuff. Throw in a transvaginal sonogram done by a dude and we'll just say I was...turned off.

Since I was a new patient with the new doctor I had to wait to be seen first to do labs (at around 13 weeks is when I did this), then meet with the RN to get a full history taken and THEN meet with the doc (this was last week). I had even managed to get my ex-midwife to give me a copy of my file (that in itself is its own blog post) and brought it. The RN and doc had lots of questions about my birth, wanted to know what my expectations were for this one, and led with the empowering and empathetic understanding I was looking for in doc #1. They said things like, "You will NOT be in labor for 3 days this time." and "You made it to 8cm with no pain meds? You've so got this." and "We're going to be realistic about where your birth is going, don't get me wrong, but we're also not going to put you on a clock and insist on a cesarean and pull the plug early on your efforts." The RN and the doc both effervesced about the nursing staff at the hospital, the doula I chose, and my chiropractor.

When the doc left the room, I exhaled, replaced my paper gown with my clothes, and slowly walked through the hallway to the checkout counter, admiring all the squishy babies on the wall. As I checked out, I felt a prickle behind my eyes that turned into full on bawling by the time I made it to my car. I sat and sobbed like a crazy person...like a full-on Biblical professional wailing woman. I started getting a little concerned it wasn't going to stop but I just kept scrolling through my playlists on Spotify, landing on whatever song struck me as appropriate. Imagine Dragons was first and then Bob Marley. I forget the rest.

It went on for about 20 minutes.

It's been a week, and I can say that whatever that was turned a tiny little light on in my soul. I can repeat, "I am safe," to myself at night when a nightmare wakes me up, and I believe it. I am actually hungry, I laugh more, and I feel like being around people again. I know this is probably coinciding with the second trimester boost, but whatever. That catharsis was way overdue and I know it did my heart some good. I honestly didn't know how sad and anxious I was until it all came pouring out.

Am I sleep deprived? Stressed? Unsure? Yes. I have a three year old and have NO IDEA what I'm doing. She sleeps like an alligator trying to take large prey under on a death roll, and I'm either starving or have to pee 24/7. But this little light...it's started shining through the cracks.

I'm dancing again, trusting, hoping again.

Phew. It gets better.

D is for Dallas

Six-years-ago-me hates that this blog series is even going to happen, but I have something I need to share with you guys: 

I love Dallas. 

I have recently found myself defending its hidden awesomeness up one side and down the other, even bristling when someone else who lives in the Metroplex and PLAYS REGULARLY in Dallas got all high and mighty about how much better Fort Worth is. Now, Fort Worth is awesome. I love the culture, love the vibe, and love the people sporting their boots and cowboy hats just because it's Tuesday. Yes it is more country and more laid back. However, in my opinion it in no way compares to Dallas at all. Not in that Dallas is better by any stretch of the imagination, but that trying to compare the two is like trying to compare apples to oranges. You don't hate the orange because it doesn't taste like an apple. That's just silly. It's kind of the same as trying to compare Austin to Dallas. If Dallas is your old rich Aunt, Austin is your dreadlocked hippie college-aged cousin. You don't love one more than the other, you love and interact with them differently. Maybe you happen to know that despite her big hair and fake boobs your Aunt loves to frequent farmer's markets in her pearls and stilettos and at the same time you wish your cousin had gotten his degree in efficient infrastructure planning instead of skipping class to smoke pot.

When I got here, I hated it. I hated the people, hated the vibe, hated that everyone my age around me seemed to either have it all together or look a whole lot prettier while they were working and playing so much harder than I was. I remember going to the Ghost Bar for a friend's bachelorette party and being completely disgusted. I was supposed to spend the night in the hotel that night and ended up asking Mr. S to pick me up because it was so terrible. Granted, my introduction to Dallas came at a really lonely time in my life - I was engaged and planning a wedding remotely (in Austin) and I was working on and commuting to my first year of graduate school from Arlington to Denton while my fiance lived in Dallas. It was just totally a blur. I was homesick for the hill country and my friends, who were for the most part all still in Austin finishing their degrees and having fun together on a regular basis. Pair all that with a significant other who is more of a homebody to my PLAYPLAYPLAY! nature and boom. Dallas Hater.

Fast-forward to three years ago and meeting Annie. We are both music therapists, foodies, runners, life enthusiasts, we hit it off immediately while volunteering at a grief camp. She had done her internship in Dallas and had spent that time exploring all the culinary, beverage, and breakfast taco delights Dallas had to offer, and when we started working together, we started playing - hanging out at different bars and trying new restaurants. The veil was officially lifted on the previously hidden wonderfulness that Dallas had to offer. Our friendship is definitely in a different season now what with me having a toddler and the whole life-shift that having kids and living in the 'burbs brings but she and I still meet a random restaurants or food trucks that we have hear are great and we scheme our next 5K races and/or restaurant adventures.

While all this was happening, different neighborhoods have enjoyed a gentrification or awesomeing up. Oak Cliff is an absolute gem if a bit of a drive for me, East Dallas is probably the closest to Austin Dallas will ever get, and I'm starting to explore Deep Ellum. More importantly, my very own neighborhood continues to surprise and delight me in different ways every week. The people here are incredible, and I have found and helped foster a really fun and supportive community of parents and kids.  And that's just in my back yard. ON TOP OF THAT there have been city renovations that have caught my eye, namely the new Klyde Warren Park, Perot Museum, the Dallas Museum of Art now offering free admission, and the endless floral enchantment of the Dallas Arboretum. 

 So, there's the background on my idea of writing about why I have come to love Dallas. Mostly because I have found lots of Austin or hill country expats struggling to find their footing in this concrete jungle where big hair and thirty-thousand-dollar millionaires abound. Dallas in fact is all those things you hear about it. The people can be really overly flashy and rude (especially if you're vying for a seat on a patio when the weather is awesome), there's gobs of silicone running around here, and there's a very real disconnect between where people live and where they work, which can lead to never knowing your neighbors and spending a lot of time in the car on highways that never seem to ever be finished with construction. 

But that's not what we're here to talk about. We're here to talk about the side of Dallas that takes some persistent digging to find, that really I didn't get to know until I had a kid and really settled in to knowing who I am and finding/creating my village. Another part of this has been really paying attention to that whole "bloom where you're planted" philosophy or something that I read on an internet meme a week or so ago:

There is no longer any point in hating Dallas because it's where I am right now, and hating it just seems like such a waste of time I could be spending enjoying life.

So buckle up. You're not going to believe the incredible things I have discovered.