Giving Grace

I love fall. When you can smell the leaves instead of the grass. When the wind is more blustery than breezy. When you relish the sun’s warmth on your face rather than hide from it.

Big life events tend to happen to me in the fall. It makes me nostalgic for the start of a new school year. Fall reminds me of when I met and fell in love with Steve. Gosh, 17 years ago. It reminds me of when we bought our first home together and when we brought home Buddha. Oddly, major career changes would take place for me around September. And before I know it, it’s my birthday in October - the dawn of a new age.

Since the pandemic started and Bubba was born, fall reminds me that everything is temporary. I’m learning to soak up the little things. Bub’s vocabulary is getting better each day. He’s saying “yes” and “more” with real intention. He tries to repeat the words we say and was really close to saying “banana” the other day. At the park, he is more opinionated about when he wants to slide down the slide or swing on the swings. I can no longer plop him where I want him.

I’m reminded that babies don’t stay babies. Nobody has to tell me how quickly they grow up because I know. It’s happening right before my very eyes and while I’m heartbroken I can’t freeze time, I’m in awe of the transformation I get to witness. How he learned to do a somersault. The way he picks himself back up after a tumble. He is so cute it hurts. It hurts because I know he won’t be this cute forever. Next fall, he will be speaking in full sentences and running faster than I can catch him.

Despite the beauty of watching him grow, I wasn’t expecting the transition into toddlerhood to require so much patience and true parenting. There are moments when he’s throwing a tantrum and I literally do not know what to do. Sometimes, I say or do the wrong thing. Other times, I’m able to help him understand. When I get fed up and overreact, I feel like a horrible mother and I beat myself up for not being perfect. But toddlers, they are so gracious, so forgiving. He doesn’t know what perfection means. Maybe to him, I am perfect. He never stops loving me, no matter what my behavior or reaction is. He gives me grace. Why can’t I give myself some?

When big emotions happen, whether it’s me or him, I’m reminded to slow down. To take a breath. To let him figure out how to put on his shoes. To let him watch tree branches in the wind. To let us both observe the little things.

After all, it’s the little things that build meaning in our lives.

“There is no such thing as a perfect parent so just be a real one.”

— Sue Atkins

Every day, I hit the ground running. Harder than I ever thought I could. I throw up my hair in a scrunchie, put on my running rotation of sweats, and barely pause to look in the mirror. I tell myself that I should make an effort, to make myself happy. But then, I hear a little voice call for “mama” and I run to it.

I have to remind myself that this is just a season of life. That raising this kiddo is just a blip in my lifetime. It’ll pass by in the blink of an eye, and I know I’ll miss it so very much. I pray that the hustle, the worrying, the exhaustion - that it’s all worth it. That some day when he’s older, he’ll think back on his childhood and remember it with joy and fondness. When we’re sitting around the dinner table years from here and my hair is completely gray and I’m moving a little slower, I hope we laugh and relive the beautiful memories we’re creating right now.

33, Be Good to Me

I’ve wanted to make Flo Braker’s buttermilk cake for over a year, ever since I heard about it on the Home Cooking podcast. The podcast has been a great source of comfort for me during the pandemic. I listen to it almost every day. Apparently, rewatching movies or shows, or in my case, listening to the same music (hi, Phoebe Bridgers) and podcast over and over is a way for anxious people to control their emotions in a world that feels out of whack.

For my birthday this year, I was determined to make this buttermilk cake. A week before, I remembered to buy buttermilk and cake flour. Yesterday, I sent Steve to the store to buy butter and parchment paper.

He came back with salted butter and wax paper. Close, but not the same.

Also realizing I didn’t have a hand mixer and that my butter wasn’t at room temperature, I gave up on this double-layer cake with chocolate sabayon frosting being picture perfect.

At 10 pm on a Saturday, Steve and I deliriously giggled our way through dolloping lumpy cake batter into misshapen muffin cups and mixing whipping cream by hand until our arms hurt. The mini cakes looked like they were sat on, but they were buttery and delicious. After 12 minutes of whipping the cream, it suddenly and miraculously stiffened. And shockingly, we had fresh strawberries in the fridge, which we almost never do.

We laughed and ate until our stomachs grumbled hurt.

“I’ll remember this when I’m old,” I told Steve.

Making this cake was somewhat symbolic of the year I’ve had. Riddled with panic attacks, triggered by not being the perfect parent, 32 has taught me that my mental health has taken a toll and needs tending to. Perfectionism is what I continue to strive for and when life isn’t perfect, I beat myself up for it. The chronic guilt has cancelled a lot of the inner work I had done before I had a baby. Should’ve, Could’ve, Would’ve pepper my thoughts relentlessly.

But through it all this year, Steve has been there for me. Somehow, he makes me laugh even when I don’t think I ever will again.

I hope 33 is more of the latter laughter and less of the former guilt. I hope 33 is onwards and upwards and not constantly feeling downtrodden by my own thoughts. I hope 33 is peace and not panic.

Mom on a Mission

The smell of sweet grass in the morning. The crunch of grass under bare feet on a hot summer day. To walk and play freely in the grass, to not worry whether you’re stepping on carcinogenic chemicals, that’s how the world should be. That’s the world our children deserve.

But instead, we live in a country where homeowners are obsessed with weed-free, perfectly manicured lawns. So much so that they’re willing to pay companies like TruGreen to spray toxic chemicals and they’re willing to use Roundup to remove dandelions.

Here’s the irony: dandelions are actually quite nutritious and a small bunch of organic dandelion greens costs $2.99 at the store when we could get them for free in our very own yards.

We are killing ourselves purely for aesthetics and it’s infuriating.

The Truth about TruGreen

I didn’t realize how prevalent pesticide use was until I had a baby and I started caring about what he was exposed to. My stomach drops every time I see a pesticide application sign at the park or in someone’s yard. I wonder why people think TruGreen is safe, why they continue to pay for it. I wonder how we got to this place in society that feels so backwards and wrong.

TruGreen says the drying process of their pesticide application takes 1-2 hours but the truth is, studies have shown that these chemicals are traceable several days later and that they run off into our water and drift into our air. Pesticide drift is real.

Here’s the truth about TruGreen:

• 53% of TruGreen’s products include ingredients that are possible carcinogens.

• 41% of TruGreen’s products include ingredients that are banned or restricted in other countries.

• 34% of TruGreen’s products include ingredients that are known or suspected endocrine disruptors.

• 28% of TruGreen products include ingredients that are known or suspected reproductive toxins.

• 100% of TruGreen’s products include ingredients that threaten our environment, including our water supplies.

• 0% of TruGreen’s pesticide application signs provide the exact time the lawn was sprayed, putting any human or animal at risk of touching the lawn before it’s dry. Also, birds and bunnies can’t read so how are they supposed to know the lawn is unsafe? There’s nothing stopping a squirrel from scampering through your neighbor’s TruGreen lawn and then into yours.

In 2020, a lawsuit against TruGreen was brought up to the Superior Court of DC.

TruGreen and Roundup both contain the weed killer, glyphosate. Last month, Bayer (the maker of Roundup) reached a $2 billion settlement to resolve around 125,000 claims that Roundup caused non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

Be the Change

The facts and cases against pesticides/herbicides/insecticides are mounting. A recent study found that even pesticides (e.g. DDT) banned over 20 years ago continue to show up in areas we least expect it, like nature preserves. These forever chemicals will outlive us. The damage has been done but we can stop the bleeding.

On the bright side, municipalities are slowly coming around to banning pesticides on city property - cities like Evanston, IL. Organizations like The Detox Project and Beyond Pesticides are promoting transparency and empowering individuals to create change. Companies like Sunday and Lawnbox are offering safer alternatives.

Here’s how you can help raise awareness:

1. Educate yourself on your city’s pest control and pesticide use. Pesticides can be found everywhere - in cities, suburbs, and rural areas.

2. Write to your state/municipality/HOA/block about safer pesticide use, banning pesticides altogether or at the very least, providing a schedule of when pesticides will be used. Here are letter/flyer/brochure templates you can leverage.

3. Sign the petition to demand that TruGreen switch to a non-toxic formula: www.change.org/bantrugreen.

4. Make “pesticide-free” or “ban TruGreen” signs for your lawn to raise awareness with neighbors and to let them know they can walk safely on your grass.

I often feel like an army of one challenging old ways of doing things. Or, that I’m sounding the alarm but no one wants to be inconvenienced. What keeps me going is knowing that the work I do to create a safer world for my loved ones is the most meaningful work I can do.

“A poison is a poison is a poison.”

First Family Vacay

After more than a year cooped up in my parents’ home, I needed to get away. Quarantine was getting the best of me. I didn’t leave the house except to go grocery shopping every two weeks. I missed being out in nature. I missed the Bay, where we walked along the beach and hiked in the woods every weekend.

At my wit’s end and on Steve’s suggestion, I booked an extended stay for us in Michigan. The Airbnb was 10 minutes from most beaches and forest preserves and only a two-hour drive from where we were in Illinois. It offered a fenced yard for the dog, filtered water for formula, and the owner was nice enough to pause pesticide use during our stay.

At last, we had something to look forward to.

The day finally came for us to make our way to Michigan. The car was packed full of Bub’s stuff: highchair, Pack n’ Play, formula, clothes, diapers, bottles, snacks. The two most stressful parts of the trip were packing to leave for it and packing to come home. While one person watches the baby, the other person packs - switching on and off until we’re ready to go.

When we arrived at our Airbnb, I immediately wanted to turn around and go home. ‘I’ve made a terrible mistake,’ I thought. In my eyes, the place was dirty, covered in glitter (the bane of my existence), and it smelled strongly of artificial air freshener. My senses were overwhelmed and the Highly Sensitive Person in me was panicking. A year ago, these things wouldn’t have mattered as much. As a mom now, they freak me out because I am constantly worried about creating a safe space for my child. Whyyyyy did I leave our little bubble?

Miraculously, we got through our first night. Unloading the car, unpacking Bub’s things, scrounging up his dinner - somehow we did it. But, I was homesick for my parents’. I missed having everything I needed and knowing where everything was. I didn’t realize how hard traveling with a baby would be; I was kicking myself for not having thought through all the little things.

I had a silver lining. As we were getting ready for Bub’s bedtime, he was rolling around on our bed, laughing and having the time of his life. His eyes shone with pure happiness. His smile melted my heart. He wasn’t homesick at all. Home is where mom and dad are.

❤️❤️❤️

Throughout our stay, I would learn to let go. This was Bub’s first time in an entirely new environment. He was exposed to so many things. Some good. Some bad. At some point, I had to learn to let go of wanting to control everything.

Beaches mean sand and sand gets everywhere. Wooded areas mean mosquito spray and people in Michigan spray pesticides just like they do in Illinois. Some people smoke cigarettes and smoke dissipates into the air we breathe. No home, no Airbnb, no hotel, no place is perfect. Bub gets into things (like all toddlers). He’s going to prefer playing with the dog food bowl and the garbage than any of his toys. I can’t keep him away from all harm.

Here’s the thing about control, it stems from anxiety. While I am panicking and worrying about what he’s eating or breathing in, he is completely happy. He looks up at me with a big grin and bright eyes. I try to take a deep breath and just let things be.

Happy and Sad

I'm coming to terms with the fact that my baby isn't a baby anymore. He's a toddler with big feelings and wants. He's harder to please and easy to upset. I've had to do more parenting these days and I can't say I enjoy it. I miss the days when he only needed three things: a feed, a change, a burp.

But when I'm feeling beat and burnt out, I try to remind myself that it's temporary. And then I feel utter sadness. Nothing lasts forever. The truth is, it's a flash in time that he will be little and need me - a fraction of a lifetime. His first year went by in a blink. I'm afraid I'll look up and suddenly he's in college.

Despite being exhausted, I still want to hold on to the cuddles, the middle of the night wake-ups, the guttural fits of laughter, the way his tiny hand fits in mine. I could watch him sleep for hours - the way he smiles in his sleep, the way he looks so peaceful. I try to take as many photos and videos as I can. I try to cement the memories in my brain. But it's not the same as living in the moment.

I'm overwhelmed with intense emotion - I've never loved someone so deeply. I've never had something so precious. It's scary and confusing and complicated. Being a parent, I feel conflicting feelings all of the time. I'm happy he is growing but sad he won't be my baby forever. I look forward to his bedtime so I can finally have time for myself, but I'm sad he's another day older. I'm excited for him to walk, but I'm sad he won't need me to pick him up anymore. Parenting is being present and feeling polar emotions at the same time. The feeling of future nostalgia is so real.

Matters of the heart are complex. What brings me peace is that many parents feel the same way and I feel, somehow, less alone ♥️