Blogging it Old School: Random Responses and Other Musings

Hello! It's a mid-week blog post that isn't try to catch up on 10+ days of non-stop activities! It's like old-school blogging with random thoughts and pontifications, all brought to you by Spring registrations at James's swim school that have him tied to his computer all night every night this week. We can't watch Narcos Mexico Season 2 if he has to stare at his screen, so I've been flying through Schitt's Creek and weeding through all the pictures I took last year. It should surprise no one to learn that Maggie represents at least 65% of my photos and I'm having a VERY hard time narrowing them down.

I mean, my god, such a model

Two little midweek highlights: (1) I voted, though it wasn't as joy-inducing as normal due to major polling issues in Texas and Warren's eventually withdrawal from the race; and (2) I was wearing a new sweater I got on sale at LOFT for $3 after using their birthday reward which (2)(b) perfectly matched this beautiful necklace James gave me for Christmas that I hadn't been able to wear yet because I didn't have anything to wear with it. Sparkly things + all the shades of blue are two of my favorite things and I adore this necklace.

Other happies: our nanny had her fancy camera in her car the other day and took these pictures of the girls to send to me. I love them. That pogo swing remains one of the great Christmas gifts of all time.

(Also Cora looks so grown up! It's crazy to think that she's almost as old as Landon was when she was born; we still call Landon and Claire the "big kids," and Cora will always be our ThirdBaby, but it appears she might be a big kid too.)

It rained on Wednesday and here is Maggie in her raincoat, with her boy following behind her holding an umbrella over her head just in case a stray drop of rain should touch her precious fur. I love it.

And here is a picture of Maggie's tongue at it's most absurd. It's like it fell out and she can't get it back in again. Which might be a real risk one day.

James Resolve-sprayed that spot on the couch as soon as she moved.

Also on my mind, two recent posts I enjoyed from two of my favorite blogs, and thought I'd comment on. Not that I commented on the actual posts because I read blogs on my phone and commenting through my phone is impossible and terrible, just like typing basically anything on my phone. Apologies to all the emails I haven't responded to- I can't access gmail at work and when I get home at night it feels absolutely impossible to read or return any emails. This is so bad and I'm working on it, but I also have a 3-year backlog and it feels unfair to respond out of order, so it's slow going.

But back to the posts! Sarah over at the SHU box writes her quick thought on COVID-19 as a physician, mother, traveler, and human who can read and think things. I agree with them. I also read and think things and I was a pre-med student in undergrad which basically makes me a doctor (JOKING, says the woman who made her then-boyfriend sleep all night with a COLLAPSED LUNG because she was so sure nothing was really wrong; have I ever told that story? it's both a good and completely terrible one from our dating years) and I am capital-letter-c Concerned. Which I think is the right level to be. It's not "nothing" or "the same as flu" and I get super annoyed every time I hear someone say that. But it's also not panic-inducing and no one needs to be buying out all the paper goods in Costco.

As I noted in my last post, I have some good epidemiologists and scientific reporters I follow on twitter that keep me informed and grounded (I'm someone who feels better the more information I have; follow at your own risk). A good and extremely non-alarmist friend who works in global public health told me three weeks ago to have 2 weeks of any necessary supplies (food, pet food, medicines, paper goods) in my house and, after I realized we run such a lean ship that we could only survive about 3 days on whatever is in our house at any given time, now we do. I shopped early for my soaps and sanitizers to bring with us on our trip and thank goodness for that because I ran to Target at lunch today for other items and happened to notice that all those shelves are now empty. But I'm not canceling our trip. The Caribbean remains unaffected at this time and while I'm not thrilled to be on planes or spending a few hours on a layover in a US airport, I don't think we (meaning my family specifically) are at the "cancel regular activities" stage. (And we will definitely not be wearing masks, nor did we purchase any in our early preparation, because unless you are already sick or caring for someone sick, they aren't effective and should be reserved for those who need them.!) But I'm glad our Spring Break is one of the early ones (tomorrow is our last day of school/work) and that we have our extra items and supplies to help cover any hiccups in the supply chain (or if cases pop up locally and we need to stay home, avoid crowds, etc.) after we return.

Probably not even 2 weeks; we eat like a Varsity sports team. The whole team.

Next up, Becca's post at Academomia! She writes about her Enneagram score, which like her, is something I've heard a lot about but never done. So after reading hers, which included a lovely and detailed analysis, and nodding along because yes there IS a right way to load the dishwasher, though I stopped debating it long ago when James started doing the dishes and I decided to stay completely out of home processes I don't want to own, I did a quick free quiz on the internet with results nowhere near as lovely or detailed as hers. But here they are, with my commentary:

Type One: The Perfectionist
98% MATCH
Ones place a lot of emphasis on following the rules and doing things correctly.

This is not at all surprising. Rules are important and we should all follow them. Except when rules are dumb; then we should break them, because that would be the correct thing to do, but we should do it in a fair and orderly fashion.

Type Nine: The Peacemaker
97% MATCH
Nines like to keep a low profile and let the people around them set the agenda.

This was interesting to me because I'm not particularly peacemaking, I'm just extremely non-confrontational (Scandinavian passive aggression FTW!) and I'm always the first to think that whatever I was thinking or wanting is wrong and no one else will agree with me or want to do what I was going to say and/or that what I want might make someone mildly uncomfortable (the horror) and so I hang back and let other people decide things. And then if they want to do something I don't want to, I force myself to love it anyway and tell them how much fun I'm having because I would HATE to make anyone feel bad about anything, except, apparently me. I've gotten much better about this.

Type Three: The Achiever
91% MATCH
Threes want to be successful and admired by other people, and are very conscious of their public image.

I think less "successful and admired" and more "helpful and the person you want to go to for things because then I'll be needed which lasts longer than being liked." I feel this relates to being my version of Types 9 and 2.

Type Seven: The Enthusiast
90% MATCH
Sevens want to have as much fun and adventure as possible and are easily bored.

Yes to enthusiasm! I do like to have fun and ALL the adventures. But I am not at all easily bored. That's just when I plan the next adventure.

Type Two: The Giver
88% MATCH
Twos want to be liked and find ways that they can be helpful to others so that they can be loved and belong.

Lol, see above. This is literally the role I've given myself in my family and all other social groups. "Love me please, I've organized your closet and alphabetized your contacts, do you need me to find something arcane on the internet?"

Conclusions. Taking the whole "free version of the quiz" and the "short summary of your results" I got for free because I didn't want to "create an account to unlock all the details!" with a GIGANTIC grain of salt, I'd say this was fairly true to form, but thanks to therapy, age, and increasing self-awareness and social confidence, I already knew all of it and have been working on the parts I want to work on. I am, most of the time, pretty happy with who I am right now. Or at least comfortable. I'm socially insecure, lack confidence in my physical appearance, and am needy as all hell in my romantic relationship, but I'm also fun and adventurous, witty and loyal, enthusiastic about whatever you're doing and also 100% sure everything is going to be okay. Plus, I can talk to you about the conflicting rules in vampire romance lore for hours.

The last line I could see in my "free results" said "Optimism is your super power." and I thought- how fantastic is that? I really think it is.

Memory Lanes and Positive Strep Tests

So I last wrote on Wednesday, after our miserable drive home and when I thought I was maybe going to start getting better. Yesterday I even left the house for an hour to do a return and breathe fresh air. My throat no longer hurt and my sinuses didn't feel like they'd shatter on contact. I firmed up our plans for a double date with the parents of one of Landon's best friends for Saturday and was eagerly anticipating our 2:30 tickets to see Beauty and the Beast Friday afternoon.

James has been whisking the kids out of the house each morning at 8 a.m. and keeping them busy until I text him with my confused "where are you guys?" when I wake up around 11 a.m.

Here, they are at Freebirds. Before that, they were at the Y, the park, Academy, and Costco. James seriously genuinely LOVES running errands with the kids (all of them, always) and it is one his most endearing and mystifying qualities.

So I was pretty sure I was on the upswing. Last night I dared to open the three boxes of childhood memorabilia my parents had sent me home with back in January, after they moved to their new house, and which I immediately forgot about until we found them in the garage last weekend. Apparently I'd never entered them into my mental inventory.

I spent way too many hours going through everything, laughing, crying, cringing... and wondering what on earth you're supposed to do with this stuff? 3 middle school yearbooks? (Kept those; they're small and hilarity abounded.) 4 GIANT high school yearbooks? (Kept senior year; I went to a huge school and didn't even know all the members of my own class anyway, but keeping one seemed right?). I found a ton of swimming stuff, obviously. (Apologies in advance for all the pictures you're about to see; this blog is now the diary I apparently wrote in in 8th grade, though generally less mortifying to re-read.)

I found the only non-swimming trophy I ever won. A math facts contest of course. Division! Fourth grade. I love love loved math. Still do, actually. I buy math workbooks and do them on planes.

But, while you obviously keep the math trophy, what do you do with your high school letter jacket from back when you had XL sized swimmer shoulders?

20 lbs. of medals?

Two boxes of ribbons?

A box of plaques? (Why was anyone giving out plaques to high schoolers? What can you do with those? Hanging them up now feels bizarre and a little sad. I tossed them all except my high school swimming Team Captain award and a few others that had genuine sentimental value, but even still- it would be better if they were just a piece of paper I could put in a folder instead of a giant block of wood.)

It was SO fun to see, but I ended up tossing most of it. Then I got to the real treasures... like this picture of me at the same age as Cora. Maybe we look something alike after all?

I always think I look more like Claire, and this self-portrait backs me up. But Cora has my adult hair curl and color, so who knows where she'll go with that. I spent my first 15 years as a straight haired blonde:

I enjoy these answers. They're still pretty accurate. Breakfast tacos are the best.

I found dozens and dozens of books and poems I used to write, illustrate, and then bind. Just for fun. In my free time.

It's like I was always destined to have a blog.

I also wrote about happiness a lot, which seems right based on all I remember about my childhood.

I found my 8th grade diary. If you want a lesson in self-kindness, read your words at 14. Ohmygod. I cringed so hard I had to read through half-closed eyes. Most of it I'd never share, but this made me laugh out loud.

Leo and Kate forever you guys. There was totally room on that door for two.

I found a bag of band medals. Nothing says middle school popularity like band medals.

My dad used to take each of them out to the garage after a competition to hand engrave them for me. I found so many things that made my heart squeeze.

Like this poem. I wonder if our kids would write something like this about us? I can only hope.

I found a beautifully bound parcel of my favorite high school papers (bound and labeled by me; I was an archivist), my SAT scores back when they actually mailed them to you (1550!), my senior year economics college project (UT's tuition was $2,000!), and the article from when I signed with UT in high school.

I found my deck credentials from the 1999 Junior Nationals Meet in St. Louis. We realized later that James was also at that meet, swimming the same event, just a few heats behind me. He was a senior in high school, swimming for Curl Burke in Maryland and I was a sophomore swimming for Blue Tide in Kingwood. We were both at the US Open later that year as well. It's no wonder we met my first night at UT in 2001- we'd been on that path for years!

Apparently at age 7 I was very up on current events.

I used to write a lot of poetry. I didn't remember that. I also feel like this should have given me excellent insight into the books I would one day read.

Paranormal Urban Fantasy Romance Forever!

I found my President's Medal from PE in 5th grade. I'd tried to earn one for 3 years, but I always failed the flexibility. I had the girls school record for the flexed arm hang, I LOATHED the running but would just barely get enough laps, but then the damn touch your toes portion defeated me every time. I practiced touching my toes for weeks that final year and finally earned it. It's possible my PE teacher helped. Attached to the ribbon is my Safety Patrol badge, something I wore with GREAT PRIDE and GREAT RESPONSIBILITY. I'm pretty sure I just wore my vest around randomly so everyone would know I was entrusted with school children's safety. I told everyone to walk their bikes on the path and hung up the tetherball balls in the morning. I feel this prompted my current career in public service.

It was a special night. I filled up two plastic bins, got rid of a lot, enjoyed it all, and even decided to keep the letter jacket. I'm not sure why, but it felt funny to give it away. I'll revisit in another decade and laugh and cry some more. Maybe when I'm not also on a lot of cold medicine.

So after all that excitement and some weird cold-medicine-childhood-infused dreams, I woke up feeling terrible. Like driving home from New Mexico terrible. I dragged myself to urgent care and got an immediate diagnosis of strep. I've probably had it since I first suspected it Monday morning before heading out for 9 miles of hiking around 2 national parks. It's a good thing they were pretty!

I still kept our Beauty and the Beast Date. I sat on the end and coughed into a paper towel, but I figured I'd just be sitting anyway. And we loved it! Cora in particular. Obviously, she dressed for the occasion. Or, you know, just a regular Friday in her world. (Note the Princess Jasmine socks and Rapunzel shoes; we can't be contained to only one princess.)

She has the animated version memorized, so she followed along beautifully with the live action plot. There were some intense scenes, but because the plot mirrored the (unimprovable!) classic so closely, she would just grab my hand right before saying, "I going to be scared now!" and then she'd send my hand back to me when it was over. She sat in her chair the whole time (nearly 2.5 hours), ate her popcorn, and clapped immediately when the movie was over, declaring "I want to watch it AGAIN!" as we walked out.

Then, like an idiot, I spent 3 hours cleaning out Landon and the girls' entire closet, all their clothes, all their drawers, and all their storage bins. It's like a sickness. This was far less fun and sentimental, and more slogging and sad (*sob* Cora keeps growing). Now I'm dragging myself to bed because it is late and you shouldn't clean out closets when you have strep. On the upside, I don't feel worse, so maybe that means I really will feel good enough to go on my fancy dinner date tomorrow night just like the urgent care doctor promised! (The doctor who probably didn't think I'd spend 3 hours power-deep-cleaning a bunch of closets, but still - there's hope! and I am very determined. Steak and fancy cocktails are coming my way and my 6:30 p.m. tomorrow I'm going to WANT THEM.) But a pre-midnight bedtime seems like a good start.

A Swim Down Memory Lane

I was going through my freshman year of college photo book tonight, trying to find an early picture of James and me since the 15 year anniversary of our meeting/first date is a few weeks away, and I came across a page dedicated to the end of my swim career. My life as a swimmer all seems so far away it's hard to believe I had pages of material to memorialize the end of it, but in 2002 my competitive swim career ended, my hip never quite healing from the surgery I had to have after my senior year of high school. By the time my physical therapy ended and I was facing the realities of my physical limitations, my college life was feeling so much bigger than swimming. My life always was, thanks to very grounded parents and friends and my general need to be doing all the things rather than focusing on any one, but still, in college I felt so fulfilled and thrilled by this next stage of things, I felt okay moving on. I was in a liberal arts honors program, pre-med in my electives, holding a 4.0, and madly in love with my new boyfriend. Life beyond the pool was calling and it sounded awesome.

And yet I so clearly remember crying when I told my parents my decision, that it was over. I remember how hard it was to be the "girlfriend in the stands" at the future UT meets. I had national cuts! I was a former scholarship athlete for the team! Dammit I could swim too! But there I was, all dry, no swim bag and no suit, cheering and clapping along with the parents. It was still fun, and I loved watching James swim, but in those moments, watching the swimmers on the deck and not being one of them, it was hard.

I adjusted, as you do, and my life kept on expanding. Now as I watch swimming at the Olympics I cringe at all the events I hated (basically anything longer than a 100), revel in the fact I don't have to care if I'm no taper, and feel SO overwhelmingly grateful I have the memories of swimming that I do. Of the team, the cheering, the rush. Of hitting the wall and turning to see your time- hearing the cheers and yells but not yet knowing if they're for you. Of the racing, oh the RACING, all out till you give out, god I loved it. I never particularly liked practice, but I loved to compete and loved being part of a team and I miss it so much when watching big meets like this. I want to step out behind the blocks, shake out my arms and legs, wait to hear my name, step up to the block and fly. I'm full of nostalgia, but still my biggest feeling is of gratitude for knowing what it's like so I can miss it as much as I do. What memories to have.

In thinking about this tonight, I decided to find a little essay I wrote when I was 19, back in 2002 after I quit. This was before blogs- or at least before I knew of blogs- and I'd never just randomly written something before, so I wasn't sure what to do with it when I was done. I sent it to my parents and then, on a whim, I decided to send it to Swimming World Magazine. It was published sometime later that year and I just found my copy.

So, since I'm immersed in swimming and nostalgia, here's a little trip down memory lane.

~ ~ ~

“So, do you miss it?” The poser of this innocent question by anyone who knows I used to swim or is watching a swim meet with me never really expects a full answer, much like the “How are you?” you ask everyone you pass on the street. Usually I just smile and make a comment about not waking up to a cold pool in the mornings or getting to stay dry during a meet. I tell them all that while I enjoyed swimming, it is a thing of the past; I have since moved on to bigger and better things.

But sometimes, after the person has turned the conversation elsewhere, I sit and think about it. Memories flood my mind. Swimming. Only in the context of that sport does it make sense to celebrate a drop in time many times faster than the blink of an eye, to mourn a relay lost by a fraction of an inch, to cry after a race you just couldn’t go fast enough for…

I miss the feeling of the water in the morning, the chance to swim in quiet solitude, the time to mentally organize my thoughts. I miss the hard sets, the ones you see written on the board and verbally declare impossible, but are already mentally and physically gearing up for. I miss the end of a good practice where only your sense of accomplishment pulls your body out of the water because your arms and legs long before gave all they had. I miss getting ready in the morning with twenty other girls in twenty minutes. The talking, hurrying, and laughter between people who were more than friends, they are teammates. I miss the immediate sense of family you feel among swimmers, you are all connected by the long hours in the pool, the constant soreness in your body, and the common understanding of the joy and despair a single race can bring. You share a closeness among near strangers that you don’t find among groups in the world beyond the pool deck.

Sometimes while watching a meet I find myself longing to be on the deck-- to be the one stepping up to the block, mentally going through my race, physically readying my muscles to be pushed to their max. I miss the time before the race, laughing and joking with teammates and competitors--friends right until the moment you step up to the block and friends again the moment after you finish. But for the time in between you’re the greatest of adversaries, pushing each other to the best you can do. After the race you’re glad for the competition, appreciating that they pushed you to your best, but during the race they’re just splashes in the water, splashes you have to get ahead of. I miss the opportunity to mentally will myself to a physical goal, touching the wall, and looking at my time. I miss being on the awards stand, feeling the medal on my neck, waving to my parents and coaches. I miss their assurance of their belief that I could do it, their smiles and congratulations when I did, and their hugs and shared grief when I did not. Most of all I miss that feeling of accomplishment that comes with the realization of a goal in the face of obstacles.

I even miss the heartbreak when you fall short of a goal you gave everything for. Not since swimming have I been involved in something I could shed so many tears over. Not since have I wanted something so badly that when it did not happen, my heart nearly broke. It takes an all-encompassing sport as swimming to allow yourself to wrap so much into one dream. Even after failure, the sport and the team are what make you go on—the force that gets you to move on quicker than you wanted and swim the next race. And in the end it’s your memories of that sport and that team that allow you to move from focusing on the heartbreak and failure and on to treasure the joys and successes. I miss caring about something enough to cry over it.

There’s no huge void in my life without swimming. I’ve moved on. I'm busy, fulfilled, and setting new goals. I only think about swimming occasionally, when looking through photo albums or reminiscing with friends. When watching a meet, I'm removed from it. When hearing about hard sets, they almost sound like a different language-- one I used to be fluent in, but now have to decipher into non-swimmer terms. Swim suits are no longer hung up in my shower, and swimming T-shirts no longer dominate my closet. Eating, sleeping, and school no longer revolve around a competition schedule. I'm focused on school and am working toward goals for my future career.

But do I miss it? Oh yes.

~ ~ ~

And I still do, in a more abstract, grateful way. But now I've moved on to sobbing at Simone and Aly's gold and silvers in the all-around gymnastics. I don't have any memories there, but man- the parents with tears running down their faces... far removed from my 19 year old self, it's the parents I identify with now!

California Beautiful

In what already feels like a dream, I spent this past Friday through Sunday in stunningly beautiful Montecito, California with some of my best friends from law school celebrating our beautiful, beloved, and soon-to-be-bride Alli. Even when I was there, everything about California was so impossibly perfect it felt fake (except the traffic, though even that was so super sized it almost seemed fake as well), but after a day of storms and grey in Fort Worth, it seems particularly impossible that I was doing handstands on the beach at Santa Barbara just yesterday morning.

The trip was amazing. I just typed and deleted a recounting of our itinerary, because that isn't really the point. The point is that this place is magical. You don't need air conditioning and you can keep all the windows open because there aren't any mosquitoes. No mosquitoes. I'd move there for that alone.

Alli generously rented us a beautiful estate in the hills for all to gather. The door was unlocked for us on arrival because, again, this is a magical place. 1.5 acres, a hot tub, big bedrooms, a bigger kitchen, and hills and rocks and flowers everywhere you looked. The room my friend Katie and I shared had a full set of the Babysitter's Club books. What could be better?

I spent a long time traveling to get there, but Alli flew in from Hong Kong, and other friends from the East Coast, so I couldn't complain. And I got to make a stop at Katie's West Hollywood apartment, which was lovely after she has so generously visited me at both of my Texas abodes. We bought a lot of wine at Trader Joe's before picking up a few more ladies and driving up the PCH to Santa Barbara. My first sighting of the ocean made me squeal. It'd been a long time since we'd seen each other.

We talked and laughed and ate candy on the trip. We exclaimed over the house and headed out for dinner in town. We stayed up late drinking wine in the hot tub and marveling at how many more stars are in the Montecito hills than our respective homes of LA, NYC, DFW, DC, and HK.

I woke up too early and couldn't figure out why everywhere was so content to lounge and then I remembered that I was in an earlier time zone and wasn't traveling with small children. I made tea and waited for everyone else to catch up. We went to a Farmer's Market so bright and beautiful it nearly made me cry. We don't have one in Fort Worth and I can only imagine the vegetable chopping I could do if we did.

Everyone bought what looked good to them and we cooked it all up for dinner that night. I bought the most amazing carrots I've ever tasted (I know, that is a ridiculous sentence, but you haven't had them) and a carton of pluots, a gorgeous dark purple and vibrant pink fruit that made me think of Claire. With our produce safely in our car (where we could leave it because it's not 100 degrees outside; madness!), we headed off to a yoga studio in Goleta for a private aerial yoga class.

It was amazing and my new goal in life is to own an aerial yoga studio in Fort Worth.

Or just wait for someone else to open one so I can go all the time.

Our teacher opened our class with, "did you do a lot of drinking last night?"

I really enjoy being upside down. It's so nice when your face can match your pants.

We ended in our cocoons, which is basically a swingier form of savasana that was like being back in the womb. But roomier and less sticky.

We got back to the house and lazed about, reading, drinking (it was 5:00 on the east coast), or, if you're me, making your friend in sandals explore the property with you. We had over an acre at our disposal! I needed to see it all- secret fountains, little tables and chairs tucked away at different elevations. I soaked it up, chased a lizard, and strangely took no pictures.

Here, have a roasted candy cane beet instead

Later, everyone cooked their market items and we ended up with an amazing and shockingly healthy dinner- roasted veggies, my first ever pleasant taste of beets (they don't have to be slimy and purple and gross; they can be golden or pink and white striped and all crazy delicious!), fresh breads, steamed artichokes, two roasted chickens, salad, and so much fruit. All local and organic and so inexpensive it would make you cry as you walk through your mid-city Whole Foods.

Before I left for the trip, Katie had mentioned going for a run on Sunday and I, wrapped up in my love for Katie and excitement for the trip, said, "Oh, I'll go too!". But I don't run. I hate running and I am terrible at it. The furthest I've ever gone was 3.0 miles in 2002, just to prove I could, and then I retired from running immediately afterward. I do not run.

Sunday morning found me running, in my 3-year-old running shoes that totally messed up my instep, chatting with my runner friends and marveling at how much running didn't suck when you can do it while looking at this:

And talking to them:

Also, I've just never been this lean or in this good of shape. That sounds like puffery, but I was shocked at how much easier running felt now versus when I'd done it 13 years and 15 pounds ago. I might not hate running after all. Or beets. I feel like I have to reconsider everything now.

Also cacti make up my new favorite flower

We went 3.1 miles, besting my personal record for distance, and Alli and I celebrated with cartwheels on the beach.

Santa Barbara is almost stupidly beautiful.

After showering and packing and gorging on more fruit (we had 8 girls in the house and probably 16 lbs. of 10 different varieties of fruit; magic!) we headed out for lunch and shopping. I felt my run deserved a reward and my reward took the form of a Mexican combo platter that included a whole steak buried under many other things.

I ate it all. We walked and shopped our way through downtown Santa Barbara while I tried to stop myself from saying, "it's just so pretty" for the 600th time and then it was time for hugs and farewells so I could catch my 2.5 hour bus ride to make my 3.0 hour plane ride before my 1.0 hour car ride home. I pulled in the driveway at 1:15 a.m., was in bed with a snuggly JP at 1:18 a.m. and blissfully asleep minutes later. I woke up feeling refreshed and loved with JP wrapped around me and the big kids banging on our door. Cora screamed when she saw me and clawed her way up my side like a monkey. The best part of leaving is always the coming back.

I packed my pluots for the bus ride.
California makes me a better person.

But man, the time when you're gone can be pretty incredible too. I love those ladies and I LOVE California. I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if I'd headed to a different law school back in 2005- what if I'd gone to Columbia as I'd originally committed? or waited out the wait list at Stanford? How different would my life have been if I'd moved to New York or California? But I always come back to the fact that UChicago, besides giving me an incredible legal education (though admittedly, by nearly killing me in the process), put all these strong and brilliant women in my life, plus even more who couldn't make it, and just for that, I wouldn't change a thing.

Though I wouldn't mind if I could now find us a reason to move to California.