This week I was able to pull up the blog I wrote when I was going through infertility. It was so nice to read people’s responses, especially my mother’s.
It’s the last day of January, which is awesome because this is the most dismal month of the year. No worries because we’re almost through it. In the meantime, here are this week’s Weekly Winks.
Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write them down — share the goodness.
Saturday— John, The Tots and I cleaned our house — I mean really cleaned. I absolutely hate cleaning, but I love the end result. It was so nice on Saturday night to kick back in a clean home.
Sunday— The closing hymn at church was an old school favorite, I Have Decided to Follow Jesus. It reminded me of mom. I miss her so much.
Monday— While researching my post for this past Tuesday, I visited my old blog — https://imnotafertilemyrtle.wordpress.com/about/. I was so excited that it was still there, despite all of the typos. (I blame all of those on my fertility drugs.) Anyway, the best part was reading people’s responses, especially my mom’s. It was like she was talking to me. Again, I miss her so much.
Tuesday— I had lunch with two of my best friends. It was one of those lunches where we just talked and talked and talked. Everyone needs more meals like that.
Wednesday— I decided to get new headshots made for this blog, so my awesome best friend from home agreed to do my make-up. Anyone who can make the dark circles under my eyes disappear is a genius, and she did just that. I love her so much!
Thursday— On the way to school Margot saw a flock of birds flying overhead, and she got so excited. I loved hearing her talk about the birds in her sweet voice. We decided that they were either heading to a party or the beach or better yet, a beach party. Always remember to look up!
Friday— Today I delivered special lunches to The Tots at school for their birthday. As I was walking down the hall with my hands full, a little boy I didn’t know asked if I needed help. Love a kid with good manners!
Happy weekend! The next time I write on this blog, I’ll be the mother of tweens. Yikes!
Here’s Graydon and Margot Tate a few days after we brought them home. Two snuggly Winks of Goodness.
Photography by Lori K. Tate
This time 10 years ago I spent my days watching One Tree Hill, eating mac and cheese with a side of Pop-Tarts (both from a box), napping, and trying to crank out as much work as I could before going on maternity leave. Pregnant with twins, I had a beautiful nursery furnished with anything you could need for an infant — or two (remember Diaper Genies?). I was prepared for motherhood, or so I thought.
Every pregnancy is a miracle, but ours was a supersized miracle. After going through all kinds of infertility treatments, our second round of IVF worked. We had two good eggs on which to place our parenthood hopes. You know them as Graydon and Margot.
Everyone tells you that you can’t prepare for being a parent, and they’re right. A whole new compartment of emotions and feelings opens in your brain once you have children. You thought you loved your spouse, your parents, your cat, but that love is nothing compared to the love your babies bring out of you. It’s like the scene at the end of How the Grinch Stole Christmas where the Grinch’s heart grows three times its original size. The difference is that when you become a parent, your heart grows too big for your body, so it leaves you and covers your children whole.
For a long time I didn’t think I wanted kids. When I was little I wanted to be editor of The New York Times. There weren’t any kids or even a husband in that dream. It was just me in a gray pantsuit carrying the briefcase that Santa brought me in sixth grade. In college, I was laser focused on having a career, despite the distraction of a couple boyfriends. And even after I married the man of my dreams (in my 30s), I wasn’t 100 percent sold on the idea of being a mother.
In a way it felt selfish, greedy even. We were a happy couple. We were doing things we enjoyed together and separately. I was scared of what children would do to that chemistry, and I worried about gambling our happiness for even more happiness. And as someone who only babysat once in her life (that ended with one of the children locking themselves in the bathroom), I didn’t know if I was cut out to supervise, much less raise, another person.
When I finally decided that I wanted a child, reality ripped my blueprint of the future to shreds. I couldn’t get pregnant. Like my mother, who tried for 13 years to have me, I was pre-menopausal at an early age. It’s one thing to think you might not want something. It’s quite another to hear it might not be possible for you to have it if you do.
I don’t revisit those memories often because I can’t. Even though I know our story had more than a happy ending, I can’t think about the chance of never having our children.
When 2020 arrived, everyone was talking about decades. I hadn’t used that word since Y2K (remember how we were all going to die or at least not be able to use our computers that New Year’s Day?). What’s funny is that I never thought about how The Tots were born at the beginning of a new decade. Back then I was too busy trying to get comfortable to reflect on the past 10 years. So after I heard the decade talk this past New Year’s, I took time to think about the past 3,650 days — my first 3,650 days of being a mother.
If there were such a thing as a Winks of Goodness meter (I should market those), you’d see that the most Winks of Goodness I’ve experienced in my lifetime have taken place during the last 10 years. That’s not to say that motherhood hasn’t challenged me to my core because it has kicked my butt repeatedly, but even in those moments there’s goodness. (It might not surface until a few weeks later, but it’s there.)
Most motherhood clichés are true. It is the hardest and best job I’ve ever had. I can’t imagine life without them. Once you get used to a phase, it changes. And time does indeed fly. Here we are at double digits, and those little babies I was scared to bring home from the hospital are growing into exceptional human beings, teaching their mother something new every day.
My sweet Margot made this sign and hung it by her bedroom door. I love her positivity. It certainly turned things around for me this past Thursday morning.
Photography by Lori K. Tate
It is beyond dreary here today, so we need all the Winks we can find. If you’re reading this where there’s sunshine, please send some here — now. In the meantime, here are this week’s Weekly Winks.
Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.
Saturday — Margot took her first college tour! Before you peg me a Tiger Mom, know that we went with my dear friend who has a 17-year-old daughter looking at colleges. Regardless, Margot left campus ready to apply.
Sunday— My friend, Natasha, fosters cats. We got our beloved Jefferson and Hamilton via her and Lake Norman Humane. (I highly recommend Marcus Kitties.) Anyway, she’s been fostering a pregnant cat, and early Sunday morning Mama Kitty gave birth to six beautiful kittens. Natasha has been posting videos of them on Facebook ever since. I could watch these kitties for hours.
Monday — Diana, one of my awesome trainers and friends, played a ton of Lizzo during our workout. I left feeling “good as hell!” See what I did there?
Tuesday— Tonight my almost 83-year-old dad told The Tots about the outhouse on the farm he grew up on as a kid. I’m pretty sure surrounding counties could hear The Tots’ laughter (and disbelief). Old school!
Wednesday— Graydon insisted on making me breakfast — coffee and eggs. Love that little man of mine!
Thursday — I woke up with a lot of negativity that only increased as I compared and despaired on Facebook while getting ready. When I walked into the kitchen, sweet Margot said, “Are you ready to have a good day?” and just like that I felt better. Love her to pieces!
Friday— My husband sent me a sweet text this morning, complete with cute emojis. (This is highly unlike him, as we both feel that emojis will likely take us back to the days of hieroglyphics. However, truth be told, I finally figured out how to design an emoji of myself, and I’ve been using it — a lot.)
Check out our beloved “Boboton” in our messy playroom. This piece of magic is determined to remain relevant, and so am I.
Photography by Lori K. Tate
The other day in exercise class we were joking around about why we work out. None of us wants to be one of those super buff people covered in oil and wearing tiny swimsuits, and we’re not obsessed with being skinny either. We just want to be healthy and fit. I chimed in and said that I wanted to stay relevant.
Before anyone gets upset, I’m not saying that you aren’t relevant if you’re not in good shape or if you’re overweight. I’m saying that exercise gives you a better chance of sticking around, and being alive automatically makes you relevant.
Forty-seven is a strange age, especially when you have soon-to-be 10-year-old twins. Many of the moms in my world are younger. Some just hit 40, while others are a few years away from that milestone. That doesn’t stop us from being great friends, but I do find myself swimming between islands sometimes.
While I have a few millennial pink (light pink for those who don’t know) items in my wardrobe, I prefer flipping through the bright colors found in the Talbots catalog. (Niki Taylor models for them for God’s sake, and she’s an icon of my generation.) I adore listening to ’70s and ’80s music, but I discovered Lizzo last month, and I adore her, too. I’ve never Snapchatted, and to me, TikTok still means the sound a clock makes (we still have clocks in our house), but I’m starting to get the hang of Instagram. Sometimes I feel hip, and sometimes I don’t.
While I don’t want to be the middle-aged chick wearing inappropriate clothes (think way too short mini-skirts and stilettos — together) in a failed effort to be cool, I also know that I’m not ready to hit the Alfred Dunner racks at Belk (no offense to anyone reading this who wears AD — my mom and grandmother both did and they were cool ladies).
It hit me a couple of years ago that I am no longer young. Yes, I’m younger than a lot of people and I’m not old by any means, but my skin isn’t as smooth as it used to be, and as much as I try to pass them off as blonde, those are indeed white hairs that you see sprouting from my scalp. When I go to a meeting, I’m no longer the youngest one in the room. I’m somewhere in the middle, so the youngest person is probably trying to guess my age because that’s what I used to do when I sat in their seat.
I’m mostly fine with all of that, except these annoying wrinkles that have taken up residence on my chin. What I’m not fine with is being written off because I don’t use the latest technological wonders in my life. Even though I don’t wear VR goggles while peddling a Peloton (my husband listens to CDs while riding our “Boboton”), and I don’t have ear buds for my iPhone, I still have a lot to offer, although it might be delivered in an archaic e-mail.
I think about this when I talk with older folks. If I feel this way sometimes, how do they feel flipping a Jitterbug open while waiting in line for a clerk to check out their groceries? (I’m just now warming up to self-checkout, and I still don’t like it. We need to talk to each other.)
My dad turns 83 in February, but he isn’t 83 on the inside. Up until last month he owned a black Camaro convertible with racing stripes. He carries a flip phone (not a Jitterbug). He doesn’t text (or take selfies), and he doesn’t use a computer. I often think he’s better off because he doesn’t have the distraction of technology in his life. Sometimes it turns out that not being hip is the hippest thing you can be.
Today marks five months since mom left us, and during that time my father and I have grown closer than we’ve ever been — despite not being able to text each other. As painful as it was to lose mom, the silver lining is that I discovered my father’s relevancy. Though he is dealing with the incredible adjustment of living without my mother, he still manages to give good advice and tell colorful stories about the way things used to be.
As dad and I learn about each other’s worlds, we’re building a new world for our family. This is some of the most relevant work that there is because relationships are the foundation of everything, and they’re also the pathways that connect us to loved ones when they’re long gone.
No, my mom isn’t here anymore, but she’s more present than ever because I think about the things she taught me every single day. One of those things happens to be the importance of exercise, as my mother wore out at least three stationary bicycles in her lifetime. Now when I hop on the Assault AirBike in my exercise class, I can’t help but think about that and her quest to stay relevant. All any of us wants is to matter, and my mother was certainly successful in achieving that.
Cortney Chesley’s latest crotchet creation is amazing. I always check to see what she’s working on while she waits in the Lake Norman Y lobby. Talk about talented!
Photography by Lori K. Tate
This week I think our family finally got into the groove of 2020, and so far we like it. Hope you’re finding your own rhythm in the New Year. Here are this week’s Weekly Winks.
Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.
Saturday — The Tots and I watched another Netflix rom-com (Falling Inn Love, so good). Anyway (spoiler alert), there’s a scene where an inn catches on fire. The owner runs in to save her doll collection without even thinking that there might be people inside. The Tots immediately noticed that and asked why she didn’t care about the people. Proud mom moment, as I admit that they thought about that before I did. (You should still watch the movie if you’re into brain candy. Yummy!)
Sunday— Sunday was gorgeous outside, so I sat on our front lawn in a fold-up lounge chair while reading a book (The Secret of Southern Charm— quite good). It doesn’t get better than this — in January.
Monday — Hamilton, one of our brilliant tabby cats and my assistant, took a nap under my desk lamp while I was working. Best co-worker ever!
Tuesday— As I was running over the bridge at Roosevelt Park, a heron flew out from under the bridge just to get my attention. I always think herons are my late cousin Marti checking in on me. Love you, Marti!
Wednesday— The Tots read the prayer during dinner at church. They were supposed to split it equally, but Margot read an extra line. Graydon was cool with it.
Thursday — I always admire whatever Cortney Chesley crotchets or knits while she waits in the Lake Norman Y lobby. Thursday’s creation was beyond awesome. She’s crotcheting a blanket for her godson whose parents are from Vietnam. Tapping into his heritage, she chose a lotus pattern to symbolize purity of heart and mind. Then she selected white yarn to represent purity and teal green to represent health. I love this blanket and what it stands for. She is so crazy talented!
Friday— I received an e-mail of thanks from a man I have admired my whole life. Priceless.
A lot of my days looks like this (and that’s okay), but the days my Legos click together are as yummy as ice cream.
Photography by Lori K. Tate, digitally enhanced by Graydon Tate
If I hadn’t picked “forward” as my word for 2020, I would have probably gone with “resiliency.” Last year strengthened my resiliency skills so much that I’m sure I could win gold if it’s ever an event in the Olympics.
While I can thankfully say that I haven’t experienced a full-on tragedy in my life (knock on every piece of wood you can find), I have made it through some tough things, anorexia and infertility being two of them. In the throes of those situations, life was difficult. I remember one Christmas Eve when John and I had to sneak out of the service to the church parlor so he could give me an infertility shot at the correct time. (If anyone reading this is going through infertility treatment, please know you are in my heart because I know you are in hell.)
With a lot of work and support, I made it through those things, and with every step I’m making it through each day without my mom physically being here (five months next week). Slowly but surely, I’m building a new normal with my family (my dad included), and the days when everything clicks like Legos are as yummy as ice cream. They aren’t glamorous by any means, and that’s why they’re so great. They’re just normal, even plain.
As a twenty-something I would have scoffed at enjoying grocery shopping and finding a good coupon. Now I almost jump up and down when the cashier at Harris Teeter tells me that I’ve saved more than $40 with my VIC card. This is living, and I love it because when you can’t have normal, you crave it more than anything.
Lately so many of my friends have had normalcy ripped from them. Whether it’s a sick parent or sibling, marital challenges, a job move, or personal illness, life as they knew it is gone — at least for a while. Each day they piece together new schedules based on what is asked and needed of them. They do the best they can as they pine for the time when things were predictable and a little mundane.
While I don’t want to be the Pollyanna everyone wants to punch, I want my friends to know that when they get through whatever it is they’re going through, they’ll be better human beings. Maybe not happy ones, but better, and they will be more prepared for the next hurdle.
Our culture is obsessed with happiness and happy endings. It might seem strange hearing that from me because I’ve built a blog on finding goodness (and I’m obsessed with rom com movies), but goodness and happiness aren’t the same things. You can be happy because of goodness, and being good can make you happy, but they’re not interchangeable.
When I look at younger generations, as well as my own (very much including me), I worry that our obsession with happiness is making us less resilient. Are we so scared of hardship that we pursue happiness at all costs? Are we so frightened of not being happy that we make bad choices that eventually lead us to being just that? If things were wonderful all the time, we wouldn’t know how to appreciate the Lego and ice cream days.
In addition to manners (which aren’t just for children by the way), I’m trying to drill resiliency into my kids. If something doesn’t go their way, I want them to be able to deal with it without being destroyed. If they’re not happy, I want them to realize that it’s okay not to be happy and keep coasting along.
It’s a hard lesson to teach because the world keeps telling us that being happy is the only way to be. Happiness is indeed a wonderful thing, but it doesn’t teach us all we need to know to get through life. That’s where resiliency kicks in.
One of my best friends from high school gave me this steel magnolia for Christmas. I will treasure it forever.
Photography by Lori K. Tate
Hope your first full week of 2020 is going well and that you’ve all selected your word for the year. If you haven’t there’s still time, so do it! (It’s not like I’m going to put you in Winks of Goodness jail.) In the meantime, here’s the latest Weekly Winks.
Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.
Saturday— John, The Tots and I met my dad at The Depot in Concord. (If you haven’t been here and you like antiques and farmhouse décor, this is the place for you — all 88,000 square feet of it.) Anyway, it’s housed in an old mill building that was once part of Cannon Mills. As we were walking through the building, dad told me that my grandfather used to work in it. I had no idea. I love having roots!
Sunday— As we continue to declutter our abode, we discovered a cat toy colored like a candy corn. To our surprise, our cats actually played with it when we threw it across the floor. (If you don’t have cats, know this, they hate to play with or even acknowledge anything that is made expressly for their species.)
Monday— I had dinner with my three best friends from high school, and one of them gave us each a magnolia made of steel. It one of the best gifts I’ve ever received because through tragedies and triumphs, all four of us are steel magnolias. Also, Steel Magnolias is one of the best movies of all time.
Tuesday— A friend and I had breakfast (I never go out for breakfast) before a school meeting, and it was so great to talk mom stuff. Nope, we weren’t comparing how awesome our children are; we were swapping strategies and stories about the challenges of motherhood. Priceless.
Wednesday— I was having a bad grief day when suddenly one of my best friends texted me to go on a walk. She had no idea what a rough day I was having. She just wanted to walk in the sunshine. It did me a world of good. Love my soul sister!
Thursday— As I recovered from the aforementioned bad day, my son gave me Mr. Orange (his beloved orange blanket) to keep me company while he was at school. Love my little man to pieces!
Friday— A young clerk at a store asked what the charms on my charm bracelet meant as I checked out this morning. She patiently listened to the stories behind this jingling timeline of my life.
My precious charm bracelet helps me celebrate the significance of every day.
Photography by Lori K. Tate
Brace yourselves, I’m not a Star Wars fan. I respect the film series. I’m fine with people loving it and being fanatical about it. I love Princess Leia’s hair, and I get that the special effects of the movies are awesome. I’m just not into films where an organization chart is needed to understand what the heck is going on. So the other night when John took Graydon to see Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (Margot was at a friend’s house), I went to see Little Women.
Let’s do a little housekeeping here. One — I’ve never read the book, but, of course, I know the story. (I’m going to read it this month, I swear.) Two — No, I didn’t’ see the 1994 version starring Winona Ryder. Three — I love going to the movies by myself and don’t do it nearly often enough.
Moving on, there were so many wonderful moments in this movie (Amy’s speech in the art studio being one of them), but one line that stuck out for me was when Marmee gave Meg her necklace to wear at the debutante ball. As she presented it to her, she told her daughter that “pretty things should be enjoyed.” I filed that little nugget away so I could examine it after the movie, and lucky for you, the examination begins now.
I’m an on-again, off-again shopaholic who loves fashion and who is embarrassed by her stuffed closet. The sad part about my closet is that I only wear about a tenth (if that) of what I own. I give things to Goodwill and I consign pieces in an effort to simplify, but my closet continues to overflow.
Many times an item isn’t parted with because I tell myself that I’m saving it for a special occasion. I have a beautiful faux fur vest that’s been waiting two years for its big day, along with a Swarovski ring that’s been waiting three times as long.
The Tuesday before holiday break, I had to dress up for a Hospice memorial service. I remember feeling like Huggy Bear as I walked up to carpool in my faux fur coat (I obviously have a thing for faux fur), but then I thought about it. When I was a kid I liked dressing up in my Chinos and preppy sweaters. In sixth grade, I asked Santa for a brief case. And though I now dwell in the casual region of life as a mom of two who works from home and loves to exercise, I feel weird wearing athletic clothing when I’m not working out. (It’s growing on me, but it still feels strange.)
Don’t worry, this entry isn’t about encouraging you to dress up every day or buy name brand things. It’s about realizing how every day is a special occasion, and that it’s okay to wear your pearls to the grocery store because of that realization — or simply because you feel like it.
Special moments happen every day, and we hardly notice them. Every morning that we wake up is significant. If you don’t believe that, ask someone who has a loved one who didn’t wake up or who woke up with a diagnosis that they didn’t have the day before. Cliché as it may sound, every day is a gift, and gifts are often part of special occasions.
For Christmas, I had two gold charms added to my charm bracelet. One was a coin pendant that belonged to my mother and another was a medallion monogrammed with my mother’s initials on one side and “You are my sunshine!” on the other. Even though this piece of jewelry is beyond precious to me, I don’t wear it every day. One reason is that it makes a lot of noise, and I don’t want to be the person who sounds like wind chimes as she pecks her laptop at the local coffee shop. (I’ve gotten some mean looks for that in the past).
Regardless, last Sunday I meant to wear it to church. As I sat there listening to the sermon, I looked at my bare wrist, regretting that I missed a special occasion for my bracelet. (Don’t worry I heard the minister’s message.) The next night I made a point of wearing it to dinner with my three best friends from high school — occasions don’t get more special than that.
As we venture into a new year (and I resist the urge to write a generic entry about how I can see clearly now that it’s 2020 — oh how tempting it is), I encourage you to appreciate how special every day is. If you want to pull out your silk scarf to celebrate that, I’ll be right there with you wearing my charm bracelet.
Last Saturday, a clerk at a boutique in Hendersonville wrapped my purchase in anchor paper. Every time I see an anchor, I think of sweet Easton Mills.
Photography by Lori K. Tate
Happy New Year! Hope you’re all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for 365 (well, 363 at this point) days of adventure and intrigue. We have no way of knowing what’s coming our way this year, but that’s all part of the fun. Just know that whatever happens, I will try my best to squeeze every ounce of goodness out of it. So hello, 2020! It’s nice to meet you! Here’s the latest Weekly Winks.
Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.
Saturday — We escaped to the mountains for the day (and night). It was so nice to get away and reset. While we were in Hendersonville (super cute mountain town outside of Asheville), I bought a pair of earrings at a boutique. The clerk wrapped them in anchor paper.
Anchors are the sign we use to remember sweet Easton Mills (see Where the Winks Come From — February 20, 2019 and Magic Cookie Week — December 3, 2019). Think about this. I’m at a mountain boutique, and it has beachy anchor paper. Thanks for that Wink, Easton!
Sunday— Still in Hendersonville, I left a package of books at the soda shop where we had lunch. We called hours later, and the waitress had put them aside for us. There are still lots of honest people in this world!
Monday — I spoke to a friend at my acupuncturist’s office (a practice I highly recommend), and she told me she saw a butterfly in the park earlier that day. Remember it’s December, people. Thanks for that Wink, Mom!
Tuesday— We took The Tots to their first Hornets’ game. During halftime, the team held a baby race (little babies crawled across the court from their dads to their moms). It was beyond precious. The baby who won took a substantial lead from the start. I’m sure the Goldfish crackers his mommy was holding encouraged him. I really think this should be an Olympic sport.
Wednesday— I saw a bluebird on my first run of the year. (Click on The Little Bird tab to learn the significance of that.)
Thursday — While The Tots and I were doing a yoga video in our kitchen, Hamilton, one of our beautiful tabby cats, joined in. If you haven’t heard, Cat Yoga is hip.
Friday— The Tots built a boat trailer out of straws for Barbie’s new wakeboard boat. Love their creativity!
