Educated Guessing

About a month and a half ago, I did a craft with some kids and used toilet paper cardboard rolls. I gathered all the ones I had saved up in our house at the time and brought them to be used. The kids had a lot of fun with our project and I had no more toilet paper cardboard rolls at our house. I always save them because we use them for various purposes around the house.

• DIY firestarters by filling them with dryer lint
• trash can tampers
• plant seedling starters
• craft uses

After the craft I did with the kids, we started over from zero. This week out of curiosity, I counted how many we had - 5. 

There's one more in a different bathroom.

 
Now in the last approximately 45 days, I didn't make any DIY firestarters, I didn't make any plant seedling starters, and I haven't done any more crafts. If I used any as trash can tampers, I wouldn't know anymore because they get trashed after pushing the trash down. My guess is we used at least 1-2 to tamp down the bathroom trash.

Using my best educated guessing, I'd guess in the last month and a half, we used the 5 rolls of toilet paper which I have cardboard rolls from, 2 rolls for tamping trash, and maybe another 2 rolls for margin of error.  That would put our toilet paper usage at approximately 9 rolls of toilet paper in the last 45 days. 

I don't think most people know how fast their toilet paper gets used. I really didn't until I did some math just now. The only other way people know how fast their toilet paper gets used is if they realize they're buying it very quickly. This happened to me in college when my roommate and I seemed to be going through a roll of toiler paper per day. It wasn't me...

Something that's always been in the back of my mind has been how much daily living essentials cost us. Food is food and calculating it is kind of irrelevant because when we're hungry, we're going to need to eat. Whether that comes from our refrigerator, freezer, pantry, or in the form of takeout, I'm not going to deny hunger requests. Food and groceries are rather easy to calculate because we buy them frequently.

I'm talking about the daily living essentials like toiler paper,  toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, face cleanser. How long do these actually last us and how much are we spending on them? 

I used to see the price of an expensive face cream and scoff a bit because it cost so much. Now that I'm older, Ive begun justifying buying these because I know they last a long time. I was gifted a face moisturizer for my birthday a few years back and I used it for at least six months if I remember correctly. Sure, the upfront cost seems steep, but when you calculate it out for how long it lasts, you end up at around a quarter per day. I can justify that. 

Anyone else out there actually think about these things?  

The Dying Conscience

Lately, and by lately I mean in the last 1-2 years, I've been noticing a lot more crazy driving out on the roads. Just this morning alone, I was driving back from the store to my house - so 2.5 miles from my house, a mere 10 minute drive - when I witnessed all of the following:

- A car slowed down because it knew there was a cop checking speeds up ahead.
- The same car left turned at a red light after significantly missing it (as in it didn't barely turn red, it was a solid 1-2 seconds) because it didn't want to wait the 1 minute 30 second cycle in order for the next turn arrow to appear.
- While I was in the left turn lane waiting for my arrow, a car turned left on his green light when a car was going straight dangerously close and got honked at. With any difference in seconds, it could have been a collision happening right in front of my eyes.

I understand there are crazy drivers out there, but for me to witness the last two bullet points within 5 minutes of each other at the same intersection was a little beyond coincidence in my opinion. 

This is not to say the countless number of other times I've witnessed crazy driving. We live next to a school in our neighborhood and the school zone lasts an additional 15 minutes after the elementary school starts school. It seems cars forget the school zone still exists during these 15 minutes because when I pull out to take my daughter to her school, numerous cars tailgate me and a few have even illegally passed me because I was "driving too slowly." It's infuriating. Lately, I've seen cops on the road during this time and I get a certain amount of satisfaction hoping these cars seemingly unaware of the school zone will get ticketed. 

In November of last year, I was driving my daughter home from school and we were going down a road that gets fairly busy in the afternoon rush hour. The left turn lane had backed up pretty far. Three women on motorcycles were driving in front of me in the left lane. At the light, they swung over into the front of the left turn lane in front of the first car waiting. I was going straight so I kept driving, but I was left with a very bad feeling. I know motorcycles are small, but since when was it acceptable to cut off 10+ cars? 

You think this is an isolated incident?

We were driving home one evening and were stopped at the same intersection mentioned in the very beginning waiting for our left turn. We were the first car stopped and a motorcycle was behind us. Before I knew it, the motorcycle went around our car and planted himself in front of our car in the left turn lane. 🤯 

Both of these happened within months of each other. 

I can't imagine I'm just "lucky" enough to witness all of these incidents and that this "isn't the average person." I've never been the lucky one. There's no way I'm getting lucky here and all of these people just happen to break the rules while I'm around. And this is where setting an example matters. I'm getting worked up just writing this post and thinking back on all the traffic violations I've witnessed which haven't been caught. The more of these incidents I see, the more I feel a part of the "good" inside me wanting to die. And it both breaks my heart and feels so cruel that I can't do it, because if I do, I become one of them. For whatever it's worth, that is the absolute last thing I'd ever want to do with my life.  

Going back to the first scenario I witnessed just this morning. I was impressed all the cars around me within my visible line of sight did not get pulled over by the cop who was checking speeds. But as soon as I saw that car left turn on the red light because he/she was too impatient and selfish to wait for the next cycle, I lost any neutrality I felt. What good is following the rules if you only do it when you know you're being watched?

I don't know the person in the car personally. Could there have been other reasons I can't see because I don't know the person? Absolutely. But based on what I saw alone, these are the conclusions I'm drawing.  

I don't believe following the rules in this life is worth it for ourselves. Because there is always someone out there breaking the rules who can get away with it. However, I do believe we must follow the rules in this life in order to receive something that is worth it in the long haul. What is the treasure that is truly worth it? Leaving a legacy of respect, honor, and one worth passing down. This isn't witnessed in day to day actions alone, but takes years of consistency to build.

That's hard. 

Does Size Matter?

Our washer and dryer are going on 12 years old. We purchased them for our first apartment because we could either rent the units from the apartment complex for a monthly fee, or we could buy our own. We bought our own and they've been working hard for the last 12 years. 

We were grocery shopping together last week and got a free sample of laundry detergent from the sample dispenser. The marketing line? 1XL pod = 2 regular size pods. So the sample was 1 XL pod. I turned to my husband and immediately said, "I'd rather have the 2 regular size pods!"

 

Our washer has a 3.6 cu ft capacity. When we purchased our set, I didn't think about the size as much as I did the cost. It was very cost efficient compared to other sets and for just the two of us, it worked great. I've never had trouble with cycles not cleaning well, but size has become an issue. If everyone's (littles and bigs) laundry basket is full, I can't do everyone's laundry in one cycle. It has to be two. Sometimes, if our hamper is completely full, I can't even do all the bigs laundry in one cycle. 

When I look at our washer, it doesn't appear to me as small. 
But when I look inside other washers, mine looks small...

I end up doing a lot of laundry in one week. On an average week, it's about 3 loads. Most of the time, it's not because there's a lot of dirty laundry. There's a decent amount, but if I had a bigger machine, I could do less loads.

I honestly would rather have the 2 regular size pods as a sample because for our machine, 1 XL pod is overkill for 3.6 cu ft of laundry. Whenever I use laundry detergent now, I have to remember to fill the cup for the "medium" loads even though I'm washing an XL load on my machine because that's how much I'm washing compared to what some of the larger machines out there can hold!  From the research I've done, there's a good number of washers between 4.8 - 5.5 cu ft! Our machine is 25-35% smaller than a lot of machines on the market. 

I've been asking myself for years, is it worth it to upgrade to a larger washing machine even though ours works? Sometimes, I tell myself we don't have any problems with our washer and it's fine. Other times, I really want a different machine (a removable agitator?!) to be able to suit my needs (or glorified wants?) better. 

Last year for Black Friday, Lowe's was giving out free appliances to one winner per store. I didn't wake up early to get in line because I don't believe in my chances of winning, but man, it's a nice pipe dream to wish I could have been one of the winners. 

Do you like the size of your machine? 

Twenty-One (and some) Years Later

I see my dad on a weekly basis now. Unless he's sick or one of us is sick, we will have a visit every week. I've come to enjoy these visits a lot more. There was a time when I really dreaded going to visit him and felt burdened by having to do so. At the time, each of these visits would leave me drained and sometimes angry. I never wanted to go because I'd leave in a foul mood after. 

It's taken years to reach this point, but my relationship with my dad is the best it's ever been. Now "best" is relative.  We're on a low scale here...by best, I mean we see each other once a week, we don't yell at each other, and we can have some surface-level conversation. Maybe sometimes more than surface-level. But honestly, if we're talking at all, and it's not yelling or reprimanding, that's a positive. 

I never got to have an adult relationship with my mother. When she died, I wrote a letter. In the letter, I listed a series of events and experiences she would miss from my life : my high school graduation, my college graduation, my marriage, the birth of my children. All of these have happened. But one thing I didn't have foresight into: both of us would miss having an adult relationship with each other. She would never stop being my mother, but the relationship of a mother and child is not the same as the relationship of a mother and an adult child. 

I have a vivid memory of being in middle school. I trace the timeline back to about 7th grade because I don't remember my brother being with me. My mother had driven to pick me up from school. I don't remember when she stopped driving, but 7th grade was less than a year before she died. She never waited in the carpool line because traffic was horrendous. Instead, she pulled up a street around from the school, and I'd walk down and look for her car. 

Upon opening the door, I got in the seat and loaded my violin and backpack around me. Immediately, I got yelled at because my violin was in the way of my mother's ability to drive. I got angry she snapped at me. We drove home in a sour mood and didn't speak to each other. I vaguely remember her later explaining to me she couldn't reach the gas pedal properly due to my violin being in the way, and that was dangerous. 

She was right. All these years later, I know she was right. I was just being a bratty teenager who didn't want to be corrected, and in that moment, I was annoyed at how bulky my backpack and instrument were. As an adult and mother myself now, if my child did the same thing, I'd be snapping at him/her in an instant, too.

I never had the chance to drive my mother around. She died a year and a half before I received my driver's license. I've driven my dad around a number of times on adventures with my children. I often wonder if it's strange for him to see me now doing things for him he used to do for me.  For a while, I resented the fact that it wasn't her. Why didn't my mother get to be the one to play with my kids and hear their laughter? Why wasn't my mother the one sitting in the passenger seat beside me as I drove? 

I learned to stop asking why. No answers will ever suffice for these questions. For now, I'm just glad my dad and I have time.  

Joy

We watched Inside Out finally because one of our children was shown part of the sequel during childcare and I figured I should know what my kids are watching even if we're not with them. I borrowed both from the library and we watched the first one. If you haven't watched the movie and you don't want descriptions of it spoiled for you, you probably shouldn't read this blog. 

It's a good movie. I really enjoyed it, but it definitely hits differently as an adult. While the children are gravitated toward colorful glass orbs of different colors and laughing at the goofiness of the characters (and the one who gets dragged around by her leg,) I was processing how Disney so perfectly displayed the essence of how memory works in a make-believe land. 

It was sobering to see how Riley's initial islands were all destroyed due to changes happening in her life. I think if we're all honest with ourselves, our main core childhood islands in our lives get destroyed too. There's definitely moments in my life, some which are core memories and I still recall, which destroyed my islands of family, friendship, and pillars of my childhood. At the same time, I have new islands with new "themes" from my life today which are holding strong and thriving. 

Seeing the cleaners vacuum old memory orbs for the pit was sobering. I have countless memories which have faded away over time and been forgotten. When you think about all the forgotten events and happenings, some of it is sad because at one point, they were seemingly very important and significant. I had written about this in a previous blog about my journals. Without rereading, I would have forgotten many details of that semester of my life. 

I believe the biggest theme in the movie, one purposely emphasized, was the importance of joy. This would be pretty easy for most children to pick up. The hidden theme beyond that was the importance of sadness behind the joy. My guess is you'd have to be age 14-15+ in order to begin to understand this one. If anyone had kids who understood this theme after watching the movie, I'd love to know what age they were!

Sadness is necessary in order for joy to truly shine through. I didn't get a lot of things I wanted as a child because they were deemed "unnecessary" or "not useful enough." To be honest, if it's necessary or useful, there would almost never be a discussion on whether or not to buy it because you always would. As an adult, I've been adding new memories of joy to rectify all the sad ones. I've blogged about a number of them here. Two which stand out in my memory include Cinderella's slipper ornament and a pair of flats. 

This year for my birthday, my husband gifted me an entire set of miniatures. I'd seen these (in Taiwan?) somewhere and thought it would be so cute to own the entire set. I contemplated it for a while and then tossed away my thoughts. Miniatures were just little figurines to be displayed and looked at, right? I didn't need them. They would just take up space. These fell under the "unnecessary" and "not useful" category. 

Well, I opened them for my birthday, and it was a fun surprise. But the real surprise came after we were able to display them.  

I love walking by this display in our bedroom and taking a closer look at it each time I pass. I get a sense of joy and warmth from looking at these miniatures. The detail put into these is incredible. The tiny glasses of lemonade have removable lids and straws. The hand on the scale actually spins around. 

I secured everything into the case with museum gel so nothing would tip over or fall if someone sneezed wrong. Seeing my own miniature display brings me back to when I saw miniatures in museums. The Art Institute of Chicago has one downstairs, and we went to the Miniatures Museum of Taiwan this summer. I feel like I have a small piece of the museum with me.  

You can arguably measure the usefulness of an item, and you can arguably measure the necessity of an item. But it's hard to gauge the joy of an item. These are subjective and will differ from person to person. Sometimes, joy is a longer lasting factor than the usefulness or necessity of something ever will be. I find lots of things useful and necessary, but very few of those things bring me joy the way these miniatures do. 

Journals

I kept journals for the majority of my teenage years. In my early twenties, I went back and catalogued them with their dates on the covers using index cards and tape. The earliest journal I have labeled is from 2005. The last journal I have labeled dates to 2013. I have another journal I've written in from 2013 to the present but it is not finished and therefore not labeled. I don't write in it often anymore, but if I have private thoughts, that's the journal I add it to.

I never used anything fancy. The one subject college rule notebooks were my go-to. They were cheap and easy to find. The colors were a plus. These notebooks are the ones you would have been after if you wanted to know my deepest darkest secrets in high school. 

The oldest notebook is 20 years old!

Nobody cares about my secrets anymore. Honestly, I don't even remember half of what's in these journals.  Will I ever go back and read them? Probably not. I don't think I want to reread any of them because they're cringey and full of my past I'd honestly rather forget. My husband asked me if I would just get rid of them. No, I wouldn't do that either. There's something sacred about having so much of my life chronicled within the pages of notebooks. I don't know what I'm going to do with them, but for now, they're taking up real estate in a cardboard box.

I did retrieve one journal which I did want to reread. This journal was a portion of my lab credits for my first college English class as a senior in high school. I didn't take AP English my senior year and I never regretted it. I had the best professor who is still my friend today. I retrieved this journal and did want to reread it because I had turned it in to my professor once upon a time as a portion of my grade. It wouldn't hold my deepest secrets, but it had to include something worthwhile.

It was a quick read. There were 30 entries written, each in three paragraphs of approximately three sentences. That was the requirement to earn our lab credits. As an adult reading my writing, it was still a little cringeworthy. Maybe I say that because it was my own life I was reading about. I was very much a 17/18 year old high schooler working part-time after school with the same struggles that most teenagers have - emotional turmoil, friendship, and the woes of my job. I can't say there's anything profound about the writing within this notebook and it won't be making any bestseller lists, but I enjoyed rereading it.

Had I not gone through and reread this journal, I would have forgotten about the memory when I drove through a rich neighborhood with a friend and admired the fancy houses and large yards. I would have forgotten about the memory when I took my friend's girlfriend shopping for a homecoming dress when I barely knew her at the time. I would have forgotten about the time my grandmother called my dad's cell phone number by mistake instead of dialing mine because she got confused. And although these are rather "insignificant" memories in the grand scope of life, they were fun memories to relive and relearn about myself. 

Unearthing my journals made me reminisce and miss the time when I used to have to just sit and write. As I write this blog, I'm racing against time knowing I have to change out of my loungewear and get to work in less than 45 minutes. Yes, I work from home and my "office" is probably 30 feet from where I'm sitting as I write this, but it's a mental item which needs to be completed. Life has drastically changed for me. Where I used to have time to sit on the carpet of my bedroom floor and write in journals about boys, I now make sure I have enough food in the refrigerator, leave the house on time to pick up my child from school to make sure she's not forgotten, and make sure the credit cards and utility bills get paid on time. 

Considering the fact that I have forgotten to pay a credit card bill (I believe 2 to be exact), forgotten about a scheduled city permit check (I was a week postpartum with my first!), and forgotten countless times to close the washing machine so the load would start washing and instead having to refill the washer a second time because of the automatic drain feature, the headspace to be able to sit down and reflect on life and write about "simple happenings" doesn't happen much anymore.  There are so many of these everyday events and moments which are not logged because there simply wasn't time or energy to sit down and do it. 

The decade or so of my life which lives within these journals will forever be remembered as a painful but special time of my life because there may never be another decade in which I write so many things down so meticulously. I used to want to remember everything I could in my head and keep it as a memory. As I got older, memories naturally faded and only the most prominent and significant stay long-term. And honestly, it's probably better that way. These will be there if I ever want to revisit them.

For now, I don't. 

Two Decades of Grey: The Everyday

When I last blogged about my hair, I ended up writing this post. When I wrote it, it felt unfinished in a way. Yes, I had stopped coloring my hair. My natural hair color, pigmented or not, was growing out, and this was going to be how the rest of my life went with hair color. Sometimes I'd think about coloring it for fun. Sometimes I'd think about adding some highlights. But I never ended up doing anything.

In November of 2024, I cut my hair. I do normally cut it a few times a year, but this cut was special. This haircut was when I cut off the rest of my colored hair. I colored my hair for the last time in December 2022. It kept growing, and two years later, the remaining roots which were colored back in 2022 were cut off. For the first time in my life since I was 16 years old, I had completely virgin hair. 

Every day is a new challenge when it comes to living with my premature greys. Some days, I'll look in the mirror and think to myself, "Hey, it doesn't look so bad today" as if I could convince myself I had less grey hairs on my head than I did the day before. Other days, I'll look in the mirror and want to start pulling them all out one by one because they look like they've taken over my entire head. And still, there are other days when I look in the mirror, see all my greys, and tell myself, "They look okay today."

As I've gotten older, my need to please others has gone down. I don't hang my value and worth on what everyone else says. There's still areas where I struggle with this, but when it comes to my hair, I've learned to put the comments aside. Over the last year, multiple people have made comments about noticing my greys. Some of them are shocked because as far as they can tell, it looks like I went from zero to grey in a few years. Little do they know I was hiding them for so many years already and this is merely just letting the facade fall. 

My youngest is in kindergarten this year. The year I was in kindergarten was when a poignant comment about my mother's hair stayed with me forever. I had children almost 10 years earlier than my mother did. I am still younger than my mother was when I was born. By the time I'm as old as my mother was when I was in kindergarten, I will probably have the same amount of greys as she did. I think I'm luckier in some ways. Society now is much kinder regarding beauty, signs of "aging," and self-image. It's refreshing for me as a parent to see other parents and staff at my child's school embracing their natural hair color.  And yes - there are still the parents who are 1000% put together and could be ready for a photo shoot at any minute. 

I have one box of hair color sitting in the closet at home. Yes, it's nearly 3 years old. Someone out there is probably face-palming and secretly yelling at me to throw it away.  Some days, I want to use it. I want to color my hair back to a uniform sea of black. I want to complete the picture of youthfulness nature took away from me naturally. But then, I'm reminded of how difficult these 3 years were to get through, growing my hair, leaving it uncolored, and wanting myself to be comfortable with myself. So I push through another day and don't look back.

Eleven

So last year was our big ten year anniversary and we celebrated with a trip to Maine. I thought I had blogged about it...but I didn't. There may have been a short post with a photo on another platform about our trip. It was a lot of fun.

We didn't plan a big trip for our anniversary this year as it's not a "milestone" anniversary, but we had a wonderful trip overseas as a family of four. I finally got to have another "dream come true." Growing up, I'd see my friends' family photos in their homes - the glamour shots taken overseas with the fancy clothes and makeup. I'd always wanted to get glamour shots done. Of course, my family had their issues, and in my eyes, was more dysfunctional than others. Since growing up and seeing the world through wiser eyes, I've come to see a lot of families with their own dysfunctional aspects. So in that, I was probably not alone, but it definitely felt like it for a long time. Regardless, we never took them.

Since getting married, we've never made a trip to Asia and I didn't have them done as a single person when I lived overseas...because, well, I wanted glamour shots with my family. Due to a number of reasons, 2025 was the year an overseas trip finally happened for us. And yes, we took glamour shots!

 

For our actual anniversary, we celebrated a day early, got a babysitter for the day and had lunch together. We didn't intend for it to be so reminiscent of our younger relationship days, but that's what it turned into. It was fun.

We went shopping together before lunch and were able to go to stores we wouldn't normally get to with children. It was so nice not to have to watch a child and make sure nobody was grabbing things or on the verge of breaking fragile items. We were able to wander at our pace and not worry about keeping track of where the children were. 

We went to an all you can eat sushi restaurant for lunch and we were pretty impressed. For the price we paid and the food we ate, I enjoyed the food. 12 years ago when we were still dating, we went to an all you can eat beef ribs restaurant for lunch. I ate 12 beef ribs for lunch that day and he had 13. We joke about that lunch being the moment he knew I was the one for him.  

 

We had a decent amount of sushi for lunch. Between the two of us, we ate:

- seaweed salad

- 4 pcs tuna nigiri

- 4 pcs red snapper nigiri

- 4 pcs smoked salmon nigiri

-14 pcs salmon nigiri

- 4 spicy tuna nigiri

- Rainbow roll

- Firecracker roll

- Mango delight

- Street Fire Roll

- 2 pcs shrimp tempura

- green tea ice cream

My approach to all you can eat places has changed drastically over the years. Yes, I'd like to get value in my meal, but I also don't want to leave the restaurant feeling horrible. I want to enjoy my meal and leave satisfied and happy, not uncomfortable and sick.

The last thing we did on our date together was go walk around the mall where I spent all of my teenage years at and where we spent the first year of our marriage strolling. I can't say enough how relaxing it is to get to hold hands with my husband instead of my children, use the restroom by myself, and spend as much time looking at items I want to look at without keeping track of where my children are and what they're about to do. 

I wore this dress 12 years ago when he picked me up at the airport when we first started dating. This was my first time wearing it again since getting pregnant and having two babies. Not everything fits the same, but this dress is pretty forgiving. 

We were very young when we got married. The older I get and longer we're married, the more the realization sinks in of how young we actually were. Our love looks different now. We look different now. But I can't imagine spending the last 11 years with anyone else. Fun fact: 2025 is the first year our anniversary has landed on a Saturday since the day we were married. 🥰

The Power of Failing

My youngest turned 5 recently. Part of me is dying inside because age five just seems too old for it to be the age of my youngest child. At the same time, I'm loving this new stage of life we're in. I don't have to carry around a diaper bag, there are no baby food pouches, my kids can get in and out of the car by themselves 90% of the time (certain car seats are harder than others), and I can feel like an adult again instead of someone's mother. Don't get me wrong - I love being a mother and I wouldn't have had two children if I didn't and serve them in all the ways I have - but it's really nice to have adult conversation, be able to read books, and not be called on for miscellaneous help every 5 minutes.

But, there are still hard moments. Even though he's 5, he doesn't verbalize as much as he should when he needs help due to his shy personality. When he plays, he's super verbal. Otherwise, for the big things, he needs to be prompted in order to elicit a response. I'm trying to get him out of the habit because I need to know he can survive if he's not next to me. Could I just send him off to day care/school and force him to interact with others? I could and I can, but that's my choice not to. So these lessons need to be learned in other ways.

He asked for a snack last week and I gave him a cheese stick. Everything was going fine, but he couldn't open it, so he shoved the cheese stick in my face. Of course, I knew what he wanted me to do. I could have easily opened it for him, given it back, and life would have gone on. However, that's not what I did. I told him to tell me what he needed. He didn't. So then began a half hour ordeal of crying, pouting, and me putting the cheese stick back into the refrigerator.

I went over to him and told him: we, he and his mommy, had a special bond, and mommy could read his mind and figure things out without him needing to say anything. But not everyone had this special ability. And I needed to know, if it was required, he could verbalize what he needed to get the assistance or help he needed. He proceeded to cry on his bed and I left him alone and started to write this blog. 

Just under ten years ago, I remember having a conversation with my aunt. My husband and I had driven the few states over to visit her and it was the first time I truly sat down and had conversations with her as an adult. We didn't have children yet at the time, but we were talking about kids, how to raise them, and some memories my aunt had when her children, my cousins, were younger. At one point, we were talking about one of my cousins and a difficult period for him. I had commented that sometimes you have to let them learn the hard way. 

She responded to me and said, "It's really hard to watch your own kids fail. You will know when you have your own children."

Fast forward many years, and indeed, I had my own children. I love them dearly and they are so special to me. The other day I just sat in the car and stared into my daughter's face for what felt like a minute as she stared back at me thinking to myself, how is my daugther so beautiful? And I've also had many hard times with my children which have made me yell, scream, and smack some tables. It's an imperfect journey that will never be mastered. 

But I've watched my children fail. In our latest cheese stick scenario, I watched him fail, grab his penguin for comfort, and go lay on his bed and cry. As a parent, this is hard. I sat on the couch listening to him cry while I opened the mail. And as much as I hated to hear his whimpering, I knew this had to be one step in the long journey of life he has ahead of him. Even if he doesn't learn from this situation, it's going to be part of the building blocks which make up his experiences, his personality, and ultimately, what his life will be like. *He never ate the cheese stick, didn't respond to anything I had said, and it felt like this situation resolved without being resolved.*

A few days after this incident, he chose a packet of crackers as dessert for finishing his dinner.  He and his dad went to get it from the pantry and then he came over to me as I was still sitting at the kitchen table. He handed it to me and asked me to open it with a complete sentence, and very nicely at that. I wish I could remember his exact words as I remember being in awe he had come up to me and said that. Many instances after, I've heard him ask me to help him open individually wrapped food (including multiple cheese sticks).

My son failing with regards to this cheese stick incident has small repercussions in the grand scheme of things. But less than a week later, he got it. Was my aunt right when she said watching my own children fail is really hard? Absolutely. And this may be a very small representation of what is to come in our future experiences. But the cost may be ultimately greater if we don't let them fail in healthy ways.

For the Need of a Plastic Bag

Life as a mostly stay-at-home mom with some part-time working on the side is pretty mundane for the most part. I pack lunches. I grocery shop. I do laundry. I wash dishes. I clean toilets. And then I get my 3-4 hours per day where I feel like a competent, knowledgeable human being. Honestly, I love it. It's the best of both worlds with my two dream jobs which occasionally compete with each other.

But sometimes, the mundane has small excitement. 

I was at Costco this week picking up a few items (yes, I mean "a few" in the Costco sense. Six to be exact!) and had an interesting encounter. A man came up to me and said,  "Excuse me, where can I take this one?" *tugs my bag gently*

His actual reference was to locating the red plastic bags used for meat/seafood. In truth, I myself had been darting my eyes around looking for them just minutes prior. So I pointed my finger in the direction of where they were. He saw them, his face lit up, and then he went on a mild sprint to get them and return back to where I can only assume his cart was. 

I forgot to take a picture of the meat in my cart, but here is a representative pack of meat in a plastic bag, similar to the one the man was asking for. 

 

 

 

 

Now I'm not going to lie. There were a few seconds there where my brain was actually wondering if he was politely asking if he could take the ribs I had just chosen and bagged for myself. Or if he was asking me where he could find the ribs. (I was standing right next to them). English was not his first language and with the way he had phrased his question, it could have been misunderstood in a few ways.

His use of the word "take" was not the most appropriate. "Find" would have been the ideal word choice for his request. "Take" is the word which led my brain to wonder if he wanted something I had which was more valuable than a plastic bag. He also tugged at my plastic bag which made me wonder if he wanted my actual item/the bag with my item in it.

Our encounter was actually cute. When I think back on the way he approached, his mannerisms, his voice, it brings a smile to my face. On the contrary, I can see how someone without an understanding for language and patience for differences could have been annoyed or even angered at this situation due to a misunderstanding if his or her brain led them to the possible conclusions I listed above.

I've always believed the primary purpose of communication is to be understood. I still believe that. Through all the language barriers, nonverbal gestures and reading body language can communicate a lot in itself. However, the piece often overlooked is the bias the person receiving the communication adds to the situation. If I had an issue with someone touching my things or reaching into my shopping cart, I could have gotten very defensive very quickly without meaning to. If someone is triggered by grammatical errors in speech, an initial response might be one of shutting down or getting angry.

The more you know, the better you can be. Never stop striving to know.

Choosing Kindness

Kindness is hard to come by these days. Everyone is busy with their own lives, their own kids, their jobs, their vacations. So when you do come by kindness, it's rare and special. I'm not just talking about the kindness of using kind words when talking to people. I'm talking about going out of your way to do something nice for someone else that you have no obligation but wish to do so by personal choice. 

I went to Costco this week to pick up a few things. A few things always turns into a few things + a few more things + a few more things. I had two legitimate items I needed. I left the store with....6+ items. But when Costco discounts Halloween-themed ravioli for $2.50 a pound, you buy it! (unless your children won't eat black and orange food. That's a different story...). I love Costco, but I'm digressing.

I checked the ingredients - no artificial colors to get orange and black!

When I left the store, I was running slightly behind and needed to go get my daughter from school. However, I also knew that when I rush things, I mess things up. So I was talking to myself as I was loading the groceries into the back of the car - take your time, do things right. I made sure to pack the cold items into my cooler properly so nothing would puncture or leak - nobody wants to bring home cracked eggs. And I loaded everything else carefully in so as not to touch the muddy stroller wheels.

Then, I realized I had a drink and three hot dogs to put into my car. So I picked up the food and drink, went to the side of my car, and attempted to ask my son to open the door. Of course he couldn't hear me because his door wasn't open and only the trunk was. So I rearranged my hands so I could swing open my door and put the food in the car. As I was placing the hot dogs in the middle tray by my seat, I heard a man call out to me that he was going to help me return my cart. I saw him pull my cart away. Initially, I thought he was going to go shopping with it, but then I saw him take it to the cart return located a few spots down from my parking spot. 

When I returned to my trunk to close it, he had just finished putting my cart back and was walking back to his car. I called out another thank you and waved. I don't know his name or who he is, and he doesn't know who I am. We probably won't run into each other again, and if we do, we may not even recognize each other. But his gesture was very kind and I won't forget it.

Choose kindness for someone. They may not forget it either.

The Third Life

Central Market hosted a special tasting activity for kids in celebration of their 30th anniversary earlier this year. I signed the kids up to go and it was a fun mid-morning activity for us. They enjoyed all the samples (as did I!) and getting to decorate a cupcake at the end.

Central Market did such a wonderful job planning this event. I couldn't stop marveling that each cupcake came in a to-go container perfectly sized for the cupcake. Not only did they plan to-go containers, but the containers had a little "moat" around the border of it to catch the excess sprinkles and toppings the kids were using to decorate. Talk about genius. Whoever is on their design/marketing/packaging team better be getting the recognition he/she deserves. 

Along with the free samples and cupcake decorating, they provided each child with a vegetable planted in a mini pumpkin. Can you tell they really put thought into planning this event? And it was free 😱

My kids got a broccoli plant and a kale plant. Having some experience with gardening and growing plants, I knew the vegetables weren't going to last long if they stayed in the pumpkin. I was already finding it difficult to get them enough water because they'd wilt within 24 hours. The roots needed more room to expand and grow if the plants were going to stay alive. I have a garden, right? Why not plant them there?

That's exactly what I did. I cut the pumpkins open carefully and transplanted my kale and broccoli to my patio planter. They would be neighbors with cilantro and pepper plants. Not bad, right? 

It wouldn't have been except all the leaves on both my plants got eaten within a few days. I was merely left with stems and the babiest of leaves. I wasn't entirely sure who the culprit was, but I knew it was someone who could reach the patio planter. To no surprise, they left my pepper plant and cilantro alone. So with their first life claimed, I removed them from my planter and transplanted them back to small nursery pots and placed them about 3 ft higher on my plant shelf.

My vegetables started growing again atop the shelf. I saw more leaves peeking out, and slowly, they grew. After a few weeks, I decided to move the broccoli back into the patio planter. I put some strong smelling herbs around the plant to deter pests in hope that they'd leave the leaves they wanted alone. 

One evening, I felt the urge to check my garden at night. It was around 10:30 pm, and I decided to walk outside to take a quick look.

All the leaves were gone, again. The second life was claimed. 

I moved the broccoli back into a nursery pot and it stayed next to the kale. For those of you who do not plant and aren't familiar with the ins and outs of growing, growing speed is exponential, not linear. Less leaves = slower growth. More leaves = faster growth. Due to having all the leaves chewed off yet again, my poor broccoli plant had to start over on its third life. 

I kept it up on the shelf and have not transplanted it into any larger container yet. This is what she looks like on her third life.

I'm not expecting to eat any broccoli this winter, but I might get to eat some of the leaves if I'm lucky. It's too bad my plants can't talk as I'd really like to hear the story of the first two lives first-hand. I guess it will forever be nature's secret. 

My plants remind me to start anew when possible. Because the alternative is death. Just keep growing.

The Gift of Time

My memory is not as good as it used to be. I still probably remember more than the average person, and more in the specific areas I choose to remember, but I'm definitely forgetting more these days. Facebook reminded me of a memory from nine years ago during the first year we owned our house. I had actually completely forgotten our house came with a deck, a really ugly deck. 

 

Our house has a roof overhang running along the edge so the raised decking board made the entrance to the deck very low - I believe it was less than 8 ft from wood to wood. This was undesirable and we weren't going to keep it. Mentally, a bit part of my thinking was also I didn't want to keep anything left from the previous owners. We weren't going to keep it, so in the fall when the weather cooled down, we took it apart with our own two hands.

This was what it looked like once we'd gotten rid of all the above-ground parts. My husband and our neighbor eventually pulled each one of those concrete posts up one by one with a farm jack we'd borrowed. 

For a while, sitting on our patio meant this was our view. I used to close my eyes and imagine what I wanted our backyard to look like. I wanted to see a fence that wasn't oxidized. I wanted to see a cozy place to get together. I wanted to see love flourishing. I wanted to see a freeze-frame of life being lived to the fullest. And for a long time, when I opened my eyes, all I saw was an aged fence and some stretch of grass. 

A lot of love has been put into this house. I've blogged about it over the years. You can revisit them at this link if you wish. For the longest time, we put off the outside because it was "less important" than the inside. This was mostly true for a long time until our kids came along. They needed a space to play, a place to be free to run around, and a place to explore. After we had a patio paved in about 1/4 of our yard space, everything else snowballed - the playhouse, the plants, the toys, etc.

I snapped this picture of my children playing outside together one afternoon. Our backyard is not magazine worthy. It's not designed by Joanna Gaines or Shea McGee. And it almost always looks a bit disheveled and awry. But this picture completes my vision from years ago I used to merely imagine with my eyes closed. I love getting to watch my children play together and keep each other company. I love that I can grow herbs, vegetables, and flowers right on my patio. It's so satisfying to be able to walk outside with a pair of kitchen scissors and a bowl and return shortly with freshly cut green onions, basil, or peppers.

As I get older, I'm reminded of the passing time by my greying hair, added wrinkles, and joint aches. It's easy to forget how time can change things for the better, especially when it comes to inanimate or intangible things such as feelings and spaces. Over time, this backyard will continue to evolve, and one day, the playhouse will be gone. One day, the sandbox will be a relic of the past. One day, there will be four adults from our family sitting on this patio enjoying this space together.

That's the hope.

Bubbles

When my mother died, one of my friends asked me if it was weird to visit because I had to "walk over dead people." I told her it wasn't weird because my mother was there. I never thought about going to a cemetery in any other way. 

In the two decades since I said goodbye to her, the plots around have filled up with new stones. I used to walk and read the stones around. I've seen ones for young children. I've seen ones for the elderly, and I've seen ones for all ages between. There's a stone about two grassy plots over for two pianists who died in an accident. I've probably "walked over them" at some point, but I've never thought of it as such.

This summer, I had a sudden urge to want to go visit. I'd picked up flowers a few days before. When my husband saw them, he looked at me quizzically and asked, "Did I forget something? " No, he didn't. But he's right, I've never purchased flowers before. I told him why I bought them and we decided to all go and visit that weekend. 

I had to think of what my kids were going to do. I honestly can't remember if I'd ever brought both my kids to visit. And they were older now and needed some perception of "fun" in order to stave off whiny complaints. So I decided to bring our bubble machine. 

When we got there, we set up the bubble machine for the kids, and I prepped the flowers for the vase. I sat for a while just watching the bubbles float around us in the light breeze. The kids had fun. I sat and felt like my mother was there with us watching the bubbles. Watching my kids twirl around and chase them. It was both so calming and sad. 

My daughter understood why we went. She knows my mother is dead. She understands everything at a factual level. I don't think the emotions have seeped in and they probably won't for a number of years.

Bubbles made a world of difference.

 

At the same time I wish she could physically be next to me watching my life unfold, I remember there's a good chance if my mother were still here, this wouldn't be the life I have. When I'm truly honest with myself, I don't think I'd choose things to be any other way.

Time-Saving Changes

We recently made a change in the house which has had a huge impact on my day. Years ago, we turned our dining room into a playroom for the kids. They've happily maximized this space and played to their hearts content. However, as time passed, their toys would gradually leave the playmate and infiltrate the rooms around. Any fellow parents out there understand how this works. 

Dealing with this tornado every day I taught was really annoying.

Last weekend, we moved all the toys into a bedroom. The dining room still isn't back to being a regular dining room, but I'm okay with it. We still have a table for the kids to do homework. There's a lamp in the corner with an armchair. And the rest is empty space. You know what? I want to leave it empty.

The styrofoam wanted the spotlight.

We moved all the toys into a bedroom, and I no longer have to corral toys before my afternoon teaching. I really love it. Cleaning up after my kids really stressed me out and made me unhappy. The irony is, the mess looks the same. It's just moved into a different location in the house, one which can be closed off and hidden from view.

This is so much more bearable for me to look at.

See, I'm not kidding. It looks the same, just in a different location. But looking at their toys in my dining room made me resent them. I didn't enjoy the creations my children made. It stressed me out to see everything not put away neatly in the storage containers and clear boxes I purchased specifically to house them. 

But now, when I see their toys in the bedroom, I get excited to see what toys they pull off the shelves to play with. It's fun for my eyes to dart from one area of fun to another. I don't need to destroy their Hot wheels garages constructed out of Magnatiles because they can simply just stay put.

So I'm excited for this year because it means I don't have to do a mad dash of cleaning around my house in the half hour before my students begin arriving for the day. It means I don't have to force my children to disassemble their precious creations. It means I don't have to resent their mess of creativity and entertainment. 

That's Valuable. 

Two Missed Calls

Missed phone calls have given me a soft spot depending on the person and the circumstance. I've written about missed calls before from my past. But this one was different. 

I hadn't looked at my phone in about an hour. It was sitting in my purse while I did other things. As we wrapped up and got ready to go home, my husband started the car and I buckled myself in. I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. The process was instinct now. When I pressed the button and saw the Home Screen light up, chills went down my body.

I had two missed calls from "Donna."

The only "Donna" who has ever meant anything to me was my mother. And on this Sunday afternoon, the first thought that entered my mind was I had missed two calls from my mother. 

It sounds absurd. My mother has been dead for over 20 years. She never had her own cell phone number. I've never even inputted her name or number into my cell phone because I received my first cell phone a year and a half after she died. Why in the world did my mind automatically think that? 

Because at the very core of my being, my mother is still very much a part of my life. No, I don't think about her 24/7. No, my family and I will never see her with our eyes. But a part of her is always with me and I can't change that even if I wanted to. 

***

Yes, I put Donna's number in my phone. She's a government employee I was introduced to and she and I will be getting in touch periodically. When we first met, my mind did register her name being the same as my mother's. That was my conscious thought. But she's not more than someone I need to interact with once a month for a short phone call. I added her name and number to my phone so I wouldn't ignore it thinking it was a spam call. 

When I received these calls from her, it was only the second time we were in touch. And instead of my brain registering her as the government employee whose number I had saved in my phone, my mind took me directly to my mother's name. 

This is what grief looks like 20 years later. The most outlandish thought of having a missed call from my deceased mother supersedes reasonable thought of missing a call from a stranger. 

Running Power

Nearly 13 years ago, I was probably at the lowest point in my life due to choices I had personally made. So this doesn't include my mother dying because that wasn't in my control. This was in my control, and I was facing it head-on.

The irony of this situation is that less than a month later, I met my future husband. I didn't know he was my future husband at the time. I was a clueless 20-year-old going into my last year at college wondering what in the world I was going to do with the rest of my life after I graduated. He was just a guy sitting across the table from me at a restaurant as we celebrated a mutual friend's birthday. Oh, and I did think he was cute.

But this isn't about him. This isn't about what brought me to the lowest point in my life either. This is about what I did after to bring myself out of the lowest point in my life. This is about a pair of shoes.

My 13-year-old shoes. 

I bought these pair of shoes brand new that fall as I started my third and final year of college. I was highly stressed, very lost, and I had trouble sleeping at night. I found myself lying awake with my thoughts, unable to shut off my brain. So I found a way to use my restless energy. I started running. The loop I ran around campus was approx 1.7 miles. This is the number I calculated based off a rough estimation from reading a campus map and using my AirPods case as a measuring tool. It's probably pretty accurate because I remember it was about a 2 mile run if I didn't take the shortcut.

On top of running, a friend and I would do Insanity workouts at her apartment in the afternoons after class twice a week. I think once, I was crazy enough to do both: an Insanity workout in the afternoon and a run in the evening. Thinking about doing that much exercise now makes my knees want to buckle. I'm 100% sure my body would not be able to handle that today. But at the time, it's exactly what I needed. 

After graduation, these shoes came with me overseas as I moved away for a year. They walked on icy ground. They rode trains with me as I traveled across a foreign country. They bicycled with me over the old city walls of Xi'An. And they came with me when I moved back. 

They got a lot of rest for the nine or so years after. In the last year, I brought them back out and they went biking with me. They took walks with me when I needed to heal my knee. And I finally noticed their wear and tear.

The mesh is tearing at the front corners
and the front of the sole is detaching. 

Earlier this year, I was in the restroom at a Walmart. There was an older lady walking out of one of the stalls. By chance, I happened to be looking toward the floor as I made my way into the restroom. And I noticed her shoes matched mine. The very same pair of shoes from 13 years ago which I'd purchased for myself. Could hers have been 13 years old, too? It's unlikely they were too new because the design and model has long been replaced with newer versions. But I couldn't mistake the color or the design - they were the same. 

It's nearing the time when I will replace this pair of shoes. Part of me is elated to not match the fashion choices of someone twice my age. But part of me is sad because getting rid of these shoes will mean getting rid of the physical history attached to them - the places they've been, the things they've done, the ground they've walked. Yes, my memories will be there, but that will be all. 

This pair of shoes saved me during a very difficult time. And I never knew they had the power to do so.

Clearance Gas

 One morning as we were driving to school, my daughter was looking out the window and told me, "Mommy, gas is on clearance! I see a 166." Now I've been alive long enough to know gas does not go on clearance. Only if there is a signage error is anyone able to get gas for anything close to "clearance" prices. Gas does not go on clearance, ever. But there was a reason she was telling me this, and I knew she could read. So while I was at the stoplight, I looked over toward the gas station and looked everywhere for a clearance sign. I looked at the gas pumps. I looked at the window to the little store. I did not see a clearance sign anywhere. 

The light turned green and I had to move on and keep driving. I told my daughter gas does not go on clearance and the conversation ended. We went to school and that was the last I heard about clearance gas for a few weeks.

After a few weeks, we were stopped at the same light, and again, my daughter told me, "Mommy, look, there's the clearance sign!" I turned to look again. This time, I saw it. Because of where the car was stopped and the angle at which I was now looking at the gas station. I saw the clearance sign. 

Finally, I understood what she was showing me. And then I explained to her what the word clearance means in this context. She's been very familiar with the word clearance in regards to shopping. Mommy looks at the clearance at Lowe's. She looks at the clearance at Kroger. She looks at the clearance at Walmart. She scans aisles for clearance at Sam's Club and Costco. We look at clearance at Michael's. We loved the clearance at Bed Bath and Beyond before they shuttered all physical store locations. Clearance has been a part of her life since she was a newborn. 

But this was the first time she's seen it in regards to height. So I explained to her that certain trucks or vehicles are very tall so they need to know if they can fit underneath. The sign lets the driver know how tall the top is. If the driver's vehicle is taller than that, he/she cannot drive underneath. And that is the second definition of clearance she's now acquainted with. 

I was glad to solve this mystery. 

An Alternate Universe

One of the books I read last year was The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom. It was one of the more unsettling books I'd read by him since I discovered Mitch as an author in my late teens. In it, the characters explore a life between time and experience what's most easily called an alternate universe. 

I think we all catch ourselves thinking about our alternate universes sometimes. What if I married this person instead? What if I had moved to a different state? What if I had made a different decision?

For me, I have many of these in my life. I think about how my life would have been different had I chosen a different major in college. What if I'd gone to a completely different college? My friends would have changed. My career path may have changed or been affected at the very least. My husband may be different because the circumstances which we met would have changed. And we always say had we gone to the same college, we wouldn't have dated or gotten married. I believe it.

We recently visited one of our alma maters with the littles.

I think about how my life would have been different if I had switched piano teachers or even had a different teacher altogether. How would my ability have been affected? Would I play better? Worse? Would I have enjoyed it more? Would I have taken lessons longer? All these possible outcomes are valid, but it's also valid that because of the path I was on, I started accepting accompanying work at the age of 19 beyond doing favors for friends. And although untraditional, it set me up for the career I have now. And I really wouldn't change that. 

The biggest alternate universe I used to toss around was by far the hardest to come to terms with. What if my mother didn't die? It's true that one complexity of my current life now would not be there, and in that aspect, I will always feel a little defeated. However, having my mother in my life would not have simplified everything.

I was able to be my own person in high school because she wasn't around. I proved I had maturity, discipline, responsibility. I was also able to live my life, enjoy parts of childhood and the "fun" of it which I did not before being a primary caregiver, as primary as a minor could be. 

I was able to make decisions and not have to think about someone else. I still remember starting 8th grade and overhearing someone say they thought I had moved because I was not on the yearbook committee as the editor. Everyone thought I was going to be the editor after 7th grade. Everyone on yearbook wanted me to be the editor. But I wasn't even on the committee. I've never told anyone this, but I did not re-apply to be on the yearbook committee after 7th grade. At the time when applications were due, my mother was alive. I had made the decision to stop joining yearbook so I didn't have to stay after school once a week. I was going to go home everyday after school and be with her. And help her. During 8th grade. 

I didn't know she'd be gone before the end of my 7th grade school year. And that's why I was not on the yearbook committee, much less the editor, in 8th grade. After that, I could freely choose which school clubs I wanted to join, what jobs I wanted to take after school, and where I wanted to go. It came at a high cost, indeed, but I had gained certain freedoms which a normal teenager should have been able to experience to some degree. 

When I started dating, I didn't have to get my mother's approval. She would have been a tough cookie to impress. Nobody would have been good enough. She would have said something negative about everyone. Yes, I'm assuming, but I knew my mother. She could have protected me from a lot of hurt. She could have lectured some of the guys I'd dated in the past when they deserved to be lectured. But she may have also held me back from taking risks, taking chances, and ultimately, allowing me to learn and discover for myself. Not having her there put me on the frontline. I felt every punch and jab. But it also meant I could grow stronger. 

I've said before she would have hated the house we bought. I practically hated it myself when we bought it. But you know what? It's turned out to be the best choice we ever made when it came to housing. We love our neighbors. I've blogged multiple times about our neighbors. Just search "neighbor" in the search bar and you'll find a plethora of posts. This one is still my favorite. Our house really is my dream home in many ways. Not all, but many. Because when I come home, I feel comforted. I feel at peace. I feel satisfied. If I didn't like a wall color, I'd notice occasionally. If my shower bothered me, I'd notice it periodically. That's not to say everything is exactly the way I want, but a lot of it is. And the things that aren't are not worth my headspace to fret over. I'm not sure my mother would have been able to see the end result the way we did when we closed on this house. We saw the potential. We saw the future. And we made it a reality. And I'm thankful I didn't have to hear my mother gripe about any of it. 

Today marks 20 years. Just seeing it written out makes my heart sink. The wave of heaviness and emotion still overcome me. And a part of me will forever be sad my mother died so soon. But when I look at the life I'm living today, my job, my husband, my children, my home, myself. 

I wouldn't change any of it. 

Joy

The first year I tried planting things was more experimental. I wasn't sure what would and wouldn't work. So whatever I got was bonus. Last year I had more confidence being my second year. I had high expectations, and unfortunately, most of them weren't met because the weather didn't cooperate with me. 

This year, I'm growing for the joy of it. Lots of things are growing. I've harvested some sage to grind down to use in my cooking. Everything else is slowly getting into the groove. There's been a lot of covering and uncovering because of multiple cold snaps we've had since our 90 degree February days. But so far, everything is still alive.

That's not to say I haven't failed this year. I've actually "failed" twice already. I got a grow light at the end of last year for my indoor plants. As 2024 started, I was reading about people starting seeds indoors already with their grow lights to get a head start on the season before the temperatures became too hot. What a great idea! I wanted to try it.

My first failed tray of seeds.

Honestly, my set up was okay. My mentality was good. But the execution was not good. I learned grow lights need to be placed mere inches above the top of the seedlings in order to get them to sprout. I learned more about bottom watering and figured out what I did wrong - not only was my grow light not close enough but I kept them covered too long. Mold claimed this tray of seedlings. But it's okay because my pepper seeds are plentiful.

As a result, my pepper plants are behind this year, I think. I finally was able to germinate some sprouts around March 20th but that's pretty late for growing from seed. Oh well, we'll see what happens. 

This year, I don't have expectations. What grows will grow and what dies will die. Am I working hard to protect them and care for them as best I know how? Absolutely. I might be checking the weather more than I'm checking social media. And my husband jokes I pay more attention to my plants than I do him. He's not entirely wrong...but he lives in a climate controlled building with ready-made food for him. My plants live outside and are at the mercy of the weather. 

But there's one key difference in growing things this year. I find it so joyful and I'm recognizing the joy I get from growing my plants. Would it be nice to get a great harvest? Of course. Is it sad and disheartening when things don't produce or grow like I wish? Definitely. But the process of it all excites me and motivates me to get out of bed in the morning. Also because sooner or later we'll reach that point in the year where if you want it to be less than 90 degrees out, you need to beat the sunrise. 

Here's to year three of growing! 🪴