Pumpkin Spice Lattes and Bedtime Stories: Cataloguing the Things I’ll Miss

Pumpkin Spice Lattes and Bedtime Stories: Cataloguing the Things I’ll Miss

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I’m pretty obsessed with fall… like just shy of pumpkin-spice-latte-deodorant-wearing obsessed (and yes, that’s a thing). Sandwiched in between the long stretch of sweatiness and mosquitoes and the cabin fever-inducing frigid weather, we get this little window of perfection. Crisp morning air gives way to pleasant afternoons. We bust out the sweaters and drink apple cider and everything is magical.

The real object of my obsession is the changing color of the fall leaves. I’m a full-fledged leaf stalker. I’m always seeking that moment of optimal viewing, when most of the trees have turned but before the early changers have dropped all their leaves. I stress about whether a lack of rainfall will mute the fall colors, and check foliage tracking websites for leaf peak forecasts (nerd alert, amirite?)

Fall is an in-your-face reminder of how quickly the beautiful things in life can slip away. I took a picture last year of this gorgeous tree – a vibrant yellow that just glowed brilliantly when the sun lit it from behind. I passed it a week later and the tree was virtually bare.

Watching the transition from trees exploding with fiery color to streets littered with crunching leaves practically forces you to focus on everything awesome and fleeting about this season of life. Fall has been giving me the kick in the a** I needed to start following my own advice to be in a mindset of gratitude, which has been a struggle sometimes with two kids under five.

It’s not a perfect metaphor, though. The seasons cycle. If I don’t consume enough pumpkin-spice lattes Read more

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To the Adolescent Who’s Struggling: It Gets Better

To the Adolescent Who’s Struggling: It Gets Better

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It seems like not a week goes by that I don’t see a heartbreaking post about a young person’s experience of being bullied, often with tragic consequences. My heart breaks for all the kids who are suffering, and at the thought that my own kids might experience this one day.

But my heart no longer breaks for that girl in the picture, my adolescent self. She suffered too. There were deep emotional wounds from my own bullies’ words. For a time, the pain they inflicted colored my entire world. But the cruelty of those kids long ago lost its power to hurt me.

My family moved from the city to the suburbs when I was ten years old. Geographically the move wasn’t far at all, but it felt like the firm closing of the chapter of my childhood, a care-free time of being oblivious to things like Read more