The Phoenix: Epicuriousmothering Rising

That’s how our best most honest (and HARD) conversations start.  I hate starting them.  I feel like I’m holding my breath and shaking my head, trying my hardest to NOT have them.  But they are literally essential to having a relationship. With everything nutty town, I think both of us have been avoiding them, afraid to put even one more thing on each other’s shoulders.  We’ve been turning blue in the face and feeling like we were suffocating in hopes that everything would just get better.  But it never does.  It just gets worse. I went to IKEA yesterday and bought a king sized duvet cover because our queen size was too small.  We would both end up with too little covers.  I woke up this morning with plenty of covers but felt like I had been pushed off the bed and was laying there, cold on the floor. That’s when I knew the conversation  had to happen. It started out horrible, as it always does, standing five feet apart with emphatic voices, just a touch too loud, but ended with both of

I’m still not sure how I’m not only a grandma, but I have a one year old grand baby.   It’s like I am in some strange time warp.  I honestly feel like I just barely gave birth to Henry myself (and to be honest, it was only 23 years ago—he works fast). Its crazy how quickly time passes.  I remember so clearly going away for John’s 40th and having my parents help out while we were gone.  Henry had his wisdom teeth out the day before we came home.  My father called frustrated that Henry was going through something so important while I was away (I didn’t really know how hard it would be on him—I got mine out and the next day I was fine, so I assumed Henry would have the same experience—silly me).  My father told me in a rather firm voice that I should not be away during these key times in their lives.   “Henry is sixteen.  He will be gone before you know it, Mary.  These are precious days,” he told me. I shook my head.  I was 38 and utterly overwhelmed by mothering, measuring out my days i

The Rain Gods saw the dance of those two women on the mountain top and decided to show mercy on this dry and barren land.  Two days of rain and snow.  Not a dumping like we all dreamed, but enough to feel hopeful that perhaps there will be water for us next year. On Sunday night, the day before we were officially free, our Governor begged us all to do our part to stop the spread.  No more team sports, large gatherings, or any gathering but immediate family.  The stores and restaurants and schools would remain open (hopefully) and businesses can function as normal.  But what they’ve found (as I personally know) that the transmissions were from family gatherings and sports teams.  This is in place for only two weeks, hopefully slowing down our out of control numbers. So sad. I know that a ton of people are devastated, but as my little family gathered to listen to him, after a week and a half of quarantine, the fact that businesses and schools and restaurants were still open, was like the

( This is how I’ve felt all week . . .like I’m all alone on top of a mountain without anyone for about twenty gazillion miles) I’m listening to an iTunes mix “Virtual Hug.” That’s where I am.  I miss them—hugs—so much that I  am forced to listen to a mix that is supposed to make me feel hugged.  So far, not so much, but I really appreciate the effort. I don’t even know why it’s so hard.  I mean, so many families not only have quarantine but they’re fighting this horrible sickness that debilitated them.  It’s the worst.  And I feel so so so bad for them.  So far, we’ve been so lucky and I know it.  I’m lucky in a bazillion ways and I know that, but it’s still hard. When I get out (it literally feels sort of like a prison sentence), I am going to make up little treat bags to drop off to all the quarantined families (oh, it’s real here, so real and happening).  The little drop offs, notes and text, well,  lets just say, they make me cry.  They mean everything. The best part was when one o

We all walked out of the house looking like this. . . Totally ready for a family photos shoot and didn't’ even plan it!   Oh Heavens to Betsy, what a week. Here’s a truthful response to this week: 1) Covid is, in fact, real. 2) Parents are precious and dear and we are grateful for each and every moment we have with them—however many that may be. 3) Choose your HARD: Being outside heals the soul and gives you perspective you wouldn’t get any other way.  Getting up to see the first light of day outline the mountains and watching the world wake up—worth the 45 minutes of lost sleep by a gazillion.  CHOOSE to do a hard thing. 4) I am, truth to tell, terrified of mountain biking but I do it because we should all do something we are afraid of as often as we can stand (for me—once a month). 5) There is waaaaaaaayyyy more kindness in the world around us than hate or anger or prejudice.   6) People want  to love you and help you and encourage you in your endeavors.  I thought I knew that, b

  Well. This has been a week. I can’t believe that I picked THIS week to write for seven days about things that are beautiful because it’s been a struggle.  Holy Hannah. Ug. Finnegan tested Positive (the rest of us are negative) We read our eyes out about symptoms and we both agree that Finnegan started his symptoms on Monday morning.  He woke up saying his throat hurt and he felt tired.  This is actually pretty common with him when he doesn’t get enough sleep so we asked him if he felt sick or anything and he said no and so off he went to school seeming 100% normal.  The next day said he felt a little tired and his nose ran but he said his throat was better so I gave him allergy medicine (another normal thing at our house this time of year—we all have allergies—I’ve had bad allergies all season) and off to school and so on and so forth until Thursday when he felt pretty much normal again but realized he might have had more exposure than the rest of us and thought maybe, just maybe, he

So this happened today . . .  (It was much harder than I thought . . . It takes a long time to get enough spit to fill this vile.) So that’s why yesterday was hard.   We’ve been exposed (that word—it’s like you’ve been caught naked—and it kind of feels like that) to someone with Covid-19 for an extended period of time.  It was about six days ago, but they only got their positive test last night.  So we had to go down and tell the kids that Halloween at school, what small tributes were going to take place, were not going to happen because we were now on lock down until we know if we are covid positive.  In fact, instead of planning on and putting together costumes, we needed to text and call and inform everyone we’ve been in contact with that we were indeed exposed and that we could be carriers and they too might have been exposed (that word again). It’s such a humbling and embarrassing and humiliating thing to have to do—call and text people and tell them that they could have been comp

There is no more beautiful news than your mama is actually going to be just fine. With all the possible things that could have gone wrong (and some did), to find out it was just a potassium imbalance (which was very scary for a minute), we will take it. She is home and feeling wonderful. Hallelujah. (Also had another waking up the world hike, a gorgeous day with actual warmth, and got to look at Celia's stunning architecture design mock ups--they are amazing!)

These say it all . . .