California Calling

When we moved out of California three years ago, we didn’t think we’d be back for a while. And yet, we’ve traveled back twice since then. We just can’t seem to stay away.

This time, we wondered why we left in the first place.

Oakland Hills

We were in a state of flow the entire trip, the most enjoyable one to date with a toddler in tow. It helped that our rental home was high up in the Hills, where we felt like we were floating on clouds. The nicest place we’ve rented, by far.

There were stairs, so many stairs. We counted 50 steps alone to get down to the garden. We embraced them though, our legs now slightly more toned and our cardio slightly improved. The four stories of stairs were well worth the views on views on views.

Sibley Volcanic Regional Preserve

Hiking with a three year-old is interesting. He’s too big for the stroller, which didn’t fare well on the rocky trails anyway. He wanted to stop often to collect and chuck rocks, which didn’t bode well with his father who wanted to hike continuously. And, we underestimated the sun, failing to slather him with sunscreen.

But, we considered it a win getting him out in nature. We breathed in the intoxicating smell of bay leaves, eucalyptus trees, and the super blooms. We said hi to all of the dogs on the trail, missing our own Buddha back in Illinois. Coming from the flatlands, our glutes were grateful for the elevation. When we lived here and hiked Sibley on weekends, we took it for granted. Now, we know how special it is.

While heading back to our trailhead, I went down the slippery slope of asking Bub if he wanted to take a picture of Steve and me. I handed him my phone (on airplane mode) and for the rest of our 10-day trip, he offered to take photos of us - just to feel the phone in his hands. What have I started.

Tilden Little Farm

We came here last year with Bub and it is one of my favorite places for little ones. You can bring your own lettuce and celery to feed the animals. It’s attached to the Tilden Nature Area, giving us the option to hike afterwards. There is something about seeing children gently interact with animals that is such a joy to witness.

Photo by Bub

Mill Valley

Going out for dinner, whether at a restaurant or a friend’s house, became the norm on this trip. I’ve dreamed of having a family that tried all different types of foods and restaurants together. I’m slowly realizing this dream and it took getting over my fear of 1) leaving the house and 2) letting my kid eat something I didn’t cook. Easy for most parents to do. Very hard for me.

In Mill Valley, we went to the Watershed Restaurant, where we ordered the sardines on toast. Crispy sardines on a layer of avocado mash, topped with pickled peppers, on hearty sourdough bread - surprisingly delicious.

After lunch, we looked for a park nearby to take Bub. Steve found Old Mill Park a few minutes away. When we drove up to it, I was in awe. There is a photo on my vision board of a place like this playground. In the photo, a group of children are playing outside at a forest school. Surrounded by tall, strong trees. A place where kids can play freely in nature, in the fresh air. For over an hour, we chucked rocks in the stream, played hide-and-seek between the giant redwoods, and enjoyed a playground so different than the ones we see in Illinois.

Oakland Zoo

We met up with my best friend and his family at the Oakland Zoo, a place with over 11,000 positive Google reviews - the most I’ve ever seen. Before having kids, there was no reason for me to go to any zoo. Wildlife in captivity, overpriced food, children running around like animals. Wouldn’t touch the place with a ten-foot pole. Then I had a kid and was convinced to visit the Oakland Zoo primarily for the gondola ride everyone raves about.

When Bub was a baby, I used to tell Steve that we’d always put Bub’s needs first. We agreed we’d leave any place if Bub ever needed to feed, nap, or go to bed. A nice excuse to have when we wanted to leave a place early. But on this day at the zoo, nobody wanted to leave. Four hours flew by before Steve and I debated whether to stay or go (as Bub tiredly spaced out in the bat exhibit). Excited by all the activities and things to see (the gondola did not disappoint). Full from the cafeteria pizza and hamburger he had for lunch. Exhausted from running in the sun. Thirsty from finishing his milk and only having tap water to drink (I know, I spoil him). We asked ourselves, “Do we let him fall asleep in the wagon? Do we go home now to nap? Do we risk staying a little longer and skip a nap completely?”

I didn’t know what to do. I should put Bub’s needs first. We should have left an hour ago so he could nap in a bed. But, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay and hang out with my friends. Friends I only get to see once a year. I made the not-so-great parenting decision of staying another half an hour and feeding Bub chocolate Dippin’ Dots. We left shortly after and didn’t even get to check out the amusement rides. Pretty sure I was the one who was pouting when we left.

NAPA

Google “kid-friendly wineries in Napa” and Frog’s Leap Winery will appear in the results. Let me tell you that the only “kid-friendly” thing about Frog’s Leap Winery is the garden, albeit a very large and organic garden. I was hoping to order a charcuterie board while Steve sipped some wine, but the winery only offered tastings (which I’m sure is common in Napa given wineries would need to go through the hassle of obtaining food and alcohol licenses). Nevertheless, we had a lovely time running through the flowers, clucking at the chickens, petting the property dog, and pointing out the frogs in the pond.

Steve looked up a couple places nearby we could have lunch at and I chose The Charter Oak Restaurant in Helena solely based on the picture of soft-serve I saw. “I want that,” I told Steve decidedly. “Alrighty,” Steve chuckled as he drove us to the nicest restaurant we’ve ever taken a toddler. Throughout our expensive meal, we caught Bub chucking the housemade playdough the hostess gave us, told Bub repeatedly to put his shoes back on, and tried to convince him to eat a couple of vegetables while he impatiently waited for his ice cream. My only regret is that we didn’t order two soft-serve ice creams.

Friends, food, & fog

Memorial Day weekend was dedicated to seeing our friends and family as much as we could. Difficult with a toddler who finds adult conversations boring. One of us was always entertaining him so that the other could catch up with friends.

Steve and I started to pretend that this was our day-to-day life. We got used to the fog greeting us in the mornings and in the evenings. We remembered to always carry sunscreen with us for when the sun would inevitably appear midday. We thought about which neighborhoods we’d want to live in as we drove through them and which schools we’d want Bub to attend. Even though we’ve made the decision to settle in Illinois, we still wrestle with the dream of coming back west for good. As Steve reassured everyone throughout the week, “It’s not a matter of if. It’s a matter of when.”

The fog in the morning

The view midday

The sunset on a clear night

Goodbye super cool house

Thanks for the photo ops, Bub

Thanks for the largest organic strawberries, Berkeley Bowl

Thanks for the good food and fast service, United Dumplings

Thanks for letting us chat at friends’ houses, Bub, while you sat quietly and ate watermelon

Thank you, Ajanta, for the meal Steve and I look forward to every time we visit

Thanks for letting us borrow the Batmobile, Batman

34, Excited for More

As the temperatures cool and my wardrobe becomes more layered, I am in disbelief that the summer is over and that my birthday is here. Wow, another year around the sun and I can’t quite wrap my head around it. This birthday came up fast. I swear it was July yesterday.

Let’s see - what did I do in my 33rd year…I traveled to both coasts with my child and we made it home in one piece; I started taking sunscreen more seriously; I tried herbal supplements, Xanax, acupuncture, hypnotherapy, and craniosacral therapy for my panic attacks; I treated myself to a week-long retreat sans husband and kiddo; and I progressed with my anxiety and health in ways I didn’t think possible.

I’m typically very sentimental this time of year, nostalgic for what has been. But this time, I’m finally feeling appreciative for the chapter I’m in right now and excited about what’s to come. As my cloud of anxiety and depression clears, I am optimistic - a word I haven’t used to describe myself since before I was pregnant. I’m enjoying my not-so-little Bub and excited to try for one more - something I thought I’d never say. Having one is exhausting enough. There is no rationale for wanting another. It’s not reason that makes me want another baby. It’s purely emotional.

Not too long ago, I wanted everything to be perfect before having another kid: perfect house, second car, Bub in daycare, a trusty sitter on speed dial, a few career projects checked off my list. It’s been a journey this year to realize that there is no perfect time to have kids or to do anything big in life. You do the thing and trust that you’ll adapt. I’ve been doing it all my life. I can do it again and again and again.

Instead of being just fine, I want to thrive. I want 34 to be more of what I’ve been doing, more of what I want. More prioritizing of health! More physical movement! More ways to fill my soul! And maybe, just maybe, one more kid.

Taking a Michigander

I didn’t think weekends like this were possible given my anxiety. Weekends where I could go with the flow, enjoy the present, and make beautiful memories with my family. Weekends without panic attacks or debating with Steve on which decision is best for Bubba.

Weekends are meant for adventure. They’re meant to celebrate the end of a work week. I missed what weekends used to mean for me: enjoying the outdoors, going out to eat, and staying up late watching movies. After having Bub, weekends became more of the same - an extension of my work week because every day with Bub was work.

Now that he’s a little older and adaptable and more importantly, now that my mental state is in a stronger place, I want my weekends back - for exploring new places and trying new foods. Two things I never thought I’d be brave enough to do with Bub while he was young.

Last week, I realized I needed something to look forward to each weekend - a day trip somewhere new. We’ve gotten into a monotonous rhythm of going to work, going to the same parks, making dinner, going to bed, and doing it all over again. I also thought it might be fun for Steve to have a “Yes Day”, an entire day where he gets to make all the decisions and I just tag along.

I make most of the decisions for our family because 1) I have anxiety, 2) I have strong opinions and 3) sometimes it’s just easier for Steve to go along with my flow than to fight me on every turn. It must be hard for him to always be thinking about keeping my triggers at bay, so that I may have one less panic attack during the day.

Turns out, “Yes Day” was a huge success. We had a beautiful Saturday in Lakeside, MI, where Steve wanted to spend the day. The weather was gorgeous, the water was warm, and the crowds were not too bad. And to my word, I went with the flow. Sure, triggers popped up occasionally but I told myself that it was “all good”. My new mantra to remind myself that everything - good or bad - is ultimately a good learning.

And when I go with the flow, the world seems to flow with me.

I let Bub have a cinnamon roll for breakfast, which he tried to devour like a dog.

“Come on, Mom. Follow me.”

He found some rocks that he wanted to put in my pocket to throw into the water later.

Three big rocks in each pocket

Building sand castles

Lakeside, MI is Steve’s happy place. I can see why.

Taking a Break

It happened one night in September, while putting Bub to sleep. Cuddled up next to him, in the quiet dark, it’s when I get my best ideas. It occurred to me that I should take a break from Instagram, more so for my own curiosity than anything else. Can I live without Instagram for an entire year? I think I’d like to try.

I love posting photos and scrolling as much as the next person. I’ve met amazing, kindred spirits on the platform whom I’ll miss during my break. I’m worried about missing out on important information and creative ideas other people have.

But by taking a break, I’m hoping I’ll discover something more valuable: my originality. Maybe I’ll make more connections in-person rather than virtually. Maybe I can truly focus on making myself happy for my own soul’s sake.

When Instagram was down for a day in October, I genuinely felt relieved and liberated. For once, I wasn’t turning to my phone every chance I got and checking other people’s posts and how many likes and followers I had. Knowing that the rest of the world wasn’t posting anything, I didn’t feel the FOMO. It was kind of glorious.

I wanted more of that feeling.

I want to know what it feels like to not need other people to validate me - through their likes, comments, and shares. I want to know what it feels like to instinctively turn to a book instead of my phone. I want to know what it feels like to take photos of people, places and things because I want to treasure them, not to post for likeability.

I’m excited to disappear for a while, to relish in the silence.

In Thomas Moore’s Care of the Soul, he writes:

So, the first point to make about care of the soul is that it is not primarily a method of problem-solving. Its goal is not to make life problem-free, but to give ordinary life the depth and value that come with soulfulness.

As an introvert, I crave depth and focus, neither of which I get from Instagram. I need to step away to find what else can make me feel creative, feel fulfilled. It can’t be surface-level social media. I don’t want to be the person who opens the app to look up one thing and finds herself still scrolling 30 minutes later. I don’t want to waste 29 minutes and 18 seconds anymore (my daily average on the app).

Psychologically, I hope a break from Instagram will keep me from constantly comparing myself to others. In Renee Engeln’s book, Beauty Sick, she writes about social media’s impact on making women feel less than and more depressed:

High levels of social media use are correlated with:

• greater internalization of the thin beauty ideal.

• more self-objectification.

• more frequent social comparisons.

• higher levels of disordered eating.

• more desire to have plastic surgery.

• greater investment in appearance.

• increased depressive symptoms.

15 years of using Facebook and Instagram has absolutely shaped the way I think about others and my own confidence. They’ve impacted the choices and purchases I’ve made. They’ve subconsciously made me compare myself to other people’s highlight reels and feel depressed that my life isn’t picture perfect.

Say, on average, I used Facebook and Instagram for 30 minutes a day for the past 15 years. (Though, before I had a kid, my daily average was probably two hours.) That’s 164,250 minutes or 2,737.5 hours of my life I’ve wasted reading other people’s rants, stressing about my own posts, and comparing myself to everyone’s photos.

I think this break is overdue.

33, Be Good to Me

I’ve wanted to make Flo Braker’s buttermilk cake for over a year, ever since I heard about it on the Home Cooking podcast. The podcast has been a great source of comfort for me during the pandemic. I listen to it almost every day. Apparently, rewatching movies or shows, or in my case, listening to the same music (hi, Phoebe Bridgers) and podcast over and over is a way for anxious people to control their emotions in a world that feels out of whack.

For my birthday this year, I was determined to make this buttermilk cake. A week before, I remembered to buy buttermilk and cake flour. Yesterday, I sent Steve to the store to buy butter and parchment paper.

He came back with salted butter and wax paper. Close, but not the same.

Also realizing I didn’t have a hand mixer and that my butter wasn’t at room temperature, I gave up on this double-layer cake with chocolate sabayon frosting being picture perfect.

At 10 pm on a Saturday, Steve and I deliriously giggled our way through dolloping lumpy cake batter into misshapen muffin cups and mixing whipping cream by hand until our arms hurt. The mini cakes looked like they were sat on, but they were buttery and delicious. After 12 minutes of whipping the cream, it suddenly and miraculously stiffened. And shockingly, we had fresh strawberries in the fridge, which we almost never do.

We laughed and ate until our stomachs grumbled hurt.

“I’ll remember this when I’m old,” I told Steve.

Making this cake was somewhat symbolic of the year I’ve had. Riddled with panic attacks, triggered by not being the perfect parent, 32 has taught me that my mental health has taken a toll and needs tending to. Perfectionism is what I continue to strive for and when life isn’t perfect, I beat myself up for it. The chronic guilt has cancelled a lot of the inner work I had done before I had a baby. Should’ve, Could’ve, Would’ve pepper my thoughts relentlessly.

But through it all this year, Steve has been there for me. Somehow, he makes me laugh even when I don’t think I ever will again.

I hope 33 is more of the latter laughter and less of the former guilt. I hope 33 is onwards and upwards and not constantly feeling downtrodden by my own thoughts. I hope 33 is peace and not panic.