Category — Family

Lately I’ve felt so behind the ball and under the gun, trying to balance motherhood with work-at-home motherhood. It’s hard not to feel like every moment not spent kissing or snuggling or nurturing or working or promoting is a moment wasted. I’m missing things. I have mourned, more than once, all of the beauty that I’m missing in the all of the small, everyday things. I’m spinning plates.

It’s getting easier. I’ll get there, and I will be so full of joy and gratitude when I do, for being able to have this life and this time and all of these moments with my boy.

Oh, this week. It’s been exhausting, all kinds of exhausting, and I thought it would never end. I keep trying to write this post, but can’t seem to finish it.

Last Tuesday I quit my job. I don’t know what to say about that. It’s been a long time coming, I guess. I had been with the company for almost eight years. Eight years of terrifying lows, dizzying highs, and creamy middles. This break-up feels something like a divorce, punctuated with the hurried cleaning off of a desk and filling of a box. I hate, hate the way it ended, but a good part of me feels like this is the beginning of the rest of my life. It stings now, and feels terribly irresponsible, but I know that this will be a good thing. The right decision. Maybe because, for now at least,  I’m home with my sweet baby?

I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’ll have to do something.  Freelance, contract, full-time, oh my. I am loving working with my ladies at ruby & roja design and One2One Network, and I’m excited about the potential of those opportunities. For now, I’m just going to hold Asher tight and sniff his head every couple minutes.

Thursday I left on a jet plane for Nashville, to join my wimmins at BlissDom for a long weekend of blogging, bonding and blisstinis.

Friday night I was sitting in The Pink Slip lounge when I looked down to see that I had missed a call from my dad. He knew where I was and what I was doing, so I excused myself to call him back. He was calling with bad news, news that could have waited until I returned home on Sunday if my family wasn’t so damn wired. There was a death, a sad, unexpected tragedy that he was afraid I’d learn about online if he wasn’t able to tell me first. Mike, thirty three year old Mike, husband to my cousin Kendra and father to amazing seven year old Hannah, died from complications of a back surgery. I don’t even have the right words to express how heartbreaking this loss is. Mike was an amazing father, giant like a teddy bear, quiet and strong, deliberate with his words with a gentle, easy sense of humor. Almost four years ago we were vacationing in Florida together, lounging in the pool, when Kendra, in Mike’s lap, said, “Hey Sarah! Look at Mike! It looks like he’s wearing a sweater!” He just smiled that big silent smile, shrugged and rolled his eyes, never relaxing his arms around her.

The funeral was Wednesday. After a weekend of unnaturally warm Chicago sunshine in February, the sky opened up today and it poured for hours. Like Toni said, “even the sky was crying.” I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that he’s gone.

Blissdom was fantastic. I wish I could have enjoyed it more, but with my mind in another place and Asher’s onset of the BlissFlu, it was just a struggle. I missed most of the sessions, hanging out in our room with an unhappy baby, and I can’t deny that it was hard to put on a smile and network. So if we met and I was a flake, this is probably why. Let’s do it again in July at BlogHer, hm? It’ll be better, and I’ll be cooler, I promise.

Almost every Memorial Day since high school, I’ve gone with my dad to the Indy 500. This year the four of us made a weekend of it, and we got pictures.

It starts the night before the race at smaller track outside of Indianapolis where they hold a series of races called The Night Before the 500. Original, no?

Those blurs are called midgets. Tiny roller-skate-looking cars.

That hand stamp says NHRA, ya’ll. We’re not in Kansas anymore. (Actually, we might as well be in Kansas. Ha!)

These high school kids were selling raffle tickets. Their shirts say “We do it in the community.” Geh heh.

Mmmm Bop.

Sunday morning started out rainy and sucky. It cleared up early, pretty much by the time we all got to the track. My dad has great tickets and gets us into pit lane and the garages, where I got to see Dario Franchitti.

Oh, Dario. Why must you be so Scottish?

Then we watched to Parade of Stars. There’s the wee one from Hall and Oates.

Not him, the other one. (p.s. I was named after a H&O jam)

And Ray Liotta. This one’s for you, mom.

And Rupert from Survivor. Signing some girl’s hump.

And this guy. We still don’t know who he is, but everyone else seemed to.

And Peyton Manning. He’s surprisingly fast. And also, I think that’s Moses right there in the mid-ground.

McDempsy on the Jumbo-tron. He’s an elusive one, Patrick Dreamy is.

<warning: tearjerker> As a Memorial Day service before the race began, members of the US Army walked the track from the Pagoda to Gasoline Alley as a serviceman played ‘Taps’. The crowd was dead quiet, all standing, and as the trumpet got quiet at the end, someone up in the stands shouted “Bring our troops home!” Men cried and hugged in the stands. Whoa. <end: tearjerker>

You wish you had our awesome seats. Pagoda and balloon release, people.

This guy, explaining the finer points of Indy Car racing to his son, was kicking it in Sponge Bob boxer shorts.

Dario’s wife, Ashley Judd. Whatever. She can have him.

Although it was sunny in the beginning…

It was pouring by lap 113. Good thing we had ponchos.

All this kid had was a Nordstrom bag.

We took off at that point, power walking 2 miles in the rain. (Good Training.) Two hours later they dried the track and ran 40 more laps. Dario won. Did I mention he’s my favorite?