It happened.
I blinked.
And now my baby boy has started his senior year of high school. 

Suddenly I am 82 years old. Overnight and without warning, I am a very old woman. I have a full head of gray hair, my skin is sagging and the glasses I once wore only to read, sit permanently upon my face and host a much stronger, thicker lens.

Or at least that is the way that this Feels.
It ALL feels this way at 2:57 in the morning. Ah, my new, nightly acquaintance.
Mr. Two Fifty Seven A.M.

No one tells you this will happen. They tell you it will fly by- this year of First Lasts. 
They tell you how quickly the high school years will pass. They tell you to buckle up and to hold on.
Don't blink, soak it all in, and take lots of pictures. (what?)
All of these things.

In actuality, it begins earlier than senior year. Well-intended, good parents that you've been seeing at Open House for the past twelve years, start giving you that nodding, sympathetic glance now... that "I see you" look. And you know exactly what they're thinking; You're Next. Just you wait.

It's as if they're super excited to have you joining the club. The club that you don't recall signing up for Way Back When.
When you first learned that you were pregnant. And when you had no good idea about things like Anxiety, Night Sweats, and the kind of time travel that age progresses you in the middle of the night during your child's senior year of high school.

No one ever really tells you how suffocating, alarming, frightening and terrorizing those middle of the night panic attacks are.
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And they sure as hell don't mention the little old woman.

No one tells you about the very palpable marker of time that is: Becoming the Parent of a High School Senior. I imagine that turning the big 5-0 will feel less measurable. Surely it will feel less gripping, less startling, less terrifying.

Maybe perhaps because I am not fifty yet. In fact, I am a relatively young forty-seven year old. Please do not make me brag about recently getting carded at a Lionel Richie concert. Oh yes I did! All. Night. Long.

My head is not covered in gray hair, and thankfully, happily, I am still able to go weeks on a $7 root touch up kit from Target. And those reading glasses of mine, are actually a super cute designer brand that I splurged on recently. Why? Because that is exactly what you do when you're the mom of a high school senior and literally just last week, you were the one heading to prom and preparing to graduate!

All of that.  All of this graceful sounding, rolling into Middle Age is not at all how this feels.
That is not how this feels in the middle of the night.
That is not how this feels at 2:57 a.m., when my  handsome husband is sleeping peacefully beside me and both of our children are still comfortably sleeping under this same roof.

Instead it feels as if my life is almost over and that I may not even be here for Christmas. It feels like everything that has always mattered most for the past 17.75 years is coming to an end and with it, my whole world.
It feels as though instead of saving every last cent for college, I should be coffin shopping.

No one tells you this part. So I am going to tell you. I am going to document it here because I have to and need to... and because someone out there needs to know they aren't alone when they experience these same feelings.

I'm going to lay it all out here in my safe place.
All of the Scary-Ugly.
All of the Weepy-Panicky.
All of the My-life-is-over, Glass-half-empty!
The stinky-smelly and the cloudy overcast.
The very same that moved into my psyche sometime last year before Christmas and before my son was even halfway through his junior year.

I will lay out the Joys and Ups too. The pure pride and happiness that makes you feel like you're ten feet tall.

So, Welcome!
Welcome to my anxiety-ridden, sleep deprived, photo-taking, Facebook posting, mindless blogging Year of First Lasts! 

I've been quelling my Mommy Anxiety softly since that first day of pre-school when I stood outside the classroom door and listened to him wail. Before that, a hospital room, 18 hours old and they checked his vitals... and I checked Out. Chewed some nurses ass.

And so far, I am drug-free. Any yet, I am absolutely not opposed to calling in bigger guns than Cabernet or Chardonnay. You will be among the first to know... so stay tuned.

Finally, and for the record, I don't need the friendly reminders from the well-intended, card holding members of The Club. It is nothing like the reminder you get for your annual dental exam. The postcard in the box.

Besides, my teeth are still intact.

Unless it's 2:57 in the morning, and in which case- they are sitting bedside, soaking away softly, in their warm, fizzy solution.

Recently, a sweet friend gifted me with this precious wall sign she herself owns and loves. This past summer, we had both moved from our very small first homes, into our much roomier forever homes. We'd shared several bottles of wine, numerous tears of crying rants, and too many conversations to count during this "More Stressful Than The Holmes-Rahe Stress Scale Rates It" stage of our lives. It was joyous and insane all at once and I will always feel so grateful we had each other's back during those long days down in the trenches of legal documents, real estate commissions, home showings, home inspections, and boxes. Lots and Lots of boxes.

Today this lovely sign rests sweetly on a small wall in our family room. I pass by it each and every day, several times, never missing her silent echo in my ear: Love grows best in little houses...
I love the sweet message and sentiment attached to it. I love it because I lived it. I know it to be   true. After all, we lived in our small home for over twenty years and I figure that pretty much makes me an expert on Small Home Living. 

And yet sometimes, on some days, especially lately, the sign trips me up.
Her silent echo taunts me and unnerves me. 
Rattles and unsettles.
Mocks, even.

What gives? My family is finally enjoying a much roomier home to spread out in and here I am wondering and worrying if it's Too much. Questioning the space and time and wondering what changes need to be made to ensure my teenagers spend more time Out of their bedrooms than In them. Is it too much space? Were we happier in 1400 square feet, on top of each other? Were we more in tune to each other when the walls didn't separate us?

These are the thoughts that cross my mind these days. These long days when my 15 and 13 year old children are all full of hormones, exhaustion, sweetness and attitudes combined, drama, stress, humor, stink and hormones... did I mention Hormones? 

Surely, this is just a normal second-guessing of sorts that All Good Parents of teenagers go through, right? Are we doing this Parenting Thing, correctly? Are we giving them enough space to grow and be, or are we giving them Too much space? Are we spending enough time connecting with them or too much time nagging them, hovering too closely?

These are the things that keep me up at night. I keep telling my husband that perhaps this is my mid-life crisis: the Mommy's Mid-Life Crisis. It's weird. And kind of pathetic. Certainly not even Lifetime  Movie Channel material. I don't want a fancy sports car or a young boyfriend on the side. I don't desire to join the country club or take up tennis. I just want to know that I'm not screwing up my kids and that they are happy and going to do REALLY, REALLY WELL when they leave this Maybe Too Big house of ours. That's really all that I want. Okay unless on that day, they are passing out free and guiltless Botox injections too! But otherwise, that's it. Really.

I just want to be at ease more often than not, with these kids. These babies of mine that were crawling, falling, smiling, hugging, napping and needing so much more, just a few years ago. I want to know that just because they spend more of their home time in their rooms FaceTiming their friends, or in my son's case, in some virtual Call of Duty war on Xbox Live, (eye roll / loathe) that I'm not losing them completely to the abyss of bigger spaces, more walls, less crowd. I want to know that they don't Hate us for forcing Family Game nights, or Sunday Drives to No Where In Particular.

We have more room between us now, and more walls to separate. And on my harder Mom Days, I worry even into the wee hours of the morning... Are we doing this right? Will we have done a good enough job? Did Love Grow Best.. Even in bigger houses, just like this?

Christmas comes on December 25th. Each and every year. No surprises, no different day, always the 25th. And yet each year, I feel as though they've moved Christmas up a good five or six days. It's as though somewhere between Thanksgiving and now, they've taken a week off of the calendars. Erased it from existence. Deleted it from the Universe. 

They knew we'd all be too busy to notice. We'd keep moving along in our busied, hurried, stressed out days of All Things Christmas. Why, with decorations to hang, trees to trim, shopping to do, presents to wrap, goodies to bake, parties to attend and cards to mail.. would we really notice that the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas was shrinking? 

Okay it's not really shrinking. There's still a solid month between the two but it sure doesn't feel that way. Not to me, at least. 

On Sunday evenings, once the kiddos are tucked, my husband and I have a standing date at 10pm for a wicked little guilty pleasure series we watch on Showtime called The Affair. Don't judge. Do watch. It's dynamo and we are hooked in a bad way. It's only Season Three so I'm hopeful. Unless they do something wildly insane, similar to the kill off of Brody on Homeland, then I am happy to pay the extra twelve bucks per month to have Showtime. 

Anywhoo, we were still a bit away from it's start time last night, and Jim was catching the last of the Seahawks game, so I decided it would be a good time to log onto Shutterfly, take a Look-See and start to formulate a plan for our family Christmas card. Afterall, the clock is ticking on Christmas and getting cards mailed in time. We lost a good week already, right?

Nestled into our sofa, PJ'd up and with a wonderful pinot in hand, I happily logged onto Shutterfly, feeling a tad bit impressed with myself for this little extra 'end of day' push that was surely going to result in being able to cross yet another item off of my never-ending December To-Do list! Damn, I'm good. Or so I thought...

I typed in my account password, took an accomplished sip of wine, still basking in my own ambition and sat back relaxed and ready to browse. Suddenly, I was assaulted by a large flashing red countdown clock screaming to me that there were only 3 Hours, 15 Minutes and 23 Seconds left to order my cards and receive 50% off the entire order.

Wait. What.

In a matter of seconds, I felt the pajama & wine induced calm, ascend from my body while a new, intense and bawdy determination swept over me. I sat upright almost immediately.

With feet to floor and wine to table, a feeling of urgency fell over me as my evening's priorities suddenly shifted. There would be no Affair. No standing Sunday Date Night on the Sofa. There would be no little Look-See at Christmas card options, no Fun Little Browse through the newest card creations. 

Hell no. This was it. The clock was ticking. 
I had approximately 3 Hours, 14 Minutes and 10 Seconds to create our family's 2016 Christmas Card.

I will spare you the ugly details that transpired over the next 65 minutes of Sunday, December 4th in the Hardin household. I will simply tell you that Each and Every Technical Difficulty that could happen between my iphone and macbook pro, Did, in fact happen.

Words were spoken. Some louder than others. Bad words. Dirty words. The kind of words that united my lips to a bar of dial soap in my early childhood. 

No Christmas card was made, only started. And then lost. Lost in translation, in confusion, in cyberspace and in exhaustion. Gone. For another day. Gone like the 50 percent off sale. Gone like the ticking minutes on the flashing countdown clock and gone like the week we lost somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

I had to make a decision in the hustle and bustle that is the holiday seaon. I needed to find a save, - a small victory in the mess of a wasted hour-long process that produced no Christmas card and certainly no check-off mark on my December List. 

And so I made peace with the frustration. I accepted the loss. I turned it around in a season that seems to get busier with each passing year. I made peace with the extra money we would now spend on our annual Christmas cards. The money we would spend because I couldn't beat the clock. I couldn't get the week back. I couldn't check one more item off the list.

But I could save the night. I could take back our Sunday Night Sofa Date. 

Christmas will still come. The cards will get done and the presents will be bought and wrapped. The trees will get trimmed. Make peace with all of the frustration and mess and hang-ups that will happen. Focus on the time with your loved ones, forget the calendars and the flashing countdown clocks and savor the moments as best as you can. We won't always be able to get those moments back. 

This morning when I logged back onto Shutterfly, Lo & Behold, they extended the 50% off sale and added an extra 25% percent off on top.
But for today only.
24 hours.
Tis the Season!
​


​

Yesterday morning, I walked into my twelve year old daughter's sleeping bedroom to wake her for school. As I whispered "Morning, Babe! Time to get up," my daughter rolled over and without opening her eyes, or missing a breath, she asked "Who won, Mommy?"

With those three little words, I instantly felt the darkness of the room surround me. I sat down on the edge of her bed and whispered, "Trump, Honey." And with that, her eyes shot open in shock, wide as saucers, and she gasped in her first breath of the day.

This day... a new day.
A day with an outcome that we hoped would be different.
A day that we, here in our house, hoped would begin by learning that our country had elected her first female President.
That's the day my daughter and myself had hoped for...
But that was not to be the day, on this day.
This day was to be another day that my twelve year old would realize that in life, things don't always go the way we hope, or believe, or count on.  

My Grandmother told me long ago that there are three things you don't talk about with people: religion, politics and how much money you make! I am smiling, because like most things my amazing Grandmother told me, I believed it to be an absolute truth. I believed it meant that No One talked about those things in public. I accepted it as law. I was probably eight years old at the time.

And so, as time passed on, I adopted my Grandmother's same southern Alabama philosophy. After all, I adored my Grandmother (still do) and I wanted to be exactly like her when I grew up (still do.)

But in this day and age, we don't live in a world that keeps her politics to herself. Nor do we keep our religion and salary to ourselves either. We talk about it, and talk about it and talk about it.
We talk about it to our neighbors at the mailbox, to our check out clerks at the grocery store, to our buddies at the gym. 
We post it in our yards, and on our car bumpers.
We post it on our Facebooks and Instagrams and blogs.
We advertise it endlessly and talk about it everywhere we go and to anyone who will listen.

And why shouldn't we? We live in a democracy and are blessed to have such freedoms and rights! We should exercise those rights... the freedom to choose, the freedom to speak. The freedom to talk to our neighbors and post our religious and political views on our social media accounts.

I'm telling you, I love our country and all she stands for and represents. I am so grateful and blessed to be an American who lives these freedoms every single day.  

Still, I am my Grandmother's granddaughter, and I believe we have gone too far when we take our politics and religious views out on others who don't share them. For this reason, I choose not to exercise those rights so publicly, I chose not to discuss my politics to everyone. It isn't for lack of passion, or opinion. It is simply for peace. I believe it makes for better relationships. I now realize that my wise Grandmother believed the same. She knew that keeping her politics private, ensured peace between neighbors and friends. 

And so while yesterday was a sad day for me.. a day that I felt heavy hearted to wake my daughter and tell her that our country did not elect a female president... It was also a day that brought peace, at least the kind that comes with the settlement of a decision made. I tried to move through my emotions as privately as I did with my election choice. I tried to stay off of social media so as not to read the fallout and on-going bashing. I chose to be still and quiet, for the most part, with my thoughts and emotions. I chose to be private.

I chose to be my Grandmother's granddaughter on a day that made me sad.

And in that choice, on that day, I found hope and new beginnings. There is always a silver lining, and a bright side. If only we could talk and talk and talk about THAT more, I think we would all live in a much happier world. 

 

Passing by my daughter's bedroom today, I noticed the Jack O'Lantern door hang, still adorning her bedroom door handle. "Oops! I missed this one,"  I said as I took it off of her door.

"YEAH! Now we can go right to Christmas!" she exclaimed, as she skipped right on past me mumbling something about getting out her Christmas bedding.

WHAT.
No.
"No, Maddie! THANKSGIVING," I stated, as firmly as I could manage in my kind, yet affirmative 'I mean business' voice.

What on Earth. 

And just like that, I realized that my own sweet child, was also falling victim to the rush and bustle of the holiday season. More specifically, to the Retailer's Evil Spell that has us going straight from Halloween to Christmas! 

As a child, I remember that same excitement and anticipation that grew, tenfold, between Halloween and December 25th. We all knew that once the Tricks & Treats ended, we were only one more holiday away from Christmas. And what child wouldn't be excited about that? With the arrival of the annual toy catalogs in the mail, how we could not find our Christmas spirit even before we tasted pumpkin pie?

So I do understand that sweet childhood anticipation. I get it. Of all the things that my 40-something year old brain forgets, this is not one of them. 

Still, I find my heart heavy when I stroll through Target on November 1st, to find it slathered in All Things Christmas. I find myself feeling an anticipation of a much different sort now... one of a parent who longs to hold on to every single day. Every single holiday. Every single special moment, with our children and family, for as long as God will allow us to! 

Don't get me wrong, and ask anyone who knows me.. really, just ask them.. Christmas is by far, Hands Down, my Absolute. Favorite. Holiday. Of. All. Time. 
Period.
In the History of Ever.

It truly is.
I should have been named Noelle, or Pine or even Angel (wait, maybe Not Angel...) because that is truly how much I love Christmas. I love the music, I love the decor, I love the colors, the lights, the feelings, the food, the ambiance, anticipation, the wrapping & tissue, the shiny sparkly ornaments, and garland, and wreaths and cookies. I love the movies, the warmth and even the ugly sweaters.

But most of all, I love the Magic, the Hope and Celebration of Jesus Christ and his Love for us and for our families. I love it all and I look forward to it each and every year...

AFTER Thanksgiving.
After Turkey.
After Harvest.
After Pumpkin Pie, and Mashed Potatoes.
Gravy and Dressing.
After full bellies, and endless dishes and Never Enough Tupperware.

I love Christmas AFTER Thanksgiving.

So, as I pack away all of our Halloween decorations, and pull out my turkeys and Fall-ish Anything, I do so happily and faithfully, observing this beautiful holiday of Thanksgiving.

I do so, honoring with full intent what it means to be Grateful. To Pause. To Give Thanks. To Love and to Serve. 

I do so in the spirit of living each and every day with pause for what that day is worth, and for what joy that day brings.

We will get there. 
We will get to Christmas.
And if we do it right, in God's time, we will arrive Full, and Blessed and Encouraged and Hopeful. 
​







 

Yesterday was my son's very first formal high school dance. His freshman year Homecoming. A good place to start, I suppose, in the Parenting World of All Things High School. I think I learned quite a few lessons along the way in this 'first at bat' that hopefully, given almost four more years, we can fine tune before Senior Prom.

The first lesson: Start Early. Start early asking the questions, especially if your child is a boy. Seems like all of my friends who have daughters, were basically just told the details and the plans and the parents just made it all happen. With my son, it was like pulling teeth to get everything lined up, detailed and organized. We paid out an extra ten dollars more per ticket because he procrastinated on whether he would be going solo with a group of friends, or taking a date. And shopping for his outfit, forget it... he could care less about that detail and didn't want to be bothered. My husband and I bought his tie, without him present. Isn't there something wrong with that? 

The second lesson: Give him clear expectations on the details. Since he decided he would be taking a date, we needed to negotiate the details of that transaction as he is the Boy, we are Traditional, and He is only still fourteen. Once we gave him our expectations on meeting his date and her parents, things got easier. 

From there, the details were locked in and the plans were made. We invited his date and her parents over to our house for pictures and appetizers before the dance. His date also happened to be his middle school "girlfriend" of which we had never officially met during those 6th, 7th and 8th grade Wonder Years because their relationship consisted of car pick-up line chatter and Instagram fodder. Thank you, Jesus.

This would be our first go as parents, hosting our son's date and her parents, both of whom we'd never officially met, in our home. My son kept complaining to me, "Mom, I don't understand what we are all going to talk about for over an hour... It's going to be so awkward!" Even as I knew and understood his normal anxieties, and trust me, had a few of my own as a First Timer to this sort of thing, I also believed strongly this was the Right thing to do and the way we want to raise our son. 

I can't tell you how happy I am for our home and to be able to do the right thing and open our home the way we wanted to and the way we plan to for many more years to come. To meet parents, to host friends, to celebrate occasions and holidays and birthdays and people and love and life.

The lessons we learn, that build and shape us, start at home. All of those lessons, even the awkward ones, where an hour can seem like five hours. Where you stand in your kitchen with your parents, and her parents, and little siblings, in a tie, and a tucked-in, button-up shirt and uncomfortable shoes and you smile and answer politely and try to seem interested in all of the small talk. Those lessons start at home and when you design your home with those lessons in mind, you will find the comfort. 

As I start down this journey of helping others achieve their goals for "home," I can't help but to keep the most fundamental element of design in mind... that is, creating a home that is Comforting. One that Invites and Hosts, one that Welcomes. We don't do that with rooms that can't be entered, or sofas that can't be sat on... Instead, we do that with homes where we can touch, fall, shake in our shoes, sit, sweat, gather and live. Homes where awkward meetings can turn into the happiest of times, where wonderful memories are created even in just an hour's worth of time. 

You've got to admit the irony that exists, when on the day of my very first PNC (Potential New Client) meeting, actually an hour before the meeting, UPS delivers my husband's latest book purchase, titled, "How Not To Die." 
Seriously.
I'm finishing a long soak in the tub, to calm my New Girl Fears, when the Hubby pops his head in the door, to inform me that the doorbell was just his new book order from Amazon. 
How Not To Die.
Legit. A  super thick, 400+ page How To, on living to age ninety.
You can't make this stuff up.

Here I am soaking in the tub, praying to God and Jesus and I think, even Mary, to help me Not Die during the impending PNC meeting, and my husband, who has carried this ship financially since the birth of our first born almost 15 years ago, has just ordered a book thicker than a first edition, War and Peace, on how to live longer and, well...How Not To Die.
Perspective.

I'm terrified. I know in my head logically, that you have to start somewhere. You have to make mistakes. You have to be vulnerable, and scared, and fearless, and terrified... sometimes and usually, all at once.
I am.
I am all of those things.
They make me, Me.

Tonight's PNC meeting went far better than The Scary Fears In My Mind imagined it would. I am grateful. I am hopeful. I am Learning. And yet, I have so much still to learn. But beyond all of this, I am Living and soon to be Creating. 

And maybe, just maybe, on this journey, my husband will reap the benefits long overdue him for his heavy lifting in our family. I look forward to laughing with him at age 90, about the things that terrified us in our forties!